“If last night’s kidnapping attempt is related to Lewis’s murder, we need to figure out how. To do that we look for connections.”
On the other side of Darcie, Brent leaned forward. “The only visible connection between the murder and you is Fairmont. The reason you found the body was because you were on his property, and the reason you were on his property is because he gave you a job, just like he gave your uncle a job.”
Mason nodded agreement. “Maybe five years in the slammer has improved your slimy uncle’s outlook and he can tell us something helpful about Fairmont.”
“I doubt that,” Darcie said bitterly.
Lauren returned to the table after carrying a stack of dirty plates to the counter. “Besides, if Mr. Fairmont is your father maybe he’ll help us figure out who’s trying to harm you.”
A gloomy thought occurred to Caleb, but before he could speak it, Darcie did.
“Unless he’s the one responsible.” Her gaze sought his. “What if Uncle Kenneth was right and he’s a crook?”
The stark fear in her eyes plucked a protective chord in him. “He won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Where’s your uncle in prison?” asked Brent.
She raised her hands to her forehead and pressed her temples. “Uh, Hancock State Prison. I don’t know where that is, though.”
“It’s in Sparta, a couple of hours away.” At her raised eyebrow, Caleb shrugged. “I know these things. I used to be a guard at the Atlanta Detention Center.”
“We can make a call this morning and find out if she’s listed as a family member on his visitor list,” Mason said.
Caleb nodded. She stood the best chance of getting the man to talk. No way he was letting Darcie visit with that jerk alone, though. “I’m going with her. I’ll apply for a special visitor permit. Got a buddy down there, and maybe he can pull a few strings.”
She shot him a quick, grateful glance.
“That’ll take a few days,” Mason said. “We’d better get the ball rolling this morning.”
“And didn’t you say that Mr. Fairmont was out of town?” asked Karina.
Darcie nodded, relief obvious on her features. “Mrs. Byler said he was in Washington, DC. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
Brent leaned back. “Well, looks like we’re at a standstill for now.”
The idea of hanging around for a few days doing nothing didn’t sit right with Caleb. They had to do something. But what? Then he remembered something he’d mentioned to Darcie before.
He looked at Mason. “You got plans today, brother?”
“A couple of subpoenas to serve and some paperwork.” Mason shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait. What’s up?”
“I want you to take a look at her apartment. See if you can find any signs of an intruder.”
“All right then.” Brent slapped his hands on the table. “We don’t have much to go on, but at least we have a plan.”
Lauren smiled at Darcie. “You and Percy can hang out here. It’ll do you good to relax for a few days after what you’ve been through.”
A kind offer, but the troubled look on Darcie’s face did not fade. She shook her head.
“I can’t sit here and do nothing.” She looked at Mason and then him. “I’m going with you.”
His stomach twisted at her words, but he didn’t argue. Though he was reluctant to spend any more time with her than necessary, he’d promised to keep her safe. Promised it twice, in fact. He couldn’t do that from a distance.
Mutely, he nodded.
* * *
Caleb directed Mason to a parking place near Darcie’s building. When he shut off the engine, the three of them emerged from his car.
“That’s mine.” Darcie pointed out her apartment.
While the two of them headed toward the door, Caleb stood in place, turning slowly in a three-sixty to examine the area. It had been dark last night but now he could see. This was a nice place. The people who managed this complex paid attention to the grounds. The buildings were all in good condition, not a sign of peeling paint anywhere. The grass lining the sidewalk was neatly trimmed. Big, bushy shrubs bordered the buildings, deep green and healthy looking. Shrubs that size could easily hide a man.
He joined Darcie, who stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, watching Mason inspect the doorknob.
“See anything?” he asked.
“Nope.” Mason turned to look at Darcie. “Is this the only entrance?”
She shook her head. “There are sliding glass doors going out to a patio on the back. But I keep those latched and a baseball bat wedged in the tracks.”
“That’s good, but you really need a dead bolt on this door. Watch this.”
From his pocket he pulled a pair of needle-nose pliers and a couple of paper clips. He held them up. “Standard paper clips. You can get them anywhere.”
He straightened them both and then, using the pliers, twisted a hook at the end of one. He knelt before the door and stuck the crooked end into the lock. Holding that in place, he inserted the straight end of the other clip. He jiggled it for a moment and gave a quick twist. The lock opened with an audible click.
“Voilà.” Mason straightened and, with a flourish, opened Darcie’s door.
She stood with her mouth gaping. Caleb cocked his head to spear his friend with a suspicious look. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”
Mason’s expression became sardonic. “YouTube, where any petty thief with access to the internet can see a video demonstration.”
“Or any kidnapper.” A shudder rippled through Darcie’s body.
Unbelievable. Caleb set his jaw. “We’re installing a dead bolt before you come back here.”
Looking faintly sick, she nodded.
He followed Mason and Darcie into the apartment. A quick glance around showed everything exactly the same as when they’d left last night.
Mason checked the patio door and pronounced it secure. As Caleb had observed when he inspected the place, the windows had locks that could be popped from outside but not without breaking them and leaving evidence of forced entry. None showed evidence of tampering. The only sign at all that anyone had been in the apartment was the edge of the quilt hanging out of the box, and they had only Darcie’s word that it had been moved.
“Sorry.” Mason shrugged. “Wish I could have found something that would make the cops sit up and take notice.”
Disappointed, Caleb clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all right. You tried.”
They locked the door when they left, though Caleb realized what a flimsy safeguard that was. They headed for Mason’s car.
Darcie stopped. “Wait. If my car’s going to be here for a few days, I want to get the title and registration out of the glove box.”
“Good idea,” Caleb told her.
They stood on the sidewalk while she pulled her keys out of her purse. During the few short steps to her car, she punched the unlock button. When she got to the passenger side, instead of opening the door she stood staring down at it. The stillness that crept over her body set off alarms in Caleb’s brain.
“What’s wrong?” He hastened after her.
She fixed wide eyes on him and pointed.
The metal on the passenger door was wrinkled and bent. It had been jimmied open.
* * *
Darcie sat on the concrete step in front of her apartment, her elbows on her knees and chin in her hands. She watched Caleb and Mason inspect the damage to her car while they waited for the police to arrive. Though the break-in had come as a surprise, she wasn’t nearly as alarmed as she should be. Too many shocks in the past twenty-four hours had numbed her.
A police cruiser turned into the lot, and she straightened to get a look at it. T
heir experience with the police recently had left her hesitant to involve them. Instead of calling 911, Caleb had called an acquaintance on the force. That morning he’d said only addicts and derelicts trusted him, but it seemed he had friends on both sides of the law.
The cruiser slowed when it entered the lot, and Caleb walked out into the open to wave it down. She hefted herself off the step and joined him as the car glided to a stop. A uniformed officer around Caleb’s age got out.
“Hey, Buchanan, long time.” Their hands slapped together in an enthusiastic greeting.
“Too long,” Caleb answered. “Thanks for coming. I was praying you’d be on duty.”
“Even if I wasn’t, all you’ve got to do is call.” His gaze slid from Caleb to Darcie. “Hello. I’m Jarron Roberts.”
Jarron was one of those fresh-faced police officers whose military-style haircut made him appear younger than he was. Intelligence gleamed in the eyes he fixed on her, eyes she doubted missed much.
Caleb did the introduction. “This is Darcie Wiley and that’s Mason Sinclair. They’re friends.”
Darcie forced herself to smile at Jarron instead of searching Caleb’s face. Did he consider her a friend? Today he’d been polite and kind, but his easy manner of yesterday had not returned.
When Jarron had shaken their hands, he jerked a nod at her car. “Is this the one?”
“Yeah.” Caleb led the way to the passenger side. “Looks like they used a crowbar to me.”
The officer cocked his head, staring at the damage. “Me, too. Note the scratches on the edges. That was done by metal.” He looked up at Darcie. “What’d they get?”
“I haven’t looked.”
“We didn’t want to touch anything until you’d seen it,” Caleb explained.
“Good idea. Let’s see if we can lift any prints.”
He went to his cruiser and returned with a hard gray case. Darcie watched him apply black powder with a soft brush and then gently blow the residue away. She stood back while all three men bent to study the result.
Caleb’s shoulders slumped when he stood. “Nothing.”
“We might find something inside.” Jarron didn’t sound hopeful.
“I’ll be surprised if we do,” Mason said. “Somebody who’s prepared enough to pick a door lock would take precautions against leaving fingerprints.”
Jarron pulled out a blue rubber glove and handed it to Darcie. “Take a look and let me know what’s missing.”
The glove was much too big for her hand, but that didn’t matter. She opened the driver door and slid into the seat. The stereo was intact. She opened the ashtray. The loose coins she always tossed in there had not been disturbed. In the glove compartment she found the owner’s manual, registration, proof of insurance and the various receipts for oil changes she kept there.
Caleb called from behind the car, “Pop the trunk.”
She did, and she was not surprised when he said, “Nothing missing here.”
So the thief had broken into her car but taken nothing. Same as her apartment. More confused than ever, she got out and joined the men standing behind the trunk.
“I can file a vandalism report,” Jarron told her. “That way your insurance company will cover the damage. I don’t know what else I can do, though.”
Frustration knotted her stomach. “I’m being followed and someone attacked me. Why won’t the police do anything?” Tears choked her words, but she didn’t care.
His expression softened. “I’ll pull all the reports filed yesterday and add mine to it. Then I’ll go talk to my sergeant. He’s a good man.”
“Will you talk to Detective Samuels, too?” Caleb asked.
Jarron actually winced. “I think I’ll leave that to my sergeant. His opinion will carry more weight than mine.”
Caleb heaved a sigh and clapped Jarron on the shoulder. “Thanks, brother. Whatever you can do, we appreciate it.”
“Give me a minute to get that report written.” He started toward his cruiser, but he stopped when he drew abreast of Darcie. “My advice to you is to stick close to him.” He jerked his head toward Caleb. “He’s one of the best. I’d trust him with my life.”
She managed a nod and a shaky smile.
Mason straightened from his position leaning against the trunk of her car. “I’ve got a buddy who does auto body work. He’s good and he’s cheap. Want me to give him a call and see if he has time to look at your door?”
How much would that cost? Her thoughts were so scattered she couldn’t remember how much her insurance deductible was. She might have to drive around with a damaged door for a while. But she needed to know what she was dealing with. “If he could give me an estimate, I’d appreciate it.”
He went to get his cell phone out of his car, leaving her alone with Caleb.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze straying after Mason. “Something occurred to me, a possible reason for these weird break-ins where nothing is missing.” He glanced down at her. “But you aren’t going to like it.”
Nothing could upset her more than she already was. Still, she braced herself. “Go on.”
“It’s obvious these guys are looking for something. And since they broke into your car after we parked it here last night, that means they didn’t find it in your apartment.”
“I don’t have anything!” Her voice came out louder than she intended, fueled by frustration.
“Yes, you do.” His soft tone sounded in sharp contrast to her outburst. “You have the notes that Fairmont wrote to your mother.”
The import of his words struck at her like a fist. What if Mr. Fairmont really was her father? And what if he wanted to make sure those letters weren’t seen by anyone—like his wife?
TEN
Darcie sat at Lauren’s kitchen table and stared at the number displayed on her cell phone. As much as she dreaded doing it, she had to call Mr. Fairmont. Caleb and the others were right. This was the only step they could take toward freeing her from this nightmare.
Lauren sat beside her, and Caleb had taken Brent’s chair at the end. Percy sat on the floor at his side, staring intently up at him.
Caleb stared at the little dog with a bemused expression. “What does it want from me?”
Darcie answered distractedly, “Attention. He likes you.”
His look became perplexed. “Why?”
“Oh, come on.” Lauren laughed at his obvious bewilderment. “You’re a likable guy. I’ll bet little kids like you, too.”
“That’s different,” he said. “I like them back.”
They both fell silent, and Darcie felt the weight of their stares. She had to do it. Delaying wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Her finger pressed the call button.
“Fairmont Industries,” said a pleasant female voice. “How can I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Fairmont, please.” She took comfort from the fact that her voice didn’t tremble.
“Mr. Fairmont isn’t in the office. May I ask what this concerns?”
Darcie bit her lip. “It’s a personal matter.”
Only a brief pause and then, “He isn’t due back in the office until Friday, and his administrative assistant is off today as well. Would you like me to leave a message?”
She almost told the woman she’d call back another time, but the idea of gathering her courage a second time wasn’t appealing.
“What about Mr. Mitchell? Is he in?”
“I believe so. One moment, please.”
Caleb’s eyebrows rose in a question.
She covered the phone with her free hand. “At least he knows who I am. Maybe he’ll tell me when Mr. Fairmont will return.”
The call was answered on the second ring. “Aaron Mitchell.”
Darcie straightened in her chair. “Mr. Mitchell, this is Darcie Wiley.” Silence. Didn’t he remember her? “We met yesterday at Fairmont Estate. I’m the one who—”
“Yes, Ms. Wiley, I know who you are.” Curiosity sounded clearly in his tone. “How can I help you?”
She swallowed against a dry throat. “I need to talk to Mr. Fairmont. I know he’s out of town, and I wondered if you knew how to get in touch with him.”
An even longer pause. “I have his cell phone number, but if you’ll forgive me for saying this, I’m not sure he would appreciate me giving it out.”
The statement hung between them like an unresolved minor chord on a keyboard. Darcie knew what he didn’t say. Mr. Fairmont wouldn’t appreciate Mitchell giving the number to her. She sagged against the chair and shot a defeated look toward Caleb. “I understand. When you talk to him next will you give him my number and ask him to call me?”
She must have sounded as down as she felt, for he answered in a kinder voice, “I can do that.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, maybe I can do better than that. Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Yes, sure.”
The line went dead. She set the phone on the table in front of her and stared at it.
“What’d he say?” asked Lauren.
“He’s going to call back.”
She gave them a quick review of their conversation. The phone rang before she finished.
“That didn’t take long,” Caleb commented as she snatched it up.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Wiley, it’s Aaron Mitchell again. I just spoke with Richard. This isn’t public knowledge, but he’s cut his trip short and is on his way to Dulles to catch a flight back home. His plane lands at seven, and he says he can meet you here at the office at eight o’clock.”
“Tonight?” Darcie shot straight out of her seat, alarm zinging down her spine. She thought she’d have a few days to prepare.
“He is planning to spend the next few days at home. Things are in something of an uproar there, as you can imagine.” A delicate pause. “He didn’t think it was a good idea for you to meet there.”
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