by Sharon Sala
“This just gets better. Let him listen in,” he said.
Allen connected an extension, put his finger to his lips to caution Flynn not to speak, then made the call and put it on speaker.
The phone rang several times. Just when he thought it was going to go to voicemail, he heard a woman answer in a sleepy voice.
“Hello? Hello? Marshall, is that you?”
Allen gave a thumbs-up to the fact that the name matched the one Flynn had overheard.
“No, ma’am. This is the Stillwater Police, in Stillwater, Oklahoma. We’re trying to locate Marshall. Is he related to you?”
“Oklahoma? Is that in the States?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Lord, Lord, I didn’t know where he got off to. Is he okay? Has anything happened to him? He’s my son.”
Flynn grabbed a pen and wrote the word adopted on paper.
Rutherford patted him on the back and mouthed, “Good job,” while Allen kept on talking.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name,” Allen said.
“My name is Velma Story.”
“Okay, Mrs. Story. When was the last time you talked to Marshall?”
“About two weeks ago. He said he had a business trip out of town. I thought he would call home and at least check on me, but when I didn’t hear from him, I began to worry something had happened. Why do you want to talk to him? Is he all right? Has he done something bad?”
“Right now, he’s just a name that came up we need to check out. Mrs. Story, I have one more thing to ask. Does the name May Schulter mean anything to you?”
There was a gasp on the other end of the line, and Flynn was frantically writing.
Birth mother.
When Rutherford saw the words, he realized the connection.
“No. I’ve never heard the name,” she said.
Rutherford waved at Allen, signaling him to end the call.
Allen nodded. “I see, well, thank you for your help, and if your son happens to check in, would you please let us know?”
“Yes. Wait a minute while I get a pen and paper,” she said.
Flynn covered the phone with his hand. “She’s going to try and call him. If he answers, she’s going to warn him that you’re looking for him.”
Rutherford’s smile slipped. “Well damn it, excuse my French, this is not a good development.”
As soon as Allen got off the phone, Flynn began filling in the blanks. “The minute you said May Schulter’s name, I picked up on fear, anger, and jealousy. She didn’t like it that Marshall went looking for his birth mother a few years back, or that they had re-connected. She thinks May is trouble. She doesn’t know she’s in prison and now assumes he’s staying with her, but she’s still going to try and warn Marsh you called.”
Rutherford was pacing. “Okay, so here’s my take on this. During one of their weekly phone calls, May tells Marshall all about this buried money, and then he finds out she’s in prison and the money was never recovered. He does a little research and might have found out that Tara was involved in their capture and arrest. If he checked further and found out about the coverage she got during the tornado, he would naturally assume she could lead him straight to the buried cash.”
Detective Allen picked up the story. “So he comes here to scope out the situation. The old lady said he’d been gone two weeks, so he’s been around here a while. He’s located Tara Luna and marked her routine. They’re not staying in any of the local motels in the area or rented any trailer houses out at the trailer parks, or their vehicle would have already popped when we put out a BOLO on Tara.”
“What about May Schulter’s house? I remember my dad talking about her and Nettles all the time before he and Mom got divorced. I think she lives around here,” Flynn said.
Rutherford stopped pacing and looked at Flynn. “You are freakin’ cop material, I tell you. If you don’t go into law enforcement, you’re gonna be missing your calling. Allen, find out if May Schulter owned any property in the area. I’m contacting Captain Farrell to let him know what’s happening.”
He slapped Flynn on the back and then pointed at his desk. “Help yourself to doughnuts and coffee in the lounge.”
“Uh, there’s one other thing,” Flynn said.
Both men stopped.
“Like what?” Rutherford said.
“I know this sounds weird, but you guys are used to Tara’s abilities, right?”
They shrugged and nodded.
“So, my dad’s spirit has been trying to contact me to tell me where the missing money is. Tara said his energy is low which is why he kept fading in and out and not making much sense, but he told us that my mom knows where he hid the money.”
They were dumbstruck.
“You mean she’s been in on this from the first?” Rutherford asked.
“No, only that she would know where he’d hidden it when he gave Tara the clues.”
“What were the clues?” Allen asked.
“He said he hid it, and it’s with Aunt Tillie.”
“What did Mona say when you told her that?”
“She said she knew what that meant. So, I guess when you guys are ready to recover it, just ask her.”
“Just like that? Just ask her?” Rutherford muttered.
Allen glanced at his partner. “I need to give the DEA a heads up. They’re the ones who will coordinate the retrieval.”
Flynn sighed. “Mom is already so mad at Dad for involving us in his criminal activities. This is going to send her over the edge.”
“Yeah, well, I still need to go talk to the captain. Hang around, kid. You’re turning out to be as handy as a pocket on a shirt,” Rutherford said, and left to call the captain.
Allen was on the phone with the DEA.
Flynn headed for the break room. Coffee and doughnuts sounded good, and then the minute he thought it, Tara’s face slid through his mind, and just like that, his appetite was gone. Was she hungry? Was she cold? Were they hurting her?
Come on, sweetheart. Come on, Tara. Talk to me. Please talk to me.
THE TRIO HAD cleared a few areas in the house for easier access when they first arrived, but with their kidnap victim in Marsh’s bed, there was no place left to sleep.
Marsh had fallen asleep in an easy chair in front of the television. Dig was sacked out in a sleeping bag nearby, and Vince was asleep in the other chair.
When Marsh’s phone began to ring, he jumped like he’d been shot. No one here knew his number, and with both of his buddies in the same room, it wouldn’t be them trying to call. That left his mother, and he didn’t want to talk. When it finally quit ringing, he glanced down and realized she’d left a message.
“Damn,” he muttered, and went into his voicemail to hear the message. The moment he heard her voice, he knew she was beyond mad, and then the longer he listened, the more panicked he became.
MARSHALL, IT’S YOUR mother. I realize you are a grown man and don’t answer to me, but I wanted you to know that I am well aware you are in Oklahoma with May Schulter. I don’t see your fascination with someone who just gave you away like that. I should let you stew in whatever mess you are concocting, but I can’t. You are my son. I love you. I wish you could at least give me the respect I deserve. However, the real reason I called is to let you know that the Stillwater Police just called me, wanting to know where you were. What have you been doing? Call me.
Marsh came up out of the chair as if he’d been catapulted.
“Wake up! Wake up!” he yelled, and kicked Dig in the backside, then turned around and shook Vince’s shoulder. “Wake up! We’ve got trouble!”
Both men began scrambling.
“What? What’s happening?” Vince said.
“The Stillwater cops are on to us! That little psychic bitch must be playing us for dummies and somehow sending messages to the cops about who snatched her.”
“How do you know?” Dig asked.
“That phone call was from Mama, back in Canada. The cops cal
led her, asking for me. I don’t know what she told them, but she called to warn me they were looking for me. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“But it’s dark, and it’s too cold to hide out in the woods somewhere. Where would we go?” Vince asked. “If they know your name, they will know what you’re driving. You’ve got a Canadian tag on the truck, and the only other thing on the property with wheels is the old tractor.”
“Don’t argue. Just start packing! I’m going to talk to that bitch. I’ll make her sorry for playing us like this.”
“Don’t hurt her any more. You’ll wind up killing her, and I didn’t sign up for any murder,” Vince shouted.
Marsh stomped out of the room without answering, stormed into the room where Tara was sleeping, and turned on the lights.
“Wake the hell up!” he yelled. “We need to talk!”
Tara moaned, covering her eyes as she rolled over and slowly accustomed herself to the unexpected brightness. “Please don’t yell,” she whispered.
He grabbed her by the arm. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve been playing us for losers. I want to know how you do it.”
Tara’s head was spinning as she tried to sit up. “Do what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How do the Stillwater cops know our names? Who have you contacted? We never searched you. Where’s your phone?”
He yanked her to her feet and began feeling her up, running his hands all over her body trying to find a cell phone.
She made a fist and punched him in the nose. Blood spurted from his nose as she fell backward from the impact, holding her fist from the pain.
“You broke my nose!” he screamed.
“You keep your hands off of me!” she screamed back. “I told you I’d fight until one of us is dead. Did you think I didn’t mean it?”
He doubled up his fist, but before he could swing, the window near the bed suddenly shattered, and a huge shard of glass came flying through the air and into his shoulder.
He screamed again and ran out of the room.
Tara covered her face and started sobbing. “Millicent! Henry! You saved me! You saved me!”
She felt a soft breeze circling her and then an intense energy flow through her body. They were trying to give her strength.
She got to her feet and began looking for her coat. If she found a way out, she was taking it. She’d rather die from exposure than spend one more second under the roof with these creeps.
She walked out of the bedroom, stumbling through the tiny aisles between the hoarder-stacked bags and boxes stacked ceiling high along the walls and followed the sounds of voices into the kitchen. The three men were at the sink with their backs to her, occupied with pulling the glass shard from Marsh’s shoulder and putting on a pressure bandage to stifle the blood flow.
She saw her coat on top of some boxes near the back door and made her move. She had it in her hand and was running when Marsh saw her.
“Hey! Stop her!”
Both Vince and Dig leaped forward and caught her before she reached the door. They dragged her back to the table and shoved her down in a chair while Marsh glanced nervously around the room, afraid more windows would be shattering.
Tara felt defeated. Flynn! I need help. Can you hear me? They’re going to run.
“Did you make that glass fly?” he asked.
Flynn didn’t answer, or if he did, she couldn’t hear. She lifted her chin, unwilling to let them know how scared she was.
“No. That’s telekinesis, and I can’t make things move. My ghosts did that. They don’t take kindly to people hurting me.”
“So how have you been contacting the police?”
Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s sending mental messages to other people, and I can’t do that either. I just see and talk to ghosts.”
“Then how do the cops know my name?”
“How should I know?”
Tara folded her arms and laid her head down on the table. She wanted to think that Flynn was picking up on her thoughts and she just couldn’t hear him, but there was also the possibility that wasn’t happening, because she hadn’t been able to focus like that.
Then her eyes fell on his cell phone, and it hit her. “My phone.”
He turned around. “What about your phone? Where is it?”
“I was talking on the phone when you two kidnapped me, remember?”
Marsh thought back and then groaned.
“I dropped it in the snow when you Tased me. But the person I was talking to had to hear me scream, and he most likely heard everything you two said while you were dragging me to your truck. If you called each other by a name, he would have heard that, too. If the cops know names, you gave yourselves away. I didn’t do it.”
Vince and Marsh stared at each other, trying to remember what they’d said, but guessed she was right.
“So now what?” Vince asked.
“We run,” Marsh said, and pointed at Tara. “And we’re taking her with us.”
Tara stood up, nearly as tall as Marsh, and pointed back.
“If you hurt me again, the next time that glass will be in your throat.”
Marsh was trapped—too scared to ignore her threat, and at the same time, in too big a mess to chance leaving her behind and make a run for the border.
“Shut up,” he muttered. “Just shut up.”
Tara glared. “Then leave me alone.”
He turned his back on her.
Too weak to stand up any longer, she sat back down with a thump and listened to them planning to go to a new location—a place they’d found days earlier while sightseeing in the area. She heard enough to know what direction they planned to take and waited until they were about ready to walk out the door before she dared chance leaving behind a clue for the police.
“Is it okay if I use the bathroom one more time before we go?”
“Get it over with,” Marsh said, and even followed her into the bedroom to make sure she didn’t try to get out the broken window.
She locked the bathroom door and used the bathroom, well aware it might be hours before they’d stop to let her go again, and while the toilet was flushing, she found a tube of lip gloss in the medicine cabinet and wrote the highway and direction on the mirror and quickly came out, closing the door behind her. Afraid he might be inclined to go next, she walked swiftly pass Marsh, giving him the impression that she was thinking about making a run for it in the dark once they got outside, and it worked.
He grabbed her by the arm and escorted her out of the house and into the backseat of the pickup truck. The other two had been unloading the firewood to make room for the bags they tossed in the truck bed. They got in, putting Dig in the backseat with Tara. Because of Marsh’s wound, Vince was in the driver’s seat. It was after 4:00 a.m. when they finally drove away.
Chapter Seven
DETECTIVE ALLEN made the call to the DEA and gave them the info on Mona O’Mara and then began searching property records on May Schulter.
Flynn eyed the tall, dark-haired detective staring intently at his computer screen and decided this was a good time to give his mother a heads-up on what was happening. When he made the call, she answered so quickly he knew she must have been sleeping with her phone right by her hand.
“Hello?”
“Mom, it’s me.”
Mona threw back her cover and sat up, running her fingers through the flat side of her hair as she recognized her son’s voice. “Do you know anything?”
“Some stuff. We know who took her and why, but we don’t know where they are.”
“Oh, my lord,” Mona said. “Pat is beside himself, and there’s nothing that will make this better until Tara comes home.”
“Are you still there?”
“Yes. I bunked down on the sofa after Pat finally went to his room.”
“I need you to know that I told the police about Dad’s message and that you understood the clues.”
She groaned.
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br /> “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“No. It has to be done, and we want this over with once and for all.”
“The police notified the DEA. It’s their case, so one of their agents will be contacting you.”
“Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”
Flynn looked up and saw Rutherford coming back into the room.
“Yeah . . . hey, Mom. I gotta go. I’ll call again if I know something.”
Rutherford waved Flynn over and then headed for Allen’s desk.
“Find anything?” Rutherford asked.
He nodded. “There’s a homestead exemption filed in her name. I have a legal description of the property, and I’m running a search to find out exactly where it is on the county map.”
“This is good! Right?”
“It’s progress,” Allen said.
Flynn was watching the computer screen when all of a sudden he heard Tara’s voice.
Flynn! Can you hear me? They’re going to run.
Tara! Tara! Yes! Can you hear me?
When she didn’t answer, he groaned, but one thing was good. He’d heard her again. Whatever was wrong with her might be clearing up.
“What’s up, kid?” Rutherford asked.
“I just heard her voice. I answered, but she didn’t respond like she usually does.”
They both turned and looked at him.
“Are you serious?” Rutherford asked.
Flynn frowned. “About what?”
“You two are tuned into each other’s thoughts all the time?”
“If we want to,” he said.
“Holy Moses,” Allen said softly. “What if you’re thinking stuff you don’t want her to hear?”
He shrugged. “I still can’t control it, so she hears it. The saving grace is not following through on the thought.”
“Gotcha,” Allen said, still shaking his head, and then he jumped as his computer search ended. “Hey! I got a hit on that legal description.”
“Is it close?” Flynn asked.
“About six miles west of Stillwater then back south.”
“Let’s go! She said they were going to run! We have to hurry!” Flynn yelled.