Dark Powers

by Rebecca York

  There was no way Sage was going to obey that order. She was rooted to the spot where she stood, as she watched the two armed men facing each other in the hot sun like a scene out of a western.

  One of them had a volatile streak as wide as the Chesapeake Bay. She wasn’t sure about the other one yet.

  “It’s against the law to fire a weapon in a residential area,” Ben said.

  “Then why do you have a gun in your hand?” Baker challenged.

  “To keep you from doing something stupid.”

  As they confronted each other, a couple of doors along the street opened.

  Gary stood his ground for another moment, then with a curse, he turned and stalked back into his house, slamming the door behind him.

  Ben waited until the other man had disappeared, then headed for the car.

  “Wait,” Sage called to him.

  “Why?”

  “Your head’s bleeding.”

  “Head wounds do that. We’ll take care of it after we get out of here.”

  Sage followed and got into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine with a jerky motion, then lurched away from the curb.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said. “Pull over. I’ll drive.”

  “Not yet.”

  He kept going, and she wondered if the blow to the head really had addled his brain. Could he even see with blood dripping in his eyes?

  But after a few blocks, he came to a gas station and pulled in, driving around back to the men’s room.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said as he got out. At least he seemed steady on his feet as he went inside. When he came back several minutes later, he’d cleaned up his face, and he was holding a wad of wet paper towels to the top of his head.

  “Let me see.”

  He sat down in the seat, with his legs dangling out of the car, leaning forward slightly. She came around to his side of the vehicle and lifted the paper towels away.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “It’s pretty deep.”

  He grunted.

  She gently dabbed at the wound. It felt intimate, touching him like this, as intimate as when he’d held her in the parking lot. Then she hadn’t known who he was. Now she was getting a much better picture of Ben Walker.

  Well, sort of. They’d been together a few hours, and he had revealed only a little about his background, with her working to get at the information. She knew he’d cared about his sister and lost her. That made her feel closer to him.

  And she knew more, from their interaction and from observing him. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, or a gun battle, or of taking chances. She didn’t know what would have happened if Gary hadn’t backed down, but she was glad she hadn’t had to find out.

  At first he’d tried not to injure Gary, then he’d gotten conked over the head defending her. All that told her that he had a strong sense of right and wrong, which didn’t necessarily dovetail with conventional morality. Probably he’d known that searching Gary Baker’s house was a dangerous idea, but he’d gone along with her plan because it was the quickest way to make sure Laurel wasn’t there.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt,” she murmured.

  “How bad is it?”

  “The cut’s about three quarters of an inch long. I don’t want to poke too much and start it bleeding again.”

  “Sounds like it’s not too serious.”

  “Did you lose consciousness?”

  “No. I just got knocked on my ass.”

  “You need to put antiseptic on it.”

  “I have a first-aid kit in the glove compartment.”

  She climbed back in the passenger seat, pulled out the kit and looked inside. The antiseptic was in a square packet which she tore open. From behind him, she pressed the pad to the wound.

  He winced.

  “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  Technically, it was. The whole thing.

  She repressed the impulse to stroke his cheek. He was wounded on her account. But there couldn’t be anything personal between them. This was strictly a business arrangement, and when they’d found Laurel, they’d go their separate ways.

  “Do you think he’ll call the cops?” she asked.

  Ben made a snorting sound. “Not likely. A guy with his temper probably has a rap sheet. Or at least complaints from the neighbors. My guess is that he won’t want anything to do with the authorities.”

  “A neighbor could call it in.”

  “Then let’s hope nobody got our license number.” Changing the subject, he said, “What did you find in there while you were poking around?”

  “He’s kept Laurel’s room the way it was when she was a little girl. Like a shrine.”

  “Obsessive.” He paused. “And sad.”

  She hadn’t thought of him as sad, but the description fit.

  “But I didn’t see any signs that she was actually in the house.”

  “How far did you get in your search?”

  “I looked in all the bedrooms. Then I went downstairs into the rec room. From there to the laundry room. She wasn’t in any of those places. And I don’t think he’d put her in the attic in this weather. He loves her, and it’s like an oven up there.”

  “Then our next stop is Doncaster.” He turned to her. “You’re sure you want to come?”

  “Yes,” she answered immediately. “And I’ll drive.”

  She felt his hesitation. He was probably the kind of macho guy who didn’t let a woman behind the wheel of his car. But in this case, his better judgment prevailed.

  “Okay.”

  They both got out and exchanged places.

  “You know how to get there from here?” he asked.

  “Yes. Head for Annapolis, then the Bay Bridge.”

  Under other circumstances, she might have told him to take a nap. But he’d been hit on the head, and there was some chance he could have a concussion.

  To keep him engaged, she said, “I told you a little about Doncaster,” she said. “I can give you some more background.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s on a fairly wide peninsula between the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean, with a lot of rivers running through the area. Because it was the closest part of the U.S. to England, and the rivers made transportation easy, it was settled early. The British saw that the area was important and tried to invade during the War of 1812, but the Americans beat them off.

  “It was kind of downhill from there. What made it prominent early on worked against it later. It was cut off from the mainland, and until the 1950s when the Bay Bridge was built, you had to take a ferry to get across. A lot of people made their living fishing, crabbing, oystering. As the water quality of the bay declined, so did those industries. Now they’ve got big chicken farms and some agriculture. But the same factors that kept down the population have also worked in its favor. It’s a quaint area that still has a lot of eighteenth-century charm. Particularly since the Bay Bridge was built, the main industry is tourism. It’s the lifeblood of Doncaster, and they have to make the bulk of their money in the warmer months, which is why the power structure is so protective of the town’s reputation.”

  The man next to her didn’t comment.

  “Ben?”

  His eyes snapped open. “Sorry.”

  “I’m putting you to sleep.” Just the opposite of what she’d intended.

  “No. I was listening.”

  To make sure he wasn’t concussed, she asked him a question. “Are we on the Eastern Shore or the Western?” she asked.

  He hesitated for a minute. “Western.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s hard not to notice a bridge that’s over four miles long.”

  She laughed. And in fact, they came to the toll booth a few miles later and crossed the high span to Kent Island, then continued down Route 50 to Doncaster.

  As they approached, Sage felt her stomach muscles clench. When she’d been a young
girl, she’d loved living in such a cute little town. Later, she’d felt the undercurrents of tension below the surface. That was one of the reasons she’d left. Her mother was another. Angel Baker simply didn’t have Sage’s values. As soon as she’d been able to make it on her own, Sage had fled. At first she’d shared an apartment with a friend who’d moved to Baltimore to work for the Social Security Administration. Then she’d been able to afford her own small apartment in the less gentrified part of Catonsville.

  Leaving Laurel in Doncaster, she reminded herself. She hadn’t been back here since Laurel’s birthday six months ago. She’d intended to visit her sister, but she’d kept putting it off with one excuse after the other.

  Now it might be too late.

  She forced back a sob as her hands clenched the wheel. It wasn’t too late. Laurel was still alive. She had to be, and they’d find her before anything bad happened. She shuddered as her mind suddenly bombarded her with unwelcome scenarios. Rape and murder for starters.

  When she glanced at Ben, she saw him watching her. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  She hadn’t expected reassurances from him, and his words brought tears to her eyes.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder past the knot in her throat.

  They drove down Main Street past tee shirt and craft shops, restaurants and real estate offices. The sidewalks were crowded with men, women and kids in vacation attire, some carrying shopping bags.

  Ben turned his head toward a family of four, all licking giant ice cream cones. “I see what you mean about it being a tourist town.”

  “There are beaches all along the river. And it’s only a short drive to the bay. The ocean’s still forty minutes away,” she answered, glad to focus on something besides her own guilt.

  “Give me the lay of the land.”

  “Like how?”

  “Drive down the street again. Tell me who owns the businesses and if the owners are part of the power structure.”

  At the end of the commercial area, she turned into the Methodist Church’s parking lot and came back, driving more slowly this time.

  When they passed the hardware store, she said, “Craig Fellows has been in the hardware business here since before I was born, and he inherited the store from his dad. It’s an essential part of the community. And he’s one of the wheeler-dealers in town.”

  She pointed toward the bank. “The bank president, Martin Kendley, is also a power in town. He and William Hinton have traded places as mayor a few times. Hinton’s got it now.”

  “What does Hinton do?”

  “He’s a developer. And another one of his pals is George Myers. He owns Pine Fairways, a golf course and resort just down the road from downtown.”

  They passed a couple of real estate offices. “Phil Davis handles high-end properties.”

  “No women are part of the power structure?”

  “I guess Doris Jenkins, the owner of several clothing boutiques, would qualify.”

  “Any of the people you mentioned ever been involved in shady stuff?”

  “If they had been, the police chief covered it up.”

  “There’s only so much he can do if a crime is on record.” Ben waited a beat before asking, “Where were you planning to stay? Not with your mom, I assume.”

  “Lord no. We’re coming up to several motels.”

  “Pick one.”

  “We’re getting two rooms,” she blurted before she thought about how that sounded.

  “Of course,” he answered.

  The first few motels they passed were full. The third, a place called the Beach Breeze, was more than she wanted to spend, but she had the feeling they weren’t going to do any better.

  She and Ben both went into the office and got adjoining rooms facing the highway.

  They each stowed their luggage and took a few minutes to freshen up, then met back at the car.

  “I’d like to talk to my mother,” Sage said. “Well, that’s actually not the way I’d put it. But I want to watch her face when she tells me what happened to Laurel.”

  “You think she’d lie to you?”

  “Or not tell everything she knows. Unless she thinks it’s to her advantage.”

  “Okay. We can put her first on our agenda. Then the police. Then the Crab Shack.” He gingerly touched the top of his head. “I can drive.”

  She didn’t argue because she sensed he hated being a passenger in his own car.

  “Left or right?” he asked as he turned the car toward the highway.

  “Left. It’s not far.”

  They headed for the other side of town, to the modest bungalow where Sage had grown up. It was on a side street that ended abruptly in a swampy area.

  The house had once been painted white. Now it was fading to weather-worn gray. The boxwood hedge around the front yard hid a patch of dirt and straggly weeds. The property had been part of Angel Baker’s divorce settlement from Gary Baker.

  Ben made no comment as he followed her up the sagging steps to the front door. She still had a key in her purse, but she knocked and waited until her mom answered the door.

  She’d been hoping for the best. But when Angel Baker came to the door, Sage was embarrassed.

  Her mother, who was in her mid-fifties with graying hair dyed blond, had on too much lipstick that was three shades too dark for her pale complexion. Her dress was a tight-fitting green number. And her high heels would have broken Sage’s arches.

  Mom didn’t say hello when she saw her older daughter standing in the doorway. Instead she greeted her with, “I was just getting ready to go to work.”

  “We’ll only keep you a minute,” Sage said, wishing she’d asked Ben to wait in the car.

  “Good because I’ve only got a minute.”

  “I came down here looking for Laurel. Aren’t you worried about her?”

  “I’m worried about keeping my job, so I can pay the bills.”

  As a salesclerk at one of the shops in town, Sage assumed. She didn’t know which one because Angel had been fired from a number of positions. She claimed that migraine headaches sometimes laid her low. Sage understood that was code for hangover, but in the tourist season, the shopkeepers needed clerks who knew how to use a computerized cash register, and they were often willing to give Angel Baker the benefit of the doubt.

  “When was the last time you saw Laurel?” she asked, keeping her gaze on her mother’s face.

  “I already told you over the phone when I checked to see if she’d gone to your place. Two days ago, when she left for the Crab Shack. She never came home that night.”

  “Her bed wasn’t slept in?”

  “No.”

  “Were any of her clothes missing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you called the police?”

  “Not till the next afternoon.”

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  “I expected her to come home. And when I talked to Police Chief Judd, he said she probably ran away.”

  “You believe him?”

  “I don’t know what to think. That girl and I were rubbing each other the wrong way something fierce.”

  Sage could understand why. That was exactly her reaction every time she came home.

  Angel had switched her focus to Ben, looking him up and down with an appraising eye like she was considering trying to get him into her bed. “You going to introduce me to your friend?”

  He answered, “I’m Ben Walker from Decorah Security.”

  “Which is?”

  “A detective agency,” Sage answered. “I hired them to help me find Laurel.”

  “A detective agency with a fancy name,” Angel said. “Are they expensive?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Sage snapped.

  “And Laurel hasn’t been to work since two nights ago?” Ben asked.

  “As far as I know.”

  “Any thoughts about where she might have gone?”
<
br />   “She got friendly with some of those waitresses that live down at Mrs. Borden’s. She could have crashed with them.”

  “A motel?” Ben asked.

  “A boarding house where women live who are working here for the season,” Sage answered. “Some of them are from Baltimore. Others are from out of the country.

  “Yeah, they jabber in languages you can’t understand,” Angel added, making Sage cringe again. It was a long time since she’d interacted with Angel in the presence of anyone besides Laurel. It wasn’t pleasant imagining what Ben must think.

  “We’ll check there,” Ben said as he kept his gaze on Angel. “Can we have a look at Laurel’s room?”

  “I’m on my way out.”

  “I’ve got the key,” Sage answered.

  Angel eyed Ben. “I don’t like having strange men in the house,” Angel answered.

  Sage could think of a cutting retort about the strange men she’d tripped over in the morning. Before she could say anything, though, Ben answered, “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Angel grudgingly stepped aside, and Sage led Ben toward the back of the house, trying to see the interior from his point of view.

  Angel had a bohemian style and a knack for working with other people’s cast-offs. An old chair was artfully draped with scarves. The sagging sofa was disguised with a comforter. And Sage remembered when her mother had dragged home the throw rug she’d found outside someone’s house on trash day. Of course, it had taken a couple of treatments to get the cat pee smell out, but now it was a colorful addition to the room.

  Sage led Ben down the hall to Laurel’s room, which was quite different from the little girl’s room at Gary Baker’s.

  “We used to share this room,” Sage said. “But when I moved out, she took it over.”

  There were still two beds, covered with light blue spreads. One looked like someone had climbed out of it and pulled up the covers in a hasty attempt to smooth them out. The other was piled with stuffed animals that Laurel had collected over the years. Bears, cats, a moose and even a couple of wolves.

  A dresser held a jumble of cosmetics and stands with earrings and bracelets. The walls were decorated with posters of hot male rock singers. And when Sage opened the closet, she found blouses, blazers, jeans and a few skirts on hangers, and more clothing lying in a pile on the floor.