Читать книгу Smoky Mountain Investigation - Annslee Urban - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMax had planted himself in the chair to the right of Kylie’s desk and it looked as though it would take a three-alarm fire to roust him out. If not for the tedious click of the chair as he rocked back and forth, his presence would have been easier to ignore.
“Big news in a small-town paper. That’s what puts us on the map.”
“Uh-huh.” Kylie hit the delete key on her computer keyboard again, erasing the last paragraph of her upcoming article. She didn’t need another distraction. Between last night’s murder, Nick’s sudden reappearance and the elevator episode, her mind was already stretched to capacity.
Max continued to ramble, giving his usual pep talk. “If you put your heart and soul into your work, there may be a Pulitzer at the other end...”
She just wanted to make it to the end of the day without melting into a mental pile of mush.
Kylie studied the computer screen. The words blurred together. She needed to get a grip. Focus on what really mattered—writing this article.
Apparently her mind didn’t agree. At the moment her thoughts revolved around one thing: Nick Bentley.
A wave of nostalgia wrapped around her. It didn’t help that Nick hadn’t changed one iota in the past ten years...well...with the exception of bulging muscles and close-cropped hair. Still, his dimpled smile and those warm brown eyes sent her heart into a gallop. This completely defied logic, given his rapid departure after their high-school graduation and that she hadn’t had so much as a phone call since.
Their breakup had been amicable to some degree. They’d both had guilt and sadness to deal with after Conrad’s death. They’d needed space. But she’d always thought...well, always hoped that one day—
Stop it. Kylie shook herself and started pecking on the keyboard again, trying to untangle her thoughts and write the article. She needed to leave history where it belonged—behind her.
Nick was home for one reason. And it wasn’t her.
She gave a little sigh that came out more like a moan. Biting her lip, she glanced at Max. He continued to rock and ramble. Tall and wiry, he looked about as uncomfortable in the chair as she was about him sitting there in it. She started typing again.
“Now, if the killer calls again, don’t forget your journalistic duties and ask him a few questions.”
At the word killer, her ears perked up. She spun in her chair and confronted Max. “So if I get another call from this guy, you want me to interview him. Like what? A prize boxer after a fight? Asking him how good it feels to win?”
Max threw his head back and barked with laughter. “Kylie, girl. You’ve got more wit than I give you credit for.”
“No, Max. I’m serious. If this man calls again, the conversation will involve his agenda, not mine.”
Max pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “Well, any clue to his whereabouts, motive or even his next victim is what readers want to know.”
Readers? Kylie fell back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. “You’re talking about a murderer, Max. A cold-blooded killer. Not some bad-boy sports figure. Let’s pray for a speedy resolution to this murder case and for life to get back to normal.”
“Until then, keep the story alive and interesting.” Max stood and stretched a little. “Pulitzer, Kylie.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder on his way out of the newsroom.
Forget the Pulitzer. She’d be happy with a little quiet and peace of mind.
She skimmed the article, edited a couple sentences and added a few more facts, grateful to see it was coming together. A little more tweaking and she’d be finished.
The trill of her cell phone sent her pulse into a sprint. She pulled the handset from under a stack of papers. Restricted showed on the screen. She pressed it to her ear. “Kylie Harper.”
“Kylie. My dear Kylie, how are you?”
Her heart stopped. She shifted the phone to the other ear. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Don’t sound so fussy, dear. Didn’t you enjoy my gift?”
Kylie swallowed a gasp. “A dead man? No. That’s a terrible gift.”
Heated laughter rippled through the line.
She pinched her eyes shut and whispered through clenched teeth, “Please, stop this madness.”
“Stop?” Another fiery chuckle. “Why, precious, I’ve just begun.”
Kylie bolted upright in her chair. Her eyes popped open. “What do you mean?”
“Did you enjoy the elevator ride, Kylie?”
Her heart slipped. “You...you were responsible for that?”
“I told you. I’m never far away.”
Questions? Questions? Max’s words echoed in her head. What questions should she ask? She rubbed at her forehead as if to jump-start her brain. “So where are you now?”
“Too personal, dear. But I have a question for you. Fireworks. Do you remember?”
Fireworks? “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, but you do.”
“No—”
“The cows and the moon.”
“What?”
“I saw you stealing kisses, Kylie.”
Fighting for a full breath, Kylie barely got out, “Jake Plyler’s farm.”
“Another gift awaits you there.”
Click.
* * *
After a phone call to the police and another call to update Nick, Kylie tossed her cell phone onto the passenger seat and tightened her grip on the steering wheel of her midsize sedan. On a usual spring day there would be another couple hours of daylight left, but nothing about this day was usual. Dark gray clouds hovered low in the sky, heralding an approaching storm, as dismal and menacing as the anxiety clutching her chest.
She took a breath to ease it, reminding herself that she was just following a story. Doing her job.
This wasn’t personal.
She clung to the reassuring thought.
At Adams Gap, Kylie left the parkway and turned down a heavily rutted two-lane dirt road. The Plyler farm had been vacant for the past six years and she hadn’t traveled this path in twice that long. Not since the spring festival, her sophomore year of high school.
An impromptu after-party.
It was a clear, breezy night, she recalled, scented by the crackling fire, a bonfire licking the darkness and strains of music resonating from portable speakers. Blankets and homemade quilts peppered the grass field beside the barn and couples snuggled together to watch an amateur fireworks display put on by fellow classmates.
For most of that year, she had admired Nick from afar. A crush nursed along by his contagious laughter and impish grin. She could still remember the tingle of excitement she’d felt when he’d asked her to be his date. And on that clear May night beneath a star-studded sky, they’d shared their first kiss—a moment that hadn’t gone unnoticed by many of their razzing friends, and a moment she’d never forget.
Up ahead, an old battered stop sign marked the end of the route. Kylie’s car bumped over the uneven road. She made the final turn around a sharp bend. A tingle of relief swept through her when she saw several squad cars already there. Police officers and local deputies swarmed the area, tramping through overgrown weeds and grass. Body-recovering dogs accompanied them.
Goose bumps blazed a trail up her arms.
She swallowed hard, trying to shove back the lump of fear that nearly choked her and failing miserably.
Lord, help me.
* * *
The moment Nick answered his cell phone and heard panic in Kylie’s voice, he jumped out of his office chair, grabbed his keys and bolted out the back exit of the store. There was danger in the air and she was in the middle of it.
He gunned Steven’s motorcycle, his wheels kicking up dirt and gravel, leaving a dusty cloud in his wake. Leaning into the curve, he throttled his bike around the corner and fought against the force of anxiety pressing down on his chest.
His visit to Asheville was supposed to be short, quiet and uneventful.
Not happening.
He slowed his speed as a weather-beaten barn came into view. Jake Plyler’s old farm.
It was time to finally put the fears of the past behind him. Reconnect with family and friends. Help track down and maybe even catch a serial killer. Conrad’s killer. Sweet restitution.
He tried to hold on to the good thoughts, even as he experienced the niggling urge to turn his bike around and hightail it back to the airport. Get out of Asheville and never return.
A temptation he wouldn’t give in to. For Kylie’s sake.
Nick pulled to the edge of the pasture and parked his bike. Several short pieces of rusty, twisted wire projected from a corner post, marking where the fence had once been. He shed his leather gloves and hung his helmet from one of the handlebars. For a long moment he stood there and assessed the scene. In every direction, officers scoured the grounds, flashlights beaming. A helicopter circled above, blazing a path of white light across the dusky sky, and newscasters reported live in front of video-slinging cameramen.
Chaos was the first thought that came to Nick’s mind.
Kylie was the second.
He took off down the gravel drive toward the barn. She was his main concern. His only concern. He was grateful she’d called to keep him in the loop.
“Nick.”
He stopped short as a male voice called his name.
The side door of the barn slammed against the craggy wood siding as Dave Michelson walked out. “You’re just in time.”
“What do you know, Dave?” Nick turned and headed toward him.
“Not much. In fact, we’re batting zero.” Dave put both hands on his hips and a pucker of frustration furrowed his forehead.
“Nothing?” Nick took another look around. The grounds rambled on for acres. Overgrown fields melding with dense forests. Even with the throng of officers there, it could take days to comb the area. The killer’s previous call had contained succinct information. Something didn’t feel right. “Where’s Kylie?”
“On the other side by the paddock.” He tipped his head, gesturing to the area ahead of them. “She’s speaking with some of the other media folks.”
Nick made his way around the barn. Tension in the air stretched as taut as a trip wire. This old farm, now abandoned, spiraled him back to yesteryear and all the bittersweet memories. He’d grown up with Jake, fished in the nearby streams, climbed every tree within reach and even broken his arm jumping from the hayloft on a dare.
He slanted a glance across the field of wild grasses. A sense of loss and nostalgia flooded him. He could still see Kylie, her eyes glinting beneath the faint moonlight, her dark curls rippling in the breeze.
The first night they’d kissed.
An old ache pulled in his chest, a longing coupled with melancholy and regret.
So many memories.
Two reporters brushed passed him and left Kylie leaning against the remains of an old split-rail fence. Distant police spotlights bathed her in a soft glow.
“You okay?” Nick strode closer.
Kylie’s slender shoulders shrugged. “All things considered, I guess. Of course, that will change if another butchered body shows up.”
“Not a good thought, huh?”
She shook her head. He found himself looking into the saddest green eyes he’d ever seen.
“Maybe this time the predator was bluffing.” Nick preferred to dwell on the positive, though he wouldn’t bet on it.
She nodded. “Hope so.”
“What exactly did he say?”
She took a moment. “Another gift was waiting for me here.”
“Gift? Not body?”
Her face pinched. “No, but his last call didn’t specify a body, either. Do you think that matters?”
“Maybe not. But psychopathic minds like order.” Nick scratched his jaw, still looking around. “These lunatics plan thoroughly. They thrive on recognition and once they act, they don’t like to wait long to get noticed.”
Kylie gestured toward the field behind her, teeming with officers and rescue workers. “More chaotic than organized at the moment.”
Nick gave a shrug. “Exactly. Did the caller say anything else?”
The wind had a bite now and distant thunder clapped.
“Fireworks. Cows. The moon.” Kylie burrowed her hands in her coat pockets. “Random stuff. Although enough to lead me here.”
“Random? Maybe. Maybe not.” Nick scratched his jaw. His mind was reeling.
“What are you thinking?”
“That there has to be something behind those clues.”
“I’ve always hated riddles,” Kylie muttered. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.
“I remember.” Nick gave a short chuckle.
The wind kicked up, sighing through the trees; branches snapped and a rusty squeal protested with every gust.
A thought pierced Nick’s mind. He took a step back and squinted to see. Bingo.
“What are you looking at?”
“Hold on.” Nick cupped his mouth and hollered, “Detective Michelson—over here.”
A moment later, Dave rounded the corner in a full sprint, with several officers in pursuit. “Do you have something?”
“Hope so.” Nick thrust out his hand. “Let me borrow your flashlight.”
Dave slapped the Maglite into Nick’s palm.
“What is it?” Kylie’s question died, only to be replaced by a gasp as Nick focused the light on the barn’s roof, illuminating the spinning weather vane. Tarnished and corroded, but without question a tin rendition of a cow over the moon.
* * *
In the dimly lit interior of the barn, Kylie leaned against the rough-sided stall and crossed her arms. The plank structure had been constructed near the turn of the century, built solid and strong to last a lifetime. Good thing, because at the moment her ability to stand on her own was sorely in jeopardy.
From across the barn Nick stepped around stacked bales of rotted hay and came to stand beside her. The white glow emitting from his borrowed flashlight brightened the area around them.
“Dave and his officers are on it. They’ll catch this creep. Try not to worry, Kylie.” Nick’s words sounded reassuring, but they did little to reduce her stress.
She nodded.
In the hayloft above them a team of law-enforcement officers combed through the clutter. Just the thought of another murder victim brought chills. Who was this madman?
She lifted a quick prayer. Lord, protect us and whoever the next victim is.
At the sound of the rhythmic thump against wooden rungs, Nick took a step and brandished his flashlight toward the loft. Dave clumped his way back down the ladder.
“Anything?” Nick’s eager voice echoed back to her.
“Junk. Cobwebs, old lumber, milk buckets, horse tack, a couple old boxes. Dust and more dust.” Dave coughed against the back of his hand.
Relaxing a bit, Kylie pushed away from the stall and ambled up beside Nick. “I thank God there wasn’t a body.” She let go of a long breath.
“Not yet, anyway.” Dave joined them, brushing dirt and dust from his uniform shirt. “The chief just radioed me. They suspended the search for the night. We’ll start up again at dawn and get the National Guard out here with us and see what we can find.”
Kylie’s shoulders tightened again as her mind swung like a pendulum. As much as she hated the idea of stumbling upon another victim, she couldn’t fathom leaving any poor soul, alive or dead, undiscovered. “You can’t give up looking tonight. I mean, what if—”
“Kylie. It’s okay.” Nick moved to her. He slipped his strong arm around her and gave her a reassuring hug.
Instinct warned her not to get too close to this man, but before she could stop herself, she sank into the solid wall of his chest.
“Dave’s right,” Nick continued, his breath feathering warmly against her brow, tenderness and understanding in his tone. “It’s dark. And with the weather moving in, finding anything or anyone out there would be impossible. Not to mention we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
As she burrowed against him, the comfort of his touch surprised Kylie, even scared her, yet at the same time a sensation of security seeped through her like a healing balm. After considering his rationale, she had to agree he was right. But that didn’t alleviate her concerns of a casualty lying in wait.
A couple more officers tramped down the ladder, cutting into Kylie’s thoughts and bringing clarity to her world.
Pulling away from Nick, Kylie shook off the warmth from his embrace. Years ago she had learned what losing him could do to her heart. She had no plans to go down that path again.
A kick in her chest seemed to object. She hated the way her heart bucked at logic. Squaring her shoulders, she drew fresh air into her lungs, only to inhale the lingering scents of woods, humidity and Nick’s spicy cologne. Rubbing her nose, she tried hard not to focus on Nick or how good it had felt to be in his arms again.
“It’s been a long day. It will be good for you to get some sleep.” Nick’s soft voice brought her back.
Absently she nodded, even as a shiver skidded over her skin at the thought of suspending the search. Tomorrow might be too late.
Dave walked off a few yards from them, speaking to the other officers in low tones. Kylie waited beside Nick; although she wasn’t intentionally trying to listen, snippets of conversation trickled back to her as the officers talked over plans for the next day.
Her heart tripped when she realized they’d given up on finding anything inside the barn.
“Excuse me, detectives.” Her voice escalated with the pounding of her heart. “You’re not ready to give up on the barn already?”
Dave paused and glanced at her beneath the dim lights. “Time is of the essence and we’ve exhausted this search,” he said calmly before turning back to his men.
Kylie took a deep, calming breath. “Do you think they missed anything?” she whispered for just Nick to hear.
He inclined his head and murmured close to her ear, “Even if I did, this is a crime scene and I’m an outsider here. I’m working hard to reserve my opinion and let Dave and his guys do their job. He’s already shared more information than he needed to.”
She pulled away slightly. “But Dave asked for your help.”
“And I’m happy to give it, when he’s ready for it. At the moment he’s working with his team and I don’t want to interfere.”
She blinked at him through the dim light. “The clues the caller gave me definitely point to this barn. Maybe if I remind them of that, they’ll let us take a quick look around.”
Nick’s brows pulled together. “You sure you want to do that?”
Kylie nodded with more confidence than she felt. But she agreed with Nick’s earlier theory. The caller’s cryptic clues probably weren’t random. She needed to see, needed to exhaust this search.
“Come on.” Her legs went to putty, but determination carried her. She grabbed his hand, surprised by his grip. Firm, tight and undeniably possessive.
She groaned inwardly, pushing aside the illogical nostalgia parading through her.
Dave wasn’t as quick to agree as Kylie suspected; in fact he didn’t see the point, since they’d scoured the place already. But after a little rationalizing and a lot of insistence, he agreed to accompany them to the hayloft. As he’d described, dust and clutter filled the cramped space. After Mr. and Mrs. Plyler died several years ago, the children had scattered, moving to different parts of the country. They were still fighting over the estate. The hundred-plus acres, including the barn, sat untouched. And it showed.
The high-intensity beams of flashlights cast distorted shadows across the area, adding to the oppressive climate of the evening, which made staying close to Nick a necessity.
“There’s nothing up here,” Dave grumbled under his breath.
Nick didn’t stop his investigation. He pushed aside dangling cobwebs and flashed his light into every nook and cranny. Kylie moved along beside him, although quickly coming to the same conclusion as Dave.
“Look at this.” Nick knelt down and directed his light on the side of a small box. Big Sky Fireworks Company. Sumter, SC.
He slipped on the latex gloves Dave had given him and looked over at Kylie, his eyes narrowing. “Start taking notes, Reporter Harper. I think we’ve just hit pay dirt.”
Emotion lumped in Kylie’s throat. She gave a short nod.
With expert precision, Nick carefully peeled back each flap of the box.
The rush of blood pounding in Kylie’s ears merged with the roar of distant thunder. She tried not to jump, tried not to breathe.
Dave came up beside her and glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like nothing more than a bunch of old papers.”
Nick picked through the loose pages and pulled a bundle from underneath. “Shine your light over here, Dave.”
Dave targeted his flashlight on the bound file in Nick’s hands.
Nibbling her lip, Kylie watched carefully as Nick slipped off a rubber band and the bulging folder popped open. Dozens of rough-cut newspaper articles and photos flew into the air before scattering onto the uneven loft floor at Nick’s feet.
Setting the empty folder aside, Nick started collecting the documents on the floor.
Kylie gasped and her body went rigid when she realized she was looking at articles she’d written, along with four-by-eight black-and-white prints—of her.
