Intrigue Books 1-6

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

She carried a mug for him and a fresh one for herself back to the living room. He’d chosen to sit on the sofa rather than her recliner. Maybe because all the stuff on the table beside the recliner labeled it “her” chair.

  Mildly amused, she handed him his mug, then sat facing him. “What’s up?”

  “This cider is really good. And you don’t have a TV?”

  Strange question. “Not in here. If I watch, it’s usually in my bedroom while I’m falling asleep.”

  “That’s so flattering.”

  She had to grin, deciding she might even enjoy this visit. “Hey, you’re not the only one I’m boycotting.”

  He snorted. “That would make me too important. Anyway, the reason for this terribly rude late-night visit is that my producers have found me a psychic. Not that I want one. I’d rather skip it entirely.”

  She leaned a little toward him, revising her opinion of him once again. Just a little. “Why? I thought that was part of your genre.”

  He winced. “For some. I hate it, but the feeling is the fans like it. I don’t agree. I mean, I’m running a counter-flow show. Not following the accepted routines or supposed discoveries. I like to think we have a somewhat different fan base. Then the producers pull this.”

  She nodded. “But doesn’t your opinion matter? You’re the star.”

  “It matters less than you’d think. They took a flier on me. Evidently it’s working well enough that they keep renewing me. That could end. Or I could quit, I suppose, but that would leave me without a job, and going back to police work wouldn’t help me keep my parents in Costa Rica.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Feeling a bit startled, for the first time she considered that he was very much in a bind, too.

  She asked, “You ever wonder what you’ll do if they push you too far in a direction you don’t want to go?”

  “All the time. Maybe the most important thing to me is my parents. They’ve dreamed about retiring in Costa Rica since I was in high school. It was less expensive then, and they thought they could make it on Social Security. But over the years, it all grew more expensive, including the income requirements for moving there, and I watched the dream start dying. I was happy as hell to make it possible for them. I absolutely don’t want to be the cause of taking it away.”

  She honestly ached for him. What a tough place to be, with his parents’ happiness hanging in the balance. He had to keep his show, and if that meant dealing with psychics, he’d deal.

  “Now what about this psychic in town? Do you know anything about him?”

  “Just an occasional mention on the grapevine. Nobody seems especially interested, or at least not interested enough to really talk about him.”

  “Not a superstitious town, huh?”

  “I’m not sure I’d say that. Who doesn’t knock on wood? Even I do that.” She didn’t feel sheepish about it either. “Everyone’s leery of tempting fate.”

  “No kidding.” Steve sighed. “Nothing? I’ve wasted your time and kept you awake.”

  “Not really.” Candy sipped more of her cider and considered setting her mug on the hearth to warm it more. It had cooled down fast—everything in a mug did—but she liked it hotter than room temperature. “Anyway, like I was saying, I’m not sure it says anything about superstition. It may just be that this psychic makes them uneasy. I don’t know many people who are comfortable with the whole idea of talking to the dead.”

  “Used to be a big fad, spiritualism.” He drained his cup. “Man, that was good. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Anyway, spiritualism. I don’t think we’ve got any table tippers around here. I’d have heard about that by now. No, it just seems to be the one guy, without a following.”

  “Better for me.”

  “How’s that?”

  He smiled crookedly. “I don’t have to deal with a bunch of true believers. Which I would, otherwise.”

  Her turn to smile. Her ignorance about this whole thing was astonishing. Or maybe not, when she’d never been very interested. “I’m taking it that you’d like me to look into this guy? If I can?”

  “If he doesn’t have some kind of criminal record, I don’t know how you could.”

  “I can ask some of the other deputies what they might have heard. Or my book group at the library. We’re meeting next Tuesday.”

  “That would be a great help. I don’t want to go into this blind with this guy if I can manage it.”

  She had begun to feel kind of achy and breathless. It was as if he had brought an attractant through the door along with the cold air. It seemed to waft around her, drawing her closer to thoughts she didn’t want to have.

  “I guess I should go and let you get some sleep,” Steve said, rising. “Where can I wash this cup?”

  “Just leave it. I’ll take care of it.” She had an urgent need for him to leave before she started down a path that could only get her into trouble. She needed her objectivity, and he was leaving town in a few weeks anyway.

  She didn’t even walk him to the door. Once he left and she felt as if she could breathe again, she went to lock it.

  Now she had to find out about a psychic? Seriously? She hadn’t imagined her job this way.

  This would mean looking into gossip, too. Oh, well, that could probably be called an official part of her duties. If she didn’t listen to the grapevine, she might miss something useful in solving a case.

  But a psychic?

  Sheesh!

  Chapter Seven

  Candy walked into the office in the morning. Once again it was unusually silent.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Sarah Ironheart, who apparently was on the desk today. “Too quiet.”

  “Yeah. We got a call about a couple of missing teens first thing. Parents say they’ve been gone since yesterday afternoon, and neither of them is answering their phones. Which isn’t necessarily surprising, given how many dead zones we have out here. Probably nothing, but no one’s going to take the chance.”

  “I wouldn’t either,” Candy agreed. “Want me to run over and get you some coffee? I could do with one. Sleep is still in my eyes.”

  Sarah smiled almost puckishly. “That would be great. And Velma’s not here this morning to be offended.”

  Candy laughed. “Where is she?”

  “Even Velma must occasionally take a day off, like it or not.”

  “Latte?”

  “Oh, that sounds so good!”

  Candy strolled down the street to Maude’s invigorated by the snap of the clear morning air, enjoying the cardboard Halloween decorations that leered from shop windows.

  A couple of teens missing since yesterday afternoon didn’t seem like a total all-out emergency. Typical kind of kid stuff, like that vandalism and the toilet papering.

  Know where your kids are? Great advice. Try it with teens. They had all kinds of ways to escape parental supervision. Candy knew something about that herself. She had some memories she’d never have shared with her parents on the rare occasion she escaped their constant supervision.

  She gave Maude a cheery greeting but had no idea whether it was well received. A couple of minutes later she was headed back to the office with two large take-out cups filled with lattes.

  When she arrived to give Sarah her coffee, another deputy was walking around. Micah Parish, a guy who was rumored to be past retirement. He sure didn’t look like it. A powerful, Native American man with long, inky hair streaked with silver.

  He intimidated her. It was his size that made her wary, even though he’d always been pleasant. A stupid reaction considering where she had been.

  “Okay, Sarah,” he said, his voice deep, “Where did those extra sat phones go?”

  “Gage didn’t take them when he left?”

  “He wouldn’t be asking for them if he had.”

  �
��Oh, hell,” said Sarah, rising to leave her coffee behind. “Do you suppose grown people ever learn to put things back where they belong?”

  Sarah and Micah disappeared to the back, then a short while later she heard Sarah exclaim, “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Thanks,” Micah answered. “As if I’d ever have looked there!”

  “You with all those kids? You’d have gotten around to it.”

  “Faith saves me the treasure hunts. And those days are pretty much past.”

  “Not around here.”

  “Evidently.”

  A minute later they both reappeared, Micah with a duffel bag that presumably held the missing phones.

  Sarah dropped down in her chair, reaching for the coffee and calling out, “See you, Micah.”

  “Saturday night, right?”

  “You betcha.”

  Candy looked at Sarah. “Saturday?” She knew she had no business asking, but for some reason she couldn’t resist.

  “Family gathering. I guess you haven’t heard, but I’m married to Micah’s brother.”

  That man had a brother? She wondered if the guy was a mountain, too.

  Sarah ticked her fingers. “Let’s see. My husband, Gideon, is Micah’s brother. Connie Parish, whom you know from here, is married to Micah’s eldest son, Ethan. There are assorted other Parishes of nearly every age, a few embedded here in this office.” Sarah grinned. “Hard to believe that before Micah moved here there were no Parishes at all!”

  “But your last name isn’t Parish,” Candy remarked, completely interested in the abbreviated family tree.

  “Ah, well. Gideon’s last name is Ironheart. He chose it for himself.”

  “Is it okay to ask why?”

  Sarah shrugged. “No big secret. Gideon and Micah are brothers, but their parents split when they were young. Micah went with his father, and Gideon went with his mother. He’s frank about having felt his father abandoned him. They had no contact at all. Then Gideon went to live with his maternal grandfather, where he dug into his mother’s Indigenous roots. And there you have it. Ironheart.”

  Ironheart? It sounded like a good choice for someone who had felt deeply wounded. Almost an aspiration. “That’s fascinating, Sarah. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Why not? Everybody else knows the story. No secrets around here. Anyway, it’s a small town and everything gets tangled together sooner or later.”

  Candy hesitated a moment. “Listen. That ghost-hunter guy I’m tagging after?

  “Steve Hawks. Yeah. What’s up?”

  “Well, for one thing, he wants to talk with Nathan Tate. Gage gave me the number but I haven’t been able to reach Tate.”

  Sarah nodded. “Hard to do when he and Marge are off visiting their daughter in Los Angeles. He usually turns off his cell.”

  “Apparently so. A getaway, huh? I’m not in the loop.”

  Sarah laughed. “You’ll be surrounded by the loop soon enough. Give them time. Anyway, Nate should be back in a few days. Anything else?”

  “Apparently there’s a local psychic.”

  Sarah frowned faintly. “I’ve heard a little about him. Ben Wittes. He claims to talk to spirits, I think. True or not, I don’t know. What I do know is that most people roll their eyes, which means nothing at all one way or the other. Many of us are dubious.”

  “I’m not surprised. Steve said he isn’t especially thrilled that his producers are thinking about calling the guy in.”

  At that, Sarah laughed. “I’m not shocked, although I would have expected him to go along.”

  “He’s unexpected in a lot of ways. At the very least, he’s not predisposed to believe in the paranormal.”

  “Now that is shocking.”

  “I thought so, too. Miss Emma said she has his show on DVD. Maybe I should check it out and watch some of it.” Candy really didn’t want to do that. She wanted her mind clear of any edited preconceptions, and she had no doubt those shows were edited in major ways.

  She sighed. “The only other thing I can think of doing is to wait until we talk to Tate, see what he knows about the Castelles’ house.”

  “I agree. If he doesn’t know much, I can’t imagine where you’d go after that.”

  Candy rose, tossing her cup into a waste basket. “I’m sure Nate’ll have some ideas. Or maybe Steve will.”

  “Nate likes puzzles, all right. And Hawks has experience. Don’t fuss too much, Candy. It’s Hawks’s problem, not yours.”

  Good advice, Candy thought as she strolled out onto the street. Excellent advice. Her job was to help and keep him from turning Conard County into a three-ring circus.

  Well, the latter was implied, but she figured it was the main reason. She’d been designated the town’s protector. Except how she was to do that when she had no control over Steve and his crew? But she absolutely wasn’t going to watch his show unless there seemed to be no alternative.

  She had her limits, she thought wryly, although she hadn’t quite found them yet. Ever.

  * * *

  STEVE EMERGED FROM the truck stop diner, full of pancakes, syrup and bacon. Another sin. Man, he was going to have to make up for a lot when he got home. He was feeling pretty good even so.

  Now to hunt up Candy before he went out to talk to Vivian. He believed the Castelles would be more comfortable with Candy there, even though he’d be talking to their daughter alone. They were protective parents, as they should be. He didn’t mind that at all. He hoped it wasn’t a facade that covered something dark in their background.

  He called Candy on her cell. She answered promptly.

  “Hey,” he said. “Wanna come to the Castelles with me? I think you being there would make them a little more comfortable with me talking to their daughter.”

  “I guess so,” she answered. “Meet you out there.”

  He’d appreciate it if she didn’t sound quite so enthusiastic. On the other hand, he admitted, he wouldn’t have been terribly happy in her shoes either.

  Well, just get to it. It wasn’t as if he’d called on Candy over a stupid matter. Nope. He wouldn’t get much out of this town at all if he had to do all this by himself. He knew what he needed, and so far he’d had few enough pointers to the right places and sources. He was, right now, working blind, and he wasn’t going to leave that child in a lurch.

  * * *

  SO STEVE WANTED her to lend credibility. Candy felt a bit uneasy about that when she didn’t know him very well. She had seen him be recognized a couple of times, but that didn’t help her at all. A TV star hunting for ghosts?

  Right. All that meant was that he was who he said he was.

  Regardless, she did her duty, arriving at the Castelle house shortly after him. Evidently he’d already gone inside, so she went up and knocked on the door. Annabelle immediately invited her in.

  “Good to see you again,” Annabelle said with a smile. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on and have a hot drink. Coffee, cocoa and tea on tap.”

  “A warm drink sounds good.” It did. It would be a while before she adapted enough to the cold not to want something hot because of the weather.

  No sooner had she reached the kitchen and greeted everyone, including a darling girl of about seven, when her radio interrupted.

  “Back in a minute,” she told the Castelles and Steve. “Gotta take this.”

  Outside, she keyed in her connection to the office. Sarah answered.

  “What’s up?” Candy asked.

  “We need all hands on deck. We found those kids and it’s not good.”

  Candy raced back into the house and announced briefly, “I have to run. I hope I see you all later.”

  Then she dashed out again, her stomach knotting, her heart pounding. She couldn’t deal with this if it involved a violent crime. She couldn’t.

 
; Memories from Afghanistan forced their way up, blistering, searing. Some events had burned their way into her brain, and the scar tissue hadn’t thickened.

  No, never again.

  When she reached the office, deputies swirled around discussing the event and who was going to do what. Gage Dalton commanded.

  Sarah motioned her over.

  “How bad is it?” Candy asked.

  Sarah’s face seemed to have frozen in a frown. “They’re dead, and from what I’ve heard, it isn’t pretty. We need you here to coordinate traffic. Our dispatcher is going to be overwhelmed for a while.”

  Candy nodded, feeling relief that she was not being asked to go out to the site. Apparently, someone trusted her to handle communications, new or not. She could do that much and it probably wouldn’t rake up any more horrific memories.

  Yeah, right. She’d already learned she didn’t need imagination to paint savage scenes: the knowledge was already imprinted.

  But even though she didn’t need to go to the scene, her stomach remained twisted into a painful knot and she began to shake, although not badly. Her heart refused to settle.

  It was bad. Already she had too much information.

  God, those poor kids, their poor families.

  * * *

  VIVIAN AND HER dog seemed comfortable enough. Steve chatted with the Castelles, asking if anything had happened last night.

  “Not a thing,” Todd answered. “Which isn’t helping Viv at all.”

  Vivian looked up from where she was hugging Buddy.

  Steve nodded and smiled at Viv. “I didn’t think it would. I just wanted to know. Are you doing okay, Viv?”

  “Not in my bedroom,” the girl answered firmly. “I feel safe with Mommy and Daddy, though.”

  Quite a clear answer. Talking with her should be good. He looked at the Castelles. “Mind if I take Vivian into another room if she’s willing?”

  Annabelle was the one who bristled a bit. “Why?”

  “Because, if she’s agreeable, I want to hear the story directly from her. No attempts to clarify, which I can understand you wanting to do. Just let her tell it in her own way.”

  Todd was standing behind Annabelle and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “He’s right, honey. Her own way in her own time. We’ll be nearby.”