Tracks of Her Tears (2 page)

Stepping out of the apartment, he picked up his phone and started calling reinforcements. He left a second message for his wife. Then he said a quick prayer that Bruce was home sleeping and wouldn’t turn up dead in the woods.

C
HAPTER TWO

C
arly stepped onto her mother’s back porch. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but by the time she’d shed her gloves and unzipped her parka, the call had gone to voice mail. She checked the screen. Seth. Odd. Her husband rarely called her during the day.

Listening to his brief message asking her to call him back, she herded her daughter into the mud room of her mother’s house. The little cabin on the other side of the meadow where Carly, Seth, and Brianna lived was too small for the Christmas baking marathon planned for the day.

Brianna stripped off her coat, hat, and mittens. The wet items dropped to the floor. Then she sat and tugged off her snow boots.

“Grandma!” She ran into the big country kitchen. “Ooh. Cookies.”

Carly gathered Brianna’s soggy garments and hung them on pegs to dry, then shed her own outerwear and joined her daughter and mother.

“Morning.” Carly surveyed the racks of cooling cookies spread out on the counters. At the table, decorator bags full of icing were lined up on a plate. “What time did you get up?”

Intent on saving her mother some of the more backbreaking work, Carly and Brianna cared for the menagerie of rescue animals in the barn each morning and night, but Patsy just found other work to do.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. Something just feels wrong,” Patsy said with a frown. She shook her head. “I’m probably just keyed up for the holiday. It’s just as well I was up early. We have a lot of work to do today.”

“Is it going to snow more, Mama?” Kneeling on a kitchen chair, Brianna pressed her nose against the kitchen window. Her breath fogged her view. Lifting her head, she drew a smiley face in the condensation on the glass.

“Maybe.” Carly joined her daughter. In the backyard Brianna’s lopsided snowman leaned heavily to the right. Heavy clouds and a light coating of snow on the meadow suggested a white Christmas was a possibility. After an unusually hot summer, the weather had done an about-face on the region and delivered an equally harsh start to the winter season.

“These cookies aren’t going to decorate themselves.” Patsy applied her rolling pin to a ball of pie dough. George Strait crooned “Silent Night” in the background. “Oh no, you don’t.” She shooed a black-and-white kitten off the table. Her Irish setter, Trina, lay on the floor at Patsy’s side, tail thumping on the hardwood.

“Your name is Cookie, but you don’t eat them, sillyhead.” Brianna scrambled off her chair, scooped up the kitten, and set him on the floor next to his brother, Cream. The kittens scampered across the floor and pounced on Trina. The gentle dog sighed as Cookie and Cream played tag around her head. At three months of age, Brianna’s kittens alternated between being cuddly angels and being holy terrors.

“Wash your hands.” Carly pointed toward the sink.

“Debra’s coming over later to help.” Patsy pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. The rest of her long, curly hair, caught in a loose knot, suddenly seemed more gray than brown. The lines around her eyes had deepened. She looked tired, as if she’d aged ten years since Bill’s death the previous spring.

A pang of grief zipped through Carly. This would be the first Christmas without her father. If she closed her eyes, she could see him slip in and steal a cookie from the cooling rack. She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You know we could buy pies at Nell’s.”

“Why on earth would we do that?” Patsy wiped flour-covered hands on her apron.

“It feels like a lot of effort.” Carly sighed, sadness draining her energy.

“Of course it’s a lot of effort. That’s the point. Holidays are special.” Patsy’s mouth twisted in a wistful smile. “We’re all going to miss him, honey. It’s all right to be sad, but he would roll over in his grave if I didn’t make cookies and pie for Christmas.”

How did her mother always know exactly what she was thinking? Carly sniffled. “He loved your butter cookies.”

“He did.” Patsy stopped working for a minute, her rolling pin resting on the flattened dough. “It’s hard times like this that make our traditions even more important. We’re building memories for the children.”

Carly watched Brianna carefully pipe white icing wings on a cookie angel. Carly and her husband, Seth, had committed to spending more time as a family for that very reason. Since losing her father, she’d become acutely aware that time was precious. Every day should be cherished. “You’re right. Today is baking day. I have to call Seth. Then I’ll start peeling apples.”

She dialed the phone and poured a cup of coffee as she waited for him to answer. “Hey. I’m sorry I missed your call. Brianna and I just finished building her snowman.”

“Have you seen Bruce?” Seth asked.

The tension in his voice alarmed Carly. “No. Why?”

“Would you please see if he’s home?”

“What’s going on, Seth?” Carly set her cup on the counter. Apprehension snaked up her spine.

“Just look,” Seth said. “Please.”

From the other side of the kitchen, her mother mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

With a shake of her head and a pointed glance at Brianna, Carly left the kitchen and jogged down the basement steps. Her youngest brother, Bruce, still lived at home. Playing guitar in a band a few nights a week did not yield a viable income. But since she, Seth, and Brianna lived in the guest cabin on the other side of the meadow, she couldn’t throw stones. Despite his lack of self-motivation, Bruce was loaded with good qualities. Brianna considered him her “fun uncle.” Bruce had never-ending patience with his nieces and nephews.

At the foot of the stairs, Carly tapped on his door. When he didn’t answer, she opened it. The bed was empty. “He’s not in his room.” And neither was the electric guitar he’d taken with him the night before. “It doesn’t look like he came home last night.”

“See if his van is outside,” Seth said.

Carly went up the steps and looked out the front window. “No. It’s not here. Maybe he stayed over at Amber Lynn’s.” They’d been dating for a couple of months, and Bruce was quite the charmer. But Seth didn’t say anything. All she could hear was her husband’s breathing on the other end of the call. Apprehension escalated to worry. “Seth, what’s going on?”

“He didn’t stay at Amber Lynn’s.” His voice was gentle. “I don’t want you to get upset.”

Carly’s stomach curled into a ball as she waited. Something was very, very wrong.

“Remember the homicide I caught this morning?”

“Yes.” In the living room, Carly sank into her father’s chair. The cushions curled around her, and she took comfort from the depressions where his big body had rested every evening for as long as she could remember.

“It’s Amber Lynn.”

“No.” Disbelief and sorrow washed over her. A few seconds later, Carly’s shocked mind connected the awful dots. Every drop of blood in her veins went ice-cold. She leaped to her feet. “Bruce was with her last night. Where is he?” Panic sent her pulse scurrying.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. The band was playing at Fletcher’s. Bruce was supposed to pick up Amber and drive her. He didn’t want her driving there alone. Fletcher’s has a rough crowd.” She took a long, shaky breath.
That poor girl.
Grief and fear rattled her bones. Amber Lynn had been such a sweet thing. Bruce had really liked her. Carly had thought maybe her happy-go-lucky brother had finally found the incentive to get his life on track. Carly froze, an image of Amber at the last family dinner popping into her mind. “Where the baby?”

“She’s with a neighbor. That’s why I’m calling you,” Seth said. “I thought you might want to handle her case. I know you’re off today, but I . . .” Seth paused, and indecision seeped through the connection. “I know we’re both trying to work less, but I just couldn’t give her to a stranger.”

Seth wanted her to take on an extra case? That was a first. Normally Seth hated her job as a social worker and the dangerous situations she occasionally faced. But Carly barely had time to register her surprise.

“Of course I’ll take care of her. I’ll head over there now. Text me the address.” Carly stood. “You have to find Bruce.”

“I know. I’ll get the sheriff’s department and state police on board, and I’ll call Zane to start a search.”

Zane Duncan was the Solitude police chief.

“Thanks,” Seth said. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Carly ended the call.

“What’s wrong?”

Carly started. Her mother stood in the living room doorway.

“That was Seth.” Carly searched for the words to tell Patsy that her youngest son was missing. She was still grieving the loss of her husband. The whole town was still mourning Big Bill Taylor’s death.

Patsy’s eyes clouded with apprehension. “What is it?”

“Sit down, Mom.” Carly nodded toward the sofa.

“Just tell me what happened.” Patsy perched on the edge of a cushion. The color drained from her face. “I know something’s wrong. I’ve known since last night.”

Carly sat on the coffee table and took her mother’s hand. “Amber Lynn is dead.”

Patsy’s other hand splayed across her chest. “No.”

“She was killed.” Carly squeezed her mother’s fingers. “And Seth can’t find Bruce. I don’t think he came home last night, and he wasn’t in her apartment.”

Patsy closed her eyes. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. She raised her eyelids and stared at Carly. “He’s not dead. I’d know it if he was. We have to find him.”

Normally Carly and her three siblings joked about their mother’s
feelings
. Patsy always seemed to know things she shouldn’t. But nothing was funny about today.
Please let her be right.

“Seth is doing everything possible. He’s calling Zane in to help.” Carly stood. “He wants me to take care of Amber Lynn’s little girl. Will you be all right here with Brianna?” Carly asked.

“Of course.” Patsy rubbed her arms for a few seconds before standing up straight. Though she was clearly shaken, Patsy would function. She always did. She was the strongest person Carly knew.

Carly squeezed her mom’s shoulder. “Seth won’t stop until he finds Bruce.”

“I know.” Patsy lifted her chin. Determination tightened her mouth and deepened the lines around her eyes. She’d aged since Bill’s murder. “You go. I’ll make some calls, get folks to start looking.” No doubt Patsy would call everyone in her phone book. In thirty minutes the whole town would be searching for Bruce.

“I’ll call James and Stevie,” Carly said. “I’ll let you know the second I hear anything.”

James was her oldest sibling and the mayor. Carly’s sister, Stevie, was a Solitude cop. Although since Stevie and Zane were dating, Stevie would probably hear the news from him.

After telling Brianna she had to run a quick errand for work, Carly said goodbye and headed toward Amber Lynn’s apartment in Hannon. Putting her phone on speaker, she called the office to apprise her boss of the situation, though she knew he wouldn’t object to her taking the case. Family services was chronically short staffed. If she wanted to take on more work, her boss would say yes, thank you, and hallelujah.

Carly kept an eye on the side of the road for Bruce’s van. This was the route Bruce would have driven the night before. What if he’d had an accident? Flurries were drifting onto the windshield of her Jeep, and the temperature was dropping. If Bruce was out there somewhere, they had to find him.

Less than an hour after Seth’s call, she parked in front of the apartment complex. Getting out of her Jeep, she saw Seth’s car and a few marked police cars in the parking lot. Carly passed a uniformed deputy. Yellow crime scene tape marked the closed door of what was likely Amber Lynn’s apartment. Seth would be inside, going through that poor girl’s things.

With a tight chest, Carly continued along the concrete walkway toward the apartment number Seth had given her. She knocked, and an older woman opened the door. Carly produced her official ID and introduced herself.

“I’m Mrs. Kaminsky.” She led Carly into the kitchen. The baby sat in a high chair, happily working her way through a plate of scrambled eggs and diced peaches. Another, younger woman leaned on the counter. Her eyes were wet and her nose red. Mrs. Kaminsky gestured. “This is Misty. She lived in 40B. She was a friend of Amber Lynn’s.”

Misty was around thirty. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a tight ponytail. A red-and-yellow Denny’s logo decorated the sleeve of her black polo shirt. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Carly said. “Do either of you know Amber Lynn’s family or the baby’s father?”

Mrs. Kaminsky huffed. “Tell her what you told me, Misty.”

“I came home yesterday after my shift. On my way up the stairs, I passed Travis, that’s Charlotte’s daddy. He and Amber Lynn were arguing inside her apartment. The door was open. Amber Lynn didn’t like being alone with him.” Misty hiked her purse strap higher on her shoulder. Worry lines creased her forehead.

“Could you hear what they were fighting about?” Carly asked.

Misty nodded. “Money. Travis just got released on parole a few weeks ago. Amber Lynn didn’t want him anywhere near that baby. She’d told me before that his temper was too quick to be trusted around a child. I got the impression he’d hit Amber Lynn in the past. She didn’t need to worry, though. He didn’t want anything to do with the baby. All he wanted was cash. He had the nerve to ask
her
for money, even though he’s never paid a cent to help support his child.”

“Do you know if she gave him money?” Carly asked.

“Amber didn’t have any to spare.” Misty wiped a tear from her cheek. “Her new boyfriend, Bruce, showed up and got in Travis’s face. It looked like they were going to go at it, but Amber Lynn stepped between them and broke it up. I’d hoped once Travis saw her new boyfriend wasn’t going to put up with his shit, he’d leave Amber Lynn alone. I guess that’s not what happened.”

Bruce was easygoing and didn’t anger easily, but he wouldn’t have tolerated someone being abusive to Amber Lynn. Had Travis gone after both of them later that night?

Misty shuddered. “I felt terrible because I’d warned her off Bruce just a couple of weeks ago. He seemed nice, and Amber Lynn was really hung up on him. I said, ‘Amber Lynn, you have a baby. You need a man with prospects. Musicians do not bring home the bacon.’” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I was totally wrong about him, but I guess Amber Lynn doesn’t have to worry about that now.”