Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (15 page)

With Justin’s words, every one of Megan’s aches and pains draped over her like a giant net. She searched her purse for her pain pills. Staring at the cautions on the label, she dropped the vial into her purse and found the ibuprofen instead. Falling into a dead sleep would be welcome, but wasn’t going to solve any of her problems. She fumbled with the cap, and Justin appeared at her side.

“Let me,” he said. He took the small bottle from her hands and wrestled with the childproof top. “How many?”

“One.”

Justin popped out a tablet and set it in her unbandaged hand. “I’ll get you some water.”

He grabbed a tumbler from the table and disappeared into the bathroom. Should she trust him? Her nerves jangled.

All the vibes from Justin said he cared about Rose and Sam as much as she did. And always had. No matter how badly she’d tormented him when they were kids, he’d never retaliated. She got that scary feeling she got when she used to swing over the lake. She’d never liked the sensation of falling, but if you didn’t let go of the rope, you’d swing back and crash into the tree.

Time to let go.

Justin returned with a glass of water. Megan swallowed the pill and gathered her courage. “The guy who grabbed me said he’d hurt Rose and Sam. I didn’t get a good look at him, so it seemed safer to pretend I didn’t remember.”

“God, Megan, what happened?” Justin rested his hands on her shoulders. Concern filled his eyes.

Tempting as it was to bury herself in his strength, she pulled away and sat in one of the chairs. Justin sat on the bed, facing her, forearms on his thighs, hands between his legs. “Tell me, Megan.”

She trailed her fingers through her hair. “I was ticked off that you were right about me being light-headed, but I was shaky, so I lay down on the bench. I thought I heard a deer, so I sat up—too fast, I guess, because things were swimming. And then someone grabbed me.”

Justin’s fists clenched, but otherwise he didn’t move. “Go on.”

“He had one hand over my mouth and nose, and he grabbed me with his other one. I tried to get away, but he was too strong.” She chewed on her lip. “And, like you said, I wasn’t adjusted to the altitude. I remember being dizzy. I didn’t want to pass out, so I stopped struggling and started thinking.”

“Smart move.”

“Yeah, except what I was thinking was mostly what he might do to me, which didn’t help.”

“Have you told the cops?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to take a chance at first. And everything got so crazy after the murder and the break in, there wasn’t the time or opportunity.”

“How did you get away?”

“He was dragging me into the woods. I was cooperating, and he loosened his grip.” Her memory sharpened. “I finally calmed down enough to think. I stomped on his foot and kicked him in the knee as hard as I could. And then I ran like hell.”

“He didn’t follow you?”

“I guess I slowed him down. And I know that area. Remember that big rock grouping off the trail? The one by the oak tree? My favorite hiding place?” Her face flamed as she remembered teasing Justin about not being able to fit through one of the narrow passages.

“I remember,” he said quietly.

“I got there and hid. Fear must counteract altitude, because I think I broke my best track record. And if you don’t know exactly where to get off the path, it’s hard to find.”

“I remember that too.”

“Oh, God, Justin. We were so mean to you, weren’t we? Playing hide and seek when we all knew every nook and cranny in the neighborhood, and thinking it was so cool that you couldn’t find us.”

“Hey, I’m not eight anymore. I’m over it.”

Was he? There was bitterness in his voice, hurt in his eyes.

“No wonder you never wanted to play with us,” she whispered.

“I said I’m over it. What’s important is trying to figure out what happened to you. And why. Would you recognize the guy if you saw him?”

She thought for a minute. “I don’t think so. I got a general impression of his size. Bigger than me, but nothing unusually tall or fat or skinny. I remember cigarette smoke on his breath, in his clothes.”

“You’re doing great, Megan. What did he say to you?”

She brought the memory forward, out of the mental cave she’d buried it in. A tremor rippled through her, and she shivered. Justin took her hand.

“He told me not to tell,” she said. “His threats sounded so—anyway, I believed him when he said he’d know if I talked to anyone.”

“Megan, you have to trust us.”

“Us?”

“Me. The cops.”

She knew he was right, but the fear wouldn’t go away. She closed her eyes, as if she could pretend it wasn’t real. “He said he’d kill me,” she whispered. “But not until he killed everyone I loved.”

Justin’s grip tightened. His eyes popped open wide. “Why?”

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying to figure that out? If I knew, I’d have told someone. But everything was so jumbled, and then the break-in, and Rose and Sam—”

“I know. I understand. Concentrate. What else did he say?”

“I told you. I was scared. I could barely breathe, let alone think. I was trying to get away. Nothing made sense.” She wrested free of Justin’s grasp and stood.

“Megan, relax.” Gently, he gathered her to him. “Slow down. Sit. Take a breath. Clear your mind. Think. What else did he say?”

She sank beside him on the bed. “Mostly he was yelling. I know I was. That’s when he smacked me, told me to shut up. She tried to filter the memories, picking out the relevant ones. “Meal ticket. He called me a meal ticket.”

Justin was silent. His fingers dug into her arm.

“What?” she asked, tugging her arm away. She twisted to face him. “Do you know what he meant?”

He released her, then got up and paced the room. “Let me think.”

She watched him for a moment. Images and memories swirled, coming into crisp focus. She gasped. “Oh my God. It’s all connected, isn’t it?”

“What do you know about my grandparents’ past? Their family?”

“Not much. They were always exactly like they were downstairs. ‘The past is the past.’ They never talked about it.”

His phone rang. From the frown when he checked the display, Megan figured it wasn’t someone he was happy to hear from. Instead of answering, however, he stuck the phone on his belt.

“Call room service,” he said. “This might take awhile.”

Gordon plowed his fingers through his hair. “You’re the guy with the resources,” he said to Colfax. “What do
you
think? You think whoever killed Franklin and staged the accident killed Betty Bedford and ransacked the Kretzers’ place.”

“Don’t forget the Wyatt mugging.”

“Crap. We’re going to need a lot more white boards.”

“But on the bright side, if they’re all connected, we’re looking for one guy. Maybe he has a partner, but we figure this out, we’ve solved them all. That’s gotta be better than trying to solve five unrelated crimes.”

“Why don’t I feel better?”

Colfax laughed. “Maybe food will help. There’s not a hell of a lot we can do other than speculate until we get the forensics reports. Any dinner recommendations? I’d like to grab a bite before I hit the road.”

Gordon checked his watch. “Daily Bread’s the best option. Otherwise, it’s bar food at Finnegan’s.”

“Daily Bread it is.”

After checking that everything was under control, the two men strolled toward the diner.

“Not a lot going on,” Colfax said. “Sidewalks roll up at sundown?”

Gordon glanced around the square. A lone man picked up the litter from the press conference. Not the usual complement of joggers, or moms with strollers. No dog-walkers or kids playing catch. Empty sidewalks, a few parked cars. “There’s usually more action. My guess is everyone’s home behind locked doors.”

“Probably wise.”

Gordon pushed open the door to Daily Bread. Aside from the lingering jangle of the door chimes, the place was silent. And empty. He checked his watch. Not quite seven. “Hello?” he called.

Ozzie’s face materialized from behind the counter. He set a newspaper aside. “Evenin’, Chief. Detective. What can I get you? Got some good ‘que.”

“Where is everyone?” Gordon asked. If Mapleton had a gossip central, this was it. He understood the vacant streets, but hadn’t expected an empty diner.

“Doin’ takeout, mostly,” Ozzie said. “Can’t blame them, not with a killer on the loose. Figured I could handle things myself for one night. Talked Angie into going home early.”

“Bet that took some doing,” Gordon said.

“Oh, she’ll be down here, before dawn cracks, to do the baking,” Ozzie said. “But she worked late last night and had a long day today. I think she was too tired to fight.”

Angie lived in a small apartment above the diner. Gordon wondered if she considered that short distance too far removed from Daily Bread, her dream. His gaze rose to the ceiling, as if he could see upstairs and check on her.

“She going to bake those cinnamon buns?” Colfax asked. “I’ll definitely be here for breakfast. But for now, can I get a sandwich to go? You mentioned barbeque.”

“Pulled pork,” Ozzie said. “Want some slaw? Pickle? I could cook up a batch of fries if you’d like.”

“Don’t go to the trouble. Just the sandwich.”

“Chief?” Ozzie said.

“Same, but I’ll take the pickle.”

“Have a seat,” Ozzie said. “Be with you in a minute.”

Ozzie disappeared into the kitchen, and Gordon pulled out a chair and sat at a central table. Colfax joined him.

“So,” Colfax said. “This Angie. She the cute blonde I saw in here earlier?”

Gordon nodded, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“She attached?”

Gordon’s immediate visceral reaction surprised him. Good Lord, he was responding like a territorial dog. Why? He’d never taken any action with Angie. Or anyone else, really, not since Cynthia left him. So why were his hackles up? Colfax seemed like a nice enough guy. True, he seemed a bit old for Angie, but that was her call, not his.

The door chimed, interrupting his thoughts. He twisted toward the door. Three men, dressed in cargo pants and multi-pocketed vests, cameras slung around their necks, entered. They took in their surroundings, hesitating when they saw Gordon and Colfax. Two fell back half a step. The third, apparently the leader, pulled off his ball cap, revealing a receding hairline, his remaining hair in a short buzz cut.

“Is there a problem?” the man asked, surveying the empty room.

It dawned on Gordon that he was in uniform, and Colfax had his badge around his neck. “No, we’re waiting on dinner.” He approached the group. “Your first time in Mapleton?”

The leader nodded. “We came up from the Springs. We’ve been out shooting wildlife since sunrise.” Apparently realizing his words might be misinterpreted by his audience, he touched the Nikon around his neck. He pulled a business card from one of the pockets on his vest and handed it to Gordon. “Taking pictures. I teach photography.” He glanced at the counter. “Are they still serving? Could use some food.”

Gordon pocketed the card. “You came to the right place. You staying long?”

“No, we’re heading out after dinner.”

“Come again,” Gordon said. “We’ve got some nice little B&B’s so you wouldn’t have to drive so far.” He put on his best public relations smile and returned to his seat.

“My take is they’re what they say,” he said to Colfax.

“Who’d he say he was?”

“J. P. Pauley.” Gordon handed him the photographer’s card. Colfax pulled out his cell phone, punched some buttons and stared at the screen.

“You calling him?” Gordon asked. “He’s here.”

“Nope. Google is my friend.”

Gordon wondered if the town council would approve smart phones for the department. Probably not, given that until recently they’d had pagers. He could hear the mayor saying something about how the officers would use them for playing games.

“Yep. Guy’s website matches the card, and he runs photography field trips, like he says.” Colfax passed the phone across the table.

Gordon took a quick peek at the screen. “Shame we can never take people at face value.”

“There are two kinds of people in the world,” Colfax said. “Cops and everyone else. Comes with the territory.”

Ozzie appeared with a plastic bag and a plate of food. He smiled at the newcomers. “Be right with you.” He set the plate in front of Gordon and handed the bag to Colfax. “Careful. Coffee’s in there too.”

Colfax rose and reached for his wallet. “On me,” he said to Gordon. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll be back by eight tomorrow morning.”

Ozzie waved his hand. “No, no. On the house.”

“Can’t do that,” Gordon said. “You know the rules.”

“I insist,” Ozzie said. “My contribution to the next police fundraiser, if you’re going to be pigheaded.”

Colfax crossed to the register and slipped a bill on the counter. He picked up the bag. “Thanks for dinner, then. Consider this your tip.”

Ozzie frowned, but opened the register and put the bill inside. “Thank you. And in case nobody’s spread the word, you tell your people that there’s coffee out back all night.”

“I know they’ll appreciate it.” Colfax nodded to Gordon and strode out of the diner, already opening the bag and sniffing the contents. Gordon felt a twinge of relief. Apparently Ozzie’s pulled pork trumped Angie.

Ozzie disappeared to take care of the photographers. They sat at the counter, and Gordon moved to a rear booth with a cup of coffee. He motioned Ozzie over.

“Tell me, Ozzie. You been in here all day?”

“Yes. Since six this morning.” With a quick glance at his other customers, he took a seat across from Gordon. “One busy day, I’ll tell you, until your big television show. I was thinking I should have a big screen on the wall, like Mick Finnegan. Folks high-tailed it his way if they weren’t at the square.” He winked. “Angie said you were
cool
.”

Gordon let the comment slide. “So, what can you tell me?”

“You mean, like suspicious strangers? Hiding behind newspapers? Passing off secret messages?”

“The good ones are smart enough not to look suspicious. But I don’t think we’re dealing with a Mapleton resident.”

“Well now.” Ozzie scratched his chin. “Early mornings, most of the crowd is local. The tourists stay at the Bed and Breakfasts, and the motel chains serve breakfast nowadays. But we get some business from folks on their way someplace else.” He tilted his head toward the men at the counter.

“I don’t think our guy had a kid with him. One male, probably late forties or older. Maybe two. Possibly a smoker. My guess is that it’s someone new.” He thought about the timeline. The guy could have stopped here before he killed Franklin, or after. Or both. Or before killing Betty Bedford, or breaking into the Kretzers’. Or not at all. “Could have been anytime from yesterday morning on.”

Ozzie did another chin scratch. “Yesterday morning, I was out front awhile.” He closed his eyes for a minute. “Two eggs, over easy, no bacon or sausage. Hash browns, whole wheat toast with honey. That might be your man. Smelled like cigarettes. Seemed anxious. Saw him head to the restrooms.”

The three photographers swiveled and mimed writing a check. Ozzie left to handle their bill.

“What about them?” Gordon asked when Ozzie returned. “They been here before?”

Ozzie shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve seen them.” He waited for the men to leave, then flipped the switch to turn off the lighted “Open” sign in the window and ambled to the table. “Then again, it could have been the corned beef sandwich, extra mustard, pickle, slaw, and potato salad instead of chips. Another smoker. He hung around. Like he was killing time. Didn’t look like a fisherman or a photographer.”

“Thanks. That might help. Anyone else? Any unusual behavior?”

Ozzie’s brow furrowed. “Think that’s it. Everyone else was the usual crowd. Yolanda from the salon, she was trying to get Buzz to do an interview. Ask me, she’s too cheap to pay for an ad. And a couple of the morning power-walking group, figuring they’d walked off one of Angie’s cinnamon buns.” He shook his head. “Nope. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You have credit card receipts?” Gordon asked. A long shot, but they caught most crooks because they were stupid. “Everything for the last three days.”

“No problem, Chief. You want ‘em now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

While Ozzie collected the paperwork, Gordon ran through the possibilities. Someone had killed Franklin. It seemed logical to assume there was a prearranged meet.

Megan had driven by shortly before that happened. Maybe she’d remember another car on the road. He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and started making notes. Angie might remember the customers. She interacted with them more than Ozzie did.

He cast his glance to the ceiling again. Was she asleep? Should he disturb her? She was normally at work before five a.m., and he doubted she’d taken her normal mid-day break given all that was going on.

As if in answer, a door slammed above, followed by a quiet thudding of footfalls. Angie appeared from the restroom alcove, breathless, barefoot, and clad in a plaid flannel robe. “Gordon. I heard you talking. I think someone’s been in my apartment.”