Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River Novella, Book 4) (5 page)

“The fire marshal suspects arson. Charring, burn patterns, and multiple points of origin suggest the use of an accelerant. Can’t confirm, of course, until he’s finished with his investigation and the lab reports come back.”

“Too many trails lead right back to the O’Rourke resort. Possibility number one: Walt was using the construction site as a distribution hub,” Seth said. “Both Peter and JD were employed there. He could have passed drugs off to them there. Maybe a user is angry that his distribution was cut off.”

Zane pressed his fingers against his forehead as if it ached. “Walt was using the construction site as a distribution center, but the forensics team didn’t find any trace of the drug at the site. So the C-22 must have been stored somewhere else and simply passed from vehicle to vehicle.”

Seth scratched his wrist. “Possibility number two: O’Rourke’s was caught in the drug rivalry between our local supplier and the gang on the coast. Maybe the fire was payback to the O’Rourkes for Walt killing their man.”

“Good point.” Zane tapped a finger on the ballistics report. “Other suspects are the multiple building contractors generally pissed at the O’Rourkes for canceling their jobs after their work failed inspections. Peter Rollins’s dad, Alex, is one of them. I ran into him on Founder’s Day. He was drunk, angry, and vocal about the O’Rourkes ruining his reputation. I’ll get a list of everyone who was at the site yesterday: deliverymen, suppliers, contractors, et cetera.”

“I’ll interview Alex and Peter. I’d like to know what they were doing for the hours before the fire started yesterday.” Seth rubbed at the edge of his bandage. The mere mention of the fire made the burn underneath itch. “We have more questions than answers. We know Walt killed Roy and JD. Every person of interest is turning up dead before we can ask them questions. The only guy we have in custody is that dealer from the coast.”

“The one who is willing to spill his guts but doesn’t actually know anything.”

“That’s the one.” Seth sighed. “This is a small town. Somebody knows what’s going on.”

“They’re probably too afraid to say anything.”

“With good reason.”

A knock sounded on the door.

“Yes?” Zane called out.

Sheila opened the door and stuck her head in. “We just got a call from Sue over at building and zoning. The building inspector, Mike Bell, didn’t show up this morning. Sue hasn’t been able to get ahold of him. Sue says Mike hasn’t missed a day of work in fifteen years. She went by his house and knocked but he didn’t answer. She’s worried something happened to him.”

Zane looked at Seth. “Want to ride along?”

“Sure.” He followed the police chief outside. “I don’t like it.”

“Me either. Not after what happened to Roy.” Zane got into his car and drove out of the lot.

Seth followed in his county vehicle. Ten minutes later they parked in front of a neat bungalow about the same size as Seth’s place. Closing his car door and stepping up on the sidewalk, Seth assessed the house. A paved driveway ran up the left side. Hedges edged the small lot on both sides, providing privacy. “Newspaper’s on the stoop.”

“Porch light is still on.” Zane stopped to check the mailbox. “Empty.”

“So he collected his mail yesterday.”

The pale-green clapboards and white trim had been recently painted. A pair of low-slung wooden chairs adorned the deep porch. Seth leaned over to read the date on the paper. “Today’s issue.”

Zane knocked. No one answered.

An elderly lady emerged from the house next door. She turned around to drag her walker over the threshold. Big silver letters on the lumpy rear of her pink sweat pants spelled out
BOOTY
. She scraped and shuffled to the edge of her porch and called over to them. “Are you boys looking for Mike?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zane said. He and Seth crossed the small patch of lawn to stand in front of her porch. She frowned down at them.

“Well, I’m worried. It’s recycling day. He always puts out his receptacle and mine.” She pointed to the green plastic container sitting in front of her garage door. “We missed the truck. Plus, his front porch light is on. That light is never on in the daytime. Mike turns it off when he brings in his paper in the morning. He’s an early riser. I’m telling you. Something is wrong.”

Zane pulled a small notebook from the chest pocket of his uniform. “Can I have your name, ma’am?”

“Trudy Baker.”

“When was the last time you saw Mike, Mrs. Baker?” Zane asked.

“Hm.” Her wrinkled forehead accordioned. “He came home around six. Looked like he was carrying a bag of fried chicken from Nell’s.”

“Does Mike have a girlfriend?” Zane asked.

“He hasn’t dated much since that useless bimbo he married six years ago dumped him. She hated Solitude. I think she lasted six months.” The old lady shook her head in disbelief. “I’d hoped he’d learned his lesson, but apparently not.”

“Why do you say that?” Seth asked.

“Because I saw a blonde in a shameful dress slinking out of his place before dawn last week.” She huffed.

Seth’s interest sharpened. “Can you describe her?”

“I didn’t get a look at her face, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.” She shook her head. “By the time I fetched my binoculars, she was gone.”

“Can you describe her car?”

“There wasn’t an extra car on the street. She must have parked on a different street.” She shifted her weight, leaning heavily on her walker. “I need to sit down. If you have any more questions, you’ll have to come inside.”

“Thanks for your help, ma’am,” Zane said.

Seth and Zane rounded the house, peering in windows as they walked along the side of the building.

“Can’t see a thing,” Zane said.

“Who closes the kitchen blinds?” Seth asked.

“Not me.” Zane headed for the detached garage.

“Maybe he stayed over at his new girlfriend’s place.” Seth put a toe on the woodpile stacked against the side of the building and hoisted himself up to look in the high window. A log moved under his shoe. He gripped the window ledge to steady his footing. “Empty.”

Seth dropped to the ground.

“Mike could have fallen in the shower or had a heart attack.” Zane turned and headed for the back porch.

A dozen other perfectly reasonable explanations occurred to Seth, but none of them were good. A faint mewing sound came from the back of the log pile. He peered into the shadowed space behind the stacks of wood. Two black-and-white kittens blinked up at him.

Halfway across the grass, Zane stopped. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Seth crossed the small patch of back lawn and climbed the porch steps.

Zane pointed to the doorknob. Faint scratches marred the wooden jamb. He used the hem of his shirt to try the knob. The door swung open. Not a good sign. They drew their weapons and stepped across the threshold. Seth’s pulse kicked up a notch as the adrenaline buzz hit his bloodstream. The back door opened into a mud room.

“Mike?” Zane called out.

The house was silent except for the hum of appliances. The mud room led to a short hall.

Zane took the first room. Seth shouldered the second door open. The bathroom. Two steps took him across the black-and-white mosaic tiles to the claw-foot tub. He swept the shower curtain aside. Empty. A single towel hung from a rack. Seth touched it. Dry. No drops of water in the sink or shower.

The police chief continued down the hall while Seth nudged the next door with his elbow and led with his weapon. Bedroom. Empty. Dropping to one knee, he glanced under the queen-size bed, then checked the small closet.

“No one’s home.” Zane holstered his weapon.

Satisfied the house was empty, Seth returned his weapon to his hip.

“Let me grab gloves, then we’ll snoop.” Zane fetched two pairs from his car.

“Without a warrant?”

Zane shrugged. “Mike isn’t going to sue me.”

The layout was like Seth’s place but bachelor-sparse. Three main rooms in the front, a short hall, and two bedrooms in back. They started at the front entry. Seth scanned the scant furnishings and bare white walls. No wedding photo or snapshots. No curtains over the utilitarian blinds. No signs of female habitation. If he hadn’t shared his house with Carly for all those years, this was how he’d be living. She’d added everything to his house that made it a home. Without his wife and daughter, his bungalow was as empty, quiet, and depressing as the hollow space in his chest.

“You see keys, a wallet, or cell phone?” Zane asked.

“No. There’s a stack of unopened mail by the door.”

“There’s cold coffee in the pot. It’s full, programmable, and set to brew at six a.m.” Zane appeared in the archway to the kitchen.

“How well do you know Mike? I’ve never met him.” Seth worked for the sheriff’s office in the county seat of Hannon.

“Well enough. We don’t hang out together, but we both work for the township. Can’t help but run into each other now and then, especially at city council meetings.”

Seth avoided local politics like an Ebola hot zone. “Any chance he could be out for a run?”

“He’s not the athletic type.” Zane shook his head. He handed Seth a snapshot. “This was on the fridge.”

In the photo a man in his forties held a huge Chinook salmon in both hands. Mike was short, pudgy, and bald. Dressed in khaki pants and shirt, he looked like Elmer Fudd. Definitely not the athletic type.

They moved to the back of the house for a more thorough search. The second bedroom was used as an office. The queen-size bed dominated the master bedroom. A basket of folded laundry sat on a chair against the wall. The hamper was half-full. No knickknacks cluttered the furniture, which was also free of dust. Seth checked the dresser and nightstand. No wallet, no keys, no cell phone.

In the doorway, Zane nodded toward the bed. “Must have had a rough night.”

The beige sheets and a thin cotton blanket were tangled, un-tucked, and hanging off the mattress. Seth peered into a trash can next to the dresser. “Empty condom wrappers in the trash.”

Zane called Mike’s office and requested his emergency contact numbers. Five minutes later he ended the call and turned to Seth. “His mother is listed as his emergency contact, but Sue says she’s been dead for three years.”

“Guess Mike didn’t update his personnel file. What now?”

“Sue is going to send me a list of his appointments for yesterday.” Zane stepped on the pedal for the trash can and checked inside. “I have a bad feeling about this, but until twenty-four hours passes, what can I do? There’s no sign of a struggle. All we have is a few scratches on the back door, the unlocked door, and the fact that Mike has never missed work before.” He paused, considering. “The hell with it. This is too much like Roy’s disappearance. I’d rather piss Mike off than let an opportunity to find him pass. Let’s take some prints and talk to the neighbors. You can’t spit on the sidewalk in Solitude without everybody knowing about it. Someone must have seen Mike’s new girlfriend. We’ll put out a BOLO on Mike’s pickup. He drives a silver F-150.”

As he stood in the middle of the inspector’s kitchen, Seth’s gaze fell on a recycling container in the corner. He walked closer. A single empty wine bottle was nestled in a bed of empty beer cans. “Is Mike a beer or wine guy?”

“Beer drinker,” Zane said with certainty.

“His new girlfriend must like pinot grigio.” Seth opened the dishwasher with two gloved fingers. A single wineglass occupied the top rack. “Let’s take a few prints.”

Zane appeared in the kitchen doorway. He scrolled through his phone display. “Guess where Mike was doing inspections yesterday?

Seth knew by the look on Zane’s face. “O’Rourke’s.”

Carly pulled into her mother’s driveway and parked at the main house instead of driving around to the guest cabin she shared with her daughter. After spending the night with Seth, she’d been running late and had barely seen Brianna this morning. Even now that she was alone in her car, her face heated at the memory of the previous night. A type A alpha male, Seth was goal-oriented and intense.

“Mommy!” Brianna bounded out of the house. Pigtails contained the dirty-blonde hair she’d inherited from her father. She flung her skinny body into Carly’s arms and wrapped her legs around her mother’s waist.

“Hey, pumpkin. Whatcha doing today?” Carly carried her into the house.

“Baking cookies with Grandma.”

Patsy was at the kitchen counter stirring batter with a wooden spoon. A white apron covered her long cotton skirt and sleeveless blouse. Her long hair was bound in a loose knot at the base of her neck. “What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

Carly leaned over and gave her petite mother a kiss on the cheek. “I came to see what you girls were up to.”

Brianna squirmed, and Carly let her slide to the floor. The little girl knelt on a chair. “Is it ready?”

“It is.” Smiling wide, Patsy handed her granddaughter a spoon and slid the bowl across the table.

Patsy had lost weight after her husband had died, but almost four months later she seemed to have stabilized. Sadness still haunted her eyes, but joy lit her face whenever one of her grandchildren visited.

Carly was glad she’d moved back home after she’d left Seth. She hated to think of her mom weathering her father’s death without Brianna as a happy distraction.

Patsy set a cookie sheet on the table. “Can you stay for lunch?”

“Sure.” Carly checked the time on her phone. “I have a little time before my next appointment.”

“Grandma’s making grilled cheese sandwiches.” Brianna dropped a spoonful of batter onto the cookie sheet. “Then we’re gonna give Prince Eric a bath for the Labor Day parade.” Brianna’s 4-H project, a rescued pygmy goat, could find mud in a desert. He’d come to Patsy malnourished and weak, but was now fat—and feisty.

“Get Uncle Bruce to help.” Carly grinned. While the three older Taylor siblings were gainfully employed, the twenty-three-year-old musician lived in their mother’s basement. Muscle might be required to handle the rowdy little animal. Plus, Carly owed him some payback for dunking her in the lake earlier that summer.

A knock sounded at the front door. Patsy wiped her hands on her apron and walked into the hall. “Seth, what are you doing here?”