by Hinze, Vicki
“Is she—?”
“She’s scared and in pain, but she’s holding on.”
So was Caron.
Parker pounded on Decker’s door. Inside the house, Killer started barking. “Come on, Decker,” Parker shouted. “I know you’re in there.”
Decker swung the door open. Killer bounced against the screen, popping it with his front paws. “Get outa here.” He kicked at the dog, then growled at Parker. “What the hell do you want?”
The beer in his hand foamed from his hand gestures. Caron squeezed Parker’s hand, then let go.
“Straight talk, buddy.” Parker’s expression darkened. “You helped Keith Forrester and a redhead kidnap a kid named Misty. Her bike’s in your garage. Your sister, Linda, found out. She didn’t like it. Now she’s dead. In a few minutes, cops are going to be crawling all over your ass. And we’re the only thing standing between you and the electric chair. Now talk.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Well, it’s your hide Forrester nailed to the wall.”
Decker narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
Avoiding Parker’s gaze, Caron barged in. Sometimes, the truth just wouldn’t do. “We’re private investigators.”
“I don’t have to talk to you.”
“No, you don’t,” Parker agreed. “But you’re in this up to your earlobes, and every cop in town knows it. We’re the only chance you’ve got, and probably the only people in the world who figure you didn’t kill Linda.”
Decker’s eyes misted. “I didn’t.”
Caron challenged him. “But you know who did.”
Decker looked torn between talking to them and telling them to go to hell. Caron pressed. “Someone is going to go to jail for kidnapping Misty and murdering your sister, Mr. Decker. If you don’t help us, that someone is going to be you.”
He dragged a hand through his hair and stepped back from the door. Parker opened it and went inside. Caron followed.
Decker plopped down in his recliner. Caron watched Killer. He sat alert at his master’s feet, his ears pricked, but he wasn’t growling. She didn’t trust either of them.
“Linda was all I had.” Decker’s red-rimmed eyes proved he’d been doing some heavy-duty drinking, or mourning, or both. He shielded his eyes with his hand and rubbed.
Caron started to say something, but Parker’s glance had her keeping quiet.
Decker’s chest heaved. “That filthy cop offed her.” He pounded the arm of his chair with his fist. “I’m gonna kill him. Just as soon as I find that slimy jerk, I’m gonna rip his heart right outa his chest and feed it to my dog.”
Caron swallowed back the knot of revulsion clogging her throat. Her knees went weak. He was talking about Sandy. She knew it as well as she’d known Sandy was involved.
“Sanders?” Parker asked, not sounding at all surprised. He walked to the television and lifted a gold-framed photo.
“Yeah, Sanders.” Decker took a long draw from the beer.
Parker raised the photo. “Is this Linda?”
Caron saw the long blond hair, the same beautiful face they’d seen lifeless in the morgue. It was her.
Decker pursed his lips and nodded.
“Why do you say Sanders killed her?” Caron couldn’t believe in her heart that Sandy could kill anyone; there had to be another explanation.
“He was sleeping with her.” Decker shook his head. “It’s kind of complicated.”
Needing the support, Caron leaned back against the door. “We have time.”
“Keith got into a little trouble at work. Played hotshot with somebody else’s money. Sanders found out, and was gonna have Keith arrested.”
Parker looked at Decker. “Sounds reasonable, so far.”
“They knew each other from way back. Sanders and Forrester and Linda.”
“It can’t be that far back,” Caron insisted. “Sandy’s a good twenty years older than Forrester.”
“No, he ain’t.” Decker made a scissors motion with his fingers. “Keith’s touchy about age. He’s had everything lifted that can be lifted. So’s Linda.”
Parker shrugged. “That doesn’t explain why Sanders would kill her.”
“He’s in love with her. Always has been. And when he went head-on with Keith about the money, Keith used that. He told Linda he’d ‘learned his lesson,’ that he’d never do anything crooked again. And he sent her to Sanders to patch things up and take off the heat.”
“Sent her?” Caron cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
Decker sighed. “Keith told Linda that she was the only one who could keep him out of jail. She had to pretend she’d fallen in love with Sanders to get him to give Keith a little time to fix things.”
“And she did it?” Caron couldn’t hide her shock.
“Yeah.” Decker sniffled, then cleared his throat. “She was crazy about Keith. She did anything he asked her to do. Always.”
Parker stuffed his hand into his pocket. “So Linda became Sandy’s lover and persuaded him to keep his mouth shut about Keith and the money.”
“Yeah.” Decker took a long swallow of beer, then crunched the can between his palms. “Then Sanders found out Linda was stringing him along. He dropped by her house. Keith was supposed to be out of town.”
“But he wasn’t,” Parker said.
“No. He was popping Linda on the sofa. Sanders saw them through the window.”
Decker twisted his lips. “So Sanders waited till morning, then came here looking for her. Everybody knows Linda comes over here every Tuesday.” Sending Caron a leering smile, he added, “Considers it her family duty to straighten me out.”
Caron grimaced. Could it have been Sandy, not Forrester, Ina’s neighbors had seen arguing with Linda and Decker?
“So what happened?” Parker put the photo back.
“She wasn’t here. She’d gone to the beauty shop first. I told Sanders. He was messing around with Killer’s leash. Said it was just what Linda needed to keep her in line.”
Caron blinked, then blinked again. “Where is it now?”
Decker shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the last time I saw it.”
“So Sandy left, right?” Parker prodded.
“Yeah. But first he called Linda and told her to meet him at their place.” Decker got out of the recliner. “I’m gonna grab another beer.”
He’d be in plain sight, but Caron still tensed. Parker nodded.
“Their place.” Decker guffawed. “Sandy acted like it was a big secret. Hell, everybody knew they went to the camp. Even Keith knew it.”
Caron condemned Decker; in her heart, she blamed him for not protecting his sister. “You let her meet him?”
Decker guffawed again. “Honey, it’s clear you don’t know Linda. Since she was sixteen and Keith popped her cherry in the back seat of his daddy’s Caddy, ain’t nobody been able to tell her nothing. I couldn’t stop her. Nobody could. But I did follow her.”
“So you saw Sandy kill her?” Parker picked up a sea-shell from a shelf covered with trinkets and put it to his ear. He sounded calm, but his hand wasn’t steady.
“No. I got caught behind a wreck and lost her. By the time I got up to the camp, Linda was dead. Piled on the grass, deader than dirt.” He snapped the top off the beer and took a long swig.
“What time was that?”
Decker lowered the can from his mouth and swallowed. “About three-thirty.” He shrugged. “Maybe four.”
It didn’t fit. Something was very wrong here. But what? Caron licked her lips. “You’ve explained everything except why you got involved in the kidnapping.”
“Because of Linda. Keith told me he’d fixed the papers to make it look like she’d stolen the money. He’s got one of those fancy computers. He said that either I went along, or Linda went to jail. So I went along.”
“Where’s Forrester now?” Parker returned the shell.
“I don’t know. Probably shacked up with the redheaded tramp who started all this
.”
“Vanessa?” Caron asked, playing a hunch.
“Who knows? He don’t tell me his tramps’ names. But whoever she is, her money comes from her old man. She’s broke on her own.”
“Do you know his name?” Caron tensed, tempted to shake the truth out of Decker.
“No. Never heard it.”
Parker stepped to Caron’s side, as if sensing she’d need him close. “Decker,” he said. “Who is Misty—and where is she?”
Caron’s heart skipped a full beat, then pounded against her ribs. She was scared to breathe, to so much as blink.
“I don’t know who she is or where they have her.” He shook his head. “I swear, if I did, I’d cut her loose like Linda wanted.”
“Misty was here,” Parker said, in a flat tone.
“Yeah, until Linda saw her. Couple hours later, Keith picked the kid up. I don’t know where he took her.”
Caron squeezed Parker’s arm. She believed Decker. He didn’t know where Misty was now. But he was wrong about Sandy; he hadn’t killed Linda.
“Where’s this camp?”
“Uh-uh. No way you’re getting that out of me. Forrester will kill me. Or Sanders will.”
Caron smelled Decker’s fear and knew he wouldn’t change his mind.
“We aren’t going to tell the police what your involvement in this is, Decker—at least not yet. But don’t take off.”
“My sister’s funeral’s tomorrow. I’ll be there.”
“Parker.” Caron nodded toward the door.
He gave her a perplexed look, but followed her outside.
She didn’t say a word. They got into the car and closed the doors.
Then Parker looked Caron straight in the eye. “Vanessa is Misty’s mother.”
“What?”
“It fits.”
“Parker, you’re making a huge mental leap here.”
He covered her hand on her thigh. “Just listen, okay? Then, if I’m out in left field, you can be the first to tell me you told me so.”
“Okay.”
“Vanessa and Misty’s father are loaded, like Decker said. Forrester’s their broker. He starts trading with money he doesn’t have—five million, like Mary Beth said at the I. He needs money, so he gets involved with Vanessa and puts the pinch on her. Vanessa decides she wants Linda out of the picture and Forrester to herself. If she pulls his fanny out of the fire, she’ll own him. This she doesn’t tell Forrester, of course. So she and her lover arrange for her daughter to be abducted. Then she and Forrester can extort the five million he needs to cover his buns from Misty’s dad. But Forrester doesn’t want dirty hands, just in case something goes wrong. So he enlists a pair he can control Decker’s.”
Caron picked up where Parker left off. “But Forrester didn’t bank on Linda finding out, or objecting. And when she did, and confronted him in the I, he knew he had to move Misty someplace Linda couldn’t find her, or the whole scam would blow up in his face.”
Caron slapped the armrest with her hand. “Exactly.”
“It fits.” Parker gave her a nod. “Caron, where’s Misty?”
“I don’t know.” Her elation faded. “I just don’t know.’’
He gave her thigh a little squeeze, then laced their fingers together. “Sanders isn’t looking good in this.”
“No, but Decker lied. Sandy didn’t kill Linda.”
Parker cocked his head and cranked the engine. “I know you’ve been friends with Sanders for a long time, but him killing her fits. From the nonexistent kidnapping report all the way to the affair with Linda, it fits.” Parker snapped on the headlights. “Sanders wouldn’t be the first man to bury a report, or to kill a woman for duping him.”
“I’m not sure about the report. But Sandy didn’t kill Linda,” Caron insisted. “Decker’s lying about that, I just know it.”
“Okay. Let’s talk this through. Decker said he hadn’t seen Killer’s leash since Sandy had it at his house, right?”
“Right.” The gearshift clicked into drive.
“He said it before we mentioned it, Caron. He knew she’d been strangled with a leash.”
Caron frowned. “The police wouldn’t release that information, not yet. Sanders was breaching protocol in telling us about it.”
“Right. But he did tell us. And if the police know it was a dog leash, then they must have it.”
“Decker made it a point to mention that he hadn’t seen the leash since Sandy was at his house—before Linda had been killed. The police don’t know where she died, Parker. Decker said he saw Linda ‘deader than dirt’ in the grass, but by the time he got to the camp—remember? That puts him at the murder scene, Parker. And the leash had to have been wrapped around her neck. I mean, she wasn’t likely to have removed it after she’d been murdered, then replace it after she’d been moved to the house.”
“Maybe it was a slip of the tongue. Maybe Sanders told Decker, too.”
“Sandy didn’t tell Decker. It was a slip of the tongue. But it was also the truth. Sandy didn’t kill Linda. He probably buried the report. But if he had killed her, he would have buried the leash, too. He’d never have told us about it. Decker saw that leash around Linda’s neck, Parker. And it wasn’t at any three-thirty or four. It was at two, exactly as the coroner said.”
Parker slid her a sidelong look. “You know who killed her.”
“No, but I’m close. Something’s niggling at me.” She dug into her purse for a candy bar. “I’ll figure it out.”
“No, ma’am.” Parker stayed her hand. “No candy. We’re going to eat a decent meal and get some rest.”
“But we’re getting so close to Misty.”
“We’re running on nerves. We need fuel. Not mistakes.”
“Look.” Caron pointed through the windshield.
A group of carolers were singing ‘Silent Night’ on a brightly illuminated porch. Caron hoped it was a good omen. Three days till Christmas and, more than anything, Caron wanted Misty safe and sound.
Parker turned the corner, then looked over at Caron. “Okay, don’t pout.” He checked his watch. “It’s nearly midnight. We’ll eat, rest for a couple of hours, then get back to business.”
“Okay,” Caron said reluctantly. He was right. They did need food and rest. If they were tired and hungry, they were more apt to make mistakes. They’d come too far and gotten too close to mess this up now. “But first thing in the morning.” Caron shifted her gaze and looked out the window. “It’ll be Christmas soon, Parker. I want this wrapped up. I need peace this Christmas.”
Parker captured her hand, lifted it and pressed his lips against her fingers. “Peace sounds good to me, too.”
She didn’t say it; neither did Parker. But it was there between them. The investigation of Linda’s murder had bought them some time. With Forrester finding the body, he’d be afraid he was being watched by the police—which he probably was—and that would keep him from harming Misty. But they were closing in, and if Forrester realized his house of cards was collapsing around his upper-crust ears before she and Parker found Misty, there was no doubt about what Forrester would do.
Silence the victim.
Chapter 8
“Parker, wake up.” Caron bent over the sofa and touched his scrunched shoulder.
He opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got to go.” His hair was mussed, and the curls clung to his scalp. She ran her fingers through them.
He glanced at his black diver’s watch and squinted at its illuminated dial. “It’s two a.m.,” he groaned. “We just got to sleep.”
The fog lifted, and he sat up straight. “Is it Misty?”
She stepped back. Two hundred and twenty pounds of muscled man in motion was too much, especially considering what she was about to say. That he wouldn’t like it was a blatant understatement. “I’ve got to touch the leash.”
His expression flashed from worried to grim. “Caron, I’m asking you not to do that.”
<
br /> Asking had been hard for him. She sank her teeth into her lower lip and touched his shoulder. The muscle was hard-packed, tense. “If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t.” God, but this was hard for her to admit, too. “Because you asked me. But I was thinking. Someone untied Misty’s ropes and gave her medicine to reduce the fever. If it was Linda, by touching the leash, I might—”
He grabbed Caron’s wrist. “You might go through her death. Have you forgotten what happened? Misty was just sick. But Linda died, Caron. She died.”
Caron wrapped her arms around his head and held him to her stomach. He was shaking. Or was it her? She couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. They both understood.
After a long moment, he looked up at her. “Caron.”
One word. But the emotion behind it was so forceful, so strong, that she nearly cried. She bent down and pressed her lips to his. He dragged her to him, kissing her hard and deep. She tasted the turmoil inside him, the anger, the rage, the fear. He plundered her mouth, his hands on her hips hard and demanding, and she let him.
When he gentled, regaining control, she pressed her forehead to his. “I care about you, Parker. So much. But I’ll never be able to look myself in the mirror again if I turn my back on Misty. Can’t you see? If I start running again, I might never stop.”
“It’s Misty.” His eyes were accusing. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Caron hadn’t wanted to tell him, hadn’t wanted him to feel the gripping fear she felt. But she wouldn’t lie, not to him. “She’s worse. She’s hallucinating.”
* * *
“The evidence room is locked up tighter than a sealed drum, folks, and it will be until seven a.m.”
Caron leaned against Parker and glared at the portly desk sergeant. She was so tired her knees were wobbly. “We can’t wait. Please, call Detective Sanders.” She’d asked before and been refused. Maybe this time he’d soften.
“I told you, Jeff’s wife just had a baby about thirty minutes ago. He’s the only one on watch with a key, and I’m not calling Sanders down here at two-thirty in the morning when I don’t have a key to let him in.” The sergeant shrugged. “What’s the point?”