by Rebecca Deel
Ethan Blackhawk hung up the phone, sank back in his chair, and scrubbed his face with his hands. His inquiries about Scott Bates yielded nothing. From all appearances, the man had vanished. No credit card activity, no bank withdrawals.
Rod Kelter stepped into the office with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Here are the stats the town council wanted.”
“Thanks.” He added the papers to an already bulging file folder. Despite crime escalation in the last five years and corresponding population growth, the town council still balked on hiring another officer. They needed to act soon.
“What’s up?”
Amusement shot through him. The detective had learned to read him well over the past five months. “Bates fell off the planet.”
Rod frowned. “His family hasn’t seen him?”
“Bates’ father and his ex-wife both say he hasn’t been in touch. There’s no activity trail for the last week.”
The phone buzzed. The apologetic voice of his secretary filled his ear. “Thanks, Trudie. I’ll take care of it.” Great. Another run in with Robert Lawrence. The farmer still held a grudge against him for not finding his stolen truck before a thief dumped it in the lake last spring.
“Problem?”
“Robert Lawrence reported an abandoned car on Wilshire Road. Says it obstructs the view of anyone pulling out onto West Gate. He wants me to take care of it.” Ethan glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to ask Serena to pick up Aunt Ruth. Looks like I need to include the florist in my budget. Third time this month I’ve missed dinner with my future in-laws.”
“Want me to check it out?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a date tonight?”
“Kelli’s covering for Kendall, so she won’t clock out until ll:00.”
“Kendall sick?”
“His wife needed a break. Their daughter, Julia, is sick again.”
“Thanks, Rod.” Ethan logged off his computer and grabbed the report folder. “I’ll take a look at these tonight. Call me if anything comes up.” His hand on the doorjamb, he looked over his shoulder. “Run a background check on Nick Santana.”
“What’s wrong with your car?” Megan locked the door of the Otter Creek Gazette’s office and pocketed the key.
“I don’t have a clue.” Frustration made Madison’s tone sharper than she intended.
Megan’s mouth curved. “Chill, sis. Did the engine make a noise when you cranked it?” She unlocked the passenger door of her blue 1990 Corvette.
Madison sank into the gray leather interior before answering. “The car started fine; then the engine slowed down like a top running out of steam and quit. It wouldn’t start at all when I tried it a second time.” She waited for the throaty growl of the Corvette’s engine. “Sorry I snapped at you.”
Megan patted Madison’s knee, checked the rearview mirror and backed into the square. “I’ll check it out in the morning.” The car leaped forward with a peal of tires.
Madison grabbed the door handle with one hand and held onto the edge of the passenger seat with the other. She swallowed around the lump in her dry throat and gave herself a mental kick. Riding with her NASCAR-groupie sister bordered on lunacy. She should’ve asked Ethan for a ride.
They zipped passed a speed limit sign at a rate she felt positive far exceeded the posted 30-mile-an-hour limit. “Had any tickets lately?” she asked between gritted teeth.
Megan laughed and steered her blue bullet out of town. “I talked my way out of one yesterday.”
“You must have been pulled over by Hernandez.” She’d lost count of how many tickets Meg convinced him to destroy. When Ethan found out, he’d tear a strip off the rookie officer’s hide. “You’re going to get him into trouble, Meg.”
“Better him than me.” She grinned. “Ethan’s already had a crack at me this month; I didn’t want to listen to another lecture.”
“I hate to remind you of this while you’re driving, but Ethan is the police chief. He could revoke your license or sack Hernandez.” Madison squeezed her eyes shut as they raced toward the West Haven Road turnoff, but found hurtling down roads blind bloodcurdling. She raised her eyelids. “It’s not smart to antagonize the man.”
Megan laughed, mischief glittering in her eyes. “I can handle Ethan.” She hung a right onto West Haven, tires protesting.
“You better have a bazooka handy,” Madison said. “And you might want to fix my Jeep soon. You’ll need a ride when he hands you the keys to a Schwinn.”
“Thank God,” she muttered at the sight of her parents’ two-story gray colonial house. Beyond the white wooden columns and porch railing, a home filled with love, laughter and security waited. The four acres of rolling green hills behind the house hadn’t changed much over the years. Her father made sure of that.
Megan parked beside Nick’s car and turned off the engine. “You okay?”
Startled, Madison scrutinized her sister. “Aside from noodle legs because of your driving, sure. Why?”
Megan dropped her gaze. Madison’s right hand twisted her wedding and engagement rings with feverish movements. She grasped the door handle and swung her legs out of the low-slung car. “Now that we’re parked, I’m fine.”
“Does it bother you that Nick’s here?”
She stiffened. Sometimes being one of triplets unnerved her. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Meg had tapped into her thoughts and eavesdropped. Madison told her sister what she’d been telling herself the last few hours. “Why should it bother me? He’s a good friend.”
“Of course he is.” Her sister’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Madison glared at her. She marched across the stone walkway, stomped up the deck stairs and jerked open the back door to the kitchen. Behind her, Meg meowed like a cat and laughed. The mouth-watering aroma of pot roast and mashed potatoes made her stomach growl. Since her mother stood at the counter tearing lettuce for a salad, Madison squelched her stinging retort. She would deal with Meg later. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sugar.” Liz’s hand hovered over the salad bowl. “I thought I heard Meg’s ‘Vette. Did you girls ride together?”
Madison deposited her purse in a cupboard by the dishwasher. Megan closed the kitchen door. “Yes, ma’am, my car wouldn’t start.”
“I’ll look at it tomorrow, Mom.” Megan kissed her mother’s cheek, reached around her and snitched a piece of lettuce. “Where’s Dad?” She tossed her purse into the cupboard and slammed the door.
“Where else? In the living room watching ESPN with Nick.”
“Maybe we can catch a race.” Megan smirked at Madison and left the kitchen, munching on her lettuce.
Madison sat on a stool at the counter. “What can I do to help?”
“Make the salad.” Mischief lurked in her mother’s eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll get distracted and burn the rolls.” She moved the cutting board, knife and an array of raw vegetables in front of Madison. “You create colorful salads.”
She grinned at the skillful maneuver to keep her from cooking which involved fire. “Ha. You don’t want the fire department out here again.”
Liz laughed and checked the rolls. “I love those boys, honey, but I don’t want to feed them tonight.”
Madison washed her hands, then concentrated on tearing lettuce into bite-sized pieces. The last time she helped with the cooking, she and her family grilled hamburgers on the back deck. Someone set the burner too high and fire engulfed her potholder. Like any sane person, she dropped the flaming potholder. The resulting fire charred sun-baked grass, singed part of her parents’ deck, and melted a few pieces of siding from the back of the house before the fire department arrived.
Just thinking about last summer’s disaster brought heat to her face. She tossed the last lettuce leaf into the bowl and picked up a crisp, green cucumber. The firefighters didn’t have to laugh so hard after they put out the fire. She’d never live that episode down since half the fire crew had attended high school with her.
Madison focused on slicing the cucumber instead of her fingers. If her mother looked close at her face, she’d know Madison was holding something back. “He didn’t have time to explain. I’ll talk to him about it later.” She planned to learn everything Nick knew about Bates.
Rod pulled into the driveway in front of Robert Lawrence’s house. He whistled in amazement at the Tara replica. He figured the grizzled old farmer lived in a log cabin or one of the typical farmhouses dotting fields around Dunlap County.
Cinching up his tie, he climbed the stairs and pressed the doorbell. No way. The theme from Gone with the Wind? He grinned. Ethan would get a kick out of this. Rod’s expression sobered as an overall-clad Lawrence opened the door.
The farmer glanced behind Rod. “Thought the Chief was coming.” His voice sounded like a foghorn in a heavy cloud bank.
“Chief Blackhawk sends his apologies, Mr. Lawrence. He had other obligations this evening.”
Lawrence opened the door wider. “Come in while I tell Martha we’re going out to the soybean field.”
“Thank you, sir.” Rod moved into the entrance, grateful to leave the September humidity behind. The mugginess left his skin feeling clammy inside the cool house. He removed his sunglasses, and caught his breath, managing to keep a blank expression on his face. He stared at the large, sweeping staircase, almost expecting to see Scarlett float down the stairs with Mammie trailing behind.
Somebody must love Gone with the Wind. The Lawrence residence, an exact replica of the famous plantation, made him feel as if he’d stepped back into southern history. No telephone or television in sight, electric lights the sole sign of twenty-first century progress.
Lawrence returned to the foyer. “You want to ride with me to the field?”
Rod pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll follow you.”
After shutting the front door, Lawrence paused on the steps. He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “My wife’s a big fan of Margaret Mitchell’s book.” His face flushed a darker shade of red.
“Yes, sir, I can see that.” Rod slipped his sunglasses in place. “Your home must be a great conversation starter.”
Lawrence chuckled and got into his truck.
Rod followed Lawrence in his new red Ford F-250, and noted the careful field layout, and the cows and camels grazing off to his right. Camels? He slowed down to look closer. No doubt about it. Two tan one-hump camels grazed beside Lawrence’s Jersey cows. His laughter filled the vehicle. What story lay behind those camels?
He positioned his SUV alongside the truck. About ten feet to his left sat a late-model brown Corolla, parked at an angle with the back quarter of the car still on the road. “How long has the car been here, Mr. Lawrence?”
“Noticed it Sunday night about 6:00.”
“You haven’t seen anyone check on the car or work on it?”
“Nope.” Lawrence shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “You aiming to move this car anytime soon or are we just going to set up camp and talk about it? I’m harvesting this field tomorrow. Car’s got to go.”
A few weeks ago, he’d have said something cutting in response to the farmer’s comments. Must be all the extra time he’d spent with Pastor Lang. “I don’t want to disturb possible evidence.”
“Evidence? You investigate abandoned cars? Thought you’d just call a tow truck.”
Rod circled the car. Keys dangled from the ignition. He frowned. If a car broke down, wouldn’t the owner take the keys with him while he called for help or a tow? A map of Tennessee concealed the passenger seat, and a duffle bag covered the floor, its contents spewing out. He tugged on rubber gloves and opened the unlocked passenger door, preparing to riffle through the contents of the glove compartment in search of the owner’s identification. He released the latch and stared into the compartment. Empty.
He grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, this is unit two.”
“Go ahead, Rod.”
He grinned. Suzie was back on duty. He’d missed her cheerful voice while she cruised the Bahamas with her family for a week. “Run a license plate for me.” Rod rattled off the Knox County plates.
While he waited for the report, he turned to Lawrence. “Notice anything unusual around your property since someone abandoned the car?”
“Nope.”
Rod’s lips twitched. If the CIA needed an agent in charge of secrets vital to national security, he knew the perfect man. He snatched the keys and unlocked the trunk. The sun’s waning light cast shadows over the trunk’s depth. He yanked a small flashlight from his pocket and shined the beam into the darkened interior.
The flashlight’s beam cut through the inky blackness. A jack, a spare tire, fishing gear and a blanket. Rod studied the lumpy green cover. He reached into the trunk and drew back the blanket. Light glinted off a rifle’s black barrel.
CHAPTER THREE
“More dessert for anyone?” Serena’s knife hovered over the remnants of a three-tiered chocolate cake. Grunts and shaking heads answered her question.
“If I take one more bite, you’ll have to roll me out of here.” Megan slumped in her seat, arms folded over her stomach.
Madison frowned. “How did you bake and frost the cake with one hour’s notice? Weren’t you at the Henderson’s this afternoon?”
Serena owned a personal chef business called Home Runs. Her usual cooking and clean-up routine took about four hours, and Madison saw Serena’s yellow 1972 Beetle leave the police station around 1:00. Though a miracle worker in the kitchen, not even Serena could whip up and bake a cake with homemade frosting in one hour.
Serena grinned. “I dried off the last dish at 5:45.” Her eyes twinkled.
Serena couldn’t have baked that mouthwatering masterpiece from scratch in those few minutes. At least she didn’t think so. Then again, Madison’s “expertise” in the kitchen could be the basis for a hair-raising scene in a Stephen King novel. “Did you use a boxed cake mix this time?”
Megan shoved her chair away from the table and scrambled to put distance between herself and Madison. She pressed her back and hands flat against the wall. “Look out, folks. The fur’s going to fly!”
“You can’t tell the difference between my cakes and a store-bought mix?” Serena’s eyes widened.
Madison’s face burned. After the laughter subsided and Meg deemed it safe to resume her seat, she ventured another guess. “You already had the cake made?”
“I planned to surprise Ethan with it at dinner tonight.”
Ethan stretched his arm across the back of Serena’s chair. “I appreciate you all sparing my jogging shoes the extra ten miles this week. Since I started dating Serena, I’ve worn out three pairs of sneakers.”
The look he and Serena shared forced Madison to glance away. She loved Ethan and was pleased about his presence in Serena’s life, but sometimes the ache of loneliness slipped up on her, catching her in unguarded moments.
A warm weight rested on her fist. She looked sideways at Nick. He squeezed her hand and winked at her before turning his head to answer a question from her father. She studied Nick’s thick black hair, tanned skin and long black lashes. How did he know to do that? Just a simple touch dispelled memories so she could breathe.
A cell phone ring tone interrupted the table conversation. Her father, Megan, Nick, Serena and Ethan grabbed their phones. “It’s mine.” Ethan stood. “Excuse me.” He moved into the living room.
“I hope it’s not serious.” Liz gathered empty plates.
Serena put the cover back on her cake carrier. “At least he made it through dinner this time. I don’t know how many meals Ethan’s missed because of his work.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s wasting away to me.” Megan grabbed an empty bowl and a platter with the remaining rolls. “He has the best leftovers of anybody on the force.”
When Ethan returned to
the dining room, Madison’s stomach clenched into an icy ball. She knew that look. She’d seen it often enough on Luke’s face. Ethan had his cop’s game face on. Blank. Nick’s hand tightened on hers. “I have to leave for a few minutes.” He held out his hand to Aaron. “I apologize for interrupting our evening, Mr. Cahill.”
Her father smiled. “No apologies necessary, son.” His wiry build and silver hair presented a sharp contrast to Ethan’s muscled frame and dark locks. “Should I drive Serena and Ruth home for you?”
“I’ll let you know if I’m going to be late. I don’t think this will take long.”
“Famous last words.”
Ethan flashed a wry smile at his aunt before turning to Nick. “I need to speak to you for a minute.”
Nick lifted his hand from hers and stood. She felt bereft, cold without the warmth of his hand. What now?
“Don’t let Madison out of your sight until I tell you otherwise.” Ethan’s somber expression mirrored his dark, troubled eyes.
“What’s going on?” Nick scanned the Cahill’s backyard, alert for anything different than when he entered the house two hours earlier. He appreciated Liz Cahill’s green thumb. The brilliant array of multicolored flowers showcased Liz’s handiwork, but her bushes and trees gave dark shadows that crisscrossed about half the yard and made him uneasy.
“Detective Kelter ran a make on an abandoned car. It’s registered to Scott Bates.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. His instincts were right; Bates had been tracking Madison. “Any sign of him?”
“Not yet.” Ethan moved down the deck steps to his truck. “We’ll talk when I return.” He paused, his face hidden in the shadows. “Need to tell me anything before the report comes back on you?”
His lips curved. Didn’t take Ethan long to run a background check on him. “No.”
The police chief nodded, slipped into his truck, and drove away.
Nick surveyed the yard again. Still no change. He lingered on the redwood deck, listening to the crickets chirp in the peaceful evening air. When the kitchen door opened, he knew without turning Madison stood behind him. He’d never been able to explain the subtle change in the air whenever she drew near.
