Gone (17 page)

“Hello, Mr. Burby,” Clare said.

He nodded.

A tree, a short distance from their vehicles, cast a shadow across a patch of the driveway. Clare wanted out of the sun and moved to stand in the shade.

Parker remained by his truck. He removed a worn and stained cap and held it with both hands. His hair was cropped low and his scalp showed through the fine hairs.

“You were asking my wife about Beth and Dean,” Parker said. “There’s something Patty doesn’t know about and I don’t want her to. She’d worry herself sick.”

Clare went to him. “What is it, Mr. Burby?”

Parker lowered his gaze to the cap. He passed it between his thick fingers, turning the cap around and around. “When Beth pulled away from her, Patty took it real hard. I don’t have any use for Dean Ryder, but there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my wife, so I drove over to Dean and Beth’s, hoping I could get him to ease up on our women’s friendship.

“I got to the house, knocked on the door but nobody came to answer it. I was going to go back home and try again another time when I heard a scream. I threw my weight against the door, but it wasn’t locked and it fell open. I ran inside. From the hallway I could see straight into the kitchen. Beth was laying on the floor. Dean stood over her. I yelled something—hey, I think it was—and they both froze and turned to look at me.”

Parker’s features tensed. “Beth said she slipped and fell. That Dean was helping her to her feet. Didn’t look that way to me. I said so. I told Beth to come on home and stay with me and Patty. I can tell you I was hoping Dean would make a move to stop me from taking her.” Parker’s grip on the cap tightened.

“But Beth said I got it wrong. There was nothing wrong. She got mad and told me to get out.” Parker raised his gaze from the cap and gave Clare a level look. “All the while Beth and me were talking, Dean just stood there. He didn’t say one word. I didn’t want to leave her there, but she wouldn’t come with me. She wouldn’t go.” Parker exhaled a deep breath. “Beth is out of Farley and away from Dean, so none of that matters now, I s’pose. But I thought you should know. Dean’s got the whole town believing he’s something he’s not. You’re stirring things up again about Beth leaving him. He won’t take kindly to that.”

Chapter Ten
 

Clare stood and watched Parker Burby back his truck down the driveway. Gravel crunched under the big tires and dust formed a cloud that hung in the still air.

His account of the scene he’d walked in on between Beth and Ryder had left Clare cold and shaken.

Parker Burby hadn’t actually witnessed Ryder harm Beth, but there was no doubt in Clare’s mind that Parker believed that’s what had happened seconds before he’d entered the house.

Clare wanted to find Dean Ryder and cut off a body part for his mistreatment of her sister.

At six o’clock, when Ryder pulled into his driveway, she pulled in behind him.

Clare met him by the driver’s side door as he stepped out. His eyes narrowed.

“ ‘Golden Boy,’ that’s how I heard you described in town,” Clare said without preamble. Her rage hadn’t cooled in the hours since Parker Burby’s visit. “Wonder what Farley’s residents, your co-workers, and the brass in the Columbia PD would say if they knew the golden boy war hero is really a coward who beat his wife.”

Goading him, she took the steps that would bring them toe-to-toe. Her hand was inside her purse, clutching the gun she kept there, and her purse was leveled at his chest. Their gazes locked and held. Clare’s eyes widened and her breathing quickened in anticipation.
Go for it
, she thought.

Ryder’s face reddened. A vein pulsed at his temple. But he made no move against her.

“You’re right not to take me on, Dean,” Clare said in a lethal whisper. “I’m not Beth.”

Ryder gritted his teeth. “Get out of here.”

“Beth didn’t leave town with the trucker. I’ve been in touch with that man and Beth didn’t leave with him. She is not with him. You wouldn’t know where she is, would you, Dean?”

“Go to hell.”

“What time did you get home that evening?”

“You hard of hearing?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to answer my question? Is there a reason you don’t want me to know what time you got home on that day?”

“This how you feds treat fellow cops? This what you learned at the Bureau?”

Clare watched him without blinking. “You have something to hide, Dean?”

Ryder crossed his arms. “I got home at six p.m.”

“When did you last see Beth?”

“The morning she left. She went to work. I went to work. When I got back home at the end of the day, she’d cleared out.”

“How did you know she was gone? She leave a note?”

“No note. Her closet was empty. Her suitcase was gone.” Ryder’s tone grew soft and mocking. “Even the FBI should be able to connect those dots.”

Clare ignored the insult. “If she didn’t leave a note, how did you conclude that she left with Hoag?”

“I didn’t until I heard talk of it around town.”

“Beth didn’t take her car?”

Ryder’s glance flicked away from Clare and in the direction of the green sedan. “My car. And you can see for yourself she didn’t since it’s parked in my driveway.”

“How did the car get back here?”

“Beth left it.”

“Doesn’t look that way. No one in town saw Beth after she drove away from Connie’s Inn that afternoon. None of your neighbors saw her. It appears that she never came home that day to return the car, yet here it is. She didn’t meet her ride out of town. You know something about that, Dean?”

“You’re finished here. I’m done talking to you.”

Clare eyed Ryder. “I’m nowhere near finished. I will find my sister. Count on it.”

A siren wailed briefly as a patrol car parked at the curb in front of the Ryder house. Clare looked away from Ryder. A man wearing a sheriff’s star on the left breast pocket of his uniform shirt emerged from the car. He had a trim, swimmer’s build and his features were hard as granite as he made his way up the driveway.

“Got a call from one of the neighbors about a disturbance.” His gaze settled on Clare. “I’m Sheriff Ozzie Petty. Everything all right here, Dean?”

The question was directed at Ryder, but the sheriff’s hard expression remained aimed at her, Clare realized.

Ryder cut a glance to the sheriff. “It’s fine, Oz. She was just leaving.”

“I’ve been asking Dean what he knows about his wife’s whereabouts.” Clare observed Ryder again. “His wife, who allegedly left Farley one week ago, but who I’ve been unable to locate since. Beth is my sister, and I’m—”

“I know all about you, Agent Marshall.” Petty reached up and pushed his uniform cap back a bit off his brow. He sighed. “You’ve caused quite a stir around these parts in the three days you’ve been in town.”

Clare turned to Petty. “Is that so?”

“I’m afraid that it is. Let’s just you and me get in our vehicles now and move on.” Sheriff Petty nodded slowly. “You and I can have a cup of coffee in my office. Though, we might want to make that ice coffee. The heat hasn’t let up at all today and looks like the night isn’t going to get any cooler.” The sheriff smiled, wrinkling the skin around his mouth and eyes.

Clare’s anger spiked. “Don’t patronize me. And don’t stretch my patience with the good ol’ boy shit you have going on with Dean Ryder.”

Sheriff Petty’s lips pressed together briefly. “Now, hold on a minute here—”

Clare turned to Ryder once again. She did not have cause to arrest him and nothing would be gained if she pressed the matter now with no more than supposition.

“We’ll talk again,” she said.

It galled Clare to have to say those words. Worse, it took all of her self-control to turn and walk away from him.

She returned to her car. Some of Ryder’s neighbors had gathered on their front lawns. Heads turned as Clare drove by. She ignored them. It was time she took a close look at Ryder.

Jake’s SUV wasn’t in the lot of the Bureau office when Clare pulled in fifteen minutes later. She felt relief and a quick release of tension that had knotted her stomach at the prospect of encountering him. They hadn’t spoken since their argument at the bar yesterday. They’d driven back to Farley in a stony silence. The passage of another day had not reduced her hurt at Jake’s assessment of their past relationship. She’d given him all she had, and he’d summed it up to “great sex.”
If only
. . . a breath trembled out of her.

She brought the car to a stop, killed the ignition, but remained inside, needing some time to shake off the memory of her encounter yesterday with Jake and bring herself back to the moment. She had a job to do. She needed to get to it.

She made her way through the double glass doors of the small building. The doors opened into a small reception area. An air conditioner kicked on. She was wearing an above-the-knee skirt and cold air blew across her bare legs from a nearby vent.

A young man with a wave of blonde hair that fell across his brow sat behind a desk. He glanced up at her entrance.

“Hello, may I help you?” he asked.

Clare took her ID out of the purse dangling from her shoulder and held it up for him to see.

“Agent Marshall, hello,” the young man said. “Jake told me you might come in to the office. I’m Jonathan, the administrative assistant. Jake’s not in just now but he said you can use his office. I’ll show you where it is.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Jonathan backed a wheelchair out from behind the desk and Clare followed him down a hall.

They passed several rooms before Jonathan stopped outside one of them. The office door was open.

“This is Jake’s office,” Jonathan said. “I can brew a pot of coffee if you like, or something cold?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”