His Garden of Bones

by Vickie McKeehan

  Putting them off wasn’t something that gave him the slightest tugs of guilt. He had to remind himself he couldn’t always be everything to everyone. But since he was good at coming up with a string of excuses faster than a used car salesman, he’d withstand the complaints.

  Someone named Reinhold Tannenbaum wanted a Christmas delivery. Since Tannenbaum’s request wasn’t something Dillard could fulfill in the near future, he replied with a polite apology.

  But turning down the business had a profound negative effect. No doubt, he’d miss the money. The extra cash always made him feel like a winner.

  As he sat there, the walls kept closing in, which signaled that it was time to replace the failure of the botched kidnapping with action, an action that would garner a win in the victory column.

  He went into the bedroom, took out his makeup case. With a great deal of care he applied the foundation to his face and neck, taking extra time around the eyes. This had always been his favorite part. Being able to decorate and highlight his best feature had always given him a rush.

  He applied light blue eye shadow first, followed by eyeliner and then black mascara. When it came time to do his hair, he brushed his latest weave, donned the memory cap he’d paid extra for and adjusted the high-quality wig onto his head.

  Inside his closet, he pulled out a white buttoned-down shirt and his best red jacket to wear over it. The bold fabric might stray from the traditional tan or black, but then a girl couldn’t be expected to wear the same boring colors over and over again. Besides, just because he had to look the part didn’t mean he couldn’t dress with a little pop and sizzle. And with his olive skin tone, he looked good in red.

  Pulling on a pair of tan, hip-hugging jodhpurs and the black riding boots he’d stopped to purchase yesterday completed the desired look.

  Checking his image in the mirror he decided the costume made him look like a stunning, wealthy woman in her late twenties who rode horses regularly and loved competing in the sport.

  “Today I’m Justine,” Dillard said with a toss of his long hair and twirled in girlish fashion. “How do I look?”

  The voice inside his head answered as Justine. “You look mah-velous, as always. See, you don’t need that stupid panther to get the job done. You never did. Oreias was never your strength. Thinking like that gave you a false sense of power. All this time it was Tiffany and me looking out for you. Tiffany and Justine will take care of you. You’ll see.”

  In an imitation female tone, Dillard fawned, “I like it when you’re nice to me.”

  “You do a good job today and you’ll be rewarded,” Justine promised. “Remember there’s no need for a hunt today. That means no need for one of your silly childish ceremonies.”

  “But I miss the ritual,” Dillard admitted.

  “There’s no need for it,” Justine repeated. “Without any effort at all you already know exactly where to find your quarry.”

  And with that, Dillard/Justine prepared to bring home a win.

  Chenoa Starr’s horse farm sat on twelve acres located down a winding road that led to a charming little cottage. By the looks of the place, the owner obviously spent more coin on the state-of-the-art equestrian facilities that came with the property than upkeep for her personal quarters. The house could’ve used a new shingle or two on the roof and a coat of fresh paint.

  But the barn was in prime condition along with all the other outbuildings. Dillard recognized the new tack room, a testament that his first impression had been correct. With Chenoa, the horses came first.

  As Dillard drove his Yukon Denali past the corral, he took note of the four magnificent mares in the covered paddock. The animals strutted around the arena, spirited and looking well fed.

  A pity she’d never get to ride them again, he thought as he brought the vehicle to a stop. Scanning the rolling countryside that made up Chenoa’s backdrop, he decided she had the place all to herself.

  The woman who stood inside the pen waved at him in greeting. She was dressed much like he’d dressed, in riding boots and breeches. He could see her warm exotic eyes, high cheekbones and raven black hair. Those features reminded him so much of Skye Cree it was eerie, which of course, made today all the more thrilling.

  Dillard waved back before getting out of the SUV. “I take it I have the right place. You’re the one who has the mare for sale, right?” Dillard said in a raised, raspy voice.

  By this time the striking woman known as Chenoa Starr had closed the distance and made her way over the pebbled walkway to the Yukon. “Indeed I do. And you must be Justine Barstow.”

  “That’s me. My mama and daddy always said I had a knack with animals, especially horses.” But at the words “mama and daddy,” a memory flashed from childhood. The whip came down hard on Dillard’s back. Pain seared him like a torch burning his skin. Like a beaten animal he cowered trying to avoid the blows.

  Justine lowered her lashes—or was he supposed to be Tiffany today. Confused, his female counterparts dissolved and all but disappeared as Dillard resurfaced with a harder, meaner mindset than before.

  From the handbag he carried, Dillard pulled out a small, handheld stun gun. He quickly held it up to Chenoa’s neck even as she tried to back away from what she now realized was a man and not the female she’d believed wanted to buy one of her horses.

  But Chenoa’s recognition came too late. Before she could get away, Dillard discharged the voltage into her body with enough force to stop her from running. The energy from the gun might not have the power to take her down all the way, but it would give him the seconds he needed to gain control. And the fist to the woman’s face took care of the doubt.

  Dillard dragged Chenoa to the back of the SUV, picked her up like a rag doll and tossed her into the back. He took out a syringe full of the muscle relaxant, pipecuronium bromide, and plunged the needle into her shoulder.

  Once he settled behind the wheel, he gunned the engine and did a sharp left turn to get as far away from the ranch as he could. Because he needed to whisk Chenoa out of the area before the drug wore off, he headed for the marina and his boat.

  As soon as he reached the highway, he started shedding his disguise. The wig came off first. Next, he grabbed the box of tissues to wipe off the makeup he’d so carefully applied only ninety minutes earlier.

  A sense of accomplishment had him feeling smug. He’d show Justine and Tiffany he wasn’t as inept as they’d always thought. Exhilarated, he made the mistake of glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror—and caught sight of the broken boy he’d been at fourteen. Sudden rage engulfed him, followed by a strong sense of teenage doubt.

  “You fool,” Tiffany called out. “It’s too early to get rid of your disguise.”

  “Shut up,” Dillard screamed into the car. “Shut up! I’m doing the best I can.”

  But his alter egos were having none of his excuses. Justine and Tiffany joined together in censure. The two females echoed back, “When has your best ever been good enough? Don’t you know by now you’re an idiot?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The moment Josh walked into Dandelion Eatery he could tell John Stockman was in the middle of preparing for a hectic Friday night dinner crowd. But getting the brushoff from the busy manager wasn’t in the cards. Not tonight anyway.

  After several obvious dodges to avoid him, Josh had to corner Stockman behind the serving counter to get his attention.

  “I need that list we talked about,” Josh demanded.

  “Can’t you see I’m swamped here? It’s the dinner rush for chrissakes. My line chef got here twenty minutes late and we’re already behind.”

  “That’s too bad. You’ve had time enough to come up with those names we need. Surely you could take thirty minutes and tell me who was on your guest list, maybe who’s rented the place during the last year.” Getting a blank stare from Stockman, Josh added, “Do I need to remind you the man who broke into your home is violent and dangerous? If we hadn’t thwarted h
is efforts who knows what might’ve happened to the baby and mother.”

  “Okay, fine. I did work up a first attempt. It isn’t complete but…”

  “A first draft is a start. I need it now.”

  Stockman began to head to the rear of the eatery. “It’s in the office. Something told me you’d be back.”

  Josh followed him to a small room off the hallway near the restrooms. He picked up on an underlying current. “What is it that you’re holding back?”

  “I don’t want to get sued or anything.”

  “What? Why?” Josh held up both hands. “Look, I’m not expecting you to break a confidence but something tells me you hold the key to why that guy was there that night.”

  Stockman let out a deep sigh, ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. I get it. There’s only so much guilt you can lay on me.” He opened a desk drawer, brought out a piece of paper with the computer-generated index of names. “All right, this is what I came up with. As I began compiling the names my memory snapped back to one particular incident that happened last spring. That weekend I’d invited a bunch of people on the boat from the restaurant biz, people I come in contact with on a weekly basis. Anyone who had anything to do with the restaurant got an invite.”

  “You mean, like your vendors, your suppliers, food and liquor distributors?”

  “Exactly. I decided on having this big buffet outside on the deck under the stars to take advantage of the beautiful evening. I grilled salmon and tilapia, served fresh asparagus tips, prepared all kinds of salads, and fixed a double chocolate mousse for dessert. It was going pretty well, too. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.”

  “But…”

  “That’s when one of my beer distributors tapped me on the shoulder and told me about Theron King. Theron was making everyone around him feel uncomfortable.”

  “Who’s Theron King?”

  “King’s an organic grower. He’s the owner of Tiffany Produce.”

  “Catchy name.”

  Stockman bobbed his head in agreement. “Oh, it is, for a reason. His products were the cream of the crop. Still are for that matter. At one time I was one of his best customers.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “No, I had to let him go. And it was a shame, too, because Theron supplied the finest bagged lettuce in Washington State. Man, that guy grew the best tasting Bibb, kale, arugula, red endive and baby spinach that I ever served on a plate. In fact, the night of the gathering I’d used Theron’s whole line of produce to make my lemon basil shrimp salad and the spinach and strawberry salad that were the centerpieces on the table.”

  “That’s a glowing recommendation for a bunch of greens. So what was this Theron King doing that made the beer distributor so nervous?”

  “It was the damnedest thing. King was standing at the rail looking out over the lake, having a conversation with himself. It looked like some sort of meltdown or schizophrenic episode. I once had an uncle who used to act the same way. That’s what freaked me out. I recognized the indicators of a personality disorder. When I started thinking back to other times Theron had behaved in a weird kind of way, I put two and two together. But that night it was such a disturbing scene that I decided then and there to end my business association I’d had with him for good.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  “There were no repercussions, if that’s what you mean, maybe because I waited a couple of weeks before sending Theron an email laying it all out. But I never heard a word back from him in rebuttal.”

  “You didn’t think it strange that he didn’t try to get you to change your mind and get your business back?”

  “I was a little afraid of him but there was no retaliation of any kind. That I know of anyway.”

  “Hmm, interesting. Which means King might’ve had a reason to get back at you the only way he thought best and that was to drag you into this whole mess now.”

  “Yeah, I considered that when I started thinking back to the parties. There are lots of people on this list but Theron King I put at the top.”

  Josh took the paper, perused the names. “I noticed that. We’ll keep him at the top until he’s eliminated as a suspect.”

  As he headed back to the car, he didn’t wait to do a background check on Theron King. He used his phone to pull up the grower’s Washington State driver’s license. The picture ID showed a man with a thin face, deep-set eyes, and olive-colored skin. Even though King’s records came back clean, Josh got a strong vibe from the photo. The vibe lodged in his gut, mainly because of the blank look that stared back at him from King’s dark sunken eyes.

  By the time Josh walked back into the foundation, Skye was still sitting at her laptop—online and chatting her way into gaining the trust of the other users at a website touted as a place to unite buyer and seller.

  She looked up and spotted Josh. “I’ve caught the attention of a seller called King Oreias.”

  “King? I doubt that’s a coincidence,” Josh announced from the doorway. “Stockman gave me a name. Theron King.”

  “You’re kidding? Could it be?” Skye looked back down at the screen. “Damn it. King Oreias went offline.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll find him. King owns a produce company and lives up on the hill near Lake Union. I even did a background check on the way over here and got his home address.” Josh went into a replay of everything Stockman had told him. He tapped the screen on his phone. “This is our guy. I’m certain of it.”

  Catching the last bit of the conversation, Travis hung up the call he’d been on to a father in Pershing, Oregon. As Josh finished up his narration Travis butted in, “Did I hear you say something about Theron King?”

  Skye eyed her father from behind her laptop before getting to her feet. “That’s our suspect’s name and the owner of Tiffany Produce. You know this King guy?” Skye rocked back on her heels. “Of course you do, you own a restaurant and a diner. Your paths would’ve crossed many times.”

  “I’ve done business with Theron for probably seven years. He’s one of the best local distributors that I’ve ever bought produce from, specializes in growing greenhouse organics, best tasting kale of all the growers around for miles. You can’t beat the man’s prices either, most reasonable in the state. Theron knows what he’s doing. That’s why he provides most of the edible greens to some of Seattle’s finest food establishments. Although he’s sometimes…”

  “A strange guy?” Josh finished. “Stockman thought so too.”

  Travis rubbed his chin. “Theron’s always been a bit of an odd duck.”

  “How so?” Skye prompted.

  “I once caught him talking to himself. I’d stopped by his company one day to straighten out a billing problem. His admin sent me back to his office. I walked in, and there he was, sitting at his desk, having a conversation with the air. I stood there at the doorway and watched as he had his hand up in the air like he was stroking an animal. You know, like you might a dog.” Travis gave a demo of what he meant by waving his hand along the air. “I have to tell you that at the time, the entire scene gave me the willies.”

  Josh handed Travis his cell phone with the picture of King’s driver’s license he’d pulled. “Look familiar?”

  “That’s him. Thin, gangly, about six feet.”

  “Any chance you noticed if Theron King exhibited any feminine traits? Did you ever see him in a social setting, similar to the party Stockman described to Josh?”

  Travis furrowed his brow in thought. “I never took the guy out to dinner if that’s what you mean. Feminine traits? Like what? That’s a new one. You mean like a cross-dresser, wearing women’s clothing?”

  “To tell you the truth, I have no idea,” Skye replied, looking at Emmett for help.

  Emmett had parked himself in front of a desktop computer typing up his notes on the Idaho disappearances.

  Skye rolled on, “But that would certainly be something a female personality might do, correct? He would dress the part, ri
ght? It might explain the woman Ashley saw that night who grabbed her.”

  Emmett sat back in his chair, intrigued. “It’s fascinating to think a serial starts out as a man and then fractures into the opposite gender. But it could explain how he manages to gain access to the victims, especially at night. By putting them at ease dressed as a female, he wouldn’t encounter a struggle until it was on his terms.”

  “And in the dark, the girls might not be able to distinguish him from the real thing,” Skye noted. “I mean who really pays attention to that kind of detail when you least expect it?”

  From across the room Winston had been listening. The hacker walked over to where Travis stood holding Josh’s cell and stared at the official photo ID.

  Skye took in the look on Winston’s face. “If you have something to add, now would be an excellent time to do it.”

  Winston adjusted his glasses. “Well, I was thinking. According to the description of the delivery van from the night Josh was hit, I’d say this guy’s vehicle is a fairly late model.”

  Skye grunted assent. “Yeah, more like a 2014. Why?”

  Before going into his monologue Winston drew in a deep breath. “What a lot people don’t understand is that automakers these days build cars with all kinds of wireless technology. Any newer, late model car has several dozen electronic control units on board, efficient little mini computers.”

  Skye looked at Josh with a puzzled look hoping she’d get a sign as to where Winston was going with this.

  A realization hit Josh. Caught up in Winston’s thought process, Josh slapped him on the back. “That’s brilliant.”

  “If it’s so brilliant maybe you two would like to share with the rest of us peons what you’re talking about.”

  “Standard operating procedure from car manufacturers uses third parties to create these mini computer chips. What Winston is pointing out is that any chip can be back-doored or hacked, correct?”