by Nya Rawlyns
“Knew them how?”
Josh shrugged. “Not a clue, though it’s got to have something to do with how those so-called designer drugs have been moving into our area, mostly through the schools apparently. I can’t be sure what the supply line looks like, but I’d bet those four and the Goggles kids are the major players.”
“You think the Barnes boy is dealing. Or using?”
Josh cringed. He didn’t want to believe it, but nice kids from good families too often got suckered into drugs because they wanted to fit in. He’d seen it on the military bases, more often than he cared to think about, but he doubted Will’s involvement went in that direction.
Josh suggested, “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to talk with Will and find out what he might have seen to set him off. He’s like all the kids, if he doesn’t know you, he’ll clam up.”
“You think you can do better than a trained detective?” Josh could have taken it the wrong way, but the flat cop eyes had taken on a devilish twinkle. “Don’t worry, First Lieutenant, I’m well aware of your qualifications.”
Josh’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “I see my sister isn’t the only one who keeps track of... old friends.” The man turned scarlet and shifted in his seat. Teasing, he asked, “Should I give her your regards?”
Josh made a mental note to do a little investigating of his own, not that he needed another task, but when it came to Becca he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
The detective shoved his card across the table. “You have my blessing. But I’m going to want a full report, however trivial. Are we on the same page?”
Nodding, Josh turned the business card over and jotted down Becca’s phone number, then slid the card back across the table. Calhoun’s face turned an even deeper scarlet but he pocketed the card, handed Josh a fresh one and stood, hand out, mumbling something about staying in touch.
Josh thought, this will serve her right. What’s good for the goose...
Feeling pleased about his progress for the day, he headed toward the Fairgrounds to see if the rodeo team was setting up for any practice runs. By the time he got there, the heavens had opened up, and the coach confirmed they’d be skipping the runs until another day that week. That left him with the grocery store and a possible re-route to the high school on the off chance he could find Will before he left the grounds.
Adhering to the list made short work of his final chore. As he was dodging light hail and stuffing bags onto the back seat, he thought back to the conversation with the Reverend and Mrs. Allen. They’d listened carefully as Josh explained Petilune’s family history, adding in enough bits from recent events that the missus clearly understood Josh’s concerns about the girl. She apologized she had no clear-cut answers, but she promised to make some discreet calls to see what their next steps might be.
Even though he hadn’t gotten any guarantees, he at least felt he’d acquired some new allies. At that point, it was the best they could do with a bad situation. When the kind woman had offered to keep Petilune any time they needed a place for her to stay, Josh assured them that—between Marcus, his family, and Polly—they had it pretty much covered. At least until the mother showed up.
Josh prayed she wouldn’t. He never wanted to wish ill on anyone, but that woman had done nothing but harm—with her sons and with a child who deserved so much more than what life was throwing at her.
Just as he was backing out of his parking spot, his cell phone rang. It was Becca.
“Hey, it’s me. Marcus called, said Petilune hasn’t shown up for work yet. He’s thinking maybe she forgot she was supposed to take the bus and is waiting at the school for a ride. Can you swing by on your way home?”
“Yep, can do.”
He was tempted to tell her he gave Det. Francis Calhoun her phone number, then decided it would be way more fun if it was a surprise. He was almost certain the cop would be doing a drive-by if nothing else. Josh had opened the door for the man to have an excuse to visit. A cold call was usually out of everyone’s comfort zone, but a friendly, neighborly touching base visit wasn’t.
And the best part was he’d be there to see his sister’s face.
The rain stopped just as he turned into the school parking area. Since the buses had come and gone, he pulled under the canopy and waited, expecting Petilune to come running out. When she didn’t, he did his graceless flop to the ground, grunting with pain. It had been a long day, both driving and being on his feet. He’d forgotten to take his meds that morning, so if anyone flagged him down to ask, “Hey, dude, how’s it going,” he might have had the foul language police on his tail.
A quick sweep of the lot told him that Will’s truck wasn’t there. He shrugged. It had been a hit or miss proposition.
A few students lingered in the halls like they always did. There would be detention, after school tutoring, club meetings. Nothing much changed from one generation to another. Since he didn’t recognize any of them, he headed to the office. The secretary and the Vice-Principal were bent over a stack of folders. When they looked up, both smiled. The secretary, a tall woman who looked like she could hold her own in a fight, inquired how they could help.
Josh thought for a second, then asked, “Is there a chance I could make an appointment with the counselor to have Will Barnes come in to answer a few questions about that fight a couple weeks ago?”
The Vice-Principal, whose name he couldn’t recall, asked, “Is this official business, Mr. Foxglove?”
“No, not really. I was just talking with Det. Calhoun. He’s trying to figure out how to put a stop to drugs getting to the kids on campus. He said Will denied knowing anything, but we both have a feeling he does. It’s just... he might not realize he has information we could use.”
It was odd how easily the “we” slipped into the conversation. The reality was that there was no “we” and he was being both presumptuous and misleading to allow the school folks to believe that.
The secretary and Vice-Principal exchanged a glance. They agreed to set something up and call him to confirm a day and time. If that suited.
“Yes’m, that’s fine. I don’t want to be a bother. But I’ve known Will a long time, and I think he’ll be willing to talk with me without strangers and other folks hanging around.” He avoided saying “his father” but their expressions clearly indicated they understood his meaning. He recited his cell number and paused.
“Is there something else, Mr. Foxglove?”
Hating to put Petilune on anyone’s radar, he was going to search the building himself, convinced he’d find the girl loitering in the halls. But, though the school was small, it wasn’t that small, and he had cold food in the back of the truck that needed to get in Becca’s refrigerator.
He said, “Um, yes. I was wondering if you’d seen Petilune Goggles this afternoon. I was going to give her a ride to the feed store for her afternoon shift.”
The secretary shook her head no but the Vice-Principal said, “You’re too late. I was out doing bus patrol and a van came by and picked her up.” The woman gave Josh a steely gaze. “Why do you ask?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s nothing. Sounds like Marcus was thinking like me and came by to get her.” He tipped his hat and thanked them for their trouble.
Relieved everything had worked out, Josh muttered, “Can’t wait until Maudie and Filly get to be teens. I wonder if Becca has a clue what’s in store for her.”
Becca waved to Josh as he pulled in front of the cabin. She helped him unload, then asked, “Where’s Becca?”
“Caught a ride with Marcus. He must have decided not to wait for me to show up.”
Becca dropped her bags on the kitchen table and yelped, “He couldn’t have!”
“Why not?”
“Because his van was stolen sometime after lunch. He was pissed because he was going to have to talk with Ted Sorenson about it.”
“Wait, what are you saying...?”
“Marcus doesn’t have
a vehicle. There was no way he could have picked Petilune up from school.”
Josh fished Calhoun’s card out of his pocket and barked, “Call Calhoun. Tell him what’s happened and have him meet me at the store.”
“Wait, Josh. I don’t understand. Who picked up Petilune?”
“I don’t know, Becca.” That was the literal truth. “Just make that call. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
As the truck tires spun on the gravel, he howled at the windshield, “Jesus Christ, Kit, what the hell have you done?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Abduction
Marcus sat across from the two state troopers and leerily watched Ted Sorenson jot down his license, registration and insurance information. The man wore that snarky look, the one that implied Marcus wasn’t being forthcoming.
“So, Mr. Colton, can you describe the contents of the van?”
“I already told you, there wasn’t anything in it. Whoever took it emptied the stock I was going to have delivered to the Wilcox place.”
“How can you be sure—”
Marcus slapped a palm on the invoice sitting on his desk. “I know because this is what I loaded first thing this morning.” He tried hard not to sound exasperated, but Sorenson kept coming at the same stupid topic a dozen different ways, and his answer was the same every time.
“Now why would they do that?” Sorenson’s lips were pursed, holier-than-thou. The other cop looked bored, as if his grand theft auto case was far less interesting than chasing down overweight rigs on the interstate.
The why would they do that question punched Marcus’ last straw button. He stood, jammed his fists onto the scarred wood of the desk, and leaned forward, growling, “Exactly how do you expect me to give you an answer? Was I there? No. Do I know who did it? No.” Sucking air, trying to calm down, Marcus hissed, “If you want answers, then maybe you’d best get the fuck out of my office and file your damn report.”
Tweedledum held up his hand and murmured, “Now, now, Mr. Colton, take it easy. No need to get upset.”
Marcus barely heard the other cop. Sorenson had him in an eye lock, the expression accusing and unbearably smug—almost like the cat that had the canary in its grip—a stupid, dumb analogy, but it sent a frisson of concern racing down his spine. What the hell was Sorenson’s problem?
Both troopers stood. Tweedledum mouthed off the usual platitudes, reminding Marcus they’d likely find the van abandoned somewhere nearby, and they’d be in touch if they heard anything.
Sorenson thumbed his notebook. He stared at a page, then said, “You mentioned a shotgun. Was that part of the inventory left behind?”
“I already told you. No, the only stuff on the loading dock is the grain and supplies on this invoice.”
“Do you always carry a shotgun with you when you make deliveries?” The cop smirked.
Unravelling fast, Marcus nearly shouted, “Yes, I carry a shotgun. It’s fucking Wyoming! Everybody carries a gun.”
Snapping the notebook shut, Sorenson followed his partner into the store with Marcus dragging his heels behind them. They looked around, assessing the aisles and the two customers who’d obviously been loitering near the office door, listening in. The customers gave Marcus sympathetic nods and quietly continued their shopping.
At the entrance, Sorenson spun around and said, “Guess this’ll be an inconvenience, not having anything for hauling your stuff around the valley.”
Not sure what to make of that statement, Marcus simply shrugged. What the hell kind of response was he supposed to make? He ran a business. He made deliveries. And now he had no way to do that. So yeah, it was an inconvenience.
Sorenson tipped his hat, mimicking his partner’s action in the office, but his was far more exaggerated, much more like a taunt. The man said, “Well, maybe you could get someone to help you out. Like a close friend?” Marcus’ gut clenched. “Somebody like Josiah Foxglove...”
A display of spade shovels was next to the door. Marcus reached for one, allowing his fantasy of bashing in the obnoxious cop’s skull take flight. A hand restrained his arm.
“Let it go, Colton. Much as I wouldn’t mind watching you go at it with that jerk, I don’t want to see you in jail.”
Taking a deep breath, Marcus fisted his hand and slowly turned toward the voice of reason. He wasn’t a violent man, in fact he couldn’t remember ever hitting anyone in anger. That just wasn’t him.
But for Ted Sorenson, he might be willing to make an exception.
“How about checking us out, Marcus.” The steadying hand guided him back to the counter and away from temptation.
The other man called out, “They’re gone. Looks like they’re heading back to the barracks.”
Marcus apologized, “I’m really sorry, Paul, Dave. You shouldn’t have had to hear that crap.”
Paul said, “No problem,” and looked back at the other man. “Hey, Dave. You mind we take a detour on the way home?”
Dave muttered, “Nope.”
“If you want, me and my hand can drop off the grain and whatever else needs going to the Wilcox place.” He tilted his head, his face set in a stern expression. “And before you say it’s too much trouble, it ain’t. Just a few miles out of the way. Besides, what are friends for?”
“I appreciate it, Paul.” Marcus looked at the halter lying on the counter and asked, “This for Junie?”
“Yeah, that pony of hers is a real stinker. Keeps slipping his halter. Told the girl, she’d better find herself a part-time job if she wants to keep that sumbitch in horse clothes.”
Marcus laughed. “Junie’s what... ten?” He handed over the halter to the girl’s father and said, “On me. As a thank you. That cute little gal will be a rodeo queen before you know it, Paul.”
The three men headed toward the rear of the store and the loading dock. They stared at the neatly stacked bags of grain set well under the roof out of the weather.
Paul asked, “You do this, or the thief?”
“Wasn’t me. I came out to grab a smoke and found it here. Took me a few minutes to realize the van was gone.”
Dave said, “Wasn’t no stranger done this.” They all nodded in agreement. “Nobody unloads cargo when you’re looking to heist a van.” When Marcus and Paul snickered, Dave objected, “Well, they don’t. If you’re gonna steal a car, you don’t vacuum it out and wash the windows first. Just saying.”
Paul made the observation, “This was somebody who knows you, Marcus. Knows you enough to respect your property and was doing you a solid by not taking the cargo.”
It didn’t feel like a “solid” to Marcus, but he had to agree. “Thing is, I know all of you—where you live, what you drive, your families. And anybody who knows me also knows enough to ask if they need to borrow the damn van. It’s not like I never done it before.”
Dave said, “I’ll bring the truck around, boss,” and disappeared around the side of the building. He was back in a few minutes. Marcus helped them load the fifty pound sacks of grain and fencing supplies onto the truck bed.
Marcus thanked the two men again. “Tell Colby we can settle up next time he’s in town.”
Paul paused before getting in the driver side, asking, “How are you gonna get around? I don’t see that old truck of yours.”
“I took it over to Polly’s. One of her girls is taking an auto mechanics session at school and wanted a shot at changing the oil and tuning it up. Once she’s done, she’ll bring it back.”
Paul laughed. “Girls fixing trucks. Dayyum, Marcus, what’s this world coming to?”
Marcus waved his friends off and asked himself, “What indeed?” Checking his watch, he grumped, “Where are you, Petilune?”
****
Marcus sat on the front steps, sneaking a smoke. Under normal circumstances he’d never do that, but this day had been anything but normal. Since word had gotten around about the van going missing, he’d been inundated with calls offering to pick up orders rather than have
him try to make alternate arrangements. It had kept him busy enough not to dwell on Ted Sorenson and his snide remark about Josh.
And what the hell had that been about anyway? First, the cop made it sound like maybe he was making it up, or... or what? He had no idea what the creep was getting at. By the time they’d left, Marcus was convinced the odds of them making an effort to look for his vehicle were zero to none. That was the bad news side.
On the plus side, there would be eyes all over the valley on the lookout for a white van with no lettering on the panels. Sometimes he could kick himself for being such a penny-pincher. Instead of taking the used van into Laramie to have the store’s name painted on when he’d first got the damn thing, he’d decided to leave it plain. If he had gotten it painted, the thief, whoever the hell it was, probably would have moved on to find something less conspicuous.
Paul’s suggestion it had to be somebody who knew him niggled at him constantly. Otherwise, why take the time to leave the contents neatly stowed away? Care had been taken when it hadn’t been necessary.
The squeal of brakes and tires spitting gravel and dirt startled Marcus out of a half-doze. It was Josh’s truck, but before he breathed a sigh of relief that Petilune had finally arrived to help him with inventory, he noticed there was only one person in the cab. A stab of anxiety gripped him as he stood and waited for Josh to park.
The first words out of his mouth were, “Where’s the girl?”
Josh barked, “You got anyone inside?” Marcus nodded no. “Good, let’s take this to your office. I think we’ve got trouble, Marcus, big trouble.”
Keeping his mouth shut, he led Josh to the office, then let loose with a barrage of questions. Josh held up his hand and said, “Hang on.” He pointed to the desk chair. “Sit. I’ve got a shit-ton of stuff to tell you, but first off... No, I didn’t find Petilune at the high school.”