Shaw's Landing (Haunted Hearts Series Book 4)

Home > Other > Shaw's Landing (Haunted Hearts Series Book 4) > Page 9
Shaw's Landing (Haunted Hearts Series Book 4) Page 9

by Denise Moncrief


  “I’m here because—”

  Cherish slid the action on the gun.

  “I think he’s dead.”

  “Dead? Are you sure?” Hope flickered in the woman’s eyes. The tension in her shoulders seemed to relax.

  “I was kind of hoping you could tell me.” She moved a step closer.

  Cherish bit her bottom lip and then shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything about him being dead. I came out here because James hasn’t been home in days. Last thing he said, he told me he was heading out here to get his money from Cooley, and I haven’t seen him since. I thought if I saw his truck…”

  “You mean James Standridge?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Who else would I mean?”

  Courtney raised her hands. “Sorry. I’m not aware of all of Cooley’s business. Just some of it.”

  “He was good about keeping things separate, wasn’t he?”

  The question seemed like a test of some sort. Courtney nodded and lowered her arms. “Yeah, he was.”

  Cherish hooked her thumb back toward the open door. “When I got here, the place was deserted. It feels like it’s been deserted for days.” She grabbed the gun with both hands again and waved the barrel end at Courtney. “What are you doing here?”

  It seemed a bit risky to tell the whole truth.

  “Jared is dead. I don’t have anywhere else I can go.”

  Cherish didn’t act like she recognized his name.

  She tried again. “Lucy is dead too.”

  Still no reaction.

  “There’s been a lot of people die, and that isn’t healthy for me. I know too much, so I’m getting out of town. I thought I might find some cash here.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily. Had she become that practiced at the art of deception?

  She’d told Haskins she wanted to hang around, yet she still was strongly considering leaving town. It seemed her inclination to stay or to go wavered from one moment to the next. Staying meant fighting Haskins. Leaving meant starting over with only a couple of hundred dollars if Josh gave her the money like he had promised he would. Maybe searching Cooley’s place for a bit of cash was a good idea, and her explanation of her presence was not so much of a lie.

  Cherish lowered the weapon to her side. “Someone has been here ahead of us.” She stepped back as if inviting Courtney into the house.

  Unsure how dangerous Cherish Duncan was, considering she’d been missing for years and didn’t seem to be trying to escape anyone, Courtney pushed down her trepidation and passed through the still open doorway. It was never a good idea to argue with an Arkansan carrying a double-barrel shotgun, especially a woman.

  Once they were both inside with the door closed, Courtney settled onto the arm of the sofa and glanced around Cooley’s house. “I would have thought he’d have a nicer place than this.” Maybe some small talk would ease the tension.

  Cherish lowered her petite frame into a chair across from Courtney, but kept the shotgun close by. “You’d think so, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t get to keep everything he collected.”

  Courtney nodded. “He wasn’t rich like… He only got to keep his cut.” She’d almost said Haskins’s name.

  Cherish blinked.

  Courtney got it. They were assessing each other, deciding how much the other knew, neither willing to divulge too much information.

  “Everyone thinks you’re dead.” Courtney cringed. She couldn’t believe she’d blurted that out without thinking about it.

  Liquid glistened in the corners of Cherish’s eyes. “Does my brother think I’m dead?”

  Courtney’s heart broke for Cherish, an unexpected reaction. She’d been missing for years and presumed dead for most of that time. It must have been awful for Cherish wondering if her brother grieved for her.

  Sometimes Courtney wished she’d had a brother.

  The thought came to a full, hard stop. She did have a brother, one she had never known she had. At that moment, she wondered how Gray felt knowing she was his sister. What would he think if she disappeared? It would be nice if he had enough feeling toward her to mourn her disappearance the way Brett Duncan had mourned the loss of Cherish.

  “I’m pretty sure he does.” She pressed her lips together, wondering how much she should tell Cherish about her brother. “Ever since you disappeared, Brett hasn’t acted the same. He gets into a lot of trouble. Bar fights mostly. I think he blames Halsey for not investigating your disappearance harder.”

  Cherish turned her head away and wiped her eyes. “Halsey won’t do anything.”

  “Why not? That’s his job. Or it’s his job to make sure his deputies do their job.”

  “Are you serious? Halsey… He just won’t. He has too much to lose if he does.”

  Okay, there was a story there, but she could easily see that Cherish wasn’t going to tell it.

  “Where have you been all this time?”

  “I’ve been in Fairview.”

  That didn’t make sense. Nobody had seen Cherish for years. “Really? Why has no one ever seen you around town?”

  She shrugged as if the details of her life the past four years weren’t important. “James never let me go anywhere, especially not during the day.”

  “So James kept you prisoner?”

  Cherish rubbed her eyes. “No, not exactly. He took care of me, and I think he loved me the best he could. I couldn’t leave him.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I guess we’re a lot alike, huh? We both know too much to leave.”

  So Cherish had figured that out. Courtney stood. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Leave…or start over.”

  The shotgun remained in place. Cherish wasn’t going to keep her from going. Courtney relaxed, but only just a little.

  “You’ll never get away, you know. They’ll look for you until they find you.”

  No way was she going to tell Cherish about Jared’s insurance. “I have to try.”

  Cherish nodded toward the back of the house. “Go ahead. Look if you want. But I couldn’t find anything. If he has a stash, he’s hid it somewhere else.”

  “Look, Cherish…” She didn’t owe the woman anything, but she felt she had to warn her. “The cops are probably going to show up here any minute and start searching the place.”

  “Okay, then, I’m outta here.” Cherish lifted the gun from where she had leaned it next to the chair and headed toward the door. “You shouldn’t stay here.” Cherish hesitated. “Look, if you need a place to stay. There’s always the house on Chelsea Lane.”

  Did she mean Sally Grayson’s house? “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s where James keeps…used to keep Cooley’s workers. Since he didn’t come back, they’ve all run away.” She smiled, a rueful expression. “There’s plenty of room there now without James.” It was obvious that Cherish suspected James was dead. And she was probably right.

  The other woman’s hand was on the doorknob.

  “Cherish?”

  She turned.

  “You should tell Brett you’re alive. Maybe he could settle down if he knew.”

  She nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  When Courtney finally had the house to herself, she began a systematic search of the living area first, then the kitchen, and finally the two small bedrooms. Nothing. The bathroom didn’t hide anything either. She propped her hands on her hips. Wasn’t that just like the old bastard? His last act of spite would be to die with the key to the truth locked inside his head.

  ****

  Jordan’s eyes opened slowly, one lid at a time. Without moving, he surveyed his surroundings. A bit of light peeked through loosely joined wooden slats that made up the walls of the building. It was day, then. He guessed he was in a shed of some sort. When he pushed up to sitting position, he felt the various pains of being knocked out in every one of his aching muscles and stiff joints.

  His mind pulled up the image of the woman that had led him through the tunnels beneat
h Laurel Heights. She’d called herself Chelsea. He was positive that wasn’t her real name. They’d finally traveled the entire length of a very long tunnel and climbed up a narrow flight of rickety metal stairs to a door. Chelsea, or whatever her name really was, felt along the top edge of the doorframe and found a key. The door opened without difficulty.

  He’d only gotten three words out, “Where are we?” Then, everything had gone dark.

  One second he’d been talking to her, and the next someone had clobbered him hard enough to knock him off his feet. He wondered what being knocked out twice in…had it been one day or two…would affect him. He probably had a concussion.

  Jordan shook his head to clear his mind. His thoughts seemed to race in a million different directions. Darts and flashes of light flitted across his vision. Like fireworks and a comet zooming around inside his eyeball. His mother had suffered a detached retina once. What he saw appeared similar to what she’d described. If something had happened to his eye, he’d need surgery soon.

  He patted his pants pocket. His cell phone was, of course, missing. He pressed his lips together to keep from letting loose a string of curses. Wouldn’t do him any good. There was no one around to hear him. At least, he didn’t think so. No movement in the room besides his. No sounds coming from outside.

  With the tips of his fingers, he pressed against the sore spot on the back of his head. When he brought his hand back in front of his face, his fingers were bloody. He groaned. Getting out of there, that’s what he had to do. Nothing bound his hands or feet. He could move, if he could make his body cooperate.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he recognized the contraptions of a meth lab. Not assembled, but in pieces, as if he’d found the spare parts supply closet for a meth cooker. Chelsea had asked him if he wanted to stop Cooley, hadn’t she? They had walked through the tunnels toward Cooley’s place. That’s where the woman had told him they were headed.

  He studied the odd situation. She had figured him for a cop. What purpose would it serve to knock him out and lock him up in a shed?

  Maybe the door isn’t locked.

  His limbs were moving too slow. The sluggish feelings made him feel as if he’d not only been knocked out but had also been dosed with something to keep him unconscious.

  Standing was an effort but he managed. Once he gained his feet, he leaned both hands on the wall of the shed, waited a few minutes to catch his breath. He reached for the doorknob. Voices rose and fell from outside the shed. He let his hand drop and listened.

  “Do you think she knows?” A man’s voice.

  “I don’t think so.” Chelsea answered, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He would recognize her voice anywhere. It had a distinctive quality. Very feminine with a huge dollop of Arkansas southern accent. Just a little tremulous, as if she was always unsure of herself and her actions.

  “Why’d you leave her in there alone?”

  “What else could I do? I didn’t want her to suspect anything.” The woman paused a moment.

  A loud bang as if something hard had come down on a piece of wood.

  Chelsea spoke again. “What are we gonna do with him?”

  Jordan’s instinct danced with a warning. Chelsea meant him.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t ever killed anyone, and especially not a cop. My loyalty to Haskins doesn’t go that far. If he wants the man dead, he’s gonna have to get someone else to do it.” Another loud bang. This time it rattled the shed. “Why’d you bring him here anyway?”

  “He saw her.”

  Saw whom? As far as he could recall, Chelsea was the only female he’d seen at Laurel Heights.

  “I had no choice. The shed is the only place where I could lock him up.”

  “Okay, okay. I already told you…that was good thinking.”

  The wind picked up, whistled around the building, and pushed through the cracks in the walls. Chelsea’s words were almost lost on the wind.

  “We have to leave him here. Sooner or later, someone will search this place and find him. Maybe he won’t be dead by then.”

  The man laughed. “It would be better if they didn’t find him alive.”

  “I’ll bring him something to eat and drink tomorrow. By then, he’ll be so hungry he’ll do anything I ask him to do.”

  “Okay, then. I see what you’re doing. That’s what I like about you, girl. You always think ahead.”

  A hard crack.

  “What’d you do that for? I just thought we were being friendly.”

  “Don’t ever touch me. I’m with James.”

  “You stupid, bitch. James is dead.”

  Jordan didn’t move. Barely breathed. Was the man referring to James Standridge?

  “How do you know he’s dead?”

  “Zeke killed him.”

  Chelsea’s voice rose a few octaves. “Why would he do that?”

  “Zeke wanted the house, and Cooley wanted him dead.”

  If Jordan ever managed to get away from them, he’d have a few new leads to investigate.

  “Shut up, I hear something.”

  “Just your imagination,” the man said with a strong bit of derision in his voice. “You’re always hearing things.”

  “I told you. I saw her. Old lady Standridge. She’s still in that house. Maybe she wanders through the tunnels too.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  The tromp of footsteps going away.

  “Hey, wait. I’m sorry. Come back.” The man called after the woman. His begging sounded pathetic.

  It grew quiet again. Jordan rattled the knob on the door, but it was obviously locked from the outside. How long before Chelsea brought him the food? Maybe by then, he’d have enough strength to overpower her and get away.

  Chapter Ten

  The boat Shaw had rented wasn’t nearly as nice as his, but it would have to do. He’d lent Grayson his only transportation to Shaw’s Landing. He could have taken the road that circled the lake until he came to the spot where Ashley Creek dumped into Lake Jefferson and then turned down a seldom-used dirt track and gone in the back way, but the track was hardly more than a trail by the time it passed the back of the restaurant. A four-wheeler might have been able to navigate the bumpy road, but Shaw didn’t own an ATV. He’d had to leave his SUV at the dock on the lake and rent the boat.

  Once he turned into the creek and traveled a ways upstream, he had left the rest of the world behind. The bugs chirped in the woods along the waterway, adding a symphony of discordant noise to the lush atmosphere. Long branches draped across the water, creating a canopy of green, and an occasional mimosa or two added a hint of bright pink, testimony to the fact that a couple of houses used to front the creek. A flock of birds burst from the limb above him and took off in synchronized flight. After a few more minutes of motoring, he doused the engine and slid the rental into a space next to the dock.

  The boathouse was hardly more than an open-air room, designed to allow guests a place to sit while they waited for their ride to arrive. When it operated, the Landing had offered courtesy lakeside to creekside service every thirty minutes during business hours.

  Through the trees, he could just make out the upper story of Shaw’s Landing. A short path led from the dock to the front door of the restaurant while a staircase attached to the side of the building led to the upstairs apartment. He took his time traversing the path, enjoying a precious few moments absorbing nature. A warm wind barely rustled the leaves, a sharp contrast to the deluge that had accompanied the previous night’s thunderstorm. He longed to retrieve his fishing pole from the shed out back, but couldn’t. He had work to do.

  A sparkle captured his attention. A shiny gold necklace had caught on a piling, dangling so that the charm glimmered and danced in the sunlight. Maybe Tori had dropped it as she was getting out of the boat. He pushed the jewelry into his pants pocket and headed toward the abandoned restaurant. The top floor housed an apartment that the restaurant manager used to occupy. On
ce Shaw had climbed the stairs, he knocked on the apartment’s door. It took Grayson more than a few moments to open up.

  The man grinned at him. “Why are you knocking on your own door?”

  Shaw smirked. “I didn’t want to surprise you.”

  “You aren’t interrupting anything. Not right now, anyway. If you’d shown up a few minutes earlier…”

  Grayson wasn’t hiding his relationship with Tori. A pang of regret hit Shaw in the gut. His life was full of missed opportunities. If he hadn’t messed things up with her… No, it was useless to indulge in those kinds of what-if thoughts.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen. We need to talk.” Shaw led the way and found Tori pulled up to the island finishing what appeared to be an English muffin slathered with grape jelly. “You brought food with you. Good. There wasn’t much left on the place.”

  Tori lifted one eyebrow. “The only food here was a bag of Cheetos and a nearly empty jar of peanut butter. Chunky. I hate chunky.”

  Shaw smiled and pulled out the nearest barstool. “They taste good together.”

  Gray coughed. Not an attempt to dislodge phlegm, but a nervous habit of his. “I brought a few things from my house so we wouldn’t starve today, but we’re gonna need to make a trip into town to buy more groceries if we’re going to stay here indefinitely.”

  Shaw knew it was probably necessary, but he didn’t like it.

  “You can’t keep us trapped here. We have to have groceries.” Her smile made it all the way to Tori’s eyes, but it wasn’t a friendly expression. It was a you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do smile.

  No matter. Her smiles could always get to him. He turned away from the effect Tori had on him and focused on her boyfriend. “I got your message. What’s up?”

  Grayson slid into the chair next to him and set a digital recorder on the counter. “I went to see Haskins.”

  Shaw glanced at the electronic gadget and then up at Grayson. “You are fond of those things, aren’t you?”

  Grayson grinned. “They are useful under the right circumstances.” He pressed the play button.

  When the recorded conversation ended, Shaw couldn’t find the right words to express his shock. “Wow!” He chewed on what he’d just heard for another moment or two. “You know you can’t use that as evidence.”

 

‹ Prev