Nightwatch (12 page)

“Humph. I thought they were all right here,” Mitch said. “We're missing a couple of bigger ones.”

“You mean the two that took the boy into the woods and cost the sheriff a bundle in overtime wages?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes narrowed and he shined his light into the pastures again, making a sweep with the strong beam. It was starting to look as if Jill may have been right to question his quick assumption regarding Tim's guilt.

He cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled to her, “Jill! Have you seen the other dogs?”

The shake of her head wasn't the only thing he noticed that made his blood run cold. In response to his query, Tim had started jumping up and down and pointing away from the house again.

This time, Mitch vowed, he was going to listen to the boy's tale, all of it, no matter how far-fetched it sounded.

And if there really had been an adult arsonist on the
prowl tonight? Mitch gritted his teeth. If so, he was going to have to make some very big apologies. Two of them.

For once, he'd be glad to be wrong.

R
ather than go back to her own bed and try to sleep after everything that had happened, Jill had washed the mud off Tim's feet, and off hers and her house dog's, then had made herself comfortable in a rocking chair in the boys' room. She intended to stay where she could keep close watch over them for the remainder of the night.

She knew Mitch and one of his fellow firefighters had ventured into the pasture in search of her herding dogs and had eventually located them. Although the animals had been returning by that time, she strongly suspected that they had once again been tracking a prowler, probably the one who had lit the latest fires. No way was she going to leave the boys alone after that. Not for an instant.

Instead of hanging around in the yard and listening to the men uselessly speculating, however, she had chosen to take the children inside and put them back to bed.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the tops of the trees to the east when she yawned, stretched and gazed fondly at Tim for the umpteenth time. He
had curled his thin body into a ball and appeared to be sleeping, yet his breathing was more rapid than normal.

She arose and gently touched him, stroking his thick, wavy hair and finding a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Poor little guy. He acted so grown-up, so responsible, it was sometimes easy to forget he was only seven.

Tim opened his eyes, saw her and tensed. “Did they find Megan?”

“Not yet, sweetheart.” Jill tried to calm him further with a tender smile. “I was just checking to make sure you were okay. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sleepy?” She guessed the answer to that question even before Tim shook his head.

“Then how about getting up and helping me with breakfast. I can use a pancake batter stirrer.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding hesitant. “But can I get dressed first?”

“Of course, if your clothes from yesterday have dried enough.” She could tell by the way he was looking at the arms of his pajamas that he had noticed their decorations. “Sorry about the kitten pictures.” Her smile grew. “Those pj's were all I had. I'm surprised you didn't object to putting them on in the first place.”

Although a lopsided smile was the only response she got, she knew what Tim was thinking. “You only went along with it because Mitch was in charge, huh?”

Tim nodded vigorously.

“That's what I figured. He thought he'd fooled you because you were so tired but I knew you must have noticed. A kid as smart as you are doesn't miss a thing.”

To her delight, Tim's countenance lit with a
face-splitting grin. His dark eyes twinkled. “I'm real smart. Mama says…”

Watching his elation fade so quickly touched her heart and made her reach out. “I know. This is hard,” was all she had to say. Tim launched himself into her arms.

She embraced him and listened for weeping. There was none. The child simply held on to her as if he never intended to let go. Jill understood. She had felt every bit as alone, adrift and confused while growing up.

Sometimes, she still did.

 

Seeing that Jill had chosen to take his place as guard in the boys' room, Mitch had opted to spend the remainder of the night on the couch. He hadn't expected to be able to sleep well anyway. Not after being awakened so abruptly and then staying outside with the investigators until nearly dawn. Nevertheless, he had dozed.

Drowsy, he checked his watch and discovered it was almost seven. Since no one else seemed to be stirring he decided to tiptoe into the kitchen and start the morning coffee. The glass pot was just beginning to fill when Jill and Tim joined him.

“Good morning,” Mitch said, studying her expression to try to determine if she was still mad at him for doubting Tim's innocence. It was hard to tell so he purposely kept his greeting brief.

“Morning. We're going to make pancakes.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, grinning. “I'm gonna stir.” He cast Mitch a reproachful glance in passing. “And then Miss Jill is gonna take me shopping for real boy clothes.”

“Ah, I see. Sorry about the pink pj's, buddy.” He chuckled. “It was the best I could do.”

“Uh-huh. You could of let me wear your sweatshirt to bed. I'm big enough.”

“Almost,” Mitch agreed as he caught Jill's eye. She was clearly enjoying watching him deal with the childish criticism. For that he was grateful because it had apparently helped her put aside any lingering grudges.

“So, what did you and the other men finally decide after I left you last night?” she asked. One eyebrow arched to punctuate the question. “Was I right, or was I right?”

“You were right,” Mitch admitted ruefully. “We spotted a trail of wooden kitchen matches in the pasture. It looked like somebody might have stuffed a whole box into his pocket and not noticed they were falling out as he ran away.”

“And…?”

Mitch shrugged. “That's about all. When the sheriff and the dogs get here today we'll have to be careful they don't take the wrong trail. Finding Megan comes first.”

“Absolutely. But what if the same people are responsible for what happened last night?”

“Then we'll have an even better chance of locating her,” Mitch said, pausing to tousle Tim's already messy hair. “We'll do it. I know we will. I promise.”

In his heart he prayed he could keep that vow. While his logical side insisted there was a fifty-fifty chance of failure, his spiritual side kept telling him they had God in their corner.

Except there's no guarantee that the Lord will do things my way
, Mitch argued, disappointed in his ap
parent lack of faith. It was one thing to wish for what he felt was right. It was quite another to convince himself to accept the opposite if that was how things turned out. He hated the helpless feelings he got when his best efforts seemed inadequate.

Sighing, he poured himself a mug of hot coffee and faced the window while he sipped it, pretending to watch the sunrise so he could hide the telltale moisture clouding his vision. It wasn't fair for an innocent child to have to suffer simply because there was so much evil in the world. It just wasn't fair.

Vivid imagination took Mitch where he didn't want to go and chilled him to the core. Suppressing a shiver, he forced himself to concentrate on visions of a successful rescue rather than on the possibility that physical and emotional injury might be taking place that very moment.

Why had there been no ransom note? Where could the little girl be?
he wondered. None of this made sense. Then again, why ask for ransom when the child's parents weren't around to pay it?

That reasoning took him back to the original crime, the prime question.
Who killed Rob and Ellen? And why did the perpetrator choose to cause such devastation?
That was the real dilemma. So far, the official investigation was too lacking in conclusive findings to be of much help.

The only other idea Mitch could come up with was that there might have been some reason to want that office destroyed. But what? He was sure the Pearsons had been running an honest business, so why sabotage it?

“Maybe that's the answer,” he whispered, think
ing he'd kept the opinion to himself until Jill asked, “
What
is?”

“I was just thinking out loud.”

“Fine. Tell me what's going on in your head and we'll compare notes. Two minds are better than one.”

“Okay.” Mitch refilled his half-empty mug and rested a hip against the tiled edge of the sink. He chose his words carefully since Tim was obviously listening, too. “I was wondering if it could have been the Pearson office that was the real target.”

“Why?”

“Good question. What are some options?”

“Shipping drugs in the packages with the kitchen tools?”

“No way. You've been reading too many mystery novels. Those were two of the most honest folks I've ever known.”

“What then?” Jill asked.

“A vendetta, maybe? Competition?”

“For what? The market for kitchen gadgets isn't exactly small. There should be plenty of customers to go around no matter how many firms offer similar things. Look at the crazy stuff they peddle on TV. If that junk sells, anything should.”

“You're right.” He stared across the rim of his mug, watching steam rise and letting his mind wander.

“How about other motives?” Jill asked.

“Such as?”

“I don't know. Didn't Harlan say that Rob had recently fired several men? Maybe one of them was upset enough to torch the place.”

“Yeah. Farley and Bobby Joe Jones were caught gambling when they were supposed to be working.
And Vernon Betts was pushing seventy. He'd started making serious mistakes with big orders and costing the company thousands. I know Rob hated to let him go, though, because we talked about it at the time.”

“Has Harlan checked all of those men yet?”

“He's working on it. So, what else can there be? Blackmail, theft, embezzlement…”

A squeaky gasp from Tim abruptly ended their speculation.

Mitch's eyes narrowed. “Is there something you want to say, Timmy?”

“Uh-uh.”

Instead of insisting, Mitch looked to Jill and saw her clear comprehension. They now had a mutual goal. That clever child knew more than he was telling and it was up to them to convince him to open up, to trust them with whatever secrets he was keeping.

Jill smiled at the bowl Tim had been stirring. “Good job, honey. That batter looks just right. While I'm cooking the pancakes why don't you go wake Paul and help him get dressed?”

Judging by the way the boy's eyes darted from one adult to the other, Mitch assumed he was trying to make a decision. Might he be trying to muster the courage to reveal what it was that he was hiding?

“Tell you what,” Mitch said, directing his comment to Jill although it was being made for the boy's sake. “Why don't I tag along and write down the sizes of clothes we'll need to look for when we go into town? That way we won't have to waste a lot of time shopping. I'd like to be back here by the time the sheriff's teams get done so we'll know what they found.”

“Sounds good to me. I hate to leave home at all, even
though I know there's not a thing I can do to help—except maybe fix lunch for everybody.”

Tim looked unhappy about the prospect of continued adult supervision but he didn't voice any objection as he turned and went to get his brother.

Following, Mitch paused next to Jill. “Is that okay with you or do you want me to stay and help you cook?”

“I can probably handle things out here. You're the professional firefighter. If you hear the smoke alarm going off you'll know I've burned something and you can take appropriate action.”

That comment, as well as her tongue-in-cheek delivery, made Mitch chuckle. He lowered his voice and leaned close to her to whisper, “I don't want to give our little friend any more chances to duck out on us.”

“I understand. And while you're at it, try to pick his brain.” She cupped her hand around the side of her mouth, eyed the hallway Tim had just walked down and added, “That kid
knows
something. I can feel it.”

 

Mitch had failed to get more than a few unintelligible grunts and shrugs out of the seven-year-old. Later, while they were all standing in the checkout line at the big-box store where they'd gone to shop for clothing, Jill had an opportunity to start a conversation of her own.

“What grade are you in, Timmy?”

“Second. My teacher says I'm real smart.”

“I agree.” Jill gave him a smile of encouragement. “I imagine you can read very well.”

“Yup. Paul can read, too, but I do it better.”

She pulled a glossy-paged magazine from the rack by the candy display. “How about this? Can you read it?”

Tim squinted at the place where she was pointing. “Sure. It says, ‘Make your sweet tooth happy.' Is that right?”

“Perfect. How about this line?”

“Man con-vic-ted?” His quizzical gaze met hers.

“That's right. Go on.”

“Man convicted of em…em… I don't know that word.”

“It's embezzlement,” Jill said, watching the child's expression. “Do you know what that means?”

Tim lowered his gaze and stared at the toes of his new sneakers. Jill and Mitch had decided to permit the boys to wear their new shoes out of the store, making sure to include the empty shoe boxes with their other purchases.

“Embezzlement is stealing,” Jill explained. “It's really sneaky. You know it's wrong to steal, don't you, Tim?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you ever heard the word
embezzle
before?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When? Who said it?”

The boy cast a pleading glance toward Mitch, got no visible reaction, then turned back to Jill. “My daddy.”

“When?”

“Just before…you know.”

She could tell this was hard for the child but if it led to their finding his missing sister or the people who had killed his parents, it was worth pursuing. “Before the big fire, you mean?”

“Uh-huh. Mama and Daddy were yelling at each other. I just wanted them to stop. I didn't want anything bad to happen.”

“We know you didn't, Tim.” Jill put a hand of comfort on his shoulder. “That awful fire wasn't your fault. We all know that. It was a grown-up crime.”

“But—but I could have helped. I saw the man and…” Tears overcame him and he began to weep.

“Do you think you know who it was?”

Tim nodded with tears streaming down his cheeks. Jill scooped him up and started for the door.

“We'll be out in the parking lot, getting some air,” she told Mitch, eyeing their purchases in passing. “Can you handle this and mind Paul?”