I tried Google. Nothing was listed in Rosehorne Street, Brackenport, but I didn’t let that stall me. The taxi driver had handed over a business card earlier and I dug it out of my coat pocket to book a ride.
The service sent a different driver, and I bluffed my way with, “I don’t have the house number, is it okay if I just point it out once we’re in Rosehorne Street?”
In the end, finding the B&B was easy as pie, thanks to the police cruiser parked outside. I let the driver drop me off at the crossroads one block down. The street was in a suburban area, large residential homes set far back with wide open spaces and, luckily, no fences. I crept in and around the hedges and yards, slowly retracing a path to the cruiser.
The snowfall had petered out to a flurry, not doing as much as I would’ve liked to reduce visibility. I prayed the cop in the car was standard movie grade material, too busy with his donuts and coffee to pay any real attention. And maybe he was, because I managed to sneak across the open space to the back of the B&B without being mauled and cuffed.
And that was as far as I got.
One of those motion sensor security spotlights stopped my sneaky progress in its tracks. I froze, wide-eyed and dumbfounded like a possum trapped in the headlights. Before I could gather my wits, the kitchen door below the spotlight opened and a woman bustled out. Bright pink tracksuit, hair an absolute frightmare, stance aggressive…basically the kind of woman who’d storm outside to confront an intruder instead of doing the sensible thing and hiding under the bed.
I was toast.
She raised a fist at me. Seriously. “If you’re a reporter, you can go join your friend out front. I told the cops, and now I’ll tell you, I’ve got nothing to say.”
I promptly burst into tears. They started off fake, a small incentive to soften the woman, but I think one or two genuine tears snuck in. What was I even doing here? What had I expected? That Jenna would jump out from the gutted rose bushes and yell, Gotcha?
“Oh, for the love of God,” the woman sniped, as if she were the one hard done by.
“I’m not a reporter,” I blubbered. “He’s got my sister.” Not a lie. Blood was not the only sister-maker in town. “You don’t understand, I have to find her…I just have to, before it’s too late.”
“Listen, lady, the cops already ransacked my place.” She dropped the fist and walked up to me. “They didn’t find anyone. If you ask me, they’re sniffing up the wrong tree.”
Huh?
I blinked away the next chunk of tears. “What do you mean?”
“Peter is decent, hardworking stock, not the sort to get mixed up in funny business,” she said. “I’ve never had a spot of trouble with the man, which is more than I can say for some of my other regulars.”
“Regulars?”
The woman gave a fierce nod. “Every first Monday of the month, regular like clockwork.” She gave me some version of a fierce one-eyed glared. “He’s some fancy medical traveling salesman, don’t you know?”
“How long has he been travelling this route and, um, staying here?”
She thought that through. “Must be five years now, nearly.”
Well, that was…odd!
Another coincidence that Brackenport just happened to be on Peter Nell’s regular beat? The case of Joe & The Twilight Kill was beginning to look like a basket crammed full of unhappy coincidences.
TEN
Nate hadn’t yet returned when I let myself into the hotel room. When I tried to call, his phone went to voicemail. I hung up and sent a text.
Peter Nell regular at B&B
5 years
???
If he was still in the interrogation room with Peter Nell, maybe he could use that info. This latest non-development bugged the crap out of me. All the pieces had been falling so neatly into place and I didn’t know what to do with this last one. It didn’t fit, no matter how hard I shoved.
I took a quick shower and changed into something more comfortable, sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee. There was no chance in hell I’d get any sleep tonight, so it was perfectly safe to lay down on the king-size bed while I waited for Nate’s reply. That’s what I thought. The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes to a room washed in sunlight, cheek pressed to a beating heart, knee hiked over a hard thigh, and a very male arm flung around me.
At least we were both on top of the covers and fully dressed. Seemed like Nate had had the same idea as me when he’d finally gotten in last night, minus the part where I crawled all over him.
I lifted my head and slowly inched my gaze up, hoping to untangle us without waking him. Yeah, like I had that kind of luck.
His mouth hitched, those smoky eyes sinking into me. “Morning, beautiful.”
My heart gave a wanton sigh. Seriously, some guys just knew how to wake up in style, bristled jaw, ruffled hair, that sort of thing.
I was staring.
And still wrapped around him.
“Um, sorry.” I extracted myself and pushed my own rat’s nest out of my eyes. “You should have kicked me off.”
“I’m not complaining.” He snatched my hand before I could scramble too far away, his thumb stroking mine, his expression sobering as he looked at me. “Hey, you holding up okay?”
An automatic, “Fine,” passed my lips, but beneath his intense study and the warm caress of my hand in his, a crack broke in my armor. “Not really,” I amended. “There’s this fear pressing—” I pressed two fingers to my temple “—I can’t let it in, that’s all I know. So long as I don’t let it in, Jenna will okay. You know what I mean?”
Nate opened his mouth, but I got there first.
“Of course you don’t,” I said. “Don’t worry, I know how crazy it sounds.”
He offered me a half-fledged grin, something that I guess was meant to cover Jenna missing and my crazy and everything in between.
“You’re not crazy,” he said, his thumb still stroking, his gaze hooked into me, centering me, reeling in all my wayward panic. “You’re scared.”
“There’s that,” I said with a dry, scratchy laugh. And then some. “What happened with Peter Nell last night? Did he say anything?”
“He said a lot, nothing useful.” Nate’s gaze hooked me a moment longer, then he released my hand and hauled himself off the bed. “He’s not admitting to anything.”
“Are we still convinced it’s him?”
“If Joe’s right about Peter Nell being at Hollow House, then yes, it’s a convincing theory.” He rolled his shoulders back, un-cricked his neck. “There are some things that don’t add up.”
“Like him being a regular at the B&B?” I said. “Did you get my text? Did you ask him about that?”
“About your text…” Nate shoved a hand into his hair, cocked his jaw, the look he set on me suddenly a whole lot less warm and fuzzy. “You went to the B&B last night after I specifically asked you to lay low.”
“You don’t know that.” Not for sure.
“You spoke to someone there,” he said. “The landlady?”
I shrugged.
“Maddox, you do realize the FBI will question her,” he said, sounding rather aggrieved. “Obviously I didn’t make myself clear last night. You can’t be seen to be involved in this at all. The FBI’s already cut us off. Orders came from high to abort any further interviews of Peter Nell, to hold him and Joe for the field agent who’ll be coming in this morning. If they decide you’re a person of interest, my hands are tied.”
“I didn’t give her my name,” I said stubbornly. “And she refused to talk to the cops, but she gave me something useful, right?”
Nate sighed. “I understand what you’re going through, and I’m not going to tell you what you can or can’t do.”
I rolled my eyes at that. Although, I had to admit this was a curious turn of events, that he wasn’t even going to try to bark his orders.
“But,” he said, and that way he said it, grim with a resounding ring of ominous, he didn’t actually need to
say more.
“I’m on my own if I get into trouble?”
“You’ll never be on your own, Maddox,” he said softly. “Not while I’m around.”
I wanted to ask him why. But we’d already been there, done that, and apparently the answer was, Hell if I know.
Besides, more important matters. “You said some things didn’t add up with Peter Nell. More than just him being a regular at the B&B?”
Nate scratched his jaw, chewing over his words before he spoke. “He told us he went to Mama Cluckcloud from Duke’s Saloon, ordered fried chicken and ate in. He had the receipt and we verified his story.”
“So, he takes Jenna, wait…” I frowned at Nate. “You checked the time on the receipt?”
Nate nodded. “It would have been tight if he’d stopped somewhere to stow Jenna.”
“Oh, my God, are you saying she was stuffed in the trunk outside while he calmly munched on his fried chicken?”
“If he hid her anywhere first, it would have had to be close, en-route,” Nate said. “Then there’s approximately a forty-five minute window of uncertainty between the time on the receipt and when he was picked up at the B&B. The cashier couldn’t tell us exactly when he left.”
Mama Cluckcloud was a fast food place, which meant he’d paid at the counter when placing his order. “Fifteen minutes, at least, to get his order and eat?”
“Sounds about right,” Nate said. “That leaves half an hour, maximum, which isn’t much, given he had to take Jenna to wherever he put her and get back to the B&B.”
“He’s been passing through this town for five years, so he knows the area well,” I said, scrambling to keep our entire case from falling apart. “And he’s a medical rep, Nate. I was reading The Twilight Kill and—”
“Max Wilder injects the girl with a sedative,” Nate finished. “I did my recommended reading last night, too. They gave me a couple of hours with Joe’s laptop at the station.”
“And…?” I prodded. “Is the real Killer Max in police custody or not, Nate?”
“I sent that photo to Sam,” he said, totally evading a direct answer. “She’ll take it over to Hollow House this morning and get us a positive ID on Peter Nell. And, forensics still have the car. Their report should be in this afternoon. If they find matching DNA for Jenna, then we’ll know for sure.”
“And if they don’t find her DNA?”
“Then we keep doing what we’re doing. Peter Nell is a prime suspect while we investigate all avenues. Finding Jenna before Wednesday night is still our main priority. There are patrol units out searching the town and outlying areas, but you and I are going a little farther.”
Nate had reached the same conclusion as me, Killer Max was backtracking toward Sallymon Peke. Although Nate was more reticent than me when it came to literal interpretations, and maybe he had a point. Killer Max didn’t need an abandoned barn. Any place that was isolated and abandoned would do.
Now that we had a plan of action, that constant press of fear ebbed. Then and there, I made a vow. I would not return to this hotel room, I would not eat or sleep until I’d found Jenna and brought her home.
When Nate asked about the shower schedule, I told him to go first. “Jenna’s parents—and Jack—need to know what’s happening. I’ve already left it too long.”
Nate grabbed fresh clothes from his suitcase on the way to the bathroom, then paused at the door. “Let Jack be the one to tell her parents. That type of conversation’s better face to face.”
The coward in me jumped all over that. Mr and Mrs Adams were like a spare set of parents to me. I honestly didn’t know how to tell them the devastating news without breaking out into a sobbing mess.
Jack would be professional, he’d remain positive and reassuring. He’d give them hope, whereas all I’d give them was a bucket of tears.
After a bit of a hunt, I located my cell phone in the creases of the bed cover. My palms slickened with sweat at the thought of what I had to tell Jack, but I really couldn’t put it off any longer. I called his number up as I crossed to where I spotted a coffee maker. Rummaging through the basket of pods, I found a cappuccino and slotted it in just as Jack answered.
“Maddie?” A chuckle. “I’m surprised to hear from either of you before noon. How was the raunchy rodeo bar?”
Needless to say, his good cheer dissolved into stunned silence as soon as I started speaking.
That didn’t last either.
Jack demanded to know absolutely everything.
Actually it was quite cathartic, stripping every little detail to the bone while my coffee hissed into the cup. Along the way, I managed to convince myself yet again that Peter Nell was our man. Even with the oddities, he was a pretty perfect fit.
I was asking Jack to deliver the unhappy news to Jenna’s parents before he came rearing down to Brackenport when Nate stepped into the room, freshly showered and groomed.
“He’s coming here?” Nate said.
“Of course he is.” The more cops, the merrier.
Nate took the phone from me. “Spinner, this is Detective Bishop. I realize how hard this is, but we already have the local police and the FBI down here working the case. I need you in Silver Firs to follow up any links we establish between Joe, Hollow House and the suspect’s movements.”
There was plenty more back and forth in that exchange. I sipped my coffee and eyed the pack of complimentary cookies. Sure, I’d sworn off food until Jenna’s return, but that probably wasn’t smart. I needed my strength, right?
I was on my second cookie when Jack finally relented and agreed to carry out the Silver Firs end of the investigation. It helped that Nate sent the photo of Peter Nell and tasked him with interrogating Burns.
I took my phone back with a puzzled frown. “I thought Sam was on that.”
“She is,” Nate said. “Jack’s local, though. That always helps. They can put their heads together and get us some real answers.”
I wasn’t sure Jenna would be thrilled about Jack’s head being in such close proximity to the gorgeous Sam. Then again, I supposed that was the least of Jenna’s problems right now.
ELEVEN
We had a few stops to make before we could hit the road. I needed proper coffee, Nate needed a breakfast bagel, and we needed a new road atlas that we could mark with our search grid (since I hadn’t thought to take the one from Joe’s room last night.)
Our last port of call was the police station to check on Joe and any new developments. Or Nate’s last port of call, I should say. Being the persona incognito in this operation, I had to wait in the truck. We were parked across from the station, an imposing grey stone building that looked like it had been around for centuries. The broad street was lined with shops, restaurants, fashionable retail outlets and offices.
I sipped the last of my cappuccino and crushed the cup in one hand as I watched the people of Brackenport go about their business. The traffic ebbed and flowed. Pedestrians swarmed the sidewalks, trampling the snow to brown sludge. I was staring at everything and nothing, wishing Nate would hurry up, wishing we’d never set foot in this miserable town, when I saw her.
I blinked and looked again.
Ice blonde hair, cut in a pixie style only a natural beauty could pull off. Tall and thin, elegant and haughty, she held her head and walked with an ethereal grace meant to draw attention. Her narrow trousers and camel colored trench coat practically dripped designer hauteur, all sleek lines and custom tailoring.
I knew this woman.
She shouldn’t be here.
Well, this was a free country, she could go anywhere she liked, be anywhere she pleased. But every nerve in my body screamed and tingled. She shouldn’t be here.
I scrambled for my phone to call Nate.
He answered on the first ring.
“I’ve just seen Isla…Isla…” What was her last name again? A double-barrel name with commonplace parts, Harrison or Smith or Brown or something. What does it matter! “Nate, this woman w
as a guest at Hollow House last month, the week before Halloween, and now she’s here.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
I couldn’t quite place his tone. Maybe somewhere between ‘Are you seriously kidding me?’ and ‘Damn, this is a serious complication.’
My gaze followed Isla like a hawk as she beeped open the door of a black Range Rover parked on the street. My mind spun. I think I was being serious right now, sort of. “Nate, what if Killer Max is in fact Killer Maxine?”
“I’m on my way,” Nate growled.
“Hurry.”
“That’s the idea.”
Up ahead, the Range Rover pulled out into the traffic. And, thank goodness, immediately caught a red light. “Nate, come on, she’s on the move.”
“Two minutes.”
Call me pessimistic, but I didn’t think we had two minutes. I saw he’d left the keys in the ignition and I slid over behind the wheel. Racked the seat forward until my feet could touch the pedals.
“Maddox.”
“Hmm?” I turned the key to start the engine.
“Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”
As if. “Less talking and more walking,” I muttered. “Actually, more running.”
My gaze swept across to the wide stone steps that led to the recessed entrance of the police station. The massive doors remained firmly shut. “Where are you?”
“On the stairwell,” he puffed, obviously out of breath from following my advice.
When I glanced up the street again, the light had turned green.
Crap.
I activated speakerphone and tossed my cell phone onto the seat beside me. I did check for Nate one last time as I shoved the truck into gear. The doors swung closed behind a pair of uniforms who’d just stepped out.
Sorry, Nate. I hit the gas and pulled out into the road. A horn blared. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see a white van slam brakes right on my tail. He hadn’t been there a second ago, I swear.
“Maddox, dammit, what was that? What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. Trust me, Nate did not want to know I’d just run a yellow light to stay on the Range Rover.
Words That Kill (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 3) Page 10
