Losing Ladd

by Dianne Venetta

  “Are you here to see Troy?” Malcolm asked.

  Caught on the chin, Travis realized it was the obvious question. If he wasn’t at the hospital with Felicity, what was he doing here? Shifting his weight, he set hands to his hips. “Actually, I’m here to see you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Checking the immediate vicinity for anyone who might overhear, he said, “I’ve been doing some digging and I’ve learned that Jeremiah Ladd’s marker was paid via a local bank here in town.”

  Malcolm raised his brow.

  “I was able to trace the wire but there was no name attached to the transaction. Apparently it was paid in cash.”

  “Good work,” Malcolm commended, his demeanor easing a degree. “I like a man who understands the value of detective work.”

  Travis straightened. “Thank you, sir. But that’s not all.”

  Malcolm tipped his head. “I’m listening.”

  “I followed Jeremiah Ladd downtown. He went to a house in a pretty bad section of town and met with some guy. I saw him when he came out but didn’t recognize him.”

  “Did he look like a local?” Malcolm asked.

  “Could’ve been.” He shrugged. “I have no idea. But I did take a picture.” Travis pulled the cell phone from his back pocket and searched through his photo album. Locating the photo, he handed the phone to Malcolm. “That’s the guy.”

  Malcolm peered at the image, zooming in for a better look. While his features had relaxed, his gaze was consumed in deliberation. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “I don’t know if he’s from here or not.”

  “Doesn’t look like a man who could pay fifty thousand dollars on behalf of Jeremiah.”

  “Agreed. It’s possible he’s just an old friend or something, but I thought it significant.”

  Malcolm returned the phone. “Good work. I say we head down to the hotel and show Cal. See if he recognizes the man.”

  “Okay.”

  If the man thought that would help, fine. Travis didn’t have anything else to do at the moment.

  Walking in silence down to the lobby of Hotel Ladd, the two men were content with the privacy of their thoughts. It had been a long night yet it wasn’t getting any shorter. Not surprisingly, a few guests milled about, driven by morbid curiosity. Whispers had spread quick as the fire. There had been an explosion. The stables had been burned to the ground. Ambulances had carried away the owner’s wife. Police were on scene to investigate. Travis understood it was human nature to gawk and question, but it didn’t prevent him from wishing the people had vacated the premises. For him, this blow had been personal.

  Malcolm opened the glass-paned lobby door, directing Travis in ahead of him. A single female clerk manned the front desk. Not particularly unusual for a Sunday evening, especially considering half the hotel was up the hill, checking out the damage to the stables, but Travis found it disquieting. The mood was pensive, the ambiance unnerved. Hearing the gurgle of fountain water didn’t help, only serving to underscore the aberration of events.

  Malcolm strode over to the desk, ushering a smile as he said, “Good evening, Patty.”

  “Hi, Mr. Ward.”

  “Is Cal around?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s in the office.”

  “Thanks.”

  Waving for Travis to follow, Malcolm made his way behind the check-in desk as Mr. Foster emerged from the office. “Did I hear my name called?”

  “You did,” Malcolm replied. “Travis and I wanted to speak with you. Do you have a second?”

  Cal glanced between the two, a heightened curiosity nipping at his gaze. “Of course. In the office?”

  The three men walked into the small office and Cal closed the door behind them. Without enough chairs for them all to sit, they remained standing. “What’s up?” Cal asked.

  “Travis has been doing some research into Jeremiah’s debt situation and discovered his marker was paid from a local bank here in town.” Cal glanced at Malcolm with an odd mix of confusion and curiosity but said nothing. Malcolm smiled. “It seems he’s also taken it upon himself to do a bit of investigating work.”

  Cal centered on Travis. “What kind of investigative work?”

  Travis looked to Malcolm who gave him the nod. Go ahead and show him. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he brought the photo onto the screen and handed it to Cal. “I followed him to a shanty house downtown where he met with these guys. We were wondering if maybe you recognized one them.”

  Cal examined the imaged, zoomed in as Malcolm had, scrolling through the few photos Travis had taken. “I don’t know... The one looks familiar but the shot was taken too far away. It’s possible I’ve seen him around town, even here at the hotel, though by the looks of him, I doubt the latter.” Looking up, he said, “You know, Troy mentioned he saw Jeremiah in the woods with two men.”

  “He did?” Travis asked. “When?”

  “When he was out looking for Spirit. Jeremiah was looking to grab some of the gold, but there was none to be grabbed. According to Troy, he and his cohorts weren’t too happy.”

  Travis felt a warm rise in his cheeks. Why hadn’t Troy mentioned it to him?

  “It’s possible Ladd has hooked up with some old friends while in town,” Malcolm said, “engaging in a bit of freelancing on the side.”

  “Maybe. I think we should show this picture to Troy,” Cal said. “See if he recognizes the fellow as one of two in the forest with Jeremiah.

  Malcolm prompted, “I find the beard interesting, don’t you?”

  The question snapped Cal to attention. “Yes. I do. Should we call Becky in?”

  “If you don’t think she’ll mind coming into work on a Sunday evening, I do.” Malcolm grinned. “The police are already on site, which would make it convenient to take her statement.”

  Cal handed the camera phone back to Travis and picked up the phone from his desk. Travis didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but dutifully followed as Malcolm walked out of the office. “What was that about?” Travis asked, unable to stem his curiosity.

  Passing the desk clerk, Malcolm took him aside by the fountain. Lowering his voice, he explained, “The gift shop was robbed the other night.”

  “Robbed?”

  “We’ve tried to keep it under wraps so as not to alarm the guests, but the man responsible had a beard.”

  Comprehension sank through him like stone. “You think this might be the guy?”

  Malcolm nodded. “Seems likely. He fits the general description.”

  “I told Felicity I didn’t think it was a coincidence that Jeremiah was back in town and things started happening,” Travis said, the notion gaining steam. “She thinks it’s her father who’s responsible. She thinks he’s behind all the trouble.”

  “I’m not ruling out Jack Foster.”

  “You’re not?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “He could have easily paid the marker for Jeremiah. You said the money came from here. He’s here.”

  “But why would he help Jeremiah?”

  Malcolm stared at him. “He doesn’t care for Delaney? He knows their history? Seems to me now is not the time to pull any chips from the table.”

  Travis stood stunned. Felicity could be right?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Travis tagged along as Malcolm and Cal made the trek back up to the stables. The police officer who had stopped him earlier noticed Travis and narrowed his gaze, his expression sour as he trailed the three men walking past him. Yes, I’m with them. The man made a move toward him until a couple of guests walked up to the officer, distracting the evil eye he had trained on Travis.

  Tamping down a rush of nerves, he thought, whatever. Tugging the shirt from his body, he did what he had to do. These men had to know what he knew, though unlike Mr. Ward, Travis maintained his belief Jeremiah seemed the most likely culprit. While Jack Foster might have it in for Felicity’s mom, he didn’t have any grudge against the hotel. Other t
han the fact Troy worked for Hotel Ladd, but Travis thought that connection was a stretch. The sticky point was the money. Mr. Foster definitely had the money to help Jeremiah get out of jail. His daddy owned the biggest bank in town making it easy enough for him to wire the money without leaving a footprint. But still...

  Travis wasn’t ready to give up on his theory quite yet. His gut wouldn’t let him. Climbing the hillside with little effort, he listened as the men conversed.

  “Where’s Jillian tonight?” Malcolm asked Cal. “Any idea if she’s in house?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since I came down from the bonfire.”

  “Hm.”

  “If she had anything to do with this, so help me God, I’ll make her wish she never set foot on this property.”

  “You’re not alone in that sentiment,” Malcolm said.

  “How’s Delaney?” Cal asked.

  Malcolm tossed a glance over his shoulder at Travis before replying, “Not good. She’s in a coma.”

  “A coma?” Cal swore under his breath. “Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that. I assume Nick is with her.”

  “He is.”

  Cal ground his jaw, muscles jumping beneath his skin. Travis understood the emotions churning through him. They were the same ones he was experiencing, although his were compounded by a sense of betrayal. Why didn’t Troy share his news about Jeremiah with him? Differences aside, they were brothers who cared about the same people. They helped track down the missing horses, helped handle the blaze. Why couldn’t they be a team? Didn’t Troy understand they were working toward the same goal?

  Arriving at the stables, Travis noted firemen were loading up their truck. Flames no longer leapt into the night sky, the fire nothing but a smoldering mess of destruction. Several guests hovered about the edge of the bright yellow crime scene tape. A lone group of men walked the perimeter of the paddocks. Horses looked normal. Travis didn’t see Troy anywhere.

  As an older staff member walked past, Cal asked him, “Is Troy still around?”

  The man nodded. “He’s in the barn.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re making room for the horses.”

  “Thanks,” Cal replied and headed over.

  They didn’t have to walk far. Troy was on his way back to the paddocks. When he spotted them, he picked up his pace. His arm was bandaged in white, a stark contrast to his soot-covered skin and the black of his T-shirt. Malcolm said he’d been burned. He’d suffered the injury while saving the horses. Travis’ lungs constricted. Saving Felicity’s horse.

  “Hello, Mr. Foster.” Troy tipped his head. “Mr. Ward.”

  “How’s it coming with the move?” Cal asked.

  “Fine. I think they’ll be all right in there temporarily. I’ve moved the carriages out back, and dependin’ on the weather, most of the animals can stay outside during the day.”

  Cal added, “How’s Spirit?”

  His brother’s dark eyes turned inky black, a menacing spark lighting them as he replied, “Not good. The fire spooked him bad. I think he must have been near where it started ‘cause it looks like he tried to bust clear out of his stall.”

  “Is he okay?”

  At the upheaval in his brother’s eyes, Travis knew the answer before Troy said, “He’s hurt. The vet is here taking a look at him, but he scraped himself up pretty badly.”

  Malcolm placed a hand to Troy’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of him, Troy. If there’s anything that can be done, we’ll do it.”

  Troy mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

  His brother appeared on the verge of tears, which meant this must be the horse Felicity had told him about, the one Troy and only Troy seemed to be able to handle. Memories of an injured horse put down during his childhood overcame Travis, hitting harder than he expected. God help Troy if he had to put down this horse. Travis prayed the injuries were only superficial and wouldn’t warrant such a drastic measure. Ending an animal’s life was tough. Too tough.

  “I hate to take you away from your business,” Cal said, knowing full well Troy had no “business” here. He was here as a volunteer, no longer an official employee on duty. At least until his name was cleared at trial.

  “No, sir. That’s fine.” Troy glanced at Mr. Ward. “What’s on your mind?”

  No concern in his voice, rather Troy seemed heartened by the distraction.

  “Travis has some information regarding Jeremiah that we want to ask you about.”

  Troy looked at him. “What?”

  Blunt, challenging, he went straight to the source, Travis mused. Pushing his shoulders back, he said, “Mr. Foster said you saw some guys in the forest with Jeremiah Ladd,” inflecting a “why didn’t you tell me” into his tone.

  “I did.”

  “Well, I followed him downtown where I saw him meet with some guys.”

  “We want to know if the men are the ones you saw in the woods,” Cal said. Troy shot a questioning glance to Travis. “He has a picture,” Cal said, prodding Travis to share it with Troy.

  Pulling the phone from his pocket, he displayed the photo depicting Jeremiah and the taller man on the screen. “Is this one of the guys you saw?”

  Troy examined the picture for a second and said, “Yep. That’s one of ‘em.” Focusing on Travis, he said, “Where did you see him?”

  “Downtown, over by Pine Street.”

  Anger funneled into his gaze. “He’s up to no good.” As though mentally connecting the dots, he asked, “Do you think he had something to do with this fire?”

  “We don’t know,” Malcolm answered. “He could have, but we don’t want to rule anyone out at this point.”

  “What about that Jillian woman?” Troy asked boldly. “She was together with Mr. Foster at a motel in town. Do you think they had something to do with it?”

  Travis gaped at him. “Jillian was with Felicity’s dad?” Disbelief coursed through him. What else didn’t he know?

  Troy flashed a look of disdain but duly revealed, “She told me the other day. Said she saw them the afternoon we found the horses.”

  And she didn’t tell me? Travis grumbled silently.

  Cal and Malcolm shared an unsettling glance, before Malcolm turned his lens on Travis and Troy. “Now that we’re putting our cards on the table, is there anything else you boys think we should know?”

  Travis was spent. He had nothing more. He looked to his brother. Did Troy?

  He shook his head and scowled. “That’s all I know, except whoever did this is gonna pay.”

  “Troy,” Cal cautioned, “think about what you’re saying. With the trial coming up, don’t give Jack any more ammunition to use against you.”

  Troy grunted his displeasure but Travis thought it good advice. Troy didn’t need any more trouble than he already had. Especially trouble that was preventable.

  “Okay,” Malcolm said. “Do me a favor and keep it to yourselves. I don’t want anyone getting ahead of us on this one.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The knock on Jeremiah’s motel door sounded like a jackhammer to his skull. Lying prostrate across his bed, he was nursing a hangover of epic proportions and wanted no visitors. None. “Go away!” he yelled

  “We ain’t going anywhere until you give us our money!” came the angry reply through the cheap metal door, followed by another round of pounding.

  Jeremiah groaned. Gripping his forehead, he squeezed his temples to ward off the noise. He was in no mood for a confrontation. Not after a night of drinking at Bucky’s. Running into one of his old pals at the cell phone store, they’d gone over to the bar for a few drinks, a few drinks that turned into a night full. The last thing he wanted to do was get up and answer the door.

  The incessant pounding continued, followed by, “You’d better answer this door ‘fore I kick it in, Jeremiah!”

  “Dammit!” Jeremiah exclaimed, rolling halfway off the cheap mattress. He glanced at the digital clock. Eleven-thirty. Oh, jeez. He’d only slept six hours? His hea
d throbbed. His stomach felt like rot-gut. The room rolled and tipped.

  “Hurry up! I ain’t waitin’ all day!”

  Pushing to a standing position, Jeremiah swayed a bit, his brain a soupy mess of pain. Suddenly, he felt the need to hit the toilet. Unfortunately, the physiological detour might send his dimwitted cohorts over the edge causing them to knock in the door!

  Idiots. Shuffling toward the door, Jeremiah fought the stabbing pain in his head and unlocked the door. Within seconds the brothers pushed their way in, a blinding flood of sunlight spilling in behind them. “Why ain’t you answering our calls?”

  “I lost my phone,” Jeremiah replied, squinting against the invasion of daylight as he headed for the bathroom.

  “You don’t expect me to fall for that lame excuse, do you?”

  “Yeah,” the second one pitched in. “Sure you lost it all right.” He pointed to the nightstand with a sneer. “What’s that over there? A walkie-talkie?”

  Ignoring them, he unzipped his jeans and relieved himself.

  “We want our money,” Rob warned in a gravelly voice.

  “So you said,” Jeremiah replied through the open door.

  “We want it now.”

  Zipping his fly closed, Jeremiah flushed the toilet and walked back into the room. The air smelled like stale cigarettes, much like his clothes. Outside the confines of a bar, the scent grated on him. Made him sick, actually. Fighting a tide of nausea, he pulled the brothers into focus. Drawn with lines of displeasure, Rob’s face was tanned, his long hair greasy and thin, his chin hair a scruffy excuse for a beard. His brother was no different, only rounder, chubbier, his hair line receding before that of his older brother’s. Both wore jeans and T-shirts, the grubby status-quo since they’d been here. Jeremiah doubted they did laundry. Too much effort.