Dead Man Falls (36 page)

"With Sharon missing, we aren’t going to get any quick answers there," Jerry said. "Rick was supposed to be checking out Nadine Irwin. Maybe we have something on her now." He grabbed his cell phone and auto-dialed. After a few seconds, he clicked off and pushed another button. "This is Sheriff Parker of Bowman County. I can’t raise Detective Rankin on his cell." A few more pauses and restarts. "I’ll head that way. If you get him, tell him I’ve got Pollock...Yes, he’ll know...Under ten minutes."

"What’s going on?"

"Rick’s already over interviewing Nadine Irwin. Apparently he came up with something, but no one knew exactly what. We’re going to join him."

"Nadine?" Pollock squeaked. "We’re going to talk to
he
r? I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet."

"Don’t worry about it, Pollock. You’re not going in," Jerry said. Glancing at me, he added, "Neither are you. If it wasn't out the way, I'd drop you both off at the station. But it is, and I need to get there ASAP. Rick doesn’t know about Sharon Addleman or her daughter, or that Nadine might know about it."

"Nadine didn’t much care for Sharon." Pollock cleared his throat. "She thought I should have fired her over that, ah, incident."

Meaning the English class scandal. "You should have, but not only did you not want to, you couldn't. Did she blackmail you with exposing the affair?"

"Blackmail is such an ugly word, Jolene. And if I recall, you threatened to tell my wife if I didn’t keep my hands to myself. Much the same situation, only Sharon was actually fond of me."

"Which means what? That if you fired her she wouldn’t sleep with you anymore?"

"It was mentioned."

"Geez."

"She wouldn’t have told anybody though. I don’t think."

"Maybe she told Nadine," Jerry said.

Pollock's eyes widened then his brows wrinkled and he began to look a little sick. "What if she told Nadine about Rhonda, too?"

I just shook my head.

Jerry turned onto a street flanked by large brick walls with marble insets proclaiming the area to be the "Redwater Falls Country Club." The lots and houses in this part of town were much bigger--estate sized, in fact. Older stately houses, many of which I’d call mansions, stood back from the streets on tree-covered lots of about an acre.

I remembered the area from when I was a kid and my folks drove me around to see the lights at Christmas time. Many of these houses put on theatrical displays of lights, but one I remembered had a commercial-like set-up. Besides thousands of lights, they had mechanical and animated houses with a variety of holiday scenes, some moving carousels of animals and Disney characters, a huge robot blowing bubbles, elves working in the Santa’s shop, a life-size Cinderella with her pumpkin coach and much more. It was unbelievable and magical to my child’s eyes, and pretty darned impressive thinking about it even now. I couldn’t recall seeing a display of such magnitude anywhere else.

While I was busy indulging in nostalgia, Jerry had turned onto Mockingbird Lane and pulled over to the curb. "Should be that colonial two houses down on the right."

The unmarked detective’s car in the driveway was a good indicator as well.

The two-story pink brick with four white columns in front had two lines of precisely placed trees--big ancient trees--that gave the place a plantation home look. A thick row of shrubs along the side property lines added privacy.

Pollock let out an appreciative whistle. "Yep, that looks like Nadine. Always wanted a two-story with pillars." He slapped a hand onto the back of my seat and leaned himself forward. "She must have done all right for herself."

"This shouldn’t take long," Jerry said, driving toward the house. "Should give us some answers on a few things."

I jabbed my thumb toward the back seat. "What am I supposed to do with him while you’re gone?"

Jerry shrugged. "If he gets out of line, shoot him," Jerry said, pulling up into the circular drive. He stopped behind Rick’s car, which put my window directly in front of the double entry doors. He reached over and squeezed my hand. "Be right back."

Sheriff Parker hopped out of the car, marched up to the big double doors and rang the bell, and after a few seconds, one side opened. I caught a glimpse of an arm and a swirl of long print skirt, but couldn’t see the woman. Jerry stood there for a minute, presumably explaining who, what, and why, then stepped inside.

As the door closed behind him, a sick tremor settled in my stomach. I didn’t like it. Something didn't feel right, although I couldn’t pinpoint any specific reason why. I did know that it wasn’t because I was here alone with my personal nightmare. Pollock didn’t worry me even a little. He was getting very easy to ignore, and if he got free and loose with his fingers, I’d shoot them off. Literally. So that wasn’t the problem.

The longer I sat there, watching the front door and scanning the windows, the more fidgety I got. It didn’t help matters that it was hot and Jerry’s window was the only one rolled down. I unbuckled, leaned across and turned the key backward. I fiddled with the buttons and lowered mine a little to help draw a breeze through, then leaned my back against the door so I could keep an eye on Pollock.

"It’s only been about three minutes, Jolene," Pollock said. "If you don’t quit squirming around in the seat like that I’m going to get the wrong idea."

"Save the bullshit." I stared at the house some more. "Something’s wrong in there. I can feel it."

Pollock unhooked his seat belt and leaned forward between the front seats, his head bobbing just beside my shoulder. "I was getting the same feeling," he said seriously. He stared out the window for a few more seconds. "If they aren’t out in two minutes, I’m going to the door," he said, the cocky tone gone from his voice. "Call 9-1-1."

I snapped around to be sure we still had the same guy in the car, because darned if it didn’t sound like we had a real human being in that back seat instead of a dirty old man.

"I’m not a jerk all the time, Jolene," he said crisply. "I’m not stupid either." He ran his fingers across his upper lip, the twinkle in his eyes now replaced by an unwavering stare. "I haven’t seen or talked to Nadine in twenty-five years so I don’t know what she’s like now, but she could get pretty intense at times."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

He shook his head. "I don’t mean she got physical, although she did freak out a couple of times and throw things. More of just a way about her at times. I wrote it off as hormones and stress from all the pills and doctor visits. She wanted to have a baby more than anything and not being able to really messed her up. And, yeah, me doing what I was didn’t help."

I did not like where he was heading--or that I could read his mind about it. "Are you telling me you think she could be our killer?"

"I don’t know about that. All I know is that, like you, I have learned to trust my instincts, and mine are telling me to run like hell right now."

Yeah, ditto for me, although that wasn’t the action I’d be taking. "Well, right or wrong, I’m calling somebody to get over here." I scooted back around in my seat to get the cell phone. As I did, several things happened at once.

My door opened, leaving me nothing to lean against as I turned and I fell backward out the door. I grabbed at the seat for a handhold and tried to get my feet under me before my face hit the concrete. I saw an arm snake out only a second before I felt it around my waist. Someone had caught me, but I knew without looking that it wasn’t Jerry.

When I finally got myself untangled and vertical, the first thing I saw were arms. Big arms. With tattoos. The next was Harley Danvers’ grinning face.

"Oh, shit."

Pollock hopped out of the car and put on his cocky grin. "Hello, there. You a friend of Jolene’s?"

Friend wasn’t exactly the right word. "This is Harley," I said, trying to steady myself. "Rhonda Davenport’s son."

Pollock’s grin slipped a little and his eyes filled with questions.

"No, this one’s not your fault," I muttered. There was no need to elaborate on whose fault it was because, well, when you’re about to die, these little details become unimportant.

"Took me a while to track you down," Harley said. "Come on back to my truck. I want to get this over with."

I looked back over my shoulder and saw a monster truck--the real variety--a red short-bed Chevy with thirty-six-inch mud tires, chrome mags, and a mondo lift kit. An admirable death mobile. "Cool truck."

Harley nodded to Pollock. "Who’s the old guy?"

I searched my brain for a quick lie that might not send Harley into a murderous rage.

"Willard Pollock," the pervert admitted stupidly. "I knew your mother."

Harley’s ham hock hands curled up into fists. "How’d you know my mother?"

Pollock looked like he was about to confess, so I leaped in first. "He was a teacher where we went to school. He knew everybody."

Harley nodded. "She never talked much about school." He glanced at me. "Except about Jerry and you."

"I’d like to explain about that, Harley."

He shook his head and took a deep breath, which made his chest puff up like a gorilla’s on steroids. "Leroy already told me about you and my mom."

Oh, boy. "She hated my guts, Harley, but I’m not sure I deserved it. She wanted Jerry to be her boyfriend, but he liked me."

He shook his again. "No. That wasn’t really it."

My memories of the daily death threats said it was, but I saw no point in arguing about.

"I think she just wanted to be you."

My lower jaw fell down to my chest, but I could neither pull it back up nor speak. That couldn't be true. Couldn't.

He nodded to his truck. "Come over here. Won’t take but a minute."

From the size of Harley’s meaty hands, I figured he was being generous with his timing. I figure he could kill me in less than half that. How long does a neck breaking take anyway?

Being dazed or maybe just stupid are the only excuses I can think of for following Harley over to his big red truck. But, like a little lamb to slaughter, follow I did. Pollock pranced along at my heels.

Harley vaulted up on the chrome step, swung open the passenger side door, grabbed something and jumped back down. "I found these when I was going through Mom’s things."

When I saw what he held, my heart lodged in the center of my throat and just hung there, lumpy and hard. "She kept that?" I squeaked, thinking it would have been less painful if he'd broken my neck. "I remember," I said, reaching for the old tarnished necklace.

The chain held a half-heart pendant with a jagged edge on the inside. Rhonda had given me one just like it--the other half of the heart--for my tenth birthday. It said "Best Friends Forever." I turned the locket over and, sure enough, there was my name, scratched across the back in Rhonda’s fourth-grade script. I couldn’t speak. Not on a bet.

"I'd been meaning to drop it by your mom's house, but I was headed home and saw the sheriff's car," Harley said, "I figured I'd get it to you that way. Lost you a few streets back, but kept looking."

Oh, man, this was not what I’d been expecting. Nothing was what I’d expected. "Are you doing okay, Harley?"

"Yeah," Harley said, a little catch in his own throat. "Funeral’s day after tomorrow. Me and Harley Junior would like it if you’d come. Leroy’s helping me with the arrangements."

I nodded and somehow managed to mutter, "I’d be honored."

He gave me a nod and hurried around to the driver’s side of the truck.

As he climbed back in and drove away, I turned toward Pollock. "You know, I feel worse than pond scum."

"Don’t," Pollock said. "Rhonda had her own agenda. I saw you try to help her more than once, and then she’d turn around and stab you in the back by doing something stupid to Jerry. Screwed-up kid."

"I think she did okay with Harley."

He nodded. "Yeah, maybe so. Who sired him?"

"Leroy Harper."

"No shit?" Pollock said, a tinge of awe in his voice.

I stuck the necklace in my jeans pocket and headed back toward Jerry truck. "I’m going to call dispatch on Jerry’s radio then I’m going inside to check on them."

Pollock strutted along beside me. "I’d rather you let me go in alone."

"No way." I stopped by the open door of the Expedition and picked up the radio. Jerry had turned the thing off and I had more trouble than you’d think getting it back on. Static burst from the speaker so I cranked the volume down and pressed the flipper key on the side. "Doris? Are you there?" No, it wasn’t official police-speak, but at least I hadn’t said, "Break 1-9."

"Who is this?" said a very cranky female voice. "This is an official law enforcement band radio. Identify yourself."

"This is Jolene Jackson, Doris."

"Oh."

"I’m with Jerry."

"Well, I know that," Doris snapped. "Everybody in the county knows that. What I don’t know is why he isn’t calling me instead of you. I’ve been trying to raise him for the last ten minutes. Is something wrong?"

There were a lot of things wrong. But, we didn't have time to name them all. "Jerry’s inside with Detective Rankin talking to Nadine Irwin."

"Well, you get in there and get him out," Doris ordered. "Sharon Addleman just showed up at the hospital, banged up and out of her head, saying all kinds of crazy things. Leroy’s going over there now."

"Hey, Jolene," Leroy said, breaking in. "Tell Jerry I’ll be at the emergency room in maybe fifteen minutes. He can get there sooner if he hurries."

I glanced over my shoulder at Pollock, who only shrugged. Some help he was. I clicked the radio back on. "Leroy, I need you to swing by here first?"

"Leroy Harper," Doris said. "You get yourself to the hospital like you were told. Jolene doesn’t give the orders around here."

"Forget it," Pollock said. "They’ll argue about who’s doing what for ten minutes. Let’s go inside and find out what’s going on."

I didn’t mind agreeing with Pollock on this one. I tossed the radio down and slammed the car door. "Yes, let’s."

We were about halfway to the front door when a black Miata convertible pulled up in the drive to the left and stopped in front of a tall iron gate that fenced off the back of the house. As the gate slowly retracted, a dark-haired kid jumped out and ran toward us. "What’s going on here?"