“Rats,” she complained to herself, dropping to her knees to search for the phone. “Come on, Haley, help me find that phone,” she hissed to the dog, who could barely be seen.
The sound of voices made her stop. Haley sniffed the ground, then raised her head and rumbled a low growl. Her hackles rose, as did the volume of her throaty growl. Gracie strained to hear where the voices were coming from. She held the cotton web leash tightly, shushing the dog which continued to rumble softly.
Still hunting through damp leaves and pine needles for the missing phone, Gracie’s fingers finally found the hard plastic rectangle covered with dirt and leaves. She breathed a sigh of relief, brushed it off on her pants, and wedged it uncomfortably into her bra.
A yellowish light flickered again off to her left and then glowed steadily. Two voices, one male and one female, rose and fell, a faint echo of their unintelligible conversation bouncing through the trees. Haley whined and pulled at the leash. Gracie inched forward, taut leash in one hand, and the other arm stretched out trying to maintain her balance down the slippery grade. The conversation was still too faint to make head or tail of it. Haley panted heavily and growled intermittently. She needed to get closer, but with Haley’s unpredictable vocalizing, she wasn’t sure what a safe, but audible distance was. Discovery wasn’t ideal at this point.
The sharp sound of a snapping twig halted her progress. Hardly daring to breathe, she clutched the leash and put a restraining hand on Haley’s muzzle, willing her not to bark. The voices stopped, and the light glimmering through the trees ahead of her went out. Now in complete darkness, Gracie crouched down with her dog. After what seemed forever, the voices resumed in more hushed tones, and the light reappeared. Her leg muscles protested, and it felt like a charley horse was imminent. Rubbing her thigh, she craned her neck toward the voices. It was no use; she still couldn’t make out a word. Grabbing the leash, she crept forward toward the light, dragging Haley with her. A strong breeze rustled through the leaves, providing some white noise to cover her movement. She half-ran to a thicket of bushes on the perimeter and crouched down again to peer through the leaves.
The bushes turned out to be a bad choice since they were fully armed. They had to be blackberry or raspberry bushes. Thorns snagged her arms, and she bit back an “ouch” as she carefully tried to disengage herself from the prickly mess. Haley wisely backed away. She’d stopped growling, but still intently watched the movement through the foliage.
Rubbing the long, stinging scratches on her arms, Gracie leaned forward again, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light. She struggled to identify the male figure, seated on an ATV. A smaller, obviously female person appeared from behind the deteriorated foundation, carrying an object Gracie couldn’t identify. An explosion of light hit the four-wheeler, exposing the pair in glaring whiteness. A deep male voice ordered everyone to stay where they were. Gracie, shocked out of her mind, stood, stepped back, and promptly fell backward over Haley. The dog yelped in surprise and ran toward the lights, jerking the leash from Gracie’s hand. Gracie landed onto the ground with a resounding whump, knocking the wind out of herself.
The man with the deep voice identified himself as Investigator Markowski of the Wyoming County Sheriff’s Department. He was of average height, dressed in a dark shirt and jeans. Several more uniforms appeared from the woods, with guns and spotlights. The large man on the ATV sat motionless, his back to Gracie. The young woman began crying hysterically. Gracie slowly raised herself up, her elbows supporting her upper body. Her breath came in rasps. She felt like her heart was about to explode from her chest.
“Miss, get up and come with me,” a stern voice ordered her from behind.
“Let me get my breath. Give me a hand, will you?” she gasped.
A strong arm pulled her up, and she bent over, clutching her stomach and then her back.
“Are you all right?” A tall, gray-haired deputy stood next to her with some concern on his face.
“I th-th-th-think so. I fell and… and… oh, my back hurts.”
Actually it was her glutes that were throbbing. That fall was going to leave a mark. At least nobody would see the bruise.
The deputy guided her into the harsh light, where she stood with the couple, their heads hung, while a short, mustached deputy read them their rights.
Gracie shaded her eyes against the glare to get a look at the couple. She brushed debris from her jeans and T-shirt. She gaped, incredulous at the sight.
“Duane Jackson! What are you doing here?”
The young man’s look of surprise matched her own.
Chapter 32
Gracie sat on the crumbly edge of the old foundation until she realized that sitting wasn’t going to be much fun for a while. Her right butt cheek was still aching from the fall. Gracie ran her fingers through her hair, pulling leaves and a small pinecone from the tangled mess. She must look like Medusa, with curly snakes waving all over her head. She’d already explained who she was, and a condensed version of why she was creeping around the woods. A pat down by a woman deputy with the promise to show her driver’s license when she got back to her SUV had been satisfactory, so far. Haley had fortunately reappeared from the darkness and now lay panting at her feet.
Duane shakily began explaining what he and his girlfriend, Heather, were doing. She caught snatches of the interrogation amongst her recital of her address and other personal information to the deputy.
The UFO idea had been cooked up by Duane and some college buddies. It was all about how unsophisticated and gullible Deer Creek residents were. Computer images projected into the night sky and a couple of amateur drones rigged with halos of lights had added some more drama. Tobias had been their guinea pig. He’d made it into a real media event for them. Duane had been traveling back and forth between college and Deer Creek for weeks. Heather was helping him clear out the equipment tonight.
Two deputies were searching the ATV and rummaging through the box containing deflated balloons and strings of lights. They shook their heads at the officer in charge, who sternly continued to question the pair about drugs.
“Why are you up here?” Gracie finally asked the gray-haired deputy, who stood next to her.
He was writing on a pad of paper, with a flashlight tucked under his arm.
“I mean,” she gulped, “why tonight?”
“We got a tip about some drug runners doing business in the woods. The tipster was sure a big deal was happening tonight.”
“Man or woman?” She had her own ideas about who would make a call like that.
“I really couldn’t say, ma’am.”
“Hmm. Was it the owner of the property?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“You’re not arresting Duane, are you? He’s just played a prank. Nobody got hurt.”
The deputy shrugged and said, “It’s up to the investigator. They are trespassing. Like you, ma’am.” His face was impassive.
The guy must be RoboCop, she decided. She stretched uncomfortably and rubbed her lower back.
“How about I call it a night and get back to my vehicle, deputy?” she asked with a touch of bravado, which was pure make-believe. Why hadn’t she stayed home?
“Sure thing. Right after I give you this appearance ticket for trespassing. Didn’t you see the signs, ma’am?”
She stifled the comment that jumped to her lips and snatched the paper from the deputy’s extended hand. This escapade was going to be hard to explain to everybody, and now there was a ticket involved. She’d never gotten a ticket for anything… ever.
“I’ll walk you back to your vehicle. I want to make sure you get back there okay.”
Gracie nodded. After a few attempts at more small talk with no success, she kept her mouth shut as they trekked up the alternate trail back to where she’d parked the RAV4. The headlights from a parked cruiser shone through the trees as they reached the split in the lane. She pulled the keys from her pocket and unlocked the vehicl
e. Haley whined anxiously, dancing in circles, so she obliged the impatient Lab and opened the rear passenger door for her. Gracie fumbled through her bag on the front seat and found her license. The deputy merely glanced at it and handed it back. She forced herself to thank him and smile. Sighing with relief, she watched him disappear back down the narrow lane. Just as the key slid into the ignition, it hit her. Her passenger was missing. She’d lost Roscoe within minutes of leaving the SUV and hadn’t seen him since. Angrily slamming the steering wheel with the palms of her hands, she pulled the key out and headed back to the woods, leaving Haley in the backseat. Her phone buzzed in her bra, sending her heart into double time. Breathlessly, she answered Jim’s call.
“Where are you? I’ve been at the house for half an hour. Nobody’s answering the door!” Jim shouted.
“I’m up in Hansen’s woods, looking for Roscoe right at the moment.”
“What? What’s he doing up there? His car is here. What’s going on, Gracie? Why are you out of breath?”
“It’s a long story.”
She hit “end call” and punched in Roscoe’s number. She needed to find him and fast. The phone went directly to voicemail. Not a good sign. Painfully jogging to catch up with the deputy, her body complained with every step.
*****
Even after Jim and Toby joined the search, there wasn’t any sign of Roscoe. Investigator Markowski took Gracie’s report, and after two hours, she drove home. Law enforcement and some friends Jim had called were still combing the woods. If anything happened to Roscoe, it would all be her fault. Tears threatened, and she wanted to throw up.
Morning still brought no news of Roscoe. Investigator Markowski stopped in before the kennel opened to let her know they were still searching the woods and nearby fields. He wanted information on Roscoe’s family, but Gracie had no idea where to begin. The Myers family had long since moved away from Deer Creek. She remembered his sister’s name was Nancy, but that was it. It was duly noted. The investigator left, promising to call with an update.
Jim came dragging in at lunchtime. His eyes were bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved. He shut the office door, dropped into his recliner, and looked wearily at Gracie. She attempted to ignore him, studying her spreadsheet intently. She didn’t want to talk about anything, but the look on Jim’s face told her that they would have to talk.
“Just so you know, I’m out of this investigation business as soon as we find Roscoe,” he stated. “You might want to think about that yourself.”
Gracie turned from the computer screen to her handsome, albeit ticked-off partner.
“Just a reminder that you’re the one who started this. It was all to help Toby. I’m helping Kim,” she countered.
Jim held up his right hand. “Guilty as charged. Last night is on you though. It’s time to let the police handle it. They know what they’re doing. We’re the amateurs here.”
“You mean I’m the amateur,” she shot back. “It was stupid. I know that. I guess that’s what I get for trying to help a friend.”
“A pity party isn’t what anybody needs,” Jim retorted, rising from the chair. “We both made some mistakes. I’m going back out to find Roscoe.”
He stalked off. Gracie wadded up the paper that had just come off the printer and threw it against the wall. She needed to take a walk. Trudy and Marian gave each other knowing looks, which Gracie ignored as she passed through reception.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, not looking at either woman.
She let Haley out of the backyard gate and headed for the field behind the kennel. Maybe the fresh air and the scenery would clear her head.
Haley bounded ahead into the high grass mixed with masses of daisies and buttercups. If she weren’t so angry with herself, it might have been entertaining to watch the broad black Lab head disappear and then reappear. It looked like a variation of “Whack a Mole.”
She stopped, broke off the stem on a buttercup, and twirled it in her fingers. Where could Roscoe have gone? Was he lying unconscious in the woods? Maybe there had been drug dealers, or something worse had happened. She couldn’t bear to think about it. Then there was Duane. A call to Kim was in order, but she didn’t want to be too nosey. Who’d made the call to the police? It had to have been Richter. Nothing made sense right now. She tossed the flower away.
Haley began barking wildly, and she looked up. A man trudged through the field toward them, head hanging and shoulders sagging. The hair was unmistakable. It was Roscoe.
Chapter 33
Gracie was grateful to see her parents pull in at closing time with supper in hand.
Haley dashed to the car, barking merrily. She followed close on Bob’s heels into the house. He set the stack of to-go containers from Midge’s on the kitchen island.
Conversation ran immediately to Roscoe, as they popped the tops on salads for Gracie and her mother and a meatloaf dinner for her father. Gracie, relieved beyond understanding, unloaded the whole story, although she did skip over the part about the trespassing ticket.
Roscoe apparently had gotten himself lost immediately and had spent the night wandering through the woods and fields. He was now spending the night for observation at the hospital in Warsaw. He seemed all right, but was dazed and somewhat confused. He had no idea how he ended up in the field, but saw the kennels and headed for them. Gracie had called the sheriff’s department and Jim. The ambulance was summoned after that. Now she was sure that everyone with a scanner in D.C. knew what had happened at Milky Way today.
“Everybody’ll be talking about this for a long time,” she groused, poking a tomato with her fork.
“Don’t worry about that,” Theresa said soothingly. “Just be glad you’re all right, and Roscoe is all right. I wonder, though, why he can’t remember much of anything.”
“Probably just shock,” Bob commented, stuffing the last of the cheesy meatloaf into his mouth.
“Maybe. But I’m worried about Duane too. I haven’t heard from Kim today, and I don’t know if I should call.”
“She might be embarrassed if Duane really got arrested. Kids do such crazy things,” Theresa said, shaking her head. “At least no one got hurt.”
“I’m pretty sure that Ben Richter had something to do with that setup last night. He’s such a vindictive turd. I wish I could figure a way to find out.” Gracie finished the salad and tossed the container in the wastebasket. “It’s all too confusing.”
“So it is,” her father said, leaning back in the chair and pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket.
“I forgot to ask you, Dad. Do you know if Richter’s a member of the Valley Gun Club?”
“I don’t think so, but I think I saw him up there with Streeker’s aide… uh… What’s her name, Theresa?”
“It’s Cynthia Harkness,” Gracie supplied before her mother could answer. “They were at the gun club together?”
“She was showing off her talents for the guys. She’s good, that’s for sure. She had a 100 percent for skeet and the same for the range. Of course, she had a speech about renewable energy sources and how much they’d improve the economy here.” He stuck the toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure why Richter was there, but they talked for a few minutes before she left.”
Gracie grew silent. She wasn’t sure what to think of that development. It didn’t make sense at the moment.
“According to your Aunt Marlene, the bank’s got problems with this Richter, serious ones. Then there’s that petty lawsuit against Jackson Farms,” her mother chimed in. She collected her husband’s Styrofoam container and napkin.
“He does have some big financial problems, according to Roscoe,” Gracie confirmed. “And there’s the construction above the pond. That land is Richter’s now too. Jim was up there talking to some project manager last night. The guy wouldn’t give him any details, but Jim thinks they’re planning to put in windmills. All the guy would say was the owner wanted to do some development up there,
and the road was the first step.”
“Why would this Richter put windmills on his land when he’s been protesting against them? That doesn’t make sense,” Theresa interjected.
“Beats me. Jim did mention there was some geologic engineer up there too. I really don’t know what that means.” Gracie wiped down the breakfast bar and rinsed the dishrag in the sink.
“You know, I bet I saw that project manager at Midge’s today,” her father suddenly added. “His truck said Resource Management Services on the door. Midge called him ‘Stew.’ Seemed like a nice enough guy. Didn’t say much from what I saw. Just had some lunch and left.”
“As in ‘Stewart’?” she asked, her antennae on high alert.
“Could be. Why?” her father asked in a puzzled voice.
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed loudly on the counter. It was Kim. Her voice was stressed. Gracie tried to counteract the tension with quiet and calm responses. When the jumbled conversation about Richter and the lawsuit didn’t improve, she asked Kim and Duane to come to the house. Maybe she could figure out what was going on in a face-to-face.
Her parents quickly said their good-byes, with a warning not to get too involved. Nodding mutely, Gracie figured it was way too late for that.
Kim and Duane arrived both ashen-faced. Kim’s eyes seemed perpetually swollen and red these days. Duane looked like every ounce of strength had been drained from him.
Haley seemed to sense the emotional storm, and after initial greetings, flopped into her bed with a groan. She slept with one eye open, maintaining surveillance of the situation.
“You’ll have to start at the beginning,” Gracie said. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t understand what you were telling me. It was something about an email and Cynthia Harkness.”
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 17