“Got it,” Rachel said. “And Sean’s clothes?”
The sheriff reached across the desk and grabbed a brown paper bag. “Everything he wore the night he was found is in here. Like I told you this morning, I can send it to the State Police.”
Rachel set the bag on her lap. “No, that’ll take too long. The lab CORE uses can give us results within a few days.”
“Nice,” Jake replied. “That’s a hell of a turnaround time.”
If only the sheriff knew the cost. But Ian had deep pockets and zero patience. With any case CORE took on, Ian wanted excellent, quick results. When one case ended, there was always another that needed to be solved.
“The perks of a private agency,” Rachel said, then added, “When I was researching Bola and Wexman, I found a blog that claimed Wexman Hell Week was like Bigfoot…nothing but a legend.”
The sheriff sat on the edge of the desk near Rachel. “There are a lot of superstitious people around these parts. Every Townie has a theory about what keeps happening to these students. Some are logical, others are ludicrous. There’s one thing the Townies do have in common though, and that’s…fear.”
Owen frowned. “But all the victims have been college students.”
“Not all.” Jake turned to Rachel. “I told you this morning that in twenty years we’ve had well over a dozen missing persons cases. Including Josh Conway, that exact number is nineteen.”
“You’d said five had been solved.”
“Right. Those cases involved missing campers and hunters who’d gotten themselves lost in the woods. As for the four that haven’t been solved, I’m not sure if they’re related to the Wexman Hell Week cases, but the Townies think so.” He stood, grabbed a file box from the floor, then set it on the desk in front of Rachel. “This is everything I’ve got, dating back twenty years. Take it with you, these are all copies.”
Rachel glanced at Owen, then back to the sheriff. “Thanks. This is a big help.”
For the first time since meeting him, Jake smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not sure how much this will help or not.” Pulling a coat from his chair, he said, “I’ve got to go meet with the town council.”
“Didn’t you do that this morning?” Rachel asked, furrowing her auburn brows.
“It’s a wonder I get anything done,” he said with a rueful, half-smile. “The council consists of a bunch of business owners and retired busybodies. Although Wexman Hell Week isn’t something new, we have something happening this weekend that is.” He shoved his arm into the coat sleeve. “That professor Sean and Josh were supposed to meet…he and his students petitioned the Townies, then after receiving an overwhelming approval, have pulled together a festival. And it’s going down this weekend.”
“What kind of festival are we talking about?” Rachel asked.
“Well, this is where things get a little tricky and ridiculous. I’m almost embarrassed to say.” Jake scratched the back of his head, looked to the floor for a second, then said, “It’s a Bigfoot festival.”
Rachel smashed her lips together, and closed her eyes. Owen had seen that same expression numerous times over the years and knew she fought to keep from laughing. To help her save face in front of Jake, he said, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard…and I’m not just talking about Bigfoot. Why in the hell would this professor organize a festival now? Does he really believe Wexman Hell Week is a legend? I’d think missing kids would be enough to make anyone—”
Jake raised a hand. “Please. Don’t get me started. I was against this festival from the beginning. The thing is, a lot of people around here believe in Bigfoot, just as much as Wexman Hell Week. Now here’s the other thing. There hasn’t been a single disappearance for the past two years. Because two years is the longest time between these missing persons cases, I think the business owners did worry another kid could possibly go missing this year, but I believe they also saw dollar signs.”
Owen shifted in the metal chair. “So there’s no pattern.”
Jake shook his head. “None. Believe me, I’ve combed through the old sheriff’s files and other than the note…well, maybe you guys will be able to come up with something solid.”
“Are you expecting a lot of people to come to this festival?” Rachel asked.
“The local motel is booked, so is the campground—which has never happened in January. I just found out this morning that the motels and hotels in the neighboring county are also booked because of this festival. From what I understand, they’re expecting about five hundred or so people, which is good business for Bola.”
“But bad business for an investigation,” Owen countered.
Jake nodded. “Right. So, between the festival and Josh Conway, the town council has been…um…”
Rachel smiled. “Up your ass?”
The sheriff released a low chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly. Anyway, I’ve got to run. You might want to start with Josh and Sean’s dorm room, then try meeting with that professor. I was told he should be available in a couple of hours. Before you head over to the university though, you better secure your rooms for the week.”
“I thought you said the motel was booked,” Rachel said, and stood.
Jake ripped a sheet of paper off a notepad, then handed it to Rachel. “It is, so I called Joy. She runs a boarding house and has two vacant rooms. Here’s the address. I asked her to hold off on giving those rooms away, should any of the Bigfoot fanatics find out about her place. I wasn’t sure if Sean would move back into the dorms after he’s released.” He nodded to Owen. “I also wasn’t expecting Rachel to have company, but this should work out fine for now. Owen, if it turns out you need a place to stay, I’ve got a pullout couch.”
While Rachel stuffed the information into her pocket, the sheriff moved toward the door. Owen grabbed the file box off the desk, then followed Rachel and Jake. As they exited the back hallway, a young, pretty blonde burst through the front door.
“Sorry, Jake,” she said. “I got tied up in class.”
“No problem, Abby,” he said to the girl, then turned to them. “Let’s meet up at River’s Edge later. It’s a local—”
“I know the place. They have the best pancakes,” Rachel said, with a smile. “Does six o’clock work for you?”
Jake grinned as if they’d made plans for a hot date. “Works perfect.”
“Works for me, too,” Owen mumbled under his breath and pushed through the door. From the moment they’d entered Bola, things had started to become…whacked. There had to be a better word, but he couldn’t think of one at the moment. Right now, all he could think about was the way Rachel had smiled—all sultry-like—at the sheriff. He hadn’t even realized she could do sultry. He also hadn’t expected his body to react with a sharp sting of jealousy.
As he walked toward the back of the Lexus, Rachel climbed into the passenger seat. Because she’d left her heavy coat in the car earlier, he was able to catch a nice view of her ass. Even in a pair of boring, black suit pants her butt looked…tempting. Round and tight. Unlike the women he normally dated, Rachel had the kind of ass he could hang onto while thrusting—
Good God, what the hell was wrong with him?
He wanted to slam the Lexus’s gate shut, but refrained. Knowing Rachel, she’d remind him of his vehicle’s capabilities. At this point, he didn’t need any smartass comments coming from her pretty mouth. He stopped short of the car door. Did he really just consider her mouth pretty? He thought about that smile she’d sent to Jake. The way her full, inviting lips had curved, then scrubbed a hand down his face. He needed to stop thinking about Rachel in any way other than a coworker. They had an investigation to run, and a missing kid to find.
Once inside the Lexus, he turned the key, then cranked up the heat. “Do you want to put the address for the boarding house in the GPS?” he asked.
“I don’t think it’s necessary. Jake wrote down the directions. It looks like we’re only a few minutes away.” She let out a
sigh. “That was so nice of him to make sure we had a place to stay.”
Yeah, Jake was just fan-frickin-tastic.
He drove out of the parking lot, and per Jake’s directions, he turned left. “What do you think about this festival?” Bigfoot. Seriously? Although they’d been in Bola for only a couple of hours, this might prove to be one of his strangest assignments to date. They were literally walking into a fucking Bigfoot festival while dealing with an investigation that had Townies freaked out and superstitious. Now he had to stay at a boarding house.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “In a way, this could be a good thing. If people are heading into the woods hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive Bigfoot, maybe they’ll stumble across…sorry. Forget I suggested that. We have a week to find Josh. I don’t want to write him off just yet.”
Owen didn’t, either. And once again, he thanked God that Sean hadn’t been the one kidnapped. Based on the past missing persons cases, the chances of discovering Josh’s whereabouts, as well as who’s been behind the abductions, were slim to none.
After a few more turns, Rachel told him to slow the Lexus. “Four five nine seven Elmwood, this must be the boarding house,” she said and pointed to a large, white colonial with a wraparound porch and a huge horseshoe shaped driveway. “Dang, this place looks like a mansion compared to the other houses we passed.”
He eyed the house. Large, manicured, snow-covered evergreen shrubs lined the beds in front of the porch. Dark blue shutters framed all the windows. Dripping icicles hung from the eaves, while a stream of white smoke billowed from a red brick chimney. As he climbed out of the Lexus, he imagined walking into the inviting home, inhaling the aroma of fresh baked cookies, and standing in front of a warm, crackling fireplace.
When they reached the front door, Rachel nudged him and pointed to a wood plaque hanging over the threshold. “The House of Joy. Cute,” she said, then knocked on the door.
Cute hadn’t been the first word to pop in his head, but it worked for him. So did The House of Joy. During the drive to meet with the sheriff, they’d passed the local motel. In the 1960s, the place had probably been…nice. Now? Not so much. Only a third of the small, neon sign out front had been lit, the brick façade dingy, the paint around the old windows, peeling. He’d stayed at plenty of places like the Bola Motel, where the carpet was stained with God only knew what, the cleanliness of the sheets and room questionable, and the furniture nailed into the walls and floors. Yeah, he was grateful they’d be indulging in the comforts of the cozy boarding house for the next week rather than the crappy motel. He’d bet his next paycheck that Joy, whom he imagined to be an adorable, little old lady, would make sure they had delicious home-cooked meals and clean sheets. She probably like to fuss over her guests and—
“It’s open,” a woman yelled.
Rachel looked at him, then turned the knob.
He followed her into the colonial’s foyer, then stopped when a large woman, wearing a menacing scowl rounded the corner.
Not only did they have to find Josh Conway before he succumbed to the Wexman Hell Week, they had to deal with a bunch of Bigfoot BS and, it appeared, live with Frankenstein’s frickin’ sister.
“Welcome to the House of Joy,” the woman said, in a low, ominous tone, then spat into a Styrofoam cup. “I’m Joy. Follow my rules and we’ll get along just fine. If you don’t…” She ran a finger along the inside of her mouth, pulled out the hunk of tobacco, then dropped it into the cup. After setting the disgusting, phlegm-filled cup onto the wooden bench flanking the foyer wall, she cracked her knuckles. “Put it this way, I’ll personally haul your asses out of my house.”
Chapter 4
Standing at five foot two inches, Rachel had grown used to people towering over her. Joy, big boned and probably almost as tall as Sean, could probably snap her in two. Between her crusty, don’t screw with me attitude and her formidable size, Rachel believed Joy would, and could, haul their asses out of her house.
Rachel glanced from Joy to the gross cup of spit setting on the bench. Before she threw up in her mouth, she quickly looked away. “I’m Rachel Davis,” she said, then offered her hand. “And this is Owen Malcolm.”
Joy shifted her steel gray eyes to Rachel. “Joy Baker,” she replied and shook Rachel’s, then Owen’s hand.
“Baker? Are you related to Hal Baker?” Rachel asked.
“He’s my brother. And I hear tell from Jake that Hal quite possibly saved yours.”
“I have no doubt that he did. Actually, I was hoping I’d have the chance to thank him.”
Joy leaned against the wall and folded her beefy arms across her ample chest. “The bastard is always stopping by for a free meal. You’ll get your chance.” She gave Owen a once over. “You’re a little too pretty to be a cop.”
Owen flashed Joy a smile that Rachel suspected earned him plenty of notches on his bedpost. Despite being a dating pool bottom feeder, he really did have a sexy smile. The kind that not only distracted her, but made her toes curl.
“Good thing I’m not a cop,” he replied.
With a roll of her eyes, Joy pushed off the wall and walked out of the foyer.
Rachel looked to Owen, then followed Joy. They moved past a state of the art kitchen filled with cherry cabinets and granite countertops, a dining area with a table big enough to seat ten, then into a large great room.
“This is the community room,” Joy said. A ginormous flat screen TV hung above the mantle of the fireplace, where a beautiful fire blazed. Two huge, dark brown leather couches, along with a couple of beige over-sized chairs, and espresso-colored tables filled the room. An enormous, bronze and brick red area rug covered a large portion of the dark wood floors. With the walls painted mocha, the natural light streaming in from the windows overlooking the big backyard, and the artwork hanging on the walls, the room gave off a cozy and comfortable feeling.
The complete opposite of its owner.
“There’s a bathroom over there,” Joy pointed to the corner of the room. “That other door leads to the basement. There’s a washer and dryer down there. I won’t do your laundry, but feel free to use ‘em.” When they reached the staircase, she paused. “You see the door near the sunroom? That’s my room. Don’t even think of going in there.” She eyed Owen, then Rachel. “Understand, Shorty?”
Shorty? Absolute fury whorled through Rachel’s body as her mind spiraled with bitter, poignant childhood memories. Images of the kids at school and in her neighborhood suddenly took front and center, replacing the behemoth of a woman looming over her from the staircase. Ricky Lawrence and his pitiful crew appeared first. They had constantly teased her about her height, her small boobs, red hair and freckles. Then there was Ginny McAndrews, such a snobby bitch, and her equally snobby gang of mean girls. They loved to make fun of her for not having a dad around, for wearing the secondhand clothes her mom would buy from Goodwill, and they’d call her mom a slut because she always had a new boyfriend and Sean had a different dad. As she’d matured, Rachel had overcome her childhood insecurities, but she still harbored zero tolerance for bullies. Joy, plain and simple, was nothing but a bully who needed to be put in her place.
Stopping short of the staircase, she said, “Rachel.”
Joy raised her dark eyebrows. “Right. You Rachel. Me Joy. Is this name thing too much for you to handle?”
“Not for me,” Rachel replied.
“Well then, Shorty, quit with all this bullshit and let me show you your room.”
“Call me Shorty again and we’re going to find out if you can really haul my ass out of your house…ya know, personally.”
After Joy sized her up, she snorted. “I could wipe my ass with you.”
“Do it,” Rachel said even as her heart raced with fear and outrage.
“Good God.” Owen grabbed her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Without breaking eye contact with Joy, Rachel pulled free from his grip. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Yeah, it does. Spending the week sleeping in my car doesn’t work for me.”
“You’re right. You stay here with Miss Sunshine. I’ll sleep at the hospital. There’s a recliner in Sean’s room. I’ve suddenly discovered that The House of Joy comes up a bit…short, even for me.”
A shadow of a smile worked along Joy’s lips. “No pun intended.”
Ignoring Joy, Rachel said, “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time.” Hands clammy, heart still beating erratically, she walked out of the colonial.
Owen caught up with her on the front porch and touched her shoulder. “What are you doing? Who gives a shit what that woman thinks or says?”
“You’re mistaken. I don’t care about her at all.” She really didn’t. Being short, being called short…that was who she was and until there was such thing as limb-lengthening surgery, she’d remain—as Owen had aptly referred—vertically challenged. Joy, though, had touched a raw nerve. She’d treated them like crap the moment they’d walked into her house, threatened them, made fun of her height and Owen’s looks. As a whole, Joy wasn’t just a bully, she was a bitch. Between her mom, and the dozens of women she’d shared rooms with during her time in the army, Rachel had decided she’d lived with enough bitches. No need to add Joy to that list.
“If you don’t care, then why the hostility?”
She stopped at the edge of the porch and faced him. “My brother is lying in the hospital. His best friend is missing and we have one week to find him. Bola, Wexman University could possibly have a serial killer roaming around here. I’m a bit…” The weight of what they needed to accomplish in a matter of days suddenly overwhelming, she reached behind her ear for the pencil. When she realized she’d left it in the car, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions under control. “I’m a bit stressed. I don’t need any Joy in my life right now.”
Shadow of Vengeance Page 6