Losing Ladd

by Dianne Venetta

  “The gift shop?” She nodded but didn’t elaborate. “No, he didn’t. Is there a problem?”

  “It was robbed last night.”

  “Robbed?”

  “Yes, sir. A man came in and stole all the gold pendants.”

  Disbelief swirled through him as questions rose fast and furious. “What man? When?”

  “We don’t know who he was,” she replied. “It happened around five-thirty, just before closing time.”

  Cal cursed inwardly. “Did Malcolm report the crime to the police?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re scheduled to come by this morning and get a statement. I wanted to be sure you knew.”

  “What time?”

  “Nine.”

  Cal checked his watch and mentally cleared his agenda. “Okay. Thanks, Patti. Let me know when they get here. Until then, let’s stay on high alert.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jeremiah Ladd strolled into the dumpster of a house, the interior saturated with the scent of old cigarette smoke. The boys were laid out across the couch, the typical bored expressions pasted on their faces. Well maybe this would spark their mood. “My pal says those pendants you snagged are worth a good twenty grand or more. Not bad for a ten-minute heist.”

  Seated on opposite ends of a soiled couch, his two cohorts exchanged a look of satisfaction. “So where’s my money?” Rob asked.

  Of course that would be his first question, missing sight of the big picture, Jeremiah thought, pausing in mid-room. But then again, the brothers weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. Never had been. They were thieves, not rocket scientists. Jeremiah was the brains of this trio, which meant he had to do everything, including the thinking. “You’ll get your money and then some. Twenty grand is squat when you look at the hole they carved out of the ground.” According to his friend at the pawn shop, the gold Delaney scored from the site had to be five times that much, a hundred times. “The rest has to be in a safe somewhere and it’s our job to find it.”

  The men looked at him expectantly. “I didn't see no office when I was there.” The younger brother scratched his head, his dark brown hair a greasy mess of nasty strands. Even his beard looked knotted and nappy. The two would not have been Jeremiah’s first choice for partners in crime, but after two dozen phone calls, these boys had been his only hope. Clem Sweeney had been useful the first time around, cluing Jeremiah into the gold’s existence. But he’d caught on quick and was of no use to him anymore, not once he realized Jeremiah wasn’t interested in sharing the loot. The guys he used to run with during high school were of no use. They couldn’t break into a piggy bank, let alone a real one. That’s where these two fit in. It took some effort, but he’d managed to locate them south of Bryson City, living in a trailer with two biker babes. The duo had been more than willing to help. All it took was a few words. Gold. On Ladd Springs.

  Grabbing a cold beer from the refrigerator, Jeremiah returned to the living area and popped it open. “The office is behind the front desk. And I’ll guarantee you there’s a safe inside.”

  “How we gonna get in there without anyone seeing us? They'll know we ain't guests if they see us behind the counter.”

  Jeremiah stared at him, his palm iced by the cold beer can. Moron. The man was a complete and utter moron. “Diversion,” Jeremiah said bluntly. “Diversion 101.”

  “Diversion?” the younger asked with a blank stare.

  Glancing sideways, his brother tossed him a look of disgust. “Distract them so you can get in while they’re busy doing something else.”

  “Oh... But how we gonna do that?”

  Both men looked to Jeremiah. Pleasure unwound his mouth into a grin. “I know how to get everyone’s attention.”

  Travis sat in his parked truck, his lungs pressed tighter than the pages in a legal journal. After discovering Jeremiah Ladd’s marker had been paid from a bank in Tennessee—a local bank—Travis decided to follow the man and find out who his source might be. It had to be someone from Jeremiahs’ old crowd. If the money came from here, it had to be someone he knew from the old days. Couldn’t have been Clem Sweeney. Despite the two hooking up during Jeremiah’s last visit to town, Clem was still in jail and broke as a bone-dry whiskey barrel. Clem might have been the one responsible for leading Jeremiah to the gold on Ladd Springs, but he couldn’t help him steal the precious metal. Couldn’t help him pay his debt either. No, it had to be someone else.

  Glancing around the desolate streets, the run-down housing and litter-ridden streets, Travis wondered who around here could have helped Jeremiah pay his way free. This area was poorer than poor, but this is where Jeremiah had come. Travis had followed him from a local motel near Fran’s Diner. He had no problem learning where Jeremiah was staying. A few blind calls inquiring to speak with Mr. Ladd turned up the right motel when the clerk offered to connect him with his room. Focusing on the lean-to of a house, Travis wondered who might be inside with Jeremiah. As he sat, the humidity built within the confines of his truck cab. Not a cloud in the sky, it was sunny and warm. Swiping the back of his hand against his forehead, he hoped Jeremiah wouldn’t stay inside all day.

  The front door of the place swung open and Travis instinctively ducked, his heart shooting beats into his ribs. Jeremiah knew what he looked like, and Travis couldn’t risk being seen while he was spying on the guy. There was no doubt in his mind that Jeremiah would not take it well. Over the rim of his dashboard, he chanced a peek. Two men walked out behind Jeremiah. Two dark-haired men with facial hair, medium build. By the looks of them they were definitely locals. One hung at the top of the steps while the other trailed Jeremiah to his truck. The two had words before Jeremiah climbed in and drove off. As Travis watched, something struck him as oddly familiar. Were they workers in town? Had they helped with the construction of the hotel?

  Heart pounding hard within his chest, Travis snapped a few quick shots of the men with his cell phone. Maybe someone else would recognize them. Debating whether or not to follow Jeremiah, Travis hesitated. The one man remained outside. If Travis drove by him now, he might call attention to himself and arouse suspicion. But with Jeremiah putting distance between them, Travis might lose his primary target. Pressure compounded as he silently counted the seconds. Jeremiah’s taillights illuminated, then disappeared as he turned a corner. Unfortunately the stranger remained in place. No longer looking around as though distracted, he seemed to notice Travis’ truck. Probably not used to seeing a vehicle in decent condition around these parts.

  But when the man’s expression changed, Travis took that as his cue to depart. Get out of Dodge before the man was able to place a face with the truck. Throwing the gear into reverse, Travis made a three-point circle in the middle of the street and took off in the opposite direction. No sense giving the guy any more detailed description than necessary. Too bad it came at the price of losing Jeremiah. Glancing in his rearview mirror, Travis was torn. Bothered. The man continued to stare after him. Not good. If the guy told Jeremiah a black truck had been parked on their street, a man inside watching them, it would be all Jeremiah would need to come looking for him. Young brunette guy in a black truck could lead him straight to Travis.

  Or Troy. They shared looks and they shared vehicle description. Slamming a palm to the steering wheel, Travis cursed his mistake. How could he have been so stupid?

  Chapter Eleven

  Injecting as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible, Cal asked, “How was the spa treatment, girls?” He wanted nothing more than to focus on his wife and daughter and their pleasure, but thoughts of Jeremiah and the robbery gnawed at him. Cal knew they were connected. Sure as he was breathing, he knew the two were not a coincidence.

  “Great!” Emily squealed, waving fluttering fingertips for his perusal. “I got a facial, and my nails done in sparkles.”

  Sure enough, Cal mused, her nails glittered pearlescent cream in the overhead lighting. “Those are mighty pretty.”

  Annie smiled. “Emily i
nsisted her toes match, so be careful if you think you’re losing your mind later at home when you catch glimpse of a disco ball bouncing from her feet.” She laughed, adding, “She had every toe done in a different shade!”

  “Wonderful. It will remind me of my old dancing days.”

  “Really?” Emily asked. “You know how to dance? Can you teach me?”

  Placing an arm around her shoulders, Cal led Emily from the spa and winked. “I don’t think my moves would be very popular with the ‘in’ crowd today. You might want to watch some of those online videos instead.” Glancing at Annie over Emily’s head, he remarked, “Or maybe we could find a dance class around here?”

  She nodded. “I’ll ask Candi. She’s full of good ideas when it comes to what’s in.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Cal replied. Candi was Annie’s best friend and very hip. If anyone knew it would be her. Now that she worked in the salon with Annie, she’d be easy to consult with on the matter. “Are you gals hungry?”

  “I am,” Emily answered unequivocally.

  Annie nodded. “I could use a bite to eat.”

  “I’ve got a little more work to do around here,” Cal lied, “but how about you two head on over to Fran’s and I’ll catch up with you?”

  Annie looked to Emily. “Best cheeseburgers in town.”

  Emily grinned. “Works for me.”

  Cal escorted Annie and Emily to the truck and sent them on their way. Returning to the lobby, he picked up a set of keys for one of the hotel vehicles and made his departure. It was sort of a complimentary rental car program the hotel offered for guests interested in taking a spontaneous trip to town yet had no car of their own. While most folks didn’t need it, they all appreciated the gesture. Now that Malcolm was back, he could head out. “I’ll have the car back this afternoon,” Cal said.

  Malcolm Ward waved him off, his light blue eyes warming within the tanned brown of his skin despite the pressure Cal knew him to be under. “Take all the time you need,” he replied. “You know we have two more for the taking.”

  Cal nodded thanks, cupping his hand closed over the keys. But that was Malcolm. Not only calm under pressure, the man was personal, genuine. Similar to the gel that kept his shock of white hair smoothed back in place for his southern California hairstyle, Malcolm was the invisible glue that held the business together. He was subtle yet effective. You couldn’t miss Nick Harris coming from a mile away but not Malcolm. He beat a softer path.

  “Let me know if you hear anything from the police regarding the break-in.”

  “Will do,” Malcolm replied.

  Cal had his suspicions about who was involved, despite Jeremiah’s alibi. The intent of his little impromptu visit with Annie suddenly became clear, and one way or another, Cal was going to prove Jeremiah’s involvement with the robbery. Until then, he was employing a backup plan. If Jeremiah had any more thoughts of confronting Annie, him—or God help him, Emily—Cal was going to greet him with barrel of a gun.

  Not a man of violence, Cal understood some men only understood the threat of physical harm. They pushed the boundaries until someone stopped them cold. Dead cold. Hardening himself to the possibility, Cal knew he would shoot Jeremiah if the situation warranted. If there was no other way to get the point across to back off and leave his family alone, Cal would shoot.

  First on the agenda, collect his guns from his parent’s home. Boxed up before he’d moved to Arizona, he had yet to move the guns from the attic. His and Annie’s new home had only recently been completed, and the guns had been not a high priority when it came to moving in. Cal planned to transfer them when he got around to it.

  That day would be today.

  Driving the half hour to Misty Mountain Ranch, the Foster family estate, Cal contemplated a confrontation with his mother. He hadn’t called to warn them of his arrival. There was no need. He had a key. He’d let himself in. Still, the thought of seeing his mother so close to the impending trial chafed him. The insanity of her support for Jack made no sense. Bringing Troy to trial, airing Jack’s dirty laundry would do more harm to her reputation than good. Contrary to her continued assertion that she and Jack were in the right, the Fosters had a reputation to uphold, a community profile to manage, and this trial would do nothing but soil it. Everything she claimed to defend would be ruined.

  It was lunacy. Sheer lunacy.

  But that was his family. Everyone had their “crazy” in the gene pool, and apparently his mother was revealing theirs. Years of impeccable dignity and aplomb would be ripped and churned by the gossip mill, plastered all over the papers. Victoria Foster would be mocked. She’d become the face of pity. Families would shun her once they learned about Jack’s real actions. The secrets from years of whispers would become shouts in the streets. People had speculated about Jack’s and Delaney’s divorce. Many had the details right. Jack Foster was an abuser. An abusive alcoholic and he was the reason Delaney baled on their marriage. Afterward people had flocked to Delaney and Felicity like they were warm pie blowing through an open window. Women offered to take Felicity while Delaney was busy working. Men and women alike had made a point to give Delaney a start with her new accounting business, his brothers leading the way, their wives included, and word was spread.

  As Cal turned onto the drive to his childhood home and took in the acreage, he was flooded by bittersweet memories. Wide open spaces called to the horseman in him, the mountains in the distance beckoned his outdoorsman side. Not only beautiful with its rolling hills of green, Misty Mountain Ranch was known for quality horses sold by rock-solid members of the local community. The Fosters were part of the town’s fabric. They lived and breathed the country and people around them. From the densely-packed earth beneath him to the starry skies that blanketed his nights, Cal loved this land. He loved the ranch and everything it stood for.

  But once the facts about Jack’s attack on Delaney spread, it would taint the entire Foster family. Because his mother had chosen to involve herself. Because she had chosen to take up for Jack, the business of Misty Mountain Ranch would suffer. His brothers and their families would feel the repercussions. Shoot, he’d feel it too. Cal didn’t kid himself. He was knee-deep in the center of this mess and he and Annie would not escape the talk.

  Only Cal didn’t care. He would stand up to the lot of them and face them with a clean conscience and a pure heart. Troy had done nothing wrong. Delaney had done nothing wrong. Together, they would stand strong against this assault of lies.

  Roaming the confines of the toasty attic, the air suffused with heat and dank, Cal counted his blessings. He’d avoided contact with his mother on the way in. She was here but in her bedroom. Retired for a cat nap, Thelma had told him.

  Before lunchtime? Cal could only hope it was simply a lack of sleep and not a prescription-induced slumber. His mother had been known to partake in the past. She might do so again considering the stress she was under. Pausing in the center of the plywood-lined space, Cal searched for sight of his boxes. He was certain he’d left them in the corner, but now, they weren’t there. Glancing around, he examined boxes according to size. His guns were packed in a pretty big box. The myriad stacked around him could not belong to him. Taking a few steps, he ducked his head for a timber frame and continued his search. There were pieces of furniture arranged neatly in a line, accompanied by empty frames and a miscellany of household items. A lot of this stuff should probably see the inside of a thrift store, he mused, but it wasn’t his place to toss out junk. Cal’s job was to find his belongings and move them to his new home.

  In the back, behind an old hutch, Cal spotted his box. At least he thought so. Walking over, he squatted behind the wooden crate and, sure enough, believed the box was his. There were several lightweight boxes piled on top of it which he carefully moved aside. As he brushed the dust from his box, featherweight fumes of dirt particles billowed into his face and he coughed. Reading the label, this was definitely his box. His gun collection. Satisfaction unfu
rled, mixing with a swarm of anticipation. Inside he would find not only an assortment of shotguns, but pistols, ammunition...everything he needed to protect his family from the likes of Jeremiah Ladd.

  When he slid the box free from its position, the bottom stuck, immovable as if it had been glued in place. Too long in dormancy, he thought, giving the box a good shove. Breaking free, the corner hit Cal’s knee. “Ouch!” Dropping back, his hand landed on a slender wooden box.

  It split open and the contents spewed free. Cal swore as he stared at a bunch of letters strewn about the floor. Rubbing the spot on his knee, he noticed they were addressed to his father in handwritten script. Gathering them, Cal re-organized the envelopes as he’d found them, the stiff paper flaps catching on one another. Taking greater care, he peered at the fronts, realizing they weren’t all addressed to Daddy. Some were addressed to Susannah. Comprehension snapped his senses together. Susannah Ladd?

  A flush of adrenaline inflamed his thoughts. His father had kept letters from his old flame? Cal hurried to put the letters back in place, but curiosity pulled at him to slow down. What did this mean? Why would Daddy keep these after all these years?

  Pausing, drawn to the handwriting scrawled across the front, he realized there was no address. Only a name. Susannah. Guilt swept over him. Odd. He’d done nothing wrong, but the mere touch of the envelope filled him with guilt. Shame. Like he was looking at something he shouldn’t. Unable to stop himself, Cal opened a loosened flap and tugged the letter free.

  My Dearest Girl...

  Cal held his breath as he read. Last night meant more to me than anything in this world. Nothing can raise my spirits the way you do. You fill me with ecstasy. Joy. You make me feel like the world is my oyster, your heart is my soul. Dear Girl, do you know what you do to me when you say those things? They are indelible in my mind, seared in my heart like a hot iron brand to the hide. Your love completes me. I am nothing without you. I will never be anything without you. You are the light of Heaven, an angel of His. You are a gift, a holy blessed gift and I am yours. Faithfully and forever I pray you know I will always belong to you. Gerald.