Fugitive Father

by Jean Barrett

Ellie stood there, listening with growing dismay.

  “No, it’s true. My troubles are over. Never mind how. All you have to know is that I solved them. Even better, there’s more where that came from, and before long…”

  She was so involved in what she was overhearing that she failed to detect any movement behind her. It was only when a hand reached around her and quietly, firmly closed the library door, shutting off the conversation on the other side, that she realized she was no longer alone in the hall.

  Ellie swung around to find the hulking figure of Peaches blocking her path. There was a menacing expression on his broad face.

  “You wanna watch what you listen to, Ms. Matheson,” he cautioned her, his voice low and tough. “Could be people will think you’re snooping.”

  “Are you accusing me of eavesdropping?” Technically, that was exactly what she had been doing, but she resented the bodyguard’s implied threat.

  “Me? No, I wouldn’t go around insulting Mr. Buchanan’s guests like that. He wouldn’t like it. On the other hand, he might like it even less if he was to learn somebody had overheard one of his private calls.”

  “You go ahead and tell him what you want,” she informed him boldly. “And while you’re at it, let him know that the only thing I was snooping for was a thermometer to take Joel’s temperature.”

  She pushed past him without another word. He didn’t try to stop her.

  Less than twenty minutes later, as Ellie gently drew the coverlet over Joel’s sleeping figure, there was a soft tap on the bedroom door. She went to answer it. Brett stood in the hallway, looking concerned.

  “Peaches said you needed a thermometer for Joel. Is he ill?”

  She shook her head. “One of the help did finally come up with a thermometer for me. I took his temperature. It’s normal, and he isn’t complaining of anything. I think he was just tired. He’s napping now.”

  “If you’re sure he’s okay, then I won’t come in and disturb him. Sandra and I are going riding. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll just sit with Joel a bit.”

  “You don’t have to. One of the staff will do that.”

  “I’d like to,” she assured him. “It will give me a chance to catch up on my sketching.”

  “Well, if you won’t change your mind…” She thought he would leave then, but he went on standing there. He was watching her, wondering maybe just how much of his sensitive phone conversation she had managed to hear. Peaches must have told him she was there outside the library. Would he challenge her?

  In the end he merely smiled, told her he would see her later, and left. Relieved, Ellie shut the door behind him and settled on the rocking chair beside Joel’s bed. Her thoughts were on that phone call.

  Just how important were those fragments she had overheard? Important enough that her knowledge of them might be dangerous to her? Important enough to provide a motive and explanation for Howard Buchanan’s murder? The trouble was, none of it was clear, none of it was definite.

  She needed to share all of this with Noah, to discuss it with him carefully. There were possibilities here, particularly concerning Joel, that she feared to examine without him. She missed his strength and decisiveness. Longed to be with him again.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself. One way or another, she would go to him tomorrow.

  SUPERINTENDENT Hamish Bolling looked up over the top of his slipping glasses. The slim figure of Officer Judy Belucci stood there in the open doorway of his corner office in the St. Louis Homicide Division.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Sir, there may be a lead for us in connection with Detective Ferguson and the Rhyder case.”

  “About time,” he grumbled. “What is it?”

  “There’s this woman down in holding. They picked her up last night for rolling a drunk in the bar where she works. Her name is—” she consulted the slip of paper in her hand “—Ginger Zukawski. She says you know her.”

  “Do I?” He thought about it for a second. “Yeah, maybe I do. From back when I was working vice. This isn’t Ginger’s first arrest either.”

  “That’s what she told me when they called me down. She’s afraid this time they’ll throw away the key. She’s asking to talk to you personally.”

  He nodded his grizzled head, immediately understanding the situation. “Ginger wants to cut a deal. Only how come she’s got information to trade?”

  “She says her boyfriend is an ex-cop who worked with Lew Ferguson before he left the force. He and Ferguson are still buddies.”

  “That would be Peaches. It’s all come back to me now. So she knows something.”

  “That’s what she claims, sir.”

  “All right, Judy. Have them bring her up. We’ll see if what she’s got is worth anything.”

  Officer Belucci departed to handle the request. While Ham waited at his desk for her return, he thought about Ginger Zukawski’s boyfriend. He hadn’t much cared for Peaches, either as a human being or as a cop. He suspected the guy had been on the take, though no accusation had ever been leveled. In his estimation, Peaches was no loss to the department.

  Minutes later, Officer Belucci led Ginger Zukawski into his office. The blonde still had a figure, but her face had suffered from years of the wrong kind of living. A night spent in a holding cell hadn’t helped. Ham waved her to a chair in front of his desk.

  Ginger cast a glance around his cluttered office as she settled herself. “Your place looks as bad as my apartment, Superintendent.”

  “We’ll talk housekeeping later, Ginger. Let’s hear what you know.”

  “Yeah, but first—”

  “Uh-uh, you know how it works. No promises. You talk, and if it’s worthwhile, I’ll see what I can do for you. That’s all the guarantee you get, Ginger.”

  She hesitated, then nodded with resignation as she crossed her legs. “Word on the street is you got a detective missing. I know where he is, Superintendent. And if that ain’t worth a lot to you, then I bet getting Noah Rhyder back at the same time is.”

  Bolling and Officer Belucci traded looks. Ginger didn’t miss their exchange. Satisfied, she went on to explain that Peaches, who worked now for Brett Buchanan, had trusted her with the confidential North Carolina address and how Lew Ferguson had threatened her to get that address.

  “Buchanan has Rhyder’s kid,” Ginger said. “And Rhyder won’t disappear without his kid. That’s the way Lew figures it. He’s gone to North Carolina to nail Rhyder when he turns up to grab his boy.”

  Bolling leaned toward her earnestly. “Are you telling me that Detective Ferguson is that determined to personally collar Noah Rhyder?”

  “Damn right. He’s positively weird about it. Peaches told me why when Rhyder was arrested. Lew hates him. It’s because of this girl that was part of the motorcycle gang Rhyder ran with years back. I guess she was sort of wild. Peaches didn’t know the particulars, just that she ended up getting herself killed and that Lew was crazy about her. Peaches said she was probably the only human being he ever really cared about, though he bet the girl didn’t feel the same. Anyway, Lew blames Rhyder for her death.”

  “Revenge?” Ham asked.

  Ginger shrugged. She had disclosed all she knew, and now she was interested in nothing but escaping a jail sentence. Bolling, after obtaining Brett Buchanan’s address from her, assured her he would use his influence on her behalf.

  When Ginger was returned to holding, he adjusted his slipping glasses and spoke to Officer Belucci.

  “If everything Zukawski told us is true, then Lew Ferguson is one hell of a loose cannon. I want the North Carolina authorities alerted. Tell them that Ferguson’s presence out there is unauthorized and that if he shows himself and interferes in the Rhyder manhunt, he’s to be apprehended.”

  Meanwhile, the superintendent wondered, after Belucci had departed to fulfill his instructions, where was Noah Rhyder? Could the fugitive have somehow reached North Carolina? Or was Lew
Ferguson simply delusional in his conviction that Rhyder would go to any lengths to recover his son?

  There was one thing Ham Bolling was certain about. This case had gotten to be one sweet mess.

  NOAH STOOD in the open doorway of the cabin, resting his weight on a crude crutch he had fashioned for himself out of a length of hickory. The ankle was still throbbing, but he ignored it.

  He watched the sun go down in a fiery glow over the mountains beyond the river. He knew now that Ellie wasn’t going to come. All day he had waited for her anxiously, spending the long hours restlessly examining books and maps of the area he had found in the cabin. The maps, anyway, were of value. He might have to depend on them when the time came to get away.

  He hadn’t seen a soul. No one had come near the cabin. That made him lucky, he supposed, but he was lonely. God, how he missed Ellie!

  Better get used to it. You can’t take her with you when you leave here. You’ve hurt her life enough as it is.

  He knew that’s how it would have to be, but the thought of an existence without her was killing him. Forget it. He had more immediate concerns. Why hadn’t Ellie come? What was happening in that castle up on the mountainside? It was driving him crazy not knowing. His uselessness was even worse.

  The sun had vanished, leaving pink banners in the sky. He turned away in disappointment, shutting the door. The cabin was already in thick gloom. He hobbled toward the refrigerator with the intention of making himself supper, though he wasn’t hungry. But it was something to do.

  It was going to be another long night. He’d do better to spend it resting the ankle instead of worrying about what he couldn’t help. He told himself that Ellie and Joel were all right, that there had to be a good reason why she hadn’t come today. That she would get here as soon as circumstances permitted.

  That’s what he told himself. But he also promised himself fiercely that if she didn’t appear tomorrow, he was going after her. He wouldn’t let this damn ankle stop him either. If he had to, he’d crawl all the way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellie sat at the breakfast table, listening in silent relief to Brett’s proposal.

  “Peaches is driving us down to Asheville to spend the day. I promised Sandra we’d tour Biltmore,” he said, referring to the famous Vanderbilt estate.

  This was the opportunity Ellie had been waiting for. Now she could visit Noah without fearing for Joel’s safety in her absence. Leaving him behind had been a major concern to her after what she had overheard yesterday outside the library. But with Brett and the surly Peaches off to Asheville for the day, the boy would be all right.

  Joel was feeling perfectly well this morning. He was down at the stables now visiting his pony before his tutor arrived. Ellie knew that she could entrust him to Mrs. Connelly for a few hours. Also, his friend, Jonnie, the capable young woman in charge of the horses, would be close by to look out for him.

  “You’re going to come with us, aren’t you, Ellie?” Brett urged her.

  She shook her head in feigned regret. “I promised myself I came here to paint, and so far I haven’t produced much of anything. I think I’d better spend the day with my brushes.”

  “Sure you won’t change your mind?” Sandra tempted her.

  “Thanks, but I plan to hang around the castle. No need to go out at all, with so many pretty views right here.”

  Her casual announcement was for the benefit of Peaches, who sat eyeing her from the foot of the table. Hopefully, he would relay her intention to Lew Ferguson, convincing the detective it would be pointless to wait for her this morning outside the gates.

  Sandra looked disappointed by her refusal. Ellie knew she wasn’t though Brett’s disappointment seemed genuine enough.

  Changing into the overalls, her favorite garb whenever she painted outdoors, Ellie waited impatiently until the car bearing the Asheville-bound party headed down the drive. Then, making sure that Joel was secure in the schoolroom with Mrs. Connelly, she loaded the van with her art supplies and started for the cabin.

  She was less than a mile from the castle’s gates when she saw it in her rearview mirror. The dark blue sedan. Her spirits plummeted. She should have known that neither Peaches nor Lew Ferguson would have trusted her to remain at the castle.

  The detective was going to follow her wherever she went. She couldn’t stand it. She had to reach Noah. She refused to subject him to another day without contact from her. But how was she going to escape that sedan?

  No solution occurred to her as she drove aimlessly in a direction away from the cabin, her frustration mounting. In the end, knowing she couldn’t just wander up and down every back road and hoping to persuade her tail that her outing was a legitimate one, she pulled into a county park on a height overlooking the valley.

  As a painting site, it wasn’t bad. The scene far down in the hollow offered an excellent subject in the shape of a white clapboard church, an overgrown graveyard adjoining it, and yellow poplars hugging a fenceline. Except that Ellie had no intention of undertaking a painting here. Something requiring that much gear wouldn’t permit her a quick getaway, should the chance present itself. But a drawing involved only paper and a pencil.

  Sketchbook in hand, she climbed from the van. She was aware of the blue sedan that had trailed her into the wooded park, but she pretended to ignore it. He parked on the other side of a grove occupied by picnic tables, well away from the van but close enough to monitor her every move.

  Ellie settled under a gold tulip tree on a point of land overhanging the valley. Open pad on her knees, she began to sketch the country church below her.

  Ferguson knew better than to try to approach her today. Across an open gulf on her left was another tongue of land. He took up a position there, leaning against a pine as he patiently smoked one of his eternal cigars. His persistence was unnerving.

  Striving to convince him that his presence didn’t matter to her in the least, she concentrated on her drawing without bothering to glance more than once in his direction. But all the while she could feel him watching her as she searched her mind for a method to outwit him.

  The day was mild, with a clear sun and the aroma of autumn in the air. Mourning doves called to each other from the shrubbery, and chipmunks chased across the grass. The setting demanded nothing but serenity, and outwardly that’s how Ellie played it.

  Inwardly, she seethed with the need to reach Noah. The day was creeping toward mid-morning. If she didn’t start soon for the cabin, it would be too late. How was she going to defeat that blue sedan? There had to be some way of losing it.

  She was dealing with the steeple of the church when, minutes later, the park was invaded by a pair of yellow school buses. The lumbering vehicles pulled between her van and the blue sedan. The tranquility of the morning vanished in an explosion of chatter and laughter as sixth-graders bound on a field trip streamed from the buses.

  Ellie, scrambling to her feet, blessed their arrival. The buses, and the noisy crowd they discharged, had the sedan effectively boxed in. Her van was clear and pointed in the right direction. She lost no time in reaching it.

  Sliding behind the wheel, she spared a fleeting glance for her pursuer. He had raced to his own vehicle and was shouting at the mob to move. If they heard him, they weren’t impressed by his urgency.

  As she sped down the hill toward the main road, Ellie could gleefully hear the furious barking of Lew Ferguson’s horn. The blue sedan was still trapped, unable to work its way through the mass of sixth-graders, and she was free.

  Thank you, Rosebay School District.

  She continued to be grateful as she traveled toward the cabin along the maze of country roads. There was no glimpse now of the rental sedan in her rearview mirror.

  NOAH WAS OUT on the raft with a fishing pole when she arrived in the cove. By the time she rounded the cabin, he had paddled to the riverbank and was hobbling toward her, supporting himself with his makeshift crutch, which he recklessly abandoned when they me
t under the brilliant sourwood tree. It clattered to the ground as he caught her in a savage embrace.

  The kisses that he lavished on her face were just as ferocious. Between them, he muttered snatches of his longing and desperation.

  “Thought you were never coming…imagining every kind of calamity…don’t ever put me through that kind of suffering again, Rembrandt…”

  Ellie managed to insert a few breathless explanations among his alternating kisses and accusations.

  “I tried to come yesterday…couldn’t shake Lew Ferguson…followed me whenever I left the estate…convinced I’ll lead him to you…it’s all right, I lost him this time…”

  His kisses grew more forceful, threatening to escalate into something intimate and intense. Had there been more time, she would have welcomed a sensual interval. Maddeningly, there wasn’t. In the end, she reluctantly disengaged herself from his wild embrace.

  “Noah, I’ve only got an hour or so, and we have to talk.”

  He nodded unhappily. “Joel,” he demanded. “Is he all right? Tell me about Joel.”

  “Your son is fine, and I’ll tell you everything. After I look at that ankle of yours.”

  “Forget the damn ankle.”

  “Sit,” she ordered, indicating a bench against the cabin wall. “And that’s not an option.”

  Grumbling, he lowered himself on the bench. Ellie knelt and gently removed the elastic bandage in order to examine the sprain. There was still swelling, though not as much, and an angry bruise in the stressed area.

  “It’s improved,” she decided, “but you’re going to need at least another day before you can put any kind of weight on it for more than a few minutes.”

  He didn’t argue with her, but she was afraid that he still resisted his condition. Deciding not to press the issue, she handed him the fallen crutch.

  “Interesting,” she said as she observed the length of hickory. “And resourceful.”

  He grinned at her. “Like Tiny Tim, huh? Hell, I had to do something halfway useful in my boredom. Anyway, whittling is a tradition around these parts, isn’t it?”