Cold Case at Cobra Creek

by Rita Herron

  “Except that Ron Lewis’s body was found at Cobra Creek. He’s dead. In fact, he died the same day of that car crash.”

  A moment of silence stretched between them. Then Earnest raised the gun again. “So you’re here ’cause you think I killed Lewis?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m talking to everyone who knew Lewis in hopes that someone Lewis knew or something Lewis said might lead us to Benji.”

  “I don’t know anything and I didn’t kill him,” Donnell said. “But I’m not sorry the guy’s dead.”

  Dugan started to speak, but Sage cut him off. “I understand, Mr. Earnest. All I want is to find my son. Did Ron mention someone he might meet up with once he left Cobra Creek? Or maybe he had a partner?”

  The man lowered the gun, opened the screen and stepped onto the porch. “Naw. He talked about that developer that was going to make Cobra Creek big on the map.”

  “Was there a contact person or address on any of the papers you signed?”

  Donnell scratched his head, sending hanks of hair askew. “Don’t recall one.” His voice cracked. “I can’t believe I was such a damn fool. My mama always said if something was too good to be true, it probably was.”

  “He fooled a lot of us, Donnell,” Sage said sympathetically.

  A blush stained his cheeks. “Downright embarrassing to know I was stupid enough to let that jerk steal my land out from under me. Hell, if a man don’t have land, he don’t have anything.”

  “Did Ron ever talk about a family?” Dugan pressed. “Did he have parents?”

  “Don’t remember no folks.” The big man rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems like he said he grew up near San Antonio. Or maybe it was Laredo. I think he mentioned a sister once.”

  “Did he mention her name?”

  The dog nuzzled up to his leg, and Donnell scratched him behind the ears. “Janet or Janelle, something like that.”

  “Thanks,” Dugan said. “That might be helpful.”

  In fact, he’d have Jaxon run the name through the system, along with all of his aliases. Maybe one of them would pop.

  * * *

  “DO YOU THINK Mr. Earnest killed Ron?” Sage asked as they left the ranch.

  “It’s too soon to say. He seems to be telling the truth, but he has motive.”

  “So do some of the other ranchers.” Sage studied the withered grass in the empty pastures, and the stable that looked empty. “But he did seem surprised that Ron was murdered.”

  “People can fake reactions,” Dugan said. “Maybe he was just surprised that we found the body. After two years, whoever killed Lewis had probably gotten complacent. Thought he’d gotten away with murder.”

  Sage fought despair. Two years a murderer had gone free.

  Two years Benji had been gone.

  Children changed every day. He would have lost any baby fat from his toddler shape, would have grown taller, more agile. Had the person who’d abducted him been good to him? Was he eating right?

  Who tucked him in at night and chased the bogeyman away?

  Benji had been afraid of the dark. She’d bought a cartoon-figure night-light and plugged it in before he went to bed. Still, he’d been scared of monsters, so they’d played a game where she checked under the bed and the closets in a big show that she’d chased them away before she kissed him good-night.

  Tears pricked her eyes.

  At five, he would have started kindergarten this year. She would have already taught him to recognize the letters of the alphabet, and he could count to twenty. Was he learning to read now? Could he write his name?

  A dozen more questions nagged at her, but the idea of Benji being in school kept returning. “Dugan, Benji would be five now. He might be in school somewhere. In kindergarten.”

  Dugan slanted her a sideways look. “That would be risky for the person he’s with.”

  “I suppose you’re right. The kidnapper could be homeschooling him.” Or locking him in a room and leaving him there alone and afraid.

  “Then again, you made a good point. If the person who has Benji is working, he might need for him to be in day care or school.” Dugan reached for his phone again. “And it’s another place to check out.”

  He punched in a number and spoke to his friend Jaxon, then asked him to hunt for a Janet or Janelle who might be Lewis’s sister. “Make sure the photo of Benji Freeport is circulated to all the school systems in Texas and the surrounding states. Also try day cares.”

  Sage’s heart pounded as Dugan hung up. “Thank you, Dugan.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” he said in a self-deprecating voice.

  “Yes, you have.” Sage swallowed the knot in her throat. “You’re looking for him and exploring avenues the sheriff never did.”

  Dugan’s gaze met hers, a guarded look in his eyes. “He should have done all this two years ago.”

  “I know. But he just assumed Benji was dead and told me to accept it and move on.” She twisted her fingers in her lap. “But I couldn’t do that, Dugan. Not without knowing for sure.”

  And maybe not even then. Because Benji had been her life. And if he was dead, it was her fault for getting involved with Ron Lewis.

  An image of Benji writing his name flashed behind her eyes, and she battled another onslaught of despair as stories of other kidnappings on the news blared in her mind.

  Stories where children had been brainwashed, told that their real parents didn’t want them, that they’d given them away. Stories where a boy was forced to dress like a girl or vice versa. Stories where children were abducted at such a young age that they adapted to the kidnapper and accepted, even believed, that that person was their real parent.

  She couldn’t fight the reality that whoever had taken her son had most likely changed his name. That they weren’t even calling him Benji anymore.

  That the name he might be writing wasn’t his own, which would make it even more difficult for a teacher or caretaker to realize that he’d been abducted.

  That even if someone asked Benji his name, he might not remember it.

  He might not remember her, either, or that she’d once held him in her arms as a baby and rocked him to sleep. That she’d sung him lullabies and chased the bogeyman away and promised to protect him forever.

  That she’d dreamed about what he’d become when he grew up.

  God...she’d jeopardized her son’s life by trusting Ron.

  And now she might never see him again.

  * * *

  DUGAN DROVE TO Wilbur Rankins’s ranch next. Both Rankins and Earnest had reasons to want Lewis dead.

  And they were the only two that Dugan knew of at this point. There could be others. People he’d swindled, along with ex-wives and girlfriends.

  The man had been a real class act.

  Sage had lapsed into silence. No telling what she was imagining. He wished he could keep her mind from going to the dark places, but that was impossible.

  He couldn’t even keep his own mind from traveling down those roads.

  Rankins’s property was fifteen miles outside town and just as run-down as Donnell Earnest’s. Both ranchers had probably been desperate and had fallen for Lewis’s easy way out.

  Dugan pulled up in front of the sprawling ranch house, bracing himself for another hostile encounter. “Stay here until I see if this guy is armed.”

  Sage nodded. “Okay, but I want to talk to him.”

  “Sure, once I make sure it’s safe.” He’d be foolish to let her go in without assessing the situation first. If Donnell had wanted, he could have blown their heads off before they’d even made it onto the porch.

  He checked his weapon, then strode up the stone path to the front door. A rusted pickup sat to the left of the house, beneath a makeshift carport. He spotted a teenage boy out back, chopping wood.

  Smoke curled from the chimney, and a Christmas tree stood in view, in the front window. He knocked, scanning the property and noting a few head of cattle in the west pastu
re. Maybe Rankins was getting back on top of his business.

  He knocked again, and the door was finally opened. A man who looked to be mid-forties stood on the other side, his craggy face crunched into a frown. “Yeah?”

  “Are you Wilbur Rankins?”

  “Naw, that’d be my daddy. I’m Junior.”

  “Is your father here?”

  “He’s not feeling too good.” The man crossed his arms, his tattered T-shirt stretching across his belly. “Who are you and what do you want with him?”

  He heard the SUV door open and glanced back to see Sage emerge from the passenger side. He motioned that it was okay for her to join him.

  “What’s going on?”

  Dugan explained who he was and introduced Sage.

  “We know that Ron Lewis swindled you,” Dugan said. “That you’re not the only one.”

  “I heard he was murdered,” Junior Rankins said. “But if you think I did it, think again. I didn’t know he’d conned my daddy out of his ranch until after the creep had that car crash.”

  “Did you meet him yourself?” Sage asked.

  Junior shook his head no. “My boy out there and I lived in Corpus Christi at the time. We came down a few months ago when my father took ill.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sage said. “Is it serious?”

  “Cancer. He’s been fighting it about three years. That’s when he started letting things go around here.”

  “And Lewis popped in to save the day,” Dugan guessed.

  A disgusted look darkened the man’s eyes. “Yeah, damn vulture if you ask me.”

  Footsteps sounded behind the man, and Dugan saw an older man in a robe appear. Must be the father.

  “What’s going on?” the man bellowed.

  Junior turned to his father. “Everything’s under control, Dad.”

  “Mr. Rankins,” Dugan said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  The old man shuffled up beside his son and motioned for them to come in. “What the hell’s going on? A man can’t get any rest.”

  “I’m sorry,” Junior said. “I was trying to take care of it.”

  The older man looked hollow-eyed, pale, and he’d lost his hair. “Take care of what?”

  Dugan cleared his throat and introduced himself and Sage again.

  “Mr. Rankins,” Sage interjected. “We know that Ron Lewis tried to con you out of your land. But the morning he was leaving town, he took my little boy with him. If you know anything about where he might have been going or who he was working with, please tell me. It might help me find my son.”

  “I don’t know a damned thing.” The man broke into a coughing spell. “But I’m glad that bastard’s dead so he can’t cheat anyone else.”

  “Where were you the morning he disappeared two years ago?” Dugan asked.

  Junior stepped in front of his father. “You don’t have to answer that, Dad.” Junior shot daggers at Dugan with his eyes. “Now, I suggest you leave before I call the sheriff and tell him you’re harassing us.”

  Dugan was about to make a retort, but his phone buzzed. Surprisingly, Sheriff Gandt’s name flashed on his caller ID display. “Graystone speaking.”

  “Is Sage Freeport with you?”

  Dugan said yes through gritted teeth. “Why?”

  “Bring her to my office. I have something to show her.”

  “What?”

  “Something that got overlooked after the crime scene workers searched the crash site.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Dugan ended the call, an anxious feeling in his gut. Did Gandt have bad news about Benji?

  * * *

  SAGE’S HANDS FELT clammy as she and Dugan parked at the sheriff’s office. Dugan said the sheriff was cryptic about the reason he’d asked them to stop by.

  But it couldn’t be good news or else he would have told Dugan over the phone.

  She reminded herself that she had survived the past two years living in the dark, that she needed closure, no matter what the outcome was.

  But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that finding Ron’s body and not Benji’s had rekindled her hope.

  Dugan opened the door to the sheriff’s office and gestured for her to enter first. She did, her insides trembling as the sheriff looked up at them from the front desk, his expression grim.

  “Sheriff?” Dugan said as they approached.

  Sheriff Gandt stood. “After we found Lewis’s body, I decided to look back at the evidence box we collected two years ago after the original accident.”

  “You found something?” Sage asked, her voice a painful whisper.

  He nodded. “This envelope was in the bottom of the box stuck under the flap.” He opened it and removed a blue whistle.

  Sage gasped. The whistle was Benji’s.

  And it had blood on it.

  Chapter Ten

  Sage sagged against the desk, then stumbled into a nearby chair. “That was my son’s.”

  “Did you test the blood to see if it belonged to Benji?” Dugan asked.

  “Not yet. I wanted to show it to Ms. Freeport first and see if she recognized it.”

  Sage struggled to pull herself together.

  “Get it tested,” Dugan said firmly. “It may be Benji’s blood. But blood from the person who shot Lewis might also be on it.”

  “Did you find anything else?” Sage said in a choked voice.

  “That’s it,” Gandt said.

  “What about on the man who tried to shoot us?”

  “M.E. has him at the morgue now.” He gave Dugan a warning look. “Why don’t you take Ms. Freeport home and let me do my job? I’ve got this investigation under control.”

  Sage bit her tongue to keep from lashing out and telling him that Dugan had already accomplished more in two days on the case than Gandt had in two years.

  But arguing with the sheriff was pointless.

  She gestured toward the whistle. “After you finish with that, I’d like to have it back.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll let me know what you find?” Sage asked.

  His eyes narrowed, but he offered her a saccharine smile. “Sure. And know this, Ms. Freeport, I’m doing everything I can to find Lewis’s killer and your son.”

  “I appreciate that,” Sage said, grateful her voice didn’t crack. She wanted out of the room, away from Sheriff Gandt.

  Away from that whistle with the blood on it, blood that might belong to her son.

  * * *

  DUGAN DROVE SAGE back to the B and B, well aware she’d hit an emotional wall that could crumble any second.

  The big question was if she would be able to put herself back together again if she received bad news.

  So far, she had held it together. Shown amazing strength and fortitude. But she also had held on to hope.

  Damn. She was stubborn, beautiful and fragile and in need of something to turn the nightmare she’d been stuck in the past two years into a distant dream where her son emerged at the end, safe and back at home with her where he belonged.

  Dugan walked her up to the door of the inn. “Sage, even if that whistle has Benji’s blood on it, it doesn’t mean that he’s dead.”

  She winced, and he berated himself for being so blunt. But she had made him promise to be honest with her.

  “I know. And I appreciate all you’re doing.” Her phone beeped that she had a text, and she pulled it from her purse.

  “What is it?”

  “I talked to that reporter, Ashlynn Fontaine. Not only is she running the story in the newspaper, but she said the story is airing on the news.”

  Dugan gritted his teeth. The media could be a double-edged sword.

  “You think I shouldn’t have contacted her?”

  He hadn’t realized his expression was so transparent. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But?”

  Dugan squeezed her arm, aching to do more. To pull her in his arms and promise her he’d fix all her problems and ma
ke her happy again.

  But the only way to do that was to bring her son home.

  “The more exposure Benji’s story receives, the more chances are that someone might recognize him.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Dugan lowered his voice. “But be prepared, Sage. It also may bring false leads. And letting everyone know the case has been reopened could be dangerous.”

  “Someone already shot at us,” Sage said. “And just because it’s dangerous doesn’t mean I’ll stop looking.” She gripped his hands. “Dugan, I will never give up, not as long as I know there’s a chance Benji’s out there.”

  Dugan had heard of kidnapping cases and missing children that spanned decades. He honestly didn’t know how the parents survived. They had to live hollow shells of their lives, going through each day on empty hope, like a car running on gas fumes.

  “Call me if you hear from your contacts,” Sage said. “I’m going inside now.”

  Dugan nodded, his chest constricting. He hated to leave her alone. But he had work to do.

  He needed to track down that woman named Janet or Janelle, Lewis’s alleged sister.

  Perhaps Lewis had planned to make his fortune in Cobra Creek and then convince Sage to disappear with him. If so, he might have told a sibling about her.

  And he might have asked her to watch Benji until he could clean up the mess and return for Sage.

  It was a long shot, but Dugan couldn’t dismiss any theory at this point.

  * * *

  SAGE WALKED THROUGH the empty B and B, hating the silence. The couple renting from her had gone home to be with their family for the holidays.

  Just where they should be.

  But the quiet only reminded her that she would spend another Christmas in this house by herself. When she first bought the place and renovated it, she’d imagined a constant barrage of people in and out, filling the rooms with laughter and chatter. She’d spend her days baking her specialty pastries and pies, with Benji helping her, stirring and measuring ingredients and licking icing from the bowl, his favorite part.

  Ron must have picked up on that dream and played her. Although she’d wanted a houseful of people because she’d been without family for so long, he’d obviously thought she’d wanted the place to be a success so she could make money.