I straightened my shoulders and pushed past Shannon before he could say anything threatening that might make the situation worse. He was irritating that way, if my experience with him was anything to go by. “Unless you have something to do with Jenny Vandyke’s disappearance, you might want to talk with us.”
“And why’s that?” He arched a bushy white brow. Up close, I could see that under the white stubble, the worn, leathery face had once been handsome and that if he cared to do so, he might clean up nicely. Maybe if he had to go in front of a jury, his attorney would convince him to do just that.
“Because we were sent by someone who wants to prove your innocence.” Just a bit of a stretch. Tawnia did want to know the truth and she was hoping he wasn’t involved, but that didn’t mean she was invested in him emotionally. Not yet.
Cody blinked several times before words made it to his lips. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“The person wants to remain anonymous for the time being, but that’s why we’re here.” I shot Shannon a glance, warning him to keep quiet. We hadn’t really discussed what would happen once we found Cody or how I’d tell him about our relationship—if I told him—but whatever happened would be my choice.
Cody rested his shotgun on the wood porch, barrel down, but his grip remained tight. “Let’s see if I got this right. You’re here to prove me innocent. Not to find the girl.”
“We’re here to prove whether or not you were involved,” Shannon corrected. “We have not been assigned to look for Jenny, though if we uncovered information about her, we would certainly act on it. If you didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance, you have nothing to lose by talking to us.”
“And everything to gain, I suppose.” His eyes ran over Shannon before sliding back to me. “So what do you two get out of this?”
“I do my job. I get paid.” I was glad for the sunglasses that hid the lie. I get to confirm you’re a lying, no-good creep or decide that maybe you deserve a measure of forgiveness. A measure only because I would never forgive him completely.
Cody’s eyes narrowed, reminding me of how Kirt had looked at the gunman back at the gas station. “You from around here? You look familiar.”
My heart thumped heavily in my chest. “No, I’m not.”
“How do I know you’re actually on my side?” Cody rubbed his face with his free hand.
“We’re only on your side if you didn’t take Jenny,” Shannon said.
Cody gave him an impatient scowl. “I get it, I get it. I didn’t do it. I already said.”
“Then you should talk to us.” I shifted my weight, wiggling my confined toes in my leather boots. They were the most comfortable on the market, more like waterproof socks, according to the advertisement, and they’d been a gift from my twin, who was as practical as I was strange. Or so people who didn’t know about her gift might believe.
“How do I know you ain’t reporters or some such thing?”
Shannon took out his badge again. “As I said earlier, I’m a police detective from Portland. I’m not here officially but as a friend to Autumn. She’s the one investigating your innocence or guilt.”
Cody looked between us, still skeptical. “Can I see that badge?”
Shannon handed it over, and I knew the instant Cody touched it that he shared more than my mismatched eyes. Shannon recognized his glazed expression at the same time I did—probably from seeing me read imprints. He snatched it back.
“Well, it seems to be real,” Cody said with a casualness that belied what had happened. He’d read the imprints on Shannon’s badge, and because the badge was important to Shannon, there would have been plenty of imprints. In those few seconds Cody wouldn’t have been able to read everything, but he’d seen enough to take stock of Shannon’s character.
That this stranger shared my talent was both exhilarating and frightening. Exhilarating because he’d presumably lived his entire life with the ability and would know much more about it. Frightening because it verified beyond doubt that we were related. Questions threatened to burst from me, but with effort I held them back. Not until I know for sure he isn’t involved with the missing girl, I told myself.
“Okay,” Cody said. “What do you want to know?”
I relaxed slightly. Of course, he could still be guilty and hoping to lead us astray or keep us away from any real information, but he didn’t know I shared his gift, and imprints didn’t lie. Actors could imprint on props during powerful scenes, but those fictional imprints still lacked the realism of actual imprints. My recent experience in solving the murder of an actress would help me tell the difference. Besides, Cody Beckett didn’t know I could read imprints, so he wouldn’t consider creating false ones.
Then again, there was always the off chance that he really was innocent and as outsiders we were the only ones he thought he might be able to convince. Whatever his motive, I needed to touch his things. Inside the house, preferably, though I would take what I could get. If I could read people, I’d simply touch him and be done with it.
Then again, that ability would make my life harder than it already was. It would kill any chance of romance. I already had too many of Shannon’s secrets at my fingertips as it was.
“We’d like to see where they found the girl’s boot,” Shannon said.
“That’s easy enough. Wait here. I need to get some shoes.”
I was itching to take mine off.
Before I could ask to use his bathroom so I could snoop, he’d reached inside the door and was pulling on some boots that looked as old as he was. They went well with his old jeans and flannel shirt.
“We can wait while you get a jacket,” I said, pulling on my gloves.
He shook his head. “My shirt’s lined, and we’ll be walking a ways. A coat would make me too hot.” He went down the porch stairs as he talked, pushing past us and heading toward the trees behind the house. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, but there were enough evergreens to make the woodland still seem green—or greenish gray with the encroaching overhead clouds.
I hoped they found Jenny before snow came again, making it even harder to follow any leads. If she was still out in the woods somewhere, it might already be too late.
We walked for a good ten minutes before Cody came to a stop beneath a particularly large pine tree. We’d covered a lot of ground, and I was sweating under my coat. Only my hands were cold, even inside my gloves.
“Here,” Cody said, pointing under the tree, which was littered with old pine needles. “They found it under there. Or a dog did.”
“Is this still your property?” I asked.
Cody nodded. “I own a hundred acres. Bought it near twenty years ago when it was cheap. This here is the edge.” He waved a hand behind me. “Through those trees there’s a dirt road. Marks the end of my property and the beginning of a prune farmer’s.”
“They found nothing else?” Shannon squatted down to get a better look, and after shoving my gloves and my antique rings into my pockets, I did the same. I wondered what Cody would think when I began searching for imprints.
Only a little snow had penetrated under the haven made by the branches, and I could very well imagine the teen hiding there. But not for weeks. Too cold.
No use in putting it off. I duck-walked under the branches and tried not to be obvious as I began searching. I didn’t have to actually touch the ground or the tree because I’d learned to recognize a tingling in my hands when they were close to something that held a strong or recent imprint, but for Cody’s benefit, I touched both the tree and the ground, turning over pine needles as though searching for what might lie beneath. My stealth was lost on Cody, who was now staring into the distance.
“They searched all my property,” he said. “Didn’t find any trace of the kid besides the boot.”
“They’re sure it’s her boot?” I envisioned an inexpensive pair bought at the local Walmart by half the girls in junior high.
“Her parents sa
y it is. Bought them at a specialty store locally. Well, in Salem, that is.”
“If it is her boot, she didn’t just run away.” I glanced at Shannon, who shrugged.
“Unless she met someone here and changed shoes, accidentally leaving a boot behind.” Shannon stood up and scanned the area. “Is that likely, Mr. Beckett? That she’d come here to meet someone?”
“Well, she lives over there, through the woods.” Cody pointed opposite the way we’d come. West. Or at least I thought it was west. The problem with being directionally impaired is that sometimes all directions look the same.
“But it’s a bit of a ways,” he added, “and this route isn’t a short cut to anywhere. Doesn’t seem likely.”
My turn to shrug. “It is near a road, you said. Maybe she spent a night here hiding before meeting someone and taking off.”
“Would have been mighty uncomfortable,” Cody said, giving me a disgruntled look. “It’s been really cold. I could work outside just an hour at a time. It only warms up a bit right before it snows. Like now.” He squinted up at the sky. “Going to snow soon. Tomorrow at the latest. More likely sooner. Then the cold will really set in.”
I had found absolutely nothing under the tree. If anyone had been there, the person hadn’t cared enough about anything he or she touched to leave even a faint imprint. I sighed, coming out of the protective cover of the branches. The air felt colder away from the tree, and I’d be glad when we were moving again.
“That’s all I got to show you,” Cody said, scratching the back of his neck.
Shannon frowned. “You don’t have any outbuildings on your property? Something remote that someone else might use?”
“A place I might hold the girl, you mean.” Cody’s scowl had returned.
“I’m sure the police would have already searched,” I said.
“That’s right, but you’re welcome to look around if you want. I have a dirt bike you can use. The only buildings I have other than the house is a root cellar in back of the house and a shed near the field where I work. It’s enclosed on only three sides, though, so it ain’t ideal for kidnapping or for a runaway.”
With that he turned abruptly and started back through the woods, as though he’d had his fill of us or perhaps of any company.
I looked at Shannon. “What do you think?”
“I want to look at the cellar.”
I wasn’t too keen on the idea. I’d had a bit of claustrophobia since I’d been locked in a root cellar during one of my earlier cases, but I knew Shannon would need my talent. “Okay.”
I pulled my gloves over my freezing fingers as we hurried to catch up with Cody. He was slightly taller than average, which meant taller than both Shannon and me, and apparently well accustomed to plunging through the woods. The crisp snow passed steadily under his strides.
I was completely out of breath when we arrived at the house. Cody pointed to a tiny building that looked like an outhouse. “That’s the cellar. I keep it locked. Sometimes the local kids come calling.”
I bet. He was a perfect target for dares and other escapades. We waited as he dialed the combination on the rotary lock. His hands looked strong. Callused. Working hands. Not like I’d expected from an artist. But then he wasn’t a typical artist.
He motioned us to precede him into the cellar, where a steep flight of stairs plunged into the earth. I hesitated. No way was I going down there with him holding that lock.
Cody followed the direction of my stare and gave a gruff laugh. “Here. You can take that with you. I’m going to the house. Just lock it when you’re finished.” He tossed me the lock, turned on his heel, and strode away.
I caught the lock in my gloved hands, slipping it into my pocket. I’d have to check it for imprints eventually, but I wanted to wait until I was sure Cody couldn’t see.
Shannon watched me, a hint of a grin on his face. “I have my gun,” he said, “if we need to break out.”
“Good. Then you’re not scared.” Removing my gloves and sunglasses, I started down into the darkness, pleased to note Cody had left a flashlight on a hook inside. There wasn’t a hand railing, but the wall lining the stairs was wood. I bet Cody had dug out and built this place himself. I went past the flashlight, leaving it for Shannon because of the imprints, though I’d have to check it later as well.
It was a long way down, definitely below the frost line. When I reached the bottom, I pulled the combination lock from my pocket, holding it loosely in my palm so that if it held anything violent, I could drop it more easily.
An imprint of satisfaction. Contentment, knowing I had food from my own garden preserved against winter. This was followed by an earlier, stronger imprint of anger. Stupid kids. They have no right to break in here. Those were good potatoes they threw at the house. The anger drained away as fast as it had come. I knew I deserved what the kids had done. I deserved everything bad that ever happened to me. I had to make sure I never forgot. It was part of my penance, and potatoes were just potatoes, after all.
More imprints came, all of them similar. Though few of the imprints were strong, and Cody seemed to be divided between feelings of anger and guilt, there was nothing about a missing girl. I put the lock in my pocket.
“Nothing?” Shannon asked, following the movement.
“Sometimes the kids break in and steal his vegetables. Nothing about Jenny Vandyke.”
“He’d be stupid to have brought her here anyway. With his prison record and his oddities, they were bound to suspect him.”
By oddities, he meant the artwork, I supposed. “He went to prison for attacking another man, not a child,” I reminded him. A crime my biological grandmother claimed he hadn’t been guilty of but to which he’d pleaded guilty in order to do penance for the secret crime he’d actually committed. If he’d gone to prison for that earlier act, the police would probably have him sitting in jail right now, proof or no proof.
Shannon offered me the flashlight, an apologetic grin on his face. Apologetic because he wanted me to read any imprints that might be on it and he’d seen how they could affect me. I wanted to remind him that he was here at my invitation, not the other way around, but he looked so appealing in the dim light that I decided not to make the point. I felt a sudden desire to step near him and feel his arms go around me.
Not now, I thought.
As I took the flashlight, Shannon drew out a pen-sized flashlight on his key ring and began moving it over the bins of vegetables. That he kept running the light over the same area told me he was only pretending to pay attention to his search. He’d learned the hard way what might happen when I read certain kinds of imprints, and he still felt guilty for not protecting me from some.
He worried for nothing—this time. Faint imprints came from the flashlight, but nothing strong or lasting. Nothing that stole my energy or made me lose sense of myself. I was glad. I shook my head.
The cellar was small, and there wasn’t much to see. There were about a dozen bins and only one set of shelves about waist high, full of vegetables, some I recognized and some I didn’t. I began running my hands near the shelves, the bins, the walls, and even the vegetables—all without the typical buzzing that alerted me to strong imprints. To make sure I wasn’t missing even the faint ones, I began touching everything. No luck.
Meanwhile, Shannon was tapping on the walls. I knew why. The last cellar I’d been in had a secret door to another room.
That was not the case here. I pushed aside a—a turnip?—and sighed. “Nothing.”
He nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”
I beat him to the stairs.
Above ground once again, I tried to dust off my hands without success. Gingerly, I replaced my sunglasses and started for the house.
“Where are you going?”
“To ask Cody if I can wash my hands.”
“Won’t he wonder why you got them so dirty?”
“He’ll think it’s because I wanted to see inside his house.” He woul
dn’t be exactly right, but he’d be right in the sense that it was the excuse I’d been looking for. Shannon’s comment, however, made me uneasy. What if Cody was actually dangerous?
It was more than a little pathetic that I already hoped he wasn’t.
“Yeah?” Cody answered the door on my first knock.
I gave him back the lock to the cellar, belatedly remembering that he’d wanted us to put it back on the door. “I had a little, uh, accident. Can I wash my hands?”
His eyes narrowed as he peered at me, as though trying to see through my sunglasses. “You sure you’re just not finding an excuse to look in my house?”
The way he spoke made fear crawl up my spine. I scowled. “What if I am? It’s not as if you have something to hide, right?”
“I, uh—” He broke off. “Whatever. Just don’t touch anything.”
I was hoping he said that as a matter of course, not because he suspected my talent. Maybe I should tell him about our relationship. Yet if he was involved in Jenny Vandyke’s disappearance, I never wanted him to know about me and certainly not about Tawnia or her baby daughter.
I rolled my eyes, forgetting he couldn’t see them. “I won’t disturb anything.”
He opened the door wider, and I followed him inside. Behind me, Shannon rushed to keep up. I wished he’d wait outside, but maybe he could distract Cody long enough for me to get some good readings.
The door opened onto a spacious living room with a large, modern, wide-screen TV sitting in front of a brown leather couch that had seen better days. This room adjoined a narrow kitchen where a small, round table took up most of the free space and a stainless steel sink sat below a curtainless window. Wisps of spider webs trailed over a painting of a mountain, the only decoration in the room. All the floors were hardwood.
Cody led me down a dark hall and pointed to a partially open door on the right side. He made a point of shutting the door opposite. His bedroom, I guessed from a glimpse of the double bed.
That seemed to be the extent of the house. It looked much wider from the outside, but I realized now that was because the ceilings were so low. Pushing my sunglasses on top of my head, I could see there was a lived-in quality about the entire place, from the scuffed floor in the hall to the cracked light cover in the surprisingly large bathroom.
Line of Fire Page 3