Down the Darkest Road

by Kylie Brant

  “Around Hope Mills?”

  “I don’t recall exactly. Near Vander, that’s all I remember.”

  It was more than he had “remembered” to include in any of the statements he’d given to the investigators, Cady noted. She said as much to Miguel a few minutes later when they were walking back to the vehicle.

  He shrugged. “He changed his story a lot in the series of interviews he gave, you said. He doesn’t have to keep facts straight anymore. Nothing hangs in the balance for him.”

  She sent another last look over her shoulder before getting into the vehicle again. Weber hadn’t returned to the building. He was standing in the same place, watching them. They got into the Jeep. “Loomer’s uncle lives in the Vander area.” She recalled the fact from the digital file. “I’ll bet that’s where they played video games. Let’s pay the uncle a visit.”

  “How far is it?” Miguel started the vehicle.

  “An hour or so,” she said, purposefully vague.

  “We’re halfway to Florida already,” he muttered, pulling out of the lot. “At this rate, I’ll be lucky to get home before work tomorrow.”

  She knew the man well enough to be familiar with his moods. “Why don’t you hit a drive-through and pick up some food on our way out of town?”

  Miguel visibly brightened. “Navigate us to the closest one. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

  “Then I won’t bother offering you the toy from my Happy Meal.” She did a search on her cell, gave him the route, and then turned her attention to the file on her laptop to look for the number to the Cumberland County sheriff’s office. They needed some background on the Loomer relative before arriving on his doorstep.

  Chapter 18

  Bruce pulled his Malibu into a slot in the Asheville Food Mart parking lot and turned off the ignition. According to the in-dash GPS, there were five of the grocery stores in the city. He scanned the lot, looking for Tina Bandy’s beat-up white Impala. His anonymous internet source hadn’t found a different vehicle registration in her name. Hopefully that meant she hadn’t changed vehicles. He couldn’t exactly walk into the store and look for her. Damn places had cameras and security she could call for help.

  But if he spotted her car, all he had to do was wait around and follow her home. Catch the whole fam-damily in one place. Then . . . A nasty grin split his face. Then the fun would start.

  His TracFone rang. When he read the identity of the caller on the screen, a slow thrum started in his veins. He answered. “Well, well. Been a while.”

  “I . . . I have news for you. But if I share this, we’re even. You leave my family alone.”

  Too late for that, bitch. The thought remained unspoken. “Look at you, thinkin’ you make the rules here.”

  When the woman on the other end hesitated, he said, “Tell me what you got. I’ll tell you what it’s worth to me.”

  “They’ve added a federal marshal to the hunt for you. A woman. Name of Cady Maddix.”

  The news hit him like a brick. He cursed mentally. Bringing in a Fed meant either the drug charges had been kicked from state to federal or they knew about the woman he’d snatched. But how could they? There’d been no one else in the parking lot. He’d made sure of that before approaching her. The marshal obviously hadn’t learned jack shit, though, or else he’d be behind bars already.

  Feds had different tools they could use. He knew that much. Which meant the marshal could be a problem. And a woman, to boot. The fact ignited a little hum in his blood. Some possibilities there. He’d have to think it over.

  “So that’s worth a lot, right? I might’ve saved you from getting caught.”

  “Might be worth something. Don’t wipe out the trouble your family’s caused me, though.” He interrupted the woman’s protest with, “What else do you know?” And waited for her to grudgingly give up more details.

  “We’re even now after this. I don’t give a shit what you say.”

  They were a long way from even. She’d learn that the hard way. “You want to be even? Get me the marshal’s address.” He hung up on her screech of dismay and returned his gaze to the parking lot. When he didn’t find the crappy Impala, he punched in the next address on the GPS. Started the engine. The tedium of the hunt made the final payoff that much more rewarding.

  Chapter 19

  Stacy appeared in the doorway to Ryder’s office. “Much as it pains me to admit it, you were right.”

  Ryder looked up from the pile of paperwork that seemed to multiply overnight. “About? Oh yeah. The Maddix file.”

  Stacy stepped farther into his office. “It’s not documented in the database. That means it was never on the microfiche at all. Or,” she corrected herself, “if it was, it was too damaged to be transferred.”

  He’d reached a similar conclusion this morning but had double-checked with the vendor for Digital ReeL. The man had said much the same thing. They could digitize only the information given to them. Other files dated around the same time as the Maddix case were present.

  “I did some digging. The office started converting paper files older than five years onto microfilm thirty years ago. They stopped about a decade ago because they were planning to upload them to a computer system instead. But nothing got done until you made that decision.” From the expression on Stacy’s face, he’d gotten her intrigued.

  “I can’t figure out a way I’d know if any other files are missing.”

  “Neither can I,” she admitted. “But I’ll keep checking the newer files downstairs and see if it shows up there.”

  “Thanks, Stacy.” She exited the room, and Ryder leaned back, brooding. After Cady had left this morning, he’d done some online research. The Maddix case would have been big news in these parts. Maybe even across the entire state. Which made it more than a little strange that there was no trace of a file, physical or otherwise.

  It was possible that it could have been checked out for some reason when others the same year had been converted, and the mistake had never been caught. Stuff like that happened. It was harder to imagine it being destroyed, however, before double-checking that a microfiche copy existed. Ryder reached for the coffee sitting on his desk and took a sip, wincing when he found it cold.

  His dad had died suddenly, from a type of heart attack the pathologist had called the widow-maker. After nearly five years, Butch’s clothes remained in the bedroom closet he’d shared with Ryder’s mom. His tools still hung on the pegboard in the garage. His car sat next to them, idle. Because Ryder wasn’t the type to tell someone else how to grieve, he’d never mentioned any of that to his mom, even if it was a shock to hang up his coat and still find his dad’s in the closet.

  As usual, thoughts of Butch Talbot brought conflicting emotions. Ryder had long ago come to terms with the fact that loving a person didn’t necessarily mean liking him. His parents had had a happy marriage, partially because of the years Ryder had spent protecting his mom from some of her husband’s secrets.

  He couldn’t imagine a reason for his dad having an old file at home, but with Stacy taking care of the search downstairs, he supposed it was worth looking around his mom’s house the next time he went by.

  Ryder rolled closer to the desk and picked up his pen. If finding that damn file was going to bring Cady some closure, it was worth the effort to locate it.

  Chapter 20

  Breathing hard, Dylan unlocked the front door and let himself into the house. He’d checked the garage first to make sure his mom’s car wasn’t in it. She was supposed to be at work. But all sorts of crazy possibilities had flashed through his mind after he’d waved goodbye to Grace and then ran a mile and a half home after her mom had driven away. Tina could have had a squabble with her boss and quit. She could have gotten sick and gone home. There could be cops looking for him right now. The sweat snaking down his back was only partially due to his exertion.

  The house was dark when he slipped inside. Quiet. Unconvinced, Dylan did a walk-through
, his heart hammering in his chest. Only when he convinced himself that the place was empty did the sense of foreboding lift.

  A broad smile crossed his face. He’d gotten clean away with it. He did an enthusiastic fist pump. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d done something—gone somewhere—other than school where his mom didn’t accompany him. Or the law.

  Jubilant, he let his backpack slide down one arm and dropped it on the couch before heading to the kitchen. It’d been weird, being in Grace’s house. The place was huge, and almost everything inside was white, black, or glass. But her mom had been okay and didn’t hang around like she was worried they’d mess stuff up.

  He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. Because no one was around to tell him he couldn’t, he chugged it straight out of the carton before wiping his mouth on the shoulder of his jacket and putting the milk away. Then he went to the cupboard and snagged the last bag of chips to take with him into the other room. They’d had plenty to eat after school. Grace’s mom had kept offering until Grace told her to leave them alone so they could concentrate. And he hadn’t wanted to eat that much there anyway. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t have manners.

  He turned on the TV and settled down on the pillows on the floor in front of it. Grace hadn’t just been blowing her mom off, either. They’d worked. They’d talked and stuff, too, but she kept saying the sooner they got their sources lined up, the less pressure there would be in class tomorrow. He’d gone along, because she did have good ideas. And he really didn’t have any.

  Dylan flipped through the channels. Cable was about the only thing that made living here bearable. Settling on Terminator 2, he reached for some chips. Munched loudly.

  He felt lighter somehow. Like the familiar weight of responsibility had lifted. He watched the bar scene in the movie, more relaxed than he could ever remember being. It was a weird feeling, one hard to identify.

  He almost felt . . . happy.

  Chapter 21

  “Okay. Thank you for the offer. We’ll reach out again if necessary.” Disconnecting the call, Cady turned her attention to bringing up GPS for the address the Cumberland County deputy had provided her. “Larry Loomer is Eric’s great-uncle on his deceased father’s side. The sheriff’s office has been out to his place half a dozen times looking for Eric, beginning right after Boster’s death. They haven’t found Larry to be especially cooperative. The nephew has never been discovered on the property.” Her tone went dry. “The deputy warned me that the elder Loomer is a war vet with EOD training. We should approach the property with caution.”

  “You always take me to the nicest places.” Miguel took the sunglasses from his nose and folded them, sticking them inside his jacket. “Do we need to bring the bomb squad?”

  “Just keep our eyes open.” The sandwich stop hadn’t effected as much of a change on Miguel’s attitude as Cady had hoped. She should have suggested pizza instead.

  A half an hour later, he slowed in front of an overgrown drive. “This looks like a GPS drive and drop.”

  Cady mentally agreed. Vander was a rural, unincorporated community. She eyed the drive dubiously. The Jeep would fit up it, barely. The brush crowded both sides of the rutted path, the bare branches stretching over it like black skeletal fingers. Between the stands of bushes and the twists in the drive, any potential dwelling ahead was obscured, if indeed they were in the right place. “I’ll walk ahead and scout it out.”

  “That might be easier. It’s not the getting up there I’m worried about; it’s getting turned around and back down.”

  Cady got out of the Jeep and started walking. Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t reached the house, although she could see a thready plume of smoke emanating from what might be a chimney. As she moved farther up the drive, even the sound of the occasional passing car was muted. There was only her breathing and footsteps. An infrequent birdcall. The silence was a bit unnerving.

  It also gave her too much time to think. The earlier return call from her mom’s doctor swam across her mind. They’d had a brief discussion, and Cady had detailed the events of the last few days.

  One incident is concerning, but it’s the frequency of incidents that will help us determine whether there’s a deterioration in your mom’s condition. Given Hannah’s earlier confusion over getting dressed, Dr. Baker’s words brought Cady no comfort. Reminders of the disease’s inevitable progression carved a furrow through her chest.

  Thoughts turned inward, she almost missed what was right in front of her. She stumbled to a halt.

  A thick cord stretched across the bumpy drive. No, not a cord, she saw as she crouched for a closer look. A length of rubber hose. The kind gas stations used to have to alert clerks they had a customer. She followed it as far as she could into the brush. If it served the purpose she assumed, it’d be rigged to a bell or an alarm. She took several more minutes to examine either side of it as far as she could without crawling through the bramble of bushes. Once she’d satisfied herself there was no danger, she stepped over the hose and continued up the path.

  Several minutes later, the path curved yet again, and she walked into a clearing. There was a small cabin butted up against the base of a steep rocky bluff that towered above it.

  A lean-to was built against one side of the home. A dilapidated carport sat on the other. It was empty. Other than the smoke rising from the chimney, there were no other signs of life on the property. Her cell buzzed.

  “Did you take the scenic route?” Miguel’s voice sounded in her ear as she spotted something on the ground. Squatted to get a closer look.

  “There are definitely items of interest along the way.” She told him about the hose she’d seen halfway up the drive, finishing with, “There’s a cabin up here. Problem is, there’s a half-hidden wire running across the front access to it.”

  “I’m coming to join you. Try not to touch anything. You hit your quota for getting blown up a few months ago.”

  Cady made a face as he disconnected. Funny guy. She could have pointed out that if Miguel had been a faster runner, he’d have been first to near the rigged car that had detonated during the Aldeen case. She’d looked—and felt—like the walking wounded for a couple of weeks, but she’d fared far better than the suspect they’d been chasing.

  She backtracked, retracing her footsteps to the previous bend in the path, out of sight of the cabin. Miguel appeared in minutes. He must have jogged. “Did you see it?” she asked.

  “The hose? Yeah. I think you’re right. Some sort of alert system, maybe. Makes sense, living clear out here.”

  Silently, she led him to the wire she’d discovered earlier, half-hidden beneath loose gravel and dirt. He bent to examine it. “You take the right side; I’ll check the left. See if these wires run from that hose we saw farther down.”

  But before they could move, the cabin door swung open, and the barrel of a shotgun emerged. It was followed by a tall, bent man of indeterminate age. “That’s far enough. Stand up. Both of you.”

  Cady slowly rose. “Larry Loomer? Deputy US Marshals Maddix and Rodriguez. Lower your weapon.”

  “Don’t think I will quite yet. You got that idjit from the sheriff’s office with you? Least I’d recognize him.”

  “No, sir. Put the gun down and we’ll show you ID.”

  Loomer hesitated for a moment before lowering the weapon. He picked his way down the steps and headed toward them. “Don’t mind that wire you was so interested in. Just tells me someone’s heading up this way. Man out in these parts by himself can’t be too careful.” He halted a couple of yards from them. In a synchronized movement, she and Miguel reached for their credentials. Held them up. The elderly man squinted, craned his head forward. “Got warrants?”

  “Is Eric Loomer inside, sir?”

  The man snorted at Cady’s question. “No. You can look for yourself, if’n you don’t believe me.” If the wire she’d spotted was linked to an explosive device, Loomer was standing clos
e enough that he’d be caught in the blast too. Cady moved toward the cabin. It was unlikely they’d get another invitation, and she wanted a look at the place where Weber had claimed he’d hung out with Eric Loomer.

  The inside was open, compact, and surprisingly neat. A bed was notched into a corner next to a wooden wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The front of the cabin was a small kitchen, with the rest devoted to a midsize TV and a couple of easy chairs. “Bathroom’s that way.” He jerked his head toward a small door that would lead to the lean-to Cady had noted earlier. She walked over to check the small space. It was empty.

  It soon became apparent that Loomer had had an ulterior motive for inviting them inside. “Maybe you can give me a hand with this,” he was saying to Miguel when she returned. There was a small lamp on the table. “Damn switch doesn’t work anymore. I got the parts right there but can’t see well enough to put them in. Macular degeneration.”

  In the manner of men everywhere, Miguel went over to poke around a bit. It was a few minutes before he finally admitted, “Ah . . . I don’t really know much about this sort of thing.”

  “Let me see.” Cady crossed to the table. The base of the lamp was already apart. Quickly, she switched out the faulty parts and replaced them with the ones on the table. She tested the switch before putting the lamp back together. Once her grandfather had gotten too feeble to take care of small repairs around the house, he’d stand over her, giving step-by-step directions so she could make them. The skills were the only useful ones she’d learned during her time living with him.

  Loomer reached over and tapped the switch. “Not bad,” he said when it turned on.

  “When’s the last time you saw your nephew Eric?” she said, straightening from the task.

  “I tell the deputy every time he comes out here. Haven’t seen him for more than five years now. Don’t know exactly what he done, but guessing he took off.”