Cold Case at Cobra Creek (13 page)

She and men didn’t work.

“Last night before you called, I looked for Lewis’s sister.”

Sage blew on her coffee to cool it. “You found her?”

“I discovered a woman named Janelle Dougasville who lived near one of the addresses for Mike Martin.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Not yet. I’m planning to pay her a visit after breakfast.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Eat something first.”

“Dugan—”

He gestured toward the plate. “Humor me. I need food in the morning.”

She agreed only because he made himself an egg sandwich using the toast he’d buttered, and wolfed it down. Her stomach growled, and she joined him at the table and devoured the meal.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to anyone cooking me breakfast. Usually that’s my job.”

Dugan shrugged. “Breakfast is the only meal I make.”

She smiled, grateful for the small talk as they cleaned up the dishes.

“Where does this woman live?” Sage asked as they walked outside and settled in his SUV.

“Near Crystal City.” He drove onto the main street. “I’ll drop that leather strip at the lab on the way.”

She glanced at the holiday decorations as they wove through town. Wreaths and bows adorned the storefronts. A special twelve-foot tree had been decorated and lit in the town square, and a life-size sleigh for families and children to pose for pictures sat at the entrance to the park where Santa visited twice a day.

Signs for a last-minute sale on toys covered the windows of the toy store. The bakery was running a special on fruit cakes and rum cakes, with no charge for shipping.

Soon Christmas would be here. Kids would be waking up to find the presents Santa had left under the tree. Families would be gathering to exchange gifts and share turkey and the trimmings.

The children’s Christmas pageant at church was tonight.

Tears blurred her eyes. If Benji was here, they would go. But she couldn’t bear it...not without him.

“I stopped by the diner for dinner after I left your place, and ran into Sheriff Gandt.”

Thoughts of holiday celebrations and family vanished. “What did he have to say?”

“Wilbur Rankins killed himself last night after we left him.”

Sage gasped. “Because of our questions?”

“His son claims he was ashamed over being swindled,” Dugan said.

“Oh, my God.” She twisted her hands together. “But the news story didn’t name names.”

“There’s more,” Dugan said. “D. J. Rankins, Wilbur’s grandson, called me. He thinks his grandfather didn’t commit suicide.”

“What?”

“Apparently his father and grandfather argued after we left.”

The implications in Dugan’s voice disturbed her. “You think Junior Rankins killed his father?”

“I don’t know,” Dugan said. “But if he didn’t, someone else might have.”

Because they were asking questions. Because of the news story.

She’d been threatened, too.

Which meant she and Dugan were both in danger.

* * *

T
WO HOURS LATER
, Dugan parked at the address he found for Janelle Dougasville. The woman lived in a small older home, with neighboring houses in similar disrepair.

According to the information he’d accessed, she didn’t have a job. A sedan that had once been red but had turned a rusted orange sat in the drive.

“If Ron had made money on other scams, he certainly didn’t share it with the other women in his life.”

“True. And if one of those women discovered he was lying about who he was, that he had other women, or that he was hoarding his money for himself, it would be motive for murder.”

That meant Carol Sue Tinsley and Maude Handleman were both viable suspects. So was Beverly Vance.

Dugan knocked, his gaze perusing the property. The cookie-cutter houses had probably looked nice when new, but age and weather had dulled the siding, and the yards desperately needed landscaping.

Inside, the house was dark, making him wonder if Janelle was home. He knocked again, and seconds later, a light flickered on.

Beside him, Sage fidgeted.

The sound of the lock turning echoed and then the door opened. A short woman with dirty blond hair stared up at them, her nose wrinkled.

“Yeah?”

“Ms. Dougasville,” Dugan said. “We’d like to talk to you.”

The woman snorted. “You the law?”

“No.” Dugan started to explain, but Sage spoke up.

“We’re looking for my little boy. His name is Benji Freeport. You may have seen the news story about him. He disappeared two years ago.”

The woman hunched inside her terry-cloth robe, her eyes squinting. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Probably nothing,” Dugan said. “But if you’ll let us in, we’ll explain.”

“Please,” Sage said softly.

A second passed, then the woman waved them into the entryway. Dugan noted the scent of booze on her breath, confirmed by the near-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table in the den.

Janelle gestured toward the sofa, and he and Sage took seats while she poured herself another drink. Her hand shook as she turned up the glass. “All right. What do you want?”

Dugan explained about Ron Lewis, his scams and phony identities.

“I don’t understand why Ron took my little boy with him that day,” Sage said, “but I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

Janelle lit a cigarette, took a drag and blew smoke through her nose. “I don’t know anything about your kid.”

Sage sagged with disappointment.

“What can you tell us about Ron Lewis? He was your brother?” Dugan asked.

Janelle sipped her whiskey. “Not by birth. We grew up in the foster system together.”

“Do you know his real name?”

She snorted. “I’m not sure he knows it.”

“What was he called as a boy?”

“Lewis was his first name.”

“So that’s why he chose it this last time,” Sage said. Had he planned to keep it? “Tell us more about his childhood.”

“He was a quiet kid. His folks beat him till he was black-and-blue. First time I got put in the same foster with him, he told me they were dirt poor. He was half-starved, had one of them bloated bellies like you see on the kids on those commercials.”

“Go on,” Dugan said when she paused to take another drag on the cigarette.

“We was about the same age, you know. My story was just about like his, except I never had a daddy, just a whore for a mama. So we connected, you know.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

She tapped ashes into a soda can on the table. “About three years ago. He showed up one day out of the blue, said he was on to something big and that he was finally going to make all those things we dreamed about come true.” A melancholy look softened the harsh lines fanning from her eyes. “When we got sent to the second foster home together, we made a pact that one day we’d get out and make something of ourselves.”

Judging from her situation, Dugan doubted Janelle had succeeded.

“We used to go down to the creek and skip rocks and dream about being rich. I used to dream about us getting married and having a real family.”

“Did Ron...I mean, Lewis, share that dream?” Sage asked.

Janelle shrugged. “He said he wanted all that, but he also lied a lot. Every time we got moved to a new foster, he took on the people’s names.”

That fit with his ability to assume different identities. He’d learned early on to switch names and lives.

Dugan would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t destroyed lives and hurt Sage so much.

“Tell me more about his real parents,” Sage said.

“His daddy blew all he made on the races, and his mama liked meth.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

“Last we talked, he said his mama died. Don’t know about his old man. Seems like I heard he got killed, probably by one of the bookies he owed money to.”

Sage sighed, a frustrated sound. “Was there anyone else he might go to if he was in trouble? Another girlfriend?”

Janelle stubbed out her cigarette and tossed down the rest of her whiskey. “There was one girl he had a thing for bad. A real thing, I mean, like he wasn’t just using her. He was young when it happened, but they talked about getting married.”

“What was her name?”

“Sandra Peyton,” Janelle said bitterly. “He knocked her up, but she lost the baby, and things fell apart.”

Dugan made a mental note of the woman’s name. If Sandra was the love of Lewis’s life and he thought he’d finally made the fortune he wanted, maybe he had been going to see her, to win her back again.

Another thought nagged at Dugan—what if he was taking Benji to replace the child they’d lost?

Chapter Thirteen

Dugan stopped for lunch at a barbecue place called The Pig Pit, but Sage’s appetite had vanished. She kept replaying the story Janelle Dougasville had told her about Ron Lewis...rather Lewis, the foster kid.

His upbringing had definitely affected him, had motivated him to want more from life, especially material things. He was trying to make up for what he hadn’t had as a child.

Being shuffled from one foster family to another had turned him into a chameleon. A man who could deftly switch names, lives and stories with no qualms or hesitation.

A man who had learned to manipulate people to get what he wanted.

One who played the part but remained detached, because getting attached to a family or person was painful when you were forced to leave that family or person behind.

That, Dugan could relate to.

“I almost feel sorry for him,” Sage said, thinking out loud.

“Don’t.” Dugan finished his barbecue sandwich. “Sure, he had some hard knocks in life, but a lot of people have crappy childhoods and don’t turn out to be liars and con artists.”

“You’re right. He could just as easily have turned that trauma into motivation for really making something of himself.”

“You mean something respectful,” Dugan clarified. “Because he was something. A liar and a master manipulator.”

“Yes, he was.” Sage sighed. “If he really loved this woman, Sandra Peyton, do you think he might have tried to reconnect with her?”

“Anything is possible.”

Sage contemplated that scenario. If Sandra Peyton had Benji, at least she was probably taking care of him and he was safe.

But where was she?

* * *

D
UGAN SNATCHED HIS PHONE
and punched in a number as they left the restaurant and got in the car. “Jaxon, it’s Dugan. Did you learn anything about that women’s shelter where Carol Sue volunteered?”

“Women there are hush-hush,” Jaxon said. “But when I explained that Benji might have been kidnapped they were cooperative. That said, no one saw him, and the lady who runs the house denied that Carol Sue brought Benji there.”

A dead end.

“See if you can locate a woman named Sandra Peyton.”

“Who is she?”

“Lewis’s foster sister, Janelle Dougasville, claims that he was involved with Sandra Peyton years ago, so he might have reconnected with her.”

“I’m on it.”

Dugan’s other line was buzzing, so he thanked Jaxon and answered the call. “Graystone.”

“Mr. Graystone, this is Ashlynn Fontaine. I ran the story for Ms. Freeport about her son in the paper, and my friend covered it on the news.”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Freeport gave me your number to contact in case any leads came in regarding her son.”

His pulse spiked. “You have something?”

“I received a call from an anonymous source who said that a woman and a little boy Benji’s age moved in next to her about a month after Ms. Freeport’s son went missing. She’s not certain the child is Benji, but she said the woman was very secretive and kept to herself. Thought you might want to check it out.”

“Text me her name and address.”

A second later, the text came through. Dugan headed toward the address. It might be a false lead.

Then again, maybe they’d get lucky and this child might be Sage’s missing son.

* * *

S
AGE CLENCHED HER HANDS
together as Dugan explained about the call.

“I hope this pans out, Sage,” Dugan said. “But normally when a tip line is set up, it triggers a lot of false leads.”

Sage nodded. She knew he was trying to prepare her for the possibility that this child might not be her son, but still, a seed of hope sprouted. Even if it wasn’t Benji, maybe the tip line would work and someone would spot him.

Worry mounted inside her, though, as he drove. The half hour drive felt like years, and by the time they arrived, she’d twisted the locket around her neck a hundred times. Her neck still felt sore from the attack, the bruises darkening to an ugly purple.

A stark reminder that someone wanted her dead.

The woman lived in a small ranch-style house with a giant blow-up Santa Claus in front and a Christmas tree with blinking, colored lights visible through the front window.

Sage’s heart squeezed. If Benji was here, at least the woman was taking care of him and decorated for the holidays.

Although resentment followed. Those precious moments had been stolen from her.

Dugan parked on the curb a few feet down from the house. The front door opened and a woman wearing a black coat stepped out, one hand clutching a leash attached to a black Lab, the other hand holding a small child’s.

Sage pressed her face against the glass to see the boy more clearly, but he wore a hooded navy jacket. He looked about five, which was the correct age, but she couldn’t see his eyes.

Sorrow and fear clogged Sage’s throat. Children changed in appearance every day. What if Benji had changed so much she didn’t recognize him?

Sage started to reach for the door to get out of the SUV, but he laid his hand over hers. “Wait. Let’s just watch for a few minutes. We don’t want to spook her.”

As much as Sage wanted to run to the boy, Dugan was right. If this woman had her son and knew Sage was searching for them, she might run.

Dugan pulled a pair of binoculars from beneath his seat and handed them to her, then retrieved a camera from the back, adjusted the lens and snapped some photographs. She peered through the binoculars, focusing on the little boy and the woman.