Lonesome Lake

by Lesley Appleton-Jones

  Raines called out, “Tim, are you in there? This is the police. Your aunt wanted us to check on you.”

  Getting no response, Holly entered the kitchen first and stumbled over a toy train set that was laid out on the kitchen floor.

  “Does Tim have kids?” Raines asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but this isn’t a cheap toy set for kids. This cost money.” The train tracks ran along the base of the kitchen counters, past the refrigerator, under a 1950’s Formica kitchen table and into the next room.

  Out of habit, Holly put on her gloves, as did Raines. He opened the basement door. A waft of musty, damp air hit them. He flicked a switch on the wall, but the light was so dim it barely lit the stairway. In the basement, they found nothing except an assortment of rusty tools on a bench, several plumbing and heating parts, a stack of empty storage boxes and gardening equipment.

  Coming back upstairs, they followed the train tracks out of the kitchen into the living room. Pine paneling covered the walls, creating a gloomy interior. Holly switched on the overhead light.

  There were two armchairs in the room, one near the window next to a vintage radio and one closer to the kitchen. The train tracks ran behind a couch, circled the nearest armchair before crossing the carpet to encompass the second armchair, which had a train station located next to it. A train stood at the platform with a chipped, dinner plate and ham sandwich balanced on top of the first-class passenger car. An unopened can of Coke perched precariously on top of the second car. Both the plate and soda were within easy reach of the chair.

  “Now that’s weird,” Holly muttered.

  “Or great service,” Raines said, bending down to touch the Coke can. “It’s cold, and the sandwich seems fresh.”

  “So where’s Tim?”

  They followed the tracks out of the living room to a narrow hallway. The train ran down one side of the hall and returned up the other.

  The first room was a tiny pink and avocado-tiled bathroom. The bottom of the door had been cut to enable the tracks to run beneath it when the door was closed, but the door was open so the train could make a run through the room.

  The tracks did not enter the next room, which was a bedroom not much bigger than a walk-in closet. It contained a single bed, covered by a crocheted wool blanket, with a crucifix affixed to the wall directly above the pillow.

  “This must be Edith’s room,” Raines observed.

  Stepping back into the hall, they entered a second bedroom. The tracks ran under the bed and out the other side. A pair of slippers stood on top of a caboose, which was parked off the main line in a repair shed.

  The room appeared to belong to a child. Pinned to the walls were posters of steam engines and a black and white picture of a heavily shackled Houdini. A miniature circus tent filled with plastic elephants sat on a desk near the window. One side of the curtain was open; the other closed to block out the sun. At the foot of the bed, a toy chest held spare train tracks.

  Holly raised an eyebrow. “This has to be Tim’s room.”

  “Evidently,” Raines said.

  Holly walked into the room. “Admit it, this is weird for a thirty-year-old man.”

  Raines followed her. “I see meals on wheels and slippers ready to go but nothing incriminating.”

  The door to a tiny closet was open. There was another Houdini poster on the inside of the door. This one also depicted the man chained and bound. His biceps bulged as he strained against the chains. Holly stabbed a gloved finger on the poster. “We know the scumbag we’re looking for chained Mimi’s hands at some point. Smith has a weird obsession with Houdini and chains, which no doubt is because his mother ran off and left him to become the first female Houdini.” As soon as she said those words, she felt awkward. Raines’ mother had walked out on her family when he was a kid. Luckily, Raines didn’t seem to make the connection.

  He said, “We’re in for an interesting interview when we find him.”

  She surveyed the contents of the closet, which consisted of three sweatshirts, four t-shirts, two pairs of jeans and a pair of oily, creased work boots. Next to the boots, a metal chest took up the remainder of the floor space. The lid was open. Inside were several sets of chains with links of varying thicknesses, several hefty padlocks and a set of handcuffs. She turned toward Raines with a triumphant smile on her face.

  He peered over her shoulder. “Appears incriminating, but I’ve met a lot of people with peculiar hobbies.”

  “We’re looking for someone peculiar,” she noted. “Where the hell is he?”

  Raines moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look out back. Hidden on the windowsill was a collection of prescription bottles. “Check this out, Holly.”

  There were at least thirty, small brown bottles, all with varying amounts of pills in them. Whistling appreciatively, Holly read some of the labels that were visible without touching the bottles. “Helen Sabatino and Daniel Bukoski. Both bottles are for Oxycodone Hydrochloride. I know Daniel Bukoski. He had his hip replaced last year.” She looked at Raines. “Tim Smith was listed as a window cleaner on Bob Beaupré’s list of contractors, which would give him access to a lot of homes. Do you think he’s dealing? Perhaps he’s working with Beaupré?”

  Raines took a look at the labels. “Most of these prescriptions were filled three months to over a year ago. Why would he hang on to them?”

  Holly had another idea. “He could be doing the break-ins, getting in through a window he left open after cleaning them. We need a warrant. I’ll call the Chief.”

  He picked up on the first ring. She explained the situation and listened to his instructions. Disconnecting, Holly told Raines that the Chief would get a warrant and ask Hendricks to send over his forensics team. In the meantime, they were to secure the property until Gustafson arrived. At this point, they had to report back to the station for a briefing. She’d struggled to keep her emotions in check when she heard that Gustafson would take over. Having to tell Raines only added to her humiliation.

  He just looked at her for a long moment before saying, “Why don’t we check the barn out back while we wait? He could be hiding in there.”

  The barn had once been painted a bold red, but weather and neglect had taken its toll. Raines had to force the door open because the hinges were rusted. All they found was a beat-up tractor, a set of bald tires, a long-handled shovel and a large grain bin. She lifted the lid to make sure Smith wasn’t hiding in it.

  “I don’t think anyone has been in here for years,” she said.

  Outside, hidden behind the barn, they discovered a battered pickup with a snowplow attached to it.

  Holly pointed to the rusting plow. “I’d like to know if Gustafson interviewed Tim Smith about the Nancy Taggart hit and run.”

  “Did Beaupré’s list of contractors say Smith plows?”

  “No. Just window cleaning. He’d need a plow to reach the house. It would cost a fortune to have someone else do it. It’s a long drive.”

  “Still,” Raines mused. “There’s nothing to stop Smith driving around town in it. The sticker is current. How about we take a walk? Perhaps he’s hiding in the trees back there watching us.”

  “Good idea. Let’s circle around and meet in the middle. See if we can flush Smith out.”

  Raines went right, Holly left. After ten minutes of searching, they didn’t hear or see anything.

  “Where the hell is this guy?” Holly said, annoyed that Smith would show up when Gustafson arrived, and he’d get to bust him.

  “Obviously, he’s mastered Houdini’s disappearing act,” Raines deadpanned.

  She rolled her eyes. “I suppose it wasn’t a total bust. There’s the box of bondage paraphernalia and the drugs.” She leaned against the car, waiting for Gustafson to arrive. “Admit it, Raines. You suspected that we were going to find a dead body in the barn after seeing those chains in his bedroom.”

  Raines watched her massage her neck. His eyes glinted. “I’ll admit t
hat you’re as persistent as ever.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Dusk descended on the mountains with a damp, foggy chill as Raines and Holly arrived at Caxton PD. Reporters prowled back and forth in front of the main entrance like caged lions waiting for the chance to pounce on anyone foolish enough to enter or leave the building. Holly avoided them by driving around back to the sally port. Fennis Cooper was heading out to join Gustafson over at Edith Smith’s house. He told them they’d missed the news briefing and warned that the Mayor was irate. One of the reporters had referred to the suspect as the “White Mountain Killer.”

  They made their way toward the conference room where they could see Milton Randolph wildly gesticulating as he bellowed, “I want results! You’re not getting anywhere with this case, Fred.”

  Under threat, Finch’s neck and facial color transcended his usual hot-pink hue to a more severe shade of molten red. “We’ve had less than forty-eight hours, and we’re getting some results. It may not be what you were hoping for, but you know it’s early in the investigation. You need to be realistic.”

  Undeterred, the Mayor continued to blast away. “And suggesting to the Attorney General that there could be a link between the Taggart and Milbourne cases is not what I call a result. The Chamber of Commerce is breathing down my neck, and I have nothing to tell them except more bad news. Come election time, you’re going to see just how bad an idea that was.”

  The Chief, also not averse to demonstrating his displeasure vocally, deepened his regular baritone to a booming bass. “I would rather marinate my balls in Tabasco sauce than link the two cases, but it was the right call.”

  Still needing to vent, the Mayor snapped, “Jakes doesn’t have the experience to handle this situation. She can’t even find Gavin Parrish.”

  With the speed of a darting school of fish, all eyes in the room turned toward Holly. Making direct eye contact with the Mayor, she raised her chin and held his stare. The Chief had assigned Gustafson to track down Parrish, not her. She waited for the Chief to contradict Randolph, but he said nothing.

  The Mayor growled, “I want the State Police and Hendricks running the show here.”

  That’s when the Chief slammed his fist down on the desk. All eyes darted back to him. “Just for the record, Jakes is the best damn detective I have! Plus, I’m running the show, not Jakes.”

  Raines said in a tone icy enough to cut right through the heated exchange, “You’ve had a long day, Milt. Time you called it a night before you say something you’ll regret.”

  They all looked as surprised as the Mayor. No one told Milton Randolph III what to do, but it didn’t shock Holly. Raines tended to step in when he perceived an injustice, no matter the heat he’d take for doing so. Usually, though, people listened to him. Money and fame had a way of getting attention, Holly thought, and he’d always been supremely confident. Today was no different. She wanted to tell Raines she could fight her own battles, but she didn’t trust herself to speak without saying something that would get her fired. Unlike Raines, who had the luxury of saying whatever he wanted because he was so loaded he didn’t have to work, she needed her job.

  All of a sudden, the fight seemed to go out of Milton Randolph. He let out a weary sigh that sounded like a whale expelling air through its blowhole and placed a hand on Raines’ shoulder. “It’s the case.”

  “I know,” Raines’ tone softened. “But this is getting us nowhere.”

  Somewhat downcast, the Mayor nodded and pulled on his jacket. Bidding his farewells with a jowly nod of his head, he agreed to leave things as they were.

  Once he’d gone, they sat there for a moment, contemplating the next move when Holly groaned, “Oh, no!”

  “What is it, Jakes?” Chief Finch asked.

  “Boonie just walked in.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “I must have forgotten I made plans with him.”

  Raines chuckled. “You’re about to feel a whole lot worse.”

  Boonie was carrying a pizza. “That’s just fantastic,” she muttered. He had the worst timing, she thought, before inwardly cringing at how ungrateful she was. She could wolf down the food and get back to the meeting. She raised a hand in greeting. The smile he gave her vanished the moment he saw Raines stand up beside her.

  The Chief said, “Let’s continue this in my office and leave the lovebirds to enjoy their meal.”

  Raines said as he followed the Chief, “Save me a slice.”

  Swearing at Raines under her breath, she plastered a smile on her face for Boonie’s benefit. She could tell from his rigid body language that he was pissed off. “Hey there,” she said, putting way too much enthusiasm into it. “What’s up?”

  “We had plans for dinner. When you didn’t show, I decided to come here.” He held up the pizza box.

  Holly was about to tell him she didn’t have the time, but guilt gnawed at her. She could spare ten minutes, fifteen tops, and then she’d be back on the case. “I’m sorry. We’ve been so busy.”

  “You didn’t look busy. It looked like you were standing around shooting the breeze with Cal Raines.”

  It was hard to miss the undercurrent of jealousy, and Holly didn’t miss much. His jealousy was misguided. Boonie had nothing to worry about on that front. Still, it had to be tough if you believed you were in direct competition with Raines. To ease his mind, she told him, “We’re just reviewing the case.”

  “Admit it, Holly. You’d rather be out chasing a killer with Cal Raines than eating dinner with me.”

  In part, this was true—the part about chasing a killer. Raines didn’t factor into the equation. Holly sensed that this was the moment in their relationship when Boonie needed to hear he came first. That he was more important than the job. That she would drop everything for him. Holly was no stranger to this situation. All her relationships seemed to crash and burn at this point because she always picked the job. It was ingrained in her. The focus of her childhood had been the Olympics. Her parents invariably chose ski races and training over birthday parties and sleepovers. Nothing was permitted to get in the way of her pursuit for Olympic gold. As an adult, that trend continued. Work trumped relationships. At some point, that had to change—unless she wanted to be alone for the rest of her life.

  She gave him an encouraging smile. “Raines is a pain in the butt. They assigned him to work the case, so I don’t have a choice.” She eyed the box. “Is it pepperoni?”

  “Yep and onions. Just how you like it.”

  They walked over to an empty desk. “You know you’re a saint, Boonie, for thinking of me when your mom is going through such an awful time.”

  “No big deal. I expect you’ve eaten nothing but doughnuts. I thought you needed something healthier.”

  Given the effort he’d made, she decided it would be churlish to point out that pizza wasn’t going to win any awards at the fat farm.

  “And you look tired. You need to head home and get some sleep,” he instructed.

  His clucking set her teeth on edge. She cast her eyes downward, hoping to hide her annoyance and took the opportunity to surreptitiously seek out the slice of pizza with the most pepperoni on it. While he continued to lecture her, she spotted a slice loaded with nice crispy pieces of pepperoni. Unfortunately, it was on Boonie’s side of the pie, so it was out of bounds because it was rude to take a slice from his side. She wondered why she was hampered by such pizza etiquette. Had it come from her mother? Was there a hard and fast rule on how to share a pizza? Were Italians raised with such disadvantages? Or could they take a slice from anywhere in the pie?

  “Holly, are you listening?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m hungry and spacing out.”

  He picked up the slice she’d been coveting and pointed it at her. The end drooped under the mound of cheese and delicious spicy pepperoni. “I’m not asking for much,” he complained. “Just a few hours of your ti
me.”

  He shook his head and took a bite. Grease ran down his fingers.

  She turned away and spotted Scotty heading into the Chief’s office.

  Boonie followed her gaze. “Who’s that?”

  “Scotty Pepper. He’s a private investigator who worked for Mimi Milbourne. Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  Boonie hadn’t grown up in town.

  “Raines and I went to school with him. He’s a couple of years older than us.”

  “Really?” He chewed on a chunk of pizza. After swallowing, he said with great solemnity, “Let’s hope he’s got something that will crack the case wide open for you.”

  Picking up her slice, she struggled to keep the resentment that she was missing the meeting because of him from showing on her face. He should know how important the case was to her. This was the investigation of a lifetime, and she was stuck eating dinner with her boyfriend. The angrier she grew, the faster she chewed.

  He didn’t know it, but their relationship was on the slippery slope that all her relationships landed on, and they were sliding toward a messy end if she couldn’t figure out how to balance her work and her life.

  Five minutes later, Scotty left, and Raines came out with his jacket on, heading for the door. He was in a hurry. No way was he going somewhere without her. Dropping her piece of pizza back in the box, she stood up. “I have to go, Boonie. Something’s up.”

  He sat there with his mouth open and pizza suspended in midair as she grabbed her jacket and followed Raines.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Holly caught up with Raines in the parking lot. He was staring at his Suburban, which had been blocked in by a local news truck. She eyed the Chevy with envy. It was black and smoking hot. The Sheriff bought it brand spanking new for him out of funds confiscated from a drug bust.

  “Did Scotty give you something important?”

  He shook his head.

  “So where are you going?