Her Silent Spring

by Melinda Woodhall

  “Let’s go through this one more time,” Holt said, leaning back in his chair. “Why’d you go into Taggert Realty, and what we’re you and June arguing about when Pearl Abbott arrived?”

  “He's already gone through all this,” Hunter protested. “We came to Sky Lake to find out what happened to Summer Fairfax, and whoever killed June Taggart must think she knew too much.”

  Holt ignored Hunter’s remark, keeping his eyes on Frankie.

  “It’s quite a coincidence that you show up in town and start an argument with June Taggert. How do you explain that?”

  Clearing her throat, Charlie Day put up a hand to halt Holt’s rant.

  “Did your crime scene team find any fingerprints or trace evidence from the scene?” she asked. “Has your medical examiner completed the autopsy yet? Do we know what was in the syringe, or what was found in Ms. Taggert’s system?”

  The FBI agent’s questions deepened Holt’s scowl.

  “We’re working on it, Agent Day, but this is a small force, and we don’t have the kind of resources you’re used to.”

  “I'd be happy to call a special response team in to help you out,” Charlie said. “They could probably be here by the end of the day or tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  Holt gave a firm shake of his head.

  “We may be small, but we don’t need the feds to do our work for us,” he said, turning hard eyes on Frankie. “Mr. Dawson, I’m not ready to charge you with anything yet, but I suggest you stay in town until we complete our investigation.”

  A cold sweat broke out across Frankie’s forehead at the sheriff’s words. The nightmare was starting all over again. He could be charged with a crime he hadn’t committed, and like last time, he could end up in prison.

  “And I suggest you think twice about trying to pin June Taggert’s death on me, Sheriff.”

  Jumping out of his seat, Frankie crossed to the door.

  “My lawyer is Leo Steele, and if you haven’t heard of him, you might want to look him up, cause he’ll eat you and your little department here for lunch if you try to railroad me.”

  Wrenching open the door to the interview room, Frankie stalked out into the lobby and through the front door. He turned left and started walking, hoping he was heading in the right direction.

  He paused outside a liquor store, consumed by the growing need for a drink, then put his hand to his empty pocket.

  Where the hell is my wallet? With no money and no ID, I’m screwed.

  The realization that he couldn’t even get on a plane and fly home without his ID caused another surge of anxiety to roll through him.

  Looks like I’m staying in Sky Lake, whether I like it or not.

  Chapter Thirty

  The door slammed behind Frankie, causing the metal table they were sitting around to rattle. Hunter resisted the urge to follow Frankie out the door; it would be best to let him cool off and calm down. Besides, he wanted to make sure the sheriff didn’t do anything rash. It was obvious that Holt was in over his head, and that he was grasping at straws.

  “You’re on the wrong track with Frankie,” Hunter said. “And trying to use him as a scapegoat isn’t going to work.’

  Taking out his press credentials, he dropped them on the table in front of Holt. The sheriff’s eyes narrowed as Hunter continued.

  “It’s clear that the incompetency of the Sky Lake Sheriff’s office allowed Donovan Locke or one of his buddies to get away with abducting and murdering a young woman in your town.”

  Hunter held Holt’s hostile gaze as he spoke, but he sensed Charlie’s unease as she watched the exchange.

  “The people of this town may be interested to know it took private investigators and federal agents to find out what really happened to Summer Fairfax.”

  He ignored the flush of anger that filled Holt’s face.

  “And why was that? Because you and Sheriff Duffy couldn’t be bothered to run a proper investigation. I’d say it all makes for a very compelling story.”

  Standing and crossing to the door, Holt flung it open.

  “I don’t talk to reporters about ongoing investigations,” he said, motioning toward the hall. “Now you need to leave.”

  Hunter headed toward the door, giving Charlie a nod as he passed. He’d expected the sheriff to throw him out after finding out he was a reporter. But the man had given him no choice.

  Sheriff Holt needed to know he would be held accountable in the press and by the townspeople. Otherwise, Frankie might end up as Holt’s fall guy for the town’s first official homicide in decades.

  Deciding to look for Frankie back at the hotel, Hunter climbed in the blue Nissan and headed east. He’d only gotten a few blocks when he spotted Frankie’s lanky figure leaning against the brick wall outside Sky Lake Wine and Spirits.

  “Come on, Frankie,” he yelled through the window. “Let’s go.”

  Frankie shuffled to the sedan and got in without a word. He slumped back in the seat and clicked on his seatbelt, staring out the window with listless eyes as Hunter sped away.

  Only when they pulled up outside Sparks Air Charter did Frankie sit up and take notice.

  “Beau Sparks was Summer’s boyfriend,” Hunter said, opening his door. “I want to know why he never looked for his girlfriend.”

  Striding up to the front door, Hunter heard Frankie’s footsteps crunching in the gravel behind him. He held the door open for Frankie to pass through, then stared past the counter toward the big hangar and the airstrip beyond.

  Beau’s blonde hair and broad back were visible next to a small turboprop Cessna. Tom Locke’s less impressive figure appeared beside Beau’s. He strained to push a white cardboard box through the open loading doors, then crawled in after it.

  “Mr. Sparks?” Hunter called out.

  He slipped around the counter and waved for Frankie to follow him into the big hangar.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have a few minutes.”

  Approaching Beau with an apologetic smile, Hunter held up his press credentials and stuck out a hand. Beau automatically shook the offered hand, but his eyes were wary.

  “I’m an investigative reporter and I’m looking into the disappearance of Summer Fairfax.”

  Hunter kept his eyes on Beau’s face, watching for a reaction.

  “If you have a minute, I’d like to ask you a few questions, but let me first offer my condolences.”

  Beau frowned and shook his head, as if he didn’t understand.

  “I know you and June Taggert were divorced, but I’m sure her death has been a shock. So, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  A shadow of grief passed over Beau’s handsome face.

  “Thanks. June was a good woman. She’ll be missed around here.”

  Taking out his notepad and pen, Hunter met Beau’s eyes.

  “Now, I understand you and Summer were an item before she disappeared. What can you tell me about the last night you saw her?”

  A crash sounded from inside the Cessna, and Beau called out.

  “Tom, you okay?”

  A puffy face surrounded by long, disheveled hair appeared in the open cargo door. Tom Locke lifted a hand in Beau’s direction.

  “All’s good, boss,” he said. “We’re almost ready to go.”

  “Are you Tom Locke?” Hunter called out. “I’d like to ask you some questions as well if you don’t mind.”

  Tom’s eyes darted toward Beau, then back to Hunter.

  “Questions about what?”

  “About the night Summer Fairfax disappeared,” Hunter said, keeping his voice crisp and matter of fact. “It won’t take long.”

  Stepping down from the little plane, Tom stood next to Beau. He avoided Hunter’s eyes, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

  “Beau, you told Sheriff Duffy that you’d been drinking and ended up kissing June Taggert that night.”

  Hunter looked down at his notepad and scanned the page on top, reading through his note
s from the sheriff’s files.

  “Summer got mad, left the party, and you passed out,” Hunter said, as if reciting a shopping list. “That sound about right?””

  Beau nodded, but his face tightened, and his eyes darkened.

  “Yeah, that’s what I told the sheriff,” Beau agreed. “And I never saw Summer again. She’d been planning to go to some fancy college, so I pretty much figured she’d left me behind.”

  “Is that why you were mad at her, Beau?” Hunter asked, cocking his head. “Were you mad at Summer because she was going to leave you behind and go on to better things?”

  The accusation flustered Beau just as Hunter had expected.

  “I didn’t say I was mad at her,” he protested.

  “Then why’d you kiss her friend? And why didn’t you look for her once she went missing?” Hunter prodded. “I mean, come on, you must have been mad at her, right?”

  Tom cleared his throat, and Hunter turned to him, sensing he was agitated by the questions.

  “What about you, Tom? Were you at Sky Lake Farms that night?” Hunter asked. “Did you see Summer?”

  “Summer wasn’t about to hang around with me,” Tom said, keeping his eyes on the ground. “She was Beau’s girl.”

  Watching Tom’s hands clench and unclench at his side, Hunter decided to keep pressing. The questions about Summer were obviously bothering the man, and he wanted to know why.

  “I see that Sheriff Duffy questioned you a few times, Tom,” Hunter said, referring again to his folder. “Why was that? Why did he suspect you might know where Summer had gone?”

  A flash of anger lit up Tom’s eyes.

  “Sheriff Duffy and Deputy Holt accused me of having something to do with her leaving, but I didn’t know anything,” he said, shaking his head. “They even threatened to arrest me.”

  Frankie spoke up behind Hunter.

  “Why’d they pick you?” he asked. “I mean, if you weren’t even there that night, why would Duffy suspect you?”

  Lifting his chin in a defiant gesture, Tom met Frankie’s gaze.

  “Everyone around here thinks I’m cut from the same cloth as my big brother,” he said. “They knew what Donnie had done, and they judged me guilty by association.”

  He looked at Beau, his eyes bright.

  “You and your daddy were the only ones who ever gave me a chance,” Tom said. “You hired me when no one else would.”

  Beau gave Tom an awkward nod, then turned to Hunter.

  “We’ve answered your questions,” he said, checking his watch. “Now we’ve got a flight scheduled and we need to get moving.”

  As they walked back to the car, Frankie looked at Hunter.

  “Is it just me, or is Beau Sparks hiding something?”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Hunter said, opening the door. “But he’s stuck to his story for twenty years, so I don’t think he’s going to change it now.”

  Settling into the passenger’s seat, Frankie looked over.

  “You really thinking of doing a story on Summer’s disappearance?” he asked, sounding worried. “And Skylar?”

  “Not without Veronica’s and Skylar’s approval,” Hunter assured him. “First we need to find out what really happened. Then, when they’re ready, it’ll be their story to tell.”

  Frankie nodded, as if satisfied by Hunter’s answer, and turned his tired eyes back to the window.

  But the question had turned Hunter’s thoughts to Veronica and Skylar. Seeing June Taggert’s dead body had shaken them both, and as he drove back toward the hotel, he breathed a sigh of relief that they were safely back in Willow Bay.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The sun was just starting to set over Fox Hollow Apartments as Amber Sloan shoved the bag full of pills into her backpack and zipped it up. She noted the light weight of the backpack as she slung it over her thin shoulders and grimaced, knowing the man waiting for her at the park wasn’t going to be happy.

  The steady supply of fentanyl Amber had been getting from Becky Morgan during the last few months was drying up. The nurse had recently been transferred from the oncology ward to the coronary care unit, and her access to the highly potent opioid would be minimal going forward.

  Amber had managed to bully and blackmail the young woman into scraping together another delivery, but it hadn’t been easy. The nurse had become paranoid lately, sure she was being watched.

  “This is the last time,” Becky had insisted. “People at the hospital are starting to ask a lot of questions.”

  Her blonde ponytail had practically quivered with indignation.

  “I’m not willing to risk my job and my license to get you more of this!” She shoved a plastic shopping bag toward Amber. “I’m done.”

  “Oh, I doubt it,” Amber had sneered. “I think you’ll find a way if you don’t want my new buddies at the FBI to find out what you’ve been up to. I don’t think you’d like prison.”

  Snatching the bag, Amber had seen panic building in Becky’s eyes.

  “You wouldn’t,” the nurse had gasped. “You’d get arrested, too.”

  “Oh no,” Amber had replied with a smirk. “I have this wonderful little thing called immunity.”

  But as she crossed to the door, Amber knew no matter how much she pressured Becky, the nurse was no longer a viable source of the fentanyl she’d been supplying to her contact at the Syndicate.

  Amber would have to tell the man she was meeting that the gold mine had dried up.

  Opening the door just a crack, Amber peered out, worried that nosy Detective Bell and her muscle-bound partner might be standing guard outside.

  But the corridor and parking lot appeared to be empty.

  Amber pulled out her phone and tapped in a message.

  You there?

  The response came back within seconds.

  Yes, ready for delivery.

  She scanned the path to the white Camry. All seemed clear.

  On my way.

  She tapped Send, but before sticking the phone back in her pocket, Amber checked the darknet message board, hoping to see a reply from Mack about the pick-up the next day.

  But there was no reply.

  Mack’s silence was worrisome. If the set-up had to be called off, Amber knew the feds would like nothing more than to tear up the immunity agreement.

  If they do, I’ll be the one facing prison time instead of Becky Morgan.

  Pulling open the door, Amber pushed all distracting thoughts from her mind and slipped outside. She made it across the parking lot and into her car without seeing any signs of the two detectives, or anyone else.

  She switched on her headlights and steered the Camry out of the lot, turning right onto Huntington Street. She kept under the speed limit as she drove the short distance to Bayside Municipal Park.

  The park had officially closed at sunset, and the playground and grassy playing fields were already abandoned and cloaked in thick shadows. A sliver of moon cast a soft glow on the one vehicle parked in the lot.

  A sleek, black SUV with dark tinted windows sat idling by the curb next to the picnic area. The big vehicle’s lights were off, but Amber could hear the engine’s steady purr as she brought the Camry to a stop beside it.

  Shutting off the car’s engine, she rolled down her window, listening for any sounds from the dark park beyond, but even the cicadas and birds had gone quiet.

  “You got something for me?”

  The man’s voice sounded beside her open window, and Amber jumped, her nerves immediately racing in response to the burst of adrenaline caused by the man’s sudden appearance.

  “You scared the crap out of me,” she hissed. “Why are you always sneaking up like that?”

  “I told you I was here,” the man muttered, sounding bored. “Do you have the package?”

  Unzipping her backpack, she reached in for the bag of pills just as headlights lit up the lot around them. The man turned his face away, and Amber froze in place, sure t
hat Detective Bell must have followed her after all.

  But the car belonging to the headlights stopped just inside the entrance, made a U-turn, then headed back the way it had come.

  “Let’s do this in my car,” the man muttered, walking back toward the SUV before she could reply.

  Amber stared after him as he retreated into the dark vehicle, her heart still thumping from the two scares she’d suffered in the last sixty seconds.

  She glanced back in her rearview mirror, then surveyed the surrounding area again, still feeling the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

  Opening the Camry’s door, she winced as the overhead light lit up the interior, illuminating the fast-food wrappers, cigarette butts, and discarded debris that littered the passenger seat and floor.

  She jabbed at the light, managing to turn it off, then lifted the backpack up and slung it over her shoulder. Climbing out of the car, she immediately stepped into a deep pothole, twisted her ankle, and grabbed for the car door.

  The simple drop-off was going wrong at every turn, and Amber felt the urge to get back in the Camry and drive home. Something about the whole night seemed off.

  But the man in the SUV wasn’t a patient person, and he wouldn’t take kindly to her leaving with the package. She knew there would be another man waiting somewhere for it, and another man after that.

  The Syndicate was full of impatient, angry men who wouldn’t leave her alone until they’d gotten what they considered to be theirs.

  I better just get it over with. Besides, it’s time to break the news that the Willow Bay General gravy train is coming to the end of the line.

  Tottering around the SUV, Amber pulled on the handle of the passenger’s side door, then hoisted herself up onto the smooth, leather seat.

  The musky scent of the man’s cologne was overpowering, and she held her breath as she looked over at his thin, stony face.

  “Okay, so what do you have for me?”

  He sounded unimpressed, as if he didn’t expect much, and Amber decided she’d better just go ahead and tell him the truth.