by Mary Maxwell
While she prepared the tea, Mrs. Flanagan chattered away about how nice it was to have an unexpected visitor and how much I’d grown and how she would never understand the attraction of life in Florida. I sat at the table and listened with a smile and the occasional nod.
“Then it’s a good thing you live here in Crescent Creek,” I said when she finally paused to take a breath.
“You’ve got that right!” she agreed, putting boiling water and bags of English Breakfast into two mugs bedecked with dog-related slogans.
“Here you go, Muffin!”
I ended up with All my children have paws, while Mrs. Flanagan settled in across from me with I am only speaking to my dog today.
“It’s just so nice to see you,” she gushed. “I can’t wait to talk to your mother and tell her how pretty you are!”
She sipped her tea, cringing slightly at the temperature.
“Have you guys spoken lately?” I asked.
Mrs. Flanagan frowned. “I’m afraid not. Between Pork Chop’s sprained shoulder and Daisy’s poop everywhere, I’ve barely had time to breathe.”
“Well, I’m sure mom will love catching up whenever there’s time. I actually spoke to her earlier. She and dad are—”
“Fig Newton?” Mrs. Flanagan lifted her chin and smiled. “Or I’ve got Oreos.”
“I’m fine, but thanks. I ate a late lunch at Sky High.”
“Suit yourself,” she said. “How are things at the café?”
“Steady as she goes,” I said. “Some days are busier than others.”
“Well, Dell and I haven’t been in lately,” she said. “On account of—”
“His sprained shoulder and Daisy?”
She giggled. “No, because of his new diet. The doctor told him no dairy, no gluten, no fried food, no eggs. He’s basically existing on air and Romaine lettuce.” She paused, leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Along with the occasional highball or three.”
We laughed together and I glanced at the clock on the microwave. I didn’t want to spend all day sipping tea and talking about Mr. Flanagan’s eating habits. Or Daisy’s poop. So, while she took a sip of her tea, I asked Mrs. Flanagan how her sons were doing. The change in her expression was instantaneous; her smile vanished, her gaze narrowed and her grip tightened on the orange coffee mug.
“Fine,” she said curtly.
“It was Daniel and Dermot, right?”
“You betcha,” she said.
I gazed around the kitchen, admiring the pictures of the couple and their children.
“Didn’t you live on Hanover when the boys were younger?” I asked.
She answered with a small nod.
“I thought so. My friend Tipper Hedge bought the house from you, right?”
“A lovely girl,” Mrs. Flanagan said in a flat tone. “Although a little rich for my taste with all that hair dye and makeup.”
The icy glare in her eyes strengthened as I considered my next move. I hadn’t seen her in a very long time, but I could tell Mrs. Flanagan was none too happy with my line of inquiry.
“At least my memory’s intact,” I said, feeling ridiculous. “There are days when I can barely remember my own name, let alone someone I haven’t seen in such a long time.”
She smiled. “That makes two of us, dear. I haven’t seen either of our boys in forever.”
“Is that right?”
Her gaze tightened. “Yes, that’s what I said. It’s been months since they came around.” The taut stare softened slightly. “Probably has something to do with not wanting to spend time with old folks.”
I smiled. “You’re hardly old, Mrs. Flanagan.”
“Tell that to Dermot. The last time he was home, a few weeks before last Thanksgiving, he and his father got into a pretty heated discussion about money. Dermot kept saying the reason his dad wouldn’t loan him anything was because he was a cranky old fart.” She snickered softly at the memory. “As if it’s our fault that he can’t hold a job or…” She stopped and frowned. “Oh, who wants to hear about all of that?”
“Every family has challenges,” I offered. “When my brother was younger, he got a speeding ticket in a school zone up in Boulder. For some reason, Brody thought mom and dad should pay the fine. When they refused, he went off like a Roman candle; lots of fizzing and noise and sparks.”
“Hmmmm,” she mumbled. “That much is true, Kate; every family has something.”
When I finished my tea about twenty minutes later, after a long and awkward conversation about knitting sweaters for dogs and making ice packs out of frozen bags of peas, I told Mrs. Flanagan that I needed to get back to Sky High.
“So soon?” She got up from the table and took my arm. “Well, it was a really lovely surprise, Muffin.”
We were back in the entryway in a flash. It was obvious she wanted me out of the house. I wasn’t sure why my question about her sons had struck a nerve, but I suspected it might have something to do with their youngest child.
After a final farewell and one of the least authentic hugs I’ve ever experienced, I was back on the front porch with the garden gnomes and their yellow-orange eyes.
“I’m leaving,” I said. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
As I started to descend the steps, I remembered the flash of color I’d seen earlier. When I stopped and turned around, I felt a small shudder in my chest when I realized it was a gnawed toothpick with frilled cellophane on one end.
Exactly like the one I’d seen in the mouth of the man outside Tipper’s house the previous afternoon.
CHAPTER 18
“Is this about work?” Trent barked. “Or something personal?”
I was sitting in my car outside the Flanagan’s townhouse. I’d scooped up the frilly toothpick in a tissue before leaving the front porch. Since every fiber in my body was telling me it was related to Tipper’s kidnapping, I wanted to alert Trent immediately. I hadn’t anticipated that he would be nearly as grouchy as Mrs. Flanagan when I asked about her sons.
“It’s about work,” I said. “Did I call at a bad time?”
“I don’t think there is a good time anymore, Katie. I’m up to my eyeballs in one new case after the next.”
“Busy season, huh?”
He grumbled something indecipherable. Then he asked me to get to the point.
“The point?” I said. “I may have a lead in Tipper’s disappearance.”
“Yeah? Did she call you again?”
“No. I found a toothpick.”
Trent laughed. “I’m hanging up now, Katie. I don’t have time for—”
“Hear me out, okay? Remember the guy I saw walking the dog at Tipper’s?”
“Yep.”
“And he was chewing a toothpick,” I said. “One of those fancy ones with frilled cellophane on the end.”
“I’m riveted,” Trent said. “What’s the connection to Tipper?”
“Do you remember Dermot and Daniel Flanagan?”
“Unfortunately, I do. They were both pains in my butt when we were kids.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“Only because it’s true.”
“Well, I haven’t seen them for years,” I said. “But I think maybe Dermot was the guy with the toothpick in his mouth.”
Trent didn’t say anything.
“And I think he went to Tipper’s because he grew up in that house,” I continued. “You know? Back to a place that represented his childhood sanctuary? Or maybe back to demonstrate that he was in control of circumstances in the house.”
“Gimme a break, Katie. If that theory works for you, knock yourself out. But I need facts here, not some crap about a childhood…whatever.”
“Sanctuary,” I said again. “It’s very common, Trent. People often return to places where they felt safe; some after they’ve committed crimes, others after traumatic events.”
“Okay, so now you’re—what? Dr. Phil or something?”
I considered hanging up. But I didn
’t want to match Trent’s tetchy behavior, so I said, “No, I’m more like Dr. Seuss. And I’d like some respect, please.”
He was quiet for a few seconds. I could hear him breathing, a low, steady wheeze that suggested a cold or allergies.
“Are you sick?” I asked finally.
“Another cold,” he said. “I got caught outside with just a light sweater the other night.”
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
He sneezed.
“See? If you’d been wearing a heavy coat, that sniffling and sneezing wouldn’t be happening.”
“Okay, yeah. This is all real nice and everything, but I’ve got three people standing in my office door, Katie. I need to go now.”
“Just look into him,” I said. “Dermot Flanagan.”
“Because of a toothpick?”
“Yes,” I said. “I stopped by just now to talk with his mother. I was hoping she might shed some light on his current whereabouts.”
“And?”
“And she went from warm, sunny regular Mrs. Flanagan to Her Royal Ice Queen in about two seconds when I asked if she’d talked with either of her sons lately.”
“Maybe she hasn’t, Katie. Maybe they had a falling out. Or maybe there’s another logical reason. Just because a mother hasn’t talked to her grown sons since, like, last Tuesday doesn’t mean they’re involved in a murder and kidnapping.”
“But what about the toothpick?” I said. “I found one on the front porch after talking with Mrs. Flanagan.”
“Oh, brother.” He sighed and wheezed. “Katie? I’ve got people here.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stop now. But I’m serious about Dermot Flanagan. He got into some trouble in New Mexico, Trent. And the truck you found in Tipper’s garage had—”
“Okay! I’ll check it out! Now, can I please get on with my day, Katie?”
“Bye, Trent,” I said with a teasing edge in my voice. “Always a pleasure doing business with—”
And the line went dead.
CHAPTER 19
It was nearly seven when I walked through the door at Zack’s place with a roast chicken from Yardbird’s in one hand and a bottle of New Zealand Pinot Noir in the other.
“Hey, gorgeous!”
I put the chicken and wine on the counter before surrounding him with a ravenous hug.
“It’s so good to be here,” I said into his chest. “My feet hurt, my head’s pounding and—”
Zack chuckled. “How about something stronger than that wine then?”
“Such as?”
“Tequila,” he said. “Or I’ve still got that vodka in the freezer from the night we made White Russians.”
I considered the idea for a moment. But then I decided not to risk waking up the next morning with a hangover.
“Let’s stick with the original plan,” I said. “Some roast chicken, those crispy potatoes, a couple glasses of wine.”
Zack opened the cabinet above the dishwasher, came out with two plates and put them on the table. “And some cuddling?”
I smiled. “That can be arranged.”
“Why don’t you ditch those heels and change into my Broncos jersey?” he suggested. “You’ll be more comfortable and I’ll get to admire the hottest pair of legs this side of the Continental Divide.”
My heart quivered as it always did. “You are so…” I let a kiss finish the thought. Then I dropped my purse on the table, kicked off my shoes and let my coat slip from my shoulders.
“There’s time for a glass of wine,” Zack said. “The chicken’s got another fifteen minutes or so.”
“I’m good with that.” I found a wine opener in the silverware drawer. “I’ll just—”
He plucked the utensil from my hand. “Heck no, gorgeous! You go get comfortable and I’ll meet you in the living room in a sec.”
I gave him a peck and walked toward the hallway.
“Hey, Katie,” he called. “Any news about Tipper? I should’ve asked right when you got here, but…” I turned around and his eyebrows did a little dance. “I tend to get distracted when a beautiful woman walks in the door.”
“Nothing yet,” I said. “I talked to Trent earlier. They’re working every angle.”
He smiled and nodded, but then his eyes narrowed. “What is it?” he asked. “I can see you’re thinking about something, sweetie.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking about Tipper. I can’t get her voice out of my head, babe. She was so…” I felt my pulse quicken. “I’ve never heard anyone sound so terrified, Zack. It just keeps playing in my mind, over and over. The way she sounded. The panic, you know? In her voice?”
He stopped opening the wine and walked over to where I was standing. His hands were strong and resolute on my shoulders, and his skin was warm as he pressed his forehead against mine.
“Katie?”
I blinked.
“They’ll find her.”
“Let’s hope so,” I whispered. “And let’s pray for a miracle.”
CHAPTER 20
After we ravaged the roast chicken and finished the bottle of wine, I drifted into the living room while Zack took care of kitchen duty. It was obvious that he’d spruced up his apartment: the sofa pillows were arranged in a neat row like plump soldiers, the carpet showed zigzag wheel marks from the vacuum and the subtle citrus aroma in the air suggested a can of Lemon Pledge had been in the vicinity within the last couple of hours.
I turned on the TV, lowered the volume and settled onto the sofa. Between the delicious food and the Pinot Noir, I was more relaxed than I’d been in days. While Zack puttered around the kitchen, whistling a Chris Stapleton tune and loading the dishwasher, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cushions. My mind wandered to Tipper. And the woman on the kitchen floor. And the simmering fear that I may never see my friend again. I was sifting through details from the crime scene when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Busy day tomorrow?” Zack asked as he plopped down beside me.
“The usual,” I said. “Plus three birthday cake orders by the close of business. And I need to place orders for dairy and paper goods.”
“Ah, the glamorous life of a self-governing entrepreneur,” Zack said. “What I wouldn’t give for a few days without a boss.”
I pivoted on the seat. “Oh, don’t be fooled by all the glamour, sweetheart. I’ve got more bosses than you can imagine.”
“Like who?”
“Well, there’s Nana Reed. And my parents. And my sister just loves to share her words of wisdom on a regular basis.”
“They’re not your boss, Katie. I’m talking about working for Gretchen at the newspaper.”
“But she’s not your boss if you’re a freelance photographer.”
He rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Gretchen.”
“What’re you talking about? Is she turning into a little dictator?”
He smiled. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Everything’s cool.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
He nuzzled my neck. I felt his stubble and it sent a chill along my spine.
“How about you?” I said. “What’s tomorrow look like?”
“I’m going to the school board meeting for some candid behind-the-scenes stuff,” he answered. “And then a bunch of photography students from the high school are coming to the newspaper for a tour. Gretchen asked me to help out with that.”
I pulled him closer and we enjoyed a warm embrace for a few minutes. Life could be more than a little hectic, and I relished the simple joy of our date nights.
“Should we start the movie I picked up?” Zack asked eventually.
“Sounds good.”
“Or we could just sit here and canoodle.”
“Sounds even better,” I said as he kissed my forehead and then the tip of my nose.
A few more tender moments passed. When Zack called my name, I nearly jumped.
“Oh! Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
<
br /> “That’s okay. I’m just really, really, really relaxed right now.”
“That makes two of us,” he murmured. “Mind if I ask a question?”
I hummed a response.
“What’s the latest on Tipper?”
The question banished the tranquil purr of peace from my mind.
“No news since we talked this afternoon,” I said. “I know Trent and everyone is going full-speed, but it seems like everything is moving slower than molasses.”
“Any clues at all?”
“A few,” I said. “There seems to be a New Mexico connection. And they’re obviously searching every square inch of her neighborhood and the surrounding areas. I was actually thinking about going to Tipper’s street tomorrow afternoon to talk with the neighbors.”
I felt Zack’s body stiffen slightly. “Don’t you think the police have already done that?”
“Sure, but I want to…” His furrowed brow conveyed the tremors of concern rippling just beneath the surface. “It won’t hurt anything if I go and ask a couple of my own questions,” I continued. “And, before you say anything, I promise to be careful.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second, Katie. But I think you should let Trent know what you’re up to.”
I shook my head. “He’s got enough on his plate at the moment. If I give him a heads up, there’s always a chance he’ll get bent out of shape.”
“Which is why you should give him a little advance notice.” Zack laughed and leaned closer. “I mean, it’s not like you and he haven’t been down this same road before.”
“You mean the time I helped Viveca find out who was trying to kill her brother?”
He nodded. “Or when you were helping Mrs. Scheck identify the person who kept coming into the store and mixing up all of the shoes.”
“That’s an ongoing investigation,” I said.
“Still haven’t caught the criminal yet?”
“Nope. Three customers bought ski boots within the last month, but when they got home they had two different sizes in the box.”
“Isn’t that their fault?” asked Zack. “I mean, who buys boots without trying them on first?”