Dead in Her Tracks (6 page)

“I think he would need to drive to the area if he was transporting victims. There’s no driving around in those woods with the trees so close together.”

“He was a muscular guy,” countered Stevie. “He could have carried a woman or forced her to walk.”

“Let’s finish up inside and take a look around out back.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

B
ob’s property had revealed no more clues, and two days later Zane felt like he’d hit a dead end in the investigations. Stevie suggested he step away from his desk and take a few hours off from work. Off from
police
work, anyway.

A dozen people hustled about in the big grange hall, following Patsy’s orders as they set up for the New Year’s Eve party in two days. Somehow Zane had been assigned duties that required muscle. That was fine with him. His brain was preoccupied, and it felt good to follow someone else’s orders for a change. “Pull that table out from the wall,” Patsy ordered Zane. “People need to be able to walk behind it. We’ll need access to the food from both sides of the table or it’ll take forever for everyone to get fed.”

Zane grabbed the long banquet table and slid it out. Patsy nodded her approval, covered it with a red tablecloth, and pointed at a second table. “That one too.”

Patsy could deftly command a crew, and the people didn’t realize they were working their tails off. The big hall was being cleaned from top to bottom, the decorations were going up, and the sound system and band stage were coming together. Stevie was on decoration duty.

“Eyes on your work, son,” Patsy said.

Zane grinned at the petite woman. She’d caught him eying her daughter’s jeans-clad ass as Stevie stood on a ladder, stretching to attach a banner. “Yes, ma’am.” He slid the second table into place and then followed Patsy to the storage area to bring out more chairs.

Tonight he could pretend Solitude wasn’t deep in the middle of unsolved murders. Yesterday he’d talked to a Medford Police Department investigator about the two missing women from his town. The detective had admitted they’d exhausted all their leads. One of the women had struggled with depression and drug addiction, and he believed she might have left town on her own. But the other young woman had been active in her community and had left behind a boyfriend and family who were distraught and confused.

“You’re looking at the cases as being related, right?” Zane had asked.

“I am,” the detective had replied. “But I’m telling you, there’s nothing similar about these two women except their ages.”

“And that they’re both missing,” argued Zane. “I’ve got one missing young woman and two dead. You’re less than an hour away, so I have to look at the big picture.”

“But you said your suspect is dead and you’ve linked him to only one of the cases.”

“Right, but we’ve got him footage of him putting a different young woman in the back of his vehicle. Most regular guys don’t do that. I think it’s just a matter of time before we discover his tie to the rest of these women.”

“Well, let me know when you’ve got something concrete. It’s like these women were abducted by a spacecraft. We can’t find any sign of outside involvement in either case.”

Zane had spent the rest of the day and this morning poring over the case files from Medford. The police work looked solid, but he disagreed with the investigator that the only thing the women had in common was their age. He’d immediately noticed they both had long wavy hair. Just like Vanessa Phillips. And Samantha Lyle.

If the abductions had all been committed by the same man, he definitely had a type.

“Put the chairs in small circles so people can talk, Zane,” Patsy directed. He obeyed, unfolding the chairs and arranging them in circles.

Bruce immediately sat in the first chair Zane unfolded, setting his crutches down with a sigh.

“They’re allowing you to walk around already?” Zane asked. The young man looked exhausted. He’d lost weight and his facial bruises had moved to a horrible yellow-brown stage.

“I begged. I couldn’t sit still any longer.”

“You’re lucky you can’t move furniture,” Zane joked.

Bruce gave a weak smile. “My mother knows how to get things done.” He winced and rubbed at his ribs.

“When are you due for your next pill?” Stevie instantly appeared next to Zane, her focus on her younger brother.

“Lay off,
Mom
.”

“Are you taking your pain medication? There’s no reward for trying to be stronger than the pain,” Stevie pointed out.

“I’m almost out. I’m trying to stretch what I have left.”

Stevie frowned and scanned the room. “Donald couldn’t fill the whole prescription when I picked it up. He said he’d call when he got more in. I saw him here somewhere.”

“I haven’t heard from him,” Bruce said.

“He’s setting up the sound system,” Zane volunteered. Stevie marched toward the stage, clearly on a mission.

“She’s a lot like Patsy,” Zane observed as he watched her go. “Only taller.”

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, sounding less than pleased. “Two moms. Three when Carly is around.”

They watched Stevie corner the pharmacist, who took a quick step back at her direct questions. She gestured at Bruce across the room, and Donald pushed up his glasses with one finger, nodding as he listened to her. He spoke earnestly for a few seconds, and she seemed to accept his answer. He had an armful of cords and shyly held out a microphone to Stevie, pointing at the speakers scattered through the grange hall.

“Time for a sound check,” observed Bruce. “I guess Donald knows how to handle women better than I gave him credit for.”

Stevie accepted the mic, ran her other hand down the cord like she’d always carried one, and moved to the center of the stage. She looked over her shoulder back at Donald, asking a question. He shrugged and held up a palm in a questioning motion. She turned back to the room and took a breath, lifting the mic to her mouth. The first line of Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man” filled the room and everyone stopped in their tasks to listen. The throaty lyrics oozed from the speakers, and the hair on Zane’s arms stood up.

“Fuck me,” Bruce muttered. “I don’t know why she doesn’t do that for money.”

Zane often heard Stevie sing while she was cooking or driving, but during those times her singing was casual and carefree. On the stage she caught her groove and her emotions came through in the lyrics. She met his gaze from across the room and everyone else faded away.

The only one who could ever reach me was the son of a preacher man.

“Wow. She’s good,” said a new voice next to Zane, pulling him out of the moment. “You’re a lucky bastard.”

Zane turned to see Andrew Reynolds watching Stevie. He wanted to punch the developer for destroying the moment.

“You’re still in town, Andrew?” At least he seemed sober tonight. He smelled of soap and his button-down shirt was freshly ironed.

A shadow crossed the developer’s face. “No reason to go home.” He clamped his lips together, and Zane knew he was holding back.

“What happened?” Zane hoped he wouldn’t regret asking.

A bloodshot gaze met his. “Wife called to tell me she’s filing for divorce. Merry fucking Christmas.”

Regret flooded Zane. “That sucks.” Andrew didn’t seem like the type to share his life history, and Zane really didn’t want to know more. He was moving forward in his relationship; it seemed like bad luck to acknowledge crumbling ones.

“Guess I’ll hang around a few more days for the party,” Andrew said. “I’m in no rush to go back home. Life moves a little slower down here. Drove me crazy at first, but now I kinda like it. Who knows? Maybe this trip was fate. Perhaps I’ll talk to the boss and request I be put in charge of the O’Rourke project.” He folded his arms across his chest, and Zane caught sight of the bruises and scratches on the backs of his hands.

“What happened to your hands, Andrew?” He took a harder look at the developer, his brain racing. The man had a mobile job, he was frequently on the road, and he’d arrived in Solitude just as things were going to hell.

Andrew studied his hands, twisting his lips. “I might have let off a little steam on the bathroom door of my motel. Charlie already added it to my bill. How much do you want to bet he doesn’t replace the door and leaves it with gaping holes for the next guest?”

Zane knew it wouldn’t be replaced.

Applause and whistles sounded through the hall, and Zane swore as he realized he’d missed the rest of Stevie’s song. She bobbed in a brief curtsy, her face shining with pleasure, and handed the mic back to Donald, who appeared starstruck. She jumped off the stage and worked her way toward Zane.

“Donald said he expects your medication soon and he’ll give you a call,” she told Bruce.

“Let me know when you want to perform at a gig,” Bruce said. “I know you think the guys I play with are a bunch of irresponsible hacks, but I could find you solo work without a problem.”

“Hotel lounges every weekend? No thanks.” She held Zane’s gaze, giving a wide smile. “I like my day job.”

His leg muscles went weak.

A smooth country ballad came through the speakers, and two couples dropped Patsy’s tasks to start spinning about the dance floor.

Stevie held out a hand to Zane. “Dance with me?”

He didn’t pause. He grabbed her hand and ditched Bruce and Andrew.

He held her tight to him, guiding her through a simple two-step. “Will your mother mind?” he asked.

“Not one bit. She can turn off the music if she wants people to get back to work.”

Zane glanced at Patsy, who was beaming at the three dancing couples. “Your mom is a romantic. She won’t be the one to turn it off.” He nodded at a couple in their seventies who had joined the dancers, the man looking at his wife as if she were the only woman in the room.

Someday.

He looked into Stevie’s brown eyes and wanted the music to never end. Simply being around this woman made every day better. Happiness welled up inside him, and he couldn’t stay quiet. “Marry me, Stevie. Make me the happiest man in Solitude.”

Stevie missed a step, her eyes widening, and he held her tighter.

“Don’t say it’s too soon. We both know we’ve never felt anything else like this.” Determination flooded him. He was through with holding his tongue and being patient. “I want to grow old with you and hear you sing to my children. I want to dance with you when we’re seventy and look into your eyes for the rest of my life.”

She blinked rapidly, her gaze never leaving his.

“You feel it too; I know you do. Just say you will.”

Perhaps it was Andrew’s announcement of the end of his marriage that’d made Zane realize he was tired of waiting for his to start. He and Stevie had been in a holding pattern for seven months. It was time to land.

“Okay.” She paused and her brows narrowed as she evaluated what she’d just said. “Okay,” she repeated more forcefully, accepting her decision. “I’ll marry you, Zane.” A wide smile filled her face, and she stopped their dance. “That feels wonderful to say.”

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and lifted her, spinning in a circle. “I love you, Stevie Taylor.” Dizziness swamped him, or maybe it was pure elation. He didn’t care. He spun her twice more and set her down. Turning to the small crowd, he lifted a fist in exultation. “She said she’d marry me!”

Immediate applause and wolf whistles drowned out the music.

“About time!” Bruce shouted across the room.

Patsy rushed to her daughter, giving her a giant hug and kiss. Both women were laughing and crying simultaneously. Patsy turned to Zane, nearly knocking him down with her hug. “Thank you, Zane.”

“No, thank
you
, Patsy.”

He looked over Patsy’s head and met his fiancée’s gaze.

He finally felt complete.

CHAPTER NINE

S
tevie smiled at her computer monitor. Then at her pencil. And then at her coffee cup.

And so her morning had gone.

Her facial muscles were exhausted because she hadn’t stopped smiling since Zane proposed last night. She’d experienced one terrifying moment of standing on the edge of a giant abyss, her decision floating in the air. She’d answered on instinct and instantly known she’d given the correct answer. She’d been certain of her answer ever since.

Everything felt right.

It’d all clicked into place last night. She’d been happy since she and Zane had started dating, but she’d never felt like this.

Stupidly happy. Grinning-like-an-idiot happy.

Her cell phone rang. Carly.

“I had to hear from Mom that you’re engaged! That’s not fair!”
her sister wailed in her ear.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” said Stevie.

“
No one
is surprised,” argued Carly. “The only surprise is that it took so damn long.”

“He already had a ring,” said Stevie. “When we got back to his place last night, he pulled a ring out of a drawer.”

“I know all about the ring. Who do you think helped him pick it out months ago?”

Stevie pressed a palm against her forehead. “Are you serious? Months?”

“Yes! Everyone’s known you two were meant to be together except for you.”

“Well, I knew . . . I just didn’t know when the right time was.” She studied the small diamond on her left hand. It’d also received a lot of her smiles that morning.

She placated her sister with the promise of meeting later for coffee and hung up.

Months?

“Stevie?” Zane hollered from his office down the hall. She glanced at her ring one more time and went to join him. He wore his work face, frowning at a report as she stepped inside. He glanced up and it melted away into a smile as he looked at her. She held his gaze for a long moment and remembered their agreement to keep it professional at work.

He sighed and refocused on his report. “We just got the analysis back on the hairs we found in the back of Bob Fletcher’s vehicle. Seth had them rush it since we had a murder suspect in custody.”

Stevie nodded, remembering how the county crime scene techs had found several long hairs. “Vanessa Phillips?”

“Yep. She was a definite match. So that proves she was in there at some point. Doesn’t prove he killed her, though. And they have three other DNA profiles from other hairs they’d removed.”

“Three?”
Stevie felt ill. “We need to get them the Medford missing girls’ hair samples to compare.”

“I already sent the Medford investigator an e-mail about it.”

“How could women be missing and we didn’t notice? And what about the drugs?” Stevie asked. “Hank said Bob was abusing oxy, and Donald said he’d heard that the truck stop was the place to buy illegal prescription medication. What else do we not know about?”

“I’m afraid to ask,” said Zane. “The photo expert at the forensics lab was able to enhance part of the footage of Bob putting the woman in his vehicle. It’s definitely Vanessa Phillips. They created a pretty clear shot of a bracelet she was wearing and it matches one found in her motel room.”

Stevie thought hard about the video, remembering how the woman’s arm had flopped sideways at one point. “Wasn’t she wearing two bracelets? I remember them being gray blurs on her wrists.”

“There was only one in her hotel room.”

“So he left a bracelet on the body? That seems sort of odd. He went to a lot of work to clean evidence from her body and put away the jewelry she was wearing. Her clothing never turned up, right?”

“That’s right. He must have kept the second bracelet,” said Zane grimly. “A trophy. Maybe he kept the clothes too.”

“But where? We went through Bob’s house thoroughly and wasted an hour traipsing through the snow looking for any outbuildings. Where’s his hiding spot?”

“I swear it feels like we get one question answered and it leads to a dozen more,” Zane muttered. “Who else would know more about Bob?”

A queasiness settled in Stevie’s gut. “Jake Powers has worked at Fletcher’s bar forever.” Simply saying the man’s name made her feel slimy.

“The guy who tried to beat up Tony Cooper?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen much of him since I’ve been back, and you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw how much weight he’d lost . . .” Stevie thought hard for a second. “Don’t some narcotics suppress the appetite?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Zane. “What are you thinking?”

“I remember how skinny the drug abusers in LA were. They weren’t interested in food. Their drugs gave them everything they needed until it was time for the next hit.”

“You think Bob was supplying Jake Powers with oxy? And it made him lose weight?”

“I think it’s worth asking him about. He had a serious man-crush on Bob and was always in his shadow. If anyone knew if Bob Fletcher had a secret hideout, it’d be Jake. He’s like a silent snake.” She shuddered.

“I don’t know him that well. He’s bad news?”

“Not really. He’s just always lingered on the fringes of the guys you don’t want to mess with. He was several years ahead of me in school, always the silent guy who hung around the bad kids. Back then he was overweight, and I think he was just looking for acceptance from a group. Like everyone was.”

“High school sucked,” agreed Zane.

Stevie tilted her head, studying him. “Who were you in high school, Zane?”

He scratched his chin, looking sheepish. “You already agreed to marry me. No backing out.”

“You were one of the troublemakers, weren’t you?”

“Heck no. I was good. I liked my classes and teachers. You might say I was a bit of a nerdy suck-up.”

“A
nerd
?”

“Glasses, clarinet, and schoolbooks.”

“Wait. You can play?” She’d never seen him touch an instrument.

“Didn’t say I could play it. Primarily I just carried it around a lot. I passed band class by the skin of my teeth, but I can’t play a note anymore.”

Her heart dropped. She couldn’t imagine not being able to play music. “We’ll find something for you to play. It’ll come back fast.”

“No thanks. I’m happy just listening to the Taylor clan.” A horrified look crossed his face. “Or is playing an instrument a requirement to join your family? Doesn’t Bruce play like ten instruments?”

She grinned. “Not a requirement. But I suspect Mom will have you playing something before summer. She has a way of simply setting an instrument in front of you and suddenly it feels like you’ve always held it.”

He stood up. “All this music talk is making me nervous. Let’s go find Jake Powers.”

They found Jake sitting at the bar in Fletcher’s.

For once all the lights were on, and Zane saw the bar in all its filthy glory. His shoes stuck to the floor as he walked in, and beside him Stevie shuddered. “What’s that smell?” she muttered.

“Beer and vomit.”

“Nice.”

Jake sat on a stool at the far end, alone in the brightly lit space. He slouched, his hair hung in his eyes, and his chin stubble looked four days old. He simply glared at them as they walked between the tables.

“You here to arrest me?”

“Nope. Unless you know something we don’t know,” said Zane.

“I didn’t do anything. Tony Cooper has had it coming for years.”

“You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.”

Jake shrugged and looked into his cup of coffee.

“I’m surprised the bar is open,” said Zane. “I figured it’d close with Bob’s death.”

“I bet you’d like that,” sneered Jake. “But I know how to run everything. Who do you think keeps it afloat when Bob takes a weekend off? He doesn’t just sit on his ass here year-round. I take over at least one weekend a month.”

On the bar next to him Jake had an open bag of Doritos, ranch dip, four empty Snickers wrappers, and the remains of one of Nell’s giant cinnamon rolls.

“Hungry, Jake?” Stevie asked.

“I eat when I’m pissed.”

“How’d you lose so much weight, Jake?” Stevie said in a deceptively polite voice. “I didn’t even recognize you the other day. You look great.”

Jake’s chin lifted the slightest bit. “Workin’ out.”

“Where at? This town really could use a gym,” Zane added.

“I got equipment at home.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Sweat beaded on his temples.

“You feeling okay?” Stevie laid a hand on his shoulder. “You look a little shaky.”

“You would too if you had cops breathing down your back. What do you want?”

“We want to know if Bob was dealing oxy,” said Zane. “We know he was using heavily. Was he selling it too? We found a lot of cash in his house with no explanation.”

Jake sucked at hiding his guilt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s dead, Jake. It’s not like you can screw things up for him. But we’ve got some missing women and we know Bob was involved with Vanessa Phillips’s murder. We’re just trying to put the pieces together.”

“Bob wouldn’t hurt anybody!”

Zane wanted to bang Jake’s head into the bar, knock a little sense into him. “Bob admitted he killed Amber Lynn. That falls under my definition of
hurt
. How about your definition, Stevie?”

“Absolutely. I suspect he
hurt
the other three missing women,” she prodded.

“That wasn’t his fault! Amber Lynn just got in the way.” Sweat rolled down the side of Jake’s face, and his hand shook as he lifted his coffee cup.

“Did you know there’s a pill you can take that gets rid of your withdrawal symptoms, Jake?” Stevie asked. “Make the headache and shakes and nausea go away. How’s that sound to you right now?”

Hopeful eyes looked at Zane. “That true?”

The man looked miserably sick, and Stevie had nailed it that he was in withdrawal. “How long since your supply ran out, Jake?”

“A few days.”

“Bob kept you in oxy?” Zane asked calmly.

“Yeah, took away my appetite. People started noticing I was losing weight.” Jake’s head hung over his coffee like he wanted to dive into the cup, drown in the caffeine. “He didn’t sell it. He didn’t need to.”

“What do you mean he didn’t need to? Where’d his cash come from?”

“The bar makes lots of money. He just used the oxy for himself . . . and gave some to me.”

“For free?”

“He never charged me.”

“How long had he been giving it to you?”

Jake chewed on his lip. “Must be about two years now.”

Zane looked at Stevie. How did a drug dealer make money if he gave away his product for two years? Jake had to be mistaken. Or lying. Although he seemed to be a pretty lousy liar.

Zane pulled out the picture of the two missing Medford women. “Seen these two in the bar?”

Jake blinked and struggled to focus on the picture. “Pretty.”

“Very,” said Zane. “But no one’s seen them for months. Do they look familiar?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you ever see Bob leave with a woman?” Stevie tried a different tack. “Was he able to get them to go home with him very often?”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah. He was the best. He said women liked the tough-guy look.” He pulled up his sleeve to show a tattoo on his forearm. “He said tattoos always work on the women.” His tattoo read
Only the strong servive
.

Zane hoped Jake hadn’t paid too much for it.

Stevie averted her eyes from the tattoo and make a small choking noise. “So Bob was popular with the ladies,” she managed to say. But you don’t recognize these two in the pictures.”

Jake looked again. “No. We mostly get truckers in here.” He squinted at the paper. “The one on the left might have been in here before. I can’t remember. When women came in Bob tried to get them to sit at this end of the bar where it’s quieter, and he could keep an eye on them. He didn’t want the truckers harassing them.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Stevie said under her breath.

“Did Bob have a fishing or hunting cabin he liked to use?” Zane asked. “Or do you know of any outbuildings where he might have stored some of his equipment?”

Jake scowled. “What kind of equipment?”

“I don’t know,
anything
,
like a boat or quad.”

“You’re looking for a place where he killed these women.” Jake pointed at the photos. “I’m telling you, he didn’t do it! He didn’t have a boat to store, and he didn’t hunt.”

“No one knew him better than you,” Stevie cajoled. “What about Samantha Lyle? Do you remember her?”

“I knew her. I remember everyone said she left town after her fight with her boyfriend.”

“Did you see her the night she left? They’d been here in the bar.”

Zane let Stevie continue asking the questions. Jake looked at her with puppy-dog eyes, having apparently forgotten about her boot to his balls the other night. With Zane he bristled and got defensive every time Zane spoke.

“I didn’t see them that night. I was off. Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean she was murdered. She could be living in New York City for all we know. Everyone’s trying to make Bob look bad.”

Bob did that himself.
“We’re just looking for answers.” Zane exchanged a glance with Stevie. He was tired of hearing Jake sing Bob’s praises.