Cold Case at Cobra Creek (11 page)

The big question was if she would be able to put herself back together again if she received bad news.

So far, she had held it together. Shown amazing strength and fortitude. But she also had held on to hope.

Damn. She was stubborn, beautiful and fragile and in need of something to turn the nightmare she’d been stuck in the past two years into a distant dream where her son emerged at the end, safe and back at home with her where he belonged.

Dugan walked her up to the door of the inn. “Sage, even if that whistle has Benji’s blood on it, it doesn’t mean that he’s dead.”

She winced, and he berated himself for being so blunt. But she had made him promise to be honest with her.

“I know. And I appreciate all you’re doing.” Her phone beeped that she had a text, and she pulled it from her purse.

“What is it?”

“I talked to that reporter, Ashlynn Fontaine. Not only is she running the story in the newspaper, but she said the story is airing on the news.”

Dugan gritted his teeth. The media could be a double-edged sword.

“You think I shouldn’t have contacted her?”

He hadn’t realized his expression was so transparent. “I didn’t say that.”

“But?”

Dugan squeezed her arm, aching to do more. To pull her in his arms and promise her he’d fix all her problems and make her happy again.

But the only way to do that was to bring her son home.

“The more exposure Benji’s story receives, the more chances are that someone might recognize him.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Dugan lowered his voice. “But be prepared, Sage. It also may bring false leads. And letting everyone know the case has been reopened could be dangerous.”

“Someone already shot at us,” Sage said. “And just because it’s dangerous doesn’t mean I’ll stop looking.” She gripped his hands. “Dugan, I will never give up, not as long as I know there’s a chance Benji’s out there.”

Dugan had heard of kidnapping cases and missing children that spanned decades. He honestly didn’t know how the parents survived. They had to live hollow shells of their lives, going through each day on empty hope, like a car running on gas fumes.

“Call me if you hear from your contacts,” Sage said. “I’m going inside now.”

Dugan nodded, his chest constricting. He hated to leave her alone. But he had work to do.

He needed to track down that woman named Janet or Janelle, Lewis’s alleged sister.

Perhaps Lewis had planned to make his fortune in Cobra Creek and then convince Sage to disappear with him. If so, he might have told a sibling about her.

And he might have asked her to watch Benji until he could clean up the mess and return for Sage.

It was a long shot, but Dugan couldn’t dismiss any theory at this point.

* * *

S
AGE WALKED THROUGH
the empty B and B,
hating the silence. The couple renting from her had gone home to be with their family for the holidays.

Just where they should be.

But the quiet only reminded her that she would spend another Christmas in this house by herself. When she first bought the place and renovated it, she’d imagined a constant barrage of people in and out, filling the rooms with laughter and chatter. She’d spend her days baking her specialty pastries and pies, with Benji helping her, stirring and measuring ingredients and licking icing from the bowl, his favorite part.

Ron must have picked up on that dream and played her. Although she’d wanted a houseful of people because she’d been without family for so long, he’d obviously thought she’d wanted the place to be a success so she could make money.

She glanced in the fridge and pulled out a platter of leftover turkey and made herself a sandwich. Although she had no appetite, she’d forced herself to eat at least one meal a day for the past two years, telling herself that she had to keep up her strength for when she brought her son home.

Would that ever happen?

She poured a glass of milk and took it and the sandwich to the table and turned on the TV to watch the news report.

An attractive blonde reporter, who identified herself as March Williams, introduced the story by showing a picture of Ron Lewis. She recapped the details of the accident two years ago.

“Police now know that Lewis was an alias, and that he was wanted on other charges across the state. They also know he was murdered and are searching for his killer.” She paused for dramatic effect. “But another important question remains—where is little Benji Freeport?” A photograph of Benji appeared, making Sage’s heart melt.

“Three-year-old Benji Freeport lived with his mother, Sage Freeport, who owns a bed and breakfast in Cobra Creek. The morning Lewis disappeared, he took Benji with him. Police have no leads at this time but are hopeful that Benji is safe and still alive. If you have any information regarding this case or the whereabouts of Benji Freeport, please call the tip line listed on the screen.”

Sage glanced at the Christmas tree and Benji’s present waiting for him. Each year she’d added another present. How big would the pile get before he came back to open them?

The treetop star lay in the box to the side, taunting her. She had opted not to hang the star, because that was Benji’s job.

Battling tears, she folded her hands, closed her eyes and said a prayer that someone would recognize Benji and call the police.

That this year he could hang the star for Christmas and they’d celebrate his homecoming together.

* * *

D
UGAN STOPPED AT
the diner and ordered the meat loaf special. He’d learned to cook on the open fire as a boy on the rez, but he’d never quite mastered the oven or grocery shopping.

Food was meant for sustenance, a necessity to give him the energy to tackle his job. Manning the ranch meant early mornings and manual labor, both of which he liked.It helped him pass the days and kept him busy enough not to think about being alone.

Not that being alone had ever bothered him before. But seeing Sage and the way she loved her son reminded him of the way his mother had loved him before she died.

And the way he’d felt when he was shuffled from foster home to foster home where no one really wanted him.

What had Lewis told Benji the day he abducted him? Where was he now?

He knew the questions Sage was asking herself, because they nagged at him.

Two old-timers loped in, grumbling about the weather and their crops. An elderly man and woman held hands as they slid into a booth.

Sheriff Gandt sat in a back booth, chowing down on a blood-red steak.

Donnell Earnest loped in, claimed a bar stool, removed his hat and ordered a beer.

Nadine, the waitress behind the counter, grinned at him. “Hey, Donnie, you all right?”

“Hell, no, that Indian guy was out asking questions about my business.”

Nadine glanced at Dugan over Donnell’s shoulder. “I heard he’s looking for Sage Freeport’s kid.”

“Yeah, and Ron Lewis’s killer. Son of a bitch deserved what he got.”

“I hear you there,” Nadine murmured.

Donnell rubbed a hand across his head. “Rankins called me, said Graystone was out there bothering him. That guy starts trying to pin Lewis’s murder on one of us, we gotta teach him a lesson.”

Dugan rolled his hands into fists to control his temper. The jerk was just venting. God knows, he’d heard worse.

Still, the names and prejudice stung.

The one woman he’d been involved with years ago had received the brunt of more than one attack on him by idiots and their prejudice. She’d broken it off, saying he wasn’t worth it.

His daddy had obviously felt the same way.

He’d decided that day that his land and work were all that mattered.

A cell phone rang from the back. Then the sheriff jumped up from his booth and lumbered toward the door. “I’ll be right there.”

Anger flared on Gandt’s face as he spotted Dugan. “What the hell were you doing out at the Rankins ranch?”

Dugan squared his shoulders. “I just asked him some questions.”

“That’s my job.” Sheriff Gandt poked Dugan in the belly. “Because of you nosing around, Wilbur Rankins just killed himself.”

“What?”

“He shot himself, you bastard.”

Dugan’s mind raced. “Wilbur Rankins was dying of cancer. Why would he kill himself?” To end his pain?

“His son said he was upset about that news broadcast about Ron Lewis swindling folks in Cobra Creek. Said his daddy was too humiliated to live with people knowing he’d been foolish enough to lose his land.”

Dugan silently cursed. The story hadn’t revealed any names, though. “You going out there now?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting the M.E.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Hell, no,” Gandt said. “You’ve done enough damage. You’re the last person Junior Rankins wants to see.”

Dugan held his tongue. But as Gandt strode from the diner, doubts set in. Had Rankins really killed himself?

Or had someone murdered him because he’d talked to Dugan? Because they thought Rankins knew more about Lewis’s death than he’d told them?

* * *

S
AGE CLEANED THE ROOM
the couple had stayed in, needing to expend some energy before she tried to sleep.

That bloody whistle kept taunting her.

She stripped the bed, dusted the furniture and scrubbed the bathroom, then put fresh linens on the bed and carried the dirty sheets downstairs to the laundry room. Benji’s room with the jungle theme and his stuffed animals and trains beckoned her. After she started the wash, she went back to his room and traced her finger lovingly over his bedding and the blanket he’d been so attached to.

She lay back on the bed and hugged it to her, then studied the ceiling where she’d glued stars that lit up in the dark. Benji had been fascinated with the night sky. She could still hear him singing,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
as he watched them glittering on his ceiling.

Did he dream about her, or did he have nightmares of that car crash? Had he felt safe with Ron or frightened?

A sob tore from her throat. Where was he, dammit?

She gave in to the tears for a few minutes, then cut herself off as she’d done the past two years.

She could not give up hope.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tucked the bear beneath Benji’s blanket, then whispered good-night. One day she would bring Benji back here and he’d know that she’d never forgotten him. That not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, wanted to see him, loved him.

She turned off the light and closed the door, then walked to her room and slipped on her pajamas, latching on to the hope that the news report would trigger someone’s memory, or a stranger would see Benji in a crowd or at school and call in.

Exhausted, she crawled into bed and turned off the lights. Dugan’s face flashed behind her eyes, the memory of his comforting voice soothing. Dugan was working the case.

If anyone could find her son, he could.

Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes, jarring her just as she was about to fall asleep. A noise sounded in the hall. Or was it downstairs?

She pushed the blanket away to go check, but suddenly the sound of someone breathing echoed in the room.

Fear seized her.

Someone was inside her bedroom.

She needed a weapon, but she didn’t have a gun. If she could reach her phone...

She moved her hand to try to grab it off the nightstand, but suddenly the figure pounced on top of her, and a cold hard hand clamped down over her mouth.

“Lewis is dead. If you don’t stop asking questions, you’ll be next.”

Chapter Eleven

A cold chill engulfed Sage.

“Did you do something to my son?” she whispered.

“Just let it go,” he hissed against her ear.

The fear that seized Sage turned to anger. She would never let it go.

Determined to see the man’s face, she shoved an elbow backward into his chest. He bellowed, slid his hands around her throat and squeezed her neck.

Sage tried to scream, but he pushed her face down into the pillow, crawled on top of her and jammed his knee into her back, using his weight to hold her down.

“I warned you.”

Sage struggled against him and clawed at the bedding, but he squeezed her neck so hard that he was cutting off the oxygen. She gasped and fought, but she couldn’t breathe, and the room spun into darkness.

* * *

D
UGAN PLUGGED ALL
the aliases Ron had used into the computer, then entered the name Janet to see if he could find a match.

The computer scrolled through all the names but didn’t locate anyone named Janet associated with any of the aliases. The name Janelle popped, though.

Janelle Dougasville lived in a small town outside Crystal City, one of the addresses listed for Mike Martin. Dugan checked records and discovered she had a rap sheet for petty crimes and was currently on parole for drug charges. He jotted down the address. He’d pay her a visit first thing in the morning.

If she’d been in contact with Lewis around the time he’d disappeared, she might have known his plans and the reason he’d taken Benji with him.

If he’d known he was in trouble, why take a child with him? A child that would slow him down and bring more heat down on him?

It didn’t make sense.

What if he’d left Benji with someone before the accident? Was it possible he’d dropped him off with an accomplice? Maybe with Janelle?

His phone buzzed, and he checked the number. Not one he recognized, but he pressed Answer. It might be a tip about Benji. “Dugan Graystone.”

“Mr. Graystone, this is D. J. Rankins.”

Dugan frowned. “D.J.?”

“Wilbur’s grandson. I saw you at the house before, when you came and talked to my dad.”

“Right. I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

A labored breath rattled over the line. “That’s why I’m calling. You came asking him about his land, and he was real upset. He and Daddy got in a big fight after you and that lady left.”

What was the boy trying to tell him? “What happened?”

“Daddy called Grandpa an old fool for falling for that Lewis man’s scheme, and Grandpa yelled at Daddy to get out, accused Daddy of waitin’ on Grandpa to kick the bucket so he could get his land. Then Daddy grabbed his rifle and stalked off.”