by Cindi Myers
“That’s probably where the safe was where Brenda wanted to stash that book,” Travis said.
“Probably,” Dwight said. “But safes are usually fireproof.”
“Maybe whoever did this didn’t know about the safe,” Travis said.
“Or destroying the book wasn’t even the point,” Dwight said. “Frightening Brenda into getting rid of the book on her own would be enough for him.”
“I guess I’d be frightened right now if I were her,” Tom said.
“Brenda’s not like that,” Dwight said. “I’m not saying she’s not afraid—but she’s not going to destroy the book, either. This guy’s threats are only making her dig her heels in more.”
Travis checked his watch. “Thanks for meeting with us, Tom,” he said. “I have to get back to the office.”
“Yeah, I’d better get going, too,” Tom said. “I’ll get a copy of the report to you and to Brenda for her insurance company.”
Dwight followed Travis to the curb, where both their SUVs were parked. “I’m supposed to meet with the DEA guy the Feds sent to deal with that underground lab we found out at Henry Hake’s place,” Travis said. “He’s had an investigative team at the site and has a report for me.”
“Mind if I sit in?” Dwight asked. “I’ve got a couple of questions for him.”
“Sure. I asked Gage to be there, too.”
Travis’s brother, Deputy Gage Walker, met them at the sheriff’s department. Two years younger and two inches taller than his brother, Gage’s easygoing, aww-shucks manner concealed a sharp intellect and commitment to his job. “Adelaide told me you two were out at the Stenson place,” Gage said as the three filed into the station’s meeting room. “I drove by there on my way in this morning. The fire really did a number on the place.”
“Tom says they’re sure it was arson,” Travis said.
“How’s Brenda taking it?” Gage asked.
“She’s stoic,” Dwight said.
“She’s been through a lot the past few years,” Gage said.
Brenda had been through too much, Dwight thought. And most of it pretty much by herself. She had friends in town, but no one she could really lean on. He got the sense that Andy’s betrayal had made her reluctant to depend on anyone. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be so strong around him—but he didn’t want her to take the sentiment wrong.
The bell on the front door sounded, and all conversation stopped as they listened to Adelaide greet a male visitor. Their voices grew louder as they approached the meeting room. “This is Special Agent Rob Allerton.” Adelaide didn’t exactly bat her eyes at the dark-haired agent, who bore a passing resemblance to Jake Gyllenhaal, but she came close. Gage grinned, no doubt intending to give the office manager a hard time about it later.
Allerton himself seemed oblivious to her adoration—or maybe he was used to it. He shook hands with the sheriff and each of the deputies as they introduced themselves. “Is this your first visit to our part of the state?” Travis asked as they settled in chairs around the conference table.
“My first, but not my last.” Allerton settled his big frame into the metal chair. “You people are living in paradise. It’s gorgeous out here.”
“Don’t spread the word,” Gage said. “We don’t want to be overrun.”
“What can you tell us about your investigation of the underground lab?” Travis asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Allerton said. “So far our analysts haven’t found any illegal drug residue, or really any signs that the lab has been used recently.”
“What about World War II?” Dwight asked. “Could it have been used then?”
Allerton frowned. “Want to tell me how you came up with that time period?”
“The local history museum is having an auction to raise money,” Travis said.
“Right, I saw the banner the first day I arrived in town,” Allerton said.
The banner that had mysteriously disappeared—Dwight had almost forgotten about it in the flurry of activity since then. “One of the items up for auction—probably the most valuable item—is a book detailing a World War II project to produce chemical and biological weapons,” Travis said. “Supposedly, the work was done in underground labs in this part of the country.”
“No kidding?” Allerton shook his head. “Well, the equipment we found wasn’t old enough for that. In fact, some of it appears to have been stolen from your local high school, judging by the high school name stenciled on the glass. There are some indications—marks on the floor and walls—that other equipment or furnishings might have been in that space previously. There’s no way of knowing when they were moved. It would be an interesting historical artifact if that were true, but I can’t see anything illegal in it.”
“Somebody is upset about the book getting out there,” Dwight said. “They made threats against the museum director, and last night someone burned down her house.”
“That’s bad, but I don’t see any connection to this lab.”
“Seen anybody up there at the site while you were there?” Travis asked. “Any signs of recent activity?”
Allerton shook his head. “Nothing. I see why this guy, Hake, wanted to build a development up there—it’s beautiful. But the ghost town he ended up with is a little creepy.”
“Where do we go from here?” Travis asked.
“Me, I go back home to Denver,” Allerton said. “If you have questions or need more help, give me a call. I’d love an excuse to get back out here.”
He stood, and the four of them walked to the front again. Adelaide smiled up at them. Had she freshened her lipstick? Dwight forced himself not to react. “That didn’t take long,” she said.
“Short and sweet,” Allerton said. “Though I know how to take my time when the job calls for it.”
Adelaide blushed pink, and Dwight bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Allerton said goodbye and let himself out. When he was gone, Adelaide sat back in her chair, both hands over her heart. “Oh my! Did you see those eyes? He looked just like that movie star—what’s his name? You know the one.”
“Jake Gyllenhaal,” Dwight said.
“That’s him!” Adelaide crowed.
Travis and Gage stared at him. “You knew that?” Gage asked.
Dwight shrugged. “I like movies.”
“He didn’t find any signs of illegal activity in that underground lab on Henry Hake’s property,” Travis said. “That’s all I care about.”
“Mind if I go up there and take another look around?” Dwight asked. “I might take Brenda with me—she’s a historian, or at least, that’s her degree. I want to know if she sees anything that might link to the World War II labs that book talks about.”
“Fine by me,” Travis said. “Technically, it’s still a crime scene, since that’s where Gage and Maya and Casey were held after they were kidnapped, though I’m going to have to release it back to the owners soon.”
“Who are the owners?” Gage asked. “Isn’t Henry Hake’s name still on the deed?”
“Apparently, the week before he went missing, he signed the whole thing over to a concern called CNG Development. I found out last week when I tried one of the numbers I had for Hake Development. I got a recording telling me the company had been absorbed by CNG, but when I tried to track down the number for them, I couldn’t find anything. Then I checked with the courts and sure enough, the change was registered the day before Hake disappeared.”
“Coincidence?” Gage asked.
“Maybe,” Travis said. “But I’d sure like to talk to someone with CNG about it. The number listed on the court documents is answered by another recording, and the address is a mailbox service in Ogden, Utah.”
“Be careful when you head up there,” Gage said. “Allerton was right—that place is downright creepy.”
; * * *
TAMMY PATTERSON, the reporter for the Eagle Mountain Examiner, agreed to meet Brenda at the museum the morning after the fire. Dwight had tried to persuade Brenda to stay at the ranch and not go in to work that day, but she had refused. Dwight had gone with her the night before to see the house, when the firefighters were still putting out the blaze, but she had wanted to see it herself this morning, alone. She had driven in early and made herself stop at the house and stare at the ruins. Her first thought was that this couldn’t really be her place—not the miner’s cottage that she and Andy had worked so hard to remodel, the dream home she had lovingly decorated and planned to live in forever.
She had allowed herself to cry for five minutes or so, then dried her eyes, repaired her makeup and driven to the museum. She couldn’t do anything about the fire right now, and crying certainly wouldn’t bring her house back. Better to go to work and focus on something she could control.
“You don’t know how glad I am you called,” Tammy said when she burst into the museum, blond hair flying and a little out of breath. This was how Brenda always thought of her—a young woman who was always rushing. “Barry had me reading press releases, looking for story angles. Nobody else ever reads them, so we had this huge pile of them—most of them are about as exciting as last night’s town council meeting minutes—which, by the way, I have to turn into a news story, too. So truly, you have saved me.”
I’m hoping you can save me, Brenda thought, but she didn’t say it—it sounded entirely too dramatic, and might have the wrong effect on Tammy’s already-excitable personality. “Glad I could help,” Brenda said.
Tammy plopped onto the wrought iron barstool in front of the museum’s glass counter and pulled out a small notebook and a handheld recorder. “So what’s this story you have for me?” she asked. “You said it was related to the auction, but not exactly? Something juicy, you said. Boy, could I use juicy. I mean, it’s great that we live in such a peaceful town and all, but sometimes I worry our readers are going to die of boredom.”
Brenda could recall plenty of non-boring news that had run in the paper—surrounding her husband’s murder, the wrongful conviction of Lacy Milligan and her subsequent release from prison, revelations about Andy’s blackmailing, Henry Hake’s disappearance, etc., etc. But she supposed for a reporter like Tammy, that was all old news.
“So, did you find something scandalous in a donation someone made for the auction?” Tammy asked. “Or has some big donor come forward to shower money on you?”
“I wish!” Brenda pulled her own stool closer to the counter. “This has to do with that book we have up for auction—the rare one about the top-secret government plot to make biological and chemical weapons during World War II?”
“I remember.” Tammy flipped back a few pages in her notebook. “The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado. Do you have a bidding war? Or you found out the whole thing’s a brilliant fake? Or has the government come after you to silence you and keep from letting the secret out of the bag?”
At Brenda’s stunned look, Tammy flushed. “Sorry. I read a lot of dystopian fiction. Sometimes I get carried away.”
“You’re not too far off,” Brenda said. “Apparently, someone is trying to silence me.”
Tammy’s mouth formed a large O. “Your house! I heard about that and I meant to say first thing how sorry I am. But I just thought it was old wiring or something.”
“No, the fire department is sure the fire was deliberately set.”
Tammy switched on the recorder, then started scribbling in her notebook. “How is that connected to the book?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But before the fire, I received two different threatening notes—one here and one at my home, telling me if I didn’t destroy that book, I could end up dead.”
“Whoa! Do the cops know about this?”
“I told the sheriff, yes.” Brenda leaned toward Tammy. “I called you because I want you to make clear in your story that I’m not going to let some coward who writes anonymous notes and sets fire to my house bully me into destroying a valuable historical artifact. If he’s so keen to destroy the book, then he can bid on it like everyone else.”
“Ooh, good quote.” Tammy made note of it. “Where is the book now? Or I guess you probably don’t want to say.”
“I don’t have it,” Brenda said. “It’s in the safe at the sheriff’s office, where no one can access it until the day of the auction.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she didn’t picture Travis or his deputies taking the book out to show around to just anyone.
“You’re right—this is definitely more exciting than the town council meeting,” Tammy said. She paused and looked up from her notebook. “I hope that didn’t sound wrong. I really am sorry about your house, and those threatening letters would have totally freaked me out.”
“They were upsetting,” Brenda admitted. “But now that I’m over the first shock, they just make me angry.”
“Another good quote.” Tammy made a note.
The doorbells clamored and both women turned toward the young man who entered. Parker Riddell froze in the doorway. “Um, you said I should come by about the volunteer work.”
“Of course.” Brenda pulled a clipboard with the volunteer application out from under the counter. “Tammy, do you know Parker? He’s Paige Riddell’s brother. Parker, this is Tammy Patterson. She’s a reporter for the local paper.”
“Uh, hi.” Parker hesitated, then stuck out his hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Tammy shook hands, then turned back to Brenda. “I think I have enough here. I’ll call you if I think of anything else.”
“Thanks, Tammy.”
When she was gone, Parker stood staring at the floor for a long moment, not saying anything. “I need you to fill out this application,” Brenda said, offering the clipboard.
“Yeah, sure.” He took the clipboard and looked around, then slid onto the stool Tammy had vacated. Brenda began straightening the shelves behind the counter, surreptitiously checking out the young man who labored over the forms.
Parker Riddell had the tall, too-thin look of a boy still growing into a man’s body. His skin was so fair blue veins stood out on the back of his hands, while blue-lined tattoos of a skull, a scorpion and a crow—among those she could see—adorned his arms. He hunched over the clipboard, clutching the pen and bearing down on it as he wrote. He looked up and caught Brenda staring, his eyes such a dark brown the iris almost merged with the pupils. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“You’re the first person under the age of forty who’s ever wanted to volunteer here,” she said. “Well, except for Lacy, but she’s my best friend. I’m curious as to why you did it. I’d think it would be boring for you.”
He laid down the pen, still holding her gaze. “This whole town is boring for me,” he said. “But I like history. I like old stuff.” He shrugged. “It’s weird, I know.”
“It’s not weird,” Brenda said. “I always liked history, too.” She moved to stand across from him. “Are you studying history in school?”
“Just one class this year—at the community college. But I’d like to take more.” He signed the bottom of the form and turned the clipboard back to her. “You already know about my record, but it wasn’t for a violent crime or anything. And you don’t have to let me handle money or anything. I can file stuff or build stuff or, you know, whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. Nothing about this young man seemed threatening. Of course, she had been fooled by people before, but she believed in second chances. “Why don’t we start by having you help me pack up everything in our special exhibit room upstairs? I want to install a new exhibit on the war years in Eagle Mountain.”
They worked the rest of the afternoon dismantling the installation on historic drugstores—including a mock-up of an old-time soda fountain. It t
ook some time to take down and pack away, and Brenda was grateful for a young, strong and mostly silent helper.
“That was great,” she said when she had taped and sealed the last box to go into storage in the basement. “When would you like to come again?”
“I have a class tomorrow, but maybe Thursday?”
“That would be great. Whatever you can manage.”
He nodded. “Okay, I have to go to work now.” He pulled out his car keys. “I deliver pizza for Peggy’s.”
“I’ll remember that next time I need to place an order.”
“Do you need me to carry these boxes down for you before I go?” He indicated the half dozen cartons piled around the exhibit space.
“No, that’s okay. I need to decide where I’ll put them first. They can stay in here until tomorrow or the next day.” She followed him out of the room and pulled a velvet-covered rope across the doorway, then hung a sign that said New Display Coming Soon.
Downstairs, the bells on the door jangled. Brenda checked her watch. Ten minutes until five. She’d have to point out to whoever was down there that the museum would close soon and they would need to return tomorrow. But she took a step back when she recognized the man waiting in the reception area.
“Hello, Brenda.” Eddie Carstairs smiled, showing the gap between his two front teeth. His straight black hair angled across his forehead and curled around his ears so that even when he had just had a haircut, he looked in need of another one. He wore a long-sleeved khaki shirt and pants—much like the sheriff’s department uniform, sans any insignia. A utility belt equipped with flashlight, nightstick and holstered pistol added to his attempt to appear official. Or at least, that’s how Brenda interpreted the look. Eddie had made no secret of his desire to be back in law enforcement since his discharge from the sheriff’s department.
“What can I do for you, Eddie?” she asked.
Parker looked from Eddie to Brenda. “Do you want me to hang around a little bit?” he asked.
“No, she doesn’t need you to hang around, punk,” Eddie said before Brenda could answer. He rolled his shoulders back. “I’m here to protect her from people like you.”