Murder Comes by Mail (25 page)

“You need something to eat. Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast at the Grill.”

“I can’t let the town see me like this. They might start feeling sorry for me and then they’d never believe anything I wrote ever again.”

“You’re not making sense, Hank, but if you won’t go to the Grill, let me drive you home.”

“With that dog?” Hank cast a leery look at Jasper sitting at attention, watching him. “I don’t think so. Besides, I’m tired. I’m distraught. I may even be pathetic. But I’m not drunk. I can drive myself home.”

“Then do it. Go home. Barbara and Rebecca Ann are safe in Atlanta by now, aren’t they?” Hank nodded and Michael went on. “Then turn off your phone and get some sleep.”

“But I might need to take some pictures. Something might happen.”

“Aren’t you the one always saying nothing ever happens in Hidden Springs?”

“Oh, for the good old days.”

The phone out in the front office rang a couple of times before Annie Watson answered it. The sound of her voice drifting back to them was low and somehow reassuring. Something the same as last week. Annie had been the same for years, taking ads over the phone, promising people space in the paper for newsworthy stories or events.

Hank poked his finger down on the
Gazette
. “Did you read this? I wimped out, Michael. Didn’t put half of what I could have put in the story. I lost my nerve.”

“No, you were being sensible. No need having anything about Rebecca Ann in the paper. Not in this kind of story.”

“But don’t you see? Everybody in Hidden Springs will know about it sooner or later anyway. They’ll hear what really happened, and they’ll see that I’ve lost my nerve.”

“They’ll understand you’re a dad watching out for his daughter. That you’re a dad who loves that daughter.”

“That’s just it.” Misery deepened every line of Hank’s face. “I can’t close my eyes, Michael. Every time I close my eyes, I see that first poor little girl. Hope. Only it’s not her face. It’s Rebecca Ann’s.”

25

Annie Watson stuck her head inside the editor’s office door. “Sorry to interrupt, Hank, but Michael has a call.”

Annie looked toward Michael but was thrown off balance by the sight of Jasper, as if she hadn’t just watched the dog parade through the front office moments ago. Michael doubted that she had ever allowed a dog inside the newspaper office. Ever. It took her a minute to remember her message. “Buck Garrett. He claims it’s imperative he speak with you immediately.”

With a last frown at Jasper, she ducked back out the door. Hank looked almost shell-shocked as he spoke in a near whisper. “You think it’s another one?”

Michael picked up the phone on Hank’s desk without answering him. Too late he thought he should have followed Annie back out to the front to take the call. Hank might not be on the top of his game, but he was still a newspaperman.

“Michael here.” Michael turned so Hank couldn’t see his face.

“You forget to turn your cell phone on again, kid?” Buck growled.

“No, forgot to plug it in last night. It’s charging back at the office. You could have radioed.”

“And have every Tom, Dick, and Harry listening in. Don’t know why they don’t outlaw those scanner radios.”

“You’ve got me now. So what’s up?”

Buck wasn’t one to waste words on the phone. “Some fisherman called in. Spotted a blue car. Might be an older model Olds or Plymouth, abandoned down by the lake.”

“Why abandoned? Could be somebody fishing off the bank.”

“Claimed it was there last night and in the same exact spot this a.m. With water up over the car’s front wheels like somebody tried to drive it into the lake.”

“He go over for a better look?”

“Said he thought about it, but was worried it might be rocky around there. He wasn’t curious enough to chance tearing up his boat. Probably one of those megabuck jobs. Price could pay my Billie Jo’s tuition all four years.”

“Local guy?”

“Nobody’s got money for that kind of boat around here. The guy is down from Ohio. Rented a tourist cabin on Patterson’s Creek for a few days.”

“He spot anybody in or around the car?”

“Said not. Said he idled his boat for a few minutes but nothing ever moved in the car.”

“Could be asleep.”

“Or dead.” Buck didn’t mince words. “I’m headed out that way. Might take some finding from the bozo’s directions.”

“What did he say about the place besides rocky?”

“He didn’t know for sure it was rocky. Just worried it might be. City slicker. First time on the lake.”

“He had to tell you something.”

“Yeah. Around a little point. Not far from where a finger of the lake separates off into a big back pool. Come to think of it, that sounds like the one that flows back in toward your place. Seems I remember an old road past your place down to the lake.”

“Nobody has used it for years. You’d drag off a car’s oil pan driving down there.”

“Maybe this guy didn’t care. Especially if he had plans to drive into the lake.” Buck paused a minute. “The description of the car matches. You want to call Eagleton?”

“Let’s check it out first. “

“All right by me. Meet you at the turnoff to your place in fifteen minutes.” Buck hung up.

On the other side of the desk, Hank sat straight in his chair, his editor’s antenna full up. “What’s he found?”

Michael tugged on Jasper’s leash to get the dog on his feet. “Just an abandoned car.”

“What’s so important about that?”

“Probably nothing. But we have to check it out.” Michael looked over at Hank. “Go home and get some sleep. Anything happens you’ll have plenty of time to find out all the details before next week’s
Gazette
comes out.”

“Nobody can be a real newspaperman and only put out a weekly paper.” Hank reached for his camera. “How about I tag along?”

“Free country, but it’s probably nothing but an old junker nobody’s noticed out there in all the bushes. Could have been there all summer.”

“I hope so, Michael.” He draped the camera around his neck. “There’s nobody any readier than me to go back to taking pictures of Lester waving kids across the street in front of the elementary school or of the lopsided volcano little Suzy made for her science project. Nobody.”

Michael picked up Hank’s phone again to call Betty Jean. He really needed to remember to charge his cell, but no time to go back to the office now to grab it. He told Betty Jean where he was going and that she could contact him on the radio if she needed anything. Before he hung up, he asked, “You track anything down on our guy?”

“Not looking good. I was right about there being a zillion Johnsons in this world. I’m working on the mother’s name now. Sarah’s checking out the driver’s license records over at the circuit clerk’s office. We didn’t need a court order for that, did we?” She rushed ahead of his answer. “Don’t answer that. It’s already done now. What about the car? Where was it licensed?”

“Buck ran a check on that without turning up anything.”

“Yes, but you know those state people. They probably did a routine ‘who cares if we find it or not’ check and so didn’t look in the back records.”

“I’m sure Whitt was more thorough.”

“And wouldn’t tell us if he found beans,” Betty Jean said.

“The license number is there in my notes.”

“Notes for the report you haven’t entered in the computer yet, that I daresay nobody but you can decipher.” Betty Jean’s sigh came over the line. “I’ll call T.R. He’ll have the number on his tow bill.”

He started to hang up but decided to answer the question she wouldn’t ask. “Things are okay up the street. Weird but okay.”

“Good. Weird is normal.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Michael didn’t use his lights or siren on the way to the lake. He didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of dread rising inside him. He even drove a little under the speed limit. In spite of the heat, he left the air off and put down the windows. He let Jasper ride in the front to stick his head out in the wind.

Hank poked along behind him in his beat-up old van. He’d be stuck when he got to the lake because no way could that car navigate the old wagon trace down past Michael’s house. Bushes had grown up to almost swallow the deep, narrow ruts. Michael didn’t see how any car could get down that road. Buck had to be wrong about the location, even if the description did fit.

Buck, in his four-wheel-drive truck, was waiting at the turnoff down to Michael’s place. Michael eased up beside him and Buck rolled down his window. He motioned back toward Hank, who rolled to a stop behind Michael. “What’s he doing here?”

“He thinks there might be a photo opportunity.”

“He’s not riding down there in my truck.”

“Fine with me,” Michael said. “I’ll leave my car and Jasper at the house.”

“How come you’re letting the dog ride shotgun with you anyway?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

Michael pulled back out on the road and headed down his lane in front of Buck. Hank followed a respectful distance behind them. Hank didn’t mind jerking everybody else’s chain, but he didn’t mess with Buck. Then again, hardly anybody messed with Buck without paying a price, except maybe his own daughter, Billie Jo. Buck had a long memory, and Hank said he couldn’t put out a newspaper without a driver’s license.

When Michael stopped in front of his house, he had to tug Jasper out of the car by his collar. Once on the ground, Jasper stalked around the yard stiff-legged, sniffing everything with his fur ruffed up on his neck. Michael made a quick survey of the place, but nothing looked disturbed. The dog must be catching Michael’s unease.

“Stay, Jasper.” Michael held his palm out toward the dog and climbed up into Buck’s truck.

“What’s with your dog? He acts like he doesn’t know he’s home.”

“Things have been kind of strange lately.” Michael leaned out the window and yelled at Hank. “You better wait here. The road’s rough from here on to the lake. You’ll never make it in your van.”

“You could let me ride in the back.” Hank started to open his door, but Buck gunned the truck and bounced over the first ruts into the bushes.

“There goes my paint job,” he muttered.

“Maybe we should have looked for tracks before we drove back here. Might not even be the right place.”

“Yeah, that might be smart, but let’s get out of sight of cameraman or he’ll be climbing up in the back of my truck and then, like as not, sue me when I pitch him out. Why didn’t you lock him in a closet or something to keep him from following you?”

“Why’d you call me at his office?”

“That’s where you were. Without your phone.” Buck checked his rearview mirror. Satisfied he’d put enough bushes and trees between them and Hank, he braked. He left the motor running and opened the door to climb out. “Let’s see what we can find.”

The rainy weather that had muddied the river a couple of weeks ago had given way to hot, dry days. The ground was July hard, with cracks in the dirt between the weeds.

Still, even though there were no visible tracks in the ruts of the road, it was plain something had pushed through the bushes not long ago. Wilted leaves clung to the broken branches, and up the way a little from Buck’s truck, Michael spied a rusty muffler and tailpipe.

Michael picked it up. “Whoever drove back here didn’t drive out.”

“How do you know? Losing a muffler doesn’t keep a car from running.”

“It’s not the muffler. It’s the bushes. They’re all shoved one way.”

“You’re a regular Boy Scout.” Buck headed back to his truck. “So guess we’d better go see what shoved them.”

Michael followed Buck, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to walk off into the trees and away from it all.

Something crashed through the brush behind them and both Michael and Buck had their hands on their guns when Jasper came out into the open. Buck moved his hand away from his gun and flexed his fingers a few times.

“Might be you should teach that dog of yours to bark before he jumps out of the bushes. He could catch a bullet.” Buck got in his truck. “Come on, Mike. We best get a move on it. I expect old cameraman is probably hoofing along after us too.”

Michael pitched the muffler and tailpipe in the back of the truck and wished he was back at the office, listening to Lester talk about being an umpire at the T-ball games. A simple small-town life. That was all he wanted. A place where people went to church on Sundays and didn’t have to worry about evil creeping out from who knew where to cast a dark shadow over their town. He climbed back into the truck.

A prayer rose within him, unbidden.
No more, Lord. Please.

The car was just like the one Jackie Johnson had left at the bridge. Michael was trying to make out the license plate numbers when Buck swore under his breath.

“That headrest has hair.”

26

Michael didn’t want to get out of the truck. He didn’t want to see whose face went with the long blonde hair draped over the seat.

Buck gripped the steering wheel. “As hot as it’s been, this could be bad.”

Michael didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

Buck blew out a long breath. “Guess we better call in the troops. You got your radio?”

Michael pulled it out of his belt. “No signal. How about your cell phone?”

Buck fished the phone out of his pocket. “Nothing. Too far from civilization out here, I guess. You get a signal back at your house?”

“Not a good one. Usually have to be almost out to the main road before you can be sure a call will go through. That’s why I forget to charge my phone up. I use my landline.”

Buck turned off the key. They sat there as if they were deciding nothing more important than where they might throw in their lines for the best chance to catch some fish. A boat sped past out in the middle of the lake, slapping the water up against the rocky bank and the car’s front tires. A blue jay squawked out a warning that the place had been invaded, and a couple of flies buzzed through the truck’s open window to circle their heads. Jasper appeared on the road behind them and whined at the truck before he moved past them to check out the car.