Читать книгу Sudden Second Chance - Carol Ericson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеBeth parked her rental car in the public parking lot on the main drag of Timberline and flicked the keys in the ignition. Why did Duke Harper have to be here mucking up her investigation?
She chewed her bottom lip. He’d been sent out on a cold case because of what had happened in Chicago. She’d read all about the botched kidnapping negotiation that had ended in the death of Duke’s partner, a fellow FBI agent. But Duke had rescued the child.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Duke had a thing about rescuing children...but he couldn’t save them all.
She plucked the keys from the ignition and shoved open the car door. She couldn’t get hung up on Duke again. This story had presented her with the opportunity to get to the bottom of her identity, and she didn’t plan on letting tall, dark and handsome get in her way.
She locked the car with the key fob and dropped it in her purse. The chill in the autumn air had her hunching into her jacket as she walked toward the lit windows lining the main street.
If she recalled from the TV news story on the kidnappings, the tourist shop was located between an ice-cream place and a real-estate office. She started at the end of the block and passed a few restaurants just getting ready for the dinner crowd, a quiet bar and a coffee place emitting a heavenly aroma of the dark brew she’d sworn off to avoid the caffeine jitters. The Pacific Northwest was probably not the best place to swear off coffee.
A neon ice-cream cone blinking in a window across the street caught her attention. She waited for a car to pass and then headed toward the light as if it were a beacon.
The tourist shop, Timberline Treasures, with the same frog in the window, nestled beside the ice-cream place, and Beth yanked open the door, sending the little warning bell into a frenzy.
A couple studying a rack of Native American dream catchers glanced at her as she entered the store.
“Hello.” A clerk popped up from behind the counter. “Looking for something in particular?”
“I am.” Beth gripped the strap of her purse, slung across her body, as she scanned the shelves and displays inside the store. “I’m interested in that frog in the window.”
“The Pacific Chorus frog.” The woman smiled and nodded. “Timberline’s mascot.”
Beth’s gaze tripped across a small display of the frogs in one corner. “There they are.”
The clerk came out from behind the counter and smoothed one hand across a stuffed frog, his little miner’s hat tilted at a jaunty angle. “They’re quite popular and these are originals.”
Beth joined her at the display and reached for a frog, her fingers trembling. “Originals?”
“These are handmade by a local resident.” She tapped a bucket filled with more stuffed frogs. “These are mass-produced but we still carry the local version.”
“Is there a noticeable difference between them?” Beth held the handmade frog to her cheek, the plush fur soft against her skin.
The clerk picked up a frog from the barrel. “The easiest way to tell is the tag on the mass-produced version. It’s from a toy company, made in China.”
“The color is slightly different, too.” Beth turned over the frog in her hand and ran a thumb across his green belly. She hooked a finger in the cloth tag attached to his leg and said the words before she even read the label. “Libby Love.”
“That’s the other way to tell.” The clerk lifted her glasses attached to the chain around her neck. “Every handmade frog has that tag on it.”
“What does it mean?” Beth fingered the white tag with the lettering in gold thread. “Libby Love?”
“It’s the name of the artist, or at least her mother—Elizabeth Love. Libby’s daughter, Vanessa, makes the frogs now.”
Beth took a steadying breath. She’d already figured her childhood frog had come from Timberline, but now she had the proof. “When did her mother start making the frogs?”
“Libby started making those frogs over forty years ago when Timberline still had mining.” The woman dropped her glasses when the browsing couple approached the counter. “Are you ready?”
While the clerk rang up the tourists’ purchases, Beth studied both frogs. Now what? Even if she’d had a frog from Timberline, it hadn’t necessarily come from this store. And if it had come from this store, any records from twenty-five years ago would be long gone.
The clerk returned with her head tilted to one side. “Can I help you with anything else? Answer any more questions?”
“So, these frogs—” Beth dangled one in front of her by his leg “—this is the only place to buy them?”
“The Libby Love frogs are available only in Timberline, although Vanessa sells them online now.”
“How long has she been selling them online?” Beth held her breath. Surely, not twenty-five years ago.
The woman tapped her chin. “Maybe ten years now?”
“Is this the only store in Timberline that sells the Libby Love frogs?”
“Oh, no. All the tourist shops have them and even a few of the restaurants.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “They all sell for the same price.”
“Oh, I’ll buy one from you.” Beth studied the woman’s pleasant face with its soft lines and had an urge to confess everything. “I...I had a toy like this frog when I was a child.”
“Oh? Did your parents visit Timberline or get it from someone else?”
“I’m not sure.” Her adoptive parents could’ve passed through Timberline and picked up the frog, but their taste in travel didn’t include road trips through rural America.
“It’s always nice to reconnect with your childhood. Can I ring that up for you now or would you like to continue looking around?” She glanced at her watch. “I do close in a half hour.”
Sensing a sale, the clerk didn’t want her to walk out of there without that frog tucked under her arm. She didn’t have to worry. Beth had no intention of walking out of there without the frog.
“I’ll look around for a bit.” Who knew what else she’d discover in there? With her heart pounding, she wandered around the store. She felt close to something, on the verge of discovery.
Maybe in a week or two she’d be ready to track down the Brices and present herself to them as their long-lost daughter who had been kidnapped from Timberline twenty-five years ago. It would be a helluva story for the show, too.
She couldn’t forget about the show—she never did. Being the host of that show had given her the recognition and attention she’d missed from her parents. How could she have put that into words for Duke two years ago without sounding pathetic?
Stopping in front of a carousel of key chains, she hooked her finger through one and plopped it down on the glass countertop. “I’ll take this, too.”
As the woman rang up the frog and the key chain, she peered at her through lowered lashes. “Are you here to do a story on the Timberline Trio?”
Beth dropped her credit card. “What?”
The woman retrieved the credit card and ran her finger along the raised lettering. “You are Beth St. Regis of the Cold Case Chronicles, aren’t you? I recognized you right away. My sister and I love your show.”
“Th...thank you.” Wasn’t that what Beth had always wanted? People recognizing her on the street, praising the show, praising her? Wasn’t that why she’d betrayed Duke Harper?
“I...we...”
“Well, I figured it had to be the Timberline Trio case. We don’t have any other cold cases around here. Our former sheriff, Cooper Sloane, made sure of that with the kidnappings we just had. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather when it turned out Wyatt Carson had kidnapped those kids. Why would he do that when his own brother was one of the Timberline Trio?”
“That was...interesting.”
The woman put a finger to her lips. “I can keep a secret if you want, but I think most people are going to realize that’s why you’re here. Timberline is still a small town, despite Evergreen Software. Word will spread.”
“It’s no secret. I’ll be interviewing Timberline residents and visiting all the original locations.” Beth signed the credit-card slip. “I’m just doing some preliminary legwork right now and my crew will be joining me later.”
Of course, the good people of Timberline would know the purpose of her visit. Word may have already spread, thanks to those boys in the woods. Soon everyone in town would know.
But nobody needed to know her ulterior motive for the story—including Duke Harper.
It would’ve been something she’d have shared with him two years ago, but now they had too many secrets between them. She’d noticed he hadn’t offered up any explanations of why a hotshot FBI agent was wasting his time on a cold case, although she already knew the reason.
Beth hugged the bag to her chest. “Thanks...?”
“Linda. Linda Gundersen.”
“You seemed knowledgeable about the stuffed frog. Were you living here when the three children were kidnapped?”
“No. My sister and I took over this shop when we both retired from teaching in Seattle. She’d dated a man from this area for a while, liked it, and suggested it as a place for us to retire.” Crossing her arms, she hunched on the counter. “That was fourteen years ago when property was cheap. Turns out it was a good move because things started booming when Evergreen set up shop here.”
Beth dug a card out of her purse and slid it across the glass toward Linda. “If you know anyone who’d like to talk to me about the case, have them give me a call.”
“I will. My sister, Louise, would love to be on the show.”
“Does she know anything about the case?”
“No, but she hired Wyatt Carson to do some plumbing on our house.” Linda’s voice had risen on a note of hope.
“I’ll see if my investigation on the story takes me in that direction. Thanks again.”
“Enjoy your frog.”
Beth turned at the door and waved, stepping into the crisp night air. Darkness had descended while she’d been in the tourist shop, and her rumbling stomach reminded her that she’d skipped lunch.
Her hotel didn’t have a restaurant on the premises and the yellow light spilling out of Sutter’s across the street beckoned.
She had no problem eating alone—her job necessitated it half the time she was on the road, and her nonexistent social life dictated it when she was at home.
The plastic bag in her hands crinkled and she decided to make a detour to her car. If she had a bigger purse she’d stuff her frog in there, but her cross-strap bag had no room for her new furry friend and she didn’t want to haul the frog into the restaurant. That part of this story she wanted to keep under wraps until she had more proof.
How many adults looking for answers had made the pilgrimage to Timberline, believing they were Stevie, Kayla or Heather? But she had a strong feeling she’d been here before.
She withdrew the frog from the bag and kissed him before stuffing him back in the bag and dropping it on the passenger seat. She’d kissed plenty of frogs in her day, but this one really was going to make all her dreams come true.
She locked up the car and strode back to the restaurant. It had just opened for dinner and a sea of empty tables greeted her—no excuse for the hostess to stick the single diner by the kitchen or the restrooms. She nabbed a prime spot next to the window, ordered a glass of wine and started checking the email on her phone.
Every time Beth looked up from her phone, more and more people filled the room, and she began to notice a few furtive glances coming her way. Linda had been right. News in a small town traveled fast.
If the locals showed an interest in the story, it would make for some good TV. She and her crew never went into these situations with the goal of actually solving the mystery, although a few times they’d gotten lucky. She’d gotten lucky when Duke had shown up during her story two years ago—lucky in more ways than one.
That Cold Case Chronicles’ investigation had led to the arrest of a child killer who’d been living his life in plain sight of the grieving families. It had been one of her finest hours...and had cost her a budding relationship with Duke.
When the waitress brought her a steaming bowl of soup, Beth looked up just in time to see Duke walk into the restaurant.
She ducked her head behind the waitress and peered around her arm.
The waitress raised her eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
“In Timberline, that’s not hard to do even if you are from Hollywood.”
“LA.”
“You are that host from Cold Case Chronicles, aren’t you?” The waitress had wedged a hand on her hip as if challenging Beth to disagree with her.
“I am, but I don’t live in...” She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m from Hollywood.”
“I wasn’t here during the first set of kidnappings but—” the waitress looked both ways and cupped a hand around her mouth “—I could tell you a thing or two about Wyatt Carson. I used to date him.”
“Really?” Everyone seemed to want to talk about Wyatt, but that case was one for the books. “Did he ever talk much about his brother and what might’ve happened to him?”
The waitress’s eyes gleamed. “A little. I could tell you about it...on camera. I’m Chloe Rayman, by the way.”
“We’ll talk before we commit anything to video, Chloe.” Beth held out her card between two fingers. “If it’s something we can use, I’ll have my cameraman film you when he gets here.”
“Oh, I think it’s something you can use.” Chloe plucked the card from Beth’s fingers and tucked it into the pocket of her apron.
Even if Chloe didn’t have anything of importance to add to the story, the waitress would want her fifteen minutes of fame anyway. Beth’s challenge on these stories had always been to separate the wannabes from the people with hard facts. Sometimes the two types meshed.
Beth lifted a spoonful of the seafood bisque and blew on the hot liquid.
“Digging in already, huh?”
She’d taken a sip of the soup and choked on it as she looked into the chocolate-brown eyes of Duke Harper. She dabbed a napkin against her mouth. “Dive right in. It’s the only way to do it.”
“It’s the only way you know.”
“I’d invite you to sit down—” she waved at the place across from her “—but I’m sure you have important FBI business.”
The wooden chair scraped the floor as he pulled it out. “The only important business I have right now is dinner.”
She gulped the next spoonful of soup and it burned her throat. What possible reason could Duke have for joining her for dinner? Maybe he wanted to grill her for information this time.
“The seafood bisque is good.” She drew a circle around her bowl of soup with her spoon.
Chloe returned to the table, practically bursting at the seams. “Are you Beth’s cameraman?”
“Would it get me a beer faster if I were?” Duke lifted one eyebrow at Chloe, who turned three different shades of red.
“Of course not. I mean, what kind of beer would you like?”
“Do you sell that local microbrew on tap here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have that and the pork chops with the mashed potatoes, and you might as well bring me some of that soup she’s slurping up.”
Beth dropped her spoon in the bowl. “Why did you join me if you’re going to sit here and insult me?”
“That wasn’t an insult. Are you getting overly sensitive out there in LA? You used to be a tough broad, Beth.”
Rolling her shoulders, she exhaled out of her nose. Duke liked to needle her. It hadn’t bothered her before—when they’d been in love. But now that he hated her? She couldn’t take the slightest criticism from him.
“Pile it on, Duke. I can take it.” She set her jaw.
“Relax, Beth. Your slurping made the soup sound good. That’s all I meant.”
Relax? Was that a jab at her anxiety? She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. If she didn’t stop looking for innuendos in his conversation, this was gonna be a long dinner.
She scooped up a spoonful and held it out to him with a surprisingly steady hand. “Try it.”
He opened his mouth and closed his lips around the spoon. “Mmm.”
Heat engulfed her body and a pulse throbbed in her throat. My God, she couldn’t be within five feet of the man without feeling that magnetic pull. And he knew it.
She slipped the spoon from his mouth and lined it up on one side of the bowl just as Chloe brought Duke’s beer and another bisque.
“Are you done, Beth?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She pushed her bowl toward the eager waitress.
When she disappeared into the kitchen, Duke took a swig of beer and asked, “What’s up with the waitress? Is she your new best friend or what?”
“She dated Wyatt Carson and thinks that’s going to get her camera time.”
“You have that effect on people, don’t you? They tend to fall all over themselves in your presence.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and took a gulp of wine. She needed it to get through this meal.
“Interesting case, Wyatt Carson.” Duke flicked his bottle with his finger.
“I know, right?” Beth hunched forward. “Why do you think he did it? Hard to imagine he’d want to put other families through that hell when he’d suffered the loss of his brother.”
“One of two things.” Duke held up two fingers. “Either he missed the attention and limelight of those days when his brother went missing or he really did just want to play the hero. He kidnapped those kids and then rescued them. Maybe he thought he could get past his survivor’s guilt by saving other children when he couldn’t save his brother.”
“Twisted logic.” Beth tapped her head.
“Do you want a slurp, er, sip?” He held his spoon poised over his soup. “I had one of yours.”
“No, thanks. I have some fish coming.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the camera adds ten pounds. You still run?”
“There are some great running trails here. Did you bring your running shoes?”
“Of course. Running is the only thing that kept me sane...keeps me sane with the pressures of the job.”
“Same here.” So the loss of his partner must’ve weighed heavily on him. Did he suffer from that same survivor’s guilt as Wyatt Carson?
“You doing okay with all that—” he circled his finger in the air “—panic stuff?”
“I’m managing.” Did he care? He’d acted like he wanted to strangle her today in the woods. Of course, she’d just nailed him with some expired pepper spray.
“How are your eyes? They still look a little red.”
“I’m managing.”
Chloe brought their entrées at the same time and hovered for several seconds. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Not for me.”
Beth shook her head. “No, thanks.”
As Duke sliced off a piece of pork chop and swept it through his potatoes, he glanced around the room. “Does the entire town of Timberline know why you’re here?”
“I don’t know about the entire town, but everyone in this restaurant has a pretty good idea by now, thanks to Chloe.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” His lips twisted into a frown.
“How else am I going to investigate, to get information?” She squeezed some lemon on her fish and licked the tart juice from her fingers.
Duke shifted his gaze from her fingers to her face and cleared his throat. “I guess that’s how you operate. Stir up a bunch of trouble and heartache and move on.”
Beth pursed her lips. “None of the original families is even here anymore. Wyatt Carson was the last of Stevie’s family in Timberline. Kendall Rush, Kayla’s sister, blew through town, got caught up in Wyatt’s craziness and then hightailed it out of here. And Heather’s family... They moved away from Timberline, to Connecticut, I think.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I always do, Duke.”
“What I can’t figure out—” he poked at his potatoes “—is why you were attracted to this cold case. It hardly has all the elements you usually look for.”
“And what elements would those be?”
“You know—sex, drugs, grieving families, celebrity.”
She chewed her fish slowly. Duke hated what she did for a living—had hated it then, hated it now. She didn’t have to answer to Special Agent Duke Harper or anyone else.
She drained her wineglass. “I was following the copycat kidnapping story and got interested in the old story, like a lot of people. There seemed to be heightened interest in the Timberline Trio and talk of some new evidence, so I figure I’d capitalize on that. Right up my alley.”
“Excuse me, Ms. St. Regis?”
Beth turned and met the faded blue eyes of a grandmotherly woman, linking arms with another woman of about the same age.
“Yes?”
“I’m Gail Fitzsimmons and this is my friend Nancy Heck. We wanted to let you know that we were both living here at the time of the Timberline Trio kidnappings and we’d be happy to talk to you.”
“Thank you.” Beth reached into her purse for her cards, ignoring Duke’s sneer—or what looked pretty close to a sneer. “Here’s my card. I’ll be doing some preliminary interviews before my crew gets here.”
Nancy snatched the card from Beth’s fingers. “You mean we aren’t going to be on TV?”
Duke coughed and Beth kicked him under the table. “I can’t tell yet. We’ll see how the interviews go.”
When the two ladies shuffled away, their silver heads together, Duke chuckled. “This is going to be a circus.”
“And what exactly are you doing to work this cold case?”
“I have all the original case files. I’m starting there.” He held up his hands. “Don’t even ask. You can do your interviews with Wyatt Carson’s ex-girlfriend’s ex–dog sitter’s second cousin.”
“Don’t dismiss what I do. I helped the FBI solve the Masters case.”
“You helped yourself, Beth.”
Chloe approached their table. “Dessert?”
“Not for me.” Beth tossed her napkin on the table.
Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, Duke said, “Just the check.”
“You paying?” Beth reached for her purse. “I have an expense account.”
“And you’re using it to pay for your own dinner. I’m using my per diem to pay for mine. I don’t want any commingling here.”
She lowered her lashes and slid her credit card from her wallet. Was he talking about just their finances?
“Got it.” She tapped her card on the table. “No commingling.”
A loud voice came from the bar area of the restaurant, and chatter in the dining room hushed to a low level—enough for the bar patron’s words to reach them.
“That TV show better not start nosing around. If anyone talks to that host, I’ll give ’em the business end of my fist.” The man at the bar turned to face the room, knocking over his bar stool in the process.
His buddy next to him put a hand on his shoulder, but the belligerent drunk shook him off.
“Where’s she? I’ll toss ’er out right now on her fanny. Tarring and feathering. That’s what we should do. Who’s with me?” He raised his fist in the air.
A few people snickered but most went back to their dinners. Duke didn’t do either. He marched across the room toward the bar.
Beth groaned as she scribbled her signature on the credit-card receipt and took off after him. Duke had always been a hothead, and it looked like he hadn’t changed.
“What did you say?” He widened his stance in front of the man. “Are you threatening the lady?”
“You with that show, too?” The man looked Duke up and down and hiccuped.
His friend picked up the stool and shoved his friend into it. “C’mon, Bill. Take it easy. Who knows? Being featured on TV might increase our property values.”
The man, his dark hair flecked with gray, shook his head and stuck out his hand. “Sorry about that. My friend’s a Realtor and has had a little too much to drink. I’m Jordan Young.”
“Duke Harper.” Duke gestured toward Beth. “This is Beth St. Regis, the host of Cold Case Chronicles and the woman your friend was threatening.”
Jordan Young dismissed his drunken friend with a wave of his hand. “It’s the booze talking. His sales numbers haven’t been great lately, but it has nothing to do with the recent publicity we’ve been getting. Hell, Kendall Rush’s aunt’s place sold for top dollar. He’s just ticked off that he didn’t get that listing.”
He took Beth’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m a big fan of the show, Ms. St. Regis.”
“Thanks.” She nudged Duke in the back. “Are you a Realtor, too?”
“Me?” He chuckled. “Not really. I’m a developer, and I have a lot more to lose than Bill here if things go south, but that’s not going to happen—Evergreen Software will make sure of that.”
“You need to tell your friend to keep his mouth shut about Beth.”
“Duke.” She put her hand on his arm. His stint in Siberia hadn’t done anything to temper his combativeness. “I’m sure he’s not serious—at least about the tar-and-feathering part.”
Young winked. “Good to see you have a sense of humor about it, Ms. St. Regis, but I can understand your...coworker wanting to be protective.”
Duke didn’t correct him. If the residents of Timberline knew all about Cold Case Chronicles looking into the Timberline Trio, they didn’t seem to be as knowledgeable about the FBI putting the case back on its radar. Maybe Duke wanted to keep it that way.
“You can call me Beth.” Her eyes flicked over his gray-streaked hair and the lines on his face. “Were you here at the time of the initial kidnappings?”
“I was. Sad time for us.” He withdrew a silver card case from his suit jacket and flipped it open. “If you’re implying you want to interview me, I might be available, although I don’t know how much I could contribute.”
She took the card and ran her thumb across the gold-embossed letters. “You’d be the first one in town without some special insight.”
“Can you blame them?” He spread his hands. “A chance to be on TV and talk to the beautiful host?”
“Thank you.” The guy was smooth but almost avuncular. Duke could wipe the scowl from his face, but she didn’t mind that another man’s attentions to her irritated him.
“You should take care of your buddy here.” Duke jerked his thumb at Bill, still resting his head on the bar.
“I’ll get him home safely to his wife. Good night, now.” Young turned back to the bar. “Serena, can you get Bill a strong cup of coffee? Make it black, sweetheart.”
Duke put his hand on her back as he propelled her out of the restaurant—with almost every pair of eyes following them.
As Duke swung the door open for her, Chloe rushed up and patted her apron. “I’ll be calling you, Beth. I don’t care what Bill Raney says.”
“Looking forward to it, Chloe.”
When they stepped outside, Duke tilted his head. “Really? You’re looking forward to talking to Chloe about Wyatt Carson?”
“You never know what might pop up in a conversation. Maybe Wyatt remembered something about his brother’s kidnapping that he never told the cops.”
“Why wouldn’t he have told the cops?”
Beth zipped up her vest. “Because he turned out to be a nut job.”
“Seems to be no scarcity of those in this town.” He hunched into his suede coat, rubbing his hands together. “Where are you parked?”
“In the public lot down the block. This is Timberline. You don’t have to walk me to my car.”
“Just so happens I’m parked there, too.” He nudged her with his elbow. “There have been two high-profile kidnapping cases in Timberline. I wouldn’t take your safety for granted here. There might be more people here who feel like Bill.”
“I’m hardly in danger of getting tarred and feathered...or kidnapped.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets and lifted her shoulders to her ears. She may have already been kidnapped from Timberline once. What were the odds of it happening again?
Duke followed her through the parking lot to her car anyway, occasionally bumping her shoulder but never taking her hand. What did she expect? That they would pick up where they’d left off two years ago? Before he’d accused her of using him? Before she’d used him?
As she reached the rental, her boots crunched against the asphalt and she jerked her head up. “Damn. Somebody broke the window of my car.”
“Safe Timberline, huh? Maybe Bill did his dirty work before he hit the restaurant.” Duke hunched forward to look at the damage to the window on the driver’s side. “You didn’t have a laptop sitting on the passenger seat, did you?”
“No, but...” Her ears started ringing and she grabbed the handle of the car door and yanked it open.
Someone had taken the bag from the gift shop. Collapsing in the driver’s seat, she slammed her hands against the steering wheel. “My frog. They took my frog.”
