Spencer waited until the cashier had finished with the last couple of customers in line before approaching.
“Hi,” he flashed a disarming set of dimples. “I was hoping to speak with Rossalyn Channing.”
“Lucky her,” Ashley grinned, blushing just a little bit. “Hang on, I’ll go get her.”
He was a bit surprised that she hadn’t even asked the nature of his visit, but he supposed that such things might not matter much in small towns. Plus, he’d deployed the dimples—they’d helped get him in many doors guarded by unsuspecting females. Fortunately, he only used his powers for good, not evil.
“Hello, I’m Rossalyn,” an attractive brunette extended her hand.
“Spencer Bengal,” he smiled at her genuine warmth and shook her hand. “Is there somewhere that we can talk?”
She looked at him for a second, assessing him, then nodded. “Sure, come with me.”
He followed her down the hall, noting that the décor of the place, a motorcycle theme with a rustic edge to it, was a great match for the menu items that he was dying to try.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Bengal?” Rossie asked as she settled in behind her worn desk.
“I’ve been asked by the Brigmans to look into the disappearance of their son, Wentworth, and I’m hoping that you might be able to answer a few questions for me,” he handed her his card.
“Oh, sure. No problem,” Rossalyn looked at the card, then tucked it into a drawer. “What would you like to know?”
“Would it be possible to speak with your son later, as well?”
“Yes, that’d be okay. Poor kid has been through a lot the past few days.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Spencer sympathized.
There was a soft rapping on the door to the office and both of them turned to see Tom Hundman walk in. When the biker saw Spencer, recognition flashed in both their eyes, but both covered their surprise quickly enough that Rossalyn didn’t see it.
“Oh, sorry… I didn’t realize that you weren’t alone,” Tom backed out the door and shut it.
“That’s okay,” Rossie called after him, but he was gone.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Spencer practically jumped out of the chair and hurried after his former brother-at-arms, leaving Rossalyn sitting alone, eyebrows raised.
“Hundman,” he called out, bursting out of the front door of Hawg Heaven, just in time to see Tom mounting his bike. The biker turned slowly and regarded a man he hadn’t seen in a very long time. A man who, like Will Channing, was rumored to have been dead.
“It’s been a long time, Bengal,” he said quietly, straddling his bike, a wary look on his face. “Seems like there’s a bunch of us showing up around here lately.”
Spencer held out his hand and Tom clasped it hard, briefly.
“Yeah, like who?”
“You remember Darryl Janssen?”
Spencer’s eyes widened when he heard the name. The two had been close, and at their last parting, he feared he might never see the man who’d had his back on multiple occasions again.
“Yeah, I remember,” he replied, hoping that he wasn’t about to hear bad news.
“He was Will Channing before Command got to him. You were just talking to his wife. He’s got a thirteen-year-old kid too.”
“I never put the name together,” Spencer murmured. “He’s here? He came back to his family?”
“He’s here, but it wasn’t exactly the happy reunion he thought it would be.”
“Is he okay?”
“As okay as you or me, I suppose, you know how it is. He’s pretty messed up about his family right now though,” Tom shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“Private investigator. Here looking for a kid that disappeared. Gotta talk to Janssen’s kid because he was the last one to see the kid alive.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
“Hard to say. Usually finding blood isn’t a good thing. Wish we had access to the police files so I could see the location and pattern of the spatter,” Spencer sighed.
“Well, I can tell you from experience, don’t go to the sheriff. Buckley Willis is an obstructionist jerk from the word go. There’s a local cop with half a brain in his head though, you might get somewhere with him, particularly if he thinks you’ll help him make Willis look like the fool that he is. Name’s Morgan Tyler.”
“Good to know. What’s Janssen’s wife’s story? Rossalyn?”
“Good woman in a tough situation,” Tom dropped his eyes.
“Are you two…?” Spencer let the question hang in the air between them.
“No, and I don’t wanna hear nothing like that outta you again, got it?” Tom growled.
Spencer held up his hands. “It’s my job to ask questions, man. I’m not here to judge.”
“Well there ain’t nothing to judge, so quit with those types of questions. I gotta go,” he said shortly, and kicked his engine into life, drowning out any possibility of further conversation. He gunned it and sped out of the parking lot as Spencer raised a hand in farewell and watched him go.
“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Spencer murmured, and turned back toward the café.
CHAPTER TEN
*
“So, you and Jasper were supposed to look after Wentworth in his parents’ absence,” Chas clarified, sitting on the terrace with Anna, the housekeeper.
“Yes. I feel so bad about what happened,” her eyes teared up and she shook her head.
“I understand. Can you tell me what Wentworth’s typical days were like?”
“He’s really a nice boy, and looking after him is so easy because pretty much all he wants to do is read or play computer games. I guess I just took his obedience for granted and left him alone for too long,” she wrung her hands.
“What was he doing the last time you saw him?”
“Looking out the window.”
“Just looking out the window?”
“Yes. He looked bored, and I asked him if he wanted anything special for his dinner.”
“And how did he respond?”
“He just sort of shrugged and said he didn’t care.”
“Do you think he was depressed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, he had every reason to be.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I mean, he had everything a boy his age could want, I suppose, but he didn’t have much personal freedom. He had to stay either in the house or on the grounds at all times.”
“How would you characterize his relationship with his parents?”
The housekeeper was silent, thinking, and was hesitant when she spoke. “They’re gone a great deal, and when they’re home they have all sorts of social functions and obligations… so he doesn’t really see them much. He’s away at school all year most of the time; he’s only home now because the school is closed for renovations.”
“Do they tend to get along when they are together?”
“Wentworth is very respectful. I don’t know if this matters at all, but I think that there may be a bit of friction right now, because Wentworth recently did a search on himself and found out that he was adopted. Things were fine until he talked to the Brigmans about finding his birth mom. Ms. Chanelle was quite upset about that. I think she restricted his internet access.”
“Wentworth was adopted?”
“As a baby, yes.”
“Do you know anything about the birth mother?” Chas made quick notes.
“No sir. I know that he wasn’t adopted in Illinois. The Brigmans moved here after they got him.”
“And when was that?”
“It would have been about thirteen years ago, because he was still a baby, not even crawling. They had the house built just before they moved here, so this is the only home Wentworth has ever known.”
“And have you been their housekeeper the entire time?”
“Yes sir. I belonged to a household staffing service in Atlanta, and the Brigmans hired me
so that I would be here the day they moved in.”
“So you supervise the housekeeping staff here and have been a nanny of sorts for Wentworth?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you live here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think it’s possible that Wentworth might have harmed himself?”
Anna shook her head, tears brimming. “I certainly hope not. He’s bright and good-hearted and kind.”
“Do you know of anyone who might want to harm Wentworth or the Brigmans?”
“No, not that I know of.”
Chas handed her his card. “If you think of anything that might be useful in the investigation, please let me know. I’m doing everything I can to bring Wentworth home safely.”
“Do you think he’ll be all right, Mr. Beckett?” Anna brushed away a tear.
“I certainly hope so.”
***
“I think the kid was too high maintenance for them, actually,” Jasper, the Brigmans’ household manager, shrugged.
“High maintenance?” Chas repeated.
“Yeah. He wanted more interaction than they had time for. He was always asking to go with them, when he knew that he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go to boarding school—that was a big argument with his mother,” he recalled.
“Why couldn’t he go to school locally?”
“Mrs. Brigman wouldn’t have anything but the best for her son.”
“Even if it made him unhappy?”
“She told him that happiness was a choice and that he needed to make the most of the opportunities that were offered to him.”
“How did he react?”
“Sulking in his room, mostly.”
Jasper was painting a far different picture of Wentworth than Anna had.
“How much time did you spend with Wentworth?”
“As little as possible. I’m not really what you would call a ‘kid person’.” He adjusted his silk tie. His appearance was flawless to the point of fussy.
“I see. Why do you think that the Brigmans would want you to assist in Wentworth’s care then?”
“Because they know that I run a tight ship and that I always get the job done.”
“Except for this time,” Chas remarked, waiting for a reaction.
“That was not my fault. I wasn’t even on the grounds when the kid disappeared; I had gone into town to have one of the cars detailed, so that it would be clean when the Brigmans came back.”
“Isn’t car detailing usually done by the driver on the premises? The garages certainly seemed large enough when I drove by.”
Chas, having grown up in an ultra-wealthy environment, knew full well how the homes of the rich and shameless operated.
“Yes, but Ricardo wasn’t at work that day. He called in sick. Mrs. Brigman doesn’t allow germs into the house.”
“But the Brigmans weren’t scheduled to return from their trip until next week, why did the car have to be detailed immediately?”
“Mr. Brigman had spilled coffee in it before he left, if you must know. I didn’t want the stain to set.”
“Why didn’t Ricardo take care of the spill when it happened, instead of leaving it?”
“Is this investigation about finding Wentworth or about detailing the car?” Jasper snipped.
“I just find the timing coincidental,” Chas mused.
“Well, I may not be a kid person, but I can tell you, I would never be so stupid as to bite the hand that feeds me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
*
Chas Beckett strode briskly down the stately drive in front of the Brigman mansion, trying to sort out the very different accounts of life with Wentworth, when he noticed a wizened old man holding a rake and muttering to himself near a rose bush.
“Hello,” he raised a hand in greeting, approaching slowly, so as not to startle the man.
“Mornin’, sir. How can I help you?” The man’s muttering ceased, and while his manner was deferential, he still seemed upset about something.
“Rough day?”
“Rough week, sir,” the man sighed, leaning on his rake.
The garden that he was working on was flawless, not a weed dared show its face.
“Your work is beautiful,” Chas commented.
“Thank you, sir, but I’m two men short and having to keep up with all of this myself. Ain’t easy. Sun’s bent on breaking me down,” he wiped a hand across his brow.
“It is warm,” Chas agreed. “You have people quit on you?”
“Yes sir. One left a month ago to go take care of his sick mama, the other left just last week, without a word to nobody,” the old man’s lip curled in disgust.
“Do you get your help through an agency around here?” he asked casually. “I might be in the market for some garden pros myself.”
“No sir, the missus of the house, she won’t hold with hiring no local boys,” he shook his head. “That snooty butler Jasper does the hiring. I’d probably do better if I could hire ’em myself, but apparently I ain’t qualified for such things,” the gardener snorted in disgust.
“Doesn’t exactly seem fair,” Chas commented. “I think I might have known the two men who quit. I heard Jasper saying something about them—what were their names?”
“Bent Riley and Zach Boudreaux. They was good workers. I can’t blame ’em for leaving though.”
“Really, why is that?”
“The missus didn’t allow for lunch breaks, and we can’t go near the main house. There’s a garden shack near the border wall that has a little bathroom and fridge in it for us, so we don’t pass out from the heat. That kind of treatment makes a man not feel like a man, you know?”
“I can only imagine.”
“Nice talking to you, sir. I gotta get back on this before she looks out the window and sets the dogs on me for going too slow.”
“There are dogs?” Chas quirked an eyebrow.
“Just an expression, sir,” the old man chuckled. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” Chas replied automatically, lost in thought.
***
“So, you want me to go over the wall, find the shed and see if there are any items of interest… in the dark?” Spencer asked.
“I don’t want to tip anyone off,” Chas shrugged.
“Can we ask the Brigmans to give the gardener the day off so that he doesn’t know?”
“He lives on the premises. All the help does, it’s a requirement. If you go in there in the daytime, the gardener will know about it,” Chas explained.
“You think he had anything to do with this?”
“Honestly, no, but we can’t take the risk at this point. If he helped someone take the kid, we don’t want him alerting them that we’re on their trail.”
“Gotcha. Okay, do you have the security plan for the property?”
“Yep, Brigman’s head of security gave me everything we’ll need. You should be able to get in without being seen, and without any alarms going off, once you review the plans.”
“Good. I haven’t had a stealth op in a while,” Spencer grinned.
“In the meantime, I’ll be checking into Bent Riley and Zach Boudreaux. It seems a bit coincidental that two men quit within weeks of the abduction.”
“Is that what you think this is? An abduction?” Spencer’s face was grim, remembering that blood had been found, and as of this afternoon, had been matched to the missing boy.
“That’s the assumption that I’m going to pursue, yes,” Chas said carefully, not wanting to think about the alternative.
If there was a body to be found, he was determined to find it, but there was still a good chance that a living, breathing young man needed his help, and he was working toward that end.
***
Dressed in black, former government operative Spencer Bengal slipped onto the Brigman property with such ease that it hardly seemed fair. No one outside of Chas, not even the Brigmans, knew of his mission, and they nee
ded to keep it that way. The police probably hadn’t paid much attention to the garden shed on the estate because physical evidence had been found at another location, but Spencer and Chas always made sure that every possible lead was followed, particularly when a life might hang in the balance.
Spraying the interior of the little shed with Luminol, and putting up trash bags over the little window to block anyone from seeing in, even in the dark, Spencer shone a special light around the room and found what he feared he might find. Blood. Droplets on the floor, small, but definitely there, and a trail leading to the sink of the kitchenette, almost as if a perpetrator had come in to wash up. A thorough search of the rest of the shack turned up nothing, so Spencer took samples of the blood, secured them in a cargo pocket on his pants, and retraced his steps to the spot in the yard where he wouldn’t be seen scaling the perimeter wall.
CHAPTER TWELVE
*
“Were you planning on avoiding me forever?” Will asked softly, when Rossalyn approached her car in the parking lot of Hawg Heaven after closing.
“I could ask you the same thing,” her chin jutted forward in that way he’d always found adorable, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection the way she always had when she was worried or afraid. Some things never changed.
“I’m so sorry, Rossie. You gotta know that.”
He was deliberately leaning against the driver’s side door of her car so that she couldn’t leave without talking to him first.
“Yeah, me too,” she whispered and her lower lip quivered.
“There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you and Rye. I couldn’t stand it, I missed you so much,” Will ran a hand through his hair, no longer accustomed to talking about his feelings. He’d had everything bottled up inside for so long and had forgotten about this type of vulnerability.
“Why didn’t you call? When you had to know that we were dying inside… why didn’t you just call, Will? You could have relieved our suffering,” a tear ran down Rossie’s cheek, shattering his heart. She didn’t bother to brush it away.
“Baby, I couldn’t… there were some really bad people after me, and if they had known that I had a family…” he let the sentence trail off, unable to stomach finishing it.
Entitled to Murder (Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries Book 6) Page 4