Save Your Breath

by Leigh, Melinda

  “He beat the hell out of a neighbor, Larry Brown, for not picking up his dog poop. Just ran out of the house, tackled him, and started punching him in the face.” Iris shuddered. “Larry put his house up for sale as soon as he got out of the hospital. We were all hoping Ronald would move when he got out of jail, but he didn’t.”

  “That’s terrible,” Stella said. “Does he frighten you?”

  “Yes and no.” Iris tilted her head. “It isn’t anything he does. It’s how he looks at me. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s angry. I can feel his rage from across the street, like heat radiating off a sidewalk in August, and I haven’t done anything to him. I avoid him. If he comes out of his house, I go inside mine.” She gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh. “Thank goodness Fred was a linebacker for his college football team. Ronald won’t mess with him.”

  “Did you see him beat your neighbor?” Sharp wondered if this woman was the witness.

  Iris shivered and rubbed her arms. “No. I came home from work just as the ambulance picked up Larry. His face . . .” She closed her eyes for a few seconds. A tremor passed through her. “It happened a long time ago, but everyone who lived here back then remembers.”

  “Do you know where he might be now?” Sharp asked.

  “Sure.” Iris looked at her watch. “Ronald just got a new job at Frederick’s Garden Center. It’s on Highway 12. I used to buy my perennials there. This year I went to Home Depot.”

  “Good call.” Sharp pointed at the business card still in her hand. “If you remember anything else, you can give me a call.”

  “I will.” Iris pocketed the card. “The entire neighborhood would love it if Ronald went back to prison and stayed there.”

  Stella and Sharp returned to her vehicle.

  Stella fastened her seat belt. “Let’s try the garden center.”

  When he and Stella were engrossed in the investigation, he could almost pretend he was working a normal case. But the moment his brain was unoccupied, Olivia appeared front and center. He rubbed the aching emptiness above his heart as Stella drove away from the Alexander house.

  Frederick’s Garden Center was only a few miles away. The rural roads had little traffic, and the drive took just a few minutes.

  After she parked next to a pallet of pumpkins, Stella used her dashboard computer to pull up Ronald’s driver’s license photo. “This is who we’re looking for.”

  Ronald Alexander was about fifty years old, with a mean squint and the veiny red nose of a longtime alcoholic.

  They stepped out of the car and walked down several aisles of plants. They found Ronald in front of a greenhouse, loading trays of purple cabbages onto a display table. He was an average-size man, but his body and face looked hard, as if he had spent most of his life doing physical labor and being pissed off about it. His hairline had receded past his ears, leaving him with a crown of greasy brown-and-gray hair. Over his jeans and sweatshirt, he wore a green apron displaying the Frederick’s logo.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Alexander?” Stella moved her jacket aside to show the badge on her belt.

  Ronald’s eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked scared. “What do you want? I haven’t done anything.”

  “Is there somewhere we can go and talk?” Stella glanced around. “Can you take a quick break? We only have a few questions.”

  “No. I’m working.” Ronald turned to the plants and gave the two investigators his back.

  “I’d be happy to run it by your manager.” Stella smiled. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you cooperating.”

  “Cooperating with what?” He shifted a tray of plants.

  “My investigation,” Stella said. “Your former boss’s wife, Lena Olander, is dead.”

  “I know. I saw it on the news.” Ronald spun to grab another tray of cabbages. “I am under no legal obligation to answer your questions.”

  No one understood his rights better than an ex-con.

  But Stella was no pushover. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Lena and Kennett Olander. You worked for Olander Dairy, is that correct?”

  Shiny sweat broke out on Ronald’s head. “Get this straight. I will not talk to you. Lena killed herself. That has nothing to do with me.”

  Sharp had no time for his bullshit. “Does your new boss know you’re an ex-con?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Ronald licked his lips. “This is harassment.”

  “Why don’t you want to talk about the Olanders?”

  “You had no right to come here.” His eyes darted up and down the aisle, as if he expected someone to be watching. He lowered his voice. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me,” Stella said.

  Ronald opened his mouth but quickly closed it. He set his jaw, but underneath his determination was fear. “There’s nothing to tell. I worked for Mr. Olander, but he had to sell the farm. Obviously, there was no job for me once the cows were sold. He had to let me go.”

  “Were you on the farm when Erik killed his wife?” Stella asked.

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Did you ever see Erik and his wife fight?” Stella pressed.

  “I rarely saw Erik’s wife,” Ronald evaded.

  Sharp jumped in. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I don’t have to.” Ronald crossed his arms and took a step backward.

  “OK, Ronald.” Stella backed off. Unfortunately, Ronald was right. He was under no obligation to speak with them, and they had no leverage.

  Sharp wasn’t ready to give up. He stepped closer, eating up the space Ronald had put between them, getting in his face. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.” But a muscle on the side of Ronald’s face twitched.

  He was lying. Sharp could feel it. Anger rose into his throat, as bitter as Morgan’s coffee. If Stella weren’t here, Sharp would make Ronald talk any way he could.

  He didn’t normally condone threats or physical violence, but with Olivia missing, nothing was off-limits.

  Stella put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go, Sharp.”

  Reluctantly, he followed her back to her car. “Are you sure we just can’t beat it out of him?” He was only half kidding.

  “The interview wasn’t a total loss. We learned that he’s terrified.”

  “But what is he afraid of? Olander? Or something else?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s scarier than the police. Now I want to talk to Mr. Olander.” Neither of them spoke as Stella drove out to the dairy farm. The twin houses looked even more depressing than they had when Sharp had been there with Lance.

  They went up to the front door of the main residence and knocked, but no one answered.

  “Let’s try the barn.” Sharp turned away from the door.

  “All right, but we cannot search the premises,” she warned. “We can only call out for Mr. Olander. Your hunches are not enough to get a search warrant.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sharp said vaguely. He wasn’t making promises.

  “This place is creepy.” Stella followed him around the side of the house. The sun broke through the clouds. “There should be animals. It feels like a ghost farm.”

  “It looks like they sold everything that had value.” Sharp used his hand as a visor to block the sunshine. He stopped at the entrance to the barn. The brightness outside made the barn’s interior appear black.

  “Mr. Olander!” Stella called through the wide doorway.

  One of the barn cats slunk across the opening, giving Sharp and Stella the stink eye as it raced away.

  “The barn smells worse than I remember.” Sharp waved a hand in front of his nose. “All I can smell is shit.”

  Stella cupped a hand around her mouth. “Mr. Olander, are you here?”

  Somewhere in the darkness, wood creaked. Sharp stepped across the threshold, the unreachable spot between his shoulder blades itching in warning.

  “We can’t go i
n without a warrant,” Stella reminded him.

  As if he’d forgotten. He hadn’t. He didn’t care. He was never going to find Olivia following the rules.

  “What if we think something is wrong?” he asked.

  “What could be wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s something.” Sharp couldn’t shake the feeling, and he didn’t want to. His survival instincts had saved his ass more than once over the past thirty years.

  Yet, the need to know—and to find Olivia—drew him forward. He took one more step. Once out of the direct sunlight, his vision began to adjust to the dimness within. The inside of the barn took shape.

  “Sharp,” Stella warned, “I don’t have a warrant.”

  “I’m not a cop. I’m a concerned citizen, worried about Mr. Olander.” Sharp ignored Stella’s irritated huff. It was all well and good for him to make excuses. It would be her ass on the line if the situation went sideways. But Sharp didn’t much care.

  The barn looked mostly the same as it had that morning. Sharp looked down and saw footprints in the dirt. He thought back to his earlier visit but couldn’t remember if he’d noticed them before. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, and a primitive alarm clenched his gut. His hand automatically sought his weapon.

  Something was definitely wrong. But what?

  Another cat shot past, the low streak of its body startling him. A bird flew in the open door and soared up to the rafters. Sharp followed the sound of its wings in the empty space. He scanned the catwalks that spanned the middle of the barn.

  And then he saw it. The sight repelled him, a visceral human reaction to death.

  From just outside the doorway, Stella called out for Olander again.

  “He won’t be responding.” Sharp drew his gun and scanned the big lofty space. Nerves prickled along his skin, raising goose bumps on his arms.

  “How do you know?”

  Reaching behind him, Sharp pulled Stella into the barn and pointed to the catwalk on the far side of the barn. From it, Mr. Olander was hanging by the neck. The rope had been tossed over the railing and tied off to a support beam. The farmer’s dirty boots dangled several feet above the ground. Had Olander been so depressed he had jumped?

  Sharp looked at the fresh footprints in the dirt.

  Or had the farmer been pushed?

  He approached the body.

  “Shit.” Stella pulled her gun. “Any chance he’s alive?”

  If there were, they would cut him down and attempt to revive him. If not, they would preserve the scene.

  The body faced away from them. Sharp walked in a wide circle, skirting Mr. Olander so he could see the victim’s face. Sharp took in the purple skin and swollen, protruding tongue. “Nope. He’s dead.”

  “Suicide?” Stella took out her phone and called for backup.

  Sharp zeroed in on Olander’s hands, dangling at his sides. He moved a little closer and took out his phone. Using his flashlight app, he shone light on the corpse. Several of the fingertips were bloody and raw, a few nails torn below the quick. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he used it to lift the cuffs of the farmer’s jacket sleeves. Angry red lines ringed the corpse’s wrists. “His fingernails are torn, and I see ligature marks around his wrists.”

  Sharp scanned the ground but didn’t see anything that could have been used to bind the farmer’s hands.

  “So a probable no on suicide.” Stella leaned in for a better view. Then she put her back to Sharp’s and scanned their surroundings.

  “Let’s clear the building.” Sharp moved toward the first doorway.

  Stella called him back. “No. We’ll wait outside for backup. There’s a unit on the way. ETA is eight minutes. This place is too big for us to clear on our own.”

  Sharp hesitated.

  “Sharp,” Stella warned in a firm voice, “we don’t know if whoever did this is still here or not. You can’t find Olivia if you’re dead.”

  “All right.” Sharp didn’t like waiting, but Stella was right.

  They backed out of the building and waited next to the car.

  Sharp knew she was right, but the time seemed to tick by in slow motion. He paced. There were no sounds coming from the barn or either house.

  The house!

  “Hold on.” Sharp spun and ran up toward the main house.

  “Sharp!” Stella yelled. “Get back here.”

  He heard her boots hitting the dry ground behind him.

  Sharp reached the back of the house. The bulkhead doors stood open, and the chain that had secured them lay on the ground. Several links were severed. Sharp opened the flashlight app on his phone again.

  Stella caught up, breathing hard. “We can’t go down there.”

  “You’re right,” he said.

  Stella had procedure to follow.

  Sharp shone his light on the steps and started down. “We can’t, but I can.”

  He descended, leading with his gun. He swept his light around the space. Footprints covered the concrete, lots of them, and scrape marks showed where something heavy had been dragged. He followed the same path he and Lance had used earlier that morning.

  Even before he got to the area where the trunks had been stored, he knew. The room was empty. Four clean rectangles on the concrete marked the spaces where the trunks had sat.

  Disappointment crushed Sharp.

  “The guns are gone,” Sharp said to Stella as he returned to the stairwell from the back of the basement.

  On the way up the stairs, Sharp checked the time on his phone. Five o’clock. He opened a text from Lance and read the message. “Holy shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Stella asked.

  “Someone left a bomb at the office.”

  Stella stared at him.

  “Everyone is OK,” he said quickly. “It detonated but only did minor damage to the porch.”

  Stella’s eyes turned back toward the barn. “None of this makes sense.”

  Sharp agreed.

  “But is this connected to Olivia’s disappearance?” Stella asked. “Did she discover something about the guns in the basement?”

  Every lead they followed generated far more questions than answers. Mr. Olander had been murdered. The Olanders had been into something dangerous. They were no closer to finding Olivia, and now someone had tried to blow up his office.

  “Did Olivia stumble onto an illegal arms deal?” Sharp asked.

  The thought of Olivia in the hands of an arms dealer gave Sharp a pain behind his sternum. He bet Mr. Olander had been executed. If Olivia had been abducted by the same person or people and they considered her a threat, would they have any reason to keep her alive?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lance stood in Morgan’s office, staring at the whiteboard, when he heard the back door open and close. He glanced at the doorway. A moment later, Sharp appeared. His face looked leaner, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they’d been that morning. Of course, none of them had slept much the night before, and it was nearly four o’clock in the morning.

  “Where’s Morgan?” Sharp walked into the room and stood next to Lance, his tired eyes on the board.

  “Asleep on the couch in your office.” Lance had taken a nap earlier, but he was sure he didn’t look fresh either.

  “You’re back.” Morgan entered her office and beelined for the coffee maker on the credenza behind her desk. She was barefoot. Her skirt was rumpled and her blouse untucked. On the way past the men, she stopped and rested a hand on Sharp’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Honestly, no.” Sharp shook his head. “And I’m not going to be until we find Olivia. But I don’t know what else to do except keep looking for her.”

  Morgan gave his shoulder a squeeze. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  Realistically, they couldn’t maintain the pace at which they were working for much longer. Mental function declined drastically with sleep deprivation. Naps would hold them for only a c
ouple of days. But when would Sharp agree to back off? It was Sunday. Olivia had been missing for two days.

  Morgan checked her phone as she brewed a cup of coffee. “Olivia’s agent left me a return message while I was asleep. She’s available this morning.”

  Sharp perched on the corner of Morgan’s desk. The exhaustion in his eyes went beyond lack of sleep. Worry for Olivia was wearing him down. “Would you make me a cup of that poison?”

  Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “Again? Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Very.” Sharp rolled his neck. Something cracked.

  Morgan pulled a clean mug from her shelf and inserted a pod into the machine. A minute later, she handed him the mug. She pulled a bag of cookies from her drawer and ate one.

  Sharp took a cookie.

  “Did you eat dinner last night?” Morgan asked.

  Sharp shook his head.

  “You need some real food.” She rounded her desk and left her office.

  Lance felt helpless. What if they didn’t find Olivia? “You’re sure Mr. Olander was murdered?”

  Sharp nodded. “The medical examiner confirmed the red rings around his wrists were ligature marks.”

  Looking for energy in any form, Lance helped himself to a cookie.

  “Since the guns were at the farm yesterday, and now they’re gone, I assume his murder was related to them.” Sharp bit into his cookie.

  “Seems likely someone stole them.” Lance could hear the soft beeping of the microwave in the kitchen.

  “It does.” Sharp washed the rest of his cookie down with coffee.

  A few minutes later, Morgan returned with a bowl of soup, a spoon, and a steaming mug of tea. “Sit.” She gestured toward her desk.

  After Sharp sat in her desk chair, she put the soup and tea in front of him. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the bowl. “Thank you. This is just what I needed.”

  Morgan smiled. “It’s your soup from the freezer, but you’re welcome.”

  “Who put the pipe bomb on our doorstep?” Sharp blew on a spoonful of soup.

  “Are we agreed it was related to Olivia’s disappearance?” Morgan asked.

  Lance nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did they want to kill us or scare us?” Morgan stood next to Lance and studied the whiteboard.