“That’s none of your business.” He took the water from my hand and handed it to Holly. The woman sipped, then held it cupped in her hands.
“The nurse told me she’s a paranoid schizophrenic—”
The man’s lips thinned. “What nurse? Medical conditions are strictly confidential.”
I nodded at the nurse, then glanced back at the man. The name J. Pender was embroidered on his scrubs.
Pender smirked. “Are you talking about Amy? She’s not a nurse. She’s a patient. I’m going to ask you to leave. Lucinda is due for her therapy session.” He grabbed the push handles of Holly’s wheelchair.
“Wait.”
He paused.
“Can you at least tell me if she is ever lucid? Could she have written letters to the editor over the years? Is there a chance I might get through to her?”
“You said she asked for water. Did she say anything else?”
“She said ‘Jacob’ and ‘must save the child.’”
“Well then. That’s the most anyone’s gotten out of her in years.” He aimed Holly’s chair for the exit.
I caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “This is important. You heard about the missing child? The double murder in Lapwai? Holly may have some critical piece of information. Is there anyone I can talk to about her history? How long she’s been here? What happened to her son?”
“I told you. Confidentiality. If you want to get a court order, be my guest, but she’s still not going to say anything useful.” He pulled my hand from his arm in a practiced move.
“Could you please take my card and call me if she . . . says anything, or, um . . . if anything changes . . .” I held out a business card.
He took it and stuffed it into a pocket, then swiftly pushed the chair from the room.
I’d reached another dead end. I started to follow his retreating back.
“Pssssst.”
I turned around.
Amy motioned me over to the card table.
Glancing around, I found no one was paying us any attention. “Yes?”
“Do you want the dirt on Holly or don’t you?”
“Well . . .”
Amy looked up at me. “Look, I may be crazy, but I’m also a snoop. You’d be surprised what doctors say when they think the drugs have kicked in and we’re too doped to listen.”
What do I have to lose? “I’m listening.”
“Holly’s been here for over ten years. That’s unusual ’cause they want to get us out and back into society as soon as possible.” She jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow and grinned.
“Mm.”
“You know they only lock you up if you’re a threat to yourself or others. Rumor has it”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“she’d been heading to la-la land for years, but one day she took a hatchet and started chopping up pets in the neighborhood. That’s it. Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “And her son?”
“You asked that one before. She didn’t kill any person, least not that I heard, but anyone living with her, well, they’d be pretty twisted.” She stared off into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Yeah.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BEFORE I LEFT I STOPPED IN THE LADIES’ ROOM TO WASH my face. I looked pale and drawn. My next stop was the police department, and I looked like I wanted to be arrested for vagrancy. I combed my hair and reapplied makeup. Better.
The rain had lessened slightly but still fell in a steady drizzle as I left the hospital. The chill dampness pushed through the raincoat and into my body. I was shaking by the time I reached Beth’s car.
The car’s hood was ajar.
I spun around, but no vehicles were parked near me and no one was walking around. Moving to the front, I pushed the lever and opened the hood. The engine of a car was a vast mystery to me, and I wouldn’t know the difference between a camshaft and an oil sump, nor would I care. A bomb, however, might be recognizable. I inspected the assembly of belts, pipes, round and square metal boxes, but nothing looked out of place. Closing the hood with a bang, I stepped on something.
Squatting down, I picked up a pebble. No. Not a pebble, a polished stone. A brown-and-gold tigereye.
Under the car, next to the tire, was a glint of metal.
I snagged one end and pulled out a long rod with a small hook at one end and a handle at the other. A long-reach tool. Used to open car doors without a key.
Shoving the hood of the raincoat off my face and head so I could see, I checked the parking lot for security cameras. Several appeared near the hospital, but none were aimed in my direction. I pulled the hood back up and reached for the driver’s-side door. Unlocked, as I’d figured.
Someone had opened my car, or make that Beth’s car, and got into the engine compartment but didn’t touch anything. Maybe they were interrupted by someone.
The pelting rain intensified, forcing the hood of my raincoat even farther over my face. The drumming of the raindrops would cover the sound of anyone running up to me. I spun around, then jumped into the car and locked the door. The windows swiftly steamed up.
The inside of the car was dry. No one could have sat here without soaking the seat.
Unless they did so between rain showers.
I took a deep breath and started the engine. The car roared to life and I remained in one piece. No bomb.
After checking the back seat for visitors, I placed a call to Chief Kus. He answered on the first ring. “Hi. I finished the composite sketch, but I’m afraid it won’t be of any use. The so-called witness lied.”
“We’ll pick him up and discuss false statements and their consequences. Where are you now?”
“I just . . . um . . . stopped at Orofino. Do you have a lot of carjacking?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I found a long-reach tool under my SUV, the door unlocked, and the hood unlatched.”
Seth was silent for a moment. “Can you stop by the department and drop off that tool? Also the composite.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll meet you there. You’re about forty-five minutes out.”
I disconnected, then wiped the steamy windows and turned up the heat. No one was lurking around the parking lot as I left, and I tried to keep from thinking about the attempted break-in. With Holly unable to help me, I hoped Beth would have a lead on the plane crash that killed my parents. She might have even found out about my presence at the Two Rivers B and B thirty-two years ago.
And Jacob had moved to the top of my list of people I needed to find.
Then, of course, little Beatrice was still missing.
The squall passed during my drive to Lapwai, but dusk had fallen. I kept alert for deer or elk, or even moose that might stroll across the highway. Traffic was light, critters few, and I made it to Lapwai without incident. Chief Kus was waiting for me just inside the door leading to the lobby of the department. He waved through the window to show he saw me.
The parking lot was small, with a hill rising above me on the right, dumpsters straight ahead, and a line of vehicles on my left. I parked between a patrol SUV and pickup, then debated taking my purse with the Glock tucked inside. Nah. I should be safe enough in a police lot. I placed the composite drawing in a waterproof envelope and tucked it under my arm, then took the long-reach tool by the edges. Hopping out, I locked my purse in the glove box and dashed toward the station. As he opened the door for me, he looked even more strikingly handsome under the stark lighting.
I wished I’d taken a moment to fluff my hair and apply fresh lip gloss.
I handed the tool to the chief and followed him through the secured door into the inner reaches of the station. We moved to his office, a pleasant room decorated in earth-toned browns and deep greens. He closed the door behind us.
Placing the envelope on his desk with slightly trembling fingers, I started to pull off the wet jacket.
Chief Kus helped me, his fingers lightly brushing my neck a
s he took the jacket and hung it on a bentwood coat tree.
The air seemed to get thinner and I sat in the nearest chair to catch my breath. “Um . . . so . . . I . . .”
“You saw no one around your car in Orofino?” The chief placed the long-reach tool next to the composite and took a seat behind the desk.
“No. I’m wondering if he was interrupted, if someone came by before he could do . . . whatever he was going to do to the car.”
“You do seem to be attracting interest in your rigs.” He pulled the envelope closer, opened it, and studied the sketch. “Too bad it’s a lie. This is a great composite.” He placed the drawing on the side of his desk, then opened a drawer and pulled out some papers. “The autopsy on the body we found.” He slid it across to me. “No sign of trauma, so not much help.”
“Do you want me to do a reconstruction?”
“She was identified. Taken from Lacey, Washington, about seven years ago.”
“How sad.” I picked up the autopsy report and glanced at it. “Lacey’s near Olympia, right?”
“Yes. That’s your copy of the report. See if you have any ideas after reviewing it.”
“Sure.” I placed the paperwork into the envelope.
“How did the other interviews go?”
“Other . . . ah . . . interviews?”
“You had the names of two other people to interview in Kamiah.”
I opened and closed my mouth. I probably looked like a gasping carp. How could I have not checked the list of names and assignments before driving all the way up to Kamiah?
“Hello.” A deep male voice from behind me saved me from having to come up with a response. I turned, grateful for something to look at besides my hands, the tips of my shoes, or Chief Kus’s frowning face. An older man with the same striking features as Seth Kus stood in the doorway. His hair was black and worn in two long braids. He wore a plaid, western-cut shirt with a silver and turquoise bolo tie. A horsehair belt held up his crisp denim jeans.
“I’m sorry, son. I didn’t know you were still working,” the man said.
“Just finishing up. Dad, this is Gwen Marcey, the forensic artist I told you about from over in Montana. Gwen, this is my dad, Dan Kus.”
I stood and offered my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kus.”
Dan took my hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Call me Dan. My son has spoken highly of you. He said you were able to get Kelli LoneBear riled.”
My face burned and I swiftly let go of Dan’s hand. “Well . . . I just sort of . . .”
Dan waved his hand and grinned. “Don’t try to explain. Kelli’s a tenacious woman who’s been in hot pursuit of Seth here for some time—”
“Dad!”
Dan’s grin grew wider. “Now I’ve got your goat, son.” He took a chair and sat. “The sooner she’s out of your life, the sooner you can marry and produce that grandson before I get too old to see him.”
Seth’s face was as red as mine had been. I moved toward the door. “Well, I have more work to do, so I’ll leave you now—”
“Wait.” Seth leaned forward. “You mentioned you were doing research on a plane crash. You can ask Dad for advice while he’s here.”
I turned to the older man. “I’m looking into a fatal plane crash in the Clearwater National Forest that occurred thirty-two years ago.”
Dan straightened. “Thirty-two years ago? That’s pretty ancient history.”
“She thinks it has something to do with our current murders and kidnapping.” Seth gave a slight shrug.
“Why would you want to look into a plane crash?” Dan asked.
“My parents died in it, and I believe I was supposed to have perished as well. It’s a long story.”
“And an even longer stretch of the imagination,” Chief Kus said, “but I said you could recommend an outfitter to take her to the crash site and you’d probably know something about the accident.”
Dan furrowed his brow and absently stroked his upper lip. “Sure. Glad to help. Why don’t you drop by the museum sometime?”
I nodded.
“In the meantime, I’ll look some things up and talk to Thomas Wolf, the young man I work with. He’s the resident expert on who the best guide is for what you want.”
“Thank you. Here’s my cell if you find something sooner.” I handed him a business card.
Dan stood. “I have to get going. Don’t forget the poker game tonight, Seth.” He left.
“Your dad seems nice.”
“Yeah, a great dad. He taught me a lot.”
“Was he a cop?”
“No. He taught me about our heritage.” He looked down and smiled. “Dad decided he’d follow an old Nez Perce tradition of letting the spirit of the wind name me. When I was eight, he sent me alone into the mountains to discover my Wy ya kin, my spirit guide. I couldn’t eat until an animal or bird spoke to me and gave me a name. I was to wear a symbol of the attending spirit throughout my life. Nothing could harm me if I did.”
“And your spirit guide named you Seth?”
“My mom did. She didn’t buy into the traditions. Anyway, Dad has studied the tribe’s history, stories, and legends. Throw in a little reincarnation and some Protestant beliefs and you have my dad’s philosophy of life.”
Growing up with a dad would have been nice. “Thank you for sharing that. I should be going.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting.” He placed a gray plastic bag on his desk. “More videos.”
I picked up the bag and headed to my car. The first splash of rain on my hair reminded me I’d forgotten the jacket in Seth’s office. I spun around to retrieve it.
The truck window shattered next to me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I LEAPED TO THE FRONT OF THE TRUCK AND DIVED TO the wet pavement. Several more shots slammed into the back of the pickup. Pop! Pop! Pop!
My heart raced and I ducked down even farther. My Glock sat in my purse in the glove box of my car parked next to me, but it might as well have been on the moon.
Footsteps crashed through the underbrush on the hillside. I stayed hunkered down, my knees pulled to my chest. That could be the shooter. Or just someone running from the gunfire. The cold, wet pavement chilled my bottom, and more rain dripped on my head.
A door squeaked open and Seth’s voice carried clearly over the slight rain. “I can’t get hold of LoneBear, so—”
“Get down! Active shooter!” My voice was shrill.
A door slammed shut. In what seemed like seconds, the lot filled with police vehicles, lights flashing, sirens blaring. I remained where I was crouched until Officer Attao, gun drawn, ducked beside me. “Hurt?”
“No.”
“Shooter?”
“Ten o’clock. I think.”
The officer poked his head up, glanced in that direction, and dropped down. Another patrolman crouched behind a patrol SUV to our right. Officer Attao gave hand signals for sniper and the area to cover, then moved away.
I listened to running footsteps, crackling radios, then silence. A dog barked in the distance.
Seth appeared beside me. “Looks like whoever did the shooting is gone now.” He offered his hand to help me up, holding on a second longer than needed.
“Someone ran through the underbrush up on the hill just before you opened the door. That must have been the shooter.” A cold breeze swirled around me. I shivered. “They would have hit me, but I forgot the jacket you gave me and turned to come in and get it.”
“Why didn’t I hear anything?”
Leaning against the pickup, I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. “M-maybe they had a silencer. The gunfire was more of a popping sound.”
Seth wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Come back into the station and get your jacket. You’re freezing.”
His arm and body radiated heat like a furnace. Jacket? I don’t need no stinkin’ jacket.
He ushered me inside and released me. Unfort
unately.
The lobby soon filled with the officers returning from searching the perimeter. They gathered around the chief and me. I suddenly felt very short surrounded by all the burly cops.
“Why was someone shooting at you?” Seth asked.
“I have no idea.”
He stared at me a moment without blinking. “Okay. Write up a report on what happened. We’ll keep looking, but it might be a good idea if you kept a low profile for the next little bit.”
He retrieved my jacket and walked me to my car. Taking the car keys from me, he unlocked and opened the door. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed the door and tapped on the roof.
I could still feel his arm around me on the drive home. Stopping for gas, I pulled out my cell and dialed Blake’s number, then hung up before the call went though. What would I say if he asked me to join him right away? My work was still more important? How could I think about a relationship when my head was full of the missing Beatrice, double homicides, serial killers, snipers, my dead parents, stolen cars, and ex-husbands with custody battles?
Beth was jogging up the street with Winston as I arrived. “Getting exercise?”
“Keeping from going stir-crazy and saturnine.” She stretched her legs as I got out of the car.
“Saturnine? Word of the day?”
“No. Amaranthine is the word of the day. I just can’t figure out how to use it yet.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It means everlasting. Or deep purple-red.”
“Sounds like a bruise.”
She stared at me. “What’s the matter? You look funny.”
I walked toward Twin Rivers B and B. “I seem to have picked up an enemy. I think someone tried to break into or damage my—make that your car. Then someone shot at me.”
Beth spun around, searching for a possible sniper, then charged for the house. “Last one in is a rotten egg.”
Racing after her, I caught the door before it shut, slammed it, then leaned against the wall. I grinned, giggled, then laughed so hard I bent over. I knew intellectually that laughter was a release of tension, but I couldn’t stop. “R-r-rotten e-egg?”
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