Pursued

by Lisa Harris

  “Of course not, he told me—”

  “So you have heard from Mr. Russell then.”

  “Yes … no—”

  “Where is he, Mr. Olson?”

  “I swear, I don’t know.”

  Nikki frowned. “Here’s the thing. Russell is in a lot of trouble. So we can wait until we go through the evidence we find during the search warrant, or you can help me out and I can put in a good word for you with the DA. Because either way, you’re connected with what’s going on here, and there is a good chance that you’ll be spending time in prison. It’s up to you to determine how long you’re there.”

  “No …” He grabbed a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped off his brow. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t go to prison.”

  “Unfortunately, you should have thought of that before you got involved with Mr. Russell. Because the FBI has evidence of a money trail that suggests the nonprofits he supports don’t just pay for water wells and hospital equipment in third-world countries.”

  “I’ve heard the accusations. None of that is true.”

  “Then perhaps if you’ll tell me where Mr. Russell is, we’ll be able to clear this up.”

  The man shook his head. “You don’t understand. Mr. Russell doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “I thought he told you to pick up some papers.”

  “I … I lied. If he knew I was here—” Mr. Olson twisted the silver band on his right hand. “I borrowed a few thousand dollars from the account over the past year. My mother was sick. Insurance wasn’t covering everything she needed. I didn’t know what to do. If Brian finds out what I’ve done, I’ll lose my job … my reputation—”

  “How much money did you take, Mr. Olson?”

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “A few thousand.”

  “How much?” she repeated.

  “Seventy-five grand.”

  Seventy-five thousand dollars?

  The man was clearly in over his head, but was he denying the FBI’s accusations?

  “Am I under arrest?”

  Nikki’s phone rang and she quickly pulled it out of her pocket and let out a swoosh of air. “We’ll have to deal with your confession next,” she said to him while lifting the phone to her ear.

  “Any luck on your end?” Gwen asked.

  “They’ve gone ahead with the search,” she said. “We’ll have to hand the evidence over to Brinkley, since our priority is finding Erika.”

  “I’m calling about Erika,” Gwen said. “I’ve been going through the numbers on her phone records. One of the numbers she called twice belongs to a woman by the name of Helen Pope. She lives about an hour and a half from Nashville and works in a local diner in a small town. I’ve been trying to get ahold of her, but it looks like her phone’s turned off.

  “I was able, though, to track down Helen’s boss. He told me she hadn’t been in to work for the past three days, which, according to him, is completely out of character for her.”

  Nikki frowned. “What else did he say?”

  “That he had some information but insisted on talking to someone in person.”

  “Maybe this is the break we’ve been needing,” Nikki said. “Assuming Erika’s still alive, she’s going to go somewhere familiar. Somewhere she can trust.”

  Nikki hung up the call, then signaled to Jack. “Gwen just got us another lead on Erika. You up for a road trip?”

  “You bet. And you were right. Brinkley just showed up. We can let him wrap things up here.”

  Nikki nodded. So much for her attempts at finding a bit of normal.

  20

  1:46 p.m.

  Harper’s Diner

  Just before two, Nikki stepped into Harper’s Diner, located on Main Street. The quaint small town reminded her of visiting her aunt’s house for the weekend while she was still in high school. Friday nights meant watching the local football team, then going to her aunt’s restaurant for fried pies or milk shakes. It was probably some of those very memories that had inspired her father to start his own restaurant back in Nashville. And every time they went back to visit, Aunt Bell was ready to give her father tips on running his restaurant.

  “I feel like I’m in Mayberry,” Jack said.

  Harper’s Diner was like stepping back in time. The walls were covered with photos from Elvis to John Wayne, Coca-Cola memorabilia to country singers who tried to put themselves on the map. Red-and-white-checkered tablecloths, cozy booths, the twang of a guitar playing in the background; it had all the charm of an old small-town restaurant.

  “I always forget how much I love these small towns. They’re a bit of nostalgia wrapped up in a bunch of southern charm.” Nikki eyed the long line of locals waiting for service at the counter.

  “I don’t know about that. I’m more of a city boy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Nikki laughed. “If we had time, I’d buy you a basket of fried catfish, onion rings, and a slice of pecan pie, and make you sit down and enjoy it.”

  “And put me in an early grave. I can feel the grease starting to flow—or not flow, more likely—through my veins, just standing here.”

  Nikki breathed in the smell of fresh coffee and fried foods and felt her stomach rumble despite the lunch she’d grabbed on the way here. “Suit yourself, but man, are you missing out.”

  One of the waitresses grabbed two plates of burgers and fries and headed toward a couple sitting in the corner of the room. She hummed while zigzagging between tables.

  “I bet that’s the proprietor,” Jack said, nodding at the man with red hair and an even redder beard behind the counter.

  Nikki made her way toward the long counter that ran almost the length of the entire restaurant.

  “Raleigh Harper?” she asked, holding up her badge.

  “You can call me Ray,” he said, finishing up wiping down the front counter while a young girl that didn’t look like she was a day over seventeen took orders. “You’re the cops from Nashville.”

  “We’re here to get some information on Helen Pope.”

  “Order up.” A chubby waitress squeezed past him, balancing four plates of catfish in her hands.

  “Give me a couple minutes, Brooke.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Can I get you anything to eat?”

  “We’re fine, but thanks,” Jack said.

  “Okay then. I think there’s a table in the back that’s free.” He led them through the expanding line of customers ready to place their orders. “Sorry for all the noise. You came at the busiest time of the day.”

  “No problem.” Nikki watched a little girl digging into an ice cream sundae, then slid into an orange booth next to Jack. “Thanks for agreeing to speak with us. We’re trying to contact Mrs. Pope, and haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

  “You’re not the only one. Like I told the detective on the phone, I’ve been trying to find Helen for the past couple days. To be honest, I’m starting to get worried.”

  “My partner told me you had information you didn’t want to share over the phone,” Nikki said.

  “I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble, having you drive all the way here.” Ray leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “The local sheriff went out to her house to check on things.” He pulled a note out of his front pocket and flattened it out on the table between them. “I found this note from Helen three days ago. She must have come into the store to see if I was here, then scribbled this note on the back of one of the order pads we use.”

  “She didn’t try to call you?”

  “There were a couple missed calls, but I’d been working the late shift and was exhausted. Decided to turn off my phone.”

  Nikki picked up the paper and read the message.

  Sorry to leave you hanging, Ray, but I won’t be able to work for the next few days. Call Cassandra. She could use the extra work. Will be in touch.

  —Helen

  Ray tapped
on the edge of the paper with his finger. “That’s Helen’s handwriting. I’m sure of it.”

  “So this was unusual for Helen to take off, simply leaving a note?”

  Ray leaned forward, shaking his head. “That’s the thing. Helen’s never late, and she rarely takes a day off. And if she does need a day off, she gives me a heads-up at least a week or two in advance. She knows how hard it is to fill her position.”

  “What about her husband? Have you heard from him?”

  “I’ve tried calling him a couple times as well. That’s the other thing that’s odd. Just like Helen would never just not show up, Frank’s usually one of my first customers. He gets here about seven every morning, orders coffee, black, and a blueberry muffin. Been doing that for as long as I can remember. Besides that, about the only time her husband leaves town is to go hunt, and we’ve still got a couple more weeks until the season starts. Something’s not adding up. They would have told someone. As it is, they’ve just … vanished.”

  “When exactly did you find this message?” Nikki asked.

  “Sunday morning when I came in to open up. It was early … I’d say five fifteen. Five thirty at the latest.”

  “And had she worked the late shift the night before?”

  “No. The last time I saw her was when she got off before the evening rush Saturday night.”

  “Did she seem different in any way that day?” Jack asked.

  “No. Not that I can think of. And trust me, I’ve gone through every conversation we had that day, thinking I had to have missed something, but honestly, everything seemed normal. She worked hard, and told me she’d see me the next afternoon for her next shift.”

  “What about her husband?” Nikki shifted in her seat. “Any issues between the two of them?”

  “They fight off and on like any married couple, but they love each other.”

  “And how long has Helen worked here?” Jack glanced at four kids digging into two baskets of onion rings in the booth across from them.

  “As long as I can remember. In fact, when my mother started running the restaurant thirty-odd years ago, Helen had been running this front counter for at least a decade. Customers love her.”

  “You said you’d spoken to the sheriff?”

  “The sheriff went out to their place yesterday. Came back and told me their car was gone and the place was locked up tight. Told me not to worry, that they probably went to visit family or something out of town. But it’s been three days now with no word from Helen.” Ray leaned forward. “Do you know if something happened? I only ask because when that woman called from your department, I was already worried something had happened to them. You have to understand that Helen’s like family. If anything were to happen to her …” He shook his head, the worry lines around his eyes deepening.

  “To be honest, Mr. Harper, we don’t have information on the Popes. We were actually trying to get into contact with Helen regarding another woman who’s missing.” Nikki pulled out her cell phone and showed him the photo of Erika. “Do you know this woman?”

  “Of course.” Ray slicked his hair off his forehead. “Her name’s Erika. She comes around here every now and then with her little girl. Such a cute little thing. Everyone here loves that girl. She always orders a pineapple milk shake. But I don’t understand. What’s happened to Erika?”

  “She is missing, and we believe her life could be in danger,” Jack said. “How often did Erika come up here?”

  “Seemed like less often the past year or so, but always during the holidays. And whenever she could snatch a free weekend away from work. She had a good job, I understand. Worked for some ritzy art gallery.”

  “You said the sheriff went by their house?” Nikki asked, glancing at a man in uniform across the room.

  “He did. If you want to talk to the sheriff, he’s here right now. On Wednesdays we’ve got catfish on the menu, and he’s almost always here.”

  “Why don’t you ask the sheriff if he minds if we ask him a few questions while we’re here,” Jack said.

  Ray nodded, and a minute later Nikki and Jack slid into seats across from Sheriff Vic Porter after a quick introduction.

  “Hope you don’t mind if I finish eating,” the sheriff said, wiping off his mouth with his napkin. “Ray’s wife makes the best fried catfish in the county. You seriously ought to try a plate before you head back to Nashville. But I know you’re not here for chitchat. I understand you’re looking for Helen Pope.” The sheriff glanced at the counter where Ray was back at work. “I’m not sure what Ray told you, but I have no evidence at this point of any foul play regarding the Popes.”

  “I understand, but a friend of hers, Erika Hamilton, has gone missing,” Nikki said, showing him her photo. “We’re trying to determine who she might have contacted for help, and wondering now if there might be some kind of connection to the fact that Helen seems to have vanished as well.”

  “It is strange.” The sheriff shoved his empty plate to the middle of the table and leaned his long form back against the booth. “I’ve known Helen and her husband, Frank, for as long as I can remember.”

  “Ray said you stopped by their place yesterday,” Nikki said.

  “Things looked normal. No sign of forced entry. No sign that anything was wrong. But it’s not like the two of them to just up and disappear.”

  “Ray said Helen hasn’t shown up for work for three days.”

  Sheriff Porter rubbed his goatee. “And you think their disappearance could be related to Erika and Lily.”

  “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence,” Nikki said.

  “Can’t say that we’ve had a lot of people go missing in these parts. Don’t have a lot of serious crime at all, to be honest. Haven’t had a murder in ten years. I mainly deal with burglaries and thefts and, every now and then, the occasional domestic violence.”

  “Ray said they didn’t have any children, but what about other family … or friends they might have gone to see?”

  The sheriff held up his hands. “Hard to say. From what I know, most of their friends live around here. Don’t recall them talking about visiting family. In fact, I’m sure Ray already told you that Frank didn’t like to travel unless it was to go hunting.”

  “Did he have a cabin he went to regularly?”

  “There’s one he goes to quite a bit up the road that a friend of his owns, but I already gave Mac a call. He says he’s not there.”

  Nikki frowned. It had been less than forty-eight hours, and Erika’s trail was already running cold. Which implied two things. One, Erika didn’t want to be found, or two, Brian Russell had already found her.

  The sheriff sat back in his seat. “I can take you out to their house, if you’d like. Maybe you city police will find something I didn’t, but it’s highly unlikely.”

  Nikki and Jack followed the sheriff out to the Pope property in her vehicle. The ten-minute drive took them past the occasional old barn and pasture, reminding Nikki of how much she loved being out of the city. She and Tyler needed to plan another day rock climbing.

  “You doing okay?” Jack’s question pulled her out of her musings.

  “A bit tired, but yeah. I’m fine,” she said, listening to her tires grind against the gravel road. “Should have ordered some coffee to go from the diner.”

  “Or one of those milk shakes I saw you eyeing.”

  “I should have, considering I’m not the one on the restricted organic diet.”

  “Can you imagine yourself living in a place like this?”

  “Definitely.” Nikki smiled, enjoying a few moments to forget why they were really there. “My brothers and I used to visit my aunt in a small town like this one every summer. We’d work in the mornings on the farm, then ride our bikes into town for ice cream. I loved it.”

  “I have to say, I never imagined you a country girl.”

  She caught Jack’s sideways glance. “I love the conveniences of the city, but you have to admit it wouldn’t be a ba
d place to raise a family. Everyone knows everyone and looks after each other.”

  “Even places like this aren’t perfect.”

  “Maybe not, but no murders in the past ten years.”

  “Which means that the most excitement you find here is handing out parking tickets.”

  “Something I could handle right about now.”

  She pulled into the long drive of the Pope property behind the sheriff’s car, parking in front of a weathered two-story house that sat back from the road. There were a couple of sheds and at least a dozen old cars in various states of repair lying around the property.

  “Frank was a mechanic,” the sheriff said as he climbed out of his car. “He was always working on one of these old cars. Always collecting parts he might need one day. Think the man simply didn’t have enough time in the day to fix them all. On top of that, he’s got a couple sheds full of vintage car parts.”

  “That’s what’s in these old sheds?” Nikki asked, as they headed toward the house on the damp grass.

  “Yep. He sells some stuff on eBay, but I think he ends up keeping most of it.”

  “Ought to send the American Pickers out here,” Jack said. “Just might find a pot of gold buried in those sheds of his.”

  “I’ve told him that a time or two before.” The sheriff cut across the front yard toward the porch. “Helen could probably quit working and they could retire to Florida—or anywhere they wanted, for that matter—if he got rid of most this stuff.”

  Nikki started up the front steps. “What did he say about that?”

  “He planned to live and die in this house and won’t budge. And to be honest, I can’t imagine Helen leaving her job at the diner. After decades of working that front counter, I think it’s more than a paycheck.”

  “I’ll check things out around back,” Nikki said.

  She peeked through a side window into the kitchen, giving her a partial view of the living room. Everything looked to be in place. There were no dishes in the sink, and the kitchen had been cleaned up. She continued around the side of the house, then slowed down as she approached the back door.