by Mary Maxwell
“Nope.”
“Oh, brother!” she exclaimed. “Are we back in the land of the one-word replies?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Katie?”
I suppressed a laugh and thanked her for telling me about my mother’s call.
“Okay, so is the message related to Tipper’s disappearance?” she asked.
“Possibly. Since the Flanagan family once lived in Tipper’s house, I just thought there might possibly be a connection to what happened the other day.”
“Well, Harper told me that Bobby used to work for Mr. Flanagan at the rafting company.”
“Oh, so you two were discussing my mother’s call?”
The line went silent.
“Jules?”
She heaved a sigh. “Well, there was a lull in the action,” she confessed. “I was caught up on baking. And Harper was finished setting the dining room for tomorrow. You know how it is, Katie. We were having a cup of coffee, talking about how much we love your mom. When I told her about the message, Harper mentioned that her husband worked for Dell Flanagan about ten years ago.”
“At the rafting company?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Thanks for telling me, Jules. All of that happened when I was in Chicago, so I never had the pleasure of stopping by to see Mr. Flanagan’s operation.”
She squawked a laugh. “Pleasure? That’s a stretch! That man’s mellowed a lot in the past couple of years, but he was awful back then. Mean and spiteful and rude; it’s no wonder the rafting business never made it.”
“You know what else?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s odd that my mother left out that part of the story,” I said. “I kind of remember her talking about the Flanagans because she and Hannah have been friends for a really long time. But I don’t recall her saying anything about Mr. Flanagan having a temper.”
“Hmmmm…maybe she was trying to be discreet?”
“My mother?” I made no attempt to stifle my laugh. “Are you serious, Jules?”
“Oh, now! Your mother’s an angel!”
“Uh-huh. But she can also be a little wicked if the mood strikes. I remember her and my dad getting into a fairly heated discussion about—”
“Hey, Katie?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to cut you off, but my hubby’s on the other line. We need to figure out who’s taking Will and Shepherd to the doctor tomorrow.”
“Oh, of course! I’ll talk to you later, sweetie!”
“See you in the morning,” she said. “I hope there’s some good news about Tipper really soon.”
After she disconnected, I sat with the phone in my hand for a few minutes. I scrolled and tapped to find the picture of Tipper that I’d taken about a month earlier. We’d met for a quick coffee at Uncommon Grounds on a Sunday afternoon. She’d been giddy and mysterious, trying to get me to guess the reason for her excited mood.
“I don’t know,” I’d said. “You won the lottery?”
“Try again,” she’d advised, raising one eyebrow. “It’s not about money.”
“Um, the gray hairs you found have started to regress to your natural color?”
She’d laughed, pronounced me terrible at guessing and then revealed that the source of her happiness was a new guy she’d met.
“His name’s Kyle,” she’d said in a fluttery whisper. “I think we were destined to meet, Katie. Like something that was just meant to be.”
As I stared at Tipper’s photo and her voice echoed through my mind, I started to wonder if meeting Kyle Gallagher had actually been something other than kismet. Instead, it seemed like it may have been a cruel twist of fate.
CHAPTER 31
The cinderblock building was located on an isolated stretch of Half Moon Road a few miles from the outskirts of Crescent Creek. It looked lonely and forsaken, like an abandoned keepsake left beneath a grove of snow-covered trees.
As I pulled up in front a half hour after leaving the Moonlight Motel, a sagging canopy of swirling gray clouds added an element of gloom to the setting. A weather-beaten sign above the front door suggested better days: FLANAGAN’S OUTDOOR ADVENTURES. Built several decades earlier as a highway outpost for travelers passing through the area, the structure had been empty for years before Dell Flanagan decided it was the perfect headquarters for his fledgling white water rafting company. When that enterprise floundered, the property went into foreclosure.
Although a faded FOR SALE sign was taped inside the front windows, I doubted if anyone would seriously consider giving the location another shot. It was too far from town and the years of disrepair had taken a toll. Splintered cracks in the plate glass window were patched with peeling duct tape, derelict boxes and bags of garbage were piled at the edge of the parking lot and an ancient loveseat had been left upside down near the front door.
“I bet you were a beauty back in the day,” I said, shutting off the engine and sliding out of the car. “And I bet you’ve seen some pretty crazy things over the years.”
I pulled the fleece scarf tighter around my neck and trudged across the pristine blanket of snow. Other than a few sets of animal tracks crisscrossing the wide expanse, there was no sign of life. I walked slowly, scouring the ground for any indication that two-legged critters had visited recently. I knew it was a long shot, but I had a hunch that there was a connection between the Flanagan family and Tipper’s disappearance.
I was standing in the middle of the former parking lot, gazing at the decrepit exterior, when my phone rang. The screen said it was Zack, calling from his desk at the Crescent Creek Gazette.
“How’s my favorite slab of mantasticness doing?” I asked.
There was no answer for a few seconds and then I heard Gretchen Goode say my name.
“Oh, my goodness!” I sputtered. “I’m so sorry, Gretchen! When I saw the ID on my phone, I just figured it was Zack.”
She laughed softly. “Of course, Katie. No worries. I can have the handsome shutterbug call later if you’d like.”
A gust of cold air stung my cheeks as I blushed. “No, that’s okay. We’re meeting a couple of friends at The Wagon Wheel tonight, so…” I shuddered as another wintry burst of wind came through the trees. “Anyway, Gretchen. What’s going on? Is there something I can help you with?”
“I wanted to place another order,” she said. “My in-laws are coming next weekend, and I thought maybe one of your Triple Treat Chocolate Cakes would be a nice surprise.”
“How wonderful! We can absolutely take care of that for you. Were you planning to pick it up at Sky High or should we deliver?”
“Maybe Zack could bring it to the newspaper on Friday morning,” she suggested. “After all, a little birdie told me that you and he see one another just about every night now.”
I smiled and Zack’s face flashed through my mind. “The little birdie’s right,” I said. “Things are going really well.”
I heard her sigh on the other end. “Oh, Katie! I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Whenever two wonderful people meet and fall in love, it just makes my heart sing with joy.”
“Thanks, Gretchen. That’s a really sweet thing for you to say.”
“But it’s true! I know how it felt when I first met all three of my husbands; the woozy sensation whenever I heard their voices, the dreamy way they made me feel, the electricity as our hands touched.”
I crunched forward in the snow while she burbled on about her romantic past. I didn’t know her well enough to inquire about the two divorces, her ex-husbands or why they’d married in the first place. But when she finally surfaced for air, I asked if there was anything else she wanted to order for the upcoming visit by her third husband’s parents.
“Um…”
I inched closer to the front windows of the old building. The glass was dimpled and scratched, some sections were intact and spotless while a few were zigzagged with the gummy remnants of old adhesive tape.
“You got it,” I said. “I’ll have those ready for Zack to deliver next Friday so they’re fresh for the weekend.”
After Gretchen praised Sky High and divulged how many pounds she’d lost to prepare for the imminent family gathering, I politely explained that I had to get off the phone so I could take care of some urgent business.
“Of course,” she said. “I just like talking to you, Katie. I have a tendency to ramble on way too long, don’t I?”
I assured her that the chat had been a welcome diversion, wished her a good afternoon and disconnected the call. I kept the phone in my hand as I leaned forward, peering through the glass into the front room of the old gas station.
“Wow!” I whispered. “That’s a housekeeping nightmare if I’ve ever seen one!”
The place looked like a tornado had swept through. Followed by a herd of buffalo. And then a swarm of sugar-fueled toddlers. Furniture was overturned, papers were scattered on every available surface and crushed beer cans were sprinkled around like decorative sugar beads atop a freshly-iced cupcake.
“Hello?” I called, tapping lightly on the window. “Anybody home?”
I held my breath and listened closely for a few seconds. But the only sound I heard was the wind slicking through the bare tree branches overhead.
“Okay, fine. So my hunch was fruitless. Better safe than sorry.”
I scanned the interior again, studying the dented filing cabinets and faded signs advertising rafting and hiking gear. As my eyes drifted across the back wall, they stopped on a large framed poster. I recognized it instantly from one of my art history classes in college. It was Lincoln in Dalivision, a surreal lithograph by Salvador Dalí. When you stood close to the image, it appeared to be a collection of various boxes and figures. But when you moved away, the cubes of color formed a portrait of Abraham Lincoln.
“Well, Mr. President,” I said quietly. “This isn’t the most distinguished setting, but you still look pretty good.”
I smiled at a faint memory of Professor Steinkamp lecturing the class about Dalí’s fondness for photo mosaics. Then another gust of wind reminded me that it would be much warmer behind the wheel of my father’s old Ford Taurus. I took a final gaze around the dilapidated building, made a beeline for the car and headed back into town to meet Zack.
CHAPTER 32
The drive from Half Moon Road to The Wagon Wheel was going smoothly until I turned a corner in downtown Crescent Creek and noticed two people talking in front of my favorite coffee shop. One was a woman with long jet-black hair holding a small white dog on a leash. And the other, dressed in a dark jacket, faded jeans and muddy hiking boots, was Kyle Gallagher.
I quickly grabbed my phone and sent a text to Zack: running behind. c u asap.
He responded instantly: how long?
My thumbs zipped over the tiny keyboard: five or ten mins. sorry!
Then I dropped the phone on the passenger seat, spotted an open parking space in the next block and left the warmth of the car for the icy sidewalk in front of Shoe Serenade. The owner, a bouncy redhead named Jade Barnard, saw me get out of the car.
“Hey!” She called after opening the front door. “I’ve got an amazing pair of ballet flats with your name all over them!”
I waved, promised to stop in soon and explained that I was running late.
“Story of my life!” she said. “Tell Zack that I said hi!”
After she slipped back inside her shop, I started walking toward Kyle Gallagher and the dark-haired woman. As I gingerly stepped over the slush in the crosswalk, I took a closer look at the little white dog standing between the pair.
“Holy smokes,” I whispered. “The bedazzled pink collar.”
When I’d successfully crossed the street, I began moving at a fast clip. But when I was a few doors down from where they stood, I realized they were in the middle of a heated argument. I couldn’t make out anything either one was saying, but the expression on Kyle Gallagher’s face—pinched, bright red and shuddering with emotion—made it clear that I should cool my heels until the artillery stopped firing. At one point, I thought he glanced in my direction, so I quickly walked to the window of Pinky Newton’s flower shop and peered at the display of tulips, forsythia and roses.
A couple of seconds later, I took a quick peek and saw the woman stomping away with the white dog. Kyle was on his phone; huddled against the front of Uncommon Grounds with his back to the blustery wind.
Give him a chance to cool down, advised my inner voice of reason. No need to engage him if he’s still in fight mode.
I kept my eyes locked on Kyle. The second he lowered the phone, I was on the move again, hurrying to arrive before he went into the coffee shop.
“Mr. Gallagher,” I said in a light, casual tone. “We meet again!”
He pivoted in my direction, blinked a few times in confusion and then grinned. “Hey, Kate. How’s it going?”
“Fine, thanks. How are you holding up?”
He shrugged. “So-so. I decided to take a walk and get a coffee. Thought it might be a good way to clear my head.”
I matched his smile for a few seconds with one of my own before asking where he was staying.
“Sorry?” he hesitated. “Where I’m what?”
“You told Trent that you were at the Moonlight,” I said slowly. “But I went by there earlier and my friend Earl said you weren’t registered.”
I kept my gaze on Kyle’s face. His eyes narrowed slightly, bounced from left to right for a moment and then settled on the phone in his hand.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, scrolling through a series of texts. “I must’ve been a little confused or something.” He suddenly looked up. “Because of everything that’s going on with Tipper and that poor woman who got shot.”
He sounded believable. And the dark circles under his eyes suggested that he hadn’t slept much lately. But there was a subtle hesitancy that lingered in the air as he smiled at me; the faint trace of deceit that I recognized from hundreds of witness interviews that I conducted as a PI. After waiting for him to say something more, I finally repeated my original question.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, fumbling with the phone and nearly dropping it. “I decided to stay at Crescent Creek Lodge. The last time I was in town, right after Tipper and I started going out, I stayed at the Moonlight. I must’ve gotten them mixed up when I talked to Trent earlier.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “And, like you already mentioned, being confused is understandable considering everything that’s going on.”
Before I could ask my next question, Kyle’s phone rang. He checked the screen, answered the call and told the person on the other end to hold for a moment.
“I need to take this, Kate.”
I smiled.
“It was good running into you,” he added. “I’m sure we’ll see one another soon.”
CHAPTER 33
Zack was sitting at the end of the bar when I stepped through the front door at The Wagon Wheel Saloon. He was talking to Red Hancock, the establishment’s illustrious owner and ever-present bartender.
“Sorry I’m late!” I wrapped my arms around Zack’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “I ran into somebody on the way and needed to catch him while I could.”
Red snorted. “That’s the best you can do, Katie?”
I glowered at the brawny barkeep before turning back to the good-looking hunk standing beside me. “Can you give me a sec, sweetheart?”
“Anything you need,” Zack said, patting the empty barstool beside where he’d been sitting. “I’ll even save you a seat.”
I pulled out my phone and dropped my purse on the bar. “I need to call Trent before I do anything else.”
Zack pointed across the crowded room. “Why don’t you just wander over and talk to him?” he asked. “Trent’s in a booth back there with Amanda and De
nny.”
Amanda Crane and Denny Santiago were two of Crescent Creek’s finest patrol officers. They’d been partners for the past few months, protecting and serving our little slice of paradise. They’d also saved my rear from a close call with a gun-toting former resident in the not too distant past.
“Okay,” I said, giving Zack another quick kiss and slipping the phone into my bag. “In that case, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
After navigating the boisterous crowd and exchanging quick greetings with a few Sky High regulars, I arrived at the booth were Trent and the two officers were quietly studying the menu.
“I’d stay away from the fried zucchini sticks,” I advised. “I heard something on the news that a new study claimed they’re just as fattening as cheese fries with bacon gravy.”
Trent glanced up. “The voice of self-control has arrived, ladies and gentlemen.” He shifted over on the seat to make room. “Join us for a bite to eat?”
I settled onto the leather cushion. “Zack and I are meeting a couple of other people,” I said, bobbing my head toward the bar. “He told me that you guys were over here, so…” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I may have something for you on the Tipper situation. Remember Kyle Gallagher?” I paused and Trent answered with a silent nod. “Well, I just saw him talking to a woman, and I’m pretty sure she was walking the dog that I saw outside of Tipper’s the day before she went missing.”
“Who was she?” asked Amanda.
I frowned. “I don’t know. I never got a look at her face. But she had long dark hair. And she was wearing a pair of jeans with red lace stitched down the outside of the left leg.”
Trent chuckled. “That’s why I’m glad you’re back in town,” he said. “You catch details that tons of people would never notice. So, in a case like this, your powers of observation are—”
“Thanks, Trent,” I interrupted. “By the time I found a place to park and walked back to the coffee shop, they were fighting about something.”
“What?” he asked.