Nowhere to Hide (2 page)

“
Harrigan!”

Graham raised his head at the sound of his name and saw Jerry Clarke’s midsection precede him into the room. His knee-high boots clunked as he swaggered to the coffee maker. He poured a cup and wandered to the table where Graham worked. He leaned over the screen, his aftershave even more annoying than the burnt coffee aroma.

“
Check Well Being call, eh? How … exciting. Thought you’d have put in for Motors by now. Or are you afraid you can’t hack it? Takes balls to handle a bike. Next opening in Criminal Investigations will be mine, Harrigan. Get used to it.”

“
It’s not your decision,” Graham snapped. “Go back to writing tickets and let me be a real cop.”

He watched Clarke leave. If Clarke got the CID slot, it was unlikely another would open before Graham would have to requalify.

Once again, Clarke had unlocked that place inside where Graham kept his doubts. Graham had been promoted three years ago, qualified for CID on the last testing round, but until there was an opening in the Criminal Investigations Division, all he could do was wait.

Clarke had transferred to Motors, claiming it would give him the edge into CID.
Like hell.
More likely, he’d transferred because he thought the bike, slick boots, and tight pants were babe magnets.
Dream on, road maggot. Not with your belly.
 

Patrol duties provided the variety Graham craved. Training for what he’d do when he was a detective.

He turned his attention to the screen. Finally satisfied, he hit “Save” and “Send.”

Shoving thoughts of Clarke out of his mind, Graham located the number he needed and dialed the phone.

“
Mrs. Simon? Deputy Graham Harrigan. I responded to your call about your father.”

“
What did you find?” There was an unexpected edge to her voice.

“
Ma’am, there’s no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Maybe he isn’t checking his messages.”

“
I don’t know why he wouldn’t return my calls. Billy’s eighth birthday is next month. I know Daddy promised him something special.”

“
I asked at the guest house, but the tenant said she didn’t know your father.”

“
My aunt Doris lives in the guest house. She has for years, and she sure as hell knows Daddy.”

“
Well, Mrs. Simon, there’s someone else living there now.”

After a brief silence, Mrs. Simon spoke again, more quietly. “I do remember Daddy mentioned an assisted living place. Said the old witch was starting to forget things. You know, leaving the stove on, not bringing her purse to the grocery store. Maybe he decided to let her live in the main house where he could keep an eye on her.”

“
It was early when I stopped by. Could be they were asleep and didn’t hear me. I’ll try again.”

Her tone regained that edge. “Well, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but I think you’d be wise to investigate this new tenant as well.”

“
Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”

“
I would think so. My father could be missing, and there’s a stranger living on his property. I expect to hear from you right quick.”

Graham gritted his teeth before he replied. “I’ll be in touch.” He hung up the phone as gently as his irritation allowed.
Right quick,
she’d said.
Like hell
. If he turned this over to the detectives, it could be weeks. No foul play, nothing out of place. This would sit at the bottom of their piles. Maybe he’d see what he could do on his own first. He started clicking through databases.

The house and guest house apartment were owned by Jeffrey Walters. No mention of a Doris. Property taxes paid in full. No record, wants or warrants on either of them. Jeffrey appeared to be self-employed. A land developer, so travel wouldn’t be unusual.

DMV records showed a Buick Park Avenue registered in Jeffrey Walters’ name, the car he’d seen when he’d peeked in the garage window earlier. Graham bounced it around his brain for a minute or two. If the guy was missing, why was his car in the garage?

Still too many possibilities that didn’t mean anything. Walters might have taken a cab to the airport, or had someone drive him. Hell, he was probably away trying to buy property so he could build a bunch of condos or timeshares. Everything hush-hush, get in before anyone figures out what he’s doing, like Walt Disney had all those years ago.

Graham shook his head, told himself to keep an open mind. He’d never get assigned to the Criminal Investigations Division by jumping to conclusions. The guy was likely off for a bit of R and R with a woman, didn’t want to tell his kid. They could be using her car.

Rule number one. Look for a woman.

A woman. What about Colleen McDonald? He smiled involuntarily as he thought of her, bundled in that plaid robe, standing almost at attention when she spoke to him, yet with an air of defiance. Tall, about five-eight in her bare feet. Her fair skin sported a light sprinkling of freckles, and he’d bet when her hair dried, she was a glorious redhead. A natural redhead. Especially with her bright green eyes. Making allowances for the dark circles and haunted weariness in those eyes, he’d say mid-to-late-twenties.

Graham frowned. Women usually went for the uniform, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d turn on the Irish charm. He’d discovered most people tended to babble when they spoke to the cops. Colleen had given him no more than absolutely necessary. Experience with the law? He’d check her out. As he went to enter her name in the database, he realized he wouldn’t have to fabricate excuses to see her. He had a name, but he hadn’t bothered asking her how she spelled it. Okay, there were only two choices, but any excuse worked for him.

After another run through his patrol sector, he’d grab a quick bite at First Watch on Sand Lake, which would put him minutes away from the Walters’ house. Melinda usually worked the lunch shift. But instead of Melinda’s face, he saw Colleen’s, with those haunted green eyes.

Laughter erupted from the room. The sound of his name, coupled with Clarke’s guffaws, eradicated Colleen’s image like wind-blown storm clouds. Dammit. It had been five years. He was a damn good cop, and he was going to beat Clarke into CID no matter how many times the arrogant bastard tried to dredge up his past.

*****

Colleen fished through the contents of her carryon. A long-sleeved polo had seemed reasonable when she’d checked the Orlando forecast before leaving Oregon, but apparently nobody told the weather gods it was supposed to be in the sixties here, not the eighties. She flipped on the television and surfed until she landed on the Weather Channel. A perky meteorologist pointed to a brightly-colored map and talked about approaching fronts and heavy rain. Great. Hot
and
rainy?

She found an elastic, pony-tailed her hair and slung her hobo bag over her shoulder. Time to meet the landlady and get on with her new life.

Walking toward the main house, Colleen noticed the skies darkening. Maybe the weather gurus had it right for a change. She quickened her pace and followed the flagstones to the front door. Before her finger reached the doorbell, the door cracked open on a security chain, and a woman’s face, etched with the wear and tear of sun exposure, peeped through the opening.

“
You must be Colleen McDonald.”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

The woman shut the door and Colleen heard the rattle of the chain being released.

“
Come in. No point in air conditioning all of central Florida. I’m Doris Walters. I trust everything’s to your liking.”

Colleen stepped inside. “Well, the airline lost my luggage, and the rental car agency was out of cars, but the apartment’s fine. I was hoping you could tell me where I can find a grocery store. And if there’s a bus stop.”

The woman gave a perfunctory head bob. Tiny, no more than five feet tall, thin as a rail, with a cottony tuft of white hair billowing around her head. A mobile Q-tip. She wore lightweight green slacks, a coordinating yellow and green polo shirt, and green canvas sneakers. She was impeccably made up, with subtle blush, pink lipstick and gray eye shadow. Her pale blue eyes, enlarged by her wire-rimmed glasses, held Colleen captive. Her cheeks heated at the obvious scrutiny, and she automatically glanced down to make sure her shoes matched and she hadn’t left her zipper unfastened.

“
I need to run some errands myself,” Mrs. Walters said. “If you like, we can go together.”

“
That’s great. Thanks.”

“
I hope we can beat the rain. I need my purse. I’ll be right back.” She twisted the deadbolt in the front door behind Colleen, then disappeared down the hall.

Colleen surveyed the room, noting the spare southwest décor. The earth tones were nothing like the little-old-lady green-and-yellow florals that overwhelmed her apartment.

“
Here we are,” Mrs. Walters chirped when she reappeared. “Follow me.” She pivoted and bustled away, dangling a set of keys from her fingers.

Bemused, Colleen followed the woman through the living room, dining room, into a spacious kitchen and out a door into the garage. Mrs. Walters stood on tiptoe to press the button for the door remote, then held the keys out to Colleen. “I hope you don’t mind driving. I’m waiting to get back my driving privileges. You have a couple of fender-benders when you’re twenty, nobody cares. Do it when you’re my age and they yank your license.” She opened the passenger door of a cream-colored Buick Park Avenue and slid onto the front seat.

Colleen opened the driver’s door and settled in behind the wheel, tossing her bag onto the backseat. Mrs. Walters sat with an oversized green tote perched on her lap like a cosseted pet, and Colleen backed out of the garage. The door lowered, and Mrs. Walters set the remote in the console between them.

“
Okay, Mrs. Walters. Where to?”

“
First, call me Doris. I was Mrs. Walters when I taught sixth grade and I’d rather forget most of that.” She gestured down the road. “There’s a nice little shopping center about three miles from here. Bank, market, cleaners—you name it. Turn left at the corner.”

As Colleen drove, she decided there was no point in pretending this morning hadn’t happened. “You know, a deputy came to my place.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doris shift in her seat. “He said he’d knocked at your door. Something about a Jeffrey.”

“
I know. But nobody gets me out of bed at that hour.”

“
He said Jeffrey’s daughter was trying to reach him. Is Jeffrey your son?”

“
Nephew. That Kimberly is a nuisance. Always whining about something.” She unclicked her seatbelt. “This is it. Turn right.”

In the parking lot, Colleen obeyed Doris’ command to park near the clock tower, glad there was a space available. Otherwise, she had the feeling Doris would expect her to create one.

“
I’ve got eleven-fifteen,” Doris said. “Meet me here at one. That should give me enough time.”

Colleen compared the time on her watch, realizing she hadn’t changed it to local time yet. She made the adjustment, then strode after Doris. The skies were almost black now, with silver light shining through the breaks, although it was still warm. The Christmas decorations on the light posts in the parking lot seemed incongruous with the new climate. She gave an inward chuckle. Florida or Oregon, Christmas promotions jumped onto the scene as soon as Halloween passed.

“
Are you sure you don’t need help with anything?” Colleen asked.

“
Because some judge decided I can’t drive anymore doesn’t make me helpless, young lady. You do your shopping, I’ll do mine. I’ll see you at one.”

Colleen felt much better after stuffing down a sandwich from the grocery store deli counter. Piling her bags into the trunk of Doris’ car, she scanned the parking lot. A head of white hair bobbed between the row of cars, turning one way, then the other. Colleen stepped beside the car and waved. Doris stopped for a moment, then smiled and hurried toward the Buick. When she got there, Colleen opened the passenger door.

Doris set several plastic shopping bags at her feet, and her now-bulging tote reclaimed its place on her lap.

Colleen paid more attention to the neighborhood as she retraced her route. Moms pushing strollers and people walking dogs. Stopped for a red light, she saw a YMCA to her left, its glass walls revealing people busy on treadmills and stepping machines. Might be worth checking out. No need to get soft.

“
I guess the rain held off for us,” Colleen said. She punched the remote, pulled into the garage, and turned off the ignition.

“
It happens all the time. It will be raining cats and dogs in one place and sunny three blocks away. That’s why I always carry one of these.” Doris reached into her tote and brandished a collapsible umbrella.

Green and yellow. Colleen smiled. “Where I lived, it rained all the time.”

“
Ha! I’ve been to that part of the country. You call that rain? You wait. Here, if the raindrops don’t raise bruises, it’s not worth mentioning.” Doris opened her door. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll shut the garage from inside when you’re done.”

Colleen popped the trunk and started collecting her bags. At a flash of motion she turned. A white cruiser with green-and-gold striping pulled along the curb in front of the house. She recognized Harrigan as he got out of the car and began walking toward them.

“
Looks like the deputy came back,” Colleen said to Doris. She waited, telling herself it was to make sure nobody took unfair advantage of the woman. Otherwise, she wouldn’t get within ten feet of a cop.

By now Harrigan had reached the garage. He gave Colleen a quick nod and a smile. When he took off his sunglasses, his eyes were as blue as she remembered, their irises ringed in black.