Carolyn Arnold - McKinley 04 - Politics is Murder (3 page)

Wake-up Call

THE RINGING PHONE PIERCED THE darkness of the room, and wee morning hour, like an air raid siren. Sara jolted upward, and her eyes opened to an eerie blue glow casting from the call display.

She jabbed his shoulder. “Sean.”

The phone was on the stand beside him. She could reach it if she rolled over him, but she hated the timing. Good news never came at two a.m.

“Sean,” she repeated, nudging him again.

“Wh…what?” His voice came out like a moan and, through it, he seemed to wake up and stir to life. “Who could be calling now?”

“Please, Sean, answer it.”

One of his eyes opened, she could discern it in the blue glow, and the other followed shortly behind.

He rolled over and put an end to the noise. “Hello.”

Sara had pressed against Sean’s back and placed a hand on his arm. All she could tell was the caller sounded worked up about something, but she didn’t read anything dire in the energy coming from Sean. She let out a deep breath. No one had died, or was dying.

“Who is it?” she whispered into his ear.

He turned over his shoulder and mouthed the caller’s name, but without the glow contributing illumination, even this close to him, she couldn’t tell what he had said.

Sean spoke into the receiver. “Yes, I don’t see why we couldn’t meet you in the—”

Sara willed her senses to pick up the caller’s words, but it was fruitless.

“Bye, now. See you then.” Sean placed the receiver back on the cradle and rolled to his back.

Sara stayed tucked near to him, her chest lying halfway across his, her hand playing with his chest hair. “Who was it?”

“Re—” A large yawn encased his face, causing her to follow suit. “Reanne Mable.”

“Reanne? What did she want at this hour?”

“I don’t know exactly, but she wants to meet with us tomorrow morning, about something important.”

“Meet with us? Why?”

“We’ll find out, darling. Can we go back to sleep now?”

“Is everything all right? Is she okay?”

“She sounded okay, maybe a little stressed.” He placed a hand on her head and she read his message through his fingertips. He needed to sleep.

She found irony that it was him and not her craving more shut-eye. Normally, she was out and he was the light sleeper. She went back to her side of the bed, her mind awake, her eyes staring at the ceiling and, having adapted to the limited light, she was able to discern items around her in the room.

“Rise and shine.” Sean walked into their bedroom, carrying a tray with orange juice and coffee, and three slices of buttered toast with strawberry jam.

“Oh.” Sara let out an enormous, audible yawn.

“Sounds to me like someone could use a little more sleep.”

“You have no idea.” She maneuvered to a sitting position, but the moment she did, her eyes enlarged and she hopped out of bed. “Be right back.”

He smiled as he watched her race across the room, out the door, and heard her footsteps tap the hall flooring. A minute later, he heard the flush followed by her prancing feet coming toward him.

She ran a hand down her face and then took the coffee from the tray. She showed no interest in the toast. He set the tray on the nightstand and got back into bed with her—him with his glass of orange juice, her hugging her steaming coffee mug, both of them with their backs to the wall for support. They didn’t have the luxury of a headboard.

She blew on it and took a mouthful. “What was it Reanne wanted, anyhow, at two in the morning? I thought someone had died.”

“I could have killed someone.” He laughed.

“I do remember that coming off you, yes.” She glanced over at him, her hair a tousled bed of curls. “What did she want? Something about a meeting?”

“She wants to meet to discuss something.”

“Did she say what?”

“She just said it was really important and that we need to trust her.”

“Important and trust her? Seems like odd requirements.”

“That’s what I thought, even at two, but now I’m actually awake, I’m really intrigued.”

“What could a news reporter want of us?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The Past Comes Back

SEAN TURNED INTO THE RESIDENTIAL drive that belonged to the address provided to him. He was impressed that he remembered the directions, seeing as he’d received them at such an early hour. He stopped at the wrought-iron gate and intercom system.

Sara glanced over at him. “She does all right for herself, doesn’t she?”

“I’d say.” He lowered the window and announced their arrival to the guard.

“Come on up, Mr. McKinley.” The gates opened and the Mercedes drifted through, as a sole fishing boat would in a water lock built to accommodate yachts—with plenty of room to spare.

The estate was expansive, with a drive that wound in from the road, providing privacy to the residence.

Sean parked in the roundabout and went to get Sara’s door. She lifted out a slender leg, slipped her hand into his, and he helped her up the rest of the way. The Mercedes was a lower ride that his Chevy had been.

He tugged down on his blazer, straightening it out after bending over to reach for Sara.

The door opened before they had a chance to ring the bell, which Sean was certain would have sounded a beautiful chime throughout the home.

“This way.” A uniformed, middle-aged woman rushed them inside.

Inside, it resembled the house they bought. Curved staircases wrapped along both sides of the entry, rising to meet at an upper-level balcony that overlooked the space. The woman led them into a room on the right.

Reanne got up to greet them. “Sean and Sara, thank you for coming.”

“Certainly,” Sean said.

“Would you like anything to drink? Juice, water, tea, coffee?”

“I’m good. Darling?” Sean directed to Sara.

“I’ll take a coffee.” She smiled politely at their host, the expression waning when she met Sean’s eyes.

His wife was a walking coffee addict, like many residents of North America.

“Ida.”

The uniformed woman nodded, and left to fulfill the request, but Sean didn’t miss the curt reflection in the woman’s eyes before doing so.

“Please.” Reanne invited them to take a seat again.

The room had a large fireplace with a mantle. The furniture was suited to a modern taste, which gave the indication it was more for show than comfort. Framed political photographs were displayed on the end tables and showcased on the walls. Sean noticed they all had one thing in common—Mayor Davenport. And Sara considered him politically-minded—obviously, she had made that conclusion before meeting Reanne.

Reanne slipped into a beige club chair and crossed her legs toward them. “I really do appreciate you two coming.”

“What can we do for you, Reanne?” Sean asked.

Her jittery movements culminated in her clasping her hands on her knee, but her one index finger kept tapping the other hand.

“Reanne, whatever it is.” Sara dipped her head in an effort to encourage dialogue.

She sat ramrod straight then, and Mayor Davenport entered the room.

The pictures clicked into focus. This wasn’t Reanne’s home, this was Davenport’s residence.

“What is this about?” Sean asked.

Another woman came in behind Davenport, a close image of Reanne. There was a definite family resemblance there. The main difference being the tax bracket the two women lived in. While Reanne was polished, this woman exuded an air around her. Her long, layered blond hair had a finer sheen.

She slipped her hand into Davenport’s as they came farther into the room.

Reanne gestured toward them. “This is Wayne Davenport. You are likely aware he’s the mayor.” A pause to lick her lips. “To me, he’s my brother-in-law. And, this is my sister, Randi. Our parents liked their
R
names.”

“Mr. McKinley.” Davenport shook hands with him and then with Sara. His wife followed behind.

Making contact with the couple, Sean sensed something had happened. What, of course, he didn’t know, but it had stabbed the Davenports at the heart and soul.

Davenport sat down on a couch that faced them, his wife beside him. “Would you like anything to dri—?”

“I already asked them,” Reanne began, but her response became mute when Ida entered with Sara’s coffee.

“Thank you,” Sara said.

“That will be all, Ida,” Davenport said. “And, please, close the doors behind you.”

He waited for her to latch the french doors.

Sean glanced to Sara and found she was looking at him as well. The same questions likely paraded in her head, what was all this about that it required closed doors?

Reanne leaned into the side of her chair. “I’m why you’re here, so I’ll begin with telling you that I know all about you two, what you’re capable of, what you did in Cancun.”

Sean looked to Reanne. Her hands were firmly clasped and rocking against her kneecap.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Before I bring anyone on my show, I conduct extensive research on them. Your names, well, they are all over the Internet. I know what you did for those people in Cancun. I never even would have said anything, except for this situation…” Her voice trailed off and she passed looks to the Davenports.

Sean’s eyes skipped, in turn, to everyone in the room. “What is this about?”

A few seconds passed, and Davenport’s mouth opened as if he were about to speak, when a ringing phone had him running from the room.

Randi’s eyes were full of tears and, when she connected with Sean’s gaze, she pressed on a smile to suppress them.

No one spoke until Davenport sat back down beside his wife. He took her hand. “Wrong number.”

Randi’s chin quivered and the emotion purged a few more tears down her cheeks, which she was quick to wipe away.

“Reanne, what is going on?” Sara’s face reflected their pain even though she didn’t know the details.

Davenport rubbed the back of Randi’s hand for a few seconds longer and then answered. “Our daughter’s been kidnapped.”

“Oh—”

He held up a hand. “It’s all right, there’s nothing much that can be said.”

“Have you called the police?” Sean asked.

Davenport nodded. “Yes, but, even as the mayor, it hasn’t been long enough. There hasn’t been a ransom call. Reanne told us about what you did for those people in Cancun.”

“I’m sorry, but that was a—”

Reanne uncrossed her legs. “Please, Mr. McKinley, Sean, we need your help. I never would have exposed your history otherwise. Unlike other reporters, I don’t like to dig deep and reveal things that are not relevant in the media.”

“We appreciate that, Reanne, but the police are your best bet in a situation like this,” Sara said, her phrasing and tone delicate.

“Is that what you told that couple in Cancun?” Randi asked.

Sean responded. “Actually, we did tell her to call the local police, but it was different—”

“How was it different, Sean?” Davenport asked. His stare, leveled with years of practice at manipulating its receiver.

“We were in a different country.”

“Wouldn’t that have made things more difficult?”

Sean captured the pain in the mayor’s eyes, drilling into him, but logic dictated this situation needed recognized law enforcement. Although, as communicated through eye contact, the mayor wasn’t used to accepting no for an answer.

“Why do you want us looking into this?”

Randi stood up and pulled a photograph from a pocket. She extended it to Sara. The interruption only had Sean’s eyes drifting from Davenport’s for a moment.

“Local detectives are set up in my office, monitoring incoming phone calls.”

Sean’s heart sped up a bit. He didn’t want any of the guys they knew seeing them here and getting the idea they were helping off the books as some sort of vigilante team. “I thought you said they wouldn’t get involved at this point.”

“You really think he’s going to accept that? He’s the mayor,” Randi said.

Sean looked between the couple and leaned forward, about to get up. “Listen, we appreciate your thinking of us, but you really are in the most capable hands—”

Sara tapped his arm and handed him the photo. A young woman smiled for the camera, her hair and eyes were brown like her father.

Reanne glanced at the Davenports and then spoke. “Her name is Halie.”

Sean heard Randi’s sobs. Discussing the situation in a distant-type manner must have been proving too much.

“She is a beautiful girl,” Sara said. “But Sean is right. We can’t be—”

“We will pay you handsomely for your time, of course,” Davenport interjected, his hand rubbing his wife’s arm.

Sean stiffened. “It’s not about the money.”

“We know you don’t need the money, but we would pay you.” Davenport disclosed the figure he had in mind.

Sean sensed Sara’s gaze on him but didn’t turn to face her. To take on this case would place them in a bad spot. They would pit themselves against their old friends, the chief, Jimmy. Somehow the latter struck him as betrayal.

“We’ll see ourselves out.” Sean stood.

“Please.” Reanne came in front of him. “Halie is the only niece I have. They have the police looking into this. It’s all legal, but we need you two.”

“I’m still not sure I’ve heard why.”

“We’re trying to keep this as low-key as possible.”

“You’re wanting to keep this out of the news? Wouldn’t it be too late for that?” Sean gestured outside of the room, whether or not he pointed in the direction of where the detectives were set up, he had no idea.

“Every person working this case was forced to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

“Which doesn’t mean anything if a source can’t be traced. Reanne, you of all people should know that.”

Reanne’s eyes drifted to the floor, then back up. “We all want you because we know you’ll see it through. You won’t do it because Wayne’s the mayor and you want a closed case.”

“But your phone line is under surveillance. The kidnapper, if that is what is going on here, would call within the first twenty-four hours. Has that happened?”

Randi’s sobs grew deeper, heaving her chest and causing periodic outbursts.

“We don’t know exactly when she went missing,” Davenport said, pulling his wife into his side, her head against his chest.

Sean sat back down. “You don’t know when she went missing?”

He shook his head. “But if there is a call, I record all incoming.”

“All the time?”

“Yes, being a person in a position of power and responsibility garners the attention of people who would rather see you in a pine box, six feet under.”

“Don’t say such horrible things,” Randi said, straightening up and dabbing a tissue to her nose.

“It is the truth of the matter.” Davenport didn’t weaken to soften the blow for his wife. “See, if the truth got out that the mayor doesn’t even know when his daughter went missing, people would question my ability to run a city.”