Читать книгу Urgent Pursuit - Beverly Long - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Wednesday, 10:00 a.m.

Bray was nursing his third cup of coffee when he heard the sound of a car pulling into the Hollister driveway. Chase and Cal were at the sink, washing and drying, because Raney and Nalana had cooked breakfast. He, as the honored guest, was getting to sit.

Which was helpful since he was fighting a headache that was likely a combination of jet lag, long-term fatigue and one too many beers. He’d come home around midnight. The house had been dark, but it had been easy enough to find his way upstairs, avoiding the step that squeaked and finally getting into the brand-new bed that was the centerpiece of his newly decorated bedroom.

Raney and Chase were making a home of the old place. It was unexpected, sort of like the new camaraderie between Chase and Cal. He was going to ask about that. Sometime. Just not now, when the brain cells weren’t yet all firing.

He heard the sound of a door opening and shutting. “Expecting someone?” he asked.

Chase looked at Raney and she shook her head. Cal walked down the hallway to look out the front door.

“It’s Poole,” he said.

“Who’s Poole?” Bray asked.

Cal walked back into the kitchen, exchanged a quick look with Chase and said, “The police chief. Anything we need to know about last night?”

Bray shook his head. “Why look at me?”

Nalana smiled. “Because the rest of us were in bed by nine o’clock.”

Bray returned the smile. “That’s because my brothers are both lucky sons of...guns.” He pushed back his chair. “I might as well get this.”

He waited for the knock. Counted to five, then opened the door. On the other side was a man, probably midsixties, his belly hanging over his belt, looking as if a fast walk, let alone a real chase after an enemy, would take him down.

“Bray Hollister?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m police chief Poole. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He heard a rustle in the kitchen and knew that if he gave any indication that he was uncomfortable with the request, his brothers were going to figure out a way to get Poole off their porch.

“Sure,” he said. “Come on in.”

He led the chief into the living room and motioned for him to have a seat. The man sat in the armchair, making the cushions sink. Bray sat on the couch and relaxed back against a pillow.

“I understand you arrived in town yesterday.”

“That’s correct.”

“From New York.” The man practically wrinkled his nose.

Bray nodded. He was tempted to make a joke that living in the city wasn’t a crime the last time he’d checked. But he kept his mouth shut. Poole was uncomfortable, and that was making Bray doubly so.

“And you drove straight to Ravesville from the St. Louis airport?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do once you got to town?”

“I went to the church on the corner of Main and Portland. My brother is getting married there this weekend.”

“And you had some conversation with Gary Blake?”

“Conversation? Is that what he called it?” Bray asked. He was disgusted. The guy tried to rough up his ex-wife and then whined to his boss because Bray had got the better of him.

“I didn’t speak with Gary. Julie Wentworth is my sister-in-law. She plays the piano every Sunday and for almost every wedding in town.”

Piano player Julie and Reverend Brown had not witnessed his physical interaction with Blake. They would only be able to report on what they’d overheard.

Not true. They would be able to support that Summer had been upset—to the point that her voice had been shaking.

“I understand you and Summer Wright were an item in high school. That was before my time in Ravesville. Is that correct?”

An item? “We dated,” he said. If Poole wanted to know more than that, he was going to have to ask somebody else.

“Uh-huh. So, after you left the church, where did you go?” Poole asked.

Bray made sure his face showed no reaction. But his brain, which might have been idle in the kitchen, was now working itself back to fighting weight. “I went to Summer’s house.”

“Why?”

“She had some vases in the back of her van. They were heavy. I thought she might need some help carrying them.”

“How long were you there?”

Bray sat up, feeling as if his pancakes were going to be on the chief’s shoes. “Did something happen to Summer? To one of the kids?”

He was going to kill Gary Blake.

The chief shook his head. “I drove by the Wright Here, Wright Now Café on my way here. I verified that Summer was working her shift, as usual. Therefore, I assume her children are fine.”

Verified. The man had made sure Summer was working. So whatever was wrong, Summer and her family were involved in some way.

“If there’s nothing else,” Bray said, standing up. He had things to do.

Poole didn’t take the hint. “What time did you leave Summer’s house and where did you go?”

Bray had a fairly good idea the man already knew what time he’d left. Perhaps he’d talked to Mrs. Hudder. He decided to cut to the chase. “I left around seven. Drove around town for a while.” No need to tell him that he’d driven to Blake’s house, that he’d pounded on the door, wanting the son of a bitch to have the guts to show his face. “I was hungry, so I went to the One Toe In Bar and Grill for a cheeseburger and some beers.”

“What time did you leave the bar?”

“Close to midnight. Why?”

“Anybody there going to be able to verify that?”

He’d sat alone in a back booth, but he’d had the same waitress for most of the evening. He assumed she’d be able to. “I think so.”

“You better hope so, Mr. Hollister.”

Bray shrugged. “Look, I’ve been a good sport and answered all your questions. Now why don’t you tell me why the hell you’re asking them?” Maybe Gary Blake’s pride had been more damaged than he’d thought and the man had gone to his boss to complain about his interaction with Bray. If he had, that was pretty damn stupid. Nothing like hanging out your own dirty laundry.

Chief Poole hefted himself out of the chair. He pulled up his pants and they immediately sagged below his belly again. “Gary Blake was scheduled to start work at seven this morning. When he didn’t show, Officer Stone drove to his house.”

“And?” Bray prompted when the police chief stopped.

“And Gary wasn’t there.”

“Big deal,” Bray said. “Maybe he got his days mixed up and he thought he had a vacation day. He’s out shopping for a turkey right now.”

“There were signs of a very fast exit from the house. A small amount of blood at the scene.”

He could see Summer’s eyes, hear the sincerity in her voice. He knew I’d kill him if he did that. “So, he cut himself shaving and went to the emergency room.”

“Maybe,” Chief Poole said. “But, you know, police officers make a lot of enemies.”

Bray wanted to see Blake’s house. Cops in small towns weren’t well trained in investigating crime scenes—they simply didn’t see enough of them.

But as much as he wanted to view the scene, he wanted to see Summer more. He had to know what she’d done. Had his questions about Blake spurred on memories that she’d been unable to deal with?

“How long are you expecting to be in town, Mr. Hollister?”

“Through Sunday.”

“And you’re staying here at this house?”

Bray nodded.

“Good,” the chief said. “I want to know where I can find you if I have more questions.”

Bray didn’t answer. He simply watched the man walk to the front door and let himself out. He counted to three before his brothers got to the living room.

They each had the same worried look in their eyes. Probably right now were thinking of good defense attorneys.

“Listen,” he said, “I didn’t do anything to Gary Blake.”

“Blood at the scene,” Chase said.

“Small amount. I heard the man,” Bray said, irritated. He’d been back in town for less than a day, and Gary Blake, who had caused him so much heartache years ago when he’d married Bray’s girl, was still causing trouble. “There’s probably a list of people a page long that want to get Blake for one reason or another.”

“Summer,” Cal said.

Bray didn’t say anything.

“You don’t think she did something, do you?” Chase asked.

Bray had no idea what Summer was capable of. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I think I better ask her.”

* * *

SUMMER HAD REALLY never thought much about Charlie Poole. He’d been Gary’s boss for about five years. He was polite to her when he came into the restaurant, ordered two eggs and bacon with a side of biscuits and gravy every day of his life, and tipped poorly.

She’d never had cause to worry about him until now, when he’d come in and asked if he could speak to her privately.

“We don’t have much private space,” she said.

He said nothing. She put down her coffeepot, led him back to the kitchen, smiled at Milo, the grill cook, to let him know that everything was okay and took a spot in the corner, where she could keep an eye on the dining room through the small window in the swinging door.

She felt sick when the chief told her why he was there. Gary. Missing. Blood at the scene. An open gallon of milk on the table. A half-eaten bowl of cereal. The back door unlocked and not closed tight.

What the hell? Her first thoughts were of her children. What would she tell them?

But before she could get her head around it, Chief Poole started asking questions.

“I understand you were at the church yesterday,” he said. “That you and Gary were in the basement.”

Julie had probably mentioned it to her brother-in-law. She was a lovely piano player but a terrible gossip.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you two had much to do with each other anymore.”

“We share children,” she said. “This coming weekend was Gary’s weekend to have them, but he needed to switch.”

“Why?”

She’d wondered the same thing. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to switch. But because she would be busy catering the wedding, she’d pushed back a little. That had seemed to set him off. “I don’t know.”

“So after you left the church, you went straight home?”

“Yes.” It dawned on her that the chief hadn’t asked any questions about what had happened at the church between her and Gary. Was it because Julie had given him enough that he’d realized that his second-in-command might have been in the wrong and he didn’t want any additional documentation of the fact?

And speaking of documentation, the chief wasn’t making any notes. He had yet to pull his notebook from his pocket. In his left breast pocket, he had the same kind of notebook that Gary never went anywhere without. Once, early on in the marriage, she hadn’t realized that he hadn’t removed it from his pocket and she’d put it in the washing machine. That had caused a crisis that involved attempting to dry out thirty or so small pages because he’d needed those quick notations to fill out the endless reports that he’d hated.

Maybe the chief had a really good memory. Or maybe he realized that she didn’t have anything to gain by harming Gary.

“And did you have any visitors last night?” he asked.

She wasn’t trained in police work, but thought she might be a better interrogator than the chief. He clearly already knew that she had indeed had a visitor. Perhaps he’d already spoken to Mrs. Hudder. Or to Bray.

He’d been upset when he’d left her house. She’d known that he was having difficulty dealing with what she’d told him. Had he taken out his anger on Gary?

Had Bray become sucked into the tangled relationship that she had with her ex? It was a horrifying thought. When would her bad decisions stop hurting Bray Hollister?

She was confident that he would tell the truth, that he would not run from it. He’d always had more character than her. “Bray Hollister stopped by. He didn’t stay long. Then I fixed my children dinner, watched some television and went to bed by ten.”

“Can anyone verify that you were home all evening?” he asked.

Had she been wrong about his intent? Was she really a...suspect? She pressed her hand to her empty stomach.

Hell, yes, there were times I wanted him gone, she wanted to say. But admitting that she’d spent valuable time she didn’t have as a single parent imagining how nice it would be if he would simply disappear wasn’t going to help her.

“No,” she said. “But I was.” She looked through the small window in the door and saw that four new customers had come in while she’d been talking with the chief. They were looking around, staring wistfully at the coffeepot, probably wondering where the heck she was. “I really need to get back to the dining room,” she said. As Milo flipped his pancakes, he was slapping the flat end of his stainless-steel spatula on the hot grill, letting her know that he was watching and ready to assist if she needed it.

“Just a couple more questions,” Chief Poole said, holding up his hand. “Has Gary ever done this before, just disappear unexpectedly?”

Once or twice toward the end of their marriage, he’d been gone for a few days. Getting his head together. That was what he always told her. She suspected that involved a stack of chips and a deck of cards, but by then, she hadn’t really cared enough to probe.

“Sometimes to fish or to gamble.” It dawned on her that the chief probably knew Gary as well as she did. That made this an even more awkward conversation.

The chief nodded. “I probably should check to see if his rods are still there.”

She didn’t say anything, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

“Do you know anybody who had a particular beef with Gary?”

She sighed. “He’s been a cop in the same community for more than fifteen years. I imagine there are any number of people who aren’t fond of him. The speed trap out by the high school is particularly irritating and probably hasn’t endeared him to many.”

“Anybody with a complaint more serious than a moving violation?”

“You’d know better about that than me,” she said.

“I may want to talk to your children.”

“Not without me, and not until I’ve talked to them first,” she said, her voice stern. She didn’t care if he was the police chief.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said. He took a step. Stopped. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this conversation between us,” he said. “You know how gossip spreads in Ravesville.”

She did. And it would make people uneasy if they thought that something had happened to one of their police officers.

She nodded, and Chief Poole pushed open the swinging door, walked the length of the café and left through the front entrance. Thirty seconds later, Summer followed him out of the kitchen, smiling, greeting customers, putting on the show of her life. But her head was whirling. So much so that she delivered eggs instead of French toast to one of her favorite customers. Apologizing profusely, she ran back to the kitchen to get the order replaced.

“What’s going on?” Milo asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Summer promised.

She took another quick minute to pull her cell phone from her pocket. She pressed the button for Gary’s number. It went straight to voice mail. She waited for the beep. “Gary, it’s Summer. Listen, please call me. It’s important.” She pressed End.

Maybe she should call Trish, too. She knew Gary pretty well. Maybe she would have some ideas.

No. It wasn’t the type of news a person delivered over the phone.

Was the chief serious that he intended to talk to her kids? Would he wait and give Gary time to show himself?

For the first time in a very long time, she wished she could suddenly make Gary appear. What the hell was he up to now? Was it possible that he was really in trouble? Did this have anything to do with the absolutely horrible mood he’d been in?

She had lots of questions and no answers. She went back to the dining area and cleared two dirty tables.

She heard the soft tinkle of a bell and looked to the front door. Bray Hollister, his expression giving nothing away, walked in and took a seat at the counter. He wore blue jeans, a blue-and-gray flannel shirt, a dark gray insulated vest and cowboy boots. Every woman’s eyes in the place followed him, whether they were twenty years old or sixty. He positively oozed sex appeal.

She contemplated going back to the kitchen for the rest of her life. “Morning,” she said, mindful that just three stools away were other customers. “Coffee?” she asked, holding up the pot.

Bray nodded.

She poured the cup and slid it in his direction. He took a sip. “Busy day?” he asked.

“Busy enough,” she said.

“Had a visit from the chief yet?” His voice was pitched low.

“Yeah. You?”

He nodded. “Are you doing okay?” he asked.

No. She was a mess. “I think so.”

“Got anything you need to tell me?” he asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t touch your ex.”

She believed him. Relief flooded her system. “I didn’t, either.”

He studied her. Then nodded. “Okay, then. What now?”

“Now I figure out what the hell happened to Gary before it bleeds over and affects me or our children.”