Erin Solomon Mysteries, Books 1 - 5

by Jen Blood

  “This is a sensitive subject,” Blaze said as she approached. “It doesn’t get printed in any papers. It doesn’t get broadast on YouTube or written up in your blog or tweeted to your BFFs. The only reason I’m telling you anything is because Juarez here has suggested that you might be of use in the investigation. But you keep your mouths shut. Everything I’m telling you—everything—is off the record.”

  “And after the danger’s passed?” Solomon said. I was glad to see that, despite everything, she was still thinking of the story. Blaze looked less pleased.

  “Assuming we’re all still breathing, we’ll revisit the topic then. Do we have a deal?” Blaze said.

  Solomon and I both nodded. Blaze began.

  “Barnel performed rituals on roughly twenty-four hundred boys over the course of his career. In the past fifty years, three that we know of have now been found with the same inverted cross your friend Wyatt Durham had. Given that very low percentage, I don’t believe now is the time for those carrying that mark to panic. At the moment, we’re more concerned about some of Barnel’s other activities.”

  “You mean this business about the end of the world?” I said.

  “You know the man. How much influence does he have over his congregation?”

  “He’s convinced parents to brand their children in the name of God. I’d say that’s a fair amount of influence,” I said.

  “And how large is the congregation?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking. “I stopped folloowing his activity a while ago, but it’s not huge. At the tent revival last night there were, what, maybe a hundred people?” I asked Solomon.

  “Around that,” she agreed.

  “I’m still not convinced my nephew’s not in trouble, though,” I said.

  “How old is he?” Blaze asked.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Well, there you go,” Blaze said. “Seventeen-year-old boys are unpredictable—I have a teenage daughter, and I’m tempted to plant a tracker on her half the time. I’m sure he’ll turn up. In the meantime, we’re more concerned with finding Reverend Barnel.”

  “What do you mean, finding him? You lost him?” Solomon asked.

  “He went underground after the shooting.”

  “Do you think that whole Armageddon business he was spouting last night is something to worry about?” I asked.

  The agent considered the question before she answered. “We’re here to assess the threat. It’s never wise to dismiss something like this outright, but I highly doubt a man like Reverend Barnel or his followers are organized enough to pose a significant threat to national security.”

  “That’s super for the country,” I said. “But it doesn’t offer much reassurance of my nephew’s safety right now. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep looking for him.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d let us know if you find anything you think might be pertinent to our investigation. And I’d love any input you might have on Barnel’s whereabouts.” She paused, her eyes intent on mine. “I understand the two of you have a history. Your perspective could be helpful.”

  “I guess it’s safe to assume that if you’re looking for advice from a civilian, you’re expecting rough seas ahead?” I asked.

  She looked at the Burkett farmhouse, then back at me, and frowned. “Honestly? I’m not sure what to expect right now.”

  Chapter Twelve - Solomon

  Juarez’s super-agent boss told him it would be all right to stick with Diggs and me and ask a couple of questions about Danny while she went into town to set up Command Central. There was a brief debate about who would sit where in the car, before I took the backseat with Einstein—who was happy enough to see me, but wasn’t crazy about sharing his space. Diggs took the wheel, with Juarez riding shotgun. I expected things to be awkward between the three of us, but the fact that the country seemed to be under attack by a bunch of rogue rednecks bent on forcing the end days went a long way toward diffusing that.

  Our first destination was the Durham house: Diggs wanted to check in and, ideally, get a better sense of where Danny might have gone since we’d seen the kid last. He went in first when we got there, giving me a minute with Juarez. Jack pulled me closer when he was sure we were alone, with a bemused smile.

  “I can’t leave you alone for a minute,” he said. I stood on my toes and leaned up to kiss him. He met me halfway, his lips soft on mine.

  “This one wasn’t my fault.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Probably not. But still… You do seem to attract more trouble than any woman I’ve ever known.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, studying me. “Are you all right? You look a little tired.”

  For a split second, I thought of the night before. Most notably, I thought of the kiss between Diggs and me the night before—the kiss to end all kisses, the one that jarred my front teeth and melted my under-things and had me tossing and turning in the back of the rental car all night long. I pushed that thought far, far to the back of my brain, and shook my head.

  “Just didn’t sleep that well last night,” I said. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. It felt a lot like one, though. “And there’s a lot going on.”

  “True,” he agreed. “We should get in there. If Diggs’ nephew really is missing, time is an important factor. And Allie will want us back at the station soon.”

  “Allie?”

  “Agent Blaze.” Right. He hesitated, still studying me. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know I’m working, but I can make time if you need to talk…”

  I had a choice here: I could tell him what had happened between Diggs and me the night before, thus ensuring the bromance between Diggs and Juarez was effectively ended, or I could keep my mouth shut. Chalk Diggs and my exchange up to the heat of the moment, and vow that it wouldn’t happen again.

  I chose the latter.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I’ll feel better if we can get Diggs’ nephew back home safely, though.”

  I got the feeling he didn’t completely believe me, but he nodded all the same. “Then let’s get in there, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Things hadn’t gotten better at the Durhams’ in our absence. Mae was frantic. Ida was crying. Angus—Ashley’s kid—was screaming bloody murder. Rick had either shotgunned a bottle of Nyquil or he was entering some kind of fugue state. The second we got through the door, Ashley started yelling at Diggs—something to the effect that this was all his fault because he told Danny it was okay to leave, when Mae had expressly told the kid to stay. I had no idea if this was true or not, but based on Diggs’ expression, she wasn’t completely off base.

  Clearly, it wasn’t Diggs’ best day.

  Finally, at the height of the insanity, Juarez put two fingers in his mouth and whistled so shrilly that the whole house went silent.

  Impressive.

  “I know this is a tense time,” Juarez said, calm as you please. “But arguing and casting blame doesn’t help things. What we need to do right now is talk to any friends who may have seen Danny and establish a timeline for his last-known whereabouts. So, I’m going to ask everyone to take a deep breath, and recognize that sticking together and supporting one another is the best way to get through the next twenty-four hours.”

  Everyone went quiet. Juarez met Mae’s eye and waved her over. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

  She nodded wearily, and led Juarez, Diggs, and me to the now-unoccupied sitting room. As soon as we were alone, she looked at Diggs.

  “Is what Ashley said true?” she asked. “She said Rick told her what you did. Danny wasn’t supposed to leave the house; you told him to go on ahead. That’s right?”

  Diggs nodded without hesitation. He’s never slow to take the blame for anything—hell, at this point I expect he’s found a way to claim credit for global warming and the national debt. Suddenly, I had a much clearer understanding of what had been going on in his head all morning:

  Guilt, of the
slow-killing, soul-numbing variety.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mae. I didn’t see the harm in it—I saw what the kid was going through. It just seemed like if he could get a little space, it might do him some good.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but there was a hardness I hadn’t seen before. She turned her back on Diggs without another word, and looked to Juarez.

  “What do you need to know?”

  “Did Danny have any interactions with Reverend Barnel beyond the… uh, ceremony he went through?”

  “No—Danny never cared much for the reverend. And after he got the cross, well… He had even less use for him then.”

  “And when was that?” Juarez asked.

  “He’d just turned fifteen.”

  Juarez nodded. For someone who didn’t think Danny was in any real danger, he played the part of the concerned Fed awfully well.

  “I know you’ve called most of his friends at this point,” he asked. “Is there anyone you haven’t spoken with? Someone he’s more likely to have visited than others?”

  “I already talked to the teachers at school and all his friends while I was there,” Mae said. “Nobody’s seen him.”

  Rick peered into the room, knocking hesitantly on the doorsill.

  “What is it, honey?” Mae said. “We’re in the middle of somethin’ right now.”

  “I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. I think maybe I know where Danny could’ve been last night.”

  “Come in,” Juarez said. “Sit down.”

  Rick sat stiffly on the couch beside his mother. Diggs might not have much use for him, but I really felt for the kid. He kept his eyes on the ground, looking miserable.

  “What do you mean, you know where he could’ve been?” Mae asked. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Danny didn’t want you and daddy to know,” Rick said. “You told him to quit the band—”

  “He did quit the band,” Mae said.

  Rick shook his head slowly, eyes still on the ground. “Nah, he didn’t. He just told you he did. He’s been sneakin’ out most nights to practice—”

  “And you never said somethin’?” Mae demanded.

  Juarez held up his hand. “If you don’t mind, maybe we can just focus on the story for now. The fact that your son is coming forward now is what’s important. Who else is in this band?”

  “This girl—Casey,” Rick answered. “Her and Danny are real tight. She plays bass. They practice in her garage.”

  “And you think that’s where he went last night,” Juarez said.

  “Yes, sir. But even if he was taking the day today, he should’a called by now. I figured I could just ask Casey, but she wasn’t at school today neither. I didn’t think too much about it—she misses a lot, you know? Was barely there at all this fall, missed a whole month back at the start of the year.”

  “Do you know where Casey lives?” Diggs asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Rick said. “Just on over to the other side of town, at the Shadyside Trailer Park. I would’ve gone over there myself after school, but Mama picked us up straight after last bell.”

  “That’s all right,” Juarez assured him. “Right now it’s better if you stay with your family. Let us handle this.”

  As we were leaving, Rick grabbed Diggs’ arm. “I’m sorry I told Aunt Ash,” he said. “I didn’t know she was gonna twist it all around—I was just tryin’ to explain that Danny hadn’t been trying to do anything wrong. That you said it’d be okay.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Diggs said. “I’s on me, not you. Now, you hang back here and hold down the fort. We’ll have Danny back before you know it.”

  I hoped he was right.

  ◊◊◊◊◊

  When we got to Danny’s friend’s place, Casey was just pulling out of her driveway in a cherry red pickup with mud on the tires and the undercarriage. As trucks go, it bore more than a passing resemblance to the one I’d seen speeding out of Miller’s Field after the shooting the night before. Diggs skidded to the side to block her path, and jumped out before he’d said a word to us. Two little kids peered from a window inside the trailer as Juarez and I strode after Diggs.

  “Hey,” he said, rapping on the girl’s window. “We need to talk to you.”

  Panic flashed in her eyes. Understandable, since Diggs looked like your garden variety thug after his beat-down at the hands of Big Jimmy Barnel.

  “It’s all right,” I said. I glared at Diggs. “You’re not in trouble—we just have a couple questions about Danny.”

  “This is his truck,” Diggs said to me. Which explained the psychotic turn he’d just taken.

  The truck was still running, the window up. I thought for a second the girl might make a run for it. Instead, she nodded.

  “He’s in trouble, ain’t he? Somethin’ happened?”

  “Just get out of the truck, please,” Juarez said in his best FBI voice. “We can talk inside.”

  She turned off the truck and got out. It was only as she was opening the door that I noticed the inverted cross carved into the paint.

  “Y’all wait out here,” Casey agreed after a little more back and forth in the front yard. “I’ll open up the garage, and we can talk there. But I can’t stay long—I got work, so whatever you’ve gotta ask me, you best make it quick. I can’t lose this job.”

  She was cute—auburn hair, striking eyes. She was too skinny to be considered a babe by any self-respecting teenage boy’s standards, but I expected she’d outgrow that before long. When she did, Casey Clinton would be a knockout.

  For now, though, life didn’t look like it was treating her that well. Once we were closer, I noticed a bruise on her right cheek that she’d done her best to hide with concealer. She walked carefully, too, like any unnecessary movement meant serious pain. I exchanged a look with Diggs, and could tell he’d noticed the same thing. I couldn’t get a read on whether Juarez had picked up on it.

  The ankle biters I’d seen in the window had emerged from the house while we were talking. The older of the two was maybe eight, the younger no more than four. Casey quickly herded them back inside.

  Five minutes later, the garage door rose. Casey reappeared behind it and waved us in. Diggs whistled softly at the setup: a full drum set, a few guitars on stands, a couple of horns in their cases, a synthesizer, and a computer.

  “Wow,” Diggs said. “Nice.”

  “We all pooled our money for the building,” Casey said. “I knew somebody who was sellin’ it cheap. And we always put money aside for equipment when we get gigs.”

  “You play out, then?” Diggs asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “Not much around here—we’re not really Justice style, you know? But we been getting a few paying gigs a month around Louisville and Lexington. Danny just got us one down in Nashville, and Rick got us a gig over to the college where he works.”

  Now that Diggs had put her a little more at ease, he nodded back toward the driveway. “That truck out there…”

  “Is Danny’s,” she finished for him. “He left it here last night. I thought he just went off with some girl, and he’d be back for the truck when they was done. But he left it in my daddy’s spot—that ain’t like him. He knows I catch hell when anybody does that.”

  Bruises explained, then.

  “Did you have a girl in mind when you figured he’d gone off with someone?” I asked.

  “Could’a been anybody, knowin’ Danny. He’s not real particular, you know? But…”

  “But...?” Juarez prompted.

  She looked at Diggs again. “You’re Diggs, huh? He’s got a picture of you—but you’re a little younger in it. Not quite so beat up.”

  “It hasn’t been a great couple of days,” Diggs said. Juarez looked frustrated at the apparent aimlessness of the interview, but he held off and let Diggs take lead. “You were about to say something before. About the girl Danny might have gone off with, maybe?”

  She hesitated, gnawin
g at her bottom lip.

  “If you saw something…” I prompted.

  “I didn’t see nothin’,” she said quickly. “I was at work.”

  “But your brother or sister saw something,” Juarez guessed.

  Casey frowned. “I can’t have you upsettin’ them—Willa’s scared of guys, and Dougie’s got no love for suits. I can’t make ’em talk if they don’t want to.”

  “We just need a few minutes,” Diggs said. “Please. This could literally be life or death for Danny. Just let Erin here go in and talk to them.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Me? Why me?”

  “You’re not a man, and you’re not in a suit,” he said. “And kids love you.”

  “No,” I corrected him. “Kids love you. Dogs love me. Kids spit up on me. Or they cry. Usually, they do both.”

  Casey actually smiled for the first time since we’d arrived. “I can’t guarantee they won’t cry, but they’re pretty much past the spittin’ up phase.”

  The Clinton trailer was spotless—a hell of a lot cleaner than my place, that was for sure. The kids were parked on the couch watching TV when we came inside. Casey looked at me with a defiant edge to her eyes.

  “I know it ain’t much,” she said. “But we get by all right.”

  “Clearly,” I said. “You obviously take good care of them.”

  “We do okay.” She turned to the kids. “Dougie, turn off the idiot box and get in here. I got somebody wants to talk to you.”

  A minute later, two pairs of eyes peered in from the other room. Casey waved them in. I sat at the kitchen table. A box of generic Cheerios was out, alongside two dirty bowls and an empty carton of juice. Casey put everything away while the kids sat down.

  “This is Erin. She’s just got a couple questions. I want y’all to tell her whatever you can.”

  “You from the State again?” the boy asked me with a frown. “’Cause we’re doing just fine.”

  “She’s not from the State,” Casey cut in quickly. “She’s here about Danny.”

  “I was wondering if you noticed anything strange last night?” I asked, diving in.