Gone (20 page)

“I’ve got a flashlight in my glove box,” he said. “I want to take a look around, make sure whoever sent you that note isn’t lurking somewhere.”

When he returned with the light, Clare fell into step beside him and they trudged over tall grass and weeds that covered the ground around the mine. He aimed the light at a stand of trees that would offer some shelter. The only occupant was an owl.

Jake lowered the flashlight and squinted in the distance. Train track that was still in use ran across this land. Freight trains passed through this one road in Farley on their way to their destinations. Beyond the track was forest. Too much land for them to cover on their own, and at night. By the time a search team could be assembled, whoever had sent the note would be long gone. If he hadn’t already slipped away.

“We’re done here,” Clare said.

Jake agreed.

“I’ll follow you to your place,” he said. “You left your front door open. We need to check the place out.”

He thought it unlikely that whoever had lured her out here would have gone to her place when his plan went south, and now lay in wait for her, but he wasn’t taking the chance.

To his surprise, Clare nodded her agreement. “I was planning on doing that. It will be faster if we both go in.”

Shortly, they reached Clare’s rented house. Falling back into the routine they’d established when they’d worked together, they searched the residence. Jake was relieved to find they were the only occupants.

He retrieved the note from the living room floor. “We’ll see if the lab techs can get anything from this to lead us to who sent it.” Plain white paper. Computer-generated text. He wasn’t holding out much hope. “We need to coordinate an investigation of Beth’s disappearance with Petty.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll schedule a meeting with him for tomorrow. I’ll let you know when.”

Clare nodded.

Jake lingered in her doorway, wanting to make a pitch that she come home with him, and stay with him and Sammie. Knowing she wouldn’t, he said instead, “Lock up after me.”

Jake left Clare then drove to Dean Ryder’s house. The house was dark. Both of Ryder’s vehicles were parked in the driveway. Jake left his own vehicle and went to the sedan and the pickup truck in turn and placed his hand on the hoods. They were cold, which only meant that Ryder had not driven either one of them in the last thirty minutes. He could have delivered the note to Clare, gone to the mine, and still been back home for more than that amount of time.

Jake had to work to keep himself from banging on Ryder’s door and finding out just where he’d been earlier. To find out if Ryder had it in him to harm Clare. If Jake thought he’d get his answer, he’d take Ryder apart. Badge be damned.

With nothing more to do, Jake turned away from Ryder’s house and went home.

* * * * *

Clare was on the road the next morning when Jake called.

“I’m meeting Petty at his office in an hour,” he said.

Clare glanced at her watch. Eleven o’clock. “I’ll be there.”

On the other end of the line, she heard Jake rifle papers.

“I checked about Ryder’s car,” Jake went on. “Sheriff’s office has nothing on it.”

“So we still don’t know how the car got back to Ryder. I want a look inside that car.”

“No way a judge is going to grant a warrant to impound the vehicle. Not with what we have.”

Clare chewed her lip. “We have Parker Burby’s account.”

“Which amounts to squat. What did Burby actually see? Dean Ryder standing over his wife—who Burby was told—fell. Burby didn’t witness an assault. Ryder has no history of violence on record against her or anyone else. And we’re missing something significant—motive. We ruled out money. Beth has none for him to inherit. No insurance pay-off on her.”

“If he thought she was leaving him for Hoag.”

“Ryder denies that he found out about Hoag before Beth was gone.”

“Ryder denies a lot of things.”

“Our only shot at sweating him,” Jake said, “is if Ryder would agree to a noncustodial interview.”

Clare snorted.

“Couldn’t have said it better.”

Clare was silent, fuming. Even if Ryder did agree to an interview, anything he said could be thrown out by a good defense attorney, arguing that his client, a decorated police detective, had felt pressured with so much at stake, including his career, and wasn’t of sound judgment during the interview.

She was sure Ryder was responsible for Beth’s disappearance, but she wasn’t interested at this point in trying to find evidence to get a charge against him to stick; all she wanted was to find Beth.

“Okay, Jake. See you at Petty’s.” She disconnected and tossed the cell phone onto the passenger seat.

She’d been on her way to see Ryder before he left for work when Jake called. She spotted Ryder’s pickup now, pulling into the parking lot of Dawson Foods, and followed him.

She parked beside Ryder’s truck, and left her car before it had completely rocked to a stop.

She stepped into Ryder’s path as he rounded his own vehicle. “The last place we know for sure that Beth was is your car. We want to take a look at it.”

He raised an arm, hailing a boy collecting carts for return to their designated location. “I’ll take one,” Ryder said to the boy.

“Why not, Dean?” Clare stepped between Ryder and the boy, preventing Ryder from accepting the cart. “You have no reason to oppose this. Despite your differences with Beth, her life may be in jeopardy. Why wouldn’t you want to do what you could to aid in the investigation? Unless you don’t want Beth found?”

Other shoppers were making their way to and from vehicles. Some were within earshot of Clare’s conversation with Ryder and stopped, taking in the scene.

“No warrant for a search and seizure?” Ryder asked. “Then get out of my way.”

“Got your note last night, Dean. I waited for you. You didn’t show up. What happened? Ex-marine. War hero. Big, tough Columbia PD detective.” She stepped closer. “Wife beater. Afraid of a woman?”

“You’ve crossed a line here, Agent Marshall.” Ryder spat her name as if it tasted foul.

He was right. She had, indeed, crossed a line with him. If he did decide to claim harassment, at the very least she would be facing an interview with the Bureau’s Office of Professional Responsibility to answer an allegation of misconduct. At the most, her handling of this investigation would cost her career.

Keeping her gaze on his, she proceeded as she’d planned. She smiled and whispered, “I’m just getting started.”

Clare left Ryder. She had a little time before the meeting with Jake and the sheriff. She’d use it to try to track down Rich Dannon.

She drove to the inn. The same two men she’d seen playing checkers the day before on the verandah were immersed in another game.

Clare climbed the porch steps and faced the two men. “Hello.”

The men looked up from the board. One had eyebrows as thick as a caterpillar and at that moment they were drawn together in obvious displeasure at the interruption.

“I’m looking for Richard Dannon,” Clare said. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“No,” the man with the thick eyebrows said.

The other man spoke up in a nasal tone. “Mr. Dannon told me that he conducts business meetings out of Charley’s Bar on Main Street sometimes. You can try him there. As a matter of fact, I’ll be meeting him there myself on business this afternoon at two.” The man ended the statement with a smile.

“You going to waste time talking, or you going to make your move?” the thick-eyebrowed fellow interrupted.

Clare thanked the man who’d provided the information then left him and his companion to their game.

When she entered Charley’s ten minutes later, three men were at the bar, laughing and sipping twelve-year-old Scotch, according to the label on the bottle between them. One of the men was familiar. Tall. Toned. Square-jawed. Sun-streaked shaggy hair. This was the man she’d seen at the gas station on her first day in Farley.

Clare approached the trio. “Good morning. I’m looking for Mr. Dannon.”

The man from the gas station glanced up from his drink. His gaze fixed on her for an instant, then intensified with blatant interest.

“Not ‘Mr. Dannon’ to you.” He smiled. “Pretty ladies call me Rich, darlin’.”

He wore a sport jacket now that was a knock-off Italian design—and in a blue that accentuated his deep tan. He had a voice that was as smooth as the scotch he was drinking.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re the FBI lady come here looking for her sister,” Dannon added. “I have to say you two sure do look alike. Ain’t that right, boys?”

The two men with him murmured their agreement.

“You know my name.” He leaned over the mahogany bar, closing some of the distance between them. “Now, darlin’, what can I call you?”

“Agent Marshall.” She removed her ID from her purse and held it up for him to see. “May we have a word in private?”

One of the other men whooped out a laugh. He hiked up his pants from beneath his protruding belly. “She’s mighty cold to you, Rich. You sure you didn’t already diddle this one, and forgotten?”

Dannon laughed in good humor. “Now, that’s no way to talk in front of a lady. Besides, I never forget a pretty face. Boys, you know that.” He pushed off the bar and meandered toward her, dropping his arm casually around her shoulders and steering her to a secluded booth at the opposite end of the bar.

“What can I get you to drink, darlin’?” Rich asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“That you are. Hold my calls, Charley,” Dannon called out with a grin to the bartender.

Clare took a seat in the booth. When Dannon was about to slide in beside her, she cut him off with a frosty stare.