Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  Of course, having her speaking to him would help.

  He went toward the den to check his computer. On the way, an unfamiliar cell phone chimed from the living room couch. He found Elizabeth’s purse, the source of the sound. Trying to hide his frustration, he carried the bag into the kitchen. “You left your phone,” he said.

  Elizabeth stood at the counter, wrist deep in some kind of gooey meat mess.

  “You want me to answer it?” he asked.

  She shook her head and hurried to the sink where she rinsed most of the goop from her hands. Wiping the rest off on a paper towel, she snatched the purse from his hand. By now, the ringing had stopped. She fished through her purse and pulled out her black cell phone. A brief sense of relief flashed through him when he saw it wasn’t the green one, which she’d said was for emergencies only. Her expression clouded.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “Don’t know. It was Miri.” She pushed some buttons and held the phone to her ear.

  Chapter 16

  Heart pounding, Elizabeth kicked the bedroom door closed behind her. “Miri? Sorry I missed your call. What’s up?” In the background, Elizabeth heard people talking, dishes rattling. She checked the time. Not a scheduled mealtime at Galloway House. “Are you busy?”

  “No, I’m off. Just grabbing a bite.” Elizabeth heard chewing sounds before Miri continued. “Your father’s looking for you. Thought I’d give you a heads up, see if you want to get in touch with him. I know you’ve had to sever ties with your past, and it’s not a good idea to rise from the dead, but I thought you should know. Your call.”

  Elizabeth sank to the edge of the bed, barely able to get the words out. “My … father?”

  “Yeah. He came by this morning. This is the first free moment I’ve had.”

  Elizabeth’s head swam. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  Swamped by relief, Elizabeth exhaled a long, slow breath. “Thank goodness.”

  “You know our policy. I don’t care if it was the President of the United States, Galloway House never violates its confidentiality. He left his number, said to call if I heard anything. He had a picture of you.”

  “Pic—picture?”

  “Yeah—at least it looked like you, only a lot younger. He said it was taken on prom night, your junior year. And another one of you and Will. He seemed genuinely distraught.”

  “Me and Will?”

  “Yeah—I’d say he was about five or six. You were both all dressed up. Will had some kind of ribbon.”

  Elizabeth remembered the day, not long before Will’s surgery. He’d taken first place in his school art fair, and had been so proud to pose for the school photographer. Victor hadn’t even bothered to come to the ceremony. Her head swam. She relaxed her death grip on the phone, afraid she’d lose the connection.

  Miri broke the silence. “So, you want his number?”

  “Um … yes. Give me a sec.” She found one of Will’s drawings and flipped it over. The nightstand drawer yielded a pen. “Go.” She held her breath as Miri recited a number—one she didn’t recognize.

  Miri’s voice shifted to curious. “So. You gonna call him? How long since you’ve seen him? I don’t remember you talking about him.”

  “That’s because he died eight years ago.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  It was Miri’s turn to be silent. Elizabeth waited.

  “Geez, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” Miri’s embarrassment flowed through the phone transmission. “He was damn convincing. I wish I’d called you sooner. If I’d known … I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, as long as you didn’t tell him anything, it should be okay, right?”

  “I hope so. If I’d suspected, I’d have sent him to Albuquerque.”

  “Albuquerque?”

  “Detective Braddock told me your husband had asked questions about you—this was right after he let you go—and he said he hinted you might have headed that way.”

  Elizabeth recalled the night of her arrest, how the detective’s gruff demeanor had softened as she’d explained her plight. “Did you get his name?”

  “Stephen Durbin.”

  “That’s my father’s name.”

  “He talked about you—told a few stories about when you were a kid, said he understood your husband was a creep, wanted you to know he was there for you.” Another pause. “Geez, he talked about Will, his surgery—I’m going to have to get my B.S. meter adjusted. Big time.”

  Could Victor have been posing as her father? “What did he look like? No, wait. Grinch needs to hear this.”

  She hurried out to the kitchen. Grinch, stirring her onion mixture, turned as soon she approached the doorway. No sneaking up on him. She turned the burner off. “Miri needs to talk to you—us. What’s the most secure way? Grace said not to use this phone for anything but regular calls, even though it’s a disposable one.”

  He didn’t ask why, or what was so important. No, he simply took the phone. “Miri. Mark Grinciewicz—Grinch.” He gave Miri a phone number, then disconnected Elizabeth’s cell and handed it back. He cocked his head toward the doorway, striding out of the kitchen.

  Right. It’s only my life we’re dealing with. Don’t bother to talk to me.

  Sighing, she trotted after him. Seconds later the phone in the den rang. Grinch picked it up. She half-expected him to plug it into some contraption that would render it untraceable. Or attach some voice altering gizmo.

  “Grinch here.” He pushed a button, then set the receiver in the cradle. “You’re on speaker.”

  Elizabeth realized she was chewing her lip while Miri filled Grinch in. Maybe she should start biting her nails. She picked up a pencil from a mug on the desk and wiggled it between her fingers.

  “Did you ask for ID?” Grinch asked.

  “No, because we never give out any information on our residents. We won’t tell anyone whether or not a person is staying with us, or has been with us, so it seems wrong to demand information from them. And if they’re cops, they’ll always identify themselves.”

  “You said he had photos. Were they originals?”

  “No, they were copies—on regular paper.”

  “Do you have them?”

  “Not the ones he showed me. I asked for them, and he let me make copies. I only asked because I didn’t want him to think I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was going to show them to anyone. I meant to shred them, but didn’t get around to it.”

  “Are they in a safe place?” Elizabeth asked. “Not lying on your desk?” She immediately regretted it, knowing Miri would never do something like that. Before she could apologize, Miri answered.

  “Locked in my file drawer.”

  “Can you fax them to me, before you shred them, please?” Grinch gave her his fax number.

  “I’ll have to go to the office to do it. I’m calling from a coffee shop near my house. Do you need it right away?”

  “Tomorrow will be fine,” Grinch said. He positioned a notepad in front of him and picked up a pen. “Now, describe him for me, please.”

  Elizabeth stood across the desk from Grinch, staring at the phone as if the man Miri described would appear.

  “Six-one, six-two. Broad, but not fat. Medium brown hair, expensive haircut. Brown eyes, like milk chocolate. Nice tan. Clean-shaven. Crow’s-feet around his eyes. Longish eyebrows. They kind of sloped down at the outside. Dark trousers, polo shirt, sport jacket.”

  “Excellent. Anything else?” Grinch said.

  “Nothing remarkable. Sorry.”

  “Accent?” Grinch asked.

  “Nothing I could place. Sounded like your typical newscaster.”

  “Teeth?”

  A brief silence. Elizabeth almost saw the shrug.

  “Nothing unusual—no gold, no chips, no braces—but he might have had them once, because his teeth were straight.”

  Grinch continued taking notes. “You have his
card?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t thinking about prints. Mine’ll be all over it. It’s generic—his name and phone number.”

  “No email?”

  “No. He said he was retired and fed up with technology. Damn, I feel like an idiot.”

  An idiot with super powers of observation, Elizabeth thought.

  “Anyway,” Miri went on, “I gave him names of a couple more shelters and halfway houses, and he thanked me and left.”

  “Elizabeth?” Grinch said. “Does that sound like your husband?”

  “Definitely not. Victor’s five-ten and slender.”

  “Thank you, Miri,” Grinch said. “If you think of anything else, you can call this number anytime.”

  “I will,” Miri said. “And Elizabeth? Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Elizabeth said. With a nod in her direction, Grinch disconnected.

  “If not Victor, could it be anyone you know?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “It might be one of Victor’s associates, but I can’t imagine Victor asking them for help.” She blew out a breath. “Too embarrassing. Which is why I thought he’d give up the search, especially when he found out I was supposed to be dead.”

  “Okay, let me make a few calls. See if I can backtrack the phone number.”

  He didn’t sound optimistic, and she wasn’t surprised. If this guy was looking for her, pretending to be her father, he wouldn’t do something stupid like use a phone that would lead to him.

  “What about prints?” she asked. “Even if they’re smudged, can’t they eliminate Miri’s and get something? Like from a partial.”

  He smiled. “If this was television, maybe. But even if we had a clear print, this guy would have to be in a database. AFIS will only give us a hit if he’s got a criminal record.”

  “AFIS?”

  “Automated Fingerprint Identification System.”

  “So there’s not some big database with everyone in it?”

  “Would be nice—at least for law enforcement. But no.”

  “DNA? If he handled the card, wouldn’t it have some?”

  Another smile, of the belly-flipping variety. “Maybe. But we’d have to hire a private lab, and it would be expensive, and it only means something if the guy’s DNA is somewhere else so we can compare the two samples.”

  She caught herself before she chewed her lip. “Well, that sucks.”

  * * * * *

  Grinch had taken over KP duty while Elizabeth supervised bathing and teeth-brushing. He turned on the dishwasher, then went to the den to check his email. Nothing from Jinx. Catching motion in his peripheral vision, Grinch looked away from his computer to see a pajama-clad Will hovering in the doorway. Hands behind his back, eyes downcast, the boy seemed afraid to enter the room.

  “You need something?” Grinch asked.

  Will shook his head. “I did a drawing.”

  “Come on in.”

  Focused on the floor, the child entered the den, lingering several paces away from the desk. A carryover from living with his father? Grinch pushed his chair away from the desk and patted his thigh. “Let’s see.”

  Will brought a piece of his drawing paper from behind him. “It’s not very good, but I tried. Is he a bad man?” His voice trembled.

  At dinner, after the boys had recounted their adventures of their day, Elizabeth had asked if Will thought he could draw people as well as animals and trucks. She said she didn’t want to make it easy, so no fair drawing anyone in the room, and suggested Butch Logan. Apparently Will had seen through her ruse.

  The boy was a bit too old for lap-sitting, but Grinch looped his arm around Will’s shoulders and drew him close. “Why would you think he’s a bad man?”

  “Mom. She used her ‘Try to pretend nothing’s wrong’ voice.” He turned solemn eyes to Grinch. “She’s not so good at it, you know. I have to pretend I believe her. I think it makes her happy.”

  Grinch gave Will a squeeze. “You’re very wise.”

  Will’s gazed bored into Grinch. “Are you protecting her? So my dad can’t find us and hurt her some more?”

  Iron bands tightened in Grinch’s chest. He tugged Will closer. How much had Elizabeth told Will about him? “I’m not going to let anyone hurt your mom. Or you, either. I promise.”

  Will’s exhale seemed to fill the room. His solemn brown eyes now radiated trust. Damn. Grinch vowed he’d keep it there.

  “Okay, let’s look at your picture. And no, I don’t think Mr. Logan is a bad guy. But it’s always smart to check your facts. I have a friend who can help us make sure.”

  Will carefully set the paper on Grinch’s desk. “I tried to blend colors, but I need more practice. His eyes are lighter than my pencils, and I messed up getting his hair right. It’s brown, but it has lighter—” he flapped his hands, searching for a word.

  “Streaks?” Grinch offered. “At the ends?”

  Will grinned. “Yeah—a mix of brown and blond.”

  Grinch picked up the paper. He didn’t have to feign being impressed. “Will, this is excellent. You’re a very good people-drawer.”

  “I’d be better if I could draw someone I could see, instead of trying to remember. Can I practice on you?”

  “Any time.”

  Will grinned. “I’ll get my pad and pencils.”

  Grinch chuckled and tapped his watch. “Any time but bedtime. You’ve got another busy day tomorrow.”

  Will’s expression said he knew he’d pushed his luck. “Okay.” He flung his arms around Grinch and kissed his cheek. “G’nite.”

  Swamped with a warmth he hadn’t felt in too long, Grinch returned the hug and kissed Will’s forehead. “G’nite to you. I’ll be up in a few.”

  “Cool. Will you sing us a song?”

  “You got it.”

  A totally transformed Will raced out the room. Grinch listened to his footfalls bounding up the stairs. And another set heading down. Elizabeth tapped on the jamb. Grinch nodded her in.

  “Did Will show you his picture?” Grinch asked.

  “No. Did he finish?”

  Grinch handed her the page. “It’s a great drawing. But does this look like Butch Logan?”

  Her eyes widened. “It’s … it’s him. The nose is a little off, but I never realized how good Will is. I mean, it’s obviously a kid’s drawing, but it’s Butch Logan.”

  “What about the nose?”

  Elizabeth studied the picture. Her top teeth sought her lower lip, but she immediately squelched the tell. Good for you.

  “Broader. Maybe a little shorter.” She set the paper on the desk. “I can’t believe he can remember this stuff, much less reproduce it—it wasn’t like anyone told him he was going to have to draw the man.”

  “Probably an eidetic memory. Combined with his skill for drawing—you’ve got one prize of a son.”

  “I know that—and he’d be a prize even if he had a lousy memory and couldn’t draw a stick figure.”

  “He cares.” Grinch tilted his head. “And he can see right through you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He knows drawing Logan’s picture wasn’t a game. He knows—or at least suspects—that I’m more than a neighbor.”

  She leaned against the desk, her hands supporting her as if her feet couldn’t. “He’s had to grow up too fast.”

  He reached out, wanting to touch her, to offer comfort, but not sure if either of them was ready.

  From upstairs, two voices called out, demanding parental attention.

  Grinch shared a quick grin with Elizabeth. “Let me scan Will’s drawing and send it to Jinx. Hold the fort for a few minutes?”

  Elizabeth nodded and left. Grinch put the picture into the scanner, and called Jinx to give him a heads-up.

  “Check your email. Elizabeth’s kid is some kind of art whiz. Maybe a picture of Butch Logan will match some of your searches. And there’s another player in the mix.” He summarized what Miri had told him. “Someone’s looking.
What happened?”

  “No clue, but I’m on it. You keep ‘em safe.”

  Grinch thought of Will’s beaming face. “You better believe it.”

  Later, he and Elizabeth sat in the den, she drinking some of that flowery stuff she called tea out of one of his mother’s good china cups, he working on a beer straight out of the bottle. She set her cup on its saucer on the end table and folded her hands in her lap. “What do we do?”

  “Miri didn’t tell your imposter anything, so it’s doubtful anyone’s going to show up here.” He paused. “Unless you left some trail. Did you talk to anyone, tell anyone where you were, starting with when you left your husband.”

  Her denial was immediate and firm. “I didn’t make any calls, and I used cash for everything.” She picked up her tea and the cup rattled in its saucer. “Miri said he told her all sorts of stories about me. And from what she said, they were true. How did he find it out? Based on Miri’s description, I’ve never seen him.”

  “My theory? Your husband hired him. Fed him all that information. Gave him pictures.”

  She hesitated. “Maybe.” She seemed flustered, as if she was searching for some non-lip-chewing way to deal with organizing her thoughts.

  “Let’s stick with that theory, and let my people deal with figuring out who this guy is, and who sent him. For now, we’ll assume he’s hit a dead end.”

  “Okay. What do we do?”

  “We get on with your transformation.” He replaced his notepad with a legal tablet and drew a vertical line down the center of the page. “First, we’re going to erase Julie Ann.”

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth barely heard Grinch’s questions. One image circled inside her head like the tornado that carried Dorothy to Oz. Someone had a picture of Will. True, it was several years old, and kids changed, but not that much. And didn’t they have computer programs to age someone’s picture? Will’s haircut hadn’t done all that much to change his appearance.

  And then there was that other issue. In all likelihood, Victor wasn’t looking for her as much as for what she’d taken from him. Should she confide in Grinch? Risk bringing him into whatever might happen? Because if Victor did find her, he wouldn’t be satisfied getting his treasures back. There would be a price to pay—a physical price. And it wouldn’t stop with her. She’d endure whatever he dished out, but she couldn’t let him near Will.