Tracking Tahlula (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  “Behave.”

  11

  Tahlula

  I haven’t seen Evan since he was called in Sunday afternoon.

  What should have been a controlled fire about thirty miles north of here, near Grayrock Peak, had shifted direction, sending the fire department scrambling to keep it contained.

  Other than a brief phone call to let me know he was still up north last night, I hadn’t heard much either.

  After Sunday morning, it’s been nothing but crickets from Trunk. The encounter between the two men that morning was kept to mutual grunts and nods, which I guess should be counted as an improvement. Trunk left, not long after Evan got here, stating he needed to check on the boy.

  Evan got the call shortly after the noon hour, but by the end of Sunday, the nursery was painted, leaving me with a great sense of satisfaction. Yesterday I tackled window and doorframes, as well as baseboards, plus I ordered a bunch of stuff online in the same color scheme.

  This morning, ten new boxes of books were delivered, and this UPS guy was kind enough to stack them just inside my door.

  “It’s me,” I clarify when Jaime answers the phone. “I wanted to let you know the books have arrived. Intact this time.”

  “Oh, thank God. I received a message from UPS about the earlier shipment. Apparently, they record drop-offs outside with a picture, in case of claims against them. They’d attached the picture. Looks like the driver stacked them on your porch, T. Two stacks of five boxes, I’m looking right at it. Any chance an animal could’ve gotten hold of them?”

  “Weird. Anything is possible, I guess.” I ignore the vague uneasiness settling under my skin. “At least I have the books safe inside now. I’ll get them signed and sent back in the next couple of days. How are things there? Any word?”

  “Sue told me Detective Thompson came by Lena’s place to pick up a few things that might have her DNA on them but told her it was precautionary only. I have a really bad feeling, though. I had a cop in here yesterday, asking to look through any of Lena’s recent correspondence. Questioning us on whether she had any known enemies, who she associated with, if she owed anyone money. This is turning into something movies are made of.”

  Being reminded of the troublesome reality of Lena’s disappearance is instantly sobering. I feel guilty it’s not all that’s been on my mind these past few days. “How is the agency holding up?”

  “Before she left we had thirty-seven active clients. Since she disappeared twelve have left, seeking other representation. I’m expecting the rest will follow soon enough.”

  “Oh, no. Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere. I’m hanging in there with you.”

  “Thanks, T. It’s nice to get a vote of confidence.”

  “Honey, you’re more than equipped to run that agency, and we both know it. God forbid, but if something has happened to her, you should take over, or start an agency of your own. You’d have me as a client.”

  “Ha!” she scoffs, her chuckle sounds bitter. “That’d go over well with Rob. One more thing to add to his list of grievances.”

  “He’s still up in Montana, right?”

  “Thank the Lord for small favors.”

  “Maybe this isn’t a bad time to consider all your options then.” I don’t have to spell it out; I know she’ll hear what I’m saying.

  “Already working on that.”

  “Good, and if you ever need a place to take a breather, there is always room here. Plenty of room.”

  “Appreciate you, T.”

  “Appreciate you too, girl.”

  The vague unease I felt earlier returns when I end the call and turn to the stacks of boxes. I carry one over to the dining table. It would have to be a large animal to haul even one of them off the porch. Carefully I cut the tape so I can reuse the box later to ship the books back. It never gets tiring to see my own books in print. I stack them on the table before getting the next box.

  For the next couple of hours I concentrate on signing my pen name. It wouldn’t be the first time I start accidentally signing my legal name in a book. I refill the boxes with the signed books, tape them shut and stack them by the back door.

  I’m about to haul the last three boxes over to the dining room when Luke, who’s been sleeping under the table, growls low in his throat as he heads for the front door seconds before I hear a knock. When I open the door he almost shoves himself through my legs, but encounters a familiar hand held out for him to sniff.

  “Detective Blackfoot.”

  “Sorry to bother you again, but there’ve been some developments I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Please come in.”

  “More boxes?” he notes as he steps inside, Luke circling his legs looking for attention.

  “Replacement for the other ones, all books. I’m supposed to sign them and send them back. My publisher wants them for promotional purposes.”

  “Have you been carrying these?” He suddenly pins me with a look that makes me feel instantly chastised and defensive.

  “One by one, and I’m using my knees to lift, Detective.”

  “Keith, and you shouldn’t be lifting at all. Where do you need these?” He points to the three remaining boxes in the entrance.

  “Dining table. Please,” I remember my manners last minute, but it doesn’t exactly sound gracious. Keith doesn’t seem to care. He just grins, shakes his head, and picks up all three at the same time, dumping them where I want them.

  “I take it those have to be shipped out again?” He points at the other stack.

  “All of them do.”

  “If you want to sign while we talk, I can drop all of them off at the UPS office in town after.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” I protest, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. In no time he has the remaining books neatly stacked on the table. “It’s funny you show up, I was contemplating whether I should call you,” I tell him, as I sit down at the table and open the first book.

  “About?” He takes a seat across from me.

  “That first shipment that ended up in my driveway. Apparently, the driver did leave them on the porch, as instructed. They sent a picture showing the boxes neatly stacked next to the front door.”

  “I see.” I can tell from his expression he isn’t particularly surprised.

  “And I don’t think animals would’ve bothered with them, would they?”

  “Not very likely.”

  I slide the cap on my pen and put it down on the table, folding my arms over my chest. “Maybe you should tell me what brings you here.”

  “Can you recall seeing a navy blue Toyota Prius in the last few weeks? Either around here or in town?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t pay attention to cars. Why? What’s the significance?”

  The detective leans over the table, his eyes warm with sympathy and I instinctively brace myself.

  “A rental car by that description was found in a ditch behind a trailer park, only three miles down from here. We were able to confirm with Hertz this was the car Ms. Griffion rented.”

  I’m suddenly lightheaded. “Was…was there any sign of Lena?”

  “Her purse and suitcase were still in the car.” I follow him with my eyes as he walks into my kitchen, takes a glass from the dish rack, and fills it with water, before setting it in front of me. “Have a drink.”

  I obediently take a sip but never take my eyes off Keith, who sits down across from me again.

  “Was it an accident?”

  “Nothing to indicate that. There’s no sign of Ms. Griffion, but there’s reason to believe she may have met with foul play.”

  It’s not that I hadn’t already considered that, but hearing it spelled out was still a shock to my system. “How do you know?”

  “Tahlula—”

  “No, I want to know,” I cut him off.

  “There was a substantial amount of blood found in the car.”

  “Oh, God. Poor Lena. I have to call Jaimie.” I
shove my chair back and look around for my phone, but Keith stops me.

  “I wish you’d hold off on that. Give Detective Thompson a chance to talk to her first. There’s something else you should probably know as well.”

  I sink back down in my chair and look at him expectantly. “Which is?”

  “The body found in the fire was female.”

  My mouth falls open as bits of information slip into place. “That’s why they needed samples of her DNA. They think it’s her,” I mumble half to myself before asking Keith, “Can’t you use dental records? Isn’t that easier?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not an option in this case,” he says somberly.

  When the implication of what he says filters through, a full body shiver runs through me.

  Evan

  “You’re off for twenty-four, Cheddar. Get some rest.”

  I watch Cap walk up to the ambulance where I’m grabbing a quick break with a bottle of water. He’s just been off for his twenty-four-hour break the crew is rotating through.

  I’m beat. Forty-four hours doing hard physical labor with only a couple of two-hour breaks for food and sleep wears you down quickly.

  “We’ve got some of those reinforcements coming in,” he says, as he takes a seat beside me. “Housing is sorted for most of them but there’s one couple driving in this afternoon, Tucker and Penelope Jacobs, we still need a place for. You mentioned you had room?”

  “Yeah, I can put them up.”

  “One thing you should probably know, though. They have a pet they don’t travel without. Well, Penelope does.”

  “I don’t have an issue with a pet, as long as they don’t expect me to look after it.”

  “Good, that’ll work out then. Already gave them your number. They’ll call you when they’re close.”

  I’m tempted to check in on Tahlula before I head to the station, but since I reek of smoke and have two days’ worth of sweat, soot, and dirt sticking to me, it’s probably more humane to clean up first.

  It’s a miracle I get to Durango in one piece; I struggle to keep my eyes open the entire way. The station is quiet, the engine out on a call with the crew on shift, and just Steve Aimes, the battalion chief, is in his office.

  “How is it out there?” he asks when I stick my head in the door.

  “We hope the 580 will hold as a break, but with the winds the way they are, it wouldn’t surprise me if it jumped the road. They’re trying to direct the fire into the Sig Creek fork, just south of the county road, hoping the high runoff waters will help. Crews are clear-cutting the south side of the creek as we speak.”

  “Shit. Not a good sign, this early in the season.”

  “You’ve got that right.” I rap my knuckles on the doorpost. “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

  “Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

  I haul my ass upstairs, grab some clean clothes from my locker, and head into the showers. I’m half asleep when I step in the stream and wash the grime and stink off my body. Instead of driving home once I’m clean and dressed, I decide to crash at the station until the couple from Texas gets here.

  I can barely get my gritty eyes open when my phone rings an hour or so later.

  “Yeah,” I croak.

  “Evan Biel?”

  “Speaking.” I rub a hand over my face and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  “It’s Penelope Jacobs. We were told to get in touch with you. We’re about five minutes out of Durango.”

  “Right,” I mumble, trying to jump-start my brain. “Easiest is probably to meet me at Station Three and we’ll take it from there.” I give her directions before ending the call and going in search of a quick hit of coffee before they get here.

  I’m outside waiting by the picnic table when my phone rings again. Keith Blackfoot’s number this time.

  “What’s up?”

  “You still up at that fire?”

  “No, I just got back. Why?” I’m immediately concerned.

  “Just leaving Tahlula’s place. Had to give her some bad news.”

  “Her agent?”

  “We found the rental car a few miles from her house. So much blood. Assuming it’s the agent’s, there’s no way she got out of there alive.”

  “Jesus. You told her?”

  “No choice, brother. She’s not stupid and was pushing. I’m not gonna lie when she asks straight up.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll head up there as soon as I can.”

  As I’m ending the call, I notice a vehicle pull into the parking lot. A large dark man is behind the wheel with a smallish blonde riding shotgun. My chin about hits the ground when I see a large head peek out between the two seats. That’s their pet?

  “Hi, I’m Pen and this is my husband, Moose. You’re Evan?”

  I shake her offered hand, and her husband’s, but I can’t take my eyes off the animal in their vehicle. “Your pet is a donkey?”

  “Smokey. A miniature donkey, housebroken.” The deep rumble from the large man sounds almost like a challenge. Visions of said donkey in my mother’s vegetable patch in my yard have me scrambling for alternatives, but first I have to get to Tahlula.

  “Good to know. Look, I just got a pressing message. I’m gonna need to quickly stop in at a friend’s a few minutes up the mountain before I can take you—”

  “Of course,” Penelope is prompt to answer. “Never mind us. We’ll tag along.”

  I’m still trying to come up with solutions when I pull onto Tahlula’s driveway with them on my tail. The moment I put the F150 in park, she comes flying out the door, a barking Luke on her heels. He aims straight for the vehicle behind me, but Tahlula runs at me. I barely have time to unfold myself from the truck before her body slams into mine, and my arms immediately wrap around her tightly.

  I’m not expecting the first words out of her mouth.

  “I’ve been worried about you. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on a twenty-four-hour break. Blackfoot called me.”

  “And you came straight here,” she observes, a little annoyed.

  “Of course I did.”

  I’m about to kiss her when persistent barking draws my attention to my guests. Penelope seems amused, but Moose has a dark scowl on his face as Luke goes ballistic outside their vehicle.

  “Who are they?” Tahlula mumbles, as we make our way over to get the dog under control.

  “Texas firefighters volunteering for the season. I was supposed to get them settled in at my place when I got the call.”

  The moment Tahlula has her hand on Luke’s leash; Moose opens his door. “He’s friendly, just protective,” she quickly calls out to him.

  I can see him saying something to his wife before she opens her door as well. I make quick introductions, when Tahlula’s eyes seem drawn to their truck.

  “Is that a donkey?”

  “I call him my service animal,” Penelope explains, grinning. “Do you think your dog would mind meeting Smokey? He’s good with dogs.”

  At Tahlula’s consent, Moose lifts the donkey—only a bit taller than Luke—from the back of the vehicle.

  “Oh my God, he’s adorable,” she mutters as the animal nudges its head under her hand. “But where are you gonna keep him when all three of you are working?”

  “He’s used to being alone,” Moose answers.

  “I’m sure. It’s just that…” Tahlula watches the two animals cavorting around the front of the property. “…I could look after him. I mean, you’re welcome to stay here. That way he wouldn’t be alone when you have to leave.”

  I have a feeling there’s more to her offer than concern for the donkey.

  “Are you sure?” I ask her, and she nods furiously.

  “If you’re positive and you have room,” Penelope says, looking around her at the scenery. “I’m not going to say no. Can’t beat this view.”

  12

  Tahlula

  “This is perfect,” Penelope says, looking around my
unused garage where she and Moose set up a temporary home for Smokey.

  I never use it. I prefer to have my Lexus where I can get in and out easily, and with so many extra rooms in the house, I haven’t needed it to store anything.

  A good section of the concrete floor is covered with straw, a large metal bucket holds water, and two large bags—one with hay, the other food pellets—hang on hooks along the wall. The couple’s gear is set up near the side door for easy access.

  Evan had gone with Moose to a place on the south side of town to pick up supplies for the animal. They brought back pizza and a shitload of groceries as well.

  While they were gone, Pen and I put clean sheets on the bed Trunk slept in last Saturday night, and got to know each other a little in the process.

  I know it’s a little crazy to offer my home to people I don’t even know, but I figure no one who has a miniature donkey for a pet can be bad. They also volunteer their time to go out-of-state to help with wildfires, which says something about their character.

  Who am I kidding? I jumped at the chance not to have to be alone. There, I admit it. I hate what felt like a safe place after what happened in Denver, may not be quite as safe as I thought. My impromptu invitation for Penelope and her husband to stay here was a way to avoid having to admit to either Trunk, or Evan, I’m not as tough as I pretend to be.

  “I don’t mind having him in the house either,” I assure Penelope.

  “I really appreciate that, but at home he’s usually in the barn in his own space while we work or during the night. He’s used to it and after two days cooped up in the truck with us for the drive up from San Antonio, I’m sure he’ll be happy for a bit of solitude.”

  The other woman closes the door behind us when we walk out of Smokey’s makeshift quarters. Moose and Evan are on the porch tossing back a beer, Luke at their feet.

  “Down for his nap?” Moose asks Penelope when we reach them.

  “He and Luke played hard, I’m sure both will be out for a bit.”

  “Drink?” Evan asks.