Читать книгу Wanted Woman - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 12

Maggie cruised through Timber Falls in the early morning, surprised to find the town even smaller than the map had led her to believe. The main drag was only a few blocks long. Ho Hum Motel, Betty’s Café, the Busy Bee antique shop, the Spit Curl, Harry’s Hardware, a small post office, bank and auto body shop.

Past the Cascade Courier newspaper office she spotted the cop shop. She turned down a side street, avoiding driving by the sheriff’s department even though she knew Jesse Tanner couldn’t have beat her to town. But she had no way of knowing how many officers there were in this little burg, or who might be looking for her.

When she’d rolled off the pier, she’d taken Norman’s body with her into the water. The surf was rough that night. As far as she knew Norman’s body hadn’t turned up yet, but then, she hadn’t had a chance to check a newspaper. Until Norman’s body was found, Blackmore might not be aware that she was still alive.

Last night she hadn’t gone home. Fortunately, she’d been smart enough to hide her motorcycle before going down to the pier to meet Norman. When she’d crawled out of the water after being shot, she’d come up a hundred yards down the beach near a small seafood shack.

Keeping to the shadows, she’d broken in, stripped off her leathers down to the shorts and tank top she wore underneath and bandaged her arm as best she could with the first aid kit she found behind the counter.

Then she’d set off the fire alarm, hiding until the fire trucks arrived. In the commotion, she’d worked her way back to her bike, carrying her leathers in a garbage bag she’d taken from the café’s kitchen.

She’d feared the cop would have found her bike and have it staked out but she didn’t see anyone. Nor had she found any tracking devices on it when she’d checked later.

Running scared, she’d gone the only direction she could. Toward Timber Falls, Oregon, a tiny dot she’d found on a service station map. With luck, she’d bought herself a little time. Once Norman’s body washed up and hers didn’t, they were bound to get suspicious. Whoever they were.

Norman. Oh, Norman. She still felt sick and still blamed herself for his death. If she hadn’t called Blackmore…

She’d called Rupert Blackmore because he was the detective investigating Clark Iverson’s murder and she’d read in the paper that he was actively looking for the attorney’s legal assistant, Norman Drake, for questioning. She knew nothing about the cop, let alone if he had a tie in with Timber Falls. Or her.

But she understood now why Norman was so freaked out. He had seen Detective Blackmore kill Iverson and, like Maggie, he had probably seen the recent photograph of Blackmore in the paper getting some award from the mayor for bravery and years of distinguished service in the Seattle Police Department.

Who would believe that a cop who’d been on the force for thirty years and received so many commendations was a killer? No one. That’s why Norman hadn’t gone to the cops. That’s why Maggie knew she couldn’t until she knew why Blackmore had murdered the others—and tried to kill her, as well.

Now she passed through a small residential area of town, coming out next to the Duck-In bar and Harper’s Grocery. Her stomach growled and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten and couldn’t.

Parking beside the market in the empty lot, she went in and bought herself a bag of doughnuts and a carton of milk, downing most of the milk as she gathered supplies. She purchased some fruit and lunch-meat for later and a bottle of water. She wouldn’t be back to town for hours.

As she started to check out she saw a rack of newspapers and braced herself. But before she could look for a story in one of the larger West Coast papers about a body floating up on a beach, she spotted a headline in the Cascade Courier that stopped her heart cold.

“HERE, YOU FORGOT THIS,” Sheriff Mitch Tanner said from his recliner as Jesse walked through the door. Jesse’s first stop in town was to see how his brother was doing—and talk to him about the accident last night on the highway.

Mitch had always been the good one. College right after high school, then he’d taken the job as sheriff and bought a house. Mr. Law-Abiding.

Jesse on the other hand had been the wild older brother. Always in trouble. When he’d left Timber Falls it had been in handcuffs. After that little misunderstanding was cleared up, he’d headed for Mexico and had spent years down there, half-afraid to come home and yet missing his brother and dad.

“It’s required that you have it with you at all times—and keep it turned on,” Mitch said, tossing him a cell phone.

Jesse groaned as he caught the damned thing. It was bad enough being a cop let alone having to carry a cell phone. He stuffed it into his pants pocket, telling himself it was only for a couple of months tops. “It’s one of those that vibrates, right?” he asked with a wink. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Mitch rolled his eyes and laid back in the recliner, his left leg in a huge cast and a pair of crutches leaning against the wall next to him. He’d taken two bullets, one had broken the tibia of his left leg. The other had just passed through his side. Both had laid him low though.

Worse, Mitch hadn’t taken it well that his first bullet wound in uniform would be from someone he knew—the most famous man in Timber Falls, Wade Dennison. Wade had shot Mitch while struggling over a .38 with his estranged wife, Daisy. Mitch had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or at least that was Wade’s story.

Jesse thought being behind bars was the perfect place for Wade. The man owned Dennison Ducks, the wooden decoy carving plant and pretty much the reason for the town’s existence and because of that Wade Dennison had thrown his weight around for years.

Well, after being patched up at the hospital he was now behind bars facing all kinds of charges, including assault with a deadly weapon, resisting arrest and domestic abuse. His wife Daisy was fighting for no bail, saying she feared for her life should Wade be released.

Needless to say, it made great headlines in the Cascade Courier, the weekly local paper run by Mitch’s fiancée Charity Jenkins. In fact, Charity seemed to be doing everything she could to keep the story page one.

And, as always, the news kept the gossips going at Betty’s Café.

Jesse knew a lot of people in town resented Wade because of his money and his overbearing attitude and were hoping when the trial rolled around that Wade got the book thrown at him. Jesse just hoped Wade never went gunning for Mitch again. He would definitely take it personally next time.

Meanwhile, since Mitch was off his feet, he’d asked Jesse to stand in as acting deputy until he was completely recovered. Jesse had helped him out before since his return to Timber Falls. Because the town was in a remote part of Oregon, the sheriff had the authority to deputize whatever help he needed.

Jesse suspected Mitch thought putting him in a uniform would help straighten him up. He smiled at the thought because the job was a mixed blessing. He had only started this morning and already hated it. Still, he figured he was doing Mitch a favor and he could use the money, but he’d never been wild about cops since his wild youth and now he was one. The only one in Timber Falls.

The good news was that Timber Falls seldom had any real crime. Although this rainy season had had more than its share. But Jesse was hoping that with Wade Dennison locked up in jail and no more bigfoot sightings, things would quiet down.

“You look like you’re doing all right,” he said to his brother as Charity came into the room with a tray of coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. She put it down on Mitch’s lap.

Jesse raised a brow. “Damn, the woman can even cook?”

“Very funny,” Charity quipped. “It’s genetic. All women are born to cook and clean. Men are born to be asses.”

Jesse faked a hurt expression.

“Except for Mitch,” she added with a smile as she touched his shoulder. Charity had been crazy about Jesse’s younger brother since she was a kid and he couldn’t be more excited that the two of them were finally getting married. Mitch, while lying in a pool of his own blood, finally got smart and proposed to her after she’d helped save his life. The man was slow, but not stupid.

“I need to talk to my little brother for a moment,” Jesse said. Mitch was two years younger, but several inches taller than Jesse. “Sheriff’s department business.”

Mitch groaned. “That’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull to talk sheriff’s department business in front of Charity, ace reporter.”

“It’s nothing you’d find interesting for the newspaper,” Jesse assured Charity as he sat down next to Mitch and stole a piece of his bacon. Charity stuck around just in case. She was the owner, editor and reporter of the Cascade Courier and she was a bloodhound when it came to a good story.

“You know those forms you said I have to file every week?” Jesse said chewing the bacon. “Where again do you keep them?”

Charity picked up her purse and headed for the front door. “Jesse, if you’re going to be here for a few minutes, I need to run by the paper.”

“I can be left alone, you know,” Mitch called to her. “I’m not a complete invalid.”

Charity paid him no mind.

“I’ll stay here until you come back,” Jesse proposed so she would finally leave.

“Forms?” Mitch said after she’d gone.

Jesse shrugged. “Couldn’t think of anything else off the top of my head. The real reason I wanted to talk to you is that I witnessed an accident last night. Desiree Dennison ran a biker off the road.”

Mitch swore. “Anyone hurt?”

Jesse shook his head. “It was a hit-and-run though. She didn’t even stop to see if the biker was okay.”

“You’re sure it was Desiree?”

“Saw the car with my own eyes. She had the top down. No one has a head of hair like her.” Desiree took great pride in that wild mane of hers.

He was trying to put his finger on just what color it was when he was reminded of the biker’s hair. It was long and fell in soft curls down her back and was a dark mahogany color that only nature could create. Desiree’s was darker than he remembered and he realized she must have put something on it.

“Any other witnesses?” Mitch asked.

“Not at 3:00 a.m.”

“What about the biker?”

“Wasn’t interested in pressing charges. You know bikers.”

Mitch grunted. He knew Jesse and that was enough.

“There’s going to be damage to the car. The biker hit the passenger door side. I’d say pretty extensive damage and I took a sample of the paint from the bike.”

Mitch was nodding. “You have to write Desiree up. The judge is going to take her license, has to after all her speeding tickets.”

Jesse nodded. “I just wanted to tell you before I go up there. I’m sure there will be repercussions.”

Mitch snorted. “With a Dennison?”

“I heard Wade might make bail.”

“No way. Daisy’s fighting it. So am I. He’s too much of a risk.”

“I hope the judge sees it that way,” Jesse said as he took a piece of Mitch’s toast. He’d never had much faith in the system. And Charity had been writing some pretty inflammatory news articles about Wade and the rest of the Dennisons, dragging up a lot of old dirt.

If Wade got out, who knew what he would do. He’d threatened to kill Charity at least once that Jesse knew of.

“Have you considered cutting your hair?” Mitch asked eyeing him as Jesse wiped his bacon-greasy hands on his brother’s napkin.

“Nope.” That was the good part about being deputized in this part of Oregon. A lot of the rules in the big city just didn’t apply. How else could someone like Jesse become an officer of the law?

He heard Charity’s VW pull up. “Your woman’s back. Better eat your breakfast.”

“What’s left of it,” Mitch grumbled. “Be careful up there at the Dennisons’. I swear they’re all crazy.”

Jesse wouldn’t argue that.

MAGGIE STARED at the newspaper headline. After Twenty-Seven Years In Hiding Following Daughter’s Kidnapping, Daisy Dennison Ready For New Life.

“Is that all?” the grocery clerk asked.

Maggie dragged her gaze away from the newspaper to look at the older woman behind the counter. Twenty-seven years. Kidnapping. “What?”

“Is there anything else?”

“I’ll take a few papers,” Maggie said, feeling light-headed and nauseous as she grabbed the two larger West Coast papers and one of the tiny Cascade Courier. She shoved them into the grocery bag with her other purchases, her hands shaking.

The clerk eyed her for a moment, then rang up the newspapers. Maggie gave her a twenty and accepted the change the woman insisted on counting out into her trembling palm. Stuffing the change into the bag with the groceries, Maggie left, trying not to run.

Outside she gulped the damp morning air as she scanned the streets, not sure if she was looking for the face of a killer, that of a handsome dimpled sheriff’s deputy or maybe a face that resembled her own.

The streets were empty at this early hour. She looked back to find the clerk still watching her.

Climbing onto her bike, Maggie backtracked a few blocks to make sure no one was following her, then rode south out of town to one of the dozens of state campgrounds she’d seen on the map. She picked a closed one, wound her way around the barrier until she found a campsite farthest from the highway, deep in the woods and near the river.

It wasn’t until she was pretty sure she was safe that she dragged out the newspapers, starting with the article in the Cascade Courier.

She read it in its entirety twice. There was little about the original kidnapping. Mostly it was a story about a woman named Daisy Dennison who had been a recluse for twenty-seven years after her baby daughter had been stolen from her crib.

Her husband Wade, the founder of Dennison Ducks, a local decoy carving plant, was behind bars for a variety of things including shooting the sheriff during a recent domestic dispute with Daisy.

Wade Dennison’s attempts to make bail had been thwarted by his wife. Daisy, it was alleged, had filed for divorce and had started a new life.

What a great family, Maggie thought sarcastically.

But what Maggie did get from the story was that the couple’s youngest daughter, Angela, had been kidnapped twenty-seven years ago. No ransom had ever been demanded. Angela was never seen again.

Angela Dennison. Was it possible Maggie was this person? If what Norman had told her was correct, she had to be. How many other babies had been kidnapped from this tiny town twenty-seven years ago?

She quickly set up her two-man tent and finished off the milk and a couple more doughnuts before going through the larger newspapers. Nothing about Norman. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She knew she should try to get some sleep but the river pooled just through the trees near her campsite, clear and welcoming. She left the tent and walked over to the small pool, stripped down and took a bath. The icy cold water did more than clean and refresh her. It assured her she was alive. At least for the time being.

Full and feeling better, she still felt restless, anxious for the cloak of darkness so she could return to town—and worried about the deputy she’d stayed with part of the night. He had no reason to come looking for her. Unless he’d been warned she might be headed to Timber Falls. But then, that would mean Jesse Tanner had been in contact with Detective Rupert Blackmore and Blackmore knew she was alive.

Would the deputy help Blackmore find her? Why wouldn’t he? It would be her word against a respected detective. No contest.

She hid her bike in the trees, then brought the saddlebag full of money and her meager toiletries and clothing into the tent to wait until dark.