Blake turned around, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He worried his bottom lip for a second and then said, “I hate to say this, but Sadie’s murder is not the most important matter right now. There are other lives in jeopardy and you may be able to help save them. That would go a long way toward a reduced sentence.”
That got her attention. She jerked her head up and met his eyes. “Are you talking about the girls?”
<<>>
When Special Agents Roper and Wilson showed up to take Cynthia into custody, Blake felt a twinge of remorse that he wasn’t able to give Detective Jackson the collar. A trusted friend in law enforcement would be a great asset in their business. Who knew what kind of deal the FBI would give Cynthia if she had legitimate information that could lead to the capture and conviction of the individuals involved in the trafficking ring. She would probably get off much too easy despite the crimes she’d committed.
One thing stuck out in his mind. Bart Linder killed Sadie Dugan because he was afraid she had recognized him the day she stopped by Heath’s place with Guthrie. Where and when could they possibly have crossed paths? Had Sadie met Linder in relation to a case worked by one of the attorneys at Rockford, Thornbush, & Associates? She’d been with the firm for over ten years. Dozens of clients passed through their doors every year. Was Linder overly paranoid or did Sadie actually work closely on a case involving him?
It should be easy enough to find out. He’d call Detective Jackson and be the first to inform her that their murder case was now tied to trafficking and the FBI was in on the game. She wouldn’t like it but maybe she’d appreciate the heads-up. Then he could ask for her help to find out which lawyer handled Bart Linder’s case when he went to trial. There had to be a connection.
They headed back down the street where they’d left the Bronco parked outside Fanny’s house. The neighbor cleaning his gutters now stood in his driveway pretending to hose down leaves and debris. He stared with open curiosity as they passed, water flooding the street even after the driveway was clearly pristine. After watching them pound on Cynthia’s door and hearing her screams, then seeing two men come and take her away in a black sedan, he probably thought she was being committed to a psychiatric ward against her will.
Shelby reached out and clasped Blake’s hand. “I’m really sorry,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “Turning your friend into the FBI was probably not the easiest thing to do. I should have been more sensitive.”
“It wasn’t all that hard, actually. Especially after listening to her feeble excuses for taking the life of an innocent woman. Cynthia needs to pay for her part in Sadie’s death. I hope the FBI doesn’t give her a free get-out-of-jail card. I know we need to find those girls and stop this trafficking ring, but sometimes it feels like the compromises aren’t worth it.”
“We have to leave it in the hands of the courts and trust that good people will see justice done.”
He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She pressed comfortably close, wrapping her arm around his middle. “You know what the hardest thing about this whole thing is? Acknowledging how blind I’ve been. I always thought I was pretty good at reading people. But I guess I’ve been fooling myself.”
“You are good at reading people. Let’s just call this a fluke. I know it’s hard for men to see past lash extensions, boob implants, and stilettos to the shallowness of a bimbo’s heart. That’s why you have me around.”
He breathed a laugh. “Thank God I have you.”
They climbed in the Bronco and Blake turned the key in the ignition. The truck revved to life and he relaxed, closing his eyes for a minute and listening to the familiar hum of the engine. He relished the peaceful feeling of being with the woman he loved, in the truck he’d had for twenty years, in the town he grew up in. It wouldn’t last, but no matter how complicated things got in the next couple of days, he would remember this moment.
He felt Shelby’s hand warm on his leg and opened his eyes. “Ready to go home?”
“I am home,” she said, giving him a soft smile.
He turned the truck around and drove out of the neighborhood. Out on Lake Street he looked for Jack, but his grandfather was no longer hanging out with the seagulls. Taking Silver Street past Luanne’s Café, he saw Tucker walking back to his store with a sack in his hand. He shook his head. No matter how many calories that guy ate he never gained an ounce.
Shelby waved at Tucker but her thoughts were obviously elsewhere. She asked, “How do you think Pete is going to take the news?”
“Like any man in love with the wrong woman. He’ll feel like he got hit with a brick to the heart. The pain will double him over, but being the tough guy that he is he’ll work twice as hard and twice as long until he’s too tired to feel. Then he’ll get up and do it the next day. And the next. Until the pain slowly lessens and he can stand tall again.”
“I feel bad for him. He thought he was getting a second chance at love.”
He reached out and stroked his thumb along her cheekbone. “We didn’t take his case as matchmakers, babe. We promised to find his wife’s killer. And we did.”
“I know, but it’s so hard. Agent Roper said we couldn’t tell anyone until they wrapped up their operation. What if Pete asks us? I don’t want to lie to him.”
“He’s done with the boathouse so unless we go out to his place we shouldn’t run into him. I think the FBI will have this tied up pretty quick, now that they have Cynthia to fill in a few more details.”
They left Port Scuttlebutt and turned onto the county road toward the B&B. Dusk fell around them softly like a sheer being pulled across a window; the sun slipped out of sight below the horizon. Shelby looked toward Lake Superior. The last rays of light shimmered over the water and were gone.
Blake hit the brakes hard, rubber squealed against asphalt, and the truck came to a sudden sideways stop in the road. They’d just missed hitting a Whitetail. She saw it bound off into the woods. A moment later, she stared wide-eyed as a doe and her spotted twins nimbly pranced across the road in front of them as though they had all the time in the world.
She heard Blake expel a relieved breath and realized she’d been holding one too. She laughed and the sound was cathartic after the day they’d had. Blake shook his head, grinning. He drove extra careful the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday morning, Shelby woke early with a feeling of foreboding. She’d tossed and turned all night dreaming about young women locked under the kitchen floorboards, pounding on the wood until their fingers bled. She couldn’t get the image out of her head.
Agent Roper had promised to keep them in the loop but they hadn’t heard anything from the FBI since they took Cynthia into custody Tuesday evening. Blake had been antsy as well, trying to keep himself busy so he wouldn’t dwell on the fact that he wasn’t going to be in on the bust. He missed the excitement of being a real detective, but Shelby was secretly glad he wasn’t invited along. She didn’t think she could handle it if he got himself shot again.
She carefully lifted the arm Blake had flung over her in his sleep and gently lowered it to the bed as she slipped out from under the sheets. Her feet touched cold wood flooring and she shivered. Yawning widely, she reached for the robe beside the bed and slipped it on. A glance at the clock and she decided it was too early to get dressed. She would run downstairs and have coffee with Alice. She hadn’t had a private conversation with her since their accidental meeting at Luanne’s. There were no guest reservations for the B&B until the weekend so Alice wouldn’t have extra baking to do. She could sit and chat until it was time to get her father up. And Shelby could apologize to her friend for spying on her and then break it to her gently that Bart Linder was actually a killer and not the nice guy Alice imagined him to be.
Shelby was surprised when she reached the bottom of the stairs and didn’t smell coffee brewing or see lights on in the kitchen. Had Alice slept in for once in her life
? That seemed rather odd. Not that she didn’t deserve a late morning once in a while, but ever since they’d moved into the B&B, she’d never known Alice to sleep later than 6:30 am. It was engrained in her from childhood. The early bird baked the bread.
She walked to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. No dough rising on the stove, no mixing bowl with pancake batter waiting to pour on a hot grill – and most disappointing of all – no freshly brewed coffee. She sighed and opened the cupboard. Time to make the coffee.
Once she’d started the coffee brewing she went over to Mr. Booth’s bedroom door and listened. She didn’t hear him moving around, so she opened the door a crack and peered in. The man was on his back, snoring softly, blankets pulled up to his bearded chin as though he was cold. She pulled the door closed, frowning. Alice always turned up the heat when she came downstairs in the morning. No wonder it felt colder than usual when she climbed out of bed.
She went to the alcove beneath the stairs and turned the thermostat up a couple of degrees before moving into the living room and stretching out on a couch to wait for the coffee. She closed her eyes for a moment, just to rest them.
“Shelby.”
“Hmm?” She opened her eyes and saw Blake standing over her, already dressed in jeans and a sweater. “You’re up already? I came downstairs so I wouldn’t wake you.”
His brows pulled together. “It’s ten o’clock, babe. How long have you been down here?”
“What?” She bolted upright, trying to clear her mind. “I was waiting for the coffee to brew…”
“It’s nice and dark now. Where’s Alice? Oliver was yelling for her.”
“She’s not here?”
“Don’t look so worried. Oliver said she went out on a date last night. Maybe it got late and she stayed overnight with Tucker.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
Shelby hurried up the stairs and knocked on her friend’s door. “Alice! Alice, are you in there?”
Blake followed her up the stairs, watching her strangely.
Shelby turned the knob and pushed the door open. The bed was neatly made, but tops, skirts, and pants were scattered over the bedspread as though she’d had a hard time deciding what to wear. Her pink cowgirl boots were left tipped over by the closet door, so she’d apparently opted for something dressier. Alice seldom dressed in heels and skirts. It had to be a special occasion to get her so worried about her appearance that she’d try on multiple outfits. She wasn’t that kind of girl.
“Are you okay?” Blake asked from the hallway.
“Call Tucker. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Ten minutes later, Tucker was pounding on the front door.
“Where’s Alice? What’s going on?” he asked, when Blake let him in. He looked wildly around like he thought she’d pop out of the woodwork. He wore a long-sleeved flannel shirt but he’d run out without his coat. He looked chilled. Not just body temperature but heart temperature. “What did you mean, she’s missing?”
Blake slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Sit down at the table. We need to talk.”
Oliver scooted through the kitchen, one sock on and one missing. His robe hung open, dangerously close to getting stuck under the tennis ball feet of his walker. Shelby tied his robe together, ran to his room and grabbed the sock he’d left behind, along with his slippers, and sat him down at the end of the table to help him put them on. No wonder Alice always looked frazzled.
His grouchy attitude had turned to real worry. He looked up at her. “What’s happened to Alice? She never leaves without telling me.” He glared across the table at Tucker and demanded. “What did you do with her?”
“I didn’t do anything, sir. I haven’t seen her since Monday afternoon at Luanne’s. Shelby and Blake can tell you. They were there. Alice was with that smarmy guy she knew from high school. Bart Linder.”
Shelby met Blake’s eyes, fear taking root.
“She told me she had a date with you last night.” Oliver said, shaking his finger at Tucker. “My girl doesn’t lie!”
Shelby put a hand on his arm to calm him, although inside she felt inadequate to calm anyone. Panic built like a brick wall in her chest. “Mr. Booth, did Alice actually say she had a date with Tucker, or just that she had a date?”
“She… she was going out… late…” He shook his head and pressed his lips together. “I don’t know. I assumed she was going with Thompson. I heard a car come by and pick her up.” His sharp glance met Tucker’s.
“I don’t have a car,” Tucker said, clarifying what they already knew.
He turned to Blake, his eyes pleading. “Tell me what’s going on.”
When Blake hesitated, Shelby pleaded. “This is Alice we’re talking about. If she’s with Bart then she’s in trouble. Tucker needs to know.”
When Blake got to the part where Cynthia confessed to covering up the murder of Sadie Dugan, Tucker looked like he would explode with fury. He stood up and hit the table with the palm of his hand, glaring. “You knew Bart was a murderer and you didn’t warn Alice? How could you keep that from her? You’ve put her life in danger because you didn’t want to rock the boat with the FBI?”
“Tuck, there were other women’s lives to think about,” Shelby intervened. “We were asked to keep it quiet until tonight when the FBI is supposed to break up the ring and rescue the women. Alice was never supposed to be involved in any of this.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be? That’s your reasoning? If anything happens to her…” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, unable to finish the thought.
Blake stared down at his hands folded on the table. “Has anyone thought to call her cell phone? Maybe there’s another completely unrelated reason she isn’t home yet. She might not have left with Linder at all.”
“She doesn’t have a cell phone, Blake,” Shelby said. Voicing the fact made the circumstances seem that much more bleak. At least if she had a phone on her maybe they could track her somehow.
“She’s probably the only twenty-something in America who doesn’t own a cell. When we find her I’m getting her one whether she likes it or not. And I’m having a GPS microchip inserted under her skin by the veterinarian to track her every move.” Tucker’s gruff but lighthearted threats were what they all needed to calm down and think. He slipped back into his chair and looked at Blake. “What are we going to do?”
“Someone better find my girl or…” Oliver Booth stood shakily, his face a shade paler than normal beneath his beard. His next words came out garbled. “I can’t lose her too.”
“Let me help you, Mr. Booth.” Shelby jumped up and grabbed his arm. She sent Blake a look that begged, Find her, and turned the old man in the direction of his room. She would be the friend she knew Alice would be if she were left in her place. Alice fought and argued with her dad until it was their common form of communication, but she loved him and she would want Shelby to stay behind and watch out for him.
<<>>
Blake and Tucker drove south on the forest access trail, bumping over ruts and mud holes. Knowing the FBI already had Heath’s place staked out, Blake decided the storm cellar would be the next best place to look. It was Linder’s hideaway after all, and he hoped they might find a clue there to lead them to Alice. It was better than sitting on their hands and waiting for the worst.
Words were few as they closed in on the back of Pete’s property and parked in a thick grove of maples and pine. Crumbling orange, red, and yellow leaves littered the ground all around, lending a path of fading fall color. The canopy of half-bare trees filtered the afternoon sun and seemed to hold a chilling dampness that penetrated their coats and hats too quickly when they stepped out of the vehicle.
Tucker lifted the hatch on the Bronco. He pulled out his shotgun, slipped a pocketful of shells into his coat, and pulled on fingerless gloves. He watched Blake prepare for battle. Blake had a Walther in his ankle holster, a Glock in his belt holster, and his new toy in his arms. Th
e black semi-automatic rifle had a folding stock and a wood grip. He could fold it under for close quarters and flip it out for distance. It held 30 rounds, so if there was going to be trouble… they were ready.
Blake had contacted Agent Roper and informed him of Alice’s disappearance and that they suspected Bart Linder had taken her. George listened without interrupting but Blake knew what his answer would be before he finished speaking. The FBI couldn’t officially get involved. She was a local woman, only missing for one night, and there was no evidence of foul play. He had his hands full trying to stop a trafficking ring and rescue the women he knew to be in danger.
But Alice’s life was too important to wait. Blake and Tucker had packed up the truck with things they thought they might need and prayed they didn’t jeopardize anyone else’s daughter, friend, or sister’s lives in the process. They would try to avoid any confrontation that would harm the FBI’s case, but getting Alice back safely was their number one priority.
Blake picked a trail and Tucker followed, moving through the trees to the edge of a field. Another barbed wire fence separated public land from Pete’s property. They slipped through but followed the fence line for cover until they spotted the crumbling homestead in the distance.
“There,” Blake said, pointing. “See that mound above the bluff? That’s where the storm cellar is.”
Tucker took a pair of compact binoculars from his pocket and focused. “I see it. There’s nobody around. Ready to go in?”
“Let me take a look.” Blake took the binoculars, sweeping the area. “Okay. Looks clean. Let’s stay close to the fence until we get nearer. We can always dive back into the woods if we need to.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Are you expecting a firefight or something?” Tucker asked, gripping his shotgun tighter.
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 21