“I’d love to have your help and your company. King’s, too.” He gave her the address.
“Okay. We’ll see you soon.” Aurora tossed her jacket on the sofa and hurried to the kitchen. She dropped two packages of peanut butter crackers, a couple bottles of water and two apples into a plastic bag. She put on her jacket, grabbed the car keys, called King, and left the house.
*
“Tom, if you can hear me, yell!” hollered Sam for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He’d searched Sweetwater for hours, but hadn’t found Tom or his white truck. Finally inside Tom’s house, Sam saw scuff marks and footprints in the construction dust. Holes were punched in the drywall. Miscellaneous tools were scattered around. He shook his head when he saw the damage done to the floors in the living room.
He fingered an old jacket on the kitchen counter. Was the jacket Tom’s? It could belong to one of the construction workers. He’d ask when the workers showed up this morning. Sam knew the house was weeks behind, so some of the subcontractors should be working today to catch up. He also knew that bow-hunting season had recently opened. Trying to get a dedicated deer hunter from this area to work during hunting season was next to impossible, especially on a Saturday.
Tires crunched on the driveway. “Hey,” Aurora said when Sam stuck his head out the kitchen door. King jumped out and ran to greet him.
“Hey, Aurora.” Sam patted King’s head. “Glad you’re both here.”
Aurora kissed Sam. “Me, too.” She pulled a well-used tennis ball from her jacket pocket and threw it. “Fetch, King.” The dog dashed after the ball. “Any news about Tom yet?”
“Nope. Maybe you’ll find something I overlooked. You have a good eye for detail.” He held the door open for her. “There’s an old jacket over there on the kitchen counter, but it could be anyone’s.”
Aurora glanced around the kitchen. The drywall was up, cabinets in, ceilings stippled. “If it weren’t for all the holes in the walls, the kitchen is finished. Except for the appliances.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Looks like not-very-nice people had a good time. Wait until you see the living room.”
“What a shame. This is a great kitchen, lots of counter space. Nice view of the lake, too.” She rubbed her hands over the granite countertops. “What happened to the countertops? There are lots of bad dings in them. Think the same folks are responsible?”
“That’d be my guess.”
She picked up the jacket, smelled it and checked the pockets. “Do you know if Tom smokes?” She handed Sam an almost empty pack of Marlboros and a lighter.
“I think he does.” Sam turned the lighter over. “It looks like the initials T. S. engraved on this side.”
“Then it could be Tom’s jacket. Let’s see if King can find him.” Aurora opened the kitchen door and called. King came running around the corner of the house. A boy jogged behind him.
“Is this your dog?” the boy asked.
“It is. His name is King. I’m Aurora Harris.”
“King’s a nice dog.” The boy plopped down on the ground. King dropped the slobbery tennis ball in his hands. “Yuck.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, patted King. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but Mom’s allergic. Okay if I throw the ball for him?”
“In a little while. Right now King has work to do. Do you live around here?”
“Yes, ma’am. My name’s Kurt Karver. I live next door.” He pointed at the house to the left of the Southerland property, then handed Aurora the ball. “What kind of work?”
“Well, the man who’s building this house is missing. My husband and I—that’s Sam over there—are going to let King smell this jacket and see if he can find Mr. Southerland.” She introduced Sam to Kurt. “We think Mr. Southerland came here last night, but we can’t find him.”
“Does he drive a white four-wheel-drive truck with a shell?” Kurt leaned over and scratched King’s head.
Sam and Aurora looked at each other. “Yes,” said Sam.
“Kurt, did you see a white truck here last night or this morning?” Aurora asked.
“Yes, ma’am. A white pickup was here last night.” King whined. Kurt scratched the dog’s back. “A black van was here, too.”
“A black van? Did you see any people?”
“I saw three men. They loaded stuff in the van.”
“Stuff? What kind of stuff?” Aurora asked.
“Don’t know. Some of it was in big cardboard boxes. Took all three guys to carry ‘em.” He thought for a second. “The white truck belongs to Tom. I’ve talked to him lots of times. He’s nice.”
“Let’s put King to work,” Sam said, holding the jacket out for the dog to smell.
“Can I watch?” asked Kurt.
“You sure can,” said Sam.
Aurora signaled King, and soon he was casting about for a scent. Fifteen minutes later the Lab had tracked the entire house and grounds.
“This is hard; Tom’s scent is everywhere, of course.” Sam scratched King’s head.
“How old are you, Kurt?” asked Aurora.
“I’m thirteen. I’m in eighth grade.”
“What are your favorite things to do?”
“I like computers, playing Game Boy, D.S., Wii, fishing. In fact, I was fishing from our dock last night. Striper fishing’s good around here; lots of people fish at night. Anyhow, I had just caught a small one and thrown him back in the water when the black van drove in. About an hour later the white truck drove up.”
“What happened when the white truck came?” asked Sam.
“At first there was some yelling and cussing, then everything calmed down.”
Sam motioned to Aurora, and the two stepped inside the house. “So what do you think happened to Tom?” Aurora asked.
“Remember all the theft and vandalism that’s been going on in Sweetwater for ages?” Aurora nodded. “I think Tom surprised the vandals and they got rid of him.”
“That’s an awful thought, but I bet you’re right.” Aurora pulled out her cell phone and dialed the police.
Kurt asked Sam if he could throw the ball a few times for King. When Sam nodded, Kurt said to King, “Wanna fetch the ball?” The dog answered with a high-pitched yelp. “Okay, King. Sit.”
King sat, anticipation glowing in his eyes. His muscles twitched. When Kurt threw the ball, the dog barked and galloped across the yard. Kurt looked at Sam. “King’s fast.”
“He certainly is.” Sam watched King snatch up the rolling ball and trot back toward them. “He’ll fetch all day long if someone will throw the ball for him.”
“Okay if I throw it a few more times?” asked Kurt.
“Certainly. King would love that,” said Sam.
“How long do you think it’ll take the cops to get here?” Aurora asked Sam.
“Depends. If they’re in the vicinity, we shouldn’t have to wait too long.
CHAPTER NINE
On the other side of the Southerland house, Carole explained that the Sweetwater Cove house she was showing him would be complete in about two months. There was still time for Win to choose his colors, appliances, flooring, light fixtures, cabinets and counter tops. “The developer will soon move in the house that he’s building next door, and….”
“What the hell?” Win galloped down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Carole called after him.
“My car alarm’s going off!”
With a wet tennis ball in his hand, Kurt stood in the driveway near the gleaming black Porsche.
“Hey, kid! What the hell did you do to my car?” Win grabbed Kurt’s shoulder with one hand, drew his other arm back, balled up his fist.
“Don’t hit me, mister!” said Kurt. “The ball hit your car, but the car’s not hurt. I checked. Honest.”
“Turn the boy loose. Do it now,” said a furious Sam. King growled. His lips curled, his teeth looked like ivory daggers.
Win relaxed his grip, stared at Sam and King. “That kid hit my car with a ball. And
this is none of your business.”
“Win, let him go!” Carole hurried into the yard.
“Carole, what’s going on?” asked Aurora, running toward them. She clutched a-two-by four.
Win stared at the man ready to defend the boy, at the woman holding a board, at the dog poised to attack. “Hey, I wasn’t going to hurt the kid. Just wanted to scare him a little, teach him it’s not polite to throw balls at expensive cars.” He released Kurt, laughed.
“Aurora, Sam, this is Win Ford, a client. Win, meet Aurora and Sam Harris. Aurora’s my best friend.” Carole looked at Win. “Would you please shut that car alarm off?”
She turned to Kurt. “I’m sure this was an accident. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was throwing the ball for King and aimed wrong. I didn’t mean to hit the car. There’s no dent or anything, see?” He touched a damp spot above the door handle.
Win examined the door, ran his hand over it, pulled a linen handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped a piece of grass off the door. “No harm done,” he said in a now charming voice. “Can we be friends?” He held out a hand to Kurt.
Kurt looked from Aurora to Sam. “I, I guess so.” He shook Win’s offered hand.
“Now that we’re all buddies, why don’t I take everybody out for lunch?” Win said. “To show there’re no hard feelings. Hey, even the mutt can go.”
“Sorry,” said Sam and Aurora in unison. “We have things to do.”
“But I’ll treat you to the most expensive place on the lake.”
“Sorry, but no.”
“Okay, then. Suit yourself. Maybe some other time.”
“I doubt it,” Aurora said.
“Aurora, be polite,” Sam muttered. She glared at him.
Win opened the car door. “Get in, Carole. I’m not interested in this house. Take me to the next one on your list.” He gunned the engine and waited for Carole to buckle up.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Aurora,” said Carole. The Porsche squealed out of the driveway.
King sniffed. His nostrils twitched. With nose to ground, he trotted around the side of the house.
“He’s picked up a scent.” Aurora hurried after her dog. Seconds later King stopped in front of a mud-colored portable toilet in the back yard. He sat, barked three times, pawed the closed, battered door. Aurora grabbed his collar.
Sam studied the door. “Nobody could have any privacy in there. The door’s barely hanging on. The lock’s broken, too. I’m going to open it. Stand back, this might be ugly.” He opened the creaking door.
Aurora wanted to cover her eyes, but she couldn’t look away. Had King found Tom Southerland?
CHAPTER TEN
An hour away at Ivy Hill Golf Club in Forest, Charlie Anderson wiped a speck of tuna salad off his mouth and pushed away from the table. He’d enjoyed the nine holes of golf with his retired buddies earlier this morning, had liked their companionship, stimulating conversations and off-color jokes during lunch. Now they were eager to play another nine. But Charlie didn’t feel like playing and he didn’t know why. After all, one of the reasons he’d retired from the bench was to golf with his friends. And to see more of his love-her-like-a-daughter niece. Maybe he just needed to spend some time with Aurora.
He’d been on the links at Ivy Hill in May when Aurora called to say that she and Sam were leaving Augusta, and moving to Smith Mountain Lake. He smiled, remembering the loud “Yahoo!” he’d yelled in the middle of a fellow golfer’s swing and his friend’s reaction when the ball flew into the rough.
“You coming, Charlie?” that same golfer asked now.
“Nope. I think I’ll call Aurora and see if I can visit with Sam and her tonight, maybe take them out to dinner.” He slung his golf bag over his shoulder.
“How does she like living in her parents’ house?”
“She likes it fine.” Charlie knew Aurora’s emotions had bothered her at first, that memories of her parents were bittersweet. But he said only, “She’s happy to be at the lake. She grew up in that house, you know.”
“Glad to hear it’s working out okay.”
The four buddies discussed which course they’d play the next day, decided on New London, tee off at 9:30. Charlie declined. He liked the New London course, usually jumped at the chance to golf with these three men. But something in his life was missing. It was time to find out what.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In Sweetwater Cove, Field Lieutenant Ian Conner tapped Aurora on the shoulder. She jumped. “Sorry, Ms. Harris. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Aurora switched her attention from the portable toilet to the deputy.
“Lieutenant Conner, it’s nice to see you again. And call me Aurora.” She smiled, remembering how he helped her a few months ago. “How’d you get here so quickly?”
“I was only a couple miles away when I got the call.” He turned to watch Sam fish a tan cap from the toilet. Across the front of the cap was printed “Sweetwater Cove.”
Aurora told Lieutenant Conner about Tom Southerland’s disappearance, the vandalism in the house, and Kurt seeing Tom’s white truck and a black van the night before. “Neither vehicle was here when Sam arrived earlier this morning.” She pointed to the toilet. “King tracked Tom Southerland here; Sam’s found what I’m guessing is Tom’s cap. Don’t know if his body is in there, though.”
“Looks like the door took a whacking,” Lieutenant Conner said. He peered into the toilet. “Hey, Sam. Found anything else?”
“Nope. I’ve felt around with Aurora’s two-by-four, but haven’t hit anything. Except for this cap—and it may not be Tom’s—I think the toilet’s clean. Figuratively speaking, that is.”
“I’ll get my guys to check. But even if King tracked Southerland here, the man could have just needed to use the john.”
“Except that there’s a portable potty at his house next door. And it was night. Why would he walk all the way across two large yards in the dark to use this one? Doesn’t make sense to me,” Sam said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
That evening at Smith Mountain Lake, Aurora hugged Uncle Charlie. To most folks in the Lynchburg area, Uncle Charlie was either “Judge Anderson,” “Judge Charles,” “Charlie,” or simply “Charles.” It just depended on how close—or in what capacity—the person knew him. When he had asked if he could take Sam and her out to dinner, she insisted they eat at the house. Unfortunately, most of the home-cooked meals Uncle Charlie had eaten since his wife Annie died from cancer five years earlier were either those Aurora cooked or the ones his widow neighbor insisted he share with her. Aurora knew Uncle Charlie missed Annie terribly. She made a silent vow to call him more often, invite him to spend more time at the lake.
So many things about him reminded her of her dad, Jack Anderson. She missed her dad. Her mother, too. Aurora had fond memories of her parents and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Annie as they gathered around the piano and sang songs from the Big Band era, as well as ‘50s and ‘60s tunes. The family spent most holidays together. Since Aurora had no siblings, she’d often wished her aunt and uncle had produced cousins for her to play with. But they never had. Aurora didn’t know if they couldn’t, or if they just didn’t want any. She’d never asked.
As though reading her thoughts, King poked Aurora’s leg with his nose, stretched out beside her. She smiled at him.
“Let me look at you,” Uncle Charlie said, grabbing both her hands. Aurora smiled at the same greeting he’d given her for as long as she could remember. She waited for him to finish.
“I declare, girl, you keep getting prettier and prettier. Are you taking pretty pills?”
Aurora laughed, gave the expected response. “Uncle Charlie, you’re the bestest uncle any girl could have.” They both grinned and hugged.
Sam welcomed him. “I need to pick your brain, Charlie. That okay?”
“Fine with me. I’m always glad to help if I can.” Charlie liked being needed, appreciated it when anyone considered his opinion worthwhi
le.
“Let’s eat in the sunroom,” Sam said. He carried the three place settings of silverware and napkins Aurora handed him to the porch.
As he set the table, Sam told Uncle Charlie about Tom Southerland’s disappearance and finding his cap, but not Tom, in the portable toilet.
“How do you know the cap belonged to Tom?” Charlie asked.
“His wife Blanche identified it a few hours ago.” Sam frowned. “That woman’s another story. Maybe even a horror story.” He told Charlie how Blanche had acted that morning.
“Hey, you guys, dinner’s ready,” Aurora called. “Come fill your plates.” She pointed to the bowls of shrimp, grits, and asparagus on the kitchen counter, then carried the French bread and an open bottle of Hickory Hill Winery’s Vidal Blanc to the porch and set them on the table.
Over dinner, the three discussed Win Ford and his explosive temper. “Sounds like a rich, spoiled jerk to me,” Uncle Charlie said. “Did he say why he wanted a house at the lake?”
“I asked Carole that same question a little while ago,” Aurora said. “Seems one of Win’s rich, boat-crazed buddies told him about the annual Poker Run held here and invited Win to help crew a powerboat this past May. He did, and now he’s hooked. Carole said Win’s looking for a house of his own and a faster boat than his friend’s. According to Carole, his wealth is as big as his ego. Which must mean he’s loaded.”
“I didn’t think the Poker Run was a race. Isn’t the object to draw a card from each of the participating marinas? Best hand wins?” asked Uncle Charlie.
“Yeah. But try telling that to some of the skippers.” Sam knew many of the locals were against the Poker Run. He had mixed emotions. The sleek, fast boats excited him. He owned a classic ‘50s Chris-Craft, knew the thrill of opening her up, seeing her perform. And he also understood how folks in small boats would feel threatened when a 35-foot or larger craft zoomed by, its wake nearly swamping them. Then again, the Poker Run raised thousands of dollars for charity each year. And wasn’t that a good thing?
Secrets at Sweetwater Cove Page 3
