Dr. Deb stood and cleared her throat. “I’m concerned about Myrna’s medical condition. We don’t know what kind of injuries she may have sustained. I don’t think we can wait until morning to mount another search.”
“I agree,” Nate said. “I hope no one will accuse me of being sexist when I suggest that the women and children stay here with the doors locked, while the men go out in groups.”
No one argued, but there was a palpable tension in the air as Nate organized the teams and gave instructions. Riley walked with him to the glassed-in lobby. She seemed more subdued and he wanted to wrap his arms around her, soak up some human contact, feel the beat of her heart. Instead, he took her by the hand.
“Stay inside and keep all the entrances locked.”
“Nate, do you think Myrna’s still alive?”
He blew out a pent-up breath. “I believe there’s a good chance she escaped somehow. We’ve searched pretty hard and haven’t found a body and he’s never bothered to hide his handiwork before. I think she’s hiding.”
“Nate, if the killer finds her first—”
“Not going to happen.”
She nodded. He slipped out the door to join his group and heard the click as it locked shut behind him. As they moved off into the darkness, he turned back to see Riley standing against the glass, an aureole of light radiating from her auburn hair.
CHAPTER 57
RICK DROVE FAST TOWARD THE address Chris had given him. There was little traffic on the road, but he had to backtrack twice when he encountered bridges that were washed out or closed off and the delay was maddening. The merest sliver of an orange sun remained on the horizon and the darkness was almost tangible, a live thing which might brush you with its wing.
He turned off the highway and entered a winding side street. He rounded a bend, his headlights catching two deer as they bounded along beside the road before veering off into the forest. Hitting one would have ended his night’s mission, and he proceeded with caution, pulling up at last between two brick pillars spanned by a wrought iron gate. He pressed the intercom button and got dead silence.
He gave the instrument panel a belligerent smack and began entering codes at random into the keypad. He’d come a long way for it to end like this. He got no click, no ping, no response.
He backed the Mustang away from the gate and parked on the shoulder, idling the engine while he considered his options. He was about to switch off the car and jump the fence when he heard the rising pitch of a vehicle approaching at fast speed. He realized it came, not from down the road on which he sat, but from behind the property line. As he watched, the gates swung open, barely in time to allow clearance for the black Jaguar which burst through them, fish-tailing on the sharp turn out of the driveway. The tires skidded, leaving half a pound of rubber, then bit the pavement and the car was gone.
If he’d stopped to think about it, things might have turned out a whole lot differently, but there was no time for deliberation. His foot worked the gas pedal and he was through the closing gates and barreling down the driveway.
He slowed the car and tried to make his heartbeat follow suit. He was trespassing, but he’d been stretching the law all day and wasn’t beyond breaking it outright, if need be. This was one fight he wasn’t backing down from.
The drive passed through woodland, but soon the trees thinned and gave way to a vast, close-clipped lawn. Another deer loomed out of the darkness and Rick nudged the brake, slowing to a crawl.
It wasn’t a deer, and it wasn’t alone. A veritable herd of creatures swarmed him, forcing the car to a halt, creating a barrier between him and the house.
He’d been captured by a phalanx of llamas.
CHAPTER 58
RILEY WAS SO WEARY HER knees wobbled, threatening to buckle with each step. She paused, watching the overhead lights wink out as Millie turned off switches to save power. A few lamps burned, one in the lobby and one in the lounge, but the intervening darkness seemed thick and menacing. Jess came around the corner from the lounge, moving with her customary grace, lamplight reflecting from her silvery hair.
“Riley, you look done in. I’m making you a cup of tea.”
She took Riley’s arm and guided her through the shadowy dining room to the kitchen. Riley sank into a chair at the kitchen desk and watched Jess move around Skillet’s well-ordered domain, filling a kettle, sniffing tea bags, pulling two cups from the shelf.
“I think Chamomile would be best.”
Riley was too tired to reply and it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Jess was the sort of woman who decided what she wanted and made no bones about getting it. It was an admirable quality and Riley gave the woman points for candor, if not for moral rectitude. Despite the steady confidence she displayed in her own sex appeal, Riley sensed a vulnerability, the hunger to connect with another person while remaining unfulfilled by that connection. In her present state of exhaustion, what she felt for Jess was gratitude, tinged with pity.
Jess set a steaming cup on the desk blotter and Riley was enveloped in a fragrant cloud. She felt some of her surface tension dissolve.
“How did you happen upon the good-looking detective?” Jess asked. The rising vapor from her cup drifted in front of her face, distorting the features. Riley felt the measure of her gratitude diminish and she glared at Jess.
“Down, girl. I’m just making conversation. I’ll keep my paws off your policeman.”
“He’s not my policeman.”
“Then why the dirty look?”
Riley waved away the question and tested the tea, finding it still too hot to drink.
“I’m going to miss Rico,” Jess said. “He gave some great parties.” She paused and blew across the top of her cup. “Who do you think killed him?”
Riley realized how much she’d evaded that question in her own mind. Who, indeed? Someone in her group of friends and acquaintances? Or a maniac lurking on the fringes?
“I really have no idea,” she said. “And I’m too tired to process anything right now. It’s been a rough weekend.”
“To put it lightly.”
The tea reached perfection and Riley sipped it down, feeling the muscles in her chest relax a bit as the tea warmed her. Jess finished with her cup and washed it out in the sink, tipping it in the drainer to dry.
“I’m for bed.”
“Don’t wait for me,” Riley said. “I just want to sit and veg for a moment.”
“You sure?”
Riley nodded.
“Okay, then. Goodnight.”
The kitchen door swung shut behind her, thub-thubbing until it settled into inertia. Riley finished her own tea and sat staring into the cup, trying to divine meaning from the tiny shreds of chamomile that lay at the bottom. She was on her way to the sink when a horrific scream ripped the air and she nearly dropped her cup and saucer. Dumping them in the sink, she ran through the darkened dining area. As she reached the corridor outside the lounge, a shadowy figure rushed for her, driving an elbow into her stomach. She went down, gasping, and the attacker fled through the lobby and out the front door, disappearing into the night.
Riley writhed on the floor, unable to draw breath. She had to get up, had to get help. Even in the darkness, she had seen the knife. And the blood.
She crawled to the lounge and used a sofa to pull herself upright. She heard a whimper and saw Jess curled in a ball, her silver hair streaked with red.
CHAPTER 59
THE HERD OF LLAMAS CLOSED in on the Mustang, encapsulating Rick in a virtual tin can. He pushed open the driver-side door, hoping to scare them off and create a path for his exit, but they were having none of it. The hairy mob crowded in, forcing the door closed. Rick hastily withdrew his hand and sat for a moment, bemused by the unexpected scene. A flock of matted, wandering sheep filled the yard with a mournful, bleating racket. The llamas clearly blamed Rick for disturbing the peace. He counted eight cream colored, long-necked creatures and at least half a dozen dark brown counterparts
. Each treated him to a contemptuous stare. Rick locked eyes and leaned heavily on the horn.
The llamas side-stepped away from the car, ungainly, their heads bobbing on slender necks. Three seconds later, they surged back. One inquisitive beast swiped a tongue over the dusty window, leaving a slimy track. Rick returned to the horn and pounded out a chorus of La Bamba. Through the forest of necks, he saw a woman wading through the woolly pack. Her long, golden hair was burnished by the security lights, creating a halo effect, and she was moving fast. She gave a signal and the animals retreated, holding a perimeter about ten yards out.
Before Rick could unfold himself from the seat, the woman wrenched the door from his grasp and planted herself where the llamas had vacated, eyes smoldering. No angel, this one.
A single word exploded from her compressed lips. “What?”
Rick stared. His mind went blank. It had been a long day.
“Sorry, my mistake,” he said, grabbing the door to swing it shut. Clearly, this was not Robert Baines. Presumably, Robert Baines had been in the speeding get-away car that had nearly clipped him at the gate. And who could blame him?
“Oh, no you don’t.” She hip-butted the car door so that it strained at the hinges, gaping open like a wound. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, eyes flinty, cheeks flamed. “Let’s do this. I want to see you try putting lipstick on this pig.”
Rick understood he’d walked into some kind of mess. “I think you were expecting someone else. I’ll come back another time.”
She’d taken in a breath, ready to lambaste him, and she expelled it in a huff. Some of the sparks left her eyes. “You’re not working for my husband,” she said, her tone flat.
“No, I’m not. But if your husband is Robert Baines, that’s who I’m looking for.”
She laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “My husband,” she said, putting bitter emphasis on the word, “just left. I’m surprised he didn’t run you down. He was flying like a bat out of hell.”
“Oh, that guy. Missed me by mere inches.”
She darted him a hostile look and he kept his face ruler-straight. “Sorry I wasted your time. I’ll get out of your hair now.” He made another move for the car door, but she didn’t budge.
“What do you want with Robert?”
“Long story, and it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna call it a day.”
She stood, braced hard, cold as a January pond. Then she moved half out of his way, releasing the door. “Care for a drink?”
“Mrs. Baines, I really should go.”
A shadow moved over her face and was gone. He considered. What are the chances she could help him? She hardly seemed in a position to influence her husband in a positive direction. Still, he could use a drink.
They walked together across the yard. It seemed the llamas had forgiven him, or more likely, forgotten him. Their complacent gazes followed their mistress, and the frantic bleating of the sheep had diminished to the occasional sleepy comment. The ranch house had a wide veranda and cedar boxes planted with bronze chrysanthemums. The smell of mulch hung in the crisp air and floating over it like a faint melody, Rick caught a whiff of expensive perfume.
“So, what’s with the llamas.”
Her face opened up with a genuine smile. “They make great guard dogs, don’t they?”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“They nanny the sheep, too.” She threw open the front door and walked in, expecting him to follow. “Watch your step,” she said.
Rick’s foot crunched down. Too late. He looked down where his shoe had pulverized broken crockery. Shards and splinters lay scattered through the entryway and he counted fragments from at least three different sets. No respecter of plates, this girl.
“Never mind, just step around it and come into the great room.”
She poured him a drink, without regard to his preferences, and motioned him onto a fawn-colored leather couch. “I hope you’ll forgive my behavior. I was…upset.” She mixed a drink for herself and sank into a matching chair. “So, what’s your story? I know a soul in need when I see one. I’m not a bad sort, despite appearances.”
Rick realized he wanted to air his predicament, to lay off some frustration on another human being, but he was reluctant to become ensnared in this woman’s affairs as would surely happen if he let down his guard. He kept his peace and drained his glass, rising to go.
She raised an eyebrow, waving him back to his chair. “Vent with abandon, sir. I won’t require tit for tat.” She went to the sideboard and returned with the decanter, splashing another round of amber liquid into his tumbler.
Two refills later, the dam broke. He left out few details and found her to be a good listener, drawing him out and setting him at ease. He ended by recounting his visit to the journalist who’d written the article in Forbes.
“He told me if anyone could get me there, it was Bobby Baines, and he gave me this address. I hope you don’t mind.” He snapped his empty glass down on the rosewood table at his elbow. “I’m afraid Bobby was my last hope.”
She swirled her drink, regarding its depths with a solemn eye, then shifted her gaze to his.
“You’re looking at a classic good news/bad news situation here. The good news is, I’m Bobbi Baines and I am one hell of a pilot. The bad news is that the sort of operation you’re talking about, aside from the extreme peril, would tear up an engine, virtually killing the helicopter. No one wants to subject their bird to that.”
Rick absorbed the pronouncement and wondered if he was too drunk to drive. It was time to go. He gathered his feet under him and pushed up from the chair.
She took a swallow and raised a finger for attention.
“You’re gonna want to stick around for the capper, stranger. More good news—it’s not my helicopter. It belongs to that rat bastard I married.”
She raised her glass. “When do we leave?”
CHAPTER 60
FROM A HUNDRED YARDS BACK, Nate could see that something was wrong. Light shone from every window of the clubhouse and figures were moving in the glass-walled lobby, though he was too far away to make out any details. He brought his trot up to a gallop and Teren and Sandy matched him step for step. They arrived and Riley met them at the door.
“No one’s been killed,” she said, her voice calm, hands moving in gentle, soothing motions. “Jess was attacked and her arm was cut. Dr. Deb has stitched it and she’s going to be fine. The doctor gave her a sedative, though, and she’s down for the count. You’ll have to save your questions for tomorrow. Any trace of Myrna?”
“Nothing. Tell me what happened here.”
“I’ll tell you all I can, but first, you gotta see this.”
She started away, but he grabbed her by the elbow.
“Wait just a moment.” He dispatched Teren and Sandy to check that all points of entry into the facility were secure and to search the building for anything suspicious. Then he followed Riley to the lounge. The center of the room had been cleared, the oriental carpet rolled up against the piano bench, to expose the bare floor. A figure had been drawn on the planks of the hardwood floor with a grease pencil, a pentagram. The center of the greased-in lines was smeared with blood.
Nate used his cell phone to photograph the scene, then he led Riley to the dining room and they sat at a table while she told him all that had happened. As she finished, Teren and Sandy returned and reported in.
“All doors and windows are secure and we found no signs of forced entry,” Sandy said.
“Everyone is present and accounted for,” added Teren, “except for the last group of searchers. That would be Skillet, Cappy, and Frank.”
“Alright, thanks. I don’t know how he got in, but Riley says she definitely saw him leave by the front door.”
“What did he look like?” asked Teren.
“I hate to sound like your typical eye-witness dope, but it was dark and it all happened so fast. All I can say is that he wore jeans and a black hoodie pulled down ove
r most of his face.”
“How tall?” asked Nate.
“He didn’t tower over me, but then he was sort of crouched down, hiding his face.”
Teren pulled up a chair at their table. “This points to an outsider, doesn’t it, detective? All the men in our group were watching each other’s backs out there, while someone was hiding in here, waiting for a chance to strike.”
“I don’t know,” said Nate. “I didn’t have eyes on you the entire time we were out. Sometimes you circled one way and I went another and we lost sight of each other for a time.”
Teren’s jaw dropped, then snapped shut, hard. “Not long enough for me to come back here and carve up Jess.”
“No,” said Nate. “I wasn’t accusing you. I’m just saying that none of us have a clear-cut alibi. I’m sure it’s the same with the other searchers. We weren’t holding hands out there. It’s possible someone could have slipped back here for a quick attack to make it appear as if an outsider did it.”
“Or an outsider did it.” Teren’s tone was belligerent.
“There is that,” Nate conceded.
“Now what?” said Riley.
“Tomorrow, we find Mrs. Mayhew,” Nate said, “alive and squawking.”
CHAPTER 61
THE MORNING AIR HAD THE gentle bite of early autumn, crisping the multi-colored leaves that fluttered against the evergreens in a gorgeous array. There was a slightly smoky aroma that reminded Riley of a camping trip with Jim and Tanner, how it had felt to step out of the tent in the early morning to the smell of wood ash and tree sap. An ache settled into her throat and she plodded on with grim determination. Must find Myrna became the controlling idea in her head, and she allowed it to push everything else aside.
They were out, searching in force this morning. Her group included Skillet and Marie. They worked down one side of the street while Nate, Teren, and Cappy covered the opposite side. They combed through the yards, checking bushes and outbuildings, knocking on doors. The water level had risen again and there were several spots where they had to squelch through, muddying shoes and soaking socks.
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