Tracking Game

by Margaret Mizushima

  TRACKING GAME

  A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery

  Margaret Mizushima

  In memory of my parents, Norman and Gwendolyn Minks

  Acknowledgments

  To the readers of the Timber Creek K-9 Mysteries, thank you so much for your interest in the series and for sharing your time with me. I appreciate that you allow me to take you on a journey to Timber Creek each year.

  Thank you to the professionals who gave their time and knowledge to assist with this story’s procedural content: Lieutenant Glenn J. Wilson (Ret.); Nancy Howard, District Wildlife Manager (retired); and Charles Mizushima, DVM. Any misinterpretations or fictional enhancements of the information they provided are mine alone.

  As always, I’m deeply grateful for my publishing team. Huge thanks to my agent, Terrie Wolf of AKA Literary Management, for her constant support; to publicist Maryglenn McCombs for helping me spread the news about the series; to my editor, Nike Power, for helping me find this mystery within the manuscript; to copyeditor Rachel Keith for her attention to detail; and to publisher Matt Martz, marketing and editorial assistant Ashley Di Dio, assistant editor Jenny Chen, and the talented staff at Crooked Lane Books for supporting this series.

  A special thank you to readers Scott Graham, author of the National Parks Mysteries; Kathleen Donnelly; and Susan Hemphill for their help with early drafts.

  Love and gratitude to friends and family who’ve encouraged me along the way; to my husband, Charlie, for help with planning and plotting; and to my daughters, Sarah and Beth, and son-in-law, Adam, for their input and love. You all mean the world to me!

  ONE

  Saturday night, early June

  Tonight, the stage had been set for love. The ladies of the Saturday Evening Club had transformed the Timber Creek community building into a tropical island for the Celebration of Summer dance. Romance mingled in the air with the scent from huge flower bouquets that towered in each corner of the hardwood dance floor. Brilliant-orange bird of paradise and scarlet ginger plants spiked from vases above purple hibiscus and the draping spray of rosy bougainvillea. Smaller arrangements graced the bandstand, which framed a local group who specialized in country and pop hits.

  Deputy Mattie Cobb stood by the refreshment table, watching the dancers, with her date Cole Walker. Though she’d set her law enforcement duties aside for the evening, she was finding it hard to relax and have fun. Her relationship with Cole had grown more serious during the past few weeks, which should have been fine, since it was what she wanted. But she felt like she was harboring a secret that she needed to get out in the open, and the right time had yet to arise.

  “Let’s dance,” Cole said, slipping his arm around her. But before they could move to the dance floor, he stopped and reached for the cell phone in his shirt pocket. Frowning, he glanced at the screen. “Sorry, Mattie. I have to go outside to take this call.”

  “No problem.” Mattie leaned against the wall while she waited. She’d learned that interruptions often accompanied a relationship with the only veterinarian in town, and she truly didn’t mind. She loved her German shepherd partner, Robo, more than life itself, and she understood how Cole’s clients must feel when they needed help for their animals.

  Soft light from a hundred faux candles flickered throughout the room. Couples circled the floor, their feet gliding in various versions of the two-step, performing single and double turns and reversing direction, each pair executing their own signature moves while keeping up with the ceaseless counterclockwise flow.

  Mattie’s friend Rainbow danced past, resplendent in a flaring tie-dyed chiffon tunic over tight-fitting jeans. She snuggled close to an unfamiliar, rangy cowboy, her blond ponytail swinging as she leaned back to say something to him. The man, dressed in jeans and a turquoise western shirt with a black thunderbird on the back, bent to listen to what Rainbow was saying, his Stetson tipped low to cover their faces. He threw back his head and laughed, then stole a quick kiss before he twirled her away into the crowd.

  Mattie sighed. Rainbow, dispatcher at the Timber Creek County Sheriff’s Department and the daughter of two hippies, loved almost everyone. It was all so easy for this friend of hers—crossing over from friendship to love and then back again.

  Not so for Mattie. Despite the festive atmosphere, she couldn’t shake the ache in her chest that had been with her for weeks. It felt terrible to be so confused about something that should be so simple. Falling in love wasn’t supposed to be this painful, was it?

  The band ended a lively number and began to play the opening melody of a love song. Its melancholy strains touched her, making her yearn for an emotional lightness she’d never experienced. During her childhood, love and intimacy had meant secrecy and pain; in high school, rebellion and excitement; in junior college, escape and a numbing of bitterness.

  What did love mean to her now? Cole had said the words I love you several times during the past weeks, but for the life of her, she hadn’t been able to say them back. Why did it all have to be so complicated?

  She wanted to move forward in her relationship with Cole, but her childhood loomed between them like the two-way mirror Sheriff McCoy had recently installed in one of their interrogation rooms at the station. She could see Cole clearly, but she and her baggage remained hidden from him.

  Cole didn’t seem to sense the barrier between them like she did. She needed to confess to him how Harold Cobb, a man she no longer considered her father, had abused her when she was only six years old, and she needed to do it tonight. She hoped it wouldn’t change things between them.

  Cole returned, taking her hand to lead her to the dance floor.

  She hesitated. “Do you have an emergency?”

  “No, a client called to report. Everything sounds good.”

  Although part of her wished they had to leave, she followed him until he turned toward her to dance.

  She suppressed a shiver of pleasure as she moved into his arms. Cole was a good dancer, and she swayed with him, his dark eyes holding her until he flattened her palm against his chest, covered her hand with his, and drew her closer. She rested her cheek against him, letting the music take over.

  Even though they’d been building a relationship for months, tonight was their first official date in public, and he didn’t seem to mind showing the world that they were a couple. Timber Creek would be abuzz with the news next week, because nothing escaped the small-town party line.

  Quit thinking so much, she told herself. Just feel.

  The band played their version of “Hello,” a classic love song originally recorded by Lionel Richie. She concentrated on Cole’s solid chest beneath her fingertips, the music’s slow rhythm, his hand on her back—until the song’s lyric lured her into thinking again.

  The lead singer was begging his sweetheart to tell him how to win her love. Was she herself too damaged to return Cole’s love in a way he deserved? Would he grow tired of dealing with her issues?

  The walls moved closer; dancers pressed against her. Sweat popped on her brow, and her heart tripped a panicky tattoo as her claustrophobia kicked in. They were dancing near the entryway, so she seized Cole’s hand to take him with her as she marched toward the open door.

  When she reached the concrete porch, she slowed. “I need to catch my breath.”

  Cole slipped his arm around her waist. “It’s stuffy in there.”

  She went down the few steps off the porch and skirted around the edge of the building, slipping between the cars in the parking lot. “I get a little claustrophobic sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Cole didn’t know the extent of how bad it could be. She led him through the cars to the grassy park behind the building, choosing a toweri
ng cottonwood to lean against. The rough ridges from the old tree’s bark grounded her as they pressed against her shoulders.

  Cole rubbed her bare arm beneath her short-sleeved tee. “Are you warm enough? It’s chilly out here.”

  “It feels good. It was too warm inside.”

  He faced her, moonlight filtering through the tree’s canopy to cast shadows on the planes of his face. No doubt this man was handsome, with his dark chocolate eyes, close-cut brown hair, and easy smile. Last summer, they’d met through police business, and she’d thought he was married instead of recently divorced. Neither of them had sought a relationship, but they’d been drawn to each other from the start.

  He turned to lean against the tree beside her, his arm brushing hers lightly.

  She grasped at something to say and thought of his daughters, who were out of town visiting their mom. “When will the girls come home?”

  “They’ll be with Olivia until the middle of next week. After that they’ll stay with Jessie a couple days. She’ll bring them home a week from today and then stay to visit Mom and Dad.”

  Jessie was Cole’s sister who lived in Denver. Generally, Mattie felt drawn to dogs more than people, but Jessie seemed direct and kind, someone who said what she meant so that you didn’t have to guess. Cole’s parents, whom she’d not met but could recognize by sight, owned a ranch outside Timber Creek. “I bet you miss the kids.”

  “Like crazy at first. The house was too quiet. Now I’m getting used to having some time to myself, although it’s easy to fill it with work.”

  “I get that.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She could sense the smile behind the words as he took her hand. “We share that tendency.”

  Someone opened the windows on the back side of the building, and the music drifted into the park. Another slow song.

  Cole moved away from the tree, pulling her against him into dance position. He swayed with the beat. “You’re a good dancer.”

  “You, too.”

  “Where did you learn to dance like that, Miss Mattie?”

  He always could make her smile, despite the seriousness of a given moment. “In a bar over in Willow Springs when I was in college. And you?”

  “I grew up dancing.” He swayed with her in more of an embrace than a dance. “We move well together.”

  With his hand beneath her chin, he tipped her face up toward his. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers.

  The siren on top of the water tower began to blare, interrupting their kiss. They pulled away from each other a few inches to listen to the signal that called in the volunteers who made up the bulk of their small town’s fire department.

  Boom! An explosion from the west echoed off the building.

  Mattie turned to search in that direction, seeing nothing but shadows and trees in the park. “What was that?”

  Cole’s hand lingered at her back. “I don’t know.”

  Her mind jumped to Robo—she’d left him at home on the west side of town. “Let’s go. I want to make sure that fire isn’t at my house.”

  They rushed around the side of the building toward the front, where people spilled out onto the porch. Several headed off to their cars, while amid subdued laughter, others speculated on what was going on.

  At his truck, Cole opened the passenger door for Mattie and handed her up into the seat before hurrying toward the driver’s side. After starting the engine, he threw the truck into reverse, angled out of the narrow parking space, and steered toward the highway. “Let’s beat the rush out of here.”

  Mattie pulled her cell phone from the hip pocket of her jeans and tapped the number for the sheriff’s station. Sam Corns, the night dispatcher, answered.

  “What’s up, Sam?”

  “Burning vehicle out on west County Road Seven. Fire department notified.”

  “How far out?”

  “About a mile north of Highway Twelve.”

  It would take only a few minutes to get there. “I heard an explosion.”

  “Don’t know what that was. Person who called in said it was a burning van before she disconnected.”

  “All right. I’m on my way.”

  “Fire trucks should be there soon. Garcia’s on his way, too,” Sam said.

  Garcia kept night watch in Timber Creek, but in this small town all department employees were expected to be on call for emergencies. Mattie ended the call and turned to Cole. “It’s not at my house. It’s on County Road Seven.”

  Cole turned at the next intersection and reset his course. “What is it?”

  “A burning van.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Gas tank must’ve blown.”

  “Maybe. Although that’s not as common as it’s made out to be.”

  When they reached the highway, an orange halo glowed in the west, the blaze leaping up and taking shape as they turned onto the county road and drew near. Flames consumed a panel van that was parked on a pull-off at the side of the road. A pickup truck sat beyond the van, its driver’s side door hanging open and its headlights backlighting three figures in the barrow ditch, one person lying near the van and another hovering over a prostrate form closer to the pickup.

  Mattie opened her door as she spoke. “Pull over here, Cole. Don’t park too close in case that van blows again. Leave your lights on.”

  Staying as far away as the fencing allowed, she skirted the burning vehicle, her shoes crunching on broken glass. Heat poured off the van in waves and fire curled around its body, creating a great whoosh as it gobbled oxygen. As she ran toward the people in the ditch, she raised her bare forearm to shield her face, and the intense heat stung her skin.

  She stopped at the first person she came to, a man lying facedown, his clothing torn from shrapnel, a bloody wound on the back of his head. She knelt, curling her fingers against the front side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. Cole passed by, heading toward two other people about twenty feet beyond, where a woman was calling for help.

  Cole evidently recognized the woman’s voice. “Leslie!”

  Leslie shouted to Cole. “It’s Garrett. He’s unconscious.”

  Mattie’s gut wrenched as she realized that the man on the ground beside Leslie was Cole’s best friend, Garrett Hartman, a man Mattie knew, respected, and yes—loved unconditionally. She’d met the Hartmans last summer after their daughter Grace had been murdered. Though her mind screamed to go see how badly Garrett was hurt, she had to let Cole tend to him while she focused on the man before her.

  She couldn’t find a pulse but noted a large bloodstain on his shirt. She strained to turn him faceup, bent to listen, and felt for a breath. Nothing.

  She tore open the snaps on his western shirt. Blood covered his torso. There were two darkened wounds on his left upper chest. Bullet wounds? Though she believed it hopeless, she decided to try CPR.

  Mattie positioned her hands over the lower part of his sternum, but when she pressed hard to deliver chest compressions, dark blood gushed from the wounds, streaming onto his chest and covering her hands. Heart shot. CPR would never bring this man back to life.

  Fear that Garrett had suffered the same fate drove her to move on to see if she could help with him. She ran to Leslie as Cole bent over Garrett, touching his neck, apparently seeking a pulse. Waves of heat boiled off the blazing van. Shattered glass and debris littered the area around them.

  Cole shouted above the noise from the fire, “What happened to Garrett?”

  “He got knocked out when the van exploded!” Her eyes wild, Leslie pointed toward the man Mattie had just left. “That’s Nate Fletcher! Garrett was carrying him on his back, but the blast knocked them down. I dragged Garrett over here.”

  Mattie needed to know what happened. “Did someone shoot Garrett?”

  Leslie looked startled but shook her head. “No. He was fine until the van exploded. Why?”

  Two bullets to the heart meant someone had shot Nate Fletcher at close range with the intent to kill. “Which vehicle is N
ate’s, Leslie?”

  Leslie pointed at the blazing van. “The van! We were on our way to town and saw it sitting here, already on fire. Garrett tried to get Nate out to safety, but it exploded!”

  Cole still knelt beside his friend, apparently assessing his condition, while Mattie’s heart thudded at her throat. Who in the world could’ve killed Nate Fletcher? And did the person who shot him torch his van to destroy some kind of evidence?

  Mattie turned her attention back to Garrett. “How is he?”

  “Something hit him here.” Cole indicated the back of Garrett’s head. “He’s unconscious, but respiration and pulse are steady. Lots of small cuts but no serious bleeding.”

  Mattie held Cole’s gaze for a heartbeat while mutual fear passed between them. The Hartmans had lost their only child, and now this. This couldn’t be happening to the couple.

  Sirens warbled from town, signaling that help was on its way.

  Cole’s eyes flicked past her toward the dead man. “What about Nate?”

  Mattie gave a subtle shake of her head, not wanting to frighten Leslie even more. Because there was a real chance the man Leslie loved would meet the same end.

  TWO

  Heartsick, Cole huddled beside Leslie as they watched two EMTs stabilize Garrett’s neck and then lift him onto a stretcher. It felt unreal. His best friend, so strong and vital, lay limp and unconscious while they moved him into the back of the ambulance.

  Leslie gripped Cole’s hand. “I have to go with him.”

  Cole intercepted one of the EMTs, introduced Leslie as the patient’s wife, and got permission for her to ride along. He helped her up into the ambulance, where the EMT guided her toward a short bench seat against the side panel.

  “I’ll follow and meet you at the hospital,” Cole shouted as the door closed, leaving him with the image of an unresponsive Garrett lying on a stretcher, a sight that made his stomach clench.

  He remained in shock over what had just happened. Garrett Hartman was a kind soul, his heart as big as his stature. He has to be okay, Cole thought. He just has to be.