Storm Gathering (13 page)

“You think it’s related?” Mick asked.

“Could be. I have no idea. But it’s weird.”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Aaron watched his brother’s eyes plead, though his expression remained emotionless. “Sure, of course.”

“I’m not scared. But I don’t want to be there if they come back.”

“I understand. You hungry?” he asked, pointing to the bowl of spaghetti on the counter.

Mick smiled. “Beyond belief.”

Prescott got off the phone. “Verified that a deliveryman brought the flowers to the airport break room before noon on Tuesday. They were purchased by credit card, but the woman wasn’t that helpful giving the info over. Said she’d already been through that once.”

Shep looked up. “What?”

Prescott shrugged. “Said someone else called about it already and that she had a flower shop to run, so leave her alone. Not exactly a charming woman.”

“Somebody else already inquired about the flowers?”

“That’s what she said. Anyway, I have someone running the number; should get something back soon.”

“Send it directly to me,” Shep said.

“All my notes on the Earle interview are there on your desk. I didn’t mention the flowers being sent, like you asked, and he didn’t mention them either, which I thought was odd.”

“I’ll look over everything.”

“Okay.” Prescott glanced at the clock. “Anything else, boss?”

Shep shook his head. “Get outta here.”

Randy grabbed his jacket and was gone.

Shep closed the case folder and leaned back in his chair. His pencils were sharpened. His desk was tidy and dusted. His phone was disinfected. Now all he had to do was solve this crime. Methodically, he sifted through every piece of evidence they had against Kline. He wrote each one on a stenopad.

All they had against Sammy Earle were a bouquet of flowers and a past relationship with the victim.

Things might’ve been so much different if Kline had not been there that night. Different clues would’ve presented themselves. Every police eye would have seen things in a different way.

Too bad for Kline. He should’ve stayed home.

“What’s it looking like?” Captain Fred Bellows walked in, his perpetually tired eyes peering over Shep’s desk. “I got a call from Fiscall.”

“The boyfriend sent flowers the day before the woman disappeared. The
estranged
boyfriend.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean too much, does it? In light of the fact that we have a suspect whom we can place in the apartment.”

Shep threw up his hands. “What do you want from me, Fred?”

“I don’t like the fact that it’s Aaron Kline’s brother, but if we don’t arrest the guy who was there in her apartment the night she was kidnapped, we’ve got a lot of explaining to do. All the evidence supports him as being our number-one suspect. It’ll look like we’re trying to cover up for a police officer. It’ll ruin us.” Fred rounded Shep’s desk and looked at him head-on. “Looks to me like this Kline guy is hardly a man of character.”

“Neither is Sam Earle. Taylor Franks’ mother claims he was an abusive boyfriend, as you know.”

“Who wasn’t at her apartment that night.”

“I’m not finished with the evidence, Fred.”

“We’ll meet with Fiscall Sunday night to discuss the arrest warrant,” Fred said before he walked out.

Shep punched on the TV in the corner of the squad room. The news was coming on, and, no surprise, the Franks case led the headlines. Kline’s picture was the first thing up. The press already nailed him. No mention of Sammy Earle.

But things were complicated. And getting more so by the minute. Nothing was as it seemed. He just hoped nobody got in his way.

Saturday was spent lazily. When Mick awoke, Aaron told him he’d already been out taking pictures of his house for documentation, and had begun to file a police report, though he’d need Mick to talk to the officer later. Said he’d locked the door but otherwise left everything as it was.

Aaron had made Mick phone their parents, who were worried beyond belief and wanted to fly in from Kansas City where they lived. Mick assured them everything was going to be fine, not to worry.

Mick and Aaron spent the afternoon watching a golf tournament on TV, eating pretzels, acting as if there wasn’t an investigation looming over Mick’s head. Mick flipped through Aaron’s album of pictures and articles of his favorite baseball player, Tug McGraw.

Aaron received a call that the police had a search warrant for Mick’s house. From the living room, Mick could hear Aaron explaining what had happened at Mick’s house the night before. Mick cringed. It made him look even more guilty. Except Crawford knew. Mick had to rely on that. He figured he’d better not spill the beans that Crawford had been there, since he seemed to be one of very few allies at the moment.

Mick had to admit, it had been a good call that Aaron had filed the report. It helped prove he wasn’t covering up something, which was the last thing Mick needed.

Saturday evening Aaron began reminiscing about their days fishing at a family friend’s pond. For once, the first time since Thursday morning, Mick forgot about his troubles, because memories of those days were enough to sweep everything else away. He found himself laughing with his brother, something he hadn’t done in quite a while. Enjoying his company. Forgetting about Jenny.

Mick went to bed early for lack of anything else to do, but did not slept well. His dreams ranged from thoughts of what might have happened to Taylor to a jail cell he could spend the rest of his life in.

He knew if Taylor turned up dead, his life was going to be a miserable journey of proving his innocence, which would be nearly impossible considering the evidence against him—almost all circumstantial, except for the fact that he was in her apartment and was seen leaving in the morning. Other than that, nobody, including himself, knew what had happened in those wee hours of the morning.

Though fragments of the conversation he had with Taylor were being drawn out of his mind, they made little sense to him, other than confirming that he had been with her that night, and they had talked.

Along with the images of the night came a feeling of deep guilt in the morning. The lifestyle he’d chosen had ended up causing him great grief and possibly contributing to the disappearance of a woman. If he hadn’t been drunk, maybe he could’ve stopped what happened.

Early Sunday morning, Mick rolled out of bed and out of his subconscious nightmare. The house was quiet, and he hoped some coffee was going. In the kitchen, he was glad to see the pot was full, with a mug sitting beside it, along with cream and sugar. To top off his superiority, Aaron was always the organized one. Mick poured himself a cup and, while stirring in cream and sugar, looked around to see if there were any signs that Aaron was awake.

Mick spotted him out the back window, standing on the new deck he’d built over the summer, sipping coffee and observing the sunrise. The deck was fabulous. Large and spacious, decorated with plenty of deck accessories, including a large patio set with six chairs and an umbrella. A humongous grill sat near the edge, looking like it could hold eight steaks easy.

Mick smiled. Aaron always was the suburban man. When not cooking out with fellow officers, he’d throw a neighborhood party “just to get to know people.” Aaron had always enjoyed people his whole life, and they enjoyed him. Mick, on the other hand, seemed to need the help of alcohol to be around others.

He went to the window and studied his brother. Deep inside, he knew Aaron mourned for their relationship. As children, they couldn’t be separated. But somehow Mick had lost his way. Aaron had been involved in the church and with youth groups. Mick had become a football star and decided that’s what he wanted to matter most in his life. Now it hardly meant a thing, and Aaron still had his faith.

Aaron nursed his coffee, with a hand stuck casually in his pocket. Mick wished he knew that kind of peace, the kind that seemed to come so easily for Aaron. Instead, inside he felt scrambled. Everything was upside down. His life was on a downward spiral over which he had little control.

Aaron turned suddenly, apparently aware he was being watched, and waved at Mick.

Mick stepped outside onto the deck. The morning was warm, a slight breeze tickling the treetops. Two large oaks stretched toward the sky, creating the perfect amount of shade for the backyard. Mick noticed that Aaron was probably the only person on earth who could grow such lush grass in the shade.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Aaron asked.

“Okay. You’re up early.”

“I’ve been praying, asking God to help us.”

“Us? This isn’t about you,” Mick said.

“You’re my brother. It is about me.”

Mick shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I love those oaks.”

“I’m going to build a tree house in that one,” he said, pointing to the left, “someday.”

“Looks like that big oak was grown just for one.”

“Remember Luke’s tree house?”

“All I remember is that you guys would never let me up there.” Mick laughed.

Aaron laughed too. “That’s not true. You were finally inducted into it.”

“Yeah, after eating three worms.”

They chuckled and stood in silence for a little while. Then Aaron said, “You going to church with me this morning?”

Mick glanced at him, noticing he already had his slacks and dress shirt on. “Nah.”

“Come on,” Aaron urged.

“Wouldn’t it tarnish your image to have your murder-suspect brother there at church with you?”

“You’re not a murder suspect yet.”

“If I’m being watched by the police and media alike, wouldn’t it seem a little odd that the only time I show up for church is this Sunday?”

Aaron laughed. “You’re not the first person to show up at church under desperate circumstances.”

“I hardly think an hour in Sunday school is going to solve all my problems. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve already messed up, and it looks like I’m going to pay for it too.”

“Mick, in all of your troubles, don’t you want God on your side?”

“I don’t think God wants me on His side. I’m not exactly an asset.”

“He forgives. He wants to help you.”

Mick couldn’t think of much to say, so he sipped his coffee and watched the sun move up in the sky.

“Let’s go,” Aaron said, patting him on the back. “We have free donuts.”

Mick smiled but shook his head. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Mick fidgeted through most of the service. For one, he could smell Jenny’s perfume on the other side of Aaron. He’d loved the perfume when they dated. Thankfully, Jenny had been kind enough to meet them at church instead of riding with them, which would’ve been torture. Mick figured they were just trying to get him used to the idea of their being engaged. But he was thankful they didn’t hold hands or do anything that made them look like a couple. Mick respected that about Aaron. He wasn’t trying to throw it in his face.

The pastor preached on forgiveness, but Mick hardly paid attention. His heart told him to listen to the words, but the subject wasn’t what he wanted to hear. It was too painful to think about. Though he wasn’t in a constant shouting match with Aaron, he certainly wasn’t feeling the urge to bond with him like they had before. And bonding with him meant bonding with Jenny . . . his soon-to-be sister-in-law. It all seemed so surreal.

Besides that, Aaron had never asked for his forgiveness and in fact had really never admitted to doing anything wrong. Maybe he hadn’t technically done anything wrong, but he’d certainly been responsible for breaking the bonds.

Not that their bonds had been that strong before. In their late teens and early adult years, Aaron had always disapproved of Mick’s lifestyle, continually harping on him to clean up his act. Mick had rebelled, tired of hearing it from his parents too. Everyone thought he was going down a destructive path. In reality, he’d just wanted some fun.

But admittedly, fun was hard to find in the midst of guilt, and he always felt guilty. Something gnawed at him, and he was never able to resolve in himself a freedom to do as he pleased.

Even when he had a companion, emptiness followed him home every night.

After the service, Aaron discussed going out to eat. “Jenny and I love that Mexican grill down the street. Does that sound good? I’m buying.”

Mick glanced at Jenny, whose bright, expectant face suggested that was the best idea in the universe. “Um . . . no thanks. You two go on. You can ride with Jenny, and I’ll drive your truck back to your house. I was going to stop by and check on my house anyway.”

“You’re going to stay with me tonight, right? I think it’s a good idea.”

“Sure,” Mick lied. He had no intention of staying there another night. Where he might stay he didn’t know, but he didn’t want Aaron controlling his life. “I’ll touch base with you later.”

Aaron looked apprehensive and was about to say something else, when Jenny smiled at Mick and said, “Mick needs some time, right, Mick?”

Mick nodded, avoiding her eyes. Instead, he caught the eyes of some churchgoers stealing glances at him. He tried to look casual . . . nonthreatening . . . like a non-kidnapper. He looked at Aaron. “I can use your truck?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” Mick walked through the crowded foyer and out the front doors of the church, bypassing the line that formed to shake the pastor’s hand. But as he made his way down the steps, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Mick?”

He turned to see the pastor’s gleeful face looking eagerly at him. “Yes?”

“I’ve been Aaron’s pastor for several years now. He called me a couple of days ago to tell me what happened, and I’ve been praying ever since.”

Mick didn’t know what to say.

“I’m glad you’re here today. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The pastor held out his hand, and Mick instinctively shook it. “Thank you,” was all Mick could manage, and then he took off down the steps.

He drove around for twenty minutes just to unwind and picked up two Big Macs before heading to his house. It was going to take half the day to clean up the mess there, so he needed some energy.

As he turned into his driveway, finishing off the last of his second Big Mac, his heart sank. A mob of reporters stood on his front lawn, and they’d already spotted the truck. Mick groaned, hopping out of Aaron’s vehicle and holding out a hand while they rushed toward him. It brought him back to his football days. Except they tackled him with words.

“Are you innocent?”

“What do you have to say?”

“How well did you know Taylor Franks?”

The questions screamed past him, and Mick felt dizzy as the reporters pushed their microphones in his face.

“No comment,” he mumbled, making his way around them, trying to avoid the cameras that were shoved in his face. He wanted to turn around and clobber all of them, but he knew how that would play out on the ten-o’clock news.

He finally made it to the porch. As quickly as he could, he unlocked the door and slipped inside, turning to close it and locking the dead bolt. He rested his head against the door, out of breath and trying to come off the shock of it all. His life was not going to be even close to normal any time soon. He squeezed his eyes shut, keeping the emotions at bay.

With a deep breath, listening carefully, Mick could not hear the racket of the reporters any longer. He dared not peek out the window for fear of his picture being taken. He was glad the blinds were pulled. He always left them open and figured Aaron had closed them.

Mick turned, irritated at the mess he needed to clean up. But what he saw caused him to gasp.

The house was back to perfect order, as if not a single thing had ever been touched.