Читать книгу Mountain Sheriff - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 12

Back at his office, Mitch closed the door and went straight to his computer. He typed in Nina Monroe’s name and her social security number Wade had given him—not surprised by the results.

Nina Monroe had lied about not only her social security number, but her name, as well.

“I’m going to get some doughnuts,” Sissy said, sticking her head in the door.

“Lemon-filled?”

She nodded and smiled. “You need anything be fore I go?”

He shook his head and waited until he heard her leave before he went down to the basement where the old files were kept.

He dug out Angela Dennison’s file, dusted it off and took it back upstairs.

Sheriff Bill “Hud” Hudson had been like a father to Mitch, as well as a mentor and friend. Hud had also been a first-rate sheriff and the reason Mitch had taken the same career path, instead of following his father’s example and becoming a drunk.

Hud had been sheriff at the time of Angela’s disappearance. At first, it was believed that the baby had been kidnapped. But no ransom demand was ever made and no body was ever found.

Not far into the file, Mitch started seeing a pattern, one he didn’t like. In these types of cases, the parents are usually the first suspects, and Wade and Daisy Dennison were no exceptions.

In Sheriff Hudson’s interview with Daisy, she testified that she didn’t recall seeing Wade until the baby was discovered missing the next morning. She’d said she’d gone to bed early and didn’t know when Wade had gotten home.

Wade, however, said he returned home at his usual time to find that Daisy had been drinking. They’d argued. She’d gone to bed. He’d slept in the den until he was wakened by the nanny early the next morning screaming that the baby was gone.

The nanny, Alma Bromdale, said she’d put the baby to bed about eight that night and gone to bed early herself. She’d taken some cold medicine that made her drowsy and thought that was why she hadn’t heard anything in the adjacent room where the baby was sleeping.

That meant none of the three had an alibi.

Alma Bromdale. Mitch wrote down the name in his notebook. The nanny had been with the Dennisons for more than two years. She’d been hired just before the Dennisons first daughter, Desiree, was born. Alma was twenty-five at the time, from Coos Bay and had listed her job experience as one previous nanny job, baby-sitting and a nanny course through the adult-education program at the high school. She must be about fifty-two now.

Alma had been fired the day after the presumed kidnapping and had left Timber Falls. Mitch checked the telephone directory online. There was only one Bromdale in Coos Bay—Harriet Bromdale. A relative? He wrote down that name, as well, wondering what in the hell he was doing.

So he found an old baby’s spoon with a Dennison duck head and “Angela” engraved on it. And so Nina Monroe was the right age and was now missing. Did he really think Nina might be the missing Angela?

He looked down at the file again, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to think. Hud had noted in his interview with Alma that she’d seemed scared and upset, both natural for someone who’d just learned that the baby she was responsible for had been stolen—and from the adjacent room.

Alma had admitted that Wade and Daisy fought and, yes, she’d overheard them arguing about the paternity of the baby. Wade didn’t think it was his.

Mitch swore under his breath.

The alleged kidnapper had climbed the trellis to the second-story room, but was believed to have taken the baby down the back stairs and out through a rear door on the first floor. Unfortunately, Sheriff Hudson had noted Wade had initiated a search of the area, using a few Dennison Duck employees, before calling the sheriff, and they’d tracked all over and destroyed any evidence there might have been outside the baby’s bedroom window.

Baby Angela had been wearing a pink nightshirt. The only other item taken from the room was the quilt from her bed. Nothing else. No baby spoon, but Mitch knew that the spoon could have easily been overlooked.

He continued down the list of suspects to the live-in housekeeper who’d been fired a week before the abduction, a woman by the name of Georgette Bonners.

Georgette had been angry and, like Alma, had nothing good to say about the Dennisons. She had also alluded to the fighting and the question of the baby’s paternity.

On the night of the abduction, Georgette said she was with her husband, Tim. He confirmed it. Both were now deceased.

Mitch closed the file, telling himself he was probably barking up the wrong tree. But there was that damned spoon. And Nina Monroe was missing. He put the file in his drawer and locked it.

As Sissy came in with the doughnuts, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door, taking the lemon-filled doughnut she shoved at him on his way out with a grin and a thanks.

The road to Dennison Ducks was narrow and dark, ten miles carved through the forest. Today, with the rain beating down, the road was even darker, gloomy somehow.

Or maybe it was just his mood, which hadn’t been helped by the thought of that damned present someone had left for Charity. She’d sounded so excited. He wondered now what the gift had been.

Dennison Ducks was Timber Falls’s claim to fame. Of course, if Wade Dennison had his way, the town would be renamed Dennison. Or even Dennison Ducks. Fortunately Wade didn’t have his way all the time.

The decoys were sold in a small outlet store in town next to the Timber Falls Courier office, from mid-April to mid-October. But few people knew where the ducks were actually carved, since none were sold on site at the plant. There wasn’t even a Dennison Ducks sign on the large metal building, just a small sign at the gravel parking lot that read Employees Only.

There was no gate. No security guard. And since no one lived on the premises, no one had seen Nina Monroe arrive or leave last night, according to Wade.

This morning there were a half-dozen cars in the lot. Mitch had called on the way to make sure Wade was in his office. He was and had told Mitch he could talk to any of the workers he needed to. Earlier Mitch had suspected Wade hadn’t been telling him everything. Now, after seeing Nina’s ransacked bungalow, he was convinced of it. He parked and rang the bell at the employee entrance. The door was opened by Bud Farnsworth, the production manager.

Mitch was assaulted by the heavy scent of freshly cut pine as he entered the building. From deep inside came the drone of band saws, carving machines and sanders. Ducks in various stages of production lined the tall metal shelves that ran the length of the room.

“Wade said you’d be coming by.” Bud didn’t sound happy about that. “You know this is our busiest time of the year, gearing up for Christmas.” He was a burly fifty-something man with receding dark hair and small dark eyes that always seemed to be squinted in a frown. Like most of the employees, he’d started working at the decoy plant in high school and had worked his way up.

Bud drank on his time off and it showed in his ruddy complexion, as well as in his cranky demeanor, probably the result of a hangover. “Before you bother to ask, I don’t know anything about Nina Monroe. She didn’t work for me. Never said two words to her.” Bud’s crankiness verged on hostility. “Paint department’s down there.” He pointed between the shelves of ducks.

“If you think of anything that might help, give me a call,” Mitch said to the man’s retreating back.

Bud gave no sign he’d heard.

Mitch rounded the end of the last shelf to what was obviously the paint department. Three artists were seated at a large wooden table next to a window. Both the table and the floor around them were covered in dried paint. One of the four chairs at the table was empty. Nina Monroe’s.

Mitch made his way to the painters, recognizing all three women. The thing about living in a small town like Timber Falls was that everyone knows everyone else—and their business. For most people, that was a curse. For the town sheriff, it was a mixed blessing.

Sheryl Bends didn’t look up as he dragged out the empty chair next to her and sat down. He’d gone to school with Sheryl, even kissed her once in junior high. She was divorced from Fred Bends, a local logger, had worked at Dennison Ducks since high school and spent most evenings at the Duck-In Bar.

She had a narrow face with strong features and wide pale-green eyes, and wore her brown hair in a single braid that fell to the middle of her back. She often invited him over for dinner at her place. He’d never accepted, although he’d been tempted on occasion—usually when he just couldn’t get Charity off his mind. But he’d never been tempted enough to actually accept.

Sheryl wore her usual outfit—a Western shirt, jeans, moccasins and long beaded earrings. Both the shirt and jeans seemed to be fighting to keep her ample breasts and bottom from bursting out.

“Hello, Sheriff,” Sheryl said, giving him one of her slow sexy smiles.

“Sheryl.” He felt his face warm a little.

From across the table, Tracy Shank seemed amused to see him flustered. Tracy was thirtysomething with cropped brown hair and close-set eyes. She gave him a nod and kept working.

Next to her sat Pat Ames. She was fiftyish with a head of gray curly hair and a small delicate frame.

“Sheriff,” Pat said, and kept painting the drake decoy in front of her.

He turned his attention to Nina’s workspace, hoping to find some personal item that might give him a clue as to her whereabouts. But while the other women had photos of husbands or boyfriends or kids, there was nothing personal at Nina’s end.

Mitch watched the women work for a moment, wondering if he should talk to them separately. He hoped they’d be more honest as a group. Also, he was still expecting Nina to turn up. It wasn’t as if he had a murder investigation on his hands.

“I suppose you heard I’m looking for Nina Monroe.”

They had. He went through his questions with Pat and Tracy, who told him what they knew, with Sheryl nodding in agreement. According to the women, Nina stayed to herself, didn’t talk much, didn’t socialize with her fellow workers, didn’t even eat her brownbag lunch with them.

“Where’d she eat lunch?” he asked, having noticed what looked like a coffee-break room on his way in.

The women shrugged. “She’d leave the building,” Pat said quietly as she carefully painted a patch of Mallard green on her duck decoy.

“She ate outside?” he asked.

Pat shrugged and whispered, “Wade usually left for lunch right after her.” Pat didn’t look at him, just kept working.

“You think there was something going on between them?” he asked, keeping his voice down, too.

No answer.

Sheryl glanced past his shoulder. He followed her gaze to the large plate-glass window of Wade’s office on the second floor. The office was situated so that it overlooked the plant floor, giving him a view of the entire production area. Wade stood at the window, watching.

Mitch shoved back his chair, stood and thanked the women before heading upstairs.

Wade was still standing at the glass looking down when Mitch stepped into his office. He turned, not looking happy. But then, he seldom did.

“Have you found out anything?” he demanded.

“Not much. I’d like to see Nina’s employment file.”

“I don’t know what help it’ll be.” Wade motioned for Mitch to draw up a chair in front of his desk as he stepped into the reception area outside his office, opened a large file cabinet and pulled out a file folder. His secretary’s desk was empty, Mitch noted.

On a high shelf that ran the circumference of the office were samples of every decoy ever made at Dennison Ducks, all painted, all different sizes, shapes and types of ducks. The light made the dozens of eyes glitter as if watching him.

Wade handed Mitch the file and returned to his big black leather chair on the other side of the desk.

The folder had little in it. The Dennison Ducks employment application was one page. Under Former Employers, Nina had named a craft shop in Lincoln City called Doodles and a restaurant called The Cove in North Bend along the coast where she’d been a waitress. Not exactly great references for decoy painting, which he’d always heard took a great deal of artistic talent. So why had Nina been hired so quickly at Dennison Ducks?

Nina had left the phone numbers of her past employers blank. Under the space for her former address, she’d just put Lincoln City and the name of a motel or apartment building there, Seashore Views. No address. No phone number.

“There isn’t much here,” Mitch agreed. “And it doesn’t look like she had any experience as a painter.”

“She’d done some painting at the craft shop where she worked.” Wade sounded defensive. “She just didn’t put it down.”

Uh-huh. There was nothing about painting experience on her application. Nor was there anything under next of kin or a number to call in case of emergency. “What do you know about her personally?”

Wade looked surprised. “Personally? I don’t know anything about her.”

“You must have talked to her,” Mitch said.

“I might have complimented her on a couple of the designs she came to me with, but nothing other than that. I let my group leaders or my secretary handle all personnel problems.”

“Were there problems with Nina?” Mitch had to ask.

“None that I know of.” Wade seemed to avoid his gaze.

Mitch didn’t like the feeling he was getting. “You told me earlier that she didn’t have any family or friends or boyfriends.”

“That’s just what I heard.” He straightened several items on his desk, obviously nervous.

“Who is the group leader in the paint department?”

“Sheryl Bends.” Sheryl who hadn’t said squat the whole time Mitch had asked questions.

“Do you have a photograph of Nina?”

Wade seemed startled by the question. “Why would I have a photo of her?”

“I thought maybe you had some sort of employee card with her photo on it or possibly a photo that was taken at some Dennison Duck function,” he suggested.

Wade shook his head. He was perspiring, although the office was quite cool. There were large patches of sweat darkening the underarms of his shirt. “Nina had only worked here a month. She missed the company summer picnic.”

Mitch asked for a copy of the one-page application and a W-9 form she had filled out stating only one deduction, everything that had been in her file. Wade made the copies himself on a small copier just outside his office.

“Where’s Ethel?” Mitch asked, wondering where Wade’s secretary was today.

Wade blinked as if he’d been a thousand miles away. “She’s off sick.” He handed him the copies, his fingers shaking as he did.

The man was awfully upset about an employee he’d hardly known and who’d only worked for him a month.

“Wade,” he said folding the copies and putting them into his coat pocket, “I need you to be honest with me. If there’s something more going on with Nina—”

Wade waved him off. “I’ve got a lot on my mind today, some personal things I need to tend to. I’m just concerned about her, that’s all. I don’t want anything to have happened to her.”

“Why do you think something has happened to her?” Mitch asked. Wade didn’t know about Nina’s ransacked bungalow. Or did he? Wade knew something. That much was clear.

“I just think about Desiree…” Wade broke off, shook his head and looked away. “You know, if she was the one missing…”

“How is Desiree?” Mitch inquired, pretty sure he already knew the answer. Desiree was twenty-nine and pretty wild.

“Fine,” Wade said quickly. “Desiree is fine.”

Mitch studied him for a moment. “Okay,” he said, and got to his feet, thinking about the baby spoon in his pocket, wondering how to ask about it, deciding now wasn’t the time. “If you hear anything…”

Wade glanced at his phone. “I’ll call you,” he said, seeming anxious to get Mitch out of his office.

As Mitch passed the secretary’s desk on his way out, he wondered if Ethel Whiting had ever missed a day of work in her life. Ethel had been with Wade since day one. She probably knew the family better than anyone in town.

Coincidence that she’d called in sick on the day Nina Monroe had gone missing?

The phone rang in Wade’s office as Mitch started down the stairs. “It’s about time you called,” Wade snapped, making Mitch pause on the steps. “Listen to me, Desiree. I’ve always bailed you out of trouble, but this time you’ve gone too far. You know damned well what I’m talking about—” The office door closed, cutting off anything further.

Mitch could only imagine what sort of behavior Wade had been referring to. He’d heard stories about Desiree Dennison and her wild antics. Who hadn’t? Mitch had picked her up for speeding in that little red sports car on several occasions. Recently she’d reportedly run Sissy’s brother T.C. off the road. T.C. made furniture at his small shop outside of town.

Fortunately for Desiree, T.C. hadn’t wanted to press charges, but it was obvious that Desiree had purposely forced T.C.’s old pickup off the road because he’d been going too slowly.

Maybe what had Wade upset and concerned this morning was really Desiree, not Nina Monroe. Wade should be concerned about Desiree. The woman was headed for trouble, sure as hell.

It was still raining, coming down in sheets, as Mitch stepped outside to find decoy painter Tracy Shank having a cigarette under the overhang of the roof. She glanced around when she saw him as if she thought someone might be watching her and stubbed out the cigarette.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing more than I already knew.”

Tracy lit another cigarette, took a drag and blew the smoke out into the rain. “There’s something going on. Something…odd.”

“With Nina?”

“With Nina, with Wade, with this place,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder. “Nina was no painter. She just showed up one day and Wade hired her. She acted like all she wanted was to learn how to paint decoys. That’s why she worked late all the time.”

“You don’t think that was the case?” he asked.

She let out an oath and shook her head.

“Then why work late?”

“I don’t know. The plant is deserted after six. She’d have the whole place to herself. Painters are pretty much allowed to work their own hours, but something else was going on with that girl.”

“You think she was meeting someone here? Having an affair? Wouldn’t that make more sense at her apartment?” he asked.

“She was living at Florie’s,” Tracy pointed out. Everyone in town knew how Florie was about minding everyone else’s business. It ran in the family. “If she didn’t want anyone to know, the plant would be the perfect place.”