Rock Harbor Series - 04 - Abomination (7 page)

The man could have been a shoo-in for a most realistic Santa Claus if he were about fifty pounds heavier. Nick guessed Oliver’s age as forty or so, though he’d grayed early. His rosy cheeks and ready smile had children ready to climb into his lap and ask for a bike for Christmas.

He’d driven down from Cheboygan as soon as Nick called him. The two had worked on several difficult cases over the past few years and had become friends as well as colleagues. Oliver was a fishing nut, and he’d talked Nick into going out a time or two. Nick had never picked up the passion for sitting in a boat and watching a bobber.

Oliver’s other passion was bringing closure to hurting families, and Nick always called him when he was in a tight spot.

The sculptor looked up and blinked his reddened eyes. Bits of clay clung to his neatly trimmed white beard, and his smile had dropped. Glancing at his watch, Nick realized the man had been at it for twelve solid hours so far today, after five days of the same grueling schedule. If the need wasn’t so great, Nick would have been ashamed of his insistence.

Oliver walked around to the other side of the face he was sculpting. “Nick, you know you can’t rush this. There is a time for everything under heaven. It normally takes a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t have a couple of weeks,” Nick said.

“I’m going as fast as I can. I should have something to look at by late tonight or early in the morning.” He glanced at Nick. “You should have called me when the first faceless woman turned up. I could have gotten her back to her family sooner.”

“I thought you only worked with bones.”

“Not always.” Oliver bent back over the table.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, my friend.” He glanced at Nick. “Anything on dental records?”

Nick shook his head. “There was a fire at Eve’s dental office a month ago. All the records were lost. No matches to anyone else yet.”

“Seems rather convenient.”

“I’ll do what I can. You look exhausted. Take a nap.”

“I thought so too. I bet Gideon torched the place. You’re our only hope.”

Nick wished he could sleep. His eyes burned, and his throat felt sore and scratchy. He turned away and went to look out the window. The rain had come for three solid days, and the landscape looked as dreary as he felt.

Eve’s birthday was today. In past years he would bring home flowers—carnations were her favorite—and DeBrand truffles that he ordered online. He’d turned down an invitation from his parents for dinner, but he suddenly didn’t want to be alone. Maybe he’d go after all.

Nick turned his gaze back to the worktable. The bust looked eerily like his wife. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Opening them again, he stepped closer. Eve’s face sharpened into better focus.

“It’s her,” he said hoarsely. The strength ran out of his legs. He stumbled back and fell into the chair.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Oliver said. “The painting still needs to be done. We don’t have the results back from the lab on when she died either. As backed up as they are, that may not come for weeks. What are you seeing?”

Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the bust. “The bone structure, the way the eyes are set.”

Oliver winced. “Just remember, it’s hard to tell at this stage.”

He nodded, unable to trust his voice to speak. Keri. Where was she? Would Gideon have killed a child? It would be outside his MO. Nick could only pray she was alive.

He stared at the bust again. “When will you be done with the painting?”

“No later than tomorrow morning. I’ll work all night on it if I have to.”

“Call me when you’re finished. Maybe I’m seeing things.” Now the face looked like a shapeless blob. He reminded himself that the clue left on the geocaching site was the same one left at Eve’s house. He already knew the outcome—he just didn’t want to face it.

“Maybe. You’ve been under a lot of stress. Your dad can take a look when it’s done.”

“I’ve got to get out of here.” Nick bolted to his feet and left the room. Driving to his parents’ house, he kept blinking moisture out of his eyes. He parked on the street and swiped the back of his hand over his cheeks. He’d had maybe four hours of sleep a night ever since Eve and Keri had vanished. Now he understood that knowing their fate wouldn’t bring him rest. He might not truly rest again until he brought Eve’s murderer to justice.

Feeling older than his thirty-five years, he threw open the car door and dragged himself up the walk. Even the aroma of
mousalia
wafting out the screen door failed to lift the lead from his feet.

His parents had lived in this Victorian-era neighborhood in Bay City all his life. The three-story home held memories of kids running in and out, lots of good food and laughter, and almond biscuits in front of the TV while the family watched
Family Ties
.

Some hard memories lived on, too, like the night his father had been shot by a robber fleeing a convenience store when Cyril was a city policeman.

Nick walked inside the house. “I’m here,” he called.

His mother came from the kitchen, wiping flour on her apron. “Nicky, you said you weren’t coming.” Her smile changed to a frown that deepened when she glanced at his face. “You’ve probably lost fifteen pounds. Are you sleeping?”

“Not much,” he admitted. He dropped a kiss on her upturned cheek. “Everyone else here?” He wanted to tell her about Oliver’s sculpture, but he couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.

“Layna is making the salad. The boys are watching baseball with your father. Go on in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’ll say hi to Sis first. Besides, I hear those black olives calling me.”

The kitchen had always been his favorite place growing up, and not just because he liked to eat. The white cabinets always held surprises like
loukoumades
, Greek-style donuts his mother made weekly for his father. Fresh cookies always filled the cookie jar. But mostly it was the room where his mother was likely to be found, dispensing advice and love to her family.

His sister, Layna, looked up briefly when he entered. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it.” Two years his senior, she’d been divorced five years ago and had two boys who adored their uncle Nick. The divorce had twisted her mouth and hardened her eyes, which saw the bad in everything.

Nick loved her, but it was hard to spend much time around her. “I wouldn’t miss playing Super Mario with the boys.”

She finally smiled then, an expression that transformed her into the girl he used to know, the one who borrowed his clothes during the grunge trend and who cheered at his football games.

She tapped her fist on his shoulder. “You’re a great uncle. It’s a good thing when their father cares so little.” She slapped his arm. “You haven’t been around much either lately.”

“Sorry, Sis.” He made no excuses.

“Any new info?”

He fished a black olive out of the jar and avoided looking in her direction. Once Oliver finished painting the actual bust, he’d let someone else make sure he wasn’t putting Eve’s features onto it.

Layna pressed on with the questions. “You don’t have to be so driven about it. You’re divorced.”

“Sure, bring that up.” He made a face. “It doesn’t change a thing.”

“You need to move on with your life, Nick. Once you find them, I mean. Don’t make the mistake I did of clinging to the past.”

“You’re still holding on to it,” he pointed out. “It’s still all you talk about. Have you dated anyone in the last five years?”

“Men are pigs,” she said. Her gaze met his, and she shrugged. “Present company excluded.”

“Tom had an affair. I didn’t.”

“Oh, but you did,” his mother said from behind him. “An affair with your job.” She moved past Nick and went to lift the
mousalia
out of the oven. The scent of lamb and
tahinial
sauce enveloped the kitchen.

His mom had made insinuations like this before, and he’d ignored them. But not this time. “What is it with women that you don’t get how important a job is? It’s how you eat and buy pretty clothes and purses. And shoes. Don’t forget the shoes. Eve had enough shoes to fill three closets. How did she think she got to buy those tiny bits of leather? They didn’t just fall into her lap.”

He knew he was being too harsh when he saw tears flood his mother’s eyes. Hurting her didn’t bring Eve back. He buried the apology on his tongue with another olive.

“Eve wanted you, not the shoes, Nicky. They were just something to fill a void.” She shook her finger at him. “And don’t talk about her in the past tense. You’ll find her.”

The truth waited to be spoken, but he swallowed it. He’d failed his wife all around. Now it was probably too late. “I’m going to go play with the boys.”

His mother’s face softened. “I’m sorry I’m so hard on you, Son. I just want you to be happy. When you find Eve, you make it up to her.”

Nick heard his father’s booming voice from the entry, then his dad’s bulk filled the doorway. One look at Cyril’s face and Nick knew.

His father had seen the bust. He knew it was Eve too.

6

B
REE FED THE LAST DOG AND TURNED OUT THE LIGHTS AT THE animal shelter. Her muscles ached but not unpleasantly. Today’s training session in the woods had gone well. Samson continued to show that his ability surpassed that of most other dogs.

She snapped her fingers, and her dog ran after her. His nails clicked on the concrete floor, and he was at her side by the time she opened the door. “Let’s go home, boy.”

He woofed deep in his throat and ran to the Jeep, which sat under a poplar tree. Birds had deposited a few gifts on the windshield, and Bree made a face. She’d have to wash it this weekend.

Her cell phone rang, and she pulled it from her belt. “Kitchigami Search-and-Rescue.”

“Bree, it . . . it’s Ruby.” The aide’s voice was tentative. It also held a note of fear that kicked Bree’s adrenaline into high gear.

Bree clenched the phone in her hand. “Is something wrong, Ruby?”

“I . . . I’m afraid so. Your father isn’t in his room. I checked everywhere. I think he’s gotten out.”

For Rock Harbor Nursing Home to admit he was gone meant they’d truly looked everywhere. Bree tried not to panic. “I’ll be right there.” She had Samson. He would find her father.

She flung open the back door of the SUV. The dog jumped in and lay down on the seat. Bree ran around to the driver’s side and slid under the wheel. The back wheels fishtailed when she stomped on the accelerator, but she maintained control of the Jeep and wheeled it around toward town.

The North Woods was no place for a frail old man with Alzheimer’s to wander. Black bears roamed the woods. And while the DNR denied it, she’d seen a cougar with her own eyes last summer. She glanced at her watch. She could call her sister, who was on temporary assignment in England, but there was no need to worry her. Not yet.

After parking the Jeep, she hopped out and opened the door for Samson. She reached in and grabbed her ready-kit. Samson’s ears perked when he saw her lift out the backpack that held his vest. His tail began to wag.

He followed her up the walk. Ruby rushed to her and apologized, but Bree brushed the apology aside and walked straight to her father’s room. Samson wouldn’t need a special article. She’d take him to the room and let him sniff the bed. Her dog bounded ahead of her. They’d been here many times, and he knew the way.

When she entered the room, Samson was nosing around the floor. Opening her kit, she pulled out his vest and slipped it on him. He immediately went alert. She snapped his leash onto his collar and led him to the bed. He sniffed the sheets.

“Search, Samson. Find Grandpa.”

He leaped for the door and led her down the hall. Residents called to them as they roamed through the sitting area, but she just waved and didn’t stop. Samson raced toward the sliding glass door that led into the fenced backyard. If her father had gone out there, he should still be around. There was no exit except by coming back through this area.

His nose in the air, Samson crisscrossed the open area, searching for an air scent.

A man ran toward her with his arms out. “Stop, wait, what are you doing?”

A newbie evidently. Bree motioned for him to follow as she trailed after the dog. “Samson is a search dog.”

“He doesn’t have his nose to the ground.”

“He tracks by air scent. Every human scent is different. The skin gives off about forty thousand dead skin cells called
rafts
every minute. The rafts carry bacteria that release a vapor that makes up the unique scent we all carry. He has my dad’s scent, and he’ll find him. You can count on it.”

The man stopped and stared, but Bree rushed on. Samson raced back toward the door, back through the sitting area, and out the front door. Her father had walked right past the receptionist? Bree had wondered about their security, and this was proof it wasn’t very good.

Once back outside, Samson made a beeline for the trees across the street. Bree unclipped his leash. Samson plunged into the wooded area, and Bree darted after him. The cool, dim forest blotted out the sun. She had to find her dad before sundown. The temp would lower, and he wouldn’t be dressed for it. And the mosquitoes would eat him alive.

Samson’s ears were pointed, and his tail swished like windshield wipers on high, sure signs that he had a hot trail. Maybe Dad was just a little distance ahead. The dog put on an extra spurt of speed, leaping over a brook and bounding across a fallen tree. He disappeared over the hillside. Moments later, she heard him begin to bark.

Samson had found him. She kicked up her own speed, but in her haste she slipped on a mossy rock and landed in the swiftly flowing water. It wasn’t deep, but she was soaked to the waist by the time she regained her feet and hurried in the direction of Samson’s barking.

She reached the top of the hill and looked down. A small pond lay at the bottom. So did her dog and her father. The old man sat on a log and stared out over the water. He seemed not to notice the dog licking at him. Two swans glided along the lake’s surface. She noted their bright orange bills. Mutes. Kade would want to know. He needed to prevent their population from threatening the rarer trumpeters.