Matt bumped her shoulder with his, and the contact derailed her mental train wreck and brought her back to the moment.
A detached two-car garage built of concrete blocks sat behind the house, and a rickety dock extended out over the water. The garage doors were up. Junk was crammed into one bay. The second held a workbench and tools. On the other side of the yard, a long, low building stretched under the trees. Vines slithered up the cinder blocks toward the metal roof.
About twenty feet behind the house, a man swung a sledgehammer. It struck the metal wedge and split a thick log in two. An older version of Rowdy, Earl Harper looked up from his work with mean, close-set eyes. Like his son, he wore jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt. He wore well-used leather work gloves. Sweat beaded on his brow, and a jacket was tossed onto the woodpile nearby. The dog continued to bark, the sound like sandpaper to Bree’s nerve endings.
“Shut up, Rufus!” He picked up a stone from the ground and flung it at the dog. The rock fell short, but the dog still cowered and slunk into its house.
Anger surged in Bree’s chest. Just because she was afraid of the dog didn’t mean she wanted it abused. She glanced at Matt. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw went tight.
Earl let the head of his sledgehammer fall to the ground with a thud. “So, you’re the new sheriff.”
His gaze cruised her body. His attention felt like bugs crawling over her, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her response.
“Mr. Harper.” Bree introduced Matt again. She glanced at the garage full of junk. “What is your business?”
“I fix things. People throw everything away. Take vacuum cleaners, for example. Most of the time, I replace a belt, and they work great. Five-dollar fix. People are stupid.”
The back door opened, and Rowdy came out. He tugged on a knit hat and began collecting the logs his father split and adding them to a woodpile the size of a single-wide.
Earl leaned on the handle. “Rowdy says you’re looking for Sara.”
Bree repeated the abbreviated story of Sara’s puzzling disappearance.
“That is strange.” Earl’s tone was unconcerned.
“You don’t seem worried.” Matt shifted his weight, angling his body to face both Earl and his son.
Earl chuckled. “My daughter is a piece of work. The last time she came here, she left with all my cash.”
Bree watched for more breaks in his bravado but saw nothing. “What do you think happened to her?”
“I have no idea.” Earl reached for another log. He positioned it onto the tree stump and inserted the wedge into a crack. “But Sara is a survivor. If someone was shot, my money would be on her doing the shooting, not being the victim.”
“We have an eyewitness,” Bree said.
He glanced at her, and something flashed in his eyes. Nervousness? Anxiety? It was gone before Bree could identify it, and his poker face returned. “If someone shot Sara, then why can’t you find her?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Bree said.
“You have one eyewitness? That’s it?” He scoffed. “People see what they want to see.”
He had a valid point. Eyewitnesses were great for convincing juries, but their actual recall sucked. Twenty people could watch a crime being committed, and they’d all have varying accounts and different descriptions of the perpetrator.
But instead of responding, Bree simply held his gaze for a few seconds. She wanted him to wonder about what other evidence she might have. Emotion flickered in his eyes again. This time she caught it. Doubt. Worried about his daughter? It didn’t last, though.
He sneered. “I’ll tell you one more time. She’s no victim. She’s a predator. She’s also a sneaky, scheming little bitch. I’ll give her credit, though.” Respect laced his tone. “She has bigger balls than Rowdy over there.”
“Hey!” Rowdy protested.
Earl waved off his comment. “Sara would steal milk from a baby, then turn around and sell it back to the mother. She always has some little racket going, and she rarely gets caught.” The last sentence came through with a ring of pride. He swung the sledgehammer, the motion sure and true. It struck the wedge dead-on. The log fell away in two pieces. “Nope, Sara ain’t dead. More likely that she’s up to something.”
Bree pried deeper. “What can you tell me about her friends?”
“Sara doesn’t have friends,” Rowdy chimed in. “Just people she uses.”
Earl agreed with a nod. “He’s right.”
“What about a boyfriend?” Matt asked.
Earl shrugged. “Not that I know of lately.”
Bree tried again. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“More than a month ago. Six weeks, maybe.” He set another log on the stump and positioned the wedge. “I’m not keeping track. I told her not to come back. Not after she stole from me.”
“Did Sara leave any possessions here?” Bree asked.
“I don’t know.” Earl paused, his sledgehammer poised to heft. “Do you have a warrant?”
“No,” Bree admitted. “But I can get one.”
“Good luck with that.” Earl turned his back on her and swung his sledgehammer again. “You got no evidence I done anything wrong.”
“Where were you early Monday morning?” Bree asked.
“That’s the kind of question I don’t answer without a lawyer.”
“What about you, Rowdy?” Bree faced the son. “Do you remember where you were early Monday morning?”
“Don’t answer that,” Earl said. “We don’t have to answer any of the sheriff’s questions. We are speaking with her now out of basic courtesy.”
It was true. No one was obligated to speak to the police. Bree had no evidence to link Earl or Rowdy to the burglaries or Brian’s murder.
Earl split another log, then turned back to face Bree and Matt. “We’re done talking, Sheriff. It’s time for you to leave.” He never raised his voice, and his tone remained polite throughout the conversation, yet a threat came through his body language and his cold stare. Despite his outward calm, the potential for violence simmered just below the surface. His hostility was a palpable, kinetic energy that radiated from him like heat shimmered from summer pavement.
Bree wanted to drag him down to the station, but he was right. She had no probable cause, and a harassment suit could hinder her investigation going forward.
She tried one last question. “Would you please take off your gloves? Both of you?”
“No.” Earl’s brows lowered in a what the fuck expression.
She backed off and said in an equally polite tone, “Thank you for your time.”
But as she said the words, she held his gaze for a few seconds. She didn’t have the legal right to arrest him, but she was not intimidated. Not by him at least. The pit bull was her personal nightmare. The dog pulled her gaze. It paced the length of its chain, the links rattling.
Earl straightened to his full height and rested the sledgehammer over one shoulder, like Paul Bunyan. One eyebrow arched with arrogant challenge. He knew the dog upset her. She could not conceal her response well enough to put one past a guy like Earl. Can’t scam a scammer.
Bree and Matt walked around the house to the driveway.
“Let’s talk to the neighbors,” she said.
“I feel bad for them,” Matt said. “Can’t imagine living next to the Harpers.”
The house next door wasn’t fancy, but it was well maintained. The property line was clear based on the lack of junk next door. Both the neighbor’s detached garage and dock looked structurally sound. A man walked out of the house, grabbed a trash can, and rolled it past a plumber’s van to the street.
Bree and Matt intercepted him in the driveway. He was in his early twenties, but his acne made him look younger.
His gaze darted between Bree’s uniform and the Harpers’ house. “What do you want?”
“I’m Sheriff Taggert, and this is my investigator, Matt Flynn. We’d li
ke to ask you a few questions. What’s your name?”
“I’m Joe Marcus.” Joe wore a jacket and gloves, but his head was bare. “What’s this about?”
“Your neighbor Earl.” Bree motioned toward the Harper house. “How long have you known him?”
“All my life, unfortunately.” Joe cocked his head. “What do you want to know?”
“Is he a problem neighbor?” Matt asked.
“Not really.” Joe crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders as if he was cold. “That dog of his is always getting out. Couple of weeks back, it killed some chickens down the road.”
Bree shuddered. Her father’s dogs had killed everything they could catch: rabbits, squirrels, cats. Dad had liked to keep them hungry.
“Did you call the sheriff’s department?” Bree asked.
“Me?” Joe pointed to his own chest, then shook his head. “Hell, no. They weren’t my chickens. I don’t have a problem with Earl.”
Bree tried another angle. “What about the neighbor who lost his chickens?”
“That’s none of my business.” Joe raised both hands, palms out, a gesture of finality. Then he lowered his voice. “The Harpers keep to themselves most of the time, but they aren’t the kind of people you want to fuck with, if you know what I mean.”
“Are you afraid of him?” Matt crossed his arms. His head tipped back as he assessed Joe.
Joe’s face flushed, the redness emphasizing his acne. “Cautious is a better word. I’m not stupid. Earl is volatile.”
Matt motioned behind him by jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Did you see if Earl was around this past weekend?”
“He was here at least some of the time,” Joe said. “He’s been working on that cord of wood for days.”
“Do you remember any specific time you saw him here?” Bree asked.
“No,” Joe answered, and his blunt tone said he wasn’t giving up any info on Earl.
“How well do you know his daughter, Sara?” Bree would try a different subject. Maybe she could trick him into revealing something.
“Not that well.” Joe crossed his arms again, this time looking stubborn rather than cold. “We went to school together. She was wild back in high school. I know she’s gotten in some trouble since too. But she doesn’t live there anymore.”
“Do you know why she moved out?”
Joe hitched a shoulder. “She’s an adult. That’s reason enough.”
“Does Sara have a good relationship with her father?” Bree jumped at a bark from the dog. Damn it. The animal is chained. It isn’t a threat.
“No.” Joe shook his head. “She and Earl don’t get along at all. Rowdy is Earl’s whipping boy, but not Sara. She’s too much like her daddy. They butt heads.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Bree tried to focus on Joe, but the dog kept barking. Every woof made it harder for Bree to concentrate.
“I haven’t talked to her in a long time, but I think I saw her over there last week.” He looked upward. “Before you ask, I don’t know any days or times. I was busy all weekend.”
Or he was refusing to be any sort of witness against Earl.
The air went quiet for a few seconds. The dog broke into a howl. The sound raised goose bumps on Bree’s arms. She forgot her next question. Inside her gloves, her hands went clammy.
With a quick glance at her, Matt jumped in with a question. “Doing what?”
“Minding my own business.” Joe raised his voice.
Focus! Bree shook her head to clear it. “You’re sure it was Sara you saw?”
Joe sniffed and swiped a gloved hand under his nose. “There is no way I could ever mistake Sara for her brother or father.”
“Could it have been Earl’s girlfriend you saw?” Matt asked.
“Earl doesn’t have a girlfriend that I’ve ever seen.” Joe’s head swiveled at the sound of a loud engine. A delivery truck drove down the road.
A new round of barking erupted behind the Harper house. Bree swallowed, her stomach cramping, sweat breaking out at the small of her back.
Matt said, “Does Sara have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know who she’s with these days.” A car drove down the street, and Joe’s gaze followed it past his house. “But Sara’s good at making people—especially guys—do what she wants. Being hot helps, so does not caring much about other people.” His eyes shifted back to the Harper house for a few seconds. “That’s in her DNA, I guess.”
“Is there anyone who might know where Sara is?” Matt rolled a hand in the air. “Does she have any close friends or an old boyfriend?”
“She went out with Zachary Baker senior year.” Joe gave them another jerky shrug. “He lives with his mother down the road. The house with the chickens. Can’t miss it.” Joe took a whole step back toward his house. “I gotta go to work.”
“Thank you for your time.” Bree took his contact information. Then she and Matt walked back to her vehicle. Bree slid behind the wheel, exhausted. Trying to hold herself together had depleted her. The dog had rattled her nerves. She seriously needed to get her fear under control. It had never affected her job to this degree before. She’d always been able to control her reaction to dogs—or at least conceal it. But today, she’d been compromised. “Thank you for taking over that interview.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her hand curled into a fist on her thigh.
“No one is perfect, Bree,” Matt said in a quiet voice.
“I know.” But she was disappointed in herself. She brought the conversation back to the investigation. “Shall we go talk to Zachary Baker?”
“Let’s do it.”
Bree drove slowly down the road. As they approached the fourth mailbox, Matt pointed. “There it is.”
The chicken coop that occupied the side yard was as big as a single-car garage. Attached to it, a rickety wood-and-wire structure enclosed an area the size of a basketball court.
Bree pulled into the driveway. The cottage-style house should belong to a little old lady in England. They got out of the car and started up the front walk. The sound of hinges squeaking caught their attention. Matt and Bree turned in unison to see a young man emerging from the chicken coop, a wire basket full of eggs in his hand. He wore a black parka and leather gloves.
Matt and Bree started toward him and met him in the side yard.
“I’m Sheriff Taggert.” Bree gestured to her badge. “I’m looking for Zachary Baker.”
“That’s me,” he said in a hesitant voice.
“I’d like to ask you about your neighbor Earl Harper,” Bree began.
“I have nothing to say about him.” Zachary shifted his weight. As he moved, he inched to the left, as if he were going to do an end run around Matt.
“We heard his dog killed some of your chickens.” Out of the corner of her eye, Bree saw Matt take an identical half step, mirroring Zachary and subtly blocking his path.
“That was a long time ago.” Zachary glanced over Matt’s shoulder at his own house. He clearly did not want to talk to them.
“But it happened?” Bree asked.
Zachary met her eyes for a split second before averting his gaze. “Yeah. It happened. The dog busted through the fence and killed five of our chickens.”
“How did Earl handle it?”
Zachary licked his lips. “He gave us fifty bucks and said that was fair.”
“Was it fair?” Bree tried to catch his eye.
Zachary shifted his weight in the opposite direction. His eyes dropped to study the ground. “I guess.”
“But you didn’t ask him for more? Or call us?” Bree tried to catch his gaze with her own.
Zachary looked everywhere but at her. “Everybody around here remembers that Earl went to prison for beating a guy with a baseball bat. No one is going to talk against him.”
“Do you know Sara Harper?”
Zachary sniffed. “Yeah. We went to school together.”
“We heard you dated h
er.”
“Just for part of senior year.” His face reddened. “But I haven’t seen her in a long time, not since she moved out of the neighborhood.” A tight flash of anger lit his eyes, and his gaze settled on Bree’s for a full two seconds before skittering away. “She needed help passing a couple of classes or she wasn’t going to graduate. After I helped her, she dumped me.” A muscle on the side of his jaw twitched, and his expression shifted back to longing. “Sara was a cheerleader in high school. She was way out of my league. I should’ve known that.” He cleared his throat. “I have work to do. I’m done answering questions.”
“We’d like to talk to your mother,” Bree said.
“Her Parkinson’s has gotten really bad. She doesn’t want to see anyone. Excuse me.” He straightened his shoulders, stepped around Bree, and headed for the house.
“Do you work?” Matt called after him.
Zachary stopped and answered without turning around. “I’m a freelance web designer. I work from home.” He hurried toward the house and closed the door.
Bree turned toward her SUV.
Matt fell into step beside her. “He’s a weird one. He couldn’t look either one of us in the eye.”
“Maybe he’s an introvert.” But Bree agreed. Zachary Baker’s behavior had been odd.
“Or he’s afraid that Earl will find out he talked to us about him. Neither Joe nor Zachary wanted to talk about Earl.”
“Can’t blame them.”
“Not at all.” Bree slid behind the wheel of her SUV. After Matt climbed into the vehicle, she said, “Also, I think Zachary got burned by Sara.”
Matt agreed with a nod. They drove back the way they had come. Bree slowed the SUV as they passed Earl’s property.
Matt glared out the windshield. “I feel bad for the dog.”
“Nothing we can do about it.” Bree glanced at him.
Matt’s jaw went angry-tight. “You know the dog’s aggression isn’t his fault. He’s tied up and frightened. Trapped animals get defensive.”
See Her Die Page 19