Blood Stains

by Sharon Sala

  Bodie put a couple of chips in his mouth as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “We’re gonna take Highway 69 South and drive straight to the lake. It’s a big one, and I’m not familiar with the location of Vincent’s bait shop, but I’ve got a GPS. We’ll find it.”

  “I have no doubt,” Maria said, and crunched into a taco-flavored chip, then slowly licked the dusting of orange from her fingers.

  When her tongue came out of her mouth and licked all the way up the first finger, Bodie started to sweat. He grabbed his Pepsi and took a big swig, then winced when it burned all the way down.

  “Now. Where were we?” he asked.

  “Discussing the finer points of your pickup lines,” she said, and popped another chip into her mouth.

  Eight

  T hey’d reached Lake Eufaula more than twenty minutes ago and were still driving around in search of Tank Vincent’s Bait and Beer.

  “This lake is huge,” Maria said, pointing first to one lush, green vista and then another. Montana had its own kind of beauty, but it didn’t look like this. There were trees everywhere—and water. So much water.

  “That it is,” Bodie said. “I’ll give you the tour-guide stats to go with the trip. It has 600 miles of shoreline, more than 102,000 surface acres, and it’s the largest lake in the state. It’s also the fifteenth largest lake in the United States.”

  “Wow,” Maria said, then scooted to the edge of her seat, pointing to a large gray bird just taking flight from the shore. “Look at that thing! It’s huge.”

  “Looks like some kind of crane,” Bodie said.

  “Oh! Oh, my gosh…see that log. There are three turtles sunning on the end nearest the water. Can you see them?”

  Bodie grinned. Before he could answer, her focus had shifted again.

  “Wait! Did you see that fish jump? Was that even a fish? It was awfully big.”

  Bodie grinned. “Looked like a fish to me.”

  “Dad would have so loved this place. He really liked to hunt and fish.”

  At the mention of her father, Maria’s mood seemed to shift, as if she’d just remembered the reason they were here was to try and solve a murder. Bodie felt her emotional withdrawal as she leaned back in the seat and folded her hands in her lap.

  There was nothing he could do to make things better except find the person who killed her mother. He was interested in what this man, Tank Vincent, had to say. As they approached a curve in the two-lane blacktop, he tapped the brakes.

  “This place is beautiful,” Maria said.

  Bodie looked at her profile. “Yeah…very.”

  Something in his voice made her turn, but by the time she did, he was focused on driving.

  “At the risk of sounding like a brat, are we there yet?”

  He grinned. “According to the GPS, it should be just up ahead. I’m betting we’ll find a small inlet, presumably with a boat dock and bait shop.”

  Her interest in natural beauty took a nosedive when she realized their trip was coming to an end. Her stomach started to roll, and her hands became sweaty.

  “Really? Oh, Lord,” she whispered.

  Bodie heard the fear in her voice.

  “It’s gonna be fine. As far as we know, you have no reason to fear this man. I keep wondering if the P.D. even knew she had a pimp. There was no mention of one in the file, which was strange.” He didn’t mention Frank McCall’s name. No need for her to know yet, if at all, that a dirty cop had been the lead detective on her mother’s case.

  Maria’s face was pale. “I’m still scared.”

  Bodie touched her shoulder lightly. “I’m here. You’ll be fine.”

  Her posture shifted, her head came up and her jaw clenched as if she was preparing for battle.

  “Yes. You’re right. I can’t believe I’m reacting like this. I need to get a grip.”

  Bodie chuckled. “Ease up, lady. I’m thinking you’re something of a control freak.”

  Maria shifted nervously. “That’s what my sisters claim. Is it that obvious?”

  “Psychology 101. When a child loses control of their world, as they grow up, it often manifests into a refusal to let anyone share a part of their adult lives, because that might mean having to relinquish total control. I think what happened to you would traumatize anybody, let alone a child.”

  She took a deep breath. She’d never thought of her behavior as having anything to do with her childhood. Of course, she hadn’t known the truth of that childhood, either, until just last week. But it helped put some things in perspective. She’d watched her mother being murdered and then been thrust into a completely foreign environment with strangers, albeit loving ones, who finished raising her. Looking back, she had to wonder how she’d gotten through it without losing her mind. The only thing that made sense was the resilience of children to adapt to their environment—not because it was ideal, but because it was all they had.

  “There it is,” Bodie said, pointing.

  Maria leaned forward to see a small log cabin up in the trees and a smaller building closer to the lake-shore. Obviously the bait shop. There was a boat dock, as well as a shabby-looking pier, ostensibly from which to fish.

  “Not a very noticeable place for a business,” she muttered.

  “Sometimes people are where they are because they don’t want to be found.”

  “Ah,” Maria said, and then braced herself as they parked in front of the Bait and Beer.

  Twenty years ago, Tank Vincent had been in the business of making men happy. He’d found women willing to participate, treated them fairly and pocketed the profits, thereby making himself happy, too. Every so often one of his girls would run into a little trouble with the police, but all he had to do was bail them out of jail and set up shop in a new location. Tulsa was a big city. Prostitution was reputed to be the oldest occupation in the world. He didn’t know about that, but he knew that as long as there were men, it was never going to go out of style.

  He had a tough reputation on the streets and a body to match: a body-builder physique and a pretty face that belied his cold demeanor. If a man messed with one of Tank’s women, then he messed with the man and made him sorry in ways that defied explanation. Clients knew it going in. The men who wanted kinkier sex or were into bondage knew better than to use Tank’s women. He took being a pimp seriously. The women took care of him. It was good business to return the favor.

  Over the years, he’d had women quit the business, which was fine with him. There was always someone new ready to step in. The money was good. The work was easy. A blow job. A quickie. And sometimes an all-nighter, which was worth plenty to Tank and the girl he sent out. But he’d never had a woman die on him…before Sally.

  Only Sally didn’t just die. She was murdered. Someone had snuck into his world, taken out his best girl and gotten clean away.

  It had destroyed him. Word got out on the street that Tank couldn’t protect his women and lowered his street cred—but even worse, he lost faith in himself. He’d failed in the worst way.

  He’d buried Sally Blake, taken the money he’d been socking away, packed up his belongings and driven as far as the gas in his car would take him, which happened to be Lake Eufaula. Down there he was just plain Sam Vincent, looking for a place to live. Within a week he’d bought the acre of land on which his home and business now sat.

  Sally’s murder had changed him.

  Over time, he’d built the cabin, then the business, trying to find purpose in his life that would not be at anyone else’s expense. Now he got up every morning knowing that no matter what he did in the course of his day, it was not going to involve another living being.

  Today was no exception.

  Today he’d sold twenty dollars’ worth of bait to a local, some cold pop and snacks to some teenagers and a six-pack of beer to a guy who smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a month. It was nearing eleven o’clock, and for him, that was a busy day. He was thinking about closing up and taking the b
oat out onto the lake to do a little fishing when he saw another car pulling up in front of the shop.

  He frowned. He didn’t like his plans being changed. When he saw the driver emerge, his frown deepened. He knew a cop when he saw one, and from the way this guy was dressed, he hadn’t come to fish. Tank was verging on the notion of locking the door and turned the Open sign to Closed when he realized the cop wasn’t alone. A tall, dark-haired woman got out on the passenger side. Probably another damn cop. They usually traveled in pairs.

  Then he saw her face.

  He gasped, certain he was just imagining what he saw. Then she circled the car and started walking toward the shop. The closer she got, the more certain he was that he was seeing a ghost. At that point, he nearly came undone. Either he was losing his mind, or the ghost of Sally Blake had finally come for justice.

  Subconsciously, he’d been expecting this day for the past twenty years. Every soul deserved justice. She’d obviously come seeking hers. He put a hand to his chest, somewhat surprised to realize that his heart was still beating.

  Then he heard footsteps on the porch. He stepped out from behind the counter, not certain how this was going to go. All his life, he’d expected to feel scared. He’d never wanted to die, but now that death had come for him, it seemed right. He’d lived how he’d wanted to, even when it had been at someone else’s expense. He didn’t have the guts to ask for an extension.

  The bell jingled over the door.

  The cop entered first, then held the door. All of a sudden, Sally was silhouetted in the doorway.

  His vision blurred. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and prayed it wouldn’t hurt.

  “Tank Vincent?”

  The cop’s voice was almost as shocking as the name he spoke.

  Tank had buried that name with Sally. Down here, he was Sam, and for some reason, Sam Vincent was still breathing.

  “I’m Sam Vincent,” he muttered, as he opened his eyes. Sally was no longer in the doorway. Had he imagined her? Maybe this wasn’t the day he was meant to die after all.

  “Where is she?”

  Bodie frowned. Was this guy drunk? The moment they’d walked into the shop, he’d shut his eyes. Now his question seemed to indicate he’d been expecting them, which made no sense.

  “Where’s who?” Bodie asked.

  “Sally. Where’s Sally? I saw her. I saw her plain as day.”

  Maria stepped out from the shadows.

  “I’m not Sally. I’m her daughter,” she said.

  Vincent flinched, then inhaled sharply. “Sweet Jesus… Mary…Mary…my sweet little sugar baby.”

  He opened his arms, and before Maria could move, he enfolded her.

  Bodie was stunned. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.

  Vincent was sobbing, alternating between cupping Maria’s face with his massive hands, patting her shoulders and touching her hair, as if unable to believe she was there.

  “You look just like her…just like her. You sound like her. You even walk like her. Oh, my God…you were a baby…just a baby, the last time I saw you. You liked Uncle Tank. Do you remember? Do you remember me?”

  Maria shook her head and took a step backward.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she muttered. This was beyond overwhelming. She had braced herself for the fear. She had not expected love.

  Sam’s expression fell, but it didn’t last long.

  “That’s understandable. You were such a little thing. Oh, man, how did you find me? Why didn’t you come before?”

  “I didn’t know. I don’t remember,” Maria kept saying, but it wasn’t getting through.

  Bodie slid an arm across her shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze of assurance, then focused on Tank.

  “Can we talk?”

  Vincent was still trying to wrap his head around what was happening.

  “Yeah, sure, I was about to lock up anyway. Follow me. My house is right behind the shop.”

  Then his gaze fell on Maria, and he started to cry all over again. “My little Mary…all grown up.”

  Ed Underwood had lost track of the cop and the woman a couple of times, and was cursing the meandering paths and trails encircling the lake. It was pure accident when he saw the car parked up in the trees beside a bait shop near the shore.

  “What the hell? There’s no way they came all the way out here just to buy bait,” he muttered.

  He pulled off the road and into some trees, then grabbed his camera, popped on the telephoto lens, and got out of the car and into position.

  The moment the trio came out of the shop, he began snapping pictures, taking note of the way Scott stayed near the woman in a protective fashion. It appeared they’d come for a visit of some kind, because the older man with them kept smiling and touching the woman’s arm, then shoulder, as they walked.

  He got in a couple of close-up shots of the shop owner before they all moved toward a cabin a short distance away. He thought about trying to get closer, then decided to give Sheets a call first.

  Franklin Sheets was on his way out of the courthouse. His client had been a no-show, and a warrant had been issued for his arrest. Franklin didn’t care. He’d been paid up front. He had a lunch appointment with a man he was thinking of hiring as his campaign manager when he ran for district attorney. It was the next step in his desire to be governor. For as long as Franklin could remember, he’d aspired to be “someone.” Even as a child, he’d embellished his family status and his father’s job to his friends just to verify his own worth. Instead of outgrowing the urge, it had manifested into a hunt for power that bordered on maniacal. He knew it. He thrived on it. And nothing and no one was going to stand in his way.

  The Oklahoma heat slapped him in the face as he exited the building and headed for the parking lot. When the sweat started pouring out of his hairline and down the back of his collar, he increased his pace, anxious to get to his Mercedes and turn on the A/C. Sweat was for blue-collar workers.

  He slid behind the wheel, cursing slightly at how hot the leather was against the backs of his legs, and quickly started the car, then jacked up the air. His cell phone rang as he was reaching for the seat belt. When he saw who it was, he stopped and gave the call his full attention.

  “Yeah. What do you have for me?” he asked abruptly.

  Ed snorted beneath his breath. Hello to you, too. “I’ve got a couple of quick questions.”

  Franklin ignored Ed’s words for a question of his own. “So…did you find her?”

  “Yes. I’ve been tailing them for most of the morning.”

  Franklin frowned. “Them?”

  “She’s with a cop. His name is Bodie Scott. I knew him from back in the day when I was still on the force.”

  Franklin’s heart skipped a beat, but he shrugged it off. It meant nothing. She’d met with the cop before. Maybe they were dating. Cops had personal lives.

  “Yeah…so, where did she go? Why is she with him? Where does she live?”

  Ed sighed. “I just started this morning, okay? They’re at Lake Eufaula. I don’t know why she’s in Tulsa, but she listed Missoula, Montana, as her home at the hotel.”

  The knot in Franklin’s belly began to ease. Montana. So she wasn’t a local. Talk about a coincidence that he happened to see her.

  “So they’re fishing. What else?” he asked.

  “They’re not exactly fishing,” Ed said. “Hang on a minute. I need to move locations.”

  Franklin cursed beneath his breath as Ed disappeared. He decided to do some maneuvering of his own as he switched the call to Bluetooth and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn’t want to be late for his lunch appointment, and this way he could talk while he drove.

  Ed shifted the phone from one ear to the other and moved to another tree to make sure he was still secluded as the trio walked into the cabin. As soon as he heard the door slam, he moved a little closer, making sure to stay out of sight. “Okay, I’m back,” he said.


  “So they’re not exactly fishing. What does that mean?” Franklin asked.

  “It means…they drove all over the fucking place before finally stopping at some off-the-beaten-path bait shop. Turns out they were looking for the owner, not a fishing spot. When they arrived, he locked up and they all went up to his cabin.”

  “Really? Who is he?” Franklin asked.

  “I’m not psychic. I don’t know yet,” Ed said. “I’ve got pictures. You’ll get copies with my report.”

  “Which I want on my desk with the rest of the answers to my questions ASAP,” Franklin said.

  “You’ll have them,” Ed said, then winced at the click in his ear.

  Sheets was an asshole.

  Ed glanced toward the cabin. There was no way he was going to hear what was being said inside. Not for the first time, he wished he’d invested in that parabolic microphone he’d seen online. Ran on two nine-volt batteries with a 400-yard listening range. If he was in the mood to drop fifteen hundred bucks on a spy toy, it could be his. Unfortunately, if he did that, his third ex-wife’s alimony check would bounce, which would not be cool. She was a piranha and sadly lacking in compassion.

  He thought about trying to get closer when he realized the man they’d come to visit had a dog. A huge dog! The battle-scarred mutt suddenly rounded the cabin with his ears up and his nose in the air.

  Shit. I’m upwind.

  The dog barked four times in rapid succession. Ed read that as a “get the hell out” warning, did an abrupt about-face and headed for his car as fast as he could go, imagining that the dog was right on his heels.

  He didn’t look back until he was behind the wheel. The damn dog hadn’t even gotten off the porch. Ed cursed. So the animal was all bark and no bite. Whatever. He started the car and backtracked to a public landing, parked amidst an assortment of trucks and SUVs, and settled down to wait. To be able to follow them back, he needed the cover of traffic or he would be spotted. The only thing that might foul up his plan was if Bodie Scott knew another way out of that godforsaken place besides the way he’d gone in.