Seek and Find

by Dana Mentink

  Marlton nodded his thanks, raising a cup in salute.

  * * *

  James did as he’d promised and stopped at the hospital to endure a checkup. On the way out, he found fellow rookie K-9 cop Ellen Foxcroft sitting by herself with her golden retriever, Carly, at her feet. She was staring out the reception room window, deep in thought.

  “Hey, Ellen,” he said.

  She started. “Oh, hi, James. How are you doing?”

  “I’m banged up, but otherwise fine. Were you visiting your mother?”

  She nodded.

  “Any change?”

  “No. And the guard says there has been nothing happening. He’s bored out of his mind.”

  The bizarre attack on Marian was just one more case they hadn’t been able to solve. He knew Ellen desired more than anything to leave Desert Valley and put some distance between herself and her abrasive mother. He might even add manipulative as a word to describe Marian. After all, she’d used her money and influence to keep all the new K-9 rookies assigned to Desert Valley for six months, including her daughter.

  “We’ll get him, whoever did this to her,” James assured her.

  She nodded, still unsmiling. “Sometimes I wonder if this is God’s way of trying to tell me I shouldn’t leave.”

  He was sorry to hear the confusion in her voice, a feeling he understood all too well.

  “How are things going with your program?” She was starting a training program for adults and kids to be matched with service dogs, housed at the Desert Valley Canine Assistance Center. Sophie Williams, the trainer who’d taken over for the murdered Veronica Earnshaw, had agreed to share the training space with her.

  Ellen shrugged. “Still getting traction, but slow because...” she sighed. “I guess I’m spending a lot of time here with Mom.”

  “Things will get better,” he said, the only lame phrase that came to his mind.

  She looked away, showing him she was not inclined to speak more about it. Wishing he could provide some sort of comfort, he settled for giving her shoulder a squeeze on his way out.

  It was just after ten when James and Hawk returned to the campground and made their way to his parents’ trailer. His mother greeted them, looking up from a jigsaw puzzle and sheltering the pieces from Hawk’s madly wagging tail. A few went flying, anyway, and James retrieved them from the floor.

  He kissed her and greeted his father. “Would you mind dog sitting for a couple of hours?”

  “No problem,” she said. “I want to take a good hike today, and Hawk can be our tour guide.”

  “Hold on tight to him, Mom.”

  “I’ll do it,” his father said. “Used to break horses. Think I can manage a dog.” James saw the flicker of sadness that his father could not hide. His callused hands flexed on his lap as if remembering the sensation of working a horse, the play of the reins across his palms.

  I’m going to get us our ranch back, Dad. Somehow.

  His mom brushed back a wispy strand of hair. “Do you know where we can get some flowers, honey? White carnations would be good. The man at the camp store told me the florist shop is out of business.”

  “The grocery carries some fresh flowers, and there’s a florist in Tuckerville if you need an arrangement. Why?”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “It’s old-fashioned, I know, but I think a man should give flowers to the lady if he’s taking her to a fancy dance. Remember when you did that before our high school prom, Ronnie?”

  His dad puffed out his chest. “I was the dashing man about town,” he said. “And you looked amazing in your blue dress with the beads on the top.”

  “It was green with ribbons, but thanks, anyway,” she said with a laugh. “I wish I could still wear pretty shoes, but these old feet won’t stand for that. Otherwise, I’d be at that dance in a moment.”

  James was trying to catch up. Probably being nearly flattened in a trailer collapse and staying up all night weren’t helping his mental faculties. “Mom, I appreciate your idea about the flowers, but I’m not taking anyone to the dance. I’m going solo.” He hadn’t told them about his participation in the sting. Couldn’t exactly say, “Mom, I’m the bait for a killer.”

  “I know you’re not taking anyone, honey. I was talking about your brother.”

  “What?”

  “It won’t occur to him about the flowers,” she said with a sigh. “He doesn’t have a mind for those kinds of details.”

  “Mom, what are you talking about?”

  “Sterling and Kate Coles are going to the dance. Didn’t you know that?”

  The ringing in his head intensified. He was worried about a killer on the loose, and now his brother and Madison’s sister attending the dance? That went beyond a casual friendship, didn’t it?

  “Your mother is running ahead of the wagon, as usual,” his father said. “Sterling said he and Kate had agreed to meet up at the dance. They’re not dating, and flowers are way over the top.”

  “Flowers are never over the top,” his mother said firmly. “And what girl doesn’t like to be given flowers, even if they aren’t technically dating?”

  “Hmm,” his father said. “What do you think, James?”

  He could see them both studying his face carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. Madison’s accusation thumped through his memory.

  “My sister and I are damaged goods. For all your talk about a new path, you are still judging us for our wasteland.” Was she right? Was he being protective or hypocritical? His mother and father waited expectantly.

  “I say no flowers,” James said, carefully. “Best not to push things.”

  He walked back to the cabin, shaved as best he could around the bruises and cuts on his face, and dressed in a pair of slacks and a button-up shirt. He stepped outside to find both cars, Marlton’s and Madison’s, gone.

  He dialed Marlton’s cell.

  “She said she’s okay to drive now. Going to the hospital to visit Jennings,” he explained. “Don’t worry. I’m right behind her.”

  He hung up. Clearly she was done with James shuttling her around. Probably she was done with him period. It was inevitable.

  He drove to the hospital, pulling into the crowded parking lot. Finding his way to Jennings’s floor, he saw Mrs. Jennings sitting in a chair in the hallway, her son’s arm protectively around her shoulders. He saw Madison off to one side, her hair pulled back into a thick braid, wearing dark slacks and a sage-green blouse. Beautiful, his heart said, before he commanded it to kindly hush up. So she was lovely. That didn’t make it a good idea to let his heart go crazy around her.

  In the chairs next to Mrs. Jennings and her son was the pastor and the bridal-shop owner, Frances Andrews. Elderly hardware-store owner Bill Baxter was seated next to his granddaughter, Phyllis.

  James sidled up and sat next to Madison. She cut him a look, detached and aloof.

  “Mrs. Jennings is waiting on a doctor’s report after the surgery, and the pastor organized a little support group to be with her for the prognosis,” she said.

  He settled on a nod of acknowledgment and listened to the pastor pray for Albert Jennings, a hardworking man who did his best to support his workers, his family, his church.

  Where are you, Falkner? James thought. Why don’t you come on out of hiding, and we’ll settle this like men? He might be out there now, tucked in the shadows, waiting for another chance to get his hands on Madison.

  Frances and Bill had their heads together, talking softly. They seemed to be in disagreement about something. Frances turned around suddenly, eyes filled with tears.

  “Albert Jennings is a good man,” she said softly.

  Madison stiffened. “Yes, he is. Are you willing to tell what you know about Falkner now?”

  Frances bit her lip.
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  “Please,” Madison said. “Mr. Jennings didn’t deserve this. Please tell me what you know before someone else gets hurt.”

  Frances was silent a moment, and then her chin went up as she came to some decision. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Please tell me now,” Madison said.

  But Frances was walking hastily toward the elevator.

  James was riveted by a newcomer. “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  Madison followed his gaze. “Bruce King?”

  King, clad in a neat blazer and expensively tailored trousers, settled into a chair, legs crossed, watching the activity.

  James was next to Bruce King in moments. King’s bodyguard, the one with the long hair, stood just behind him, moving closer as James approached.

  “What are you doing here?” James demanded.

  King cocked his head like a cat sizing up a mouse. “I came to offer my support, just like you did.” He smiled. “Hello, Ms. Coles. Nice to see you again.”

  Madison flushed but did not move away.

  He scanned the visitors. “Mr. Jennings did some work for me on my house last year. He is a craftsman. I appreciate that. So sad to hear what happened to him.” He waved a hand at a fly that buzzed to close to his face. “Have you tracked down the forklift driver?”

  “Not yet,” James said. “Do you have some information that might help us do that? The location of Myron Falkner, for example?”

  King shook his head. “I told you he no longer works for me.”

  Yeah, right. “I wonder if he’ll tell me the same story when I catch him.”

  “If you catch him,” King said. “Ms. Coles, I wanted to tell you that I do not appreciate you contacting one of my overseas business partners.”

  James barely kept his mouth from falling open. She’d done what? And how had she gotten the name of his associate?

  “I can contact anyone I want,” she said smoothly. “Sadly, he wouldn’t tell me anything, really. You’ve got him suitably scared.”

  “He’s loyal, and there’s nothing for him to tell. I deal in imports and exports. Legal ones, but...” He waved away the fly again. “I don’t like people interfering in my business.”

  James moved close. “That had better not be a threat.”

  King laughed. “My sources tell me Ms. Coles has already had three brushes with death here in Desert Valley. I’d have to get in line if I was going to threaten her.”

  James felt his face go hot.

  “Though,” King said speculatively, “if I were you, I’d find myself another town.” King stood, nodded to Bill Baxter and his granddaughter, who were watching closely, and walked casually back to the elevator.

  * * *

  Madison immediately slid into the empty seat next to Bill Baxter and his granddaughter. James stood close, alternately watching King and keeping Madison’s conversation within earshot. She knew he was probably furious that she’d used her contacts to investigate Bruce King. Fine. Let him rage all he wanted to. She had a job to do, and Mrs. Jennings’s grief-stricken face renewed her determination to get it done.

  “I’m Madison Coles,” she said. “I need to talk to you both.”

  Bill shook his head. “I’m going to speak with Mrs. Jennings.”

  “But this is really important, Mr. Baxter.”

  He waved her away, turning his back on her.

  His granddaughter, Phyllis, offered a bewildered stare. “I’m sorry. He is never rude or dismissive, but I can’t get him to talk lately, either.”

  “What do you think is wrong?” James asked. Madison wished he’d stay out of the conversation, but he wouldn’t acknowledge her pointed stare.

  “I started helping out with the books at the Tool Corral last year, and every month, we’re off by a couple hundred dollars or so. My grandfather is a stickler—he balances the books down to the penny—but he won’t tell me where the missing money’s gone.” She shrugged helplessly. “He’s started having trouble sleeping, and he insists I go home early sometimes. No explanation, but when I start to argue, he gets upset, manic almost.”

  “Have you seen this man?” James showed her the picture of Falkner on his cell phone.

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’ve seen a man sitting outside in a black car, but I’ve never seen him close up.”

  Bill Baxter returned. “I’m tired. Let’s go, Phyllis.”

  “Mr. Baxter, is someone shaking you down for protection money?”

  Bill’s mouth clamped down tight. “Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “Would I let someone shake me down?”

  “Good question. Would you?” James asked. “The police can protect you. Tell us, Mr. Baxter.”

  Mr. Baxter rubbed a shaking hand over his face. “Albert Jennings almost died. I don’t have anything to say. Come on, Phyllis.”

  After a helpless look at James and Madison, she followed her grandfather away.

  Madison stared after them. “I don’t get it. If Falkner is threatening shop owners and their families, the smart thing would be to tell the cops. Why won’t Frances and Bill turn him in?”

  “Because Falkner is working for someone with power, someone who can skirt the law and get away with it.”

  “Bruce King,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He rounded on her. “So it was a bonehead thing for you to do, investigating him. He thinks he’s above the law, and he can hurt you.”

  “Not with my police babysitters around all the time.”

  “This isn’t funny. Don’t make a joke out of it.” His eyes flamed with intensity, and he gripped her forearm. “You need to stop digging. Your sister is right. Give up your story before you get hurt.”

  She detached herself from him. “People are in danger in this town, James.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think it’s driving me crazy that people in this town aren’t safe? That you aren’t safe?”

  The softness in his tone eased her anger. Did he really worry so much about her? As one of his cases? Or something more? Don’t even ask it, Mads. He isn’t meant to share your life with you. No one is.

  “It’s my life, James, and if I’m putting it at risk, it’s my decision. I am going to write that story, and I won’t stop until the man who almost killed Albert Jennings is exposed.”

  “You’re being stubborn.”

  She sighed. “Whoever crushed the trailer did it because they were afraid Jennings would talk to me. He’s hurt...” Her voice caught. “He’s hurt because of me.”

  The doctor emerged and had a quiet talk with Mrs. Jennings. It must have been good news, because she was smiling through her tears.

  James breathed out an enormous sigh, and his hands went to her shoulders. “Don’t do that to yourself, Mads. It’s not your fault. You didn’t cause that accident.”

  He called her Mads. Why did it soften something inside and make her want to save the memory of it like some kind of treasure?

  “My uncle used to say that the truth shines a bright light, but it casts a dark shadow. This is as dark as it gets. I have no choice but to keep going.”

  He shook his head and straightened his shoulders. “Okay. If that’s the way it’s going to be, then you’d better get ready for two escorts, and one has dog breath.”

  He marched off toward the elevator. Madison was too stunned for a moment to follow. Then she trotted after him. Was it joy she felt? Simple relief? “But you’re not on duty yet. You can’t be my bodyguard.”

  He didn’t even glance in her direction. “Watch me.”

  Thirteen

  In spite of James’s vigorous arguments, the chief would not allow him back on official duty until Thursday, the day of the annual police fund-raiser dance, though he consent
ed to let him at least participate in the midnight bust of King’s truck in an unofficial capacity.

  “We could use another set of binoculars on this gig, and maybe Hawk’s nose if the guy bolts, but that’s it. Watch and report only, or you’ll be off duty for a lot more than four days. Got it?”

  James nodded. Limited duty was better than none at all. He continued to press the chief about Madison’s protection detail until he slapped a file folder down on the desk in defeat.

  “Why are you so bound and determined to be a bodyguard for this girl during your recovery time?”

  James started to answer and then closed his mouth. Why was he anxious to personally keep eyes on Madison? Fear for her safety, sure, but any cop could provide protection. Why him? After a moment of soul searching, the answer surprised him. Deep down he knew that he was meant to standing with her, though he could not be much more specific as to the why of it. She was maddening, stubborn, illogical sometimes, but he could not deny the feeling that they were connected. “I...I just am,” he said. Lame, Harrison. You must have dented your brain in that trailer.

  “Oh, I get it.” Chief Jones offered him a sly smile. “Listen kid, I’ve been down that road a time or two. You can’t fight it. Just try not to get yourself killed over this redhead, okay?”

  James felt himself go hot. “It’s not like that...”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “That’s what I said, too, each time a gal turned my head.”

  “That isn’t the case here.”

  “You just keep telling yourself that.” Jones neatened the stack of papers. “Look, if you want to keep watch over your redhead on your own time, go ahead. I could use Marlton for other things. There was another break-in last night, but nothing was taken. The owners recently obtained a dog license for the little dog they adopted. So far, this matches the MO of all the homes that were broken in to but not robbed—all houses with new dogs. Marlton can stake out houses with new dogs in residence and investigate the theory that Earnshaw’s murderer is searching for that missing puppy. Why, I have no idea.”

  She’s not my redhead, he wanted to say, but he settled on a weak, “Thank you, sir.”