Her Silent Spring

by Melinda Woodhall

  Finally managing to pull the Lab away from the Camry, Barker called over to Alma in a hoarse voice.

  “Your team needs to check the car.” He nodded down at Gracie. “She’s been trained as a cadaver dog, and I’m pretty sure this is her way of letting us know she’s caught the scent of a dead body.”

  Alma stared at Barker, and then at the Camry, before nodding to an officer beside the building. The officer stepped into Unit 124, and moments later Nessa and Vanzinger exited the apartment.

  They headed toward the Camry while the crime scene techs and uniformed officers began herding the crowd away from the Camry.

  Nessa’s face was drawn and pale as she met Veronica’s eyes, but she didn’t speak. She just walked past the news van to where the white car sat in its lonely parking space.

  Vanzinger followed Nessa to the car, leaning to look into the windows. He frowned over at Barker, who still held Gracie’s leash.

  “You sure about this?” The big detective sounded skeptical. “I don’t see anything inside the car.”

  “I was with this dog less than a week ago when she found a body that both the FBI and the U.S. Marshals had overlooked,” Barker replied, his voice grim. “I’d say you better look in that trunk.”

  Nessa turned to Alma and nodded.

  “Let’s open the trunk,” she said. “I’ve seen Gracie do her thing before, and from what I’ve heard, she’s never been wrong.”

  Moving toward the car door, Alma used a gloved hand to try the handle. The door was unlocked. She then moved back to the trunk and looked over at Nessa.

  “You ready?” she asked, swallowing hard.

  At Nessa’s thumbs up, Alma opened the trunk.

  Veronica held her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the car. She felt Finn’s tense body next to her as he also strained to see.

  Alma looked in the trunk, then moved aside to let Nessa peer in. After a long pause, Nessa turned to Vanzinger.

  “Looks like Gracie was right. We’ve got ourselves a homicide.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “This is Veronica Lee with Channel Ten News and I’m reporting live at the scene of a homicide outside the Fox Hollow Apartments.”

  Veronica spoke into the microphone as Finn operated the camera.

  “Emergency crews responded to reports of shots fired around nine o’clock this evening, and we arrived just as paramedics were transporting a woman from the scene. So far we’ve received no update as to the woman’s identity or condition.”

  Gesturing to the lot behind her, Veronica moved to the side so that Finn could get a clear shot of the crime scene tent that had quickly been erected over the white Camry.

  “The WBPD crime scene unit also discovered a body in the trunk of a car in the parking lot, and a full investigation is in progress.”

  Stepping back into the shot, Veronica kept her voice steady.

  “Police have yet to confirm the victim’s identity, or to release any information about a possible suspect, but we’ll continue to bring you updates from the scene as the night progresses.”

  Finn wrapped the segment and lowered the camera as Veronica let out a sigh of relief. She turned to see the medical examiner’s van pull into the lot, and watched as a petite woman and a tall, stocky man in matching protective coveralls climbed out.

  “That’s Iris Nguyen, the chief medical examiner,” Veronica said, following Finn back to the van to check on Gracie. “It’ll be a while before they transport the body back to her office for autopsy, so if you want to go drop Gracie at home, I can wait here.”

  Rubbing Gracie behind the ears, Finn shook his head.

  “She’ll be okay in here,” he said, then pointed over Veronica’s shoulder. “Besides, we need to ask Chief Ainsley if they know who did this. If a suspect is on the loose, we need to put out a bulletin to our viewers ASAP.”

  Veronica turned to see Nessa and Barker in a huddle beside the chief’s black Dodge Charger. Motioning for Finn to wait, Veronica hurried toward them.

  “Was Amber Sloan in the trunk?”

  Her question made Nessa jump, and the police chief turned with a wary expression as Barker dropped his eyes.

  “I can’t confirm the victim’s identity until we notify next of kin,” Nessa said, but the look in her eyes answered Veronica’s question.

  “How did she die?” Veronica asked. “Any suspects yet? Do you have a description we can pass on to our viewers?”

  “Iris needs to do an autopsy before we’ll know cause of death,” Nessa snapped, pushing past Veronica. “And right now, I’m more worried about the victim who’s still alive.”

  Veronica stared after the chief, then turned to Barker. The grief in his big brown eyes stopped her next question.

  “Peyton was attacked,” Barker said, keeping his voice low. “She was injected with something in a…a syringe. The guy had a gun, and he got off a shot, but…”

  Lifting a big hand to smooth back his hair, Barker cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure.

  “Well…I managed to run the perp off, but Peyton passed out. She was still unresponsive when the paramedics took her away.”

  Barker’s voice was heavy as he met her eyes.

  “They took her to Willow Bay General, but they didn’t seem hopeful she would pull through.”

  Veronica put a hand on the older man’s solid shoulder, knowing what must be going through his mind.

  “I gotta tell Frankie,” he murmured softly, confirming her fear. “I gotta let him know what’s happened to his girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The small lounge at the Fairfax Inn was practically empty as Frankie stared down into his glass of mineral water. Hunter had refused to order him anything stronger, and since he was currently without funds, Frankie knew he couldn’t complain.

  “According to sources in town, June Taggert had been seeing Sheriff Holt for the last few months,” Hunter said, ignoring the beer he’d ordered for himself. “I talked to at least three different women who were happy to give me all the gory details.”

  Charlie raised her perfectly arched eyebrows but didn’t reply.

  “I’d say that’s a pretty big conflict of interest,” Hunter added, clearly hoping to get a reaction from the FBI agent.

  As he took an unenthusiastic sip of the bubbly water, Frankie heard his phone begin to vibrate beside him on the wooden bar.

  Seeing Barker’s name on the display, he was tempted to send the call to voicemail, not ready for another one of Barker’s lectures on staying sober. But the timing of the call piqued his interest.

  Ten o’clock was pretty late to be getting a call from the older man.

  Isn’t it already past Barker’s bedtime?

  Frankie tapped Accept Call and held the phone to his ear, suddenly scared to hear what Barker had to say.

  “What’s up, partner?”

  The hesitation on the other end confirmed Frankie’s suspicion.

  “Okay, let me guess, then,” he added. “You’ve got bad news.”

  “Yeah, Frankie,” Barker choked out. “It’s bad.”

  A shiver ran down Frankie’s spine at Barker’s words. He looked up to see Hunter and Charlie watching him, their eyes instantly concerned by the fear written across his face.

  “Peyton’s in the hospital,” Barker said. “She was attacked at Amber Sloan’s apartment. I tried to stop the guy but…I didn’t get there in time to…to…”

  “How bad is it?”

  Frankie’s hand tightened around the phone.

  “Tell me the truth, Barker,” he demanded, closing his eyes. “Peyton’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”

  “It doesn’t look good,” Barker admitted. “The perp stuck her with a hypodermic needle. The doctors think he used a mix of opioids. Probably fentanyl…maybe other drugs.”

  Barker’s voice suddenly sounded far away, and Frankie lifted the phone from his ear and stared at it.

  “What is it, Frankie?” Hunte
r asked. “Are you okay?”

  Shaking his head, Frankie dropped the phone on the bar and ran to the men’s room. He bent over the sink just in time to retch up the few sips of water he’d taken.

  Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, sliding down the drain as he tried to stop the spinning in his head. The bathroom door opened, and Frankie saw Hunter’s expensive leather shoes stop beside him on the tiled floor.

  Disjointed thoughts drifted through his head, and for a minute he wasn’t sure who was in the hospital. Was it Franny, or Peyton?

  Franny died on tiles that looked a lot like these.

  The memory of Franny’s small body on the dirty tiles sent another wave of nausea through him, and he retched again, although this time nothing came out.

  “Barker said to call him back when you feel better.”

  Frankie didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if his stomach was finished.

  “I know you’re worried about Peyton,” Hunter added. “But you can’t give up hope. She’s a strong woman, and she’s-”

  “Yeah, I know, she’s a fighter,” Frankie muttered bitterly, not looking up. “That’s what they’ll say at her funeral. She was a fighter.”

  Pushing himself upright, he caught his reflection in the mirror and winced. His skin was as white as June Taggert’s had been.

  As white as Franny had been when I found her.

  He turned around to face Hunter, still dizzy.

  “I’ve got to find my driver’s license.”

  He grimaced at the acidic aftertaste of bile in his mouth.

  “I can’t get a flight home without it.”

  Hunter gripped Frankie’s arm to steady him.

  “Where did you last have it?” he asked.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Frankie pulled away. He couldn’t think. His head ached with the effort as he tried to concentrate.

  “You gave your ID to the woman at the rehab center when we went to see Harriet Locke, didn’t you?” Hunter asked.

  Frankie nodded, picturing Dee Wiggins at the rehab center’s reception desk. The last time he’d seen his driver’s license, she’d been holding it.

  “Yeah, I bet that’s where I left it,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s go. It’s probably still there.”

  “Hold on.” Hunter reached out to stop Frankie from bolting toward the door. “They won’t let us in this late, and we can’t get a flight now anyway. We’ll go to the rehab center first thing in the morning to get your license. Then we’ll go to the airport.”

  Knowing Hunter was right, Frankie reluctantly followed him back to the table, where Charlie waited with a pained expression.

  “I’m going up to my room.”

  Frankie picked up his glass of mineral water and drained it, then set it back on the bar with a shaky hand.

  “I’ll see you two first thing in the morning.”

  As he walked toward the elevator, Frankie refused to listen to the little voice that kept whispering in his head. The voice that told him his license wouldn’t be at the rehab center, and that there wouldn’t be any available flights out of Sky Lake.

  I don’t care if I have to hitchhike or walk the whole damn way. I’m getting back to Willow Bay even if it kills me, and I’m going to see Peyton before it’s too late.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  It was still dark outside when Frankie crossed to the blue Nissan sedan in the Fairfax Inn parking lot the next morning. His hands settled over the key fob in his pocket, and he looked back over his shoulder as he thumbed the Unlock button.

  Expecting Hunter to come charging out after him, Frankie was relieved to see that he was the only one in the dark, empty lot.

  I’ll get out to the rehab center and be back here before Hunter even knows I’ve taken the car.

  Frankie had been up all night, unable to sleep or stop the tortured thoughts of Peyton alone in a hospital bed hundreds of miles away. He’d snagged the key fob off the bar before going to his room the night before, thinking he might drive down to Willow Bay on his own.

  But without a license or any money, he figured he’d only end up stranded by the side of the road or stopped by the highway patrol for driving without a license.

  Finally, just before 6:00 AM, he’d come up with the plan to take the rental car to the rehab center and demand his wallet back. That way he and Summer would have a chance to catch the first flight out.

  The sun was just rising over the rehabilitation center when Frankie turned the Nissan into the parking lot. A soft orange glow lit up the modest building and brightened the dull, brown exterior.

  Stepping out of the car, Frankie looked toward the front entrance, glad to see bright lights streaming through the windows. But when he pushed on the glass door, it was locked.

  “They don’t let visitors inside until seven.”

  Frankie stared into the shadow cast by the awning over the door. He could just make out a tall figure leaning against the wall. As he moved closer, the man’s puffy face and long, disheveled hair came into view.

  “Tom Locke? What are you doing here?”

  “I should ask you that,” Tom replied, but he didn’t sound offended. “Sometimes I visit my ma before going to work. She gets lonely, you know.”

  The dark circles under Tom’s eyes reminded Frankie of his own haggard face. He suspected the man had gone without sleep, as well.

  “I left my wallet and license here,” Frankie found himself saying. “I need them to get back home. My girlfriend’s in the hospital.”

  Tom’s face creased with concern.

  “That’s terrible,” he said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “I hope she’s going to be all right.”

  “You and me, both,” Frankie said, looking through the glass door anxiously. “How long until they open up?”

  Looking at his watch, Tom frowned.

  “It’ll be a while more, but maybe we can get their attention.”

  He lifted a big fist and rapped on the glass door, leaning forward to stare into the well-lit lobby. Seeing no movement inside, he rapped even harder.

  A startled face appeared behind the glass, and Frankie recognized Dee Wiggins. The small woman stared at them for a long beat, then unlocked the door.

  “Visiting hours don’t start until seven,” she said, giving Tom a stern look. “You should know that by now, Mr. Locke.”

  “I left my wallet here the other day,” Frankie burst out, desperate to prevent the woman from locking them out again. “It has my driver’s license in it and I need to catch my flight.”

  Dee studied Frankie’s face, then nodded.

  “Oh yes, I remember you,” she said. “You’re from Florida.”

  “Right, and I gave you my license, but you never handed it back.”

  The woman frowned.

  “I certainly did,” she protested. “You stuck it back in your wallet.”

  Frankie’s heart sank at her words.

  “But then you left your wallet on the reception desk.”

  A glimmer of hope kindled in his chest.

  “Great, can you get it for me? I need to get to the airport.”

  Pursing her lips, Dee shook her head.

  “We don’t run a lost and found operation,” she informed him. “But we did you the favor of mailing your wallet back to the address on your license. You should receive it in the next few days.”

  “But I need my wallet to get home, or I won’t be there to receive it,” he sputtered, knowing it was pointless to argue.

  Dee shrugged her small shoulders and moved to shut the door. Then she hesitated and looked over Frankie’s shoulder to where Tom was standing.

  “Your ma has her physical therapy first thing this morning, Tom, so she won’t be ready for visitors until later this afternoon.”

  Closing the door, she turned away and disappeared from view.

  “Looks like we’re both out of luck,” Tom said, darting a glance at Frankie. “What’re you gonna do?”
r />   “I don’t know,” Frankie admitted in a hollow voice. “I guess I’ll ask Hunter to drive me back. It’s only about a thousand miles.”

  Tom scratched his chin again.

  “Is Hunter that guy you were with yesterday? The reporter?”

  Frankie nodded, too depressed to speak.

  “Ma told me ya’ll came here to see her,” Tom said, meeting Frankie’s tired eyes with his own. “She said you were nice.”

  It seemed to Frankie that months had passed instead of days since he and Hunter brought Veronica and Skylar to meet Harriet Locke.

  He hadn’t been a suspect in a homicide then, and he’d been sober. And more importantly, Peyton had been well. The world had been a different place. Now it was dark and uncertain.

  “I guess I could take you to Florida on one of the charter planes, if you wanted.” Tom sounded tentative. “Where’d you say you live?”

  “Willow Bay,” Frankie stammered. “You can fly me down there…just like that? Won’t it cost a fortune?”

  Hope again ignited in his chest.

  “I can use the Cessna that came back late last night,” Tom said, sounding surer. “I’ll figure out something to tell Beau and Curtis.”

  Frankie hesitated, wondering what he would tell Hunter. Would the reporter disapprove of him taking Tom up on his offer?

  He might consider it a conflict of interest and try to stop me. After all, Tom Locke is still technically a subject in our investigation.

  Pushing the worry to the back of his mind, Frankie focused on the only thing that mattered at the moment.

  I have to get back to Peyton. I can’t fail her like I failed Franny. I can’t get back to Willow Bay too late to say goodbye.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Hunter called Frankie’s room again, but there was still no answer. He stuck his phone in his pocket and felt around for the key fob for the rental car. Realizing the key wasn’t in his pocket, he looked around on the little table by the window where he’d dropped his receipt and change from the night before, but the fob wasn’t there.