Seek and Find

by Dana Mentink

  Frances looked up from her file over the top of her reading glasses. She stiffened. “Ms. Coles. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, any way I can make it up to you?”

  “As a matter of fact, you can tell me about the salon. I’m writing a story for the Gazette about how the recent murders have affected business. That’s why I was trying to talk to you in the first place.”

  Frances folded her hands on the counter, looking relieved. Had she expected another line of questioning?

  “Business is slow. We struggle. Visitors are not as keen to come here with all the crime, and we weren’t a tourist destination in the first place. My sales are down since last year. The florist shop closed, which hurt my business, too. Bridal and floral go together.” She sighed, gesturing to the ivory walls. “The place needs painting, the carpets are worn and the light fixture in the sitting room doesn’t work, which discourages customers, but there’s no money to upgrade. Vicious circle.”

  Madison couldn’t help herself. “Then why would that stranger, the one who hit me, come here? Surely not for robbery? You don’t have money to spare, as you’ve just said. Was there another reason he came to see you?”

  Frances opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know. He just wandered in. A stranger, like you said.”

  “But I heard him mention your son, Tony.”

  Frances took a step back. “You must be mistaken. I told the cops I’d never seen the guy, and my son has nothing to do with this.” She gathered up the papers in front of her, clutching them to her chest. “I would like you to leave now. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “But...”

  “Please,” Frances said, voice taut. “Please leave.”

  James nodded. “All right, Frances. We’re sorry to bother you.”

  Madison allowed herself to be guided from the store. Once they were outside, she said, “She knows more about the man than she’s telling.”

  “Yeah, but you weren’t going to get any more information by badgering her. She’s scared.”

  She isn’t the only one, Madison wanted to say.

  His gaze was riveted a block down the road, where a young boy leaned against a lamppost. Head bent, he was talking to another teen, their bodies close together.

  “That’s Tony, Frances’s son,” James said.

  Madison started to walk toward him, but James stopped her. “Why don’t you let me handle this one? Hawk and Tony have a rapport.”

  She let James and Hawk lead the way. As they approached, the teens spotted them, and Tony’s companion ambled in the other direction, darting guilty glances at James. Tony was a freckle-faced teenager with dark blond hair that fell over his brown eyes. He looked up quickly, hastily tossing his cigarette into the shrubs.

  “You’re gonna start a fire that way,” James said, sticking his hand out. “Hand them over.”

  “Aww, come on, man,” Tony whined.

  “Did you turn eighteen overnight?”

  Tony shrugged, pulling the pack from his back pocket and slapping it into James’s hand.

  “Your lungs will thank me. Where’d you get the cigarettes?”

  “I found them dropped in our bridal salon. Finders keepers.” Tony offered a mischievous smile, dropping to his knees to scratch Hawk behind the ears. Hawk barked in excitement, splatting Tony with a string of drool.

  Tony looked curiously at Madison. “You’re the woman who got knocked out in the back room, right? The reporter?”

  “Yes.” Her head throbbed as she said it.

  Tony’s eyes shifted in thought. “My mom told me not to talk to you.”

  “Why?” Madison asked. “Is she afraid of the man who was in the salon? Do you know him? Have you seen him before?”

  Tony looked past them up the street. “I call him Brick because that’s the shape of his head. He dropped the cigarettes in the store a couple of weeks ago, I’m pretty sure.”

  “So you have seen him before.” Madison could not squash the flicker of excitement. Her instincts had been on the mark.

  Tony looked away.

  “What does he want with your mother?” James asked. “Is he threatening her?”

  Still Tony did not make eye contact. “The police can protect you,” James said.

  “You think so?” Tony asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “’Cuz my mom isn’t so sure.”

  “Talk to me, Tony,” James said. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know much. Brick’s been showing up at the salon for months now. Every time he does, my mom gets super freaked. She...” Suddenly Tony’s gaze grew startled, and he sucked in a breath. “I gotta go.”

  As he sprinted away, Madison caught sight of a sedan idling across the street. The dark tinted windows did not allow her to see more than a shadowy figure inside, but she knew it was him. It had to be. The man who’d tried to kill her.

  James was already sprinting to his car as the sedan did a sharp U-turn and raced away.

  Six

  James knew the chase was futile, but he called it in and took off in the direction the sedan had sped away from town. The guy had too big a head start. James was not even able to get a glimpse of the license plate.

  “That had to be Brick,” Madison was saying. “Where did he go?”

  The way ahead was blocked by a flagman as a backhoe made slow progress across the road. James banged the steering wheel. “Again.” How could Brick possibly best him every time?

  Madison sighed. “Tony knows Brick’s watching him, threatening his mother. For what?”

  James considered. “Not sure, but I’ve got an idea who I need to talk to next.” This was going to take some finesse. He turned to her. “How about I drop you at the Cactus Café? You can get yourself something to eat, and I’ll pick you up later. There are plenty of people there, and you’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “No way.” Her lips twisted mischievously. “You’re supposed to be watching me, remember?”

  He did his best not to roll his eyes. “It would be better for you not to come.”

  “Why?”

  “Gotta talk to a guy.” There was no way she’d accept that tiny bit of information. He sighed. “His name’s Bruce King.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s a criminal,” James said flatly. “A smart and slippery one. He’s dangerous.”

  “You think Brick could be working with him?”

  “I don’t know, but these make me wonder.” He tossed the cigarette pack on her lap.

  “Cigarettes?”

  “Illicit cigarettes. King smuggles them into the state from overseas and sells them. Makes a fortune, especially since Arizona has one of the highest cigarette tax rates in the nation. Another cop, Ryder, told me they’ve been trying to nail him for years.”

  “Ryder Hayes? Is he...?”

  “Yes. It was his wife who was murdered five years ago on the night of the police fund-raiser dance.”

  She nodded and peered at the cigarette package. “How do you know they’re illicit?”

  “No health warnings on the package and no domestic stamp tax. King gets them cheap and sells them for a whole lot more. Simple setup but real profitable.”

  “But what would Frances have to do with smuggled cigarettes?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to go ask King some questions. It’s called police work.”

  “You don’t say?” she said. “It sounds like reporter work to me.”

  Her expression was so serious, at odds with the sweetness of her face, that he could not hold back a chuckle. “I guess you’ve got me there.”

  She grinned
, which made her honey eyes dance. He looked away and focused on the road. It was late afternoon now, and the sun painted the sky with long rays of gold. The sheer beauty of it got to him. He was beginning to develop a liking for this desert, a place of harsh extremes but still brimming with life. A little bird waddled out onto the road, and James slowed.

  “Gambel’s quail,” he said, braking to a stop. “There will be more coming.”

  He was proved right when a dozen or so more of the birds ambled across the asphalt, heads bobbing comically.

  Madison stared at him. “You’re a birder?”

  “An amateur. Quail remind me of the ruffled grouse we used to see on the ranch in Wyoming. The males would puff out their feathers and tails and do this funky dance sometimes. Hilarious to watch.”

  “I’ve never been to Wyoming.”

  “It’s the most beautiful state in the union,” he found himself saying without hesitation.

  “Does your family still work the ranch?”

  His stomach tightened, and he felt the joy of the memory slipping away. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I destroyed our lives there along with the help of an unethical reporter, he wanted to say. He felt like lashing her with the words, punishing her for the wrongs his family had suffered, but the sincerity in her face made him pause.

  Not her fault. Mine.

  He shrugged. “Bad stuff happened.”

  “Bucks said your life was ruined by a reporter.”

  “No,” he said slowly. “My family was ruined by me, but reporters fanned the flames to further their own careers, and that’s hard to forget.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, more gently than he’d expected. “I understand about ruined families.”

  “I’m gonna fix it, best I can, someday.”

  She sighed, and there was deep longing in the sound. “I won’t ever have that chance, but I hope God will help me save what’s left, with my sister,” she added hastily. “I want to make things right between us.”

  Between the two of them, God sure had his hands full, James thought. He hadn’t known she was a believer. The knowledge pleased him. They drove the last mile in silence, but James found it to be a comfortable kind of silence, the kind that left space for thinking. Her relationship with her parents was beyond repair. He still had his family, though battered and beaten down. Thanks for reminding me of the blessing, he said to God.

  He stopped when his phone buzzed. “Shane texted me a photo,” he said eagerly. “Someone got a picture of this Brick character on a phone as he ran through the hospital after he tried to smother you.”

  She leaned in eagerly to see, and her shoulder felt soft against his. A strand of her hair that had escaped the ponytail tickled his face—silky, as he’d imagined it would be, like soft, downy feathers. “His name is Myron Falkner. Been in and out of jail for misdemeanors.” Another text buzzed, and James straightened. “I knew it.”

  “What?”

  “Ryder says he’s seen him before, when they were working to build the case against Bruce King. Thinks he works for King, though they could never prove it.”

  “This may be our big break, then.”

  He nodded. “Might be.”

  Hawk roused himself as they took the steep drive up a slope thickly blanketed in cottonwood. They reached the top, encountering a wrought-iron security gate. There was no call box that he could see.

  “How will they know we’re here?” Madison asked, peering through the windshield.

  “They’ll know,” James said, pointing to a small camera mounted high on the gate.

  In a matter of moments, a tall man with a long fringe of black hair appeared. Even in the Arizona heat, he wore a jacket, which did not entirely conceal the gun on his hip.

  James rolled down the window. “Officer James Harrison here to see Mr. King.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Do I need one? This is just a friendly visit, for now.”

  He peered in the window. “Who’s that?”

  “Madison Coles.” James jutted his chin. “Open the gate. I have something to talk over with Mr. King.”

  The guy tensed, not interested in taking orders. “What makes you think you can barge your way in without an appointment?”

  James didn’t like the body language, the tightening of the tough’s mouth, the belligerent stare. He let his hand drift to rest on the holster of his revolver. The guy didn’t miss the gesture. Madison didn’t, either. In his peripheral vision, she tensed. “If Mr. King won’t see me now, I’ll can be back with a warrant and a half dozen cops in thirty minutes.”

  Maybe. A warrant would take some persuading. He waited, holding his breath. “Open the gate. You’re wasting my time.”

  The man turned away and said something low into a handheld radio. There was a short response, and he turned back and pressed the button. The bars slid aside with barely a squeal.

  “I’ll be watching you,” he growled at James.

  “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t,” James said, giving him a sarcastic salute as he drove in.

  Madison let out a long breath once they’d passed through. “You were bluffing about the warrant, weren’t you?”

  “Exaggerating,” James said, “but it worked.”

  She laughed. “Smooth, Officer Harrison.” He found that it pleased him to have the admiration of this tough lady.

  “They’re probably running a check on you even as we speak,” he said.

  They parked on a neat semicircular drive and approached a house that was impressive by any standard, let alone Desert Valley’s. Fronted in stone, the house rose in graceful peaks, windows looking out across meticulously tended shrubs. A sprawling elm provided shade to the house.

  James rang the bell, and another jacketed man let them in, leading them to a study furnished with a massive bookcase and sleek leather furniture. The floor was gleaming hardwood. Hawk’s nails clicked across the wood as he sniffed everything in sight.

  Bruce King entered, a cell phone in his hand. He was a short man with clipped gray hair and a neat mustache. His compact torso was muscled, his belly flat under a neat polo shirt. James caught a flicker of movement from upstairs.

  “Officer Harrison?” he said. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure. It’s only been a few weeks since you, Officer Bucks and others harassed me with allegations of smuggling and disrupted my business.”

  “That long? Then this visit is overdue.” He jutted his chin upward. “Tell your guy on the balcony with his hand on his gun if he so much as twitches, I’ll drop him.” He heard Madison suck in a breath.

  “Quite a boast.”

  “I’m a crack shot. It’s not a boast. It’s a promise.”

  King paused for a moment, then waved a hand at his man upstairs, who retreated. James had no doubt there were more men close by, watching.

  King turned shining eyes on Madison. “And you must be Madison Coles.” He took her hand between both of his. “You look very much like your father.”

  James heard Madison gasp.

  King’s expression didn’t change, his smile firmly in place. Anger boiled in James’s belly at the stricken look on her face. King meant to shock them, shock her. It was his way of getting the upper hand in the situation, putting them in their places. A cruel power play.

  If that was the way it was going to go down, so be it. There was no way this crook was going to intimidate Madison. Game on.

  * * *

  Madison reeled inside from the shock. She managed to keep her voice in a normal range. “How did you know that? You’ve met my father?”

  King arched an eyebrow. “No, I’ve only seen a photo, Ms. Coles. Please, sit,” he said, taking a seat on one of the leather chairs. Neither James nor Mad
ison joined him. King examined Hawk. “Good-looking bloodhound. My brother used to breed them. That’s a handsome specimen. Excellent coloring. Good proportions.”

  She wondered if that was how he categorized women, too.

  “Mr. King,” James said, “I believe the lady asked how you know about her father.”

  “Of course. My apologies. The dog distracted me. What do I know about your father?” He tapped a finger on the ornate wooden arm of the chair. “I know he murdered your mother. Strangled her, I believe.”

  Madison felt sick to her stomach. Stop, she wanted to say. Don’t say those words aloud and give any more power to the past. But King continued.

  “He escaped with you and your sister. He raised you under an assumed name until a reporter—your uncle, I think—revealed the truth ten years ago. Your father is currently incarcerated, serving a life sentence.” King smiled. “My facts are accurate, I trust?”

  Madison found it hard to breathe, hearing the details of her sordid upbringing unrolled by this stranger as casually as if he was talking about the weather. And in front of James Harrison. She swallowed hard, cheeks fiery, trying to rally an answer.

  James saved her from having to reply. “Why do you know all this?”

  King kept his gaze on Madison. “I am in need of a nanny for my grandchildren, who are coming to visit me this summer. I placed an ad, and your sister answered it. Naturally, I do a complete background check on anyone who might possibly have contact with my grandchildren.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid I do not employ anyone who is a felon, or related to one, so I did not hire her.”

  The words exploded from Madison’s mouth. “That’s rich, coming from a smuggler.”

  King did not exactly frown, but his mouth tightened. “I see you’ve been hearing all kinds of unfounded rumors from the local police. I have never been arrested for anything, Ms. Coles, which is more than I can say for your kin.”

  Madison was mute with humiliation and anger.

  King was going to speak further, but James cut him off. “You’re a smuggler, and we’ll prove it. You’ll go to jail sooner or later. It’s a matter of time, I promise you.”