Shadow of Vengeance

by Kristine Mason

  “No kidding. But I wasn’t going to try and hack into Dixon County’s system anyway. Well, at least not yet. It’s been my experience that very few counties have arrest records dating back that long, available online.” She looked to Abby again, then keeping her voice quiet, said, “But Wexman University might have what we need.”

  “How so?”

  “Wexman might be located in the backwoods of a small town, but they have an excellent engineering program. They also were one of the first universities to develop a Computer Engineering program. When Sean and I were researching colleges, I found out that Wexman was actually ahead of its time. Case Western Reserve offered the first computer engineering degree program in the early 1970s. Other colleges followed suit years later and by—”

  “Rachel, focus.”

  With a quick smile and nod, she said, “Sorry. Right. Okay, Wexman had their program up and running by 1975. I’d bet your next paycheck that if I happened to go into Wexman’s system, I might come across something that could shed some light on what happened that was so bad that they issued their no hazing policy. I bet I could also get a list of male students who were enrolled at the university between fifteen and twenty-five years ago, as well as faculty members.”

  “That’s a lot of people to check up on, don’t you think?” While he liked fitting pieces of a puzzle together, what she suggested sounded more like time consuming busy work.

  “Not if we match those people to local addresses or those living within a relatively short driving distance to the university. We can also cross-reference those names against seasonal residents, too.”

  “I still like the idea of a faculty member or another university employee being behind this.”

  “Me, too.” She pursed her lips. “I want to go to the bar.”

  “A little early in the day for a drink, don’t you think? Not that I’m judging,” he added with a smile.

  Grinning, she looked over his shoulder again. “A drink does sound good…looks like Abby is getting off the phone.” When she met his gaze again, she whispered, “Joy made it clear that she and other locals are afraid. Jake said the same thing. I was thinking we should start talking to the Townies, especially before Bigfoot rolls into town with his groupies and things get too chaotic. Maybe someone remembers hearing about what happened at the university twenty-five years ago.”

  He liked that idea more than the time consuming busy work. What he’d like even more was to pretend Sean had never been beaten, that Josh was safely tucked away in his dorm room studying for an upcoming test, and that he and Rachel were exploring something other than possible kidnappers.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “You take the lead on this one. Seems like these college girls like you.”

  Owen stared at Rachel’s backside as she approached the desk. He could care less about those college girls. There was only one woman he wanted.

  Chapter 10

  Rachel’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim room, her nostrils flaring on a deep inhale. “Heavenly.” The mouthwatering aroma of fried bar food hung heavy in the air, along with the hint of musty, stale beer. The only thing missing was hazy cigarette smoke. Obviously the owners of River’s Edge had upheld Michigan’s no-smoking law. Not that she’d fire one up, but the secondhand smoke might have helped settle her nerves.

  “Do you want to sit at a table or the bar?” Owen asked.

  She looked to the bar and immediately recognized the tall, gangly man she’d seen hanging around outside of The House of Joy. “Do you know who that guy is? The one wearing the earflap hat.”

  Nodding, Owen leaned closer. The smells from the bar were immediately replaced by his woodsy, outdoorsy scent. She thought about camping again. Something she really didn’t enjoy, but would consider if Owen were her tent mate. Even though she continued to tell herself to let it go—this emotional turmoil she experienced every time he was near her or she thought about him—that was proving difficult. He was constantly around and she constantly thought about him.

  “That’s Walter Eastly,” Owen said. “I met him this morning. He lives at Joy’s, has for the past fifteen years.”

  “Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean, living at a boarding house for that long?”

  “I think we look strange just standing in the doorway.”

  Smiling, she shoved a hand in her coat pocket. “You’re right, people are staring. Come on. Introduce me to Walter. Maybe he can help get a few of the Townies to talk to us.”

  As she followed Owen through the crowd, she caught her reflection in the mirror hanging behind the long bar. An assortment of liquor bottles and neon beer signs hid parts of the mirror, but not enough to block her and Owen’s images. Seeing herself next to him had self-doubt creeping into her head. Owen had already removed his heavy, wool coat and carried it on his arm. He’d dressed casually today. Jeans, black boots, and a dark gray sweater, which unfortunately didn’t hide his muscular chest, arms and wide shoulders. Nope, that sweater just kept her imagination wandering down a road she had no business taking. And as she walked behind him, periodically checking their reflection in the mirror, she realized they, in no way shape or form, looked good together. Owen had the kind of physique and good looks that deserved a woman with similar qualities. She pictured a few of the women she’d seen him with over the years. Tall, leggy, super slender, gorgeous women. As much as she’d like to deny it, those women had looked good on Owen’s arm and were definitely what people would call eye candy. Whereas if she were the one on his arm, she’d be the opposite. Whatever that might be…eye fungus? Eye broccoli?

  Smacking into Owen’s wide back, she rubbed her nose and fought the heat rising to her cheeks.

  He quickly turned and grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just wasn’t paying attention.” Because she was too busy thinking about him and opposite terms for eye candy. Pathetic.

  He eyed her for a moment, then took a small step back, revealing the gangly man in the earflap hat. “Walter, this is my partner—”

  “Shorty,” Walter said on a raspy chuckle and offered his hand. “Heard all about you from Joy. Wish I could have been there when you told her what’s what.”

  Shaking his weathered hand, she smiled. Not the least offended by the nickname. With Walter’s teasing, hazel eyes and easy grin, “Shorty” came off like a term of endearment.

  “It wasn’t all that exciting,” Rachel replied, then began slipping out of her bulky coat.

  Owen pulled out an empty barstool and offered her a seat next to Walter. As she placed her coat on the back of the stool, the patron next to her scooted over to allow her more room. Before she could thank the man, he said, “You one of those investigators from Chicago, then?”

  She glanced at Walter, who raised his beer mug to his lips. “It’s no secret,” he said, then sipped his beer. “People been wondering when someone was gonna come here and try to figure out what the hell’s going on at that school.”

  Standing behind her, Owen draped his arm on the back of the stool and insinuated himself between her and Walter. “We heard it’s not just the school that needs some figuring.” He caught the bartender’s attention, a big, meaty man with a beer belly and more hair on his arms than his head, then turned to her. “Drink?”

  She nodded, but before she could tell him what she wanted, Owen rattled off the order to the bartender. As she waited, the man next to her leaned into the scuffed, yet shiny wooden bar and said, “One don’t got anything with the other.”

  “The hell you say.” Walter shook his head. “Hey, Percy, you might want to cut off Duke. The whiskey’s gone and burned the last of his brain cells.”

  The bartender—Percy she assumed—set a drink in front of her. “Vodka tonic with a splash of Rose’s lime juice.” Then after giving Owen his whiskey and Coke, he turned his attention to the man on her right. “Walt’s right, Duke. Gramma didn’t walk herself into the river.”

  A chill snaked along her ne
ck, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Ethel Rodeck was the eighty-six-year-old Townie who had gone missing three years ago, and apparently Percy’s grandmother.

  Using the skinny black straw, she stirred her drink. “Are you referring to Ethel Rodeck?” she asked, wanting to back her assumption.

  “That’s right.”

  “And you think someone kidnapped your grandma?”

  Percy tossed a rag over his shoulder. “Nope. I think someone killed her.”

  Next to her, Duke groaned, along with the man sitting to his right. “Here we go again,” Duke scrubbed a hand down his face, then tapped his empty glass. “I’ll have another. Hell, if I gotta listen to this story again, I’ll need it.”

  Percy drew his dark, bushy eyebrows together and glared at Duke while he poured whiskey into the glass. “It ain’t a story. It’s a fact.”

  “What makes you think someone killed her?” Owen asked.

  “A few months before she died—”

  “Disappeared,” Duke said.

  Percy leveled Duke with an “I’m going to kick your ass” scowl, and said, “Gramma started complaining about seeing someone in the woods. At first she assumed it was a hunter, which pissed her off. She didn’t allow no hunters on her property.”

  Walter chuckle. “Ain’t that the truth? If Gramma Rodeck caught you poaching on her land, she wasn’t afraid to pull out her shotgun and let you know you were trespassing.”

  Smiling, Percy nodded. “The old woman was a piece of work.”

  “Bat shit crazy, more like it,” the man next to Duke said.

  “Terry.” Percy slammed a fist against the counter. “You mock my Gramma again and I’ll show you how bat shit crazy we Rodecks can get. Understand?” He turned his attention back to her and Owen. “Now, I’ll admit that Gramma was about ankle deep into dementia. But she was still taking care of herself just fine.”

  “Did she see a hunter on her property?” Rachel asked.

  “Don’t know what she saw for sure. But, one stormy night she couldn’t sleep and said she took a cup of tea and sat out on her covered porch.” Another smile, but one Rachel noticed didn’t quite reach Percy’s eyes. “That was a few days before she went missing.”

  “We’d gotten an early warm spell that spring,” Walter said. “Remember? Snow melted, started flooding some areas…”

  “That’s right,” Percy continued. “Her house didn’t sit far from the river, but was far enough away she didn’t have to worry about being flooded. That wasn’t why she was sittin’ out that night, though. Along with her tea, she had her shotgun. As Gramma told it to me, she sat on that porch sippin’ tea and watching the woods. Waiting.”

  Percy’s story was starting to sound like a tall tale. Praying he wouldn’t say Bigfoot, she asked, “What was she waiting for?”

  “The Hell Week killer.”

  Owen reached for his drink. “Do you know why she thought this killer was roaming her property?”

  Sliding his gaze to Walter, he pulled the rag off his shoulder and leaned forward. “Cuz a few months after a kid goes missing, she always sees the killer wandering in her woods.”

  “I absolutely do not want you to show me how bat shit crazy you can get,” Owen said with a half-smile. “But I’m wondering…how could she see him at night? And how was it that she was certain that what she saw was the person who killed the kids?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Rachel said. “Did she ever consider that maybe it wasn’t the killer, but one of the missing kids? Or maybe an animal?”

  Laughing, Duke nudged Terry. “Or Bigfoot.”

  “Walt’s the expert,” Terry said, a big grin splitting under his graying mustache.

  “Yeah, him and that asshole professor,” Duke added with a shake of his head. “Hey, Walt. Didn’t you track Bigfoot onto Gramma’s property?”

  “Watch your damn mouth,” Percy snapped. “There’s a lady present.”

  After Duke apologized into his drink, Percy said, “I understand how all this probably sounds. Thing is, my Gramma lived on that property for over sixty years. When kids started going missing, she and my Granddad started seeing…things.” He shot Duke and Terry a look before either man said a word. “Always the same thing. A few months after a kid goes missing, they’d spot someone or something on their property. Usually late evening or on a clear night. My Granddad would always go and check it out in the morning, but never found any tracks.”

  “Did your grandparents tell the sheriff?” Owen asked.

  With a snort, the bartender shook his head. “Yeah, they told him. But Tom was useless. Never followed up on anything. Jake did that first year he was sheriff. Unfortunately, Granddad was dead for five years by the time Jake came to Bola. Gramma always kept watch, though, and she called Jake when she saw the man on her property.”

  “Strange time,” Walter said. “That was the year those idiot boys pulled off the hoax that ended up costing the town the new traffic light and the high school the bleachers for the football field.”

  “Yeah.” Percy nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Jake caught all kinds of hell when it wasn’t even his fault.”

  “I’m still wondering how your grandparents knew whether what they were looking at was a man and not an animal.” Rachel toyed with the napkin under her drink. If this was the type of story they were going to end up with from other Townies, then they were wasting their time. They needed real evidence.

  A big grin spread across Percy’s face as he looked to Walter. At that point, Rachel suddenly realized they were the butt of a joke. Furious, she picked up her glass, chugged her drink then slammed it on the bar. She looked to Owen. “I’m leaving.”

  Owen touched her shoulder and gently pushed her back onto her seat. “What’s the problem?” he whispered into her ear. The vodka clearly had gone straight to her head. She had the sudden urge to tell Percy and Walter, even the two dicks, Duke and Terry, to go fuck themselves. She also had the urge to turn her face, ever so slightly and brush her lips along Owen’s. Just a taste…

  She jerked away before she did something she’d completely regret. “We’re here to run an investigation, not be the butt of a joke.” Reaching behind her, she fumbled around until she found her coat pocket, then she pulled out a business card. After handing it to Percy, she said, “If you have any real information that might actually help, give us a call.”

  Frowning, Percy looked at the business card. “That was real information.”

  “Really, then why were you all smiles to Walter when I asked how your grandparents knew they were looking at a man and not an animal?”

  “Because Walter sold me a pair of night vision binoculars and happened to be there when I gave ‘em to Granddad and Gramma for their wedding anniversary.”

  “Yep,” Walter grunted, then chuckled. “You should have seen them two. They were hilarious. Shutting off all the lights and having people trying to hide around the house and yard.”

  She couldn’t help smiling as she pictured an old couple playing with night vision binoculars. “Sorry. I seriously thought you were messing with us.”

  “Not a problem,” Percy said and reached for her glass. “Ready for another?”

  Although tempted, she shook her head. “Not yet…so after your grandpa passed, your grandma kept searching the woods with her binoculars?”

  “Wasn’t like that.” Percy leaned against the counter holding all the liquor bottles. “She only did that after a kid went missing.”

  “A few months after, you mean?” Owen asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Rachel rested her elbow on the bar. “You said Jake only searched your grandma’s property that first year he was sheriff. Why didn’t he do anything after the last student went missing three years ago?”

  Percy frowned. “Gramma went missing before Jake had the chance.”

  Interesting. If Percy’s grandparents weren’t bat shit crazy like Duke had implied, then could it be possible that the
y were witnessing the killer dispose of his victims? If so, why hadn’t anyone found any evidence? And why kill the grandma? Did she see something she shouldn’t have? Better yet, did she actually know the killer?

  In the meantime, they’d gotten a bit off track and while Percy’s story had taken a curious turn, she wanted to hear about the interactions between Wexman students and the Bola Townies. With so little to go on, they could use a good, solid lead.

  “So, Walter,” she began. “How long have you lived in the area?”

  “Goin’ on sixteen years.” He nodded to Duke and Terry. “Those two and Percy have lived here all their lives.” He lifted his beer mug. “I’d say the majority of the people around here have, wouldn’t you guys?”

  The three men grunted in agreement.

  “How do people around her feel about the university?” Owen asked.

  “Wouldn’t want to see it shut down, if that’s what you’re asking,” Duke said, then draped his arm over the back of his barstool. “I work at the mill, so it’s not like I benefit from the school, but a lot of businesses in Bola do. Percy gets college kids in here on the weekends.”

  “That’s right,” the bartender said, with a nod. “Other than the missing kids and this festival coming up, I don’t think any of us have an issue with the school.”

  She loved how Percy grouped the missing students with the Bigfoot festival. As if the festival was as bad as disappearing kids. Priceless. “What do you think happened to the kids?”

  “Yeah, we’re curious about any kind of theories the people in town might have,” Owen said.

  Duke pushed his empty glass toward Percy. “I know some folks think these frat boys are doing some weird hazing crap. Things go bad…they try covering it up with this whole Wexman Hell Week thing.”

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Might be some truth to that.”

  “Why do you say that?” Owen asked. “Wexman has a strict no hazing policy.”

  “Years ago there was a big mess at the school. Hazing gone bad. No one knows for sure what happened, it was all hush-hush.”