The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  He turned to the computer, signed into a search site with his secret password and skimmed the database for Roy Summers. A very common handle, so he added archery, and it cut the names by two-thirds. Soon, he found the man he was looking for and read through the information. He flipped on the printer, and made a copy of the details which he thought quite interesting.

  Summers was not a native of the area, and had come from the East coast after getting in trouble as a teenager. The article revealed Summers had injured another young man with a bow and arrow. Hawkman didn't want to hold it against him, as young people tend to do stupid things. No charges were filed, and the incident was classified as an accident. Summers had lived in Oregon for twenty years and his record looked clean. His employment had consisted of archery involved jobs. No wonder the man had been classified as an expert. Hawkman decided he'd like to see him in action.

  He shut down the computer, then put the printed material into his valise and called it a night.

  The next morning, Hawkman arose and tramped to the kitchen. Jennifer sat at the kitchen bar with Miss Marple in her lap, reading a book and sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning, my favorite ladies.”

  Jennifer glanced up and smiled, just as Miss Marple swatted at the book when a page flipped over. The action caused Jennifer to slop the hot brew on the counter as she grabbed the paperback to keep it from falling. “Oh, you little rascal. I think you better get down.”

  The cat jumped to the floor as Hawkman laughed and handed his wife a paper towel to sop up the mess. “You ought to know better than hold her while drinking coffee.”

  “You'd think I'd learn, but when she looks up at me with those soulful eyes, my heart melts.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” he asked, pouring himself a mug.

  “No. You want me to fix some eggs and toast?”

  “I'd love it, but it can't take too long. I've got to roll.”

  “There's bacon already fried in the refrigerator, so if you'll get that out and zap it in the microwave, we could have a feast fit for a king.”

  “I can do that. I'll go get dressed while you're fixing the eggs. By the way, don't let me forget the GPS tracker,” he said, pointing at the gadget on the counter.

  Hawkman soon came out dressed, put the bacon in the microwave, gathered up the GPS and put it in his valise. Within a few minutes they sat down to a hearty meal. Soon, Hawkman rose and patted his stomach. “Thank you my dear wife, it was delicious.”

  Jennifer grinned. “Hopefully it will stay with you long enough so you won't be tempted by Clyde's pastries.”

  He laughed. “At least during the morning hours.”

  She threw a tea towel at him. “Get to work, you stinker,”

  Catching the cloth in his hands, he put it around her neck and pulled her toward him. Giving her a passionate kiss, he shook his head. “Got to get out of here, or I'll end up taking you back to bed, and then I won't get any work done today.”

  She gazed up at him. “Too bad you're on a deadline.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” He released his arms from around her, put on his jacket, grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door.

  The brisk cool air forced the passionate mood from his mind. The snow had melted but the temperature still chilled his being. He hopped into his vehicle and headed across the bridge. Driving toward Medford, Hawkman planned his day; his first stop would be at the sports shop where Roy Summers worked.

  When he reached the main street, he again turned down the alley, and parked in the warehouse area. This time, he found the back entry unlocked. He reached Summers’ office only to find a sign taped to the door that read, ‘Class begins at nine sharp. Meet you at the range.'

  Hawkman glanced around the large storage room and spotted a worker.

  “Sir, could you tell me the archery range where I'd find Mr. Summers?”

  “Sorry, sir. I have no idea. You'll have to ask someone upfront.”

  Hawkman gave him a nod and proceeded into the retail area through the large swinging doors. He caught one of the cashiers with no line of customers. The man told him the range was called ‘Arrow Point', about a mile outside of town, and gave him instructions on how to get there.

  “Thanks,” Hawkman said.

  He headed back to his vehicle, and pulled onto the main street. The directions were clear, and he remembered seeing it from the road, but had never paid a whole lot of attention to the grounds. It didn't take him ten minutes before he drove under an arch that had ‘Arrow Point’ carved in steel letters across the top with a metal arrow angled across the lettering. He parked beside a long building which he assumed was the indoor range. The outdoor practice field looked deserted, probably due to the brisk cold wind.

  Hawkman entered the building, picked up a brochure from a table, then stood back

  and listened as Roy Summers lectured a class of approximately fifteen adults. He talked about the procedures and rules of archery. Hawkman had the feeling these were beginners. He glanced at the flyer in his hand and flipped it open where he discovered the scheduled classes. It appeared Friday and Saturday were the heaviest days. Each period lasted about an hour and a half, then a group of intermediate students came in at eleven until twelve-thirty, then they had a break until two and the schedule showed the last lesson ended at nine in the evening. Hawkman figured the Saturday class consisted of youths, as school was in session. Mr. Summers definitely put in a long day.

  When the group rose from their chairs and headed toward the range, Hawkman noticed they filed behind lines drawn on the floor, two and three abreast. They each held a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He'd already heard Summers tell the group they were not to remove a shaft until instructed to do so.

  Hawkman knew he wouldn't have a chance to talk to the instructor today. The man had a tight schedule, with little time in between groups. He took a couple of the flyers and decided to leave. When he went to the front alcove, a young man had come in and occupied the chair behind the desk.

  “Hello,” Hawkman said.

  The lad glanced up from sorting schedules. “Yes sir, can I help you.”

  “I hope so. I see Mr. Summers is teaching right now, so I didn't have a chance to approach him. Are these private lessons going on right now?”

  “Not really. On Friday the classes are filled with customers from the sports store. Depending on how much equipment they purchased, they get anywhere from one to three free lessons. Saturday and Sunday are usually the youth groups. Mr. Summers fills his private classes on other days of the week. You'd have to contact him to find out if he has any openings.” He pointed to the flyers in Hawkman's hand. “I see you've picked up some of the literature. Mr. Summers’ phone number will be in both of those.”

  “Thank you. You've answered my questions.”

  “Glad I could be of help.”

  Hawkman left the building and walked around to the side so he could get a better view of the outdoor range. The lawns were well kept, the targets were set up in a neat row and lots of foliage protection prevented arrows from going astray. An excellent arrangement, he thought.

  He strolled over to his vehicle, climbed in, and drove back to the office. He sat at his desk, read through the brochures he'd picked up at the range and scribbled some notes about what he'd learned. It looked like he'd have to make an appointment to talk to Roy Summers. The man ran a full blown business with his classes. He must have caught him between lessons when he spoke with him at the store.

  Checking the time, he noted it was still too early to call Laura, so he went on the internet and did some research on archery. He discovered if a person privately ordered his arrows, he could specify the color of feather fletching he wanted. So it leaned more toward a preference, and not an indication of how good a bowman you were by a certain color. Also, it might have been easier to keep track of your own personal stash if they were all the same.

  He visited several sites about the sport, and they all
said about the same thing. He felt when he finished, he had a good insight on compound bows. He wondered what the American Indians would think about these new contraptions. They'd really evolved into quite a technical piece of machinery since the buffalo days.

  Closing down the sites, he picked up the receiver and dialed Laura's cell phone. She answered immediately, and said she was on her way to her car, then straight home. He asked if it would be all right for him to come out to her place and she told him it would be fine. No, she hadn't heard from the harasser today, and she didn't know if her dad had gotten the phone records yet, but imagined he would have them tonight for sure.

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  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  As Hawkman drove out toward the King's ranch, he paid close attention to any vehicle behind him. He planned on informing the family where he would place the tracker on Laura's car, but didn't want any prying eyes to observe the undertaking.

  When he turned onto the gravel driveway leading up to the house, he noted a black pickup in front. He hoped a neighbor had just dropped by for a quick visit. It sure seemed like there were a lot of black vehicles on the road lately. It must be the “in” color for trucks right now.

  Hawkman spotted the rear end of Laura's green Toyota parked at the back. It tempted him to drive around, but still thought it might be a bit presumptuous, so he pulled behind the black Ford. He carried his briefcase with the GPS inside and knocked on the front door.

  Olly answered. “Hello, Mr. Casey. Come in. Have you met the Higgins boys?”

  “Only Joey.”

  “Meet Jim and Jerry, they're John's older twin sons.”

  Both boys smiled and stuck out their hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Casey.”

  “I saw you two riding in from the field when I left your place the other night, but I couldn't tell you were twins. Happy to make your acquaintance.”

  One of the boys turned to Olly. “We'll be on our way. Mom wanted us to drop off the pie for you guys. She got crazy in the kitchen and made more pastries than we can handle.”

  Violet came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a tea towel. “You tell your mom, we're very grateful for her thinking of us. We love her pies.”

  The boys waved. “Sure will, Mrs. King. You all have a good evening.”

  After the brothers left, Mrs. King nodded at Hawkman. “How are you Mr. Casey? Laura's out tending to her baby lamb; she'll be in shortly.”

  “No problem,” Hawkman said, placing his valise on a chair.

  Olly picked up a folder from the dining room table. “I got the telephone records for Laura's phone. I can't make heads or tails out of them, but I'm sure you'll know what to look for.”

  “Good,” Hawkman said, and flipped open the folder. He glanced through the pages. “Is it okay if I take these back to my office?”

  “Sure, I got the list for you. I have no use for them.”

  Hawkman placed the sheets in his briefcase and when he turned back around, Olly had hooked his fingers into his jeans and stood with a lowered head. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Casey. Violet and Laura both scolded me the other night for putting a limit on how soon I expected you to find this man who's threatening my women. I realize now, it might take longer than a week to find this guy, but it scared me to think about my daughter being run through with an arrow. I won't put a limit on you; just find this crazy person before he does my Laura harm.”

  “I plan on it, Mr. King. I'm here this afternoon to tell your family my next move. When Laura gets through with tending her pet, I'll explain.”

  “Let me get those gals in here,” Olly said as he turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen.

  Hawkman could hear him order his wife to get Laura and come into the living room. Within a few minutes, the Kings were huddled together on the couch as Hawkman faced them in a straight back chair.

  “I'm sure you're wondering what this crazy, one-eyed private detective has in store for you now. First of all, Mr. King, thank you for removing the time limit. I really appreciate it and I'm sure Laura does too.”

  Laura jerked her head around and gave her dad a big grin.

  Hawkman reached into his briefcase and brought out the GPS tracker. Olly leaned forward and furrowed his brow.

  “What in the heck is that contraption?”

  “It's a tracking system. I'll put this,” he held up a small square box, “on Laura's car in an inconspicuous place. Like under the fender. It's got a strong magnet, so it will hold tight.” Then he displayed his iPhone. I'll be able to track her vehicle on my cell or computer, in case she gets into a situation where she can't contact me.”

  “Wow!” Laura said. “That's neat. I hope it doesn't record my voice.”

  Hawkman smiled. “No, just where your car is going. I don't want you to worry about me invading your privacy. This is for your safety only.” He placed the tracker on the small coffee table. “What I need is your permission to put this on your car.”

  Laura turned to her folks. “What do you think?”

  “I think it's an excellent idea,” Violet said.

  Olly nodded. “Me, too. When do you plan on doing this?”

  “Right now. I have the tracker charged to the hilt. So it should last four or five days, since Laura isn't driving all the time. It has a sensor on it which puts it in a sleep mode when there's no car motion. It saves the battery life while she's at school, and her vehicle is parked.”

  “What happens when the battery gets low?” Laura asked.

  “It will give me a signal, and I'll contact you. I'll leave the charger, and all you have to do is remove it, plug it in at night and by morning it will be ready to put back on the car. However, when you take off the tracker, make sure no one else is around. We don't know who the harasser is, so we don't want him to see you placing this on your vehicle.”

  Laura stood and picked up the small instrument, studying it as she turned it over in her hands. “This is quite a piece of technology.”

  “Yes, it is. I'm hoping we don't have to rely on it, but it's a good safety factor.”

  “It will definitely make me feel better,” she said, handing it to Hawkman. “Let's go attach it.”

  The whole family joined in the walk through the kitchen and out the back door. Laura's Toyota was parked close to the back of the house, which made it easier for Hawkman to install the tracker under the front fender. He had Laura feel where he'd put it. “Try to get it off and you'll see it's very tight and solid.”

  “Oh, gee, I might not be able to do this trick,” she said, groaning as she tried to pull it off.

  “If you have trouble, let your dad do it.” He motioned for Olly.

  The farmer got down on his haunches, and with his big, strong hands had no trouble prying off the black box. He grinned up at his daughter. “I can get this thing off for you, no problem. You just let me know.” Glancing at Hawkman, he said. “You want me to put it back?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Violet stood rubbing her arms. “I'm going back inside. It's nippy out here.”

  They all followed her into the kitchen.

  “How about a cup of coffee, everyone? she said. “Oh, and how about a slice of pie with it?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Olly said.”

  They pulled out the chairs around the kitchen table and sat down. Violet served each a piece of peach pie.

  “Margy's pies are delicious. She cans peaches all summer and has an ample supply in her cellar. We're lucky to be one of the families she shares with.”

  Hawkman took a bite, and looked up at the ceiling. “Man, I think I've gone to heaven, this is delicious. Please tell Mrs. Higgins for me.”

  Violet laughed. “I sure will.”

  He turned to Laura between savoring the next bite. “Are you going to be driving tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Mom and I have some shopping to do.”

  “Good. It will give me the opportunity to check out the GPS and make s
ure it's working right. Could you give me a call before you leave?”

  “Sure.” She glanced at her mother. “Don't let me forget.”

  “I won't.”

  “Also, any calls from this guy, save them like you did the last one.”

  Laura frowned. “Don't worry, I will.”

  They chit-chatted for a few more minutes, then Hawkman rose. “I must get on my way. Thank you for your hospitality.” He pointed at Laura. “Give me a call before you leave the house.”

  She nodded.

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  * * *

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When Hawkman pulled up to the Rileys’ house, a German shepherd barreled around the side, barking and snarling. He hesitated about getting out of the vehicle, as this dog meant business. Soon a man opened the front door.

  “Princess, stop that right now.”

  The dog skulked back around the house, and Hawkman climbed out of the SUV.

  “Sorry about her. She's very protective.”

  “No apology needed,” Hawkman said. “I'm assuming you're Bob Riley?”

  “Sure am.”

  Hawkman held out his hand. “I'm Tom Casey, private investigator.”

  “Oh, yeah, John Higgins told me about you. Come on in.”

  They entered the front door and stepped into a sparsely furnished living room. Second hand furniture surrounded a large throw rug in the middle, where two small children about the ages of four and six played on the floor. “This is Megan and Scott.”

  “Hello, Megan and Scott,” Hawkman said.

  They both said a meager “hello", picked up their toys and left the room. Shortly, a young slim woman with long dishwater blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, stepped into the room. She wore faded jeans, a green plaid long-sleeved shirt and scuffed boots.