Intrigue Books 1-6

by Delores Fossen, Rachel Lee, Carol Ericson, Tyler Anne Snell, Rita Herron

  Or, if she thought it was a ghost, nobody else needed to hear it at all?

  Or even, from his perspective, voices didn’t bother that dog at all. Given how friendly he was, maybe it was just another background noise to him.

  A little over an hour later, Steve departed, promising to return the next day. He’d played card games with Viv, who was on her way to becoming a card sharp. He’d never done so badly with a simple game of War. She had the devil’s own luck on a deal.

  Vivian’s acceptance of him had begun. Good.

  Now he needed to find a way to look into the history of the Castelle house. Was there lore associated with it? Was there some kind of notable history?

  First place to start was the recorder’s office. All the details about who had owned and sold the land back to whenever they started keeping records of such things. Probably pretty decent records since he was sure that the Castelles couldn’t have gotten a mortgage without a clear title. The title company would have taken care of that.

  When he checked his phone, however, he discovered the nearest title company was ninety miles away...and he couldn’t even be sure it was the right one. Chances were the Castelles wouldn’t know either. Mortgage companies tended to deal with title companies themselves, keeping the certificate on hand. And charging the client for it, of course.

  Sometimes he walked the edge of being cynical. He supposed he was fortunate that after all those years of being a cop he hadn’t become hardened and jaded.

  He wondered, too, when Candy would get back to him about meeting that retired sheriff. He was already champing at the bit for that interview.

  As well as one with Vivian. That child was as smart as a whip, sharp as a tack or whatever overused simile you wanted. He anticipated she’d give him a view that her parents couldn’t begin to.

  * * *

  CANDY SPENT MOST of her day trying to track down Nathan Tate for Steve. No answer on the phone, not even his cell, and when she went by the Tate house, no one was home.

  Well, people had lives. They weren’t all sitting around waiting for a chance to talk to Steve Hawks. Steve was just going to have to do the waiting, and she wasn’t about to knock on neighboring doors to find out where the Tates were. Man, imagine the uproar she’d cause. No explanation could ease the fears that would arise from a deputy asking those questions.

  Giving up for now, she headed back to the office, believing there had to be something truly useful to do. Not that this department seemed to be overburdened most of the time. If you wanted excitement on a regular basis, this wasn’t the place to get it.

  Just as she was about to enter, she saw Steve climbing the courthouse steps. The courthouse was located in a large area between four streets that contained a park, as well. It was aptly named Courthouse Square, surrounded on four sides by shops, a bakery and an ice cream parlor. Behind the sheriff’s office, facing the square, was a decently sized phone service to help people experiencing everything from abuse to suicidal thoughts.

  People everywhere needed someone they could privately talk with, with someone who was objective and could give them advice or get them help.

  Diners, like Maude’s, weren’t the best place to have a personal conversation. Too many ears might overhear.

  Instead of going inside, she followed Steve to the courthouse in case she could help. She suspected he was headed for the recorder’s office, and she shortly was proved right.

  She found him talking to one of the clerks and learning the reality of a truly small town.

  “Well, Mr. Hawks, we may have nearly fifty years of records on microfilm and microfiche. I’m not sure about earlier records, or whether any were hit-and-miss. We’ve got other records over at storage, if you need us to hunt them up.”

  “I hope I won’t,” he answered.

  The clerk laughed. “I hope so, too. We’re a very small department because of budgets, and because we’re not all that busy.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I think you can tell we aren’t having a boom on sales of property, or purchases for that matter.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “I hope you aren’t. A boom would disrupt your town, wouldn’t it? It seems so peaceful.”

  She leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice. “This place is eternally hoping for a boom. At least we got the junior college.”

  She promised to find the records she could on fiche and film. He thanked her and turned away, spying Candy immediately.

  “Riding herd on me?”

  She shook her head. “I just couldn’t resist seeing how you responded to this reality. We’ve got the same thing going on over at the sheriff’s. Recent records are digitized. Everything’s still on paper, though, because we don’t want any computer mess-ups.”

  He laughed. “Gotcha. I hope I won’t have to ask anyone to dig into archives.”

  “It would be greatly appreciated by the men and women who work over at the archive building.”

  He glanced at the wall clock hanging just behind the recorder’s window. “Dang, I knew I was getting hungry. No lunch and it’s almost dinnertime. You said Mahoney’s is good?”

  “Very good with a limited menu. There might even be some people there who’d be willing to talk to you about the Castelle place.”

  He looked mildly surprised. “But not at Maude’s?”

  “You might still be under suspicion over there. New fella.”

  “Why is Mahoney’s different?”

  “Give anyone a few beers and they’re much more likely to talk.”

  He laughed again. “Come with me?”

  He watched her hesitate, then she nodded. “Sure. Maybe my uniform will vouch for you more than a few beers. Of course, it could have a very different effect.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. When he’d been in uniform, he’d noticed how quiet even a rowdy place could get when he entered.

  As they walked down the street, taking in some of the spurt of Halloween decorations in the shop windows, he asked, “People around here don’t like to see uniforms?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’m new, too. When some of the other deputies and I drop in after a shift, there’s usually a lot of friendliness. I don’t see as much if I go in alone.”

  For the first time he considered how new she was here, and how that could affect most of her daily life. “It takes a while to get rooted?”

  “Probably an entire lifetime.” She paused. “I never forget that at least ninety percent of the people here grew up together. This town, this county, is rare.”

  “These days, yeah. People in other places are a lot more physically mobile.”

  “I was an Army brat. Funny how close people in the military can get over time. We might change postings, but eventually you run into people you knew from a previous posting. Made it kind of difficult on kids, though.”

  She paused as they reached the door of Mahoney’s. “When my dad was in, changes in postings occurred more frequently than now. Each move was wrenching, mainly because we were kids. You’d make a friend, then move. Next time you ran into them, they’d have changed and I would have changed, too. That meant starting all over again.”

  She came by her interest in the military honestly. He tucked that away in his mental file. Then he reached for the handle and opened the door. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “No reason you should.”

  Inside the bar was warming up for the evening. Some of the tables were already full. Country music played in the background. There were only a few stools at the bar that remained empty. Steve liked the atmosphere. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that this bar dated back to the days of the Wild West.

  They settled at a table against a wall, and Candy sat facing the door.

  A cheerful waitress came over to take their orders, quite a difference from Maude. Both ordered fried chicken, and Ste
ve asked for a beer while Candy chose club soda with lime.

  “Aren’t you off duty?” he asked.

  “Not right now.”

  Steve leaned back, wondering if she considered herself on duty because of him, or if she just didn’t like to drink. The latter was always possible. It made no difference to him as long as he wasn’t hampering her. He didn’t know how to ask because it really wasn’t his business. Her choice.

  He noted again how attractive she was. A beautiful face surrounded by short, dark hair and decorated with warm brown eyes. Eyes that he had seen grow chilly.

  Their drinks arrived quickly and were followed soon by the chicken. He suspected this bar turned over chicken swiftly. A quick scan of the people around them suggested he was right. Lots of plates of chicken out there. Well, that boded well.

  At least there was no plate of fries to tempt him. He smiled.

  “Something funny?” she asked.

  “Only me. I was feeling grateful there are no fries.”

  At last she laughed. “Good point. You’re killing my diet.”

  “Mine, too. Oh, well. A couple of weeks of self-indulgence won’t kill me.”

  “You ever heard that old joke? If I’d known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”

  “Ha! No, that’s the first time. I like it.”

  A thaw had begun. He felt Candy had let go of a little of her suspicion.

  Well, he’d grown used to that ever since he started doing his show. Back when he’d been a cop trying to help frightened families, he’d been more warmly welcomed. It was reasonable for people to question his motives now, although he found it a bit tiresome to keep dealing with it. Maybe someday he’d be treated less like a con man. Although that was improving as his show became better known.

  He just wanted people to realize he was honest. Maybe that was the thing that bothered him most. Oh, well, he’d chosen this path and he very much believed in personal responsibility for choices.

  Which didn’t always make them easier to endure.

  They ate silently for a while, and he wondered what he should be talking about. “You get anywhere with the old sheriff?”

  Yeah, dude, bright. Bring up work when she should be enjoying dinner. With him, however, questions seldom stopped.

  “No luck so far,” she answered, looking up from her two pieces of fried chicken. “He’s out of town, and I’m damned if I’m going to question neighbors about when he’ll be back.”

  “Afraid of worrying people?”

  “Of course I am. How many times did you flash a badge without creating a stir?”

  “Rarely,” he admitted. “I met Vivian Castelle today.”

  She nodded and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “How did that go?”

  “Pretty well, actually. Bright kid, she opened up some with me after numerous games of War.”

  “War?”

  “A card game that even younger kids can play. She beat me soundly. I wouldn’t want to argue with that child’s luck.”

  That drew a wide smile from her. “Like that?”

  “It didn’t matter which of us dealt. Anyway, I’ll probably need some more time with her before she’s ready to talk about her experiences.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I need her to speak for herself without Mom or Dad correcting her or adding things to clarify. I want her story.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Well, she’d talk about the case, but not about herself it seemed. Silence until that came up. Past bad experience? Or her nature? Whatever the cause, he wanted to find a way around it. To discover something about her.

  And maybe that was just a man’s response to a woman he found to be beautiful. Or maybe not. Crap. He’d heard women complain that men wanted to talk only about themselves. He didn’t want to be that guy. Yet here he was, talking about his job. Every single minute.

  So he attacked the problem indirectly. “Still worried I’m taking advantage of people’s desperation?”

  She paused, halfway through her second chicken thigh. A dark meat lover. “Maybe less than I was since I heard your interview with the Castelles.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you never once led them or prompted them. It was all about what they thought and felt.”

  She’d noticed that. Good. He tried hard not to lead his clients. Another skill of a good detective. Let the witness or suspect tell it. Ask questions, but don’t suggest. Suggesting often led to lies that later wouldn’t stand up.

  She spoke again as she finished her chicken and tried to wipe her fingers and mouth with yet another napkin.

  Steve said, “Don’t you wish restaurants served those heated finger towels? Or the little bowls of hot water with lemon in them?”

  “Oh, yeah, it would be nice. I’ll go to the ladies’ in a few to wash up. What about your cases?”

  No diverting her. Easier than talking about Candy, apparently, he thought as he finished his own meal. “I told you about the cases with people who feared noises in their house, or the feeling that someone was looking in their windows. Or the figures they believed they saw.”

  She nodded and crumpled the napkin on her plate. The waitress whisked it away and gave her another club soda. “That’s a general description.”

  “It’s hard to cover one particularly. Lemme think for a minute or two. See if a case stands out. Do they serve Corona here?”

  “They might. Most people just get draft beer.”

  “I’m fond of Corona.” He lifted a finger and the cheerful waitress returned. He wondered if she’d be feeling this perky at closing time. There was little question this bar was going to get rowdier. “Do you have Corona?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s become really popular among our younger customers.”

  “Thanks. Candy, do you want anything?”

  “A nice cup of hot chocolate, Mary. Please.”

  Steve looked wryly at Candy as Mary weaved her way back toward the bar. “I should have asked about the Corona when I first ordered. But the draft on tap is good.”

  “I can’t tell the difference between one beer and another. Maybe because I drink it so rarely.”

  “That would matter. Now about my cases when I was still a cop...”

  * * *

  CANDY WAITED PATIENTLY even after her hot chocolate and Steve’s longneck arrived. She wanted to hear this, hear what had been important enough to pick up an off-duty avocation. She had begun to think that he was truly concerned about people, but she needed more convincing.

  “Well, I remember a case about an elderly lady living alone in a large house. She was very old, maybe close to ninety, and frail. Honestly, I couldn’t believe she was rattling around in that place all by herself. Still cooking for herself, still cleaning the areas she used. I was impressed, but what if she hurt herself? She didn’t even have one of those buttons to call for help, you know the ones that hang around the neck?”

  She nodded. “I hear they’re not cheap.”

  “That may have been part of the problem. Social Security doesn’t go very far, and she owned the house. That meant upkeep, of course, but I’d have bet she’d socked something away against that. In the meantime, she didn’t have rent to pay, and these days that’s as expensive as a mortgage.”

  “Maybe so.” Candy could see that. “She was probably very independent, too.”

  “She also didn’t want to leave because that house held more than sixty good years of memories for her. She talked about her husband, about her children and grandchildren. Even great-grandchildren. It was a short litany, waving at framed photos, but I stood there listening and wondering where all those people were. None of them might be able to talk her out of that house, but surely there was someone who could come stay with her?”

  C
andy shook her head.

  “I know. I don’t know where they all were. Families often move away pursuing jobs. I get it. You joined the Army. I’ll bet your dad had been out for a while.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So okay. My parents are retired in Costa Rica. I can’t just bop down every weekend to visit. Or every month for that matter. But I can hire someone to help them out and check on them.”

  “Good point.” She so far liked the way he thought. Concern for an old woman he didn’t really know. Thinking of ways to help his parents. “Anyway...” She pressed him.

  “Anyway. I was doing a wellness check, not just answering her call. Back then I was a uniform, so I was pretty sure she felt better having me there. Having my partner, too, although he was outside checking around the house. Which was isolated. Still farmland, although run over by that time. Plenty of brush and woods to hide in, so he had his job cut out for him.”

  “I can imagine. But one question?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Were all these places you checked isolated?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head a little. “Some were in busy neighborhoods. Some people had neighbors who’d had experiences in their houses.”

  Uneasiness trickled down Candy’s spine. Did she really want to hear this? Everyone carried a bit of superstition, even if it was as mild as knocking on wood. Was she about to run into hers?

  This time he corralled himself. “Back to my elderly lady. Anyway, she was alone, isolated. Yeah, I was worried about her. I couldn’t mistake how frightened she was. I was even concerned that that kind of fear might kill her.”

  “I didn’t think of that, but you’re right.” Candy frowned. His imagery was vivid.

  “If you’d seen her, you’d have shared the same concerns. But back to the rest of it. She kept seeing this black shadow of a man. He’d just suddenly be there, in a doorway or beside her bed. Then he was gone, and she told herself she was imagining it. But when it kept happening, she wondered if she was losing her mind, so she didn’t call anyone about it. And then she heard banging and footsteps upstairs. Night after night. She was convinced someone had broken in, and after a week of that, she called us.”