Her Silent Spring

by Melinda Woodhall

  “The Sheriff’s in a meeting right now,” the officer said, sounding suspicious. “Which department are ya’ll with?”

  “We’re with Barker and Dawson Investigations.”

  Barker said the name of their two-man firm with a casual confidence that implied the officer should be familiar with it.

  “And I’m a retired detective from the Willow Bay PD down in South Florida,” he added. “I still consult with them on occasion.”

  Forcing himself not to react to Barker’s misleading statement, Frankie reached into his pocket and felt around for a stick of gum. He wondered what Barker would do if the man in front of them decided to call and verify if they were in fact consulting for the WBPD.

  But before the officer could react to Barker’s claim, a deep voice spoke up from behind them.

  “South Florida? What brings ya’ll to Sky Lake?”

  Frankie spun around to face a man in a tan uniform and wide brimmed hat. He was tall, about Frankie’s height, but outweighed him by at least fifty pounds of what looked to be mostly muscle.

  “We’re looking for Sheriff Holt,” Frankie blurted out, then shot Barker a guilty glance. “We have a few questions to ask.”

  Hitching up the belt around his sturdy waist, the man produced a wide smile. There was something oddly wolfish about the smile, and Frankie found himself taking a small step back.

  “Well, I’m Archer Holt. What can I do for you boys?”

  Stepping in front of Frankie, Barker stuck out a hand.

  “It’s good to meet you, Sheriff Holt. I’m Pete Barker, and this is my partner, Frankie Dawson.”

  Barker glanced over at the officer behind the desk, who was still staring at them with narrowed eyes, and lowered his voice.

  “We’re working a case and were hoping to get a minute of your time,” Barker said. “We just have a few questions.”

  “Sure,” the sheriff replied without hesitation, “but I’m not sure how I’ll be able to help with a case down in Florida.”

  Following Holt’s broad back past the front desk and down a short hall, Frankie allowed himself to relax.

  The guy may be big, but he’s friendly. More like a big puppy than a wolf.

  Frankie unwrapped the stick of gum in his hand and popped it in his mouth as they entered a small office.

  The sheriff lowered his strapping frame into a leather desk chair and motioned for Frankie and Barker to take a seat across from him.

  “We’re working a missing person case,” Barker said, getting right to the point. “I guess you could call it a cold case.”

  “You guys have a cold case unit up here?”

  Frankie’s question earned him a glare from Barker, as Holt threw back his head and laughed.

  “If you saw the budget I’m working with you’d understand what’s so funny,” the sheriff finally said, displaying his big white teeth in an amused smile. “And fortunately, Sky Lake’s a quiet town, so we don’t have enough open cases to keep a cold case unit busy.”

  “This case involves a young woman that would have gone missing from Sky Lake about twenty years ago.”

  Sheriff Holt cocked his head and frowned, as if contemplating Barker’s statement. He leaned back and removed his hat, running a hand through a thick thatch of light brown hair.

  “I’ve only been the sheriff for the last five years,” he said slowly, as if working out the math. “I took over after Sheriff Duffy retired. He’d been the sheriff for near about twenty years before that.”

  “Well, we’d also like to talk to Sheriff Duffy, then,” Barker said, taking a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “But in the meantime, is there any chance you can search your missing persons records?”

  Holt gave a reluctant shrug.

  “I guess we could try, but I grew up here and know just about everyone in town. I’ve never heard of anyone going missing. At least, nobody that didn’t turn up later.”

  Unzipping his backpack, Frankie pulled out a file folder and opened it on the desk. He flipped through a few pages inside, then pulled out a photo of Skylar and pushed it toward Holt.

  Frankie ignored Barker’s frown of confusion as the sheriff stared down at the girl in the picture.

  “Does she look familiar?” he asked, holding his breath.

  He knew it was a long shot, but if Skylar took after her mother, the man might pick up on a family resemblance.

  After a long beat, Holt shook his head.

  “She’s a pretty girl…but, no, I’ve never seen her around here.”

  Plucking Skylar’s photo off the desk, Barker stuck it back in Frankie’s folder and cleared his throat.

  “What do you know about Donovan Locke?”

  The change of topic seemed to confuse Holt. He cocked his head and frowned as he leaned forward over the desk.

  “Who’d you say you were working for?” he asked, the good old boy attitude slipping. “Cause Donovan Locke’s old news, and we don’t need anyone coming to Sky Lake to stir up new trouble.”

  Frankie’s stomach dropped as he saw Holt’s eyes narrow.

  “Ya’ll aren’t working for the press, are you?”

  The image of Veronica Lee and Hunter Hadley floated through Frankie’s mind. They were both investigative reporters, and Hunter was co-owner of Channel Ten. It would certainly seem like they were working for the press to Holt.

  “No, we’re not reporters, we’re private investigators,” Barker assured him, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “I’m just a retired police detective trying to make a living.”

  Holt didn’t seem convinced as he met Barker’s gaze.

  “Look, we’re not here to cause trouble,” Frankie said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “But Locke’s a hometown boy, and we think the woman we’re looking for might be from here, too. Just seems like a hell of a coincidence.”

  The sheriff’s frown deepened.

  “Locke’s like the boogey man around here,” he said, pushing back from the desk. “Every kid in town grows up hearing stories about Locke and what he did way back when. Anytime something bad happens around here there are whispers that Locke’s come back.”

  Picking up his hat, Holt stuck it back on his head with a sigh.

  “But that’s all they are, just stories and whispers.”

  Holt stood and looked down at Frankie.

  “The FBI and the Marshals have come here plenty of times over the years trying to track down Locke, and never found so much as a sniff of him. Now that they’ve killed him, I consider the case closed.”

  Frankie opened his mouth to protest, but Barker spoke up first.

  “Thank you for your time, Sheriff. We’ll show ourselves out.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Frankie was still sulking when they pushed through the door of the Frisky Colt Diner. He’d expected Barker to pressure the sheriff into letting them search through the files. They needed to find out if a woman had gone missing before Holt had become sheriff.

  “Holt wasn’t going to cooperate, so stop pouting,” Barker said, shaking his head. “We need to find Sheriff Duffy. I bet the old-timer will appreciate a chance to tell us all about the good old days.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Frankie muttered. “You old-timers sure do like to hear yourselves talk.”

  Spotting two empty stools at the counter, Frankie pulled Barker after him. He climbed onto the nearest stool, resisting the temptation to spin around like he’d done as a boy in Memphis.

  Barker stared at the other stool with a raised eyebrow, then settled his bulky frame in next to Frankie, murmuring an apology to an attractive woman on the stool next to him.

  “Oh, you’re all right, honey,” the woman said, shooting Barker a smile. “Go on and make yourself at home.”

  Pushing a small hand through dark, bouncy curls, the woman waved to the waitress behind the counter. A glint of silver on her ring finger caught Frankie’s attention.

  “Be right with you, June,” the waitress calle
d out as she hurried by with a loaded tray.

  Frankie shrugged off his backpack, trying not to stare as the woman named June turned back to the counter. Sneaking a peek at her hand, he felt his pulse quicken.

  That can’t be the same type of ring we found in Locke’s barn, can it?

  He forced himself not to get too excited.

  Half the people in this town probably went to Sky Lake High, and knowing my luck, they could all be wearing the same class ring

  Pulling out the picture of Skylar, he stared again at the girl’s sad, green eyes and silvery blonde braid. She was a striking girl, and if her mother had looked anything like her, she would have stood out in any town.

  Frankie had brought along the photo to show to as many people in Sky Lake as possible. He hoped that someone in the close-knit town might see a resemblance to a woman they’d once known. Perhaps someone they still missed.

  Leaning across Barker, Frankie dropped the photo on the counter in front of June and tapped on Skylar’s face with a long finger.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know this girl, would you?” he asked.

  June’s smile froze in place as her eyes settled on the photo.

  “Is that…Summer?”

  Her voice morphed into a shocked whisper.

  “How’d you get that picture?”

  “You know this girl?”

  Nodding slowly, June leaned closer.

  “She used to be my best friend, but…”

  Sliding the photo closer, June studied it, then exhaled sharply.

  “Sorry, I must be going crazy,” she said, shaking her head and swallowing hard. “That’s not Summer, but it sure looks like her.”

  She pushed the picture back toward Frankie.

  “It’s just the resemblance…it’s uncanny.”

  Frankie scooped up the photo and held it toward her.

  “We’re trying to find anyone who might be related to this girl,” he said, leaning across Barker again. “You said she looks like your friend…like Summer. How can we get in touch with her?”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”

  Turning her head to look nervously for the waitress, June again pushed dark curls back from her heart-shaped face. The ring flashed by, giving Frankie an idea.

  “Listen, we’re trying to help this girl find her mother,” Frankie said, still holding up the photo. “Her mom went to Sky Lake High School, so maybe you know her.”

  Barker pulled on his arm and shot him a warning look, but Frankie shrugged him off as June turned back to face him.

  “Well, it can’t be Summer,” she said in a strained voice. “Summer Fairfax left town a long time ago and no one’s heard from her since.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hunter paced outside the baggage claim at Sky Lake Regional Airport and checked his watch again. Special Agent Charlie Day was scheduled to arrive at any minute, and Hunter was anxious to get into town and find out if Frankie and Barker really had uncovered the truth about Skylar’s mother.

  Eager to follow up on Barker’s call the day before, he had quickly contacted Charlie and convinced her to meet him in Sky Lake to talk to the local authorities and check out their findings.

  If Frankie and Barker were right, Skylar’s mother had been a young woman named Summer Fairfax, and they now had the chance to piece together her story and give Skylar the closure she deserved.

  Catching sight of Charlie’s willowy figure hurrying toward him, Hunter held up a hand to wave her over.

  “Kentucky’s a lot warmer than Montana,” Charlie said, shrugging off her thick wool jacket and adjusting a sleek carryall over her shoulder. “And I didn’t get a chance to go home first, so I guess the clothes I brought with me will have to do.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t stop to re-pack.” Hunter was already moving toward the rental car lot. “I don’t think I could have waited another day now that we may have found Skylar’s mother.”

  He looked down at the tagged key fob the rental car agent had handed him and checked it against the numbers on the parking spaces in the little lot.

  “A Chevy Tahoe,” he muttered, double-checking the tag, which listed the vehicle as a Standard White SUV. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Pushing away an uneasy feeling that the Tahoe was a sign of more trouble to come, Hunter loaded their bags into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “So how are things going at the ranch?” he asked, merging onto the highway and heading west. “You about done there?”

  “Just about,” Charlie agreed, pushing on a pair of dark sunglasses, and looking out at the passing scenery. “Although you never know. We may find out something here that’ll open up a new line of investigation leading us back there.”

  Hunter nodded absently and checked the GPS to see how close they were to the exit for downtown Sky Lake. Charlie turned her head to study his profile, and when she spoke her voice was softer than usual.

  “I understand Willow Bay’s about to get a new mayor.”

  Surprised that the busy FBI agent had kept up with Willow Bay’s local politics, Hunter nodded, but kept his eyes on the road.

  “How did your father take the loss?”

  Hunter replayed the conversation they’d had about his father the first time they’d met. He’d shared personal details with the agent that few people knew, and apparently, she hadn’t forgotten.

  “He’s still in denial,” Hunter admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t think he really believes he’ll have to leave office.”

  A pang of empathy for his father tightened Hunter’s chest. No matter how much he disapproved of his father’s behavior, Hunter wasn’t sure the older man could adjust to life as a regular citizen after so many years of being the town’s mayor.

  “It’ll be good for him in the long run,” he added, trying to sound upbeat. “A new start for him, and a break for the rest of the town.”

  Wanting to change the subject, Hunter looked over at Charlie, unable to see her eyes behind the dark glasses.

  “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, seeing the exit ahead.

  Barker had already warned him that the town’s sheriff wasn’t likely to share anything useful with a reporter, but an FBI agent investigating a series of homicides would be a different story.

  “I was able to pull up some background on Sky Lake last night in my hotel room,” Charlie said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small, lightweight laptop. “The state and national databases don’t show any records of missing women from the town. At least not during the last two decades.”

  “That’s what the sheriff told Barker,” Hunter confirmed. “But a local woman said that her friend Summer Fairfax left town without a trace about twenty years ago. No one’s heard from her since then.”

  Opening the laptop, Charlie studied the screen.

  “The town’s sheriff is a man named Archer Holt. I’ve arranged to meet him along with the previous sheriff, Lowell Duffy. Perhaps they can shed some light on what happened to Summer Fairfax, and why she wasn’t reported as missing.”

  She snapped the laptop shut.

  “Sometimes people don’t want to be found, so maybe they know something her friend doesn’t.”

  Hunter steered the Tahoe off the exit, following directions from the GPS to the Sky Lake Sheriff’s Office. Wedging the big SUV between two cars along the curb, he turned toward Charlie.

  “I’m guessing you want to do the talking?”

  “I’d say that’s a good idea,” she agreed. “Although I doubt either of them like the FBI getting involved in their town any more than they like the press snooping around.”

  But the older man who greeted them in the lobby seemed happy to see them. He smiled and held out a calloused hand.

  “Lowell Duffy,” he announced in a hoarse voice. “And you must be Special Agent Charlie Day. Although from the name I wasn’t expecting someone so easy on the eyes.”

  Brushing aside the comment, Char
lie gripped his hand and returned the smile. She gestured toward Hunter.

  “This is Hunter Hadley. He’s working with me to investigate the case I’d mentioned to Sheriff Holt.”

  Lowell turned to study Hunter with curious eyes.

  “Now I see why she let you tag along,” the old man said to Hunter with a wink. “You two make a good-looking couple.”

  A protest rose in Hunter’s throat, but the old man had already turned toward a narrow hall. Charlie raised her eyebrows at Lowell’s retreating back, then followed him into a small office. Hunter stepped in behind her.

  “Archie, you’ve got some visitors,” Duffy called out.

  The man behind the desk winced and waved for them to sit down.

  “I’m Sheriff Archer Holt,” he said, throwing Duffy an exasperated glare. “But our retired Sheriff still thinks of me as little Archie Holt.”

  “I appreciate you meeting with us so quickly, Sheriff Holt,” Charlie said in a warm voice. “And I’m hoping you can help clear up a few questions regarding a young woman named Summer Fairfax.”

  Hunter saw Duffy’s good-natured smile disappear.

  “Have you been talking to Conrad Fairfax?” Duffy asked with a frown. “After all this time he just can’t accept the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?”

  Charlie’s demeanor cooled at Duffy’s blustering.

  “The truth is that Summer Fairfax left town near about twenty years ago after an argument with her boyfriend,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “She left her folks a letter saying she was running off to Hollywood or some such place, but they insisted there must have been foul play.”

  “What did you do?” Charlie asked. “Was there an investigation?”

  The old man shrugged.

  “We looked into it, but the girl was already eighteen and she had every right to go wherever she wanted.”

  “What about the boyfriend? You said they had a fight?” Charlie’s smooth brow furrowed into a frown. “Did you interview him?”

  A defensive edge entered Duffy’s voice.

  “Sure, I did, and he was as surprised as everybody else that Summer just up and left,” he insisted. “Look, she was already eighteen, and there was no sign of foul play. There was nothing more for me to do.”