Finding Hope (Nugget Romance 2)

by Stacy Finz

  “But she failed the polygraph,” Blondie said.

  “If I had a dime for every innocent person who flunked a polygraph, I’d be sitting on a beach right now, sipping margaritas.”

  “What are Ms. Mathews’s plans?” a man with a deep voice inquired. “Will she be allowed to go to the grave site?”

  “Ms. Matthews is waiting for proof. And no, she won’t be going to the grave site.”

  “Chief”—this from a sloppy guy, scribbling in a notebook—“you mentioned that serial killers sometimes boast about crimes they didn’t commit. Do authorities have any reason to believe that Fairbanks isn’t telling the truth? Are there details of the crime that he hasn’t been able to corroborate?”

  Make that smart sloppy guy. “What news outlet you with?”

  “Steve Dunsworth with the Bay Area Times-Tribune.”

  “Steve, y’all know this ain’t my rodeo. You folks in the press probably have more information than I do. Now I’ve got to get back to work.” He started for the door.

  “Can you do another briefing at six when we go live?” Blondie asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Chief,” Steve said. “Any good hotel recommendations you can make?”

  Rhys smiled. “Now that I can do.” He pointed across the square. “That right there is the Lumber Baron—beautiful place. And in the interest of full disclosure, my wife owns it. There is also the very lovely Beary Quaint about a mile east on 70. As far as restaurants, you’re looking at ’em.” He waved at the Ponderosa and the Bun Boy. “Both fine eating establishments. If you’re looking for something better, you’ll have to go to Reno, because that’s all we’ve got.”

  He turned to go when someone else asked, “Where does Ms. Mathews live?”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “On private property. The guy who owns it is trigger-happy and I hear he’s a helluva good shot.”

  A few chuckles from the crowd. “Seriously, y’all give that woman some space. She’s been through hell.”

  As he walked to the station the reporters followed, pressing him with more questions.

  “Can I get your cell number, Chief?”

  “Hell no, you can’t have my cell phone number.” Rhys shook his head. “And the first one to call me at home is blacklisted.”

  He managed to squeeze in the door only to realize that Owen had followed him.

  “Pouring it on a little thick out there, don’t you think? I haven’t heard that much Texas come out of your mouth since you first came home.”

  “They eat that shit up.” Rhys grinned. “I figure if I give them enough color and a few quotes it’ll keep them satisfied for a while and they won’t go bothering Emily.”

  Sure enough, the six o’clock news was all about the Nugget police chief, a former Houston detective who’d come home to save the country town from a menacing meth dealer. They’d made him sound like freaking Wyatt Earp. They’d also been respectful of Emily, saying that she’d gone into seclusion, waiting for official news on her daughter and that Rhys and neighbors had asked that she be left alone.

  Connie had played a live stream from one of the Bay Area stations on her computer and they’d all gathered around to watch.

  “Clay’s on line two for you,” Connie said, and Rhys went into his office to take it.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Just had to chase one of those asshole reporters off the ranch.”

  Apparently not everyone was going with the Wyatt Earp angle. “You know who?”

  “Yeah. The joker had the nerve to hand me his business card. Let me get it.” Rhys waited until Clay came back on the line. “Dunsworth from some Bay Area paper.”

  Sloppy Steve. “I’ll talk to him. How’s Emily holding up?”

  “Not so great. Donna, Maddy, and some of the others are coming over later with food. Amanda’s taking the boys for the night. I’m worried about Cody.”

  This couldn’t be good for his anxiety. “You want him to stay with me? I think he feels safe with us, and there’s Sam.”

  “Nah, you’ve got your hands full. But I appreciate it. I might take you up on it later in the week.”

  “Don’t hesitate.”

  After he got off the phone with Clay, Rhys strolled over to the Lumber Baron. Maddy sat behind the reservation counter, doing a crossword puzzle “Hey, sugar.”

  “Hey.” She stood up and kissed him. “Any word?”

  “Not since the last time you asked.”

  “I know. It’s just so awful. I’m going over in a little while with some of the Baker’s Dozen. Rhys, I don’t even know what to say to her.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just be there for her. Let her know she has friends.” He looked around the lobby. “Any reporters staying here?”

  “We’re booked solid. After your impromptu press conference a horde of them came rushing over. They said you told them it was a beautiful inn and that you also plugged the Beary Quaint—very nice of you.”

  “Can’t play favorites.” He lowered his voice. “You have to be careful about what you say. Okay?”

  “What’s there to say? I don’t know anything.”

  “For example, if someone heard you say you’re going over to Emily’s later, they might follow you. See where I’m going with this?”

  “I do. And I’ll be careful.” She reached over the desk and kissed him again. “You’re an excellent police chief.”

  “Steve Dunsworth a guest here?”

  Maddy frowned. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  Rhys rolled his eyes. “Well, if he happens to pass by and you happen to see him, tell him to call me on my cell. Only him, though. Don’t give that number to anyone else.”

  “What’s with all the cloak and dagger?”

  “You had lunch, right? No skipping meals. You’re eating for two now. Call me before you go over to Clay’s.”

  “Okay.” She laughed. “Love you.”

  “Me too,” he said, and sauntered across the square back to the police station.

  He was only in his office fifteen minutes when his cell rang. “Meet me at the barbershop.”

  Rhys gave Owen ten bucks to get a burger at the Bun Boy so he could use the barbershop for his meeting. He wanted privacy and this was the best he could do in a town of big mouths—Connie, his dispatcher, being one of them. Owen, of course, being the other.

  Steve came through the door. Rhys locked it and shut the blinds. “We’re off the record.”

  “Okay,” Steve said, and stuffed his reporter’s notebook in his back pocket.

  “Don’t go over to McCreedy Ranch again. Clay’s a friend of mine and he’s very protective of Emily.”

  “Your friend Clay’s a jerk. I just went over there to let her know I was in town; tell her where she can reach me. She knows me from when I covered her daughter’s case four years ago. No one has written more stories about that kid than I have. Emily knows I’m a stand-up guy. But the asshole cowboy comes out, ready to throw punches.”

  “The asshole cowboy loves her and this is tearing him up. So have a little empathy.”

  Steve’s expression changed. “Emily’s with that guy? Whoa, he’s nothing like Drew.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Drew’s a mild-mannered guy. He never threatened to beat the shit out of me. But I’m glad she has someone. The woman’s been put through the ringer. You can’t even imagine the twisted crap the tabloids and some of those Fox idiots came up with.”

  “But not you?” Rhys asked dubiously.

  “If you’re asking if I thought she did it, hell no. Despite the reports of my sketchy colleagues, there was no bad marriage, no drug issues, and no life insurance on her six-year-old. No motive. But more important, the timing was impossible. A neighbor sees Hope alive and well in the backyard at 1:45. Her story is uncontroverted. Another neighbor makes the 9-1-1 call at 2:10, as Emily races through the neighborhood, screaming Hope’s name. At least s
ix witnesses on the block saw her frantically searching. So how in less than twenty-five minutes does she manage to kill her kid, get rid of the body, and clean up the mess? Impossible.”

  Sloppy Steve had done his homework. “What about the polygraph?” Rhys knew the answer but wanted the reporter’s take.

  “My source says she didn’t exactly fail it. But when they asked her questions pertaining to guilt, her pulse and breathing sped up and she perspired a lot. Who knows? Maybe she yelled at the kid before she went missing and blames herself. Or maybe when you have a kid who’s just vanished into thin air, you sweat more than normal.”

  Rhys knew he didn’t have much time before Owen returned. “Your sources tell you what Fairbanks is saying about Hope? Has he been able to back up his story?”

  “I got nothing,” Steve said. “My two best contacts on the case are gone—one retired, the other got married and moved away. But Fairbanks has been talking to a reporter from the Sacramento paper. Other than listing Hope as one of the possible victims buried in a well near Redding, he hasn’t written much more about her.”

  Rhys deliberated how much to tell the reporter. But if anyone knew what had been published about Hope, it would be Dunsworth. “Let me ask you something. Was it widely known that Hope was expecting her father to bring her home a gift from his trip?”

  “Rock candy,” Steve answered without hesitation. “Why?”

  “You ever write about her having any birthmarks?”

  “Is this what Fairbanks is telling the feds?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Rhys wasn’t about to hand Dunsworth a story, but he wanted to vet Fairbanks’s confession. Why put Emily through this if the psychopath was lying through his teeth? “Birthmarks, Dunsworth? Did you report on any?”

  “Shit,” Steve said. “He must know she had one on her right hip bone. The only reason I know is because Emily and Drew gave the police a detailed description of her—everything from the location of her freckles to how many baby teeth she’d lost. But I never printed that information.”

  “Could someone else have?”

  “I suppose. I just don’t know who would have been privy to the report.”

  “You were,” Rhys said.

  “Being the local reporter I was privy to a lot of details no one else got. But it’s a possibility. The tabloid guys pay for stuff like that, so there is no telling who might’ve leaked it.”

  A little girl is missing, her life hanging in the balance, and a cop sells her information just to make a quick buck? It made Rhys sick. But he knew it happened all the time.

  “Did that report describe her underpants?” he asked.

  “Maybe. Probably. For some reason the birthmark stuck with me. But underwear? Hell, it was four years ago. I can’t remember.”

  Rhys separated a couple of the blinds with his fingers and looked outside for Owen. “Remember, everything we said here is off the record. You observe our agreement and I’ll make sure you get what you need. First! You burn me . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Steve said. “Get me an interview with Emily.”

  “No promises. But I’ll see what I can do. But seriously, man, don’t go back to McCreedy Ranch. Clay really will shoot you.”

  Steve scrubbed his hand through his hair, knocking the pen from behind his ear. As he reached down to get it, he asked, “You think Fairbanks killed her?”

  “I don’t know,” Rhys said. But everything the serial killer had told investigators was starting to ring true.

  Emily wrapped the leftovers the Baker’s Dozen had brought over in cellophane and found space in the refrigerator. They’d lugged over enough food for an army, most of which she’d have to freeze. Right now, the thought of eating made her physically ill.

  Keeping busy seemed the only remedy to keep from going crazy. Every time the phone rang her heart pounded out of her chest. Besides half the town calling, a few people from her victims group had seen reports on the news. Clay had unplugged the television, saying until they got proof, there was no use listening to talking heads speculating.

  She’d spoken to Drew earlier and he had offered to come. Even Kristy got on the phone, inviting Emily to stay with them. That way they would get the news together.

  But Emily couldn’t bear to watch Drew suffer. Even worse, she couldn’t bear his forgiveness. They both knew if she hadn’t left Hope alone, none of this would have happened.

  No, right now she needed the security of Nugget, her newfound friends, and Clay. Especially Clay. He’d been with her every second, holding her hand and doing whatever he could to soothe her heart.

  “Baby, that’s enough,” he called from the great room. “You’ve scrubbed and cleaned every surface of that kitchen. Come relax.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  He got up, walked the short distance into the kitchen, and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the floor. “I’ll fix a bath and pour you a glass of wine. Unless you’d rather go to my house? The boys are at Amanda’s for the night. Maybe new surroundings would be good for you.”

  “I don’t want to leave the phone,” she said.

  “Nothing is going to happen tonight.” He put her down, keeping her enfolded in his strong arms. “We may not even hear anything tomorrow. This is an arduous process. It’ll take time.”

  She stared out the kitchen window, absently watching the moonlight shimmer over the river. “Is Amanda taking Justin and Cody to school tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. It seems smart, given the press situation.”

  Slowly, she turned and buried her face in his chest, murmuring, “I’m sorry to put you and the boys through this.”

  Clay lifted her chin. “You mean the world to me, Emily. It’s killing me that I can’t fix this for you.” Then he kissed her tenderly, making her feel wanted and warm and something she hadn’t felt worthy of in a long time.

  Cherished.

  “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

  She let him make love to her, trying to lose her misery in his gentle touch, taking refuge in the heat of his body and comfort with every beat of his heart. He rocked her to sleep, whispering sweet words of adoration like a lullaby. Throughout the night, he held her tight, keeping the nightmares from taking over.

  They were awakened long after the sun came up by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Emily immediately reached for it, but she was on the wrong side of the bed. Clay answered and spoke in a clear voice, like he’d been wide awake for hours. She supposed he’d learned the skill in the military.

  “What’s wrong, Justin?” He came up in a sitting position, the blanket falling to his waist, showing a sculpted torso smattered with dark hair. Emily never grew tired of looking at him.

  “Clay?” To get his attention she nudged his arm. “What’s going on?”

  He continued to listen to Justin and scowl. “Just ignore them, Son. Don’t answer any questions. I’ll call the school and have them kicked off campus. No, I’ll pick you guys up. Yeah, hold on.”

  “Justin wants to talk to you.” He handed her the phone. “Reporters showed up at school.”

  She sighed. “Justin, I’m so sorry. They must know I live on the ranch.”

  “I didn’t tell them anything,” he said. “They didn’t say anything mean about you, though. They just wanted to know how you were holding up and what you’ve been doing.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t be bothering you. Your dad will talk to the school. What about Cody? Has anyone tried contacting him?”

  “Not that I know of,” Justin said. “He won’t talk to them either. Are you okay?”

  She smiled. For all his insolence, he really was a good boy. “I’m hanging in there.”

  “Stay with my dad at all times in case they try to get on the ranch.”

  “I will,” she said, warmed by his protectiveness. “I’ll make some of those chocolate chip cookies you guys like for when you get home from school.” Anything to keep her occupied.

  “Okay. See you later, Emi
ly.”

  Justin hung up before she could pass the phone back to Clay. He grabbed his cell off the dresser, pressed a few buttons, and barked orders about getting “the damn press” off school property. From the tenor of the conversation, Emily deduced that a school administrator was bending over backward to appease him.

  When he got off the phone, Emily said, “Clay, I don’t want Justin and Cody affected by this.”

  Clay stretched out next to her. “What did Justin say?”

  “That he didn’t tell the reporters anything and he wanted to know if I’m okay.”

  “Oh yeah?” He grinned.

  “We’re BFFs now, you know.”

  “When did that happen?”

  She slid him a sideways glance. “He didn’t tell you about our talk?”

  “You two had a talk? No. When was that?”

  “Not too long ago. We talked about Hope. It was a good discussion, but I think if he didn’t tell you about it, I should probably keep it private.”

  “Okay,” he said, and kissed her.

  Emily tried to pull away, but Clay wouldn’t let her. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for me to stay here while this is happening. This isn’t good for the boys.”

  Maddy had offered her the use of her guest cottage, saying that reporters wouldn’t dare trespass on the police chief’s property. Emily wasn’t so sure about that.

  “I’m not willing to let you leave,” Clay said, showering her with more kisses. “My boys are McCreedys. We’re tough.”

  Justin wasn’t nearly as tough as he’d like everyone to think, Emily knew. And this couldn’t be good for Cody’s anxiety. In the short time she’d lived here, Emily had gotten to know the boys, especially Cody. She cared about them in a way she never thought she could, which meant she had to look out for them. If she’d done a better job with Hope . . . her daughter would be safe at home now.

  “No, Clay, they’re children and they need to come first in all of this.”

  He propped himself up on an elbow. “Emily,” he started. “All my life my father taught me the importance of taking care of other people. On the ranch, in the community, in the world. That’s why I became an officer in the navy. That’s why I fought two wars. I plan to instill that same code of ethics in my sons. If you want, when they come home from school, we will explain everything to them. But we’re not letting you leave.”