Long Time Gone (19 page)

She ducked into her apartment to get a bag of dry cat food. Arthur gave his bowl a sniff, then moved to his traditional spot on the doormat.

“Afternoon.” Nando shifted on the barstool as she approached, draping a paper napkin across his lap. Not much in the way of camouflage.

“Hi. So what do you think? Doesn’t Arthur look a lot better?”

Nando blinked at her. “He looked worse before?”

“Well, he’s had a few days of pampering. Erik’s been keeping him until he regrew some fur. Chief Toleffson, I mean. He was keeping Arthur. I brought him back this morning, but he has to stay inside until he grows back a little more fuzz.” Morgan felt her face flush pink. Geez, could she be any more obvious?

Nando grinned. “Hard to picture Toleffson pampering anything.”

“He did an excellent job. He really took care of him. Arthur looks like he’s gained another five pounds.” God, now she sounded like the world’s prissiest Sunday school teacher.

She glanced up. Nando had gone back to watching Kit. Oh well, she’d probably be doing the same thing if Erik were standing behind that bar.

Erik waited until late afternoon to head for Cedar Creek. He hadn’t done anything about Pittman and his plans yet—he didn’t know what he could do, if it came to that. Talking to Horace Rankin might help, but he didn’t want to go to the animal clinic to do it, where he’d be seen by half the town as well as his baby brother. He wasn’t ready to involve the family in this. Hell, he might never be ready for that, although he needed to let them know what was happening.

Cedar Creek was a viable alternative.

He had a variety of very good reasons for going there. He wanted to check for tire tracks leading to the dump site, although finding any was pretty much a lost cause, given the amount of traffic on the roads around the winery. He wanted to look over the winery’s trucks to rule out the very unlikely chance that one of them might have been used to dump illegal chemicals. And he wanted to see Arthur.

Embarrassing, but true. He’d missed the cat’s crushing weight on his lap at breakfast that morning, along with his ability to precisely clear every flat surface in the apartment by evening. He even missed Arthur’s steadfast refusal to cut Erik any slack. It was the first time he’d ever felt he and a cat had a lot in common.

Morgan had insisted on taking him home because she was sure Arthur had worn out his welcome, and Erik hadn’t been entirely sorry to see him go. It was only when he wandered up the stairs after lunch and found everything just where he’d left it when he went to work that morning that he realized he sort of liked having the old bandito around.

To say nothing of having Morgan around. He wasn’t sure why he’d unloaded on her last night. He wasn’t the kind of man who confided in people. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever confiding that much to any single person, not even the shrink his chief in Davenport had made him visit. And he’d felt better after talking to Morgan than he had after talking to the shrink.

All in all, given all the crap coming down in his life, he was definitely in the mood for another night with her. Maybe some hot, raunchy, mindless sex. Or some warm, soft, all-night-long sex. He didn’t really care which, as long as Morgan and sex were involved.

Of course, first he had to check for the dumper, just so he could tell himself he had a legitimate reason for being there.

He parked the cruiser at the side of the tasting room, then walked back toward the equipment shed. A couple of men in dusty jeans and T-shirts passed him, heading from the winery building toward the parking lot.

Erik recognized one of them—Nando’s big brother Esteban, emphasis on
big
. Erik figured Esteban must weigh at least as much as Friesenhahn, and he was almost as tall as Cal. He looked more like a linebacker than a grape farmer.

“Can I help you, Chief?” Esteban pulled off his hat and rubbed his arm across his forehead.

The afternoon sun blazed overhead. Erik nodded, balancing his sunglasses on his nose. “Are those the only trucks the winery has?” He could see a pickup and a trailer for hauling grapes.

Esteban shrugged. “The only ones we own. But people who work here drive some.”

“Anything heavy duty?” Erik glanced around the yard, but he couldn’t see anything besides a tractor and a flatbed trailer near the vineyard fence.

“Nope.” Esteban grinned at him a little sourly. “We didn’t dump anything, Chief. Trust me, if any of us did it, we’d have headed off to somebody else’s vineyard.”

Erik sighed. “Yeah, I figured as much. I don’t suppose you saw anybody driving a big truck around here lately.”

Esteban shook his head. “Dad asked everybody about that, but nobody’s seen anything out of the ordinary. No heavy trucks we didn’t expect. Maybe they came at night.”

“Maybe.” Erik thought of Morgan at the winery by herself while an outlaw dumper poured toxic waste outside. It wasn’t a picture he liked much. He walked toward the vineyard where the dump site was located.

After a moment, Esteban put his hat back on and followed him. “You think this is the same guy who poisoned Powell’s goats or somebody different?”

Erik grimaced. Just his luck to have two of them “Yeah, I think it’s the same guy. I hope so anyway.”

They rounded the corner of the vineyard. The long black oval of the dump site was now surrounded by an orange plastic temporary fence.

“TCEQ says the vineyard’s okay.” Esteban’s lips thinned. “We were lucky. If the bastard had dumped on the other side, he might have poisoned the ground water.”

“Glad to hear it.” Erik climbed a small rise where the road began to wind up into the hills. Then he turned back to look over Cedar Creek from the top.

A cluster of cars still sat in the parking lot beside the tasting room. A few trucks were scattered at the side, probably the ones that belonged to the vineyard workers. One of the workers hosed down the concrete slab at the back of the winery.

“Grape delivery?” Erik raised an eyebrow at Esteban.

Esteban grinned, shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it. They’re big trucks, but they’re already full of grapes and they head out of here like bats out of hell as soon as they unload.”

“Back to Lubbock?”

“Or Garland. We buy from both.”

“Well, hell.” Erik wiped his sweaty forehead on his arm. The setting sun was brutal—the temperature must be hovering around the high nineties. He was close to being off duty. Maybe it was time to find Morgan and head back to town for a little Dr. Pepper and some recreational booty.

A flicker of light near the tasting room caught his attention—somebody’s rearview mirror. He could hear the rumbling sound of tires on the road.

As he watched, a midsize truck pulled up in front of the building. Heavy duty, with double tires and a tank fastened to the back.

Erik strained to read the printing half-obscured by dust on the side.
Easy Kill Pest Control.
He stood very still, feeling the muscles in his shoulders tense. One of those moments when a series of pieces clicked into place.

Esteban sighed. “Looks like Terrell’s gonna spray the tasting room for bugs. At least it’s the end of the day. Most of the tourists have already left.”

“Terrell?” Erik asked. But he already knew the answer.

“Biedermeier,” Esteban explained. “It’s his company. He does the tasting room every month or so.”

“You spray the winery for bugs?”

“Just the tasting room. It’s not close to the production area. You know South Texas—if you don’t spray, you get critters in the house. And the last thing we need is for a roach to go crawling across some tourist’s foot.”

“Every month.” Erik watched him.

“He’s got two or three customers out here. Us and Castleberry. And he does my folks’ place while he’s out here since they live so close.” Esteban’s forehead furrowed for a moment. “I guess he does Joe Powell’s house too, now that I think about it.”

Erik took a deep breath. “Powell.”

Esteban nodded.

“Goddamn it to hell,” Erik muttered. Without turning to look at Esteban, he headed down the hill at a fast trot.

Chapter Eighteen

Morgan looked up as the door swung open. On the other side of the tasting room, Nando leaned against the bar while he talked to Kit. The two of them were so far gone they didn’t seem to be aware that anybody else had entered the room.

Terrell Biedermeier had his metal insecticide tank strapped to his back, his sprayer in his hand. “Afternoon,” he mumbled.

He wore a dirt-colored baseball cap low on his forehead, while his chin prickled with beard stubble. He looked as if he’d prefer to be sitting on his barstool at the Dew Drop.

She nodded at him. “Hey, Terrell. I didn’t realize you were coming out here. Is this the day you usually spray?”

Biedermeier shrugged. “Had another building in the neighborhood. Saves me a trip.”

She sighed. She wasn’t crazy about spraying insecticide around the wine. If nothing else, it interfered with the smell. But most of the businesses and a lot of the homes in Konigsburg got sprayed once or twice a month to discourage the tree roaches from taking up residence indoors. Fortunately, since it was so close to closing time, the only people in the room were Nando and Kit. They could go ahead and close early. “Okay, go to it.”

Across the room, Kit stowed several bottles in the refrigerator and used the vacuum pump to cork two or three others. Biedermeier spraying the baseboards probably wouldn’t have any effect on the open bottles, but it never hurt to be sure.

“Hey, boss, mind if I take off? It’s only ten minutes until closing time.” Kit gave Morgan a hopeful grin.

She shrugged. “Sure. No problem.”

Biedermeier began squirting along the side of the room, ignoring everybody else, as usual. Morgan wondered if dispensing poison had a particular effect on your personality or if he was just naturally surly. She wrinkled her nose at the faintly peppery smell.

Nando stood back as Kit came around the counter then slung his arm across her shoulders. They ambled toward the door, heads together and murmuring. Biedermeier glanced up at Nando as he walked by, then moved more rapidly toward the other side of the room. Nando didn’t take his eyes off Kit long enough to notice.

Morgan did. She frowned. Why exactly would Biedermeier want to scuttle away from Nando?

Outside there was the thud of someone hurriedly mounting the stone steps to the tasting room. She checked the clock—four minutes until closing. Whoever it was would only have time for a single quick taste of something or other, and they’d probably have to drink it on the patio because of the faint insecticide smell from the spray. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t up to keeping the tasting room open late today anyway.

Then the door swung open and Erik stepped into the room. Behind her, she heard Terrell Biedermeier inhale noisily. He sounded slightly bronchial.

The first thing Erik saw as he entered the tasting room was Morgan. The second thing he saw was Terrell Biedermeier standing directly behind her with an insecticide sprayer in his hand and an expression of pure terror.

Erik felt a quick prickling up his spine, and his hands balled into fists. He forced himself to relax and smile. “Hey, Terrell, got a minute?”

Biedermeier edged farther away from him, but he was still too close to Morgan for comfort. “What do you want?” he growled.

“Just a moment of your time.” Erik gave him the good ol’ boy grin he usually reserved for little old ladies and Cub Scouts.

“Why?” Biedermeier kept moving back, centering himself behind Morgan.

Erik placed his hands on his hips, resisting the urge to grasp the handle of his baton. “Just a couple of questions. Won’t take long. Why don’t we go outside and talk?”

Morgan put the glass she’d been polishing back on the shelf and started to move away. Biedermeier stepped in front of her.

“Terrell?” Her brow furrowed.

Erik walked toward them at an angle, slowly, trying to draw Biedermeier away from her. “Come on, Terrell, it won’t take long, I promise. Morgan’s got stuff to do in her office. Let’s leave her to it.” With luck, she might catch the hint and move away toward the office door.

Biedermeier’s glance darted toward him and then back to Morgan again. “I ain’t done nothin’.”

“Didn’t say you had.” Erik kept moving, more slowly now.

Biedermeier edged closer to her. “You stay back, Toleffson. I got nothin’ to say to you.”

Morgan turned, finally beginning to move away toward the office.

Biedermeier dropped the sprayer quickly, dragging it behind him on the floor, and wrapped one hairy arm around Morgan’s neck, jerking her back against his chest. “You stay back, I said.” His voice rose dangerously. Erik could see the whites of his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I don’t want you to hurt her either.” Erik kept his voice level, trying to remember all the lessons he’d had about dealing with hostage situations. Unfortunately, nobody had ever discussed hostage situations where your girlfriend was the hostage and where your dearest wish was suddenly to kick the hostage taker into the stratosphere.

“Come on now, Terrell, you haven’t done anything yet that qualifies as a felony,” Erik soothed. Not entirely true, but he didn’t feel too bad about lying under the circumstances. He worked on keeping his voice calm. “Let Morgan go before you screw up big-time. If you let her go now, I won’t add this to my report.”

Morgan jerked against Biedermeier’s arm, “Terrell, what in god’s name is wrong with you? Let me go, you idiot!”

Something metallic flashed in Biedermeier’s hand, jabbing at Morgan’s side. Erik heard her hiss.

Biedermeier’s glance darted around the room, checking the exits. “I don’t want to hurt you, Morgan, but I need to get out of here. You tell your boyfriend to stay out of my way.”

Erik wondered just how far away Nando was. Not that either of them could do much with Biedermeier holding a knife at Morgan’s side. His chest felt tight, the muscles flexing hard in his arms. A mixture of adrenaline and rage churned in his belly as Biedermeier’s arm tightened around Morgan’s neck.

He began edging for the door, dragging her along with him.

She stumbled once, then caught herself. “What’s going on?” she gasped, jerking against his arm again. “I don’t understand.”

Erik moved parallel with Biedermeier, careful not to get too close. “He’s the dumper, Morgan. He’s the one who almost poisoned your vineyard.”

“Terrell!” Morgan cried, half turning toward him. “How could you!”

“Didn’t hurt nothin’,” Biedermeier mumbled. “Just that old drainage ditch out there.”

Morgan’s eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. Erik was suddenly very aware of her thinness, her fragility. She looked as if her bones could crack if Biedermeier jerked too hard.

He flexed his hands again. “What have you got in mind, Terrell? You haven’t got much room to maneuver here, you know.”

“Just stay away from me,” Biedermeier growled. “Just stay back.”

He stumbled toward the tasting room door, still dragging Morgan with him.

“Damn it, Terrell, move your arm! I can’t breathe,” she muttered.

Biedermeier ignored her. “Open the door,” he snapped, nodding toward Erik.

Erik stared at him. Opening the door would bring Erik directly alongside Morgan. Obviously, Biedermeier wasn’t big on foresight. Maybe he could do something with that.

“Open it! Now!”

Erik shrugged. “Sure. Don’t get excited, Terrell.” He moved carefully toward the tasting room door and Morgan.

“Get back!” Biedermeier squeaked.

Erik rested his hands on his hips, trying to sound reasonable. “Terrell, I can’t do both. Either I open the door or I get back. Which is it?”

“Lemme think!” Biedermeier’s forehead looked clammy. He stumbled back toward the bar again, still dragging Morgan in front of him. As he did, his heel ran into a large yellow lump on the floor near the door.

The lump promptly reached up and took a substantial bite out of Biedermeier’s calf.

Several things happened more or less at the same time. Biedermeier howled and grabbed his leg. Morgan pulled away from him, staggering back to the bar. Arthur, the lump in question, arched his back, hissing.

Erik dodged around Arthur and threw Biedermeier to the floor. There was a ringing in his ears; spots danced before his eyes. His hand drew into a fist almost automatically. He drove it hard into Biedermeier’s face.

“Erik, no!” Morgan’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

The sound of his blood pounding in his ears almost blotted her out. The need to slam his fist into Biedermeier’s face again was almost painful. He drew back his fist.

“Erik, please.”

He stood frozen, feeling Morgan’s hands on his arm, cool against the heat of his skin.

“Please stop now,” she murmured. “I’m okay.”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment, letting his heartbeat slow down again, then jerked the handcuffs off his belt and threw Biedermeier onto his stomach. He yanked his wrists behind him. “Don’t you fucking move.”

Biedermeier’s face was smeared with blood. The sound of his sobbing breaths seemed to fill the tasting room.

The door flew open, as Nando, Kit and Esteban tumbled in on top of each other.

“What the hell?” Nando stared at Biedermeier, sprawled on the floor, arms pinioned behind his back.

“He’s the dumper. Read him his friggin’ rights,” Erik growled. He forced himself to move back, away from Biedermeier, breathing hard as he did. His heart was still pounding so loudly he could barely talk.

Nando pulled his Miranda card from his pocket.

Biedermeier whimpered. “My nose hurts. Prob’ly broke. And that thing bit me. It might have rabies.”

Arthur stalked majestically across the floor, ignoring the chaos behind him. The pom-pom at the end of his tail whipped back and forth furiously.

Erik silently promised him the biggest can of tuna he could find. He looked down at Morgan. She stood beside him, one hand clenched at the base of her throat. Her pupils looked so large it was difficult to see the color of her eyes.

Shock. He needed to do something about that. Right now. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

Nando droned through the Miranda warning, then raised an eyebrow. “Care to tell me what just happened here.”

“Like I said, Biedermeier’s the dumper.” Erik rested his chin on the top of Morgan’s head. “He tried to take Morgan hostage. Arthur’s a fucking hero. That about covers it.” He willed himself not to check out Biedermeier’s bloody face.

“A pen!” Morgan’s voice was muffled against his shirt front.

Erik glanced down at her. “It’s okay, Morg. It’s all over.”

Morgan pushed back from him. She bent over and picked something shiny off the floor. It looked like a silver ballpoint. She held it up, staring at it. “It was a pen he had jabbed in my side. Not a knife. He poked me with a stupid pen!” Morgan moved past Erik before he could stop her and kicked Biedermeier in the rump. “You held me hostage with a ballpoint, you freaking moron!”

Erik grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back before she could kick Biedermeier again, although it killed him to do it. “Easy.”

Morgan twisted in his arms, trying to get back to her target. “What were you going to do,” she yelled, “autograph me to death? A freaking ballpoint, for god’s sake!”

Erik closed his eyes, holding Morgan tight against him. “Take this asshole in to the hospital and get him checked out,” he told Nando. “Then take him to the station. The cruiser’s outside. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Right.” Nando took hold of Biedermeier’s belt, jerking him to his feet. “Come on, Terrell, your reign of terror is over.”

Biedermeier stared at him woozily. “He broke my goddamn nose! He can’t do that. I got rights.”

“Hell, Terrell, if he’d broken your nose, you’d have a lot more blood on you than that. Come on.” Nando pushed him toward the door.

Erik slid his arms tighter around Morgan’s waist, pulling her back against him again. “It’s okay, Morg. We’re both okay. Ease up now.”

Morgan’s breath was ragged; her shoulders began to tremble. “A ballpoint.”

“It’s okay,” Erik whispered. He turned her so that her forehead rested on his shoulder. “It’s over. Let it go, Morg.”

“I’m not going to cry,” she muttered against his collarbone.

“No,” he agreed.

“I’m not going to let that asshole make me cry.”

“No.” Erik rubbed his face against her hair. “I know you won’t.”

Her shoulders began to shake. “I’m not crying,” she gasped.

“Of course not.”

“Oh hell, hell, hell,” she moaned, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

“It’s okay.” He rubbed small circles on her back. “Let it go now.”

Over Morgan’s shoulder, Erik saw Kit move toward them tentatively. He shook his head.

Esteban leaned against the back wall, his brow furrowed. “You need any help there, Chief?”

“No.” Erik turned toward him. “I’m going to take her back into town with me.”

“Okay.” Esteban watched him with narrowed eyes, as if he were seeing the chief of police in an entirely new light.

Erik knew that look. He’d seen it before. Somewhere Mr. Hyde was cackling.

Morgan had worked her way through Erik’s refrigerator in less than ten minutes. The man didn’t even have orange juice. After a quick survey of the equally empty kitchen cupboards, she’d called Athenos Pizza for a large with everything, paying for the delivery when it came with a twenty and a handful of change she’d grabbed from the tasting room cash register.

She had found one thing in the cabinets—three cans of salmon-flavored cat food, the premium variety. If that was Arthur’s normal dinner at Erik’s place, it helped to explain why the cat seemed to be so unhappy about leaving.

Chewing on a piece of pepperoni, she wondered when he’d make it back. When he’d dropped her at the apartment, he’d told her he might be a couple of hours getting Biedermeier locked up. Not that she was exactly anxious to hear about Biedermeier. Morgan shuddered. She could still feel Terrell’s arm across her throat, the rasp of his arm hair against her collarbone. She could still smell him—panic sweat and the faint chemical smell of his clothes.