Dad for Charlie & the Sergeant's Temptation & the Alaskan Catch & New Year's Wedding (9781488015687)

by Stewart, Anna J. ; Sasson, Sophia; Carpenter, Beth; Jensen, Muriel

  Fletch finished pushing open the door, released her and moved inside.

  Paige stayed back, not because he’d have ordered her to, but because being so close to Fletch unsettled her. Unnerved her. Okay, Fletch flat out scared her. Not because he was a cop. Not because he could upend her life with the wrong question at the wrong time. No, he scared her because, for those few seconds, she didn’t care how much of a threat he was.

  She hadn’t wanted to move away.

  “You’re right,” Fletch called. “He’s not here, but I think he might be hurt.”

  “Hurt how?” Paige shot through to the other room, taking brief notice of the huddled blanket on the mattress on the floor, the ripped posters and pictures on the wall. Around the corner she found Fletch in a small bathroom, red-stained towels hanging over the edge of the rusted sink and dumped in the trash can. Her heart skipped a beat. At no time did she actually consider Jasper might be in danger. Trouble, yes, but… “That piece of wood downstairs, by the cans of paint. There was something on it. Blood, maybe?”

  She yanked a pen out of Fletch’s front shirt pocket and moved one of the blood-soaked towels around. “Here. Looks like the bleeding stopped. Or he got it patched up well enough to move.” She leaned over and saw a bunch of small bandage wrappers in the wastepaper basket. “Something else to check with the pharmacy about. He might have had to buy bandages and antiseptic. Whatever is going on with Jasper, I don’t think it’s what you’ve been thinking, Fletch. He’s running. Going where he thinks he’ll be safe. Maybe…” She trailed off.

  “Maybe what?”

  “Willa told me in confidence Jasper hasn’t been home since Luke spoke with him. Before now, it’s been a couple of days, no more. For the last week, there’s been no sign of him. No calls. Nothing. Not to mention Willa and Nina live all the way across town. Why would he come here of all places? This isn’t about him being guilty of something, Fletch. This is someone who’s running scared.” Seriously scared. And for a kid like Jasper O’Neill, with few places to go and even fewer people to count on, he’d be running out of options.

  “How do you know all this?” Fletch bent down beside her, took back his pen before he reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. “Paige?” He gripped her tight, urging her to look at him as she fought back the shadows of her past. “How do you know?”

  “Because.” For once in her life, she couldn’t hide the truth. She knew it was written all over her face. If she didn’t confide something, it would only pique Fletcher’s curiosity, and that she couldn’t have. She cleared her throat and…trusted. “Because it’s what I would have done.” She pushed to her feet and backed out of the room. “We need to find him, Fletch. We have to help him. Before this goes very, very wrong.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BY THE TIME Fletch followed Paige outside, she’d reclaimed her bike from the back of his SUV and was pedaling down the street.

  He stood there, evidence bags in hand, feeling as if he’d missed whatever train she’d jumped on. Should he go after her? For the second time in as many days, she’d uttered some cryptic declaration that lodged like cement in his thoughts. “She really needs to stop saying things like that.”

  Fletch watched her disappear around the corner and, listening to the better angel of his nature, let her go. She’d open up if and when she was ready. He’d gotten two admissions out of her, meager as they were, in a relatively short amount of time. It wouldn’t take more than another bit of a push to open the door further.

  She had managed to convince him of one thing: Jasper wasn’t the only one in trouble in Butterfly Harbor.

  “One problem at a time.” Mumbling to himself, he retrieved his camera from the car and returned to the house to take pictures and close up as best he could. When he was driving away, he called Ozzy back at the station. “Hey, Oz. I’ve got another stop I want to make before I head in. You want to check with Brad Naylor over at the pharmacy and see if he’s filled any prescriptions for Jasper O’Neill in the last couple of days? And let’s put out the call to all the local businesses, see if anyone’s seen him in town lately. Also check with Harvey and get a list of everyone who’s bought spray paint since Luke instituted the mandatory ID check.”

  “Sure thing. You onto something?”

  “Maybe. I want to go back and check the other houses again.” Something about the fact those full paint cans hadn’t been used bothered him. “Call my cell if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  By the time Fletch pulled his SUV into the cul-de-sac on Bud Spring Way, he’d replayed those moments with Paige in the bathroom more than a dozen times. In so many ways she was one of the most open people he’d ever met; when it came to helping others at least. But for those few moments, watching her fall into something that she clearly hadn’t completely set aside from her past, all he’d wanted to do was reach out, hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.

  Whatever was going on, she had to trust someone sometime. Fletch was going to make sure it was him.

  He eyed the house on the left that had been the vandal’s second target. The small one-story structure didn’t look any worse than the other abandoned homes in the area, only two of which were still occupied. It was hard to say whether the broken windows, plywood door and scarred stucco were the result of wanton destruction or neglect. Just like the property now being considered for the new butterfly sanctuary, this section of town was barely hanging on.

  That some residents had survived the economic freefall of Butterfly Harbor was the only reason the break-in had been reported. This part of town had been hardest hit as it tended to be occupied by lower-income families. Families that had lived on hope for loan forgiveness or, at the very least, understanding or compassion.

  Neither of which Hamilton Bank or its CFO—Gil’s late father—had extended to its property owners. Having to issue eviction notices on behalf of the financial institution had been one of those life-defining moments for Fletch. He’d come within minutes of resigning only to be pulled back from the edge by Jake Campbell, the then sheriff, who ended up issuing the notices himself.

  Fletch had wanted to be a cop in Butterfly Harbor from the minute he’d arrived in town. He’d been determined to save people, help people wherever he could. He’d become a cop to do good. What he didn’t want was to be the one responsible for ending people’s lives as they knew it.

  Yes, Fletch had taken an oath to uphold the law. But there was the law and then there was the right thing to do. It wasn’t that Fletch hadn’t understood the tenants weren’t making their payments. What he’d been unable to fathom was, when there was no one waiting to move in and pick up the financial shortfall, people were being forced out.

  His doubts had been proved right after it was revealed the bank in question had been ready to fold. By the time the smoke cleared, all the tenants had left, the properties became part of the bank’s assets and Gil Hamilton’s father was six feet under in Butterfly Harbor cemetery. Cause of death? Undetermined.

  Not so long ago the entirety of Butterfly Harbor had been brimming with families, homes filled with laughter and busy lives. It would be again; slowly. Fletch couldn’t wait to see it come all the way back to life.

  For now, it was as if this portion of town was stuck three years in the past; nothing had changed except for the weathering of siding and shutters. As far as Fletch knew, the bank had few if any plans to fix up the homes, which left the owners who did still live here to deal with plummeting property values and safety issues. No wonder Fletch was hearing new rumblings about another round of exoduses even as the public campaign to bring in new residents got under way.

  Fletch flipped through the photographs Luke had taken over the last couple of weeks. Trash cluttered the front walk and weed-infested overgrown lawn. No one could say when the green and red spray-painted accen
ts had made an appearance, but whoever had tagged the property certainly needed some grammar and spelling lessons.

  Feeling closed in, Fletch left the SUV. He compared the pictures with what he saw now. By the side of the house a rusted gate swung in the gentle sea breeze. The jagged glass that remained in window frames was clearly a hazard. Fletch made a mental note to come back out and board them up. Not that that would stop anyone from venturing inside should the desire arise.

  He pushed a finger against the side door. His boots crunched in glass. The stained linoleum and dank smell told him this property wasn’t anywhere near salvageable. Better to knock the whole building down and start again. He’d bet half a year’s salary that’s exactly what Gil Hamilton had in mind.

  He stepped into the kitchen and ignored the rat droppings and filth-caked counters. A worn kitchen table and mismatched chairs were situated as if the owners had left midmeal. Cabinet doors sagged, the ancient refrigerator listed. How many other houses had suffered this same fate?

  How many other homes had given up hope of being saved?

  Fletch set the photos on the table and checked out the two small bedrooms in the back of the house. The living room had a nice stone fireplace, but the wood-paneled walls were warped. When he turned toward the kitchen again, he spotted the giant dollar sign, an odd quirk at the end of the lines before a thick red X sliced through it. He tapped his finger against the paint. Dry. No after-fumes. No one had been back.

  Fletch returned to the pictures, checked the first house. There. First floor, living room wall. Smaller this time, almost timid as if whoever had painted them had almost been afraid they’d be seen. He squinted. Yeah. Same dollar signs. And he’d bet the same paint. It was a pattern. A small one, but a pattern nonetheless. With the same line quirk.

  He tapped open his phone, checked on the pictures he’d taken at Kyle’s house. No paint. Only the cans.

  Fletch frowned. “Did you interrupt them, kid? Or did someone stop you?” He straightened, an entirely new scenario playing out in his head. Is that who Jasper was hiding from? The people who really were responsible for the vandalism?

  “But why these homes?” Fletch gathered up the photos and headed back outside. He stood on the edge of the property line, scanned the other half dozen houses. Phone out, camera on, he dropped the pictures back in the truck and followed his gut. He headed in to check the rest of the homes.

  Twenty minutes later he was walking back into the station. He hung up his jacket and hat, tossed his keys on his desk. “Any word on those property records, Oz?”

  “Records clerk is out sick.” Oz set his soda can down and coughed. “The mayor’s assistant told me she’d let me know as soon as I could pick them up. Might be a few days.”

  “Great.” Just as it seemed he was making some kind of progress. “How about Jasper’s prescriptions? Anything there?”

  “Last time they were filled was six days ago. Willa picked them up.”

  “Willa?” But Paige told him just a while ago that Willa hadn’t seen or spoken to Jasper in over a week. How would she have known to refill his medication? “I’ve got some items we need to send to the lab for prints. You good to take them tomorrow?”

  “You bet.” As much as Ozzy liked his computer work, he was always anxious for something different to do. “I’ve got this.” He grabbed at the phone when it rang.

  Fletch pointed to the evidence bags to let Ozzy know he’d be stashing them in the gun safe in Luke’s office. As soon as he returned to his desk, the door swung open and shut again. Until he saw the bounce of high red pigtails he hadn’t realized who’d entered. “Charlie? That you?”

  “Yep!” Charlie jumped up high enough for her big eyes to shine at him. “I came to walk Cash.”

  At the sound of his name, Cash shot to attention and let out his typical “that’s me” whine.

  “Thanks.” Fletch waved. “Stay close to the station, okay? There’s a ball he likes to chase by the door.”

  “’Kay. Come on, Cash.” She bent down so Fletch could see her under the counter and patted her legs. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Woof.” Cash stopped long enough to shoot a questioning look at Fletch, who gave the golden retriever a quick nod. The sound of dog nails clacking against the wood floor echoed in the sheriff’s station.

  “Stay within eyesight, please,” Fletch called before the door slammed. “You got something, Oz?” he asked when the deputy hung up.

  “Not sure. Harvey’s sending us copies of his paperwork on the spray paint. They had a run a few weeks back where he couldn’t keep it in stock, but at least it’s something to go through.”

  He picked up the list of missing items from Everett White’s shed. “Or maybe someone got spooked and found a different way to get what they wanted.” He set the paper down, tapped on the line. “How much you want to bet Haskins had red and green paint stored in there?”

  “Elliot does a lot of woodworking around the holidays,” Ozzy said.

  Fletch fixed himself a cup of coffee. He loved the noise of a fresh-brewing cup even though he did prefer the special blend Holly served at the diner. The diner.

  Fletch picked up his mug, sipped, considered. Went over to the window to look out on the parking lot. Thanks to Paige they had a solid lead on what was going on with Jasper. Maybe he needed to fill her in on their progress. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to see her again. “I don’t see Charlie.”

  “I’m sure she’s around,” Ozzy mumbled.

  “Yeah, but where?” He set his mug down on Ozzy’s desk and headed to the door. “You up for some extra patrolling tonight? You take the beach stretch and I’ll head inland?” Maybe if they were lucky one of them would come across Jasper.

  “Will do.” Oz shrugged in his movie-sidekick kind of way. Ozzy had always been one of those blending-in kind of guys, not the sort you’d ever expect to go into law enforcement. “Not much else to do. Not like Butterfly Harbor is brimming with excitement in the off-season.”

  “True. And I’d like to keep it that way.” Speaking of excitement. “I’m going to see where Charlie’s gotten to.”

  The second he stepped outside, he knew she wasn’t close by. He circled the lot, checked under his SUV, around Ozzy’s rickety used sedan. He even looked up into the old cypress tree that was older than he was. “Charlie! Cash!” He lifted his fingers to his lips to whistle, but when all he heard was the breeze in his ears, he stopped. “Charlie!” He raised his voice, not liking the uneven pounding of his heart. “Charlie Cooper!”

  His entire body went cold when he heard a distinctive squeal come from down the path to the beach.

  The beach.

  “Charlie!” He ran to the fence line and gripped the rough wood in his hands as he looked down. He spotted Charlie and Cash racing around each other in the sand at the bottom of the steep path, heading toward the sheer outcropping of rocks. Only feet away from the shoreline. “Charlie!” His voice cracked through the air but was carried away on the breeze. Heart jackhammering against his ribs, he took a shaky step down. His knees wobbled as he forced himself to descend the plank stairs. He stopped short of the sand. Try as he might, he couldn’t make his feet move another inch. The idea of sinking into that sand, feeling it slip into his shoes and weigh him down…the blood drained from his face. His hands went cold. “Charlie!”

  Her head snapped around and she sent a large stick soaring off into the water. Cash barked. Charlie giggled. Her backpack jostled back and forth as she raced after the stick and the dog.

  The past roared louder in Fletch’s ears than the crashing tide during a storm. He swayed and gripped the railing so hard his fingers went numb.

  He couldn’t move; he couldn’t think. The sight of a jean-clad, neon-sneakered little girl transformed into a boy with missing front teeth, a too-big swimsuit and
dark curls tight around his head. The image broke through the haze, through the fear, through the anger. “Charlie! Get over here. Now!”

  Charlie darted into the water to retrieve Cash’s stick before she raced back to him. She dropped her backpack on the sand as she stood in front of him.

  “Sorry, Deputy Fletch.” She panted, her feet and jeans soaked and picking up every granule of sand like a magnet. “I threw it too far and it landed down here and I think I found the caves where the treasure box…” She stopped, blinked up at him. “I was coming right back.”

  Fletch dropped down and grabbed hold of Charlie’s arms, went nose to nose with her. “I told you to stay in sight. You should never come down to the beach alone. Never, ever, do you hear me, Caleb?” He didn’t mean to scare her, but he leaned back as tears exploded into her big blue eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Cash moved in and nudged his head under her arm. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise. I was just playing—who’s Caleb?”

  “What?” The name struck him like a slap.

  Charlie took a step back. “You called me Caleb. I’m Charlie.”

  “I know who you are.” Even as he said it, he felt the blood drain all the way to his toes. “Charlie. You should always, always pay attention around water.” His tone harsh enough to scrub his throat raw. “Don’t ever turn your back on the ocean, Charlie. Don’t ever play around it. Promise me, you won’t come down here by yourself again.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Your mom isn’t here, I am. You are in my care at this moment, and you will not come down here without an adult, do you hear me?”

  “Y-yes.” Her nod was accompanied by more tears. “Can I go home now? I want my mom.” She gripped her fingers hard in Cash’s coat.

  “I’ll take you back. Go on.” He pushed to his feet and backed up so she could race up the stairs. Fletch ignored the scathing look he received from the dog as Cash trotted behind Charlie. That the little girl ran away from him hurt more than he expected, but he couldn’t let it. She could have gotten hurt. She could have fallen or… Fletch tried to take a deep breath. Or she could have been pulled out with the tide.