Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  Once home, he went straight to his study and closed the door. Not that there was anyone here but the housekeeper, but being ensconced in his leather chair behind his mahogany desk gave him a sense of being in control.

  He eyed the credenza with the crystal decanters of Cragganmore and Skyy90. A short one? The night air, the ride home, the stress had cleared his head. No. From the hall, the grandfather clock chimed the hour. He scrolled to Kane’s number in the disposable cell phone Kane had insisted he buy, and pressed send. His heart raced faster with each ring.

  A gruff “Yo” greeted him.

  “You have something?” Victor said.

  “I think so.”

  “You think?” So help him, if all this was for nothing, he’d— “Talk to me.”

  “You okay with this on the phone?”

  “Damn it, what do you have? Did you find my ledger?”

  “No, but I think I found your wife.”

  “What?” Victor bolted to his feet. He crossed the room and poured a stiff shot of Scotch. “Everything I have says she’s dead.”

  “What you have says she’s dead. But I pulled a few strings. I still have some contacts in the industry.”

  “Go on.” Victor paced the room, his shoes clipping on the wood floor, then muffled by the plush Oriental carpet. Three clicks, silence, three clicks.

  “I followed a lead to Frisco.”

  “I told you I’d already talked to the cops there. When she first went missing. They said she hadn’t been there. What about Albuquerque?”

  “Shut up and listen. Cops probably paid you lip service at best. One missing woman’s hardly a priority. Like I said, I have contacts, which led me to San Francisco halfway houses and shelters. Using the information you gave me, I posed as your wife’s father.”

  “She’s in a shelter?” Victor couldn’t imagine Julie Ann living in those conditions.

  “No—at least not now. Most of the places are sticklers about privacy. But some of the residents will talk if the price is right.”

  Victor knew he’d see that right price on the guy’s bill, but he didn’t care. “And?”

  “And I found someone who recognized her picture. So, as long as I was in the city, I checked with a former colleague who worked for a big-shot company. He got canned, so he didn’t mind talking to me. For the right price.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Victor muttered. “Money talks.”

  “Or booze,” Kane said.

  Victor swirled his glass, then set it on the silver tray beside the decanter. “Is there a point here?”

  “The company in question has been known to make people disappear. Then reappear as someone else.”

  Victor sank into his chair. Julie Ann was alive? The one piece of information he’d accepted as true was a lie? “You have proof?”

  “Not definitive. But I’d give it eighty-twenty odds she and the kid are alive. My guy’s willing to help, but I’m going to have to grease the wheels with more than a bottle of Jack.”

  “Do it.”

  Victor hung up. He retrieved his drink, his hand shaking as he lifted it.

  The bitch might be alive. Could he trust Kane’s contact to be discreet? The guy’d sold out for a bottle of whisky. If someone else wanted him to talk, what would stop him?

  Kane had promised to keep Victor’s name out of it, but what about this new guy? Victor couldn’t keep his thoughts straight.

  He called Kane again. “Can you trust your contact to keep his mouth shut? He’s already sold out on a grudge.”

  Silence. Victor waited. Kane spoke softly. “I can handle it. But it’ll cost you.”

  Victor pounded back the rest of his Scotch. “Do it. All of them.”

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, Elizabeth followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and found Grinch seated at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Three boxes sat in the middle of the table, and he’d set places for her and the boys.

  “I’d have cooked,” she said.

  “This is fine. You’re spoiling us. Besides, I thought it would be better to leave a little early, get the boys set up.” He pointed to some papers.

  She stepped closer. “Right.” The activity forms and permission slips. Will had handed them to her last night. Day one had been orientation and a sampling of activities. Today, they had to sign up for what they’d chosen. She’d totally forgotten. She felt a flush rise to her face as memories of things she hadn’t forgotten filled her head.

  Avoiding Grinch’s eyes, she poured herself some coffee, sat across from him and slid one of the sets of papers closer. “We should probably list each other as designated picker-uppers, or whatever they call it.”

  He nodded and tapped one of his sheets. “Done.”

  “What do you think about activities?” she asked. “I know Will would love all the arts and crafts, and probably doing the nature walks. But that’s very Will-like. Should I sign him up for sports instead? So he’s … invisible?” She picked up a pen and started filling in the basics. “Then again, if I sign him up for sports, he might feel self-conscious if he’s not as good as the other kids.”

  “I don’t think it’ll matter,” Grinch said around a mouthful of cereal. “Let him do what he wants.”

  Footsteps clattered down the stairs. She shook her head. “Amazing how sneakers can make so much noise.”

  “What’s for breakfast?” Will’s voice preceded him into the room.

  Elizabeth waited until he was in the kitchen. “Cereal. Pick whichever one you want.” Seconds later, Dylan arrived, scrambled into a chair and reached for a box of cereal. Grinch went for the gallon jug of milk, but Elizabeth shook her head.

  “These boys are big enough to get their own breakfast, but I think someone forgot about the kid pitcher.”

  Grinch frowned, but withdrew his hand. Elizabeth found a small plastic pitcher and transferred milk from the gallon container. She set it in front of Will, who filled his glass and poured some more over his cereal, then passed the pitcher to Dylan.

  Dylan grinned and followed Will’s example. He threw a chastising frown at Grinch. “Yeah. Someone forgot the kid pitcher.”

  “Guess so,” Grinch muttered.

  “So, Will,” Elizabeth set the forms down between herself and Will. “We have to sign you up for camp activities. What sounds good?”

  On the drive to the rec center, Grinch seemed distant. Was he thinking of last night too? Or was he upset that she’d shown him up in front of Dylan at breakfast? Too bad. After all, he’d asked her for parenting help. So why should he get testy when she did? Okay, she could have been more subtle. Grinch was probably not used to being put down. She cut him one quick glance. His attention seemed pointedly focused on his driving.

  She folded her arms across her chest. She could play the silent game, too. While Will and Dylan chattered about what they were going to sign up for, she stared out the window, practicing recognizing the different vehicles on the road for the rest of the drive.

  Once they arrived, they entered the rec center gymnasium. Children and parents stood in lines in front of half a dozen tables. Will pointed. “Over there.”

  The four of them headed for the “Five to Eight” table. Elizabeth noticed the way Grinch surveyed the room. She should be doing the same. Recalling his instructions, she started checking out body types and the way people moved, as well as their faces.

  Not much success. Then again, she hadn’t been living here long, and most of that time had been spent tucked away, so her pool of “familiars” wasn’t that big to begin with. And until she’d started working with Grinch, she’d been clueless about looking and remembering.

  There had to be somebody here she’d seen before. The town wasn’t that big. As she scanned the room, everything blurred.

  Relax. You can do this. Look, but don’t stare. Pick out identifying characteristics.

  “M-o-m.” Will’s voice and a tug at her sleeve brought her back. “The papers.”

 
She blinked. Focus. A girl with a broad, white-toothed grin. Cheery, bright. High school age, maybe early college. Wearing a red camp t-shirt. Elizabeth pasted on a smile in return and turned over the paperwork and continued her appraisal. Medium brown hair, with a bright blue streak. Duh. How had she missed that?

  “I’m Missy,” Blue Streak said. “One of the counselors.” She glanced at the paper, then flashed her white teeth at Will. “Here’s your camp shirt.” She handed Will a smaller version of the shirt she was wearing. “You’ll be in the red group. You can put the shirt on and join them. I need to ask your mom a few questions.”

  Elizabeth squeezed Will’s shoulder. “Have fun.”

  Trotting across the room, Will wriggled into his new tee, not bothering to take off his own shirt first. She turned her attention to the counselor. “What do you need?”

  “I see you’ve checked off sports. I need your medical permission slip.” She tapped some fine print at the bottom of Will’s form.

  “What?” Elizabeth asked. “We’re new in town. Will hasn’t been to a doctor yet.”

  “No problem.” Missy Blue Streak pushed a half sheet of paper across the table and handed Elizabeth a pen. “I need your signature here, giving the camp doctor permission to check Will out.”

  Elizabeth searched for Grinch, who was turning in his paperwork to another perky face farther down the table. He hadn’t mentioned a doctor.

  What difference did it make? This camp doctor was probably going to be swamped with kids, and he’d do a cursory exam at best. Should she talk to him first? Make sure Will’s surgery wasn’t going to cause a problem? Beyond the check-in tables, the room was clearly “kids only.” She’d probably embarrass Will if she crossed the invisible barrier.

  Chill. Will’s got a clean bill of health. He’s more than fit enough to play camp sports.

  She scrawled Elizabeth’s name on the form. “There you go.”

  Grinch was helping Dylan into his tee, and Elizabeth joined them. Dylan had lost some of his earlier enthusiasm, and seemed reluctant to break the connection with Grinch. She adjusted Dylan’s shirt. “I see you’ll be in the same group with Will. He’s right over there.” She caught Will’s eye and waved, then pointed at Dylan. Will nodded and jogged over.

  “Right, sport,” Grinch said. “You have a great day, and one of us will be here to pick you up when it’s over. Like yesterday.” Grinch crouched and gave the boy a quick embrace.

  “C’mon, Dyl,” Will said. “It’s going to be cool.”

  “Let’s go,” Grinch said, once the boys had joined the throng of red shirts. “Before he changes his mind.” He pivoted and marched toward the door, shaking his head. “He was fine yesterday.”

  She hurried to keep up. “And he’ll be fine today.”

  “I hope.” Grinch seemed in even more of a hurry to get out of the parking lot, and Elizabeth barely had her seatbelt fastened before they were barreling down the road. He stared straight ahead, lips compressed, hands gripping the wheel.

  “It’s not your fault. I should have made Will stick around until Dylan was set. I think he was overwhelmed,” she said.

  “Stop that. I’m not like your husband. You don’t have to get all cowery and apologetic with me. I should have been able to reassure Dylan. Or I should have asked Will to stick around.”

  Elizabeth started at his tone. Where had that come from? “I’m sorry.”

  “I said, don’t apologize for something you didn’t do.”

  Her throat closed, and despite Grinch’s words, it might as well be Victor sitting beside her. She blinked to keep the tears at bay.

  When they went past the drive to Grinch’s house, she almost spoke up, but Grinch’s determined expression told her he hadn’t missed the turn by accident. What now? Another lesson? They bumped along a winding, washboard dirt road for several minutes. He turned down an even narrower lane, and finally stopped in a clearing. He cut the engine and got out of the truck.

  She sat, waiting. He circled the truck, then pulled her door open. “Let’s walk.”

  * * * * *

  Hearing Elizabeth’s accelerated breathing, Grinch slowed his pace, which had been matching the speed of his thoughts. He’d spent much of the night and all of this morning trying to decide how to tell her what he’d learned from Jinx, and hadn’t nailed the right approach.

  What he needed was someone like Dalton to talk to her. Dalton could charm a charging bull. Grinch’s people skills tended toward feather ruffling, not smoothing. His job was to extricate. Using a helo, or some other aircraft. Not charm.

  Why hadn’t Grace Ellsworth found another home for Elizabeth, where someone more suitable could deal with her new identity?

  So, maybe he’d been a little gruff. A little distracted. That was the way he was, and she shouldn’t assume he was upset with her. It was hard enough keeping an upbeat demeanor for Dylan. Dylan was five. Elizabeth was an adult.

  And both of them were innocent victims. He scraped his hand over his face. Why did he feel like he’d ejected without a chute?

  “Grinch?” Elizabeth’s voice was tentative, and half an octave higher than normal.

  He stopped. Took a breath. “Yes?”

  “Um … are we traipsing through the woods so you can teach me more about the outdoors?” She rubbed her arms.

  Crap. She was wearing a thin shirt, and was obviously cold. Averting his gaze from her high beams, he shrugged out of his flannel overshirt and laid it across her shoulders. “No, I wanted to go somewhere private. We’ll be out in the sun up ahead.”

  She whipped her head around. “Private? Like, someone’s found me? We had to come out to the middle of nowhere to talk?”

  Double crap. He’d scared her again. He helped her into his shirt. Her scent enticed and calmed him. “Not like that. It’s just a … nice place.”

  She stared at him as if he was crazy—and maybe she was right—but fell in behind him on the narrow, overgrown trail.

  They rounded the last bend, and he stopped, almost afraid to go on, definitely afraid of how she’d react.

  You are such an idiot. What difference does it make?

  But it mattered. He took her hand. His heart thumped the way it always did when he hit this point. Maybe a little harder today.

  He brushed a low-hanging branch aside, and helped Elizabeth down the steep, rocky path. She gasped when they rounded the final turn. The aspens, pines and firs in their varying shades of green, intermingled with the blue tinge of spruce, caught the late morning sun. The pond, surrounded by a patchwork of blue and yellow wildflowers, reflected the clouds above.

  She gripped his arm. He didn’t dare speak.

  She did. Her tone was hushed. Reverent. “It’s … gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous.”

  He led her to edge of the pond, to the log he’d worked into a bench his freshman year of high school. She sat beside him, much as she had the night before. “I kinda like it,” he said.

  She gazed at him, catching the outrageous understatement. She ran her hand over the smooth finish of the seat. Her fingers traced the initials he’d carved. “What’s the T for?”

  “Thomas. After my grandfather.”

  “Nobody else’s initials? No high school sweethearts?”

  He shook his head, scuffing at some dead leaves with his boot. “This was my place.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she nodded. “I can see why. And I’m flattered you brought me here.”

  “I used to sit here and look at the sky. I knew someday I’d be a pilot.”

  “Just the sky?” She swept her arm in a broad circle. “What about the way the water sparkles in the sunlight. And how the aspens dance when the breeze passes through their branches. It’s like the trees are wearing sequined evening gowns.”

  He smiled. “I admit, I never conjured up that evening gown image. But yeah, this whole place is … serene, I guess.”

  “I hardly would have pegged you as the contemplative type.”

  He chuck
led. “Actually, when I found this place, it was my secret fishing hole. Caught some damn fine trout. But fishing’s more about fishing than catching, and eventually I appreciated how appealing this place was. So I never told anyone else about it.”

  “And nobody else has ever been here?”

  “Oh, I’m sure others have found it. But that doesn’t keep it from being my place.”

  She smiled. “Of course. And you’ve staked your claim.” She tapped his carving.

  On the far side, a fish jumped, sending a series of expanding concentric circles across the lake’s surface. “Maybe I’ll bring Will and Dylan here someday,” he said. “They’re old enough to learn how to fish.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Grinch lobbed a chunk of gravel into the pond, watching the sunlight catch the spreading ripples.

  Elizabeth picked up a stone and tossed it from hand to hand. “So why did you bring me here?”

  He found a flat enough stone and skipped it over the water. “I talked to my colleague last night. About Victor.”

  She turned to face him, eyes wide. “What did he say?”

  “Victor’s been observed engaging in some apparently unusual behaviors. Unless you can tell me he’s prone to meeting thugs in seedy bars for a beer.”

  Her eyes popped. “Victor? My husband? That Victor?” She laughed. “I’ve never seen him drink beer, never mind the seedy bar part. When he slunk around, it was in fancy hotels meeting bimbos, not thugs. Drinking champagne or expensive Scotch. Are you sure it was Victor your friend was talking about?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And this skulking—you think it’s related to me?”

  Grinch nodded, watching for Elizabeth’s reaction. “He suggested you might not have been totally honest about why your husband is so anxious to find you.”

  “I … I don’t know what you mean.”

  Which was as he feared. Tentative. Evasive. Screaming guilt. “I think you do. Grace Ellsworth set up what should be an airtight cover. Julie Ann is dead. Why would he be looking for a dead person?”

  Head down, she twisted her fingers in her lap.