Bad Road to Nowhere

by Linda Ladd

  Or maybe Mariah knew more than she was telling him and was hiding something. That sounded more like her. The entire case, especially with Mariah Murray suddenly showing up at Bonne Terre, seemed less than credible. The despicable sister-in-law whom he had seen neither hide nor hair of in well over a decade, a woman who disliked him as much as he disliked her? Needing his professional help all of a sudden? Nope, nothing added up with any of that. Not to mention her secret stash of documents or weapons or whatever else she was hiding in that pouch. She was up to no good. He had no doubt. But now he was curious. So he’d play her little game until he found out what she was planning.

  Novak drove the truck around to the back, and then down in front of the building until he found rooms 214 and 215. The one on the left was situated at the east corner of the building. He took that key. Mariah, behind a sturdy locked door on one side. Nobody on the other side, which appealed to him. They both got out, and Novak grabbed his duffel and walked straight to his door, swiped the card key, and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him. At the moment, he needed time alone to decide the best way to proceed. She was nothing but a distraction.

  Mariah was not to be relied upon, not until she earned it and/or he discovered her true motives. She was going to keep insisting on being part of his investigation, but that didn’t mean she had to know everything he did or go everywhere he went.

  The room was warm and quiet inside, and, surprisingly, fairly clean. The sheets had been changed and looked fresh. There was a television and a greasy remote. He wiped the remote on his shirttail and turned the TV to the local television station. Maybe he’d hear something about the Triangle Club, see a commercial with directions and the phone number spelled out on the screen.

  Novak sat down on the bed beside the phone. He got a telephone book out of the single drawer. It was about an eighth of an inch thick, not exactly the same heft as that of the city of New Orleans. But he was used to small towns. He liked them. He liked this one. And he knew how to work in them. He looked up the Triangle Club in the yellow pages and didn’t find it. Didn’t find it in the white pages, either. Okay, that meant he had to locate it himself, but that was no problem.

  An immediate tap sounded on the connecting door and irked the hell out of him. She had never been able to take no for an answer. That had not changed. He opened the door, in no way pleased, and Mariah barged past him and flopped down on his bed. She still had on full makeup and her hair looked brushed down long now, everything back in perfect order. Beautiful but clueless. She was not going to listen to anything he said. That was pretty obvious.

  “Well, the Triangle Club’s not in that tiny little phone book. I already checked,” she told him, leaning back on her palms. She crossed her legs, and they looked long and brown and provocative. She had done it on purpose, trying to seduce him, just like in the old days. “So how do we find it?”

  “You’re the investigative reporter. You tell me.”

  “You’re the detective. You tell me.”

  “This routine is getting old.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “I’m going downtown tonight. Alone. You stay here and finish researching Emma’s past. You haven’t gotten me nearly enough information on her or her husband. And I’m going to need that matchbook.”

  Mariah laughed. It sounded scornful, just as she meant it to. He had heard that kind of attitude from her many times. Most of the time, actually. She hadn’t changed. “You know good and well that I’m not going to do any of that.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Mariah. I can find out things better if I’m alone. You’ll just be a complication.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe I can find out things, too. Sometimes a little bit of red lipstick and sexy clothes gets me information that you can’t get with that big frown. So let’s just go our separate ways once we get downtown and see who’s better at this game. Want to make a wager on who wins?”

  “Look, Mariah. I don’t play games like that. And this isn’t a pissing contest. This is serious business. I don’t know what’s going down in this town yet and I don’t know how dangerous it is. I think it’s gonna get dicey, and probably faster than you obviously expect. I don’t want to have to worry about protecting you if the shit starts to fly. You have a habit of getting yourself into trouble everywhere you go. Sarah and I had to bail you out of jams more times than I can remember. But that’s over. You get thrown in jail here in this town? You’re gonna stay there. Now go get me that matchbook.”

  Mariah gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Sarah was a good sister to me, very good, wonderful, perfect, and I messed up with her more times than I can count. I hurt her and I hurt you. She forgave me before she died. Told me that she loved me on the day you took her and left Sydney for the States. Told me that again when you moved up to New York to take that job at the NYPD. Why can’t you forgive me, Will? It’s been so long. Years and years. God, why can’t you just forgive me?”

  “Because you hurt her more than anybody else ever did. And you meant to hurt her. You meant to hurt both of us. You did it on purpose. I don’t like people who hurt her. And I don’t forgive them, especially you. You were the worst thing in her life.”

  His last remark hit home. Mariah lowered her eyes and stared down at her hands. She began twisting a large diamond ring that she was wearing on the middle finger of her left hand. He’d seen her do that before. It was a nervous habit. The ring looked like it had cost her a bundle. Or maybe it was a gift from one of the men who she had sniffing around her all the time. If not, newspapers must pay reporters a hell of a lot more than they used to. She suddenly looked up at him. Her big green eyes were completely serious now. “It was all because of you, and you know it.”

  Novak just stared down at her. He did not like this conversation. He did not like where it was going. He did not want to have it. He wasn’t going to.

  “You loved me first, Will. You did. You know you did.”

  Her words angered him. “I never loved you. I went out with you exactly twice before I started dating Sarah. That’s it. Two times. I felt nothing like that for you then, and I feel nothing for you now.”

  Now Mariah was getting agitated. “Oh, I remember exactly what happened. You liked me first. You were my boyfriend. And then you met my perfect angelic sister and dropped me like a hot rock. How was I supposed to feel? After you hurt me like that?”

  Suddenly Novak’s resentment got the better of him. “I was not your boyfriend. We had two casual dates while we were in high school, and that’s all it took for me to realize you were a selfish and vindictive brat. You didn’t give a crap about me back then, and you don’t now. What were you supposed to feel? You were supposed to accept reality when Sarah and I fell in love and got married and not feed her lies about you and me having an affair. Not tell her that you and I slept together under her own roof in the bed she shared with me. That’s what you were supposed to do. You were supposed to behave like a decent human being and not do everything in your power to make Sarah’s life with me miserable. You were always jealous of her since day one, and you never stopped trying to break us up.”

  Novak stopped there and regained control. “Goddamn it, Mariah. I don’t want to talk about the past anymore. You understand that? Don’t ever bring it up again. I’m very close to getting in my truck and leaving you sitting here. Get out of my room. I’m going to get some rest and then I’m going to see what I can find out about this town and that club. Just stay the hell out of my way.”

  Mariah was not ready to give it up. She never was, not until she got her way. “I’m sorry, Will. I’d do anything to change what I did to Sarah, the pain I caused for you both. I regret it so much now. I do, I swear to God, I do. I wish I could change it, but I can’t.”

  Novak turned his back on her and stared out the front window, just wanting her to leave. She was dredging up memories he didn’t want, and along with them, the deep-rooted anger that cut him to the bone. Not now. It wasn’t the time
or the place.

  Mariah sat there a few moments, and then, finally, she stood up and walked back into her own room. A few seconds later, she reappeared and tossed the matchbook on the bed. Then she left again and shut the door quietly behind her. Novak jerked the slide bolt into place. He’d had enough of Mariah Murray today. He lay down on his bed, fully dressed, and tried not to think about what she’d said or what she’d done in the past. Not to think about Sarah and his kids anymore.

  They had now reached the town where Emma Beckenridge Adamson was possibly being held captive. If she even was a captive. If she wasn’t already dead in a shallow grave somewhere or drifting around on the ocean floor north of Sydney as had been purported by the authorities. That was their mission, and that’s what he wanted to think about. Tonight he’d take the first step to locate her, hopefully alive and in good health, along with her little son. He wasn’t going to let Mariah screw it up for him.

  Mariah

  Later that night, Mariah waited for Novak to drive out of sight, and then she got on her cell phone. When the guy picked up at the other end, she said, “Okay, he’s gone. Pick me up at the Avalon Motor Lodge. It’s out by the first highway exit. But keep an eye out. He’s unpredictable. Where are you?”

  “The Sheraton. Other side of the highway beside the Lowe’s. Not far from you. Where’d he go?”

  “Who knows? Says he’s going to check out the Triangle Club. He told me to stay here, but we need to meet up and decide how to handle him. He’s very hard to get along with, so we have to be careful. Is Carson on him?”

  “Yeah. Like glue.”

  “Well, I hope to heaven he knows what he’s doing, because Novak sure as hell does. He did change cars, right?”

  “Yes. We both did. Just relax. We know what we’re doing. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “I’ll meet you out in back of the second building. If you see Novak coming, don’t stop. Just keep going. Got that?”

  “Yeah. Anything else?”

  “Not yet. Pretty much going in blind. Just like you are.” Mariah sighed, very concerned about the way things were happening thus far. “He wants to work alone. He’s insisting on it. I’m trying to change his mind. He’s stubborn.”

  “Well, do it. We’ve heard you’re pretty good at getting guys to do what you want.” He laughed.

  Mariah didn’t. “Not him. He can’t stand me.”

  “Better get him over that fast.”

  “Just do your part and quit telling me how to do mine.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there in ten.”

  Mariah punched off the phone, and then she took her Ruger out of the locked pouch and shoved it back into her leather bag. She muttered a low oath. Damn, she wasn’t at all certain that anything they had sat down and planned out so meticulously was going to work. The whole idea had been flawed from the beginning, and now she was caught right in the middle of it with Novak watching her every move. She pulled back the curtain and waited to make sure Novak hadn’t returned. Then she walked out, locked her door behind her, and headed out to the back parking lot.

  Chapter Eight

  Novak climbed into his truck and drove off the motel grounds at twelve minutes after seven o’clock in the evening. Fortunately, the motel had been practically deserted when he had driven out through the front parking lot. A few more cars than were there earlier, maybe, two or three parked in front of rooms along the first building. Nobody saw him leave, he was fairly sure. Nobody cared, even if they did. Of that, he was certain.

  For the next hour or so, Novak drove aimlessly up and down the streets of Sikeston, looking for the kind of bar he figured the Triangle had to be. He couldn’t locate it, so he started looking for another kind of bar. One that wouldn’t be as difficult to find. So far, he found the small town was pretty, well ordered, clean. Nice for families with little kids. A fine place to enjoy block parties and Fourth of July barbecues, where people helped other people and all was well, all the time. He could visualize the neighborhoods having welcome wagons, with covered dishes brought to newcomers or bereaved neighbors, with good people living good lives. Novak had lived in a place like that for a while. Not long enough before the unthinkable happened. He wished he’d never left that place. He wished he’d never moved his family to New York.

  Eventually, as Novak wandered through the well-maintained streets and stopped his truck at empty school crossings, worms of worry writhed alive and crawled around inside his head. He had a bad feeling now, and it was growing. He had learned the hard way to trust his instincts. And right now, he felt, and very strongly, that a pernicious presence had slipped through the dark night into this little innocent town and crept down its neat, well-maintained streets. With soft, stealthy footfalls, like a big panther, searching for the kind of prey it wanted, eager to perpetrate its evil. He became wary and alert as he drove on, sensing that kind of cold darkness around him, nearby, concealed behind innocent façades but hunkered down in the ugly underbelly, one filled with criminals and perversions and murder. Something was lurking, waiting in some shadowy alley, crouched down with bloody claws and dripping jaws, for something small and helpless to wander by.

  Novak tried to shake off his foreboding and kept a vigilant lookout for the kind of establishment he sought. He passed by lots of grassy front yards filled with giant red oaks and hickories and elms and maples, tall ancient trees draped in all the glorious scarlets, burnt oranges, brilliant yellows that would become neon colors in the sunlight. Falling leaves drifted lazily onto bricked sidewalks and manicured gardens. Pumpkins and hay bales and pots of mums sat on front stoops and in elaborate yard displays. Every lawn seemed immaculate and cared for. He passed two old ladies, walking together with tiny white Yorkies on bejeweled pink leashes. He passed moonstruck young couples strolling along, hands entwined, gazing at each other. He passed families, out walking, laughing and talking together. All the fine upstanding citizens, not afraid of anyone, used to safety and security. Not a care in the world. They were not afraid of Novak as he cruised past them, didn’t fear the big, tough stranger in their little Shangri-la . . . but they should. They looked way too trusting, unaware, unknowing, out and about, enjoying the fine crisp weather under their ornate and bright street lights, calling out friendly hellos and good evenings in their lovely, untouched existence. But Novak had seen way too much of the other side of that kind of world. He knew what lurked down under in the muck, sight unseen, until it was too late for its victims to run.

  It took him a long time, but he finally ran across the part of town that he’d been searching for. He had followed the older end of Main Street south, jouncing over purple-red bricks that rattled his old truck. He drove past historic homes, now neglected or made into shabby apartments, and old-fashioned churches with tall steeples and stained glass, until he reached the seedy part of town. The other side of the tracks, with its smoky corner bars and pawn shops with barred doors and deserted warehouses with broken windows. All the places that decent Sikestonians turned their heads and avoided. The sidewalks were dingy and cracked and weed-choked, the bottom dregs of a nice little town.

  The road he followed took him through an old business district with mostly boarded-up storefronts and down to the bottom of a hill that overlooked a narrow river with heavily wooded banks. Huge tree limbs overhung the water and reflected their vivid colors in the surface. Rusty railroad tracks and a blacktopped road filled with potholes ran alongside the stream.

  Steep streets, all covered with the same historic old bricks, led down to the tracks, where he found an ancient train depot with a Spanish-inspired red-tiled roof and a magnificent set of concrete steps leading up to the old commercial district, a part of town that probably thrived in the railroad heyday, with hotels and restaurants and excitement on that street above. The depot looked as if it was being restored; lots of scaffolding and taped-off areas surrounded a parking lot being repaved with asphalt. He took a left off the river road when a tall old bridge with rusted iro
nwork came into sight on his right. It was still in use, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to drive over it. A new bridge, all concrete and sleek with low modern lines and sidewalks and streetlights, lay just past the old one, stretching across the river from a high hill about fifty yards upstream. He headed up another steep hill toward a large building that looked like it might be the county courthouse. Almost at the top, just before a four-way-stop intersection, he pulled over into a parking space on the right-hand side of the road facing uphill. Old-fashioned parking meters lined both sides of the road, the kind in which you had to insert coins to buy time.

  Novak sat there, casing things out. It was the sleazy bar across the street that he was most interested in. It stood about ten yards down the hill from where he had parked. A small sign was affixed to the roof, four feet by eight feet, white and hand painted in red letters: RED’S BAR. The shabby structure sat between a pair of two-story redbrick buildings. Both looked abandoned. Both had boarded-up windows, some of the glass gone, and padlocks on the street doors. The bar had one large plate glass window facing the sidewalk, heavily draped with something black, and one neon sign that advertised Budweiser. It was lit up in red, and the light blinked on and off desultorily every few seconds. The local dive, a tavern designed for the lonely and miserable, a place where drunks with no hope and no life would guzzle beer and demand more booze from some dirty, disinterested bartender.

  Novak knew all about those kinds of bars. He had sat inside many of the same dark, dreary dumps drowning his sorrows, back when he just didn’t give a damn about anything or anybody. Well, he gave a damn now, and he had a young mother and a kid to find. He shoved the gearshift into park, killed the engine, and sat there alone and watched the bar for a while. He didn’t particularly want his truck to be noticed. That was why he still drove an old model and left it dirty and dinged up on the outside. It looked right in place in most of the places his cases took him. More important, it rarely drew attention when he was on surveillance. He reached down and retrieved his .45 from underneath the driver’s seat, checked it over, and stuck it down into his back waistband where it would be hidden under his untucked black T-shirt.