A Dark Love

by Margaret Carroll

  “Incoming.” The CO deposited a writ on Hartung’s desk. “Hot off the presses.”

  Hartung stopped what he was doing at once and picked up the document. The CO did not usually hand-deliver search warrants. Hartung saw what it was and let out a low whistle. Judges did not usually issue warrants the same day as a prosecutor established probable cause.

  Not unless they were in a big hurry.

  His boss watched him. “Ring any bells?”

  Hartung grinned. “Like Big Ben at midnight.” It was good to see the wheels of justice turn so fast. Hartung had just typed up the request for the warrant yesterday to search the domicile of Dr. Porter Moross. He had thrown in, for good measure, a request to extend the warrant to Moross’s vehicle and any off-premises storage facilities they might discover. Hartung had added that based on the neighbor lady’s story about the handbag. That, and the fact that Porter Moross came across like a complete bastard.

  Officer Mike Hartung believed in hunches.

  The call that had been logged on the night shift from a concerned friend in California had only added to Hartung’s hunch.

  His CO stood, jangling change in his pockets. “You’ve been to the Moross residence and met the suspect on that one occasion, right?”

  Hartung nodded. “Right. We returned their passports to him.” A vision popped into Hartung’s mind of Porter Moross with his purple junkie pockmarks and beady little eyes, darting and watching and twitching and nervous.

  Scared.

  “Something’s not right.” Hartung had done his homework.

  The CO gave a quick nod. “So the guy took off?”

  “Oh, he took off. Shut down his business, stopped the mail, fired his cleaning lady, and even ratted out her husband to the INS.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “A real prince.”

  The commander rubbed the stubble on his chin, considering things. “What do the next of kin have to say?”

  “Not many of those. Wife’s got a mother in Florida who gets a Christmas card about every other year and that’s it.”

  “And him? Everybody’s got a mother.”

  “That’s the thing,” Hartung said, the muscles folding in tight along his jaw. “She was living out in the Midwest with some guy for a long time. About six years ago there was a fire in their place, a bad one. Guy died. Momma ain’t been seen since.”

  “Bad luck.”

  “I thought so.”

  The commanding officer squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his head from side to side on his massive neck. When he opened them again, the look Hartung saw in them left no doubt his boss had a bad feeling about this one, too. “And the neighbor lady is—”

  Hartung finished the sentence for him. “Wife of John Crowley.”

  The CO scowled. “BFF of you-know-who.”

  “Yeah.” Hartung thought of Lindsay Crowley in her tidy little Nike tennis dress and tried not to wince. He wished he had acted faster to respond to the concerns of the wife of a man who had been personally chosen for his job by the president.

  Really he did.

  Lucky for him, the CO was not one to cry over spilled milk. So long as Hartung didn’t spill too much. “Let’s move on this. We got an audience now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER 24

  STORM PASS, COLORADO

  Porter swung the SUV onto Storm Pass’s tiny Main Street. He recognized the tidy white sign for Kincaid’s Garage from photographs in the Beltway Security dossier. Gus Kincaid was inside. Father of Ken Kincaid.

  Porter peered at the doorway, half expecting to see Caroline standing there. But she was not. No matter. He would be reunited with her soon enough.

  There wasn’t much to Main Street, just a few rundown clapboard buildings, a bank, and a tiny post office. He pulled over in front of the post office. It was time to cross off one more item on his to-do list.

  Porter pulled out his manila envelope and dropped it in the mail chute, first stop on its way to Modesto, California. He allowed himself to envision Lisa Fielding waving the envelope and its contents in her husband’s face. Porter hoped Tom Fielding would have the presence of mind to note the postmark: Storm Pass.

  It was a nice touch, Porter thought.

  He got back in the SUV and made for the giant stone crag at the end of Main Street, rising into the sky like a big phallic symbol.

  Caroline had been drawn to this place for reasons she would never admit, Porter reflected sourly.

  He reached his destination where the street dead-ended. Pools of yellow light spilled out onto the yard in front of a Victorian rooming house. A wooden sign on a wrought-iron post proclaimed “Rooms to Let.”

  Porter followed the grass drive around back and parked near the only other vehicle, an aging Ford pickup truck.

  Two massive black Labrador retrievers ambled over to greet him when he entered. One of the dogs thrust his thick snout into Porter’s crotch.

  Porter kneed the animal, hard. “Get off,” he muttered. Porter hated dogs.

  “Jasper!” A graying woman appeared and pulled the dog away by its massive shoulders. “Come on, old man, back to your bed.” She surveyed Porter head to toe with a practiced look. A frown appeared on her forehead. “Sorry,” she said through pursed lips.

  She’d seen him knee the dog. Too bad, Porter thought. If she was in the hospitality business, she should know that paying guests didn’t want to be slobbered on by big, smelly animals. “It’s okay,” Porter lied. “I like dogs.” He watched the woman’s eyes widen as she registered his pale face and white hair.

  She shooed the dogs through a doorway. “Stay there,” she ordered. Brushing her hands on the back of worn corduroy slacks, she turned back to him. “How can I help you?”

  Her voice had the same smooth quality as the used car salesman, cold like new plastic and just as sincere. She had him pegged, Porter figured, for a weekend warrior from Denver or maybe even Chicago, here in search of trout before the nights turned cold enough to drive them deep into the lake bed till spring. She looked like the type who liked to be right. Too bad she was wrong this time. The thought made him smile. “I’d like a room.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She was about to tell him they had no vacancy. He forced himself to smile wider, speaking in the flattest Midwestern accent he could muster, before she had a chance to turn him away. “And if you got a map that tells where the trout are biting, I’ll buy it off you.”

  She paused, considering this. Considering him.

  Porter thought of the deserted parking lot out back.

  “It’s late in the season for trout,” she said, putting one arm on her hip. Her gaze never wavered from Porter’s face.

  He shifted his weight to one hip and pushed the opposite leg out in front, scratching his head lazily with one hand in his best I’m-okay-and-so-are-you mode. “That’s where Ken Kincaid comes in. I hear he’s the best guide around.”

  She lightened up at the mention of Kincaid’s name, as he figured she would. “You’re booked with him?”

  Porter took a chance. “Yeah,” he lied. “I was supposed to come up last month, originally, then things got kind of crazy at work. Lucky for me he agreed to squeeze me in.”

  That seemed to settle things in the innkeeper’s mind. “Okay,” she said finally, walking around behind an oak check-in desk. “How long will you be with us?”

  The look on her face told him the less time, the better. Grumpy old bitch, Porter thought. “Just a night or two.”

  She slid the registration form his way and watched him fill it out, entering the name and address of the man who had sold him the Yukon.

  Her gaze lingered on the form, long enough for him to wonder if she was going to ask for identification.

  She disliked him enough to do it, so Porter cut her off before she got the chance. “Yeah, I spent a lot of Sundays watching Ken hold up the Chiefs’ defensive line. I can’t wait to meet him in person.”

  “He’s a fine man. You wo
n’t be disappointed.” She didn’t bother to look up, as though she’d had this conversation a hundred times.

  Porter heaved a small sigh of relief as the moment passed.

  She filed the registration form and withdrew an old-fashioned skeleton key from a hook on the wall and handed it to him. “We’ve got a good room for you at the top of the house, facing front so you can see all the action on our Main Street.”

  She smiled at her own joke, the first she’d cracked since he walked through the door.

  A man, obviously her husband, appeared in the doorway. “Maebeth, are you about ready? Dinner’s on.” Seeing Porter, he stopped himself. “Oh, hello.” His gaze lingered on Porter’s face a moment longer than necessary. He looked away.

  “I’ll be right there.” Maebeth turned to Porter, her tone brisk. “Continental breakfast starts at seven and goes till half past eight. It’s included in the rate. If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know. Enjoy your stay.” She came out from behind the desk, signaling her business with him was finished.

  Porter didn’t budge. “There is one thing. Can you recommend a good restaurant for dinner?” He had purchased coffee and a sweet roll at the truck stop near Durango, but that had been hours ago.

  The man opened his mouth to speak but his wife shot him a look. “Sure,” she said. “Head back out to the county road and take a right. There’s a pretty good diner about seven miles along. If you see signs that you’ve entered the Pueblo reservation, you’ll know you’ve gone too far.”

  Porter’s stomach rumbled. He wasn’t in the mood to spend any more time behind the wheel of the Yukon again tonight, but an idea came to him. An idea that brightened the prospect of a nighttime drive through a wilderness area. “Thanks,” he said.

  Maebeth Burkle smiled but her eyes held no warmth. “Don’t mention it.” She watched him go, gathering her cardigan more tightly around her. Something was not right about Jim Bell. His hiking gear, for one, so new it still smelled of a high-end department store. His soft hands with nails that gleamed under a coat of clear polish, for another. And his sickly complexion. And now he’d gone out for the evening without bothering to check the room first, something even corporate execs on expense accounts did. That fact didn’t sit well with Maebeth.

  “So?” Her husband shot her an amused look. After thirty-six years of marriage, they didn’t require many words to communicate.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She wasn’t the type to talk about weird vibes or bad karma, like half the young people who moved up here these days to eke out a living and homeschool their kids. She shook her head.

  Her husband chuckled. “Looks like he rubbed you the wrong way. That diner is the last place you’d want to eat. And you gave him the worst room in the house.”

  Together they watched the headlights of the Yukon swing past the front parlor.

  A thought sprang unbidden to Maebeth’s mind, startling her with its ferocity. And the thought was this. That Storm Pass and everyone in it would be better off if Jim Bell from Denver got lost out there tonight and never came back.

  CHAPTER 25

  Caroline spotted two familiar cars in Nan’s drive, and two familiar figures climbing out of them.

  Nan’s old Buick had returned, parked alongside Ken’s Jeep.

  The Kincaid men waved.

  She felt a funny little pang at seeing Ken.

  He flashed a smile her way. “You look right at home behind the wheel there, Alice.”

  Caroline smiled.

  “You can keep it as long as you like,” he said, lifting a brow.

  Gus let out a laugh. “Now, there’s an offer you don’t get every day. I’ve been waiting for a test drive since the day he bought that thing.”

  Caroline held out the keys, embarrassed. “Thanks. It’s a beautiful car but more than I can handle, I’m afraid.”

  Ken took the keys, allowing his fingers to brush hers, and she felt their warmth. “Car looks like it’s still in one piece,” he observed. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “I had a pretty close call out on the county road just now,” she admitted.

  Concern knit his brows together. “Are you okay?”

  “A little shaken but that’s all,” she replied. “I saw a big bird in the sky, close to that eagle’s nest. I looked up to get a better look and all of a sudden there was a big white Yukon heading straight for me.” Caroline felt her face color.

  “No harm done,” Ken said. “Just so long as you’re okay. And if you were busy checking out our eagle, I’d say you’re going native. It’s a good sign.” He grinned.

  Gus chuckled. “Next thing, you’ll be taking the day off work to go fishin’.”

  “I should have been paying more attention,” Caroline said with a frown. “The other driver didn’t signal, and he turned so fast I almost hit him. I got out to help but he took off,” she said with a shrug.

  “Tourist, most likely, up from Denver,” Gus grumbled. “Probably one of your clients, Ken.”

  They both laughed.

  “I don’t have anyone booked again till spring. Season’s about over,” Ken said with a glance at the Porsche. “She handles well, doesn’t she?”

  “Like a dream,” Caroline agreed.

  “Good,” Ken said. “I’m glad you liked it. You know, a car like that is easier to handle than a regular car. You just have to make the engine work for you. Downshift on the curves, stay wide to the outside on switchbacks. That car can handle a lot more than you’d think.”

  The look on his face implied he believed she could, as well.

  Caroline knew he was being kind. She looked at Gus and changed the subject. “How are you feeling, Gus?”

  The older man dipped his head in a small bow, but it was clear the movement cost him effort. “Just fine, thanks for asking. Any better and I’d be twins.”

  Ken rolled his eyes but the concern on his face was evident.

  “I finished up the repairs on Nan’s car this afternoon,” Gus said. “Good as new. Like me.”

  The back door opened and Nan stepped out.

  The dogs raced barking down the steps and ran in circles around the Kincaid men.

  Caroline noticed a stiffness in Gus’s movements when he reached down to pet the dogs.

  “That’s quite a welcoming committee,” he said in a gruff voice.

  Caroline shushed them and tried to make them stop jumping.

  Ken patted Scout, who was heaving himself at Ken’s shins. “I can’t figure you guys out. You always act like you’re going to take a bite out of my leg, but you never do.” He laughed when Pippin crouched at his feet before rolling onto his stomach to be patted.

  “It’s a terrier thing,” Caroline ventured.

  “I guess so.”

  Scout followed suit.

  “Good to see you up and around, Gus,” Nan called, wiping her hands on her apron. “Glad you could make it for dinner.”

  Caroline took the news in silence, noting Nan had failed to inform her there would be guests for dinner. No doubt she had figured Caroline would have begged off if she had known. Nan was right about that.

  “Thanks for having us,” Gus said, making for the porch steps. “I don’t like to be late when Nan’s cooking.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re here in plenty of time. It’s good to have the old boat back,” Nan said with a glance at the Buick.

  “She’ll be all right for a while. Right as rain,” Gus said, grabbing the railing. “I still think you ought to get something new, with four-wheel drive, before winter sets in. Won’t be long now.” He looked up at the pass, where the first snow of the season shone soft and white in the fading rays of daylight.

  Caroline shivered.

  Nan harrumphed. “That car will do just fine for another winter, you’ll see.” She turned her attention to Caroline. “Welcome back. Alice hasn’t sat down all day. She whipped through this house like a white tornado.”

  “Sounds like you ne
ed one of Nan’s famous dinners,” Ken said.

  “I, for one, will not lollygag any longer.” Gus pulled himself up the steps, gripping the handrail so tight his knuckles were white.

  Ken hung back, keeping a watchful eye on his father.

  Ready, Caroline thought, to spring into action if he was needed.

  “Ken’s the one who’s going to do all the work tonight. Nobody broils trout better,” Nan said.

  “I brought my special seasonings,” Ken said, motioning to a small jar he carried in one hand. “And some chocolates for dessert from that place you like in Durango.”

  “My favorite,” Nan exclaimed.

  From the top of the porch steps, Gus let out a loud guffaw.

  “Watch out, Mrs. Birmingham, my son is setting you up.”

  Arms akimbo, Nan shot Ken a mock glare. “Is that right?”

  “Uh-oh, my cover is blown,” Ken said, casually placing a hand on the small of Caroline’s back as they walked up the steps.

  It was a small gesture but significant, an act of proprietorship, one that staked hope for the future. But right now it just made Caroline sad.

  “Told you Nan would see straight through a bribe,” Gus teased.

  Ken positioned himself near Caroline, close enough for her to breathe in his piney scent, sense his solid presence.

  He stood close so they were almost touching, and she got a brief flash of a parallel universe where things were normal, where she and Ken were like any young couple having dinner with their parents. Except they weren’t. Caroline’s heart ached with sorrow for the ordinary life she had wished for and never could have.

  Ken’s voice was rich, resonant at close range. “Nobody’s meaner at poker than Nan Birmingham. Hide your money, Alice.”

  Caroline thought of her tiny nest egg, folded neatly inside a handkerchief in the nightstand drawer in her room at the back of the house. Ready to go on a moment’s notice.

  “Nonsense,” Nan retorted. “And don’t scare Alice. Don’t you worry, my dear, it’s only penny ante.”

  “I’ve got you covered, Alice. Thank you for allowing me to escort you to dinner.” Ken smiled down at her, trailing his hand lightly across her back.