Читать книгу Cold Case, Hot Accomplice - Carla Cassidy - Страница 12

Chapter 4

Despite Roxy’s desire for immediate action, it was almost nine by the time they finally left the police station. Frank had arrived and agreed to work on hunting up an address for Ramona, and he also planned to upload Liz’s information into the missing-persons database.

The thought of Aunt Liz officially being part of a national missing-persons pool made everything more frightening and real than it already had been.

She opened the door to the passenger side of Steve’s car to return to her aunt’s house, and tossed the fast-food wrappers that were on the seat to the floor. “I should have figured you for a messy man,” she said, at the same time trying to swallow against a newfound terror.

“Actually, you caught me on a good day. Usually there’s at least five times more trash in the car than there is now. That’s the evidence of my dinner last night.” He slid behind the steering wheel and cranked the engine while she tried to find a place for her feet amid the wrappers.

“You know that kind of food will eventually kill you,” she said.

He cast her a quick smile. “Ah, Foxy Roxy, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t. And stop calling me that.”

“It’s just a little pet name,” he said.

She glared at him. “Do you have pet names for all your girlfriends? Let me guess...there’s Lucky Lucy and Boobsie Betty.”

“And don’t forget Willing Wendy,” he supplied, and as he smiled at her again she realized exactly what he’d done. He’d taken her terror and transformed it into an aggravation toward him, an emotion that felt safer and far more familiar than the stifling fear.

She rolled down her window and for a moment they rode in silence. “Thank you,” she finally said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, apparently not needing an explanation for her gratitude. “I know it’s tough, Roxy,” he added softly.

She didn’t reply. There was no way he could know all the feelings that she was experiencing at the moment. Aunt Liz had been missing for an entire day and night.

Even Marlene and Sheri wouldn’t be feeling the full ache of emptiness, the utter horror that continuously tried to crawl up her throat. Sure, they’d be worried and afraid, but they weren’t as emotionally tied to Aunt Liz as Roxy was. They didn’t have the memories of what life had been like before Aunt Liz.

Horrific memories.

A childhood that no kid should have to suffer.

Roxy had spent her entire life making sure that Sheri and Marlene had only happiness in their lives. She had made caretaking for her sisters her number one priority, and she’d always known that while she was her sisters’ emotional support, Aunt Liz was hers.

There was no way surfer dude knew the ache of absence, the fear of the unknown that had Roxy’s emotions simmering with anxiety and terror. Probably the worst thing he’d ever suffered was a painful hangnail.

Still, as she gazed out the window she couldn’t help but smell him, the scent of minty soap and shaving cream and a whisper of sandalwood cologne.

She shot him a surreptitious glance and then looked back out the window. There was no question that she found him more than a little bit attractive, as did most of the single and married women in town, although she’d never heard any gossip about him with any married woman.

That perpetually mussed, sun-streaked hair of his begged for fingers to dance through the shaggy length, and his eyes were the blue of Caribbean waters. He had a sensual mouth with a fuller lower lip that held the promise of kisses that could buckle a woman’s knees.

With a new flash of irritation, she nibbled on her thumbnail until they pulled into Aunt Liz’s driveway. Roxy dug a set of keys from her purse, and then together they got out of the car and approached the house.

Roxy unlocked the front door and shoved it open; the absence of sweet baking scents shot a stabbing pain through her center.

When they had been here the day before, they had only done a cursory search, looking for her aunt. She knew that today Steve would be looking for other things or the lack of items that might provide a clue as to what had happened yesterday morning that had kept Aunt Liz from her usual schedule.

He stopped her before she walked from the entry into the living room. “I want you to stand here and look around. See if anything looks out of place or is missing,” he said.

She nodded and studied the living room as if seeing it for the first time. The sofa was a floral print, slightly worn and matching the overstuffed chair nearby. Behind the chair, a floor lamp sat to provide Liz additional light as she quilted or embroidered in neat little stitches. Her quilting material was all in a blue-flowered tote next to the chair, an embroidery hoop visible with a pattern half-completed by colorful threads.

The bookshelves that lined one wall held a variety of items, including photos of her and her sisters, mementoes from the time Liz had worked in Hershey at the Hershey factory and plenty of books.

“Nothing missing and nothing out of place,” she announced. Nothing except her aunt, who wasn’t in her chair with her quilting in her lap and her glasses propped down on the lower end of her nose.

“Okay, let’s move into the kitchen.” He placed a hand at the small of her back as they walked through the living room. Roxy wanted to protest the touch, but she found it oddly comforting.

When they reached the kitchen it was just as they’d left it the day before, the baked goods still on the countertop along with Liz’s purse and car keys.

After looking around and seeing nothing else amiss, Roxy opened the pie containers. Lemon meringue and chocolate silk. “These need to be thrown out,” she said, and he watched as she tossed the pies into the trash container. She opened the cake pan to see a black forest cake. “I can’t serve this at the restaurant, but it’s still good. Do you want to take it home with you?”

He looked at her suspiciously, as if perhaps she might be offering him a poisoned apple. “Why can’t you serve it in the restaurant?”

“Because it’s a day old. I promise you it’s perfectly good. I just won’t allow day-old desserts to be served at the Dollhouse.”

“Okay, then I’ll take it to Sunday lunch tomorrow at my mom’s.”

“Oh, your mother lives around here?”

“Yes, and I have lunch with her every Sunday. My father passed away eight months ago from a heart attack. Where did you think I came from? Under a rock?”

“Actually, I thought maybe you crawled out of a seashell. You’ve got the surfer dude attitude down pat,” she replied honestly.

“Surfer dude?” His amazing blue eyes stared at her blankly.

“You know, the shaggy sun-streaked hair, the laid-back attitude, the chicks that follow you around everywhere...” She allowed her voice to trail off, wondering how they had gotten so far off track.

“You obviously know nothing about me or my life, whatever your impression or my reputation might indicate.” There was a touch of irritation in his tone as he gestured her out of the room and down the hallway.

His cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket and checked the caller identification. “I’ve got to take this. It’s a private call.” He ducked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Probably one of those girlfriends of his, Roxy thought. She walked into the first bedroom that used to belong to Sheri and Marlene when they’d all been growing up together. It still held twin beds with pink spreads, two matching upright dressers and a single nightstand between the beds.

Rather than an array of clothing for two growing girls, the closet now held quilts already made and boxes of material and thread, along with a large standing hoop.

The bathroom door opened, and Steve rejoined her. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“There’s nothing missing.” Roxy thought they were wasting time and was irrationally irritated by his private phone call.

The second bedroom had been Roxy’s, but it had since been transformed into a storage area with shelves that held baking items, storage containers and utensils the small kitchen couldn’t hold.

By the time they reached Liz’s bedroom, Roxy had a mere finger grasp of patience left. Seeing the neatly made double bed where Roxy had often spent stormy nights snuggled with her aunt and younger sisters nearly cast her to her knees in worried grief.

She turned to Steve, who stood just outside the door in the hallway. “It’s all the same. Nothing is missing, so whatever happened to her didn’t involve a robbery. There are no signs of a struggle anywhere in the house. We’re wasting time here. It’s obvious she isn’t here, and there’s nothing to point to where she might be right now.”

“Roxy, this is all going to be a process of elimination. We had to check the house in order to eliminate any clues that might be here.” He spoke in slow, measured words, as if explaining something to a two-year-old.

Before she could respond, a knock sounded from the back door in the kitchen. Roxy started down the hallway to answer, but Steve grabbed her by the arm and pushed her behind him at the same time that he pulled his gun.

It was at that moment that Roxy realized two things—that Steve was taking this far more seriously than she’d thought he was, and that there was absolutely no guarantee of a happy ending.

* * *

The man at the back door wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a beard that instantly identified him as one of the Amish from the nearby settlement. The older man’s eyes widened as he saw Steve with his gun through the door window.

“That’s Mr. Zooker,” Roxy said from behind Steve. “Put your gun away before you give the poor man a heart attack.”

Steve holstered his gun and opened the door. The tall, muscular man was clad in the traditional white shirt and black trousers, and beyond him in the driveway Steve saw the horse and buggy that he’d arrived in.

His blue eyes softened as Roxy stepped in front of Steve. “Good morning to you, Mr. Zooker,” she said.

He nodded. “A good day to you. I have a delivery for your aunt. Could I speak to her?”

“I’m Detective Steve Kincaid.” Steve took control by once again stepping between Roxy and the man at the door.

“Abraham Zooker. Is there a problem with Mrs. Marcoli?” A line of concern deepened in his broad forehead.

“We aren’t sure. When was the last time you saw or spoke to her?”

Zooker frowned and pulled on the end of his long salt-and-pepper beard. “It would have been three weeks ago. I was at the Roadside Stop delivering some of my furniture to Miss Marlene and Miss Sheri when Mrs. Marcoli approached me and ordered a piece from me.”

“Was she expecting you today?” Steve asked.

“Not specifically. I told her I would deliver it once it was ready, and I’d planned a trip into town so I decided to attempt to deliver it today. If she isn’t here, I can always come back another time.”

“You’re here now so you might as well drop off whatever you brought. Have you been paid?” Roxy asked.

Abraham nodded. “I was paid in full when your aunt ordered the piece.” He backed away from the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve turned to Roxy. “What’s the story?”

“He’s one of the Amish who have been given permission to work with the English. He makes beautiful wooden furniture that Marlene and Sheri sell at their place, and he also has made several quilting racks for Aunt Liz.”

Steve knew that the Amish community closest to Wolf Creek was a progressive order. Although they used no electricity and continued the old tradition of traveling by horse and buggy, he’d heard that some of them were allowed running water in their homes and many did a brisk commercial trade with businesspeople in town. They had large farms and ran a dairy operation, and their horses and buggies and wide-brimmed straw hats were common sights in town.

Although Steve had been out to the settlement many times in the past, he had never met Abraham Zooker before.

“I get a lot of my cheese and dairy products from Abraham’s brother, Isaaic,” Roxy explained.

By that time Abraham had returned, carrying a beautifully crafted quilt display rack. Steve opened the door to allow the man to set the piece inside the kitchen. “She paid me for two, so there is another one that I should have ready in a couple of weeks,” he said.

“Why don’t you hold off on that one for now,” Roxy said, her eyes a simmering cauldron of emotion as she ran a hand lightly over the smooth wood of the piece. “I’ll get in touch with you when it’s time to start making the other one.”

“Your aunt is ill?”

“She’s missing. She hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning,” Steve replied.

“I will pray for her,” Abraham said.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d ask around your community whether anyone has seen her in the past twenty-four hours,” Steve said.

“Of course. We’ve always cooperated with authorities whenever necessary,” Zooker said. He looked at Roxy, his blue eyes once again softening. “I’m sorry for your worries, and I hope your aunt turns up well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zooker,” Roxy told him. Steve noted the hint of tears in her eyes.

It stunned him. In the past twenty-four hours he’d seen her combative and rude, anxious and fearful, but he hadn’t seen tears.

As Abraham Zooker left, Roxy closed the door and leaned against it weakly, the glistening tears more pronounced as she stared at the quilt rack.

“Aunt Liz bought a rack and made a wedding ring quilt for Marlene when she got married. I’m guessing this one was in anticipation of whenever Sheri or I get married, even though I’ve told her a thousand times I have no intention of that.” The tears that had shimmered in her eyes released and trekked down her cheeks. “Where could she be, Steve? What could have happened to her?”

Steve knew he was about to take his life in his own hands, but he’d never seen a woman who looked more like she needed to be held than Roxy looked at that moment.

Knowing the danger, but unable to stop himself, he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. She stiffened against him and he tensed, expecting a knee to his jewels or a jab to his jaw, but instead she relaxed into him as a deep sob escaped her.

He tightened his arms around her, trying not to notice the press of her full breasts against his lower chest, how neatly her head fit just beneath his chin.

She felt good; she felt right in his arms, but she allowed it for only a handful of heartbeats and then she stepped back from him and swiped the tears off her cheeks.

“Wow, that won’t happen again,” she said, her voice filled with an appalled regret. “I never cry, and I definitely never cuddle.” She raised her chin defensively.

“Fine, then we’ll just chalk that up to you having something in your eye and we accidentally bumped into each other,” he replied drily.

It was obvious that the last thing Roxy Marcoli wanted was to appear vulnerable in any way. The angry defiance he sensed in her would hold her in good stead in the days to come. Hopefully it would fill up part of the space inside her that otherwise would be screaming in fear, dying of anxiety.

Steve knew very well the maelstrom of emotions flooding through Roxy, and he also knew her body and mind could only endure the high state of anxiety for so long.

She was with him now because she was in the first stages of disbelief and fear. Eventually, if Liz Marcoli wasn’t found, Roxy would have to figure out how to resume her life and work around the hole in her heart until some sort of closure was finally granted.

Steve was still waiting for closure in his own missing-persons case, and in the absence of that closure he’d adopted the laid-back “surfer dude” attitude to hide his own fear and pain. The day that his ex-girlfriend had kidnapped his son had been the moment Steve’s world had shattered. That had been two years ago, and during that time Steve had never stopped looking for the little boy he loved more than anything else on earth.

“So what happens next?” Roxy asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

He gave himself a mental shake. He had to stay focused on this missing-persons case.

He walked over to the counter where Liz’s purse was and looked inside. He pulled out her cell phone, punched a couple of numbers and frowned. “The history of incoming calls has been deleted.”

“So we don’t know who might have called Aunt Liz early Friday morning,” Roxy said flatly.

“We’ll drop the phone off at the station. Frank not only does magic with finding people—he’s also a rock star at getting this kind of information. The calls might be deleted from the phone, but the cell phone company will have the records.”

“And after we drop it off at the station?”

“Next we go talk to Patricia Burns. You told me yesterday that she was your aunt’s closest friend. Maybe she’ll know something about your aunt that you don’t know.”

Roxy shot him a tight grin. “Doubtful, but we have to do what we have to do.”

What was happening? Steve asked himself minutes later when they were back in his car after dropping off the phone at the station and heading to Patricia Burns’s house. What was he doing with Roxy like a mouse in his pocket, gnawing a tiny hole in his sanity?

He should have done the professional thing and sent her on her way that morning in the station. He wasn’t sure exactly how he had become we. He had two perfectly good partners to work with, and he didn’t need another one. He especially didn’t need one who’d felt so right pulled tight against his body, one who sent his adrenaline rushing whenever her eyes snapped with fire.

As soon as he interviewed Patricia Burns, he was taking Roxy right back to her car at the station and carrying on alone. He’d promise her frequent check-ins, but he needed to get her out of his pocket.

Patricia Burns lived two blocks away from Liz Marcoli in a neat ranch house that was identical to Liz’s except for the color.

Their knock was greeted by a petite woman with short salt-and-pepper hair and a worried expression in her brown eyes. She instantly grabbed Roxy’s hand. “No word?”

“No, nothing.”

Patricia nodded to Steve and then gestured them into a living room decorated in shades of blue. Steve introduced himself to her as he sat in a chair next to the sofa, where the two women sank down side by side.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Patricia asked.

“Thanks, but we’re fine,” Steve replied. “I understand you and Liz are good friends, Mrs. Burns,” he continued.

“Best friends, and, please, call me Treetie.” She smiled and patted Roxy’s hand. “When the girls were little they had trouble saying Patricia, and so I became Treetie and the nickname stuck.”

“Okay, Treetie, when was the last time you spoke to Liz?”

“Thursday night. We talked on the phone around eight.”

“Anything unusual going on with her? Anything she was worried about?” Steve took out his little pad and pen, ready to take any notes that might be pertinent to the case.

“No, nothing unusual. The only thing Liz ever worried about was the girls. She worried that Marlene was never going to get over her divorce and that Sheri would wind up being all alone with only the chipmunks for company. And, of course, she worried that Roxy would keep any man from ever marrying her because of her sharp tongue and the scars left from her early life with her mother.”

She patted Roxy’s hand as Roxy’s cheeks dusted with high color. “Sorry, honey, but that’s the truth.” She pulled her hand back from Roxy’s. “Other than that, Liz was enjoying her life. She had her baking that she did for the Dollhouse, she was planning her flower and vegetable garden and she had Edward.”

“Edward?” Steve asked.

“Edward?” Roxy parroted in confusion. “Who in the hell is Edward?”