by Alex Kava
Sheriff Norwich had reassured him that their search efforts went beyond Jason and Scout’s help. She had deputies knocking on doors. An Amber Alert had been issued. Neighbors were keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. And Jason had overheard the deputies talking about a truck driver boyfriend of Mrs. Woodson’s. But still, Jason felt the weight of his failure.
His failure, not Scout’s.
He’d convinced himself that he must have missed something in the dog’s communication. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was.
As soon as Jason opened the back door to the kitchen he smelled bacon and coffee. His mouth watered and his stomach groaned. Hunter, Rufus and Lady accosted him before he could take two steps inside. Lady tried to herd the two bigger dogs out of the way. Jason kneeled to greet them all, and that’s when he realized there was someone else alongside Hannah.
“Good morning,” Hannah said then gestured to the other woman. “Olivia, this is Jason Seaver. He’s one of our handlers. Jason, this is Olivia James. She’s Ryder’s mother.”
Jason brushed his hands—both of them—on his jeans making sure there were no remnants of dog hair or saliva before offering his black metal fingers over the counter to her.
She glanced at the hand then into his eyes, but she didn’t hesitate for a second before shaking it.
“Hello Jason. You must be one of my son’s Marine friends.”
“Army Rangers,” he politely corrected her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. James.”
She grimaced and said, “Call me Olivia.”
“Jason just returned about two years ago,” Hannah explained. “He’s becoming a fine protégé of Ryder’s.”
Jason felt Hunter head butt his thigh, and he was grateful for the opportunity to give the dog attention instead of letting the women see his embarrassment. There was nothing fine about the way he handled yesterday’s search.
“What can I do to help?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” Hannah told him. “Get yourself a cup of coffee. We’re almost ready. Olivia is treating us to cinnamon pancakes with a blueberry sauce that is yummy enough to eat by the spoonful.”
Jason had been so concerned about keeping his failure under wraps that he hadn’t noticed how happy Hannah seemed to be about sharing her kitchen with Creed’s mother.
There was something familiar about Olivia. Maybe he’d seen a photo somewhere in Creed’s loft apartment, although he couldn’t remember Creed ever mentioning his mother. They’d talked about Creed’s father. Jason knew the man had committed suicide, and Creed was the one who’d found him. But he couldn’t think of a single mention about his mother. Which made Jason curious.
He poured coffee while nonchalantly assessing the woman. He guessed she was in her fifties. Probably about 5’5”, not exactly slender but a woman who definitely took care of herself. She certainly had a presence. Jason recognized that her slacks and sweater were most likely designer labels. Her watch and bracelet looked expensive. She wore her hair short and styled. Her fingernails were manicured. This early in the morning and her makeup looked freshly applied, though a bit too much. She looked like she could have stepped off the cover of a magazine, and it was at that moment, he realized that’s exactly where he had seen her before—on the cover of a magazine.
“How’d the search go?” Hannah asked. “Were you and Scout able to find that girl?”
Jason saw Olivia turn around, her eyes interested. “I heard there was an Amber Alert when I was driving here.”
“Raelyn Woodson,” Hannah said. “A thirteen year old. She was supposed to have walked over to a friend’s house and never arrived.”
Both women were staring at him now, waiting for the details.
“We checked the forest, but we didn’t find anything. Creed told me to stop searching after dark. I figured Scout and I’ll go back and start fresh.”
Hannah simply nodded as she handed him a loaded plate, but Olivia’s eyes stayed on him even as she sat down, and Hannah placed a plate in front of her.
“Would it help if I go with you?”
Jason almost dropped his fork. He looked over at Hannah as if he needed an interpreter to translate a foreign language.
Before either he or Hannah could answer, Olivia said, “Maybe that sounds crazy.”
Jason took that as an all-clear signal and dug into his food, but then Olivia continued, “I know what it’s like. Perhaps I could at least be there to talk to the mother.”
“That’s very generous of you, Olivia,” Hannah told her.
Jason remained quiet, continuing to slice and shovel in his pancakes. This was something Hannah would need to handle. So he was totally floored when Hannah said to the woman, “I’ll check with Sheriff Norwich.”
Chapter 36
Charlotte thought she had paced herself, and still, she ended up vomiting all the food she had eaten. Her stomach hurt, the spasms coming in waves and bending her in two. She’d been without food for too long and now her stomach was treating it like a foreign substance. And yet, she was excited to discover a door off the kitchen that led to a small bathroom. A toilet to throw up into and running water to wash herself was such a treat she almost didn’t care about the pain. She’d spent the night curled up on the cool linoleum floor.
The kitten had been beside her, rubbing against her as long as Charlotte was opening cans and packages and sharing food. Now, that it was well fed, the cat had wandered away. But Charlotte felt comforted knowing there was another living, breathing creature inside this old house, a creature that had no interest in hurting her.
Still weak, she forced herself to walk back into the kitchen. She sipped water while gathering the contents spilled across the countertops. She wanted to assess her good fortune while she stacked everything neatly. Even last night, she had scrutinized each food package, expecting to see whether someone had tampered with it. There had to be a catch. A trick. Why offer all this food if they hadn’t inserted or injected the drugs that kept her under control.
That was how Iris explained the need for the drugs. According to Iris, Charlotte “behaved badly.” She lashed out, tried to escape. She had stolen and hidden items. She didn’t make good decisions. Of course, she couldn’t be trusted any longer. She needed the drugs “to make her nice” and better behaved. They would help bring her “under control.”
Whatever the drugs were, they made Charlotte numb and her mind fuzzy. Sometimes even sounds were muffled. It felt as if she were constantly trying to wake up, never quite certain if she was conscious or simply dreaming. Nothing was a dream as much as it was a nightmare. Usually she ended up sleeping. And most of the time she welcomed the sleep.
She started pulling out the few items left in the brown paper bag, and that’s when she saw the magazine. Her eyes darted around the room even checking the window above the sink that was too high for her to see out and anyone to see in.
Was this a trick? She suspected this house was a temporary holding place for her before Iris sent her away for good. Charlotte had no idea how much time she had before that happened, but she was certain that it would happen. Someone would come for her. Whoever had left the food. And the magazine. And the kitten.
The kitten—where was it? Suddenly, she needed to find it.
A sense of dread swept over her. What if her stomach had rejected the food because it was poisoned? She’d thrown it up, but what about the kitten? Could Iris be that cruel? Would she give Charlotte something to pet, to feed and to love only to watch it die a horrible, terrible, painful death?
Yes, Iris could be that cruel.
“Kitten,” she called out as she stumbled from the kitchen.
Skinny streams of sunshine danced across the walls and floor. The two open rooms hadn’t changed since she’d left them. Charlotte peeked behind the Christmas tree and between the wall and the sofa. She looked under fur
niture and moved the plastic reindeer to search the shadows in the corner. She knocked over a stack of old magazines and pieces of paper fluttered to the floor. Panic began to set in, and she ignored the mess. The door to the only bedroom was still closed. Charlotte had discovered it last night. She’d peeked inside, and for a brief moment, was tempted to crawl beneath the covers.
Now, she hurried to the front door and pulled at the knob. It didn’t move. There was a back door in the kitchen. She hurried to check it.
Her pulse raced and her heart felt heavy, a sensation like none she had experienced before. All she could imagine was that the poor, little kitten had crawled into a small crevice and died.
She felt the tears dripping down her face before she realized she was crying. That’s when she collapsed to her knees and curled up into a ball, the only way she knew how to deal with anything that was painful in a way she knew couldn’t heal. She heard herself whimpering and didn’t attempt to silence it like she had in the past.
Then whiskers brushed against her arm, and a paw swatted at a tangle of her hair.
Chapter 37
Nebraska
Maggie was trying to listen to Lucy Coy tell her about this area. On a picnic table close to the boat ramp, they had spread out a contour map of the lake. Maggie had downloaded and printed it earlier that morning when she could no longer toss and turn in her perfectly comfortable hotel room bed.
Creed and Grace had parked close to the boat ramp. His Jeep Grand Cherokee’s tailgate was open while he prepared. Grace didn’t leave his side though she wagged at Maggie every time she noticed Maggie look her way. And Maggie was having a difficult time not looking that way, especially when Creed started taking off his clothes.
“The word Wahoo,” Lucy was saying, “comes from the Dakotas. Wa nhu meaning arrow wood. But there’s also a shrub that grows in these parts that’s called the wahoo. I’ll point it out to you if I see it. It’s quite lovely. The leaves are finely serrated and elliptical. The seeds are a beautiful scarlet. But none of it is as fascinating as Mr. Creed’s fine sculptured body.”
It took Maggie a moment to notice that Lucy had stopped talking and to realize what she’d said. It took but a second to know she’d been busted, and immediately, she felt the flush spread from her neck to her face.
“I take it, your doctor is out of the picture?” Lucy asked before Maggie could respond. Lucy was referring to Dr. Benjamin Platt, who Maggie had been dating on and off again.
“Ryder and I are just friends,” Maggie said.
Lucy raised an eyebrow, a single gesture that spoke volumes.
Though the forensic expert was retired, Maggie had no idea how old the woman was. Her face showed few distinctive lines other than laugh lines at the corners of her mouth. Otherwise, her skin was smooth and taut over high cheekbones. Her dark eyes had the power of looking so intensely, so deeply that Maggie was convinced those eyes could see into the depths of her soul.
This morning, Lucy wore hiking boots, blue jeans and a white buttoned shirt that she left untucked with the tails sticking out from underneath her jacket. There were featherlike wisps of silver in her dark hair that was cut short and stuck up in places. On anyone else it would have looked messy. On Lucy it looked stylish.
Like Maggie’s friend, Dr. Gwen Patterson, it was tough for Maggie to get anything by Lucy Coy. Both women were perceptive to the point of clairvoyant, so it was pointless for Maggie to now pretend that Creed’s body hadn’t mesmerized her as he stripped down to the tight neoprene shorts before getting into his dive suit.
“The two of you have a history.” Lucy said. It wasn’t a question.
“We’ve worked together on three or four cases. Remember I told you about the scorpion pit I fell into?” Maggie tried to make it sound casual, but just mentioning the incident brought back the memory of their stings.
“Yes, but you failed to mention that the former Marine dog handler was hot.”
Now Maggie saw that Lucy was enjoying the view, too. When she noticed Maggie staring at her, Lucy said, “I’m old. I’m not dead.”
And of course, it was at that moment that Creed glanced back to see what had gotten Grace’s attention. As if on cue, both women waved. Creed waved back. Then Lucy and Maggie immediately gathered themselves around the map, again.
“How old was his sister when she disappeared?” Lucy asked.
“She was eleven. Ryder was fourteen.”
Maggie glanced up to see another Sheriff department’s vehicle now parked alongside Sheriff Timmons’ pickup. Both vehicles were blocking the main entrance to the recreational area. Timmons was the Butler County sheriff that would be a part of their search and recovery team. He’d beaten them out here to oversee the delivery of the boat and the dive tank. Maggie vaguely remembered him from the dozens of officers who were involved in the raid of Eli Dunn’s farm. Operation Cross County utilized law enforcement from across the entire state.
According to Pakula, Timmons was a forty-year veteran who had volunteered for the human trafficking task force early on. He didn’t look like a sheriff. He wore jeans, shiny new cowboy boots, a flannel shirt and a ball cap with an embroidered sheriff department’s emblem. Tall and lean, the only indication of his age was the gray at his temples and the crinkles at his eyes. He had a slow, easy gait and a handsome face that made him look friendly instead of threatening. The one memory Maggie had of him from the night of the raid was when he came into Dunn’s house with an armload of bottled water to offer to those inside.
Timmons’ jurisdiction, Butler County was next door to this area. From examining the map Maggie knew that his territory would fall within the fifty-mile radius where Eli Dunn claimed he’d helped bury several bodies. Hopefully, having him along would allow them access to any farmland they needed to trespass on.
When they arrived, the sheriff stood in the middle of the main entrance. He had greeted Maggie and Lucy, letting them pass and waited for Creed and Grace to enter the recreational area. Then he backed his pickup across the road to block further access. His deputies were parked at the other access roads.
The state troopers escorting Eli Dunn were thirty minutes behind them, a strategy to avoid looking like a caravan. The county prosecutor wanted them to be careful of drawing too much attention, not only because of the media, but in case Dunn’s associates were watching. After Maggie alerted them about the note she’d received, they all realized that despite their efforts, someone could, in fact, be watching.
Lake Wannahoo stretched along two major thoroughfares, one that led to the city of Wahoo, located to its south, and another route that curved around the city. Maggie couldn’t help noticing that there were more trees in the middle of the lake than along the shore. Although they were some distance away, there was nothing to block anyone driving down either of those two highways from seeing their activity. Fortunately, that worked both ways, because there was no place for a car to pull aside and watch without being observed.
Sheriff Timmons had seen to it that no one else was on the lake or using any of the campsites. It was a gorgeous day in October, and Maggie wondered how many hikers, boaters and campers Timmons and the local law enforcement officials had to evacuate.
Now, in his dive suit and Grace in her LifeVest, the pair made their way down to the picnic table.
“Pretty day for a dive,” Creed said.
“Have you ever been in a Nebraska lake in October?” Lucy asked him.
“No ma’am, I can’t say that I have.”
“It’ll likely be ice cold.”
“How deep are we looking at?” he asked, coming in close to get a glimpse of the map.
“Anywhere from eight feet to thirty-two,” Maggie told him. “Will you need to dive from the boat?”
“Depends where Grace tells me. I’m glad they gave us a smaller boat. Sides are lower. Ideally, I’d like her to be level with the
water.”
Grace was prancing around Lucy’s legs until Lucy scratched under the dog’s vest.
Maggie wanted to question whether Grace would be able to smell a dead body on the bottom of a lake at thirty-five feet down below the surface. She tried to visualize how deep that was—almost four-stories. And with cold water, decomposition would be slower.
Maggie stood with her hand to her forehead, blocking the sun as she looked out at the glimmering surface. 600+ acres. Hopefully Eli Dunn’s memory and simplistic diagrams would narrow the perimeter.
She’d left Eli’s notebook safely back in her hotel room, but she had made copies of the pages. Now she pulled them out and smoothed the folds. There was one in particular she suspected could be this burial site.
Creed came in beside her, so close her shoulder brushed his arm. She ran her finger over the scribble that looked like a first grader’s version of water.
“I couldn’t figure out why the surface would be this far up a tree, but now I understand.”
In the middle of the lake, scattered tops of trees stuck out, making the area look more like a disastrous flood than a reservoir.
“They left the trees to provide a natural habitat,” Lucy said. “But I imagine those trunks and roots could also provide a place for a body to get tangled up.”
“Is that a wheel?” Creed asked, pointing to the circle in the line drawing.
“Could be.” Maggie hadn’t been able to decipher this one, but it was one of the few that included anything that looked like water.
“He hasn’t shared any details?” Lucy asked.
“Only the location. Dunn refused to say anything more until he gets here.” Maggie glanced up just as the State Patrol SUV slowed down on the highway. “And speak of the devil.”
Chapter 38
Creed stood back and watched. He tried to imagine this skinny weasel of a man enticing children to climb into his vehicle. He was slump-shouldered with a flop of dark hair over his forehead and curling over his collar. They allowed him to wear his street clothes because the county prosecutor didn’t want an orange jumpsuit to attract the attention of bypassers. The prosecutor was banking on them being too far away for anyone to notice the shackles around Dunn’s ankles and wrists. But Creed wondered how they expected to explain the two state troopers in full uniform, one on each side of Dunn, each grasping an elbow as if they expected the man to bolt.