Arrest of the Heart

by Judy Kentrus

  His jacket was still too wet, so he went to the small closet in the bedroom and frowned at the unfamiliar black and red plaid lumberjack shirt. He took it off the hanger and laughed at the note pinned to the pocket. “I didn’t trust the women to select everything you needed. Accept this “manly” shirt with my compliments. By the way, they went crazy over your silk underwear. Scott”. Linc let out a hearty laugh. Even from a distance, his friends brought happiness into his life.

  It was grayish dark and a cold drizzle was still coming down when Linc pulled up in front of the Last Chance Motel. All the units in the one story-building appeared occupied. The original owners intended it to be the last place to spend the night before travelers hit the interstate. Regrettably, the motel gained an unsavory reputation when horny teenagers booked a room, desperate for a last chance to shed their virginity. Linc and Treig had never been members of the last chance club. According to Sallie Mae, a mysterious fire destroyed the entire structure, and a new owner rebuilt the facility ten years ago.

  Slivers of light, visible through narrow vertical blinds in Unit 25, indicated Nate Haines was awake. Linc debated whether to just leave Treig by the front of the building or speak to Nate.

  Treig removed his seatbelt. “I can see the indecision on your face, but if you don’t come in, it will raise more questions. Despite my mother’s wishes, I think you should tell Nate what’s going on. You’ve already got his sister involved.”

  Linc put his fingers to his throbbing temples. “When did you get to be so smart?” The door opened and Nate stepped out, hands on his jean-clad hips. The FBI agent’s dark brown hair was longer than he normally wore it, and he’d added a short, scruffy beard.

  “Are you girls going to sit out there all night and gossip?”

  “There’s no escaping now,” Linc said, and turned the key to shut down the engine. He was about to break Margaret Taylor’s confidence and bring in the FBI.

  The standard motel room, decorated in a blend of blue and green, had two queen-sized beds, currently unmade. A tulip-shaped hanging lamp called attention to the round wood table and chairs in front of the picture window and defined the frayed, dark-blue carpeting.

  “You look like you just went a round with Sugar Ray Leonard and lost,” Nate teased, shaking Linc’s hand. “I called Danni to find how she was feeling and mentioned meeting our mutual friend Sam at the truck stop. Suddenly, she gets all weird and my brother-in-law grabs the phone and gives me some double-talk about Braxton Hicks labor contractions. Treig insists we stay in this flea-bag motel because he needs to go into Laurel Heights to punch someone in the mouth. Now, you show up with a bruise on your jaw. Since I’m not a green-horn investigator, I can put two and two together. Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  Treig glanced at the time on his watch and then his friends. “I know what he’s going to tell you.” He held out his hand to Linc. “Give me the keys to your truck. I’m going to the Spoonful and get us some decent food.”

  Linc realized he was hungry. “Tell Sallie Mae to double up on the biscuits and sausage gravy. Use the back entrance,” he hollered, just before the door closed.

  They sat in the thin-cushioned armchairs on either side of the table. Linc leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “The judge will probably throw me in jail for breaking her confidence.”

  “By the judge, you mean Treig’s mother?

  Linc nodded. “She is a formidable woman who doesn’t take crap from anyone, but she’s scared and is depending on me to protect her family.” Linc explained about the cockamamie way he returned to Laurel Heights, his inheritance, the drilling for natural gas, the threats against the judge, and the love note he’d received. “With the mayor missing, my gut tells me we’re looking at a possible murder.”

  Nate ran his fingers through his hair that was still damp after his shower. “To say you were facing some tough shit would be putting it mildly. If I was sitting at my desk, I could help you out, but I’m in the middle of this damn case.”

  “Treig said you’re investigating a smuggling operation.”

  “You’re dealing with a cluster fuck and so am I.” Nate pursed his lips in frustration. “This trucking company is hijacking their own cargo and redistributing stolen liquor and tax free cigarettes. They camouflage the cargo among crates on their own rail cars. We know what they’re doing, but haven’t been able catch them in the act. Last month, we tracked a shipment of liquor in loaves of bread into Pittsburgh, but it disappeared, like magic. You know the feeling you get when the back of your neck itches. Mine has been driving me crazy the past couple of days. Treig agrees our cover as independent truckers is precarious.”

  “Sounds like an undercover job for Adams Security and Investigations.”

  Tires scraping against loose gravel in the parking lot and the slamming of a truck door drew their attention. They looked up as Treig hurried in with a cardboard box filled with mouthwatering food.

  “What’s your hurry? I’m sure the food is still hot,” Linc said.

  “Hot is right.” Treig’s words came out in a rush as he set the box on the table. “I was about two miles down the road when I heard three sharp pings. Someone just shot at the driver’s side door of your truck! I hit the pedal and the truck shot up to 90 in seconds flat. What have you got under that hood? I gotta get me one of those!”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Linc spat, ignoring Treig’s question. This had just become doubly personal. They’d shot at the truck, not knowing it wasn’t Linc behind the wheel. “Let’s go!”

  Nate hurried over to his duffle bag to retrieve his Sig.

  “Stop,” Treig said, thrusting his hands out like a crossing guard. “Whoever did this will be long gone. The surrounding woods are dense and the perfect camouflage for the shooter. I didn’t notice any other vehicles in my bat-out-of-hell getaway. They were warning shots to go with your get out of Dodge note.”

  “You’re right.” Nate reluctantly agreed, and shoved his weapon in the duffle on the bed. He frowned at Linc. “How did they know you would be here? Is it possible someone put a GPS tracking device on your truck?”

  Linc raised a brow at Nate’s questions. “Are you kidding? There isn’t anyone around here with the smarts to put a tracking device on my truck. As soon as I got that note, I set my security system to highly sensitive. Anyone so much as touches the body the alarm goes off. It also signals my cell. Unfortunately, the entire town is made up of the Nose Patrol, as I think of them. They’ve made it their mission in life to monitor my every move.”

  Treig was worried and studied his long-time friend. “This is getting out of hand. Forget my mother’s orders. Talk to the chief. He’s a smart cop.”

  “I agree. I’ll talk to the judge when she returns home and advise we meet with Jessie and the chief as soon as possible.”

  “Man, all this shit fired-up my appetite.” Treig reached into the box and pulled out insulated to-go boxes, enough to feed six men.

  After polishing off the food, they inspected the dents in the side of Linc’s truck. The shooter hadn’t used a weapon powerful enough for the bullets to penetrate the metal. Before parting, they cautioned Linc to watch his back and he wished them luck in pursuit of the smugglers. The two-lane road was free of cars in the early daylight hours, and he purposely slowed down in the approximate location of the shooter. Treig had been correct. The thick forest of trees and undergrowth offered the perfect camouflage to lay in wait. Anger simmered in his body. The shooter had made a very big mistake damaging Linc’s pride and joy.

  It was full light when he got home and was disappointed Jessie’s patrol car wasn’t parked in front of the garage. She’d put in a lot of hours and had to be exhausted. He stripped and crawled into bed, exhausted, but his mind wasn’t ready to shut down. He planned to have Preston, their forensic accountant, work with Reggie to do a deep financial search on all the members of the town council, including the still-missing mayor. Talking to the judge was
a priority. Starting on the reorganization of the junk, no, treasure, in the garage was needed to maintain his cover. Once he picked up his priority package from the post office, his pursuit of Jessie Taylor would start in earnest. Linc’s mind finally shut down with an easy smile on his face.

  Jess sat at the banquet-sized round table in the meeting room off the chief’s office. He wanted to bring everyone up-to-date on the disappearance of Mayor Humperdinck. She sipped coffee from her insulated cup and momentarily closed her eyes. Her body craved sleep, but that wasn’t about to happen. The rain had stopped, so a search would be conducted for the mayor’s body. “Come on, caffeine, work,” she muttered and tugged at the neck on her dry uniform shirt. She’d been able to run home, change her clothes, and get Edie off to school before heading back to headquarters. Her frustration investigating Lincoln Adams’ private life was compounded by the printout Barb had placed on Jess’s desk. His plates came back to a high rise in Jersey City, just across the river from Manhattan. That told her absolutely nothing. She still needed to contact Danni Snow and work Lincoln Adams into the conversation. He was a puzzle she was determined to solve. Her five minute power nap was interrupted when the chief walked in, followed by Officers Donatiello and Dailey. Lorenzo and Bowll walked in carrying oversized to-go cups of coffee.

  “We’ve all had a rough night, so I’ll make this as brief as possible,” Chief Charles started, taking a seat at the table. “Detective Catcher will join us in a few minutes. He’s on the phone with the county search and rescue squad.”

  This morning, Joe felt all of the twenty-five years he’d been on the job. His military cut blond hair was heavily laced with gray, and crow’s feet had appeared at the corners of his blue eyes, but he’d kept himself in shape. As a former crime scene investigator, he knew what they were facing. He’d barely gotten home to change out of his wet clothes and put on his white uniform shirt and navy trousers, when the members of the panic-stricken town council called his cell, demanding answers. All he could tell them was the investigation was ongoing. Damn politicians.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Detective Catcher apologized and took a seat next to Jessie. He patted her hand and winked.

  She hid a secret smile. His gold rimmed reading glasses were wedged on his forehead, and he’d been running his hands through his salt and pepper hair. Tufts were sticking out on either side of his head. His brush-style mustache came to the top of his upper lip. He preferred short-sleeved golf shirts and added Mr. Roger’s type sweaters in the colder months. His chino trousers belted a pudgy middle, a true compliment to his wife’s home cooking.

  “I’ve been in contact with Judge Taylor, the deputy mayor, to bring her up-to-date on the mayor’s disappearance,” Joe began. “Available members of the volunteer fire department will be meeting at Youghiogheny Crossing at noon to start a search on either side of the river. Al, I want you and Officer Dailey to go to the mayor’s house. We have probable cause to enter. Document everything. His housekeeper is aware you will be on scene. Go over to his real estate office and interview the manager. Try to determine where he was going last evening. I’d like to confiscate all his personal computers, but we’ll wait a day or two, just in case he shows up alive. Let’s check with the area hospitals.”

  “We’ll head out after the meeting,” Al replied, making a few notes on the pad he always carried. He also planned to speak to Sallie Mae. The owner of the Spoonful was a font of information.

  “Paul is on scene with the larger flatbed wrecker. The vehicle will be brought to headquarters and parked in the back by the municipal garage. We’ll go over that car from top to bottom, concentrating on the blood stains Sergeant Taylor reported finding. I’ve already received the crime scene photos from Lincoln Adams.”

  The chief’s statement jolted Jessie’s slumberous state and she frowned. “He sent them to you already? He was supposed to send them to me also.”

  Joe shrugged a shoulder. “He called headquarters and asked the dispatcher for my number, so he could send the photos to my attention.”

  Jess retrieved her phone from the pocket in her uniform trousers and scrolled through her messages. None were from Lincoln Adams. Rather than take out her annoyance on the chief, she offered a tight-lipped smile and fumed the rest of the meeting. She was a cop and damn well deserved his respect!

  After a couple hours sleep, Linc walked into the Spoonful. Sallie Mae came right over and gave him an affectionate hug. “Rough night?”

  “You would know,” he winked. “Thanks for the great breakfast.”

  “My pleasure. Come, sit in the last booth. We’ll have more privacy.” Sallie Mae placed a large white mug on the table in front of him and filled it to the rim with coffee. She offered a sheepish smile and remembered to keep her voice low. “I hope you’re not angry I confessed all to TJ. He called and asked point blank what the hell was going on.” Sallie Mae paused and glanced up. “Sorry for cussin’, Lord. When I told him you were alive and here, I thought he was going to start crying over the phone.” Sally Mae covered Linc’s hand with her own. “You two were always my boys.”

  Linc gave the soft hand that had wiped his tears an affectionate squeeze. “I’m glad you told him. He’s going to keep it to himself, for now. If his mother or sister find out we’ve re-connected, it will raise too many questions.” Linc took a drink of coffee, grateful for the caffeine. “How is Sam working out?”

  Sallie Mae dabbed at the droplets of perspiration on her brow with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Handled the breakfast crowd without breaking a sweat. I just might learn a thing or two. Sam wants to make a special glazed ham loaf with grilled pineapple for tomorrow’s lunch special.” Sallie Mae darted a glance about the busy café to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “The speculation of the breakfast crowd is the mayor was so drunk he drove off the bridge. It’s a well-kept secret he’s a recovering alcoholic. He drives into Stevensville to attend the weekly AA meetings on Tuesday evenings.”

  “That answers the question as to why he was driving in that thunderstorm.” He passed Sallie Mae an overstuffed manila envelope. “Tell Sam I said thank you.”

  “Will do.” She peeked inside and an approving smile blossomed on her face. “Be right back.”

  She returned with a toasted, carrot-raisin muffin slathered with honey butter and a note. “Sam says Hi.” Linc read the message. “Members of town council had breakfast in the private dining room. I volunteered to serve their food. They were as nervous as tomcats in a room full of rocking chairs. Scuttlebutt was mainly about Mayor Humperdinck and Margaret Taylor. Heard the comment ‘money hungry politicians.’ Watch your back.”

  Linc was anxious to find out what was happening with the mayor’s car and headed out to the accident scene. Three police cars and six personal vehicles were parked alongside the road. The Cadillac sat atop a flatbed wrecker. The front end suffered the impact when the vehicle crashed through the guard rail. If the mayor was the passenger, who was driving?

  Joe Charles was addressing the volunteers who had already been issued reflective orange vests and hand radios. Linc recalled the first time he’d met the cop who’d kept him from becoming a juvenile delinquent. Linc and Treig had been fighting behind the abandoned warehouses adjacent to the train depot. The flashing lights from the patrol car had scared off the three guys from Stevensville who got their rocks off harassing the cheerleaders from the high school. The sixteen year olds, sporting bloody noses and raw knuckles, had begged the young officer not to call Buford or Treig’s father, the judge. Joe knew they were basically good kids and issued a stern reprimand. He encountered the boys a second time fighting, and let them go with a stern warning. The third time Patrolman Charles came upon the minors, they’d just finished a bottle of Cutty Sark and were drunk as skunks. Joe threw them in the back of his patrol car and dragged them into headquarters. He didn’t call their relatives, but devised a worse punishment, clean the cells. Two sloppy drunks had been locked up earlier and spilled their
guts on the floor before sobering up. Linc and Treig learned their lesson and made a good friend.

  He felt every eye on him as he approached the group of men and women, dressed for hiking in the woods. “Chief,” Linc said, and offered his hand in friendship. Jessie didn’t acknowledge his presence other than by glowering at him. What have I done now, he asked himself, then listened to the Chief issue instructions.

  “Teams will search the wave line and the woods bordering the river. The slope is muddy and last night’s rain would have washed away any footprints, but look closely. The county and state police will pick up the search beyond Laurel Falls. My unit is the command center. Each team will notify me immediately if you find anything, especially a body. You all know not to touch anything.”

  When the others moved off, the chief smiled at Linc. “Thanks for coming and helping out last evening. We appreciate it.”

  “Glad to be of help. I’m back for more.” He looked at Jessie in the big clunky rubber boots that came to her knees. With her hair in a pony tail and adorable freckles, she reminded him of a little girl who wanted to play dress up in her daddy’s boots. “Don’t you have a partner?”

  “She does now,” the chief answered quickly and handed Linc a reflective vest. “Sergeant Taylor has a radio and an assigned area.”

  Jess wanted to snap, I don’t need a partner, especially a pigheaded chauvinist, but her refusal would have sounded petty. She also told herself to ignore how rugged and masculine he looked in jeans and red and black plaid woodcutter’s woolen shirt. Damn him.

  “After you,” Linc invited, sweeping a hand in the direction of the bridge.

  The cold shoulder he got when Jess passed in front of him rivaled the chilly, damp air. They walked single file down a narrow, mud-slick path through the woods that appeared to be a direct route to the area where the car had been cradled in the log jam. He wanted to ask why they hadn’t come this way the previous evening, but even he wouldn’t have risked walking through the woods in the middle of a thunder and lighting storm. The wind kicked up and the leaves shivered, shaking rain drops directly on their heads. Linc wondered if it would cool her displeasure with him. The trail came to an end on the rocky beach where the Cadillac had been. When the car had been pulled off the logs, the jostling had set them free from the enveloping rocks and sent them on their way to the falls. If any physical evidence existed, it was long gone.