The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series] (14 page)

Violet's hands dropped to her side, and formed into fists. “Don't worry, we will. I just might call Al Wallace and give him a piece of my mind about those two boys. He needs to know what they're doing for a pastime and rein them in."

Hawkman didn't comment and climbed back into his vehicle. It might be a good thing if Violet talked to Wallace, he thought. A call from a woman near his dead spouse's age, just might make a difference.

As he headed back to town, he mulled over an odd thought that entered his mind. If the Wallace brothers were the harassers, why didn't they make a call to Laura on her cell phone. Instead, they approached her in person. It didn't fit the modus operandi of the tormentor. This could have been a coincidence, and knowing the Wallace brothers, they'd take advantage of any opportunity to make pests out of themselves. It didn't surprise Hawkman when they mentioned Laura's dad had hired a private investigator. Probably the whole town knew by now. They just didn't know why.

When he reached the outskirts of Medford, he pulled to the side of the road and took Laura's file from underneath the seat on the passenger side. Thumbing through the papers, he found what he thought to be the addresses of the two male students Laura had told him spoke of bow shooting. Today would be a good time to find them home.

Al Wallace slammed down the phone, rose from the chair, and stormed to the hallway. “Steve and Greg, get your lazy asses down here immediately,” he roared. Receiving no response, he whipped out the cell phone and reached his sons. “Where the hell are you."

He listened for a moment. “I want you home immediately. We've got a serious problem to discuss."

Puffing on a cigar, Al walked the floor of the den until he heard the roar of the pickup coming up the driveway. He immediately sat down in a large leather chair and waited for them to enter the house.

"Dad, we're here. What's so important?"

"Get your butts in the den."

The boys came into the room and looked at their father with all the innocence of young boys who'd been caught stealing a popsicle from the store. Al pointed to the couch. “What the hell are you doing, running around tormenting older women and girls?"

"What are you talking about?” Steve asked.

Al straightened in the seat and glared at the two young men. “You know damn well what I'm talking about. I got a call from Violet King. This is a woman who used to be very close friends with your Ma. How could you upset her like that? She told me about your shenanigans. I've got a good notion to lock that blasted pickup in the garage so you don't have wheels for a while. How would you like that?"

Both boys’ heads drooped. “We were just having some fun with Laura. Her old man has hired a private detective and we just kidded her about it."

Al raised his eyebrows. “Why would Olly hire a detective?"

Steve and Greg both shrugged their shoulders. “Don't know."

"Then why the hell were you pestering her on something you're ignorant about. You want the detective to come after you? Think about it, you dummies. If there's something going on, you'd be the first suspects. You want to go to jail?"

"Of course not, Dad,” both said in unison.

"Who did Olly hire?"

"Some big cowboy with a patch over his eye,” Steve said.

Al slapped his forehead. “Lordy be, you know who he is?"

They shook their heads.

"Tom Casey. He used to be with the Agency before he retired. One of the best damned investigators in the county. You don't fool with him. Does that make any sense to you lunkheads?"

"It does now,” Greg said.

Al stood up. “I've come to a decision. You two have too much time on your hands, and I'm getting too many complaints on your behavior. You're heading down the wrong path. One of these days you're going to get into some serious trouble, and I won't have enough money to bail you out. Your mother has probably already rolled over several times in her grave due to your stunts. I can't stand such a thought. I'm giving you one month to either get a job or enroll in college. If you haven't accomplished this, I'm locking up the truck and kicking you both out. It's time you were on your own."

The boys looked up at him with their mouths open. “Dad, do you really mean it?"

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Laura thought the two boys she'd mentioned lived in Medford, but wasn't positive. Hawkman hoped she was correct or he'd have to go to the school records and find their addresses, which wouldn't be easy without the help of law enforcement. Several minutes later, using the GPS to locate the numbers he'd found in the phone book, he parked in front of a well-kept, two-story middle class home. Walking toward the entry, he noted the red brick flower beds, void of flowers at this time of year, ran the length of the house. The unique oak front door with a beveled window shaped like a pentagon, but rounded at the top with straight sides, caught his attention. He flipped on his recorder as he waited for someone to answer his knock, and studied the intricate design of the wood, wondering where this piece of art had originated.

A tall, thin, redheaded young man with blue eyes opened the door. “Yeah."

"Hello.” Hawkman flashed his badge. “I'm Tom Casey, Private Investigator, looking for a Jason Calderidge. Does he live here?"

The boy's face turned pale and he glanced toward the inside of the house. “Yeah, I'm Jason. What do you want?"

"I need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?"

"Why don't we talk out here in the yard."

"Sure, that's okay with me."

The young man stepped out barefooted onto the cement and closed the door.

"Beautiful piece of art, I'm sure it didn't come with the house."

"No. Dad found it at a garage sale and Mom fell in love with it. She refinished it. They figured it was at least eighty years old and had been in a flood as there are water marks on the inside."

"It certainly is an asset to the entry."

Hawkman watched the nervous boy, shift from one foot to the other, then run his fingers through the mass of curly hair. “I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about."

"Yeah."

"Do you know a Cindy Brown?"

"Yeah. We go to the same school and share some classes."

"How about Laura King?"

"She's a friend of Cindy's."

"I understand you take a compound bow class with Ms. Brown. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Do you own your own equipment?"

"No, but wish I did."

"What do you think of Laura King?"

"She's okay."

"How do you mean, ‘okay'?"

"Sort of prudish. You know, she doesn't date or go to the dances."

"Ever asked her?"

Jason grinned shyly. “No."

"How about Cindy?"

"Oh, she's with it.” He let out a wolf whistle. “Real upbeat on all the latest songs and dances. Real good humor, not to mention, a beauty with a bitchin’ body."

"You have a car?"

"Can't afford it. I borrow my folks’ when it's available. Mostly, I hitch a ride with my friend, Blake."

"Is that Blake Russell? What kind of vehicle does he drive?"

"Black Chevy pickup.” Then Jason frowned. “How do you know all these kids? Is someone in trouble?"

"Not yet."

"Maybe I shouldn't be answering all these questions without a lawyer."

"Why? Have you got something to hide?"

He furrowed his brow. “I don't think so."

"Then you won't be the one in trouble."

"Hey, this is getting weird. Why are you asking me all this stuff?"

"Someone who knows how to shoot a compound bow is launching arrows into the side of my office building and harassing my client. You know anyone who might be doing this type of thing?"

The boy backed up and placed his hand on the door knob. “Hell, no. I don't think I want to talk to you anymore."

"Would you rather speak with the police?"

"I don't want to talk to any cop. Who hired you, anyway?"

"I'm not free to disclose that information at this time."

"Well, man, take me off your list. I don't harass anyone and I sure as hell don't go around shooting arrows at offices."

"I may want to speak to you again. So don't be surprised, if you see me coming."

Jason went inside and closed the door.

Hawkman reached into his pocket, turned off the recorder, and left. He felt this boy was probably innocent, but scared to death of his parents. Next, he'd speak with Blake Russell. More than likely, Jason had called him the minute he got inside, so the visit wouldn't come as a surprise. Then, he hoped to check out Cindy Brown before the day ended.

It didn't take him long to locate the Russells’ home, which reminded him of the place he'd just left, except it lacked the charm of the front entry. When he rang the bell, he heard a male voice call. “I'll get it."

A young man with uncombed shoulder-length oily, dark brown hair, green eyes, standing about five foot, eight inches tall in a rumpled tee-shirt, holes in the jeans and tennis shoes without socks, opened the door. “Yeah?"

"Are you Blake Russell?"

"That's me."

Hawkman flashed his badge. “I'm Tom Casey, Private Investigator. I'd like to ask you some questions?"

"What about?"

"I'm sure your friend, Jason Calderidge, has already warned you."

Blake flushed. “How ya figure?"

"Believe it or not, I was a kid once."

"Yeah, but bet you've forgotten what it's like."

Hawkman grinned. “I can still remember some things.” He pointed toward a couple of chairs on the lawn. “You want to talk out here, or go inside?"

"The boy stepped out the door, and headed toward the corner of the yard."

Once seated, Hawkman turned toward him. “How's school?"

"If you want to know about my bow classes, after this semester, I'm quitting. I can't get the hang of it, and am not doing well. I've decided to try a different sport."

"Do you own your compound bow?"

"No. Those things are expensive and unless you want to really get into it, it's not worth the bucks. I pay a fee to use the ones at the school."

"Can you take them off campus for practice?"

Blake shook his head. “No, you attend the practice sessions the instructor has listed. No one is allowed to take the equipment off the grounds."

"Is Cindy Brown a good bowman, or maybe I should say bow woman?"

"There is no differentiation between the sexes; all are bowmen. Yeah, she's good. She amazes me with her accuracy; she's stronger than she looks."

"How many women are in the class?"

He closed one eye and looked skyward. “I think there are three. Cindy's the best though; she can hit the bullseye three times out of five shots. Her arrows always stay on the target, even if she doesn't hit the center. Mine go bouncing all over the place."

"Sounds like she's a good shot. You know Laura King?"

"Yeah, she's Cindy's friend. A nice gal. I like her, but she's awfully shy."

"I'm sure your friend told you I'm looking for someone who is capable of shooting up an office and harassing my client. Do you know of anyone who might be doing such stunts?"

"Only the Wallace brothers. They're brazen and ornery. My dad would skin me alive, if I got into any sort of crazy trouble. You scared poor Jason; he thought you were accusing him. He didn't recognize you, but I did the minute I saw you at the door. Most people know you as Hawkman. You have the reputation of being fair and honest. When Jason told me ‘Tom Casey', it didn't register who you were, but the minute I saw the eye-patch, cowboy hat and boots, I knew immediately."

Hawkman glanced at him. “Thank you. Have we met before?"

"Not personally. But several years ago, you brought your falcon to the high school and gave a talk on wild birds. You demonstrated how you'd trained the bird to fly off, then come back to your arm when you whistled. It really impressed me. Do you still have the hawk?"

"I remember that lecture. I have a new falcon now, her name is Pretty Girl. Pretty Boy died of old age."

"Is she as good?"

"Yes. More demanding, but that's a female for you."

Blake laughed.

Hawkman stood, and held out his hand. “It's been a pleasure talking to you. Tell Jason not to fear me. I'm only doing my job. When people have nothing to hide, it shows in their demeanor. He showed fear, but not evil."

"Thanks, I'll tell him. It will relieve his mind,"

"If you hear any scuttlebutt around the campus about someone bragging on shooting up offices or causing flat tires with their arrows, would you give me a call?” He handed Blake his card.

"Sure, be happy to."

"Have a good week."

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Hawkman headed toward Cindy Brown's address. Something in his gut told him to be prepared for a different experience. The feeling didn't pertain to her being female. He'd gotten the impression, from the boys’ comments, along with Laura's, that Ms. Brown just might be a bit sassy and arrogant.

Approaching the neighborhood, Hawkman noticed the upgrade from where the boys’ lived. Each home appeared architecturally different, and the landscapes distinct from one another. Not as high class as where the Wallace's lived, but close. Hawkman found the house, and parked in front. The three car garage door stood open and he observed a Cadillac, Porsche and the latest red Corvette convertible parked inside.

He meandered up the curved, aggregate side walk to the front door and pushed the bell. The chimes, sounding like a million bells, rang throughout the house. He reached into his pocket and turned on the recorder before a silk skinned young woman popped open the door and met his gaze with big, beautiful blue eyes. She looked about five feet five inches, slim, very long naturally, blond hair, and cleavage you could see extending beyond the top button of her denim blouse. She wore tight jeans and a pair of athletic shoes. Cindy Brown did not look like a bowman. She also seemed a bit surprised when she saw Hawkman.

"Oh, hello. Sorry, I was expecting someone else. Can I help you?"