Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files)

by Calle J. Brookes

  Jim had made a few minor mistakes on the job. That had been it.

  Maybe he’d shown up drunk on the job more times than he’d really remembered. But no one had gotten hurt back then. Not seriously, anyway. Other than that one time. Once. That was all.

  No. Gunderson and Weatherby had had it out for him ever since then. Jim just knew it.

  It was war in the WSP sometimes.

  “See that you do.”

  Jim headed to his patrol car. He needed a break from this place. Maybe he’d stop off alongside the lake and have a cold one on his lunch hour around six or so, or something. Just one. Just something to calm his nerves.

  But first, he was going to give Monica a call. He had her number. She’d emailed it to him not even six months ago, asking him to call her about questions she had about her daddy’s place. About how she could buy it from the bank or something. About who owned it now. What it was worth on the market now. Like he was supposed to know that.

  He had kept up the property taxes on it, though. He hadn’t wanted someone digging around—literally—on Luther’s property if it had been sold.

  But he’d been careful about it. There was no way she should have been able to find that out. But Monica had.

  He’d call her.

  Let her know that the cops were coming.

  That Helen’s ghost was finally coming for them all.

  20

  Levi Masterson looked just as good as he always had. Miranda accepted the tall, gorgeous rancher’s hug, then reintroduced herself to his redheaded wife. She was about seven or eight years younger than Miranda, smaller than Miranda by half a foot or more, and snippy with her husband. They looked good together.

  It was obvious she was Phoebe Masterson’s sister. The resemblance was strong—even if Miranda hadn’t known of Pandora Masterson her entire life, almost.

  Miranda and her own sisters looked quite a bit alike, too. Like her grandmother had always said—they grew them well in Masterson County. “Levi, we just have a few questions. About the Beise family.”

  He nodded, then pointed toward the front door. “I need to wait outside. I’m expecting a delivery of some new cattle any moment. I’m keeping them here for my father-in-law until he gets his new place up and running. These are specialty cattle.”

  “I’ve heard of the experiments. With Travis Deane out of Texas, right?” She knew they were. Travis Worthington-Deane had been the one to find Helen’s body. It just so happened he was a business partner of Phillip Tyler—Phoebe Masterson’s father.

  It was easy for families to overlap around here. Miranda understood that, but it had thrown Jac the first time Miranda had badgered her friend into joining her for a visit. The second time Jac had been to the area had been when Natalie was injured. The third time had been for the movie.

  This, the fourth, was back on the negative scale of things again.

  She’d have to bring Jac back for the sweet potato festival in September. Miranda had made it one of her goals to get Jac out to actually do things that weren’t always bureau-related.

  “Phil and Deane have big plans for these herds.” Levi crossed muscled arms over his chest. He had certainly gotten better with age—more, he still had the kind expression in his eyes that had always been there. He’d been her first Galahad—when it had really mattered. She’d never forget that. “I don’t remember much about Lesley—other than what you already know. We were casual friends, but his daddy kept him close to home. You remember how Luther Beise could be.”

  “I didn’t interact with Luther that often. Just in passing. Grandma wouldn’t allow it.”

  “No, I can’t see Flo allowing that. They always did have problems. The Beises. Always fighting. Even with each other.”

  Miranda nodded. “Monica could be the same way when it was important to her. Mostly, she was quiet.”

  “Scared. I always thought she had that scared rabbit look about her.” Levi shot a contemplative look toward his young wife. She had a broom in her hands and had tied her hair up with a bandanna. One thing about ranch life—the work never ended. Levi watched his wife with a look of fascination and love in his eyes. Miranda smiled. Of all the men she knew, Levi Masterson deserved a woman to love him. He was just such a good guy.

  “Yes. She always did. I remember her being anxious over everything.” That had been one of the things that had made Miranda take Monica under her wing when they’d been nine and signed up for softball. Miranda hadn’t always lived in Masterson.

  Her father had been military. They’d spent most of her childhood bouncing around the world from various post to post. Their parents would send them to Masterson the instant school was out for the summer—even when it wasn’t, sometimes, depending on where they were stationed—so that they could spend those few months with their cousins and their grandmother and grandfather, before they’d lost her grandfather.

  She’d been nine or so when she’d met Monica. And that girl had been the one of the team without any friends, without anyone caring whether she was at practice or not.

  Miranda had cared. And by the time the softball season had ended, Monica had made several friends on the team. Over time, those friendships had just grown. Then, Miranda’s father had sent his daughters to live in Masterson permanently. With their grandmother and Aunt Jessi—her father’s youngest sister.

  Her aunt Jessi was gone now—a victim of ovarian cancer almost eight years ago—and her father was off doing diplomatic work in Mexico. But Masterson would always be Miranda’s home.

  Monica had always spoken of Masterson County like it was the worst place on earth. It had been one of the few things they had disagreed on. “I think it was a part of her personality.”

  Obsessive compulsive. Those had been the words most used to describe Monica. She had to have everything lined up neatly, had to sit in her chair at a precise angle to the teacher’s desk in every class. In classrooms with thirty desks, Monica Beise was always in the second one from the front, three rows from the door. Which meant Miranda was usually in one of the nine desks that surrounded that one.

  She hadn’t minded too much.

  Her friend had had very few people who just accepted her for the quirks she had.

  In that regard, Jac had always reminded her of Monica in a lot of ways.

  “I remember her brother, of course. But we didn’t cross paths that much, either. Not until I got to high school.” And he’d turned irritating. Watching her. Miranda would never forget how vulnerable that had made her feel.

  “He always had a thing for you, Randi,” Levi said, surprising her. “From about the time you were in junior high. Seventh, eighth grade maybe. Some of the guys teased him about it, so he shut down quickly. But I don’t think his crush ever went away.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Levi sent her his trademark grin. “Of course, you didn’t. I didn’t tell you. Had a thing for you myself for a few years, remember?”

  His wife snorted. “She was smart enough to escape you, Levi.”

  He winced good-naturedly. “She’s feeling a bit off today. And very, very cranky at me at the moment. Morning sickness, you know.”

  The pride in his tone was hard to miss. It had his wife sending him a soft look. One filled with love and exasperation.

  Miranda congratulated them quickly.

  “Yeah, there’s something in the water of Masterson County. All three of my sisters are pregnant, too,” Levi’s wife said. “Pip is two weeks overdue, and Matt’s a nervous wreck. We’re expecting her to pop at any time. Masterson boys are potent.”

  “You’d better believe it.” He wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. Then he turned serious. “All joking aside…I know you have questions.”

  “Rumor had it there was trouble with Luther Beise and Mrs. Ramey about a week or so before they disappeared.”

  “She was good friends with Helen, I think. Bosom buddies, my mother said. We were discussing Helen right after she was found.
” Levi motioned his wife to the porch swing, then sank down beside her. Miranda rested her hip against the porch rail. She knew better than to rush a witness or source. Memories were fluid. One couldn’t predict what someone would say, what would trigger a detail. Time. Patience went a long way in the investigation business. And the profiling. “But it had nothing to do with that.”

  “What did it involve?” Knight stood behind them all, hulking and glowering. Maybe the man was allergic to fresh air and mountain sunshine or something. It certainly looked like it.

  Miranda barely kept her eyes from rolling. Knight was going to be a problem. A real problem.

  “I’m not certain. I just recall hearing that it had something to do with Lesley and his father, and maybe one of the Clary girls. But they were so much younger than us, I don’t know what. Or maybe it was with Junior?”

  “Thanks.” They were going to have to talk to Luther next. Find out what he had been so angry about back then.

  It looked like she and Knight were headed to Medicine Bow now, instead of tomorrow like planned.

  She sighed. It was a long drive down there—maybe she could get Knight to actually relax a bit on the way.

  Miranda always had been a bit of an optimist.

  21

  Luther didn’t even try to evade them. That stuck with Miranda. They called the trucking companies and asked around until they found where he worked. His supervisor was more than happy to give them his approximate location, and radio Luther’s truck, and have him wait at the nearest rest stop.

  It was just that easy.

  Luther Beise—now Dwayne Luther Maynard—was a weathered-looking, burlier, older version of the Luther in her memories. Miranda never had liked Luther back then. He had been crude, rough, and crass, and far too into conspiracy theories. The only outer change she could see was that he had a scar that rivaled Knight’s for severity—only on the opposite side of his face.

  Most of the reason Monica had wanted to spend so much time at the Talley Inn had been to escape her father. Well, both of her parents and her grandmother. Pauline Beise had been very harsh and distant with her daughters and almost fawning with her sons. Unless she was trying to coddle Monica and force a bond that Miranda didn’t think was actually there. It had been extremely inconsistent.

  It had always struck Miranda as off.

  Miranda hadn’t known enough as a kid to figure out the family dynamics, but she’d analyzed the Beises through the years, whenever her thoughts would turn to her past. She hadn’t much liked what answers she’d speculated on.

  “What’s this about? I have fifty-two head of cattle that I need to move between here and Idaho in the next fourteen hours.” Luther looked at her, a contemplative expression on his ruddy, weathered face. “I know you, don’t I? I’m sorry, my memory’s not so great since the tree fell on me eleven years ago.”

  “I’m Flo Talley’s granddaughter. I was good friends with your daughter, Monica.” She made a mental note to have Jac search medical records for Luther, as well.

  “Now I remember.” He shot Knight an angry look. No doubt he felt Knight was more of a threat than she was. Knight was the one keeping him from finishing his task, not her. Some men would always see other men as an immediate threat. Especially a federal agent.

  Knight was probably the biggest threat Luther had ever encountered.

  Of course, a man like Knight could be a threat to the average guy out there.

  She shot a look at Knight. He had put himself at an angle to her. His hard, tough body was between hers and Luther’s. Like he wanted to protect her somehow. Subconscious movement, possibly?

  Well, that was an intriguing concept. She didn’t think he was aware that he’d done that. Interesting.

  “Luther, have you been watching the news over the past nine weeks?” She kept her tone friendly and polite. Unthreatening.

  They needed him to open up. Fast.

  “No. Not much on the news. Too much governmental bull going on. You can’t believe any of it. It’s all fake. Just for money.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “You with the highway patrol?”

  “No. We’re…special investigators. Working with the FBI.”

  He practically recoiled. He put space between them wide enough for a herd of cows to walk right through. “What do you want with me? I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Luther, we just have questions. We’re trying to find Pauline. It’s about her mother. We need—” Miranda knew not to come across as anyone in Luther’s family was responsible for the death. Not with him being so anti-government. “Are you still married to Pauline?”

  He rubbed his mouth, then spit on the ground near his feet. “No. We split some ten years back. No. Twelve. It was twelve. Meg was a baby then, still in diapers.”

  “Do you know where she is?” Children left trails out there. At least, they should in today’s world. No one was completely off-grid anymore. “Your children?”

  A guilty look flashed over his face. “I… Look here, I’m only telling you this because your grandma was a good woman. Kind and all.”

  “Still is. Going strong at the diner and inn. Finally starting to turn things over to us girls, but it’s so she can do other things, she says.”

  “That’s good to hear. She was always good to my Monica. A real good influence on her. I…never said it, but I appreciated that.” He stared at her for a long time. Miranda stood, just patiently waiting. And waiting.

  He sighed. “Look, I took the four younger girls and my youngest son and left. Older two stayed with their mother.”

  “Where are they now?” Four? Well. Apparently, there had been more Beises born since then.

  “Girls are…” His face showed momentary confusion. “Megan was born after we left Masterson. Honey goes by Olivia now. I remember.”

  “You just changed her name? Can you tell me why? Why did you change yours?”

  Heat hit his cheeks. “We just…did. Pauline didn’t like the Beise name anymore. She made us change everybody’s. First and last. It was easier just to give in to what she wanted in front of her. Pauline…could be pushy when she wanted something. She took care of all of it.”

  “Why did you take the younger children and not Monica?” Ten years ago, Monica would have been eighteen. It was possible she hadn’t wanted to go. Monica or Junior, who would have been sixteen or so ten years ago. And if Luther had kept all the kids with him—why hadn’t Pauline fought it? There was more going on then what he was saying. “Luther, we need to find everyone. We have a lot of questions.”

  “What kind?”

  “Helen.” She watched his eyes for any reaction.

  Luther just shook his head. “Haven’t seen her since we left. Even before. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. I had taken a job hauling cattle for Old Ben Tyler a week before. When I came home, Pauline had everything packed and was in a fit. Said her mom finally kicked us out, and we had to be gone that night. Said her mom had taken all the savings we had as back pay on the rent. But we were never behind. I just figured the old witch had finally cracked and stolen what we had. Someone had been stealing from our cash savings for years. Always figured it was her.”

  “So you just left the property behind? Didn’t you keep your money in the bank?”

  “Didn’t have much choice on the property. That’s why we changed our names. So we could avoid her mama filing against us in small claims. Pauline said her mother threatened to sue us for the damage the kids did to the house. It was my house; not hers. She went to stay with a third cousin, and we moved out that same night. With three puking kids, Monica all mad and crying, and Lesley practically in shock. Hated what that did to my kids.”

  That was not the explanation Miranda had been anticipating. But he’d just handed them a seriously strong motive for him killing Helen. Him—or Pauline. “Luther, Helen Caudrell didn’t move to a third cousin. Our resources tell us she didn’t have a third cousin.”

  “No one liked that old witch. Evil,
she was. Pure, pure evil. I hated leaving my kids with her when I drove loads, but it was the only choice we had, considering we needed the money I could bring in using my Dad’s old semi. With the baby coming soon, I was trying to save some money, I remember. So we could put Marcie and the baby in daycare instead of leaving them with Pauline’s mother.”

  “Why? What would she do?”

  “She believed in slapping the kids around. Spare the rod. I never did much agree with that.” He narrowed a glance at her. “I never once laid a hand on any of my kids. Not once. Even when they no doubt deserved it for sassing. But Pauline and Helen—they’d hit first, lecture later. It was one of the main reasons we split. Pauline wouldn’t leave Junior alone. Always on him for something after the move. Like she blamed him for it or something. I took him, Jenny, Honey, Marcie, and the baby, Megan, and left. Pauline had just gotten bad with all the kids. I don’t think she could handle not having her mom around to tell her what to do with the kids. And she made it clear she didn’t want the baby. They were too much work for her.” He shook his head like he couldn’t imagine it.

  “Helen’s body was found, Luther. Buried in the center of your back barn, wrapped up in a pink and orange quilt she’d been sewing. We believe she died before you made it back that day. We need you to help us figure out what happened to Helen.”

  He let out a slew of curses, then jerked toward the nearby juniper bushes, where he promptly lost the contents of his stomach. When he was finished, he looked back at Miranda.

  “Well, who killed her, then?”

  22

  Clint admired how well the FBI worked together. There didn’t seem to be too much friction between any of them—at least, not any that interfered with their effectiveness as a team.

  Well, other than that between Miranda’s friend Jac and the other Agent Jones. Now, there was something going on between them. He had no doubt about that.

  Miranda was having a good time irritating Knight. Clint smiled, remembering the girl she used to be. She’d drive him crazy, too. Anything to get a rise out of him. She had always been…playful. He’d needed that joy back then.