Sneaking Suspicions (The Tharon Trace Mysteries Book 1) (5 page)

The back door behind the driver slid open and a fourth man stepped out.  He wore a black cowboy hat with a white band.  His leather jacket had fringe hanging from the shoulders and matching tan cowboy boots stuck out from under his jeans.  He smoked a thin cigar, drew a long drag from it, blew smoke through his nose and mouth, and tossed the stub into the swift current of the swollen stream.

The burly man forced the bound man to kneel in front of the cowboy.  The cowboy said something to the kneeling man who shook his head and screamed, “No!  It wasn’t me!  I swear it wasn’t me!”

The cowboy pulled a gun from underneath his jacket and shot the kneeling man in the head.

Tharon drew in a breath to scream but Kaid covered her mouth with his hand.  He whispered, “Don’t scream.  They’ll see us.”

Shep ran down the steep hill barking at the men.

The cowboy kicked the body and sent it rolling down the short bank into the creek.  He looked up when he saw the dog barreling down the hill toward him.  He raised his gun and shot at Shep.

Tharon gasped and Kaid and Helm both gripped her tighter.

Shep staggered and swerved to run along the stream.  His bark faded as he passed the footbridge and headed for home.

The cowboy shot again and this time Shep’s barking stopped, no whimpering, only silence and the wind.  They couldn’t see through the trees to his body but all three stared in the direction of the ridge, praying Shep would circle back to them.  He never did.

Tharon strangled a sob. “Oh, Shep.”

They’d been so intent in watching for Shep that they didn’t see the men get back in the van.  They only heard the engine start and saw it continue south toward the Miller farm.

Although it was hard, they waited in the tree until the van disappeared from sight; then silently they worked their way down the tree.  Helm dropped from the lowest limb and caught Tharon as she let go of the branch.  She buried her face in his chest; his jacket absorbed the tears streaming from her eyes.  He wrapped his arms around her and held her until Kaid landed behind them. 

They scanned the road and woods and stood still, listening, but heard only the wind rustling through the trees and the rush of the stream below them.

Kaid tilted his head to the quiet. “I think they’re gone.  Let’s take the ridge path to Tharon’s house and get some help.”

Tharon snapped her head away from Helm and broke from his grip.  She turned to Kaid. “You go get help.  I’m going to Shep.”

“I’m not leaving her alone,” Helm said.  “She’s right, you go get help.”  He followed Tharon down the slope.

Kaid hesitated only a moment.  “I’m not leaving her either.”  He looked at the road nervously as he side-stepped rapidly down the more gradual slope the boys had climbed earlier as he tried to catch up with his friends.

Shep lay in an unmoving heap.  Tharon was ten yards from him when the big man and the cowboy stepped from behind the large trees clustered at the base of the hill.  The cowboy aimed his gun square at her chest.  Her breath caught in her throat but through her tears she managed to choke out, “You killed that man and you shot my dog.”  Anger blazed in her eyes and burned in her chest.

The cowboy’s sneering grin creased his sandpaper cheeks.  Curly, blond hair covered his collar and he spit tobacco juice from the side of his mouth. “You can thank your dog and those bikes for us catching you.  If that dog hadn’t come running at us we’d have never looked up and seen ya.  When we seen them bikes we knew where you’d come down.  Now that we know you saw everything—” he raised the barrel to target her head.  “We can’t let you brats run home to tattle on us, now can we?”

“No!” Helm shouted and jumped between Tharon and the cowboy.

The big man put his thick hand on the gun barrel and forced it to point at the ground.  “Burt, we ain’t killin’ no kids.  I draws the line there.”

Burt sneered and spit on the ground.  “Right, moron, and just what do you suggest we do with them?”

“You got the brains so you figure somethin’ else out.  Somethin’ that don’t include shootin’ kids.”  The big man balled his massive fists.

Burt sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose I can figure something out.  Damn it, Carl, someday you’re going to give me a stroke.”  He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the screen.  “Marty, we got ‘em.  Get back here.”

Kaid saw Burt lower the gun as he spoke on the phone.  He glanced to the right and gambled they might be able to get away if they dodged through the trees.  He grabbed hold of Helm’s and Tharon’s sleeves and pulled them backwards and toward Tharon’s house.

Burt jerked the gun to aim at Kaid.  “Carl, if they run I’m shooting them.  You okay with that?”

Carl nodded his head and held his meaty finger up in front of the three trembling friends.  “Don’t run.  I’ll take care of you, but don’t run.  Okay?”

Their eyes were wide with fear.  They bobbed their heads as one.  The boys each held one of Tharon’s hands and huddled together with her in between them.

The van whipped around the curve and skidded to a stop near the footbridge.  Marty, the man with the stringy hair and purple baseball cap, jumped down from the driver’s seat but kept the motor running.  He stood at the edge of the road and asked, “Why are they still alive?”

Burt sneered. “Carl has qualms about killing kids.  Come on.  Let’s get them in the van.” He pulled three long black zip ties out of his jacket pocket and handed them to Carl.

Carl fumbled with the zip ties, forming each into wide loops.  He pulled Helm’s hands behind his back and slipped the loop over them and tightened it; he did the same to Kaid.  When he turned to Tharon he said, “I’m sorry about your dog, little girl.  Just do what Burt says and I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Tharon’s mouth went dry.  Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode.  She closed her eyes and remembered the self-defense and survival training her father had drilled into her since she was little.  Suddenly she wished she’d paid closer attention.  She crossed her wrists behind her back with the sides of her wrists touching as Carl cinched the plastic strap around them.

Carl herded the children to the footbridge while Burt brought up the rear with his gun poised to discourage them from running away.

The foot bridge creaked under Carl’s weight.  He led Tharon across first and left her with Marty whose long skeleton-like fingers gripped her shoulder like a vice to hold her in place.  He reeked of old sweat and motor oil and said, “Don’t you get no notions of fussing. 
I
got no qualms about killing brats.  See?”

Tharon nodded her head.  She decided of the three captors, Marty was the most dangerous.  Even if Carl tried to protect them and convinced Burt to keep them alive, she worried that Marty might kill them anyway.  She looked him up and down, noting his Adam’s apple bulging from his thin throat; his pale gray eyes, cold as steel, seemed about to pop out of their sockets; dark patches rimmed beneath his eyes.

Carl returned to get the boys.  In the distance they heard the faint cries of Tom Trace calling Tharon’s name.

Helm took a deep breath to yell for help, but before he made a sound, Carl clubbed him on the side of his head with his meaty palm.  Helm’s legs buckled and Carl caught him before he hit the ground.

Tharon drew a breath to scream as well but Marty gripped her tighter and pulled a ten inch knife from a sheath at his side.  She shivered under his leering grin.  Her chest twisted with the cold ache of dread and fear as she watched Carl scoop Helm over his shoulder and with an iron grip on Kaid’s shoulder, forced him to cross the bridge.

When they were halfway across, a loud crack sounded through the woods as a plank broke in two under Carl’s weight.  He wobbled precariously and Tharon feared he’d take Helm and Kaid into the stream with him.

She sighed when he regained his balance and they made it safely to the road.  Her father’s voice sounded nearer.  He must be running fast.  She strained to look for him through the trees.  As much as she wanted him to find her, she had no doubt Burt would kill him on sight and Carl would do nothing to stop him.

Carl plopped Helm onto the floor in the back of the van and lifted Kaid up next to him.

Marty shoved Tharon toward the back of the van so hard that she tripped on her own feet and began to fall.

Carl, with surprising swiftness for his size, rushed to her and caught her before she splayed out face first in the gravel.  The gentle way Carl cradled her in his arms unsettled her.

In a voice edged with anger that frightened her, he said, “Marty, I’m telling ya, ya got no need to hurt no kids.  You hurt any of these kids and I’m gonna hurt you.  I’m gonna hurt you dead.”

Marty’s upper lip curled in hatred, but he glanced at Burt and said nothing.

Tharon looked into Carl’s sad blue eyes as he gently sat her on the floor of the van next to Helm’s unconscious body.  “You hurt Helm,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry.  He shouldn’t of tried to yell.”  He patted her head gently.  “Don’t you yell.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tharon swallowed and looked down at Helm.  “Is he going to be okay?”

Carl laid his palm on Helm’s chest.  “He’s breathing steady.  He’ll have a headache tomorrow—least that’s what them that lives has.”

Carl picked up a roll of duct tape from the corner of the van floor.  He tore off three pieces and covered each child’s mouth.  He held up a warning finger and said, “Be good,” before closing the back doors.

Tharon and Kaid looked at each other with wide eyes.

Carl climbed into the front passenger seat.  Burt slid open the side door and sat down in one of the two captain seats in the back of the van.  He sat sideways to keep watch on the children and his face creased in a frown that rippled his graying stubble along his jaw.

Marty climbed in the driver’s seat, threw the van into gear and sped down the road, spewing gravel in their wake.

A chill spread along Tharon’s spine as they passed her home.  She had to find a way to live.  She couldn’t die and let the last words spoken to her mom be in anger.

CHAPTER 4

Deputy Dana Donovan turned on her windshield wipers and cursed the powdery precipitation pelting her cruiser.  Monday, the temperature had been in the sixties.  Why couldn’t the snow wait another week—even another day?  So far it was melting when it hit the ground, but if it kept falling this heavily...  She gripped the steering wheel and sent up a silent plea:
Please don’t let it destroy any evidence.  And please help us find the children alive and well
.

A line of cars, trucks, and vans were pulled off to the side of the road across from the crime scene tape, which stretched for at least a quarter of a mile to a sturdy wooden bridge.  She parked and walked the distance to the bridge.  Observing the abundant personnel, she felt like she was coming late to the party, giving her pause as to why she was pulled from her patrol at the other end of the county.

The technicians processed the scene at three sites: near a footbridge, a bit further at the side of the road, and at the wooden bridge which crossed the swollen creek.  It was there they discovered the body caught on a piling which kept it from washing down to the Eel River.

The entire scene was shrouded in gloom from the overcast skies and the waning afternoon light.

Her heart fluttered when she saw Sheriff Simon Ellis, who stood head and shoulders above the cluster of people near the bridge.  Only one man stood near his height—a farmer wearing brown coveralls and a dark knit cap, who had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a very pregnant blond.

Dana approached the group clustered around Simon.  She looked toward the bridge where Detective Max Stephens was knee deep in the current, helping the coroner and paramedics retrieve the body from the frigid waters.

Simon broke from the people as she neared.  He looked tired.  The sadness in his eyes aged his features.  He said, “Deputy Donovan, this is Matt and Angela Harris, Doctor Walker and his wife Marilyn, and,” he motioned to the tall farmer, “Tom and Lista Trace.  And this is Maisy Baker, the Trace’s...?” he looked between the Traces and Maisy, uncertain of their relationship.

Tom supplied the answer. “Close family friend and neighbor.”

Simon continued, “It was their children who were taken.  For the Amber Alert list them: Kaid Walker, age thirteen, Helm Harris, age twelve and Tharon Trace, age eleven—”

“Twelve,” Lista said quietly.  She cleared her throat as Dana looked up from the notepad she recorded the names on.  “Tharon will be twelve tomorrow.”

The mother’s drawn face and the pain in her voice tugged at Dana’s heart.

Simon continued, “Mrs. Trace said her daughter was upset and entered the woods shortly after the bus dropped her off—a little after three this afternoon.  Mrs. Trace called Mrs. Walker and Mrs. Harris to find out if the boys knew where she would go.  Both boys took off on their bikes to find her.”  He pointed into the woods.  “Their bikes were found near a small wooden bridge.  The Trace’s dog was shot and is about fifteen yards past where the bikes are parked.”

Dana took notes as he spoke, she looked at the distraught faces of the parents and tried to be as delicate as she could. “Sheriff, how do we know it was abduction?”

The Sheriff nodded to Tom. “Mr. Trace was the first on the scene.  He heard three gunshots and followed his daughter’s trail through the woods to that tallest tree at the top of the hill.”  He pointed to a tree that towered in the air high up above the ridge.  “He believes they were in the crown of that tree and witnessed the murder.”

Dana’s eyes followed his pointing finger, as did the parents.  Dana raised her eyebrows.  “That—looks—tall.”  She bit her tongue before commenting on the wisdom of letting children climb trees like that when some of her own childhood antics flashed through her mind.  She tapped the notepad with the end of her pen. “And what indicates abduction?”

Simon lowered his gaze to lock stormy blue eyes with Dana.  “Mr. Trace found tracks of at least one of the children entering the back of a vehicle.  From the wheel base where it spun its tires, it appears to be a mini-van.”

Maisy bristled. “If Tom says they were put in a van, they were put in a van.  The van I saw leaving around three-forty was white with partial picture of a golden snake on the side.”

Simon said, “Donovan, get the Amber Alert posted.” He turned to the parents. “She’ll need pictures of your children if you have them.”

He turned back to Dana. “Then I want you to go with Mr. Trace and get the dog’s body.  Take it to the veterinary clinic in Columbia City and stay with it until they extract the bullets for evidence.  We need to know if the same gun that shot the victim, killed the dog.”  He bent close to her ear and whispered, “Tell the vet not to worry about the fee for disposing of the remains, I’ll pay for that out of my pocket.”

Dana nodded and turned away, feigning a coughing fit.  Feeling Simon so close—his breath on her ear, the warmth of his cheek next to hers—left her flushed and a tad breathless.  She hoped he thought her flushed face was a result of her fake coughing spell.

Simon touched her back with concern. “Are you all right?”

Warmth coursed through her and she choked out, “Fine.  I just had a tickle in my throat.”

Simon raised his voice loud enough for the parents to hear.  “I know you folks are upset and we’re going to do everything we can to bring your children home safe.  Right now I’d like for you to return home until we finish processing the scene.  If you remember anything else that might help us, even if you think it is insignificant, call us right away.  We’ll keep you informed of our progress.”

Matt Harris left his wife’s side and asked, “Tom, how certain are you they were all taken?”

Tom frowned. “I’m certain Kaid walked to the back of the van.  I think Helm and Tharon were carried there but I can’t be positive.”  A worried look crossed his face as his gaze wandered from Matt to the rushing stream.

Matt frowned at the muddy waters. “You finish up what you have to do here.  I’m going downstream to check and see if there are any signs of them.”  He turned to his wife, “Honey, you go home with Lista and wait for me there.”  He hugged her briefly, grabbed a flashlight from his car and took off.

Doc Walker patted his wife’s arm. “You’d best get home and stay with Tracy.  I’ll go with Matt.  If they did fall in...” Marilyn clutched at his coat.  “There, there, I’m sure Tom’s right, but just the same...” He scurried down the road to catch up with Matt.

Dana turned to Lista. “Mrs. Trace, do you have any idea why your daughter was upset?”

Lista’s face paled. “She grew up playing with Kaid and Helm.  They were best friends.  Today she found out that several months ago I arranged with the boys’ mothers and Ginger Miller for the boys to stop spending time with her, and for Veronica Miller and Tracy Walker to befriend her.”

Tom snapped at her. “You didn’t!”

Lista pleaded, “I’m so sorry.  I only wanted her to be happy—to have a more normal life.”

Even through Tom’s perfectly groomed beard, Dana saw the hard set of his jaw.  His brown coveralls and tall boots looked and smelled like he came straight from the cow yard to the woods.  Yet despite his appearance he had a distinguished quality about him.

His blue eyes softened at his wife’s bleak expression.  “You and Maisy go home.  We’ll discuss this when Tharon is home safe and sound.”

Angela pulled a picture from her pocket and looked at it for a long moment before she handed it to Dana. “This is the most recent picture of Helm.  Please find him,” she pleaded as much with her hazel eyes as with her voice.

Marilyn scrounged in her car and came up with a picture of Kaid. “He’s taller now, but still looks a lot like this picture.”  Her black chin-length hair feathered around her face; her thin lips nearly disappeared in her solemn frown.  “He’s a good boy.  Everyone likes him.”  Her blue eyes misted and she blinked rapidly.  She repeated, “He’s a good boy.”

Angela and Maisy helped Lista into the car and the women left.  Only Matt Harris’s car remained parked with the official vehicles.

Sheriff Ellis turned to Dana. “Donovan, get that amber alert issued and then help Mr. Trace put his dog in your cruiser.  I’m going to talk to Max and the coroner.  I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“Yes, sir.” Dana sensed the sadness in her boss.  She’d grown skilled at reading his moods over the last four years.  He’d lost his wife and two daughters to the influenza pandemic five years before.  The same pandemic had taken her entire family along with nearly half of the world’s population.

Both she and Simon were still grieving when she was hired to serve as his driver.  In many ways their shared grief had been therapeutic for both of them.  You can’t daily witness someone else’s sadness without learning to cope with your own.  When one needed to talk the other listened.  Their friendship grew quickly, but for Dana it blossomed into a deep love.

She’d had no sign that Simon’s heart reciprocated.  If anything he’d become more detached from her and she learned to school her emotions around him.  The only thing she imagined worse than him not returning her love was never seeing him.  If the only relationship they could have was a working one, she’d content herself with that.

After issuing the Amber Alert, Dana stood by her cruiser and pondered the crime scene.  The snow continued and began sticking to the ground, but still melted on the roadway.  She jammed her flashlight into her belt and was about to join Tom who waited by the footbridge.  The crime scene technicians had collected all the pictures and evidence from the area and gave them the go ahead to get the dog’s body.

Simon shook hands with the coroner and signaled Dana to wait for him.  He pulled his SUV back down the road and stopped near her cruiser.  He got out and walked to her side.  “Did you get the Amber Alert issued?”

Dana’s pulse quickened as it always did when Simon Ellis was near her.  With practiced ease she kept her tone of voice void of emotion.  “Yes sir.  I scanned pictures of the boys, but we still need a picture of the Trace girl.”

Max Stephens pulled up in his truck and Simon bent to speak to him through the driver’s window.  “Stop by the Trace house and get a picture of their daughter and add it to the Amber Alert.  And check with Miss Baker to see if she can give you a better description of the logo on the van.”

He leaned on the truck and rubbed his chin.  “Call Murphy and have her check every traffic cam in a hundred mile radius for white vans.  That’s our best shot at finding those kids.” He took a deep shaky breath and lowered his voice so Tom couldn’t hear him.  “Max, the Trace girl is the same age my Cathy would be if she were still—” He blinked fast and his words were choked with emotion.  “I don’t think my heart can bear telling these folks they lost their children.”

Max gave Simon a small two finger salute, threw the truck into gear, and drove away.

Dana instinctively touched Simon’s arm briefly. “We’ll find them, Sheriff.  We’ll bring them home alive.”  She knew she shouldn’t promise something she couldn’t guarantee, but her heart twisted in knots knowing the pain and compassion he felt.

He covered her hand with his in a brief touch, and the unspoken hope that she was right.  He nodded toward Tom waiting by the footbridge.  “This is a tough job I’m asking you to do.  That man’s had a rough day with his daughter missing and his dog killed.  There’s no one I trust more to handle the situation with sensitivity and compassion.”

Dana’s heart thundered in her chest and she snatched her hand away.  “Yes sir.”

He ran his hand through his short cropped blond hair. “Blast it, Donovan, I don’t need the tough cop routine you’ve been playing for the past year.  I need you to be the caring woman I’ve grown to—” he grasped for the right words, “—value and depend on.”

For a tiny instant she thought he was going to say
love
.  She turned away to hide her disappointment and murmured over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll do my job.”  She crossed and joined Tom at the edge of the road.

Tom studied the footprints again after the CSI team left.  When Dana walked up he pointed to the bridge.  “The only one I’m not sure about is Helm.  His footprints just stop on the other side.  I think the big man carried him across.  The big man made two trips back to the van and on one trip his footprints are a little deeper than the other.” He paused and looked down the stream.  “At least I hope that’s what happened.  I’d hate to think of Matt finding his son’s body down there.” His voice caught. “Or Tharon.”

Dana asked, “You said you weren’t sure about Tharon either?”

Tom stared at the impressions in the dirt by the side of the road. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “I didn’t want to say much around my wife, but I’m not that certain that Tharon made it to the van either.”

Simon walked up behind Dana and stopped by her side.

Dana handed Tom her flashlight so he could show them the tracks.  He pointed with the beam as he spoke. “It looks like she staggered there and the big man’s tracks showed large strides to where she stood last.  I’m going on the assumption, and hope, that the big man caught her as she fell.” He looked from Simon to Dana.  In a desperate voice, he said, “She just has to still be alive.  I don’t know how I could go on...”