Читать книгу Trail of Blood - Wanda Evans - Страница 9

Prologue

Sunday night. Jim Dunn pushed away from the desk, stretching, smoothing out the small knot that had formed between his shoulder blades. Barbara, his wife, had gone to bed an hour or so earlier, while he stayed downstairs in the office, puttering, filing, planning for work the following week. He knew the days ahead would be hectic, but he would love every minute. The idea of having their own business still seemed almost unbelievable to Jim and Barbara. Their database marketing company, Comprehensive Marketing, was almost three years old. Barbara was treasurer and Jim was president; already, they had added salespeople, even though they didn’t have a place for their offices. That would come soon. They were searching for suitable office space, affordable office space, where they could continue to expand. Every day was fulfilling to them.

From another part of the house, chimes signaled the hour. Midnight. Jim couldn’t help smiling as the last note faded into night. Throughout his childhood, he had been lulled to sleep at night and awakened in the morning by the sound of those notes from the grandfather clock that had stood in the living room of the little Texas farm house where he lived with his grandparents. Granddad and Ma were gone now and so the clock stood in the foyer of Jim’s Pennsylvania home, reminding him, on the hour and the half hour, of the years he had spent in their care and all the things he had learned from them, values that had made him the man he was today. Before going upstairs, he lingered, savoring his surroundings, savoring his life.

On the wall over his desk, a certificate framed in bronze proclaimed that James H. Dunn III had been named Distinguished Alumnus by the School of Agricultural Science at Texas Tech University. A small, warm thrill went through him every time he looked at it. His former college buddy and still his best friend, W. R. Collier, had nominated him for the honor and no one had been more surprised than Jim when he was selected. Rarely had he felt so proud and so delighted at the same time. A few years later, Jim had nominated W. R., who also won the award. W. R. still lived in Lubbock, Texas, where he was president of the city’s largest locally owned bank. Even now, so many years after their graduation from Tech, their friendship was still strong.

Jim’s eye fell on two photographs angled toward each other on one corner of the desk. There was Barb, her blonde hair burnished by the photographer’s artful lighting. Their marriage of ten years—his second marriage, actually—had made him happier than he ever could have dreamed possible. Facing it was an enlarged snapshot of Jim standing next to his younger son, Scott. Scott was a little taller than Jim and his below-collar length hair was blond, where Jim’s had been black until it turned white prematurely.

Jim Dunn sighed, truly contented. Their family had been through some rocky times in the past, but life was good today. Getting better every day, in fact. The business was going great, the marriage even better. He could not remember ever being happier. What more could a man ask for?

The telephone on the desk rang once and Jim grabbed it, hoping to avoid waking Barbara.

“Hello,” he said softly, wondering who would be calling so late on Sunday night. Probably Scott, he thought with amusement. It was an hour earlier in Texas and Scott had little concept of time.

“I’m trying to locate Scott Dunn’s mother or father.” The voice was a woman’s; the words spoken in a wooden, flat tone sent sharp icicles of anxiety through Jim’s chest. Through the years, he had answered other middle-of-the night calls from and about his charming, happy-go-lucky younger son, but none had filled him with the sense of dread this distant, unfamiliar voice created with those few words. Before he could calm down enough to respond, the woman continued.

“I don’t know who I’m calling, but I found this number on the telephone bill. I assume since the number wasn’t one I called that it belongs to Scott’s mother or father.” Her sharp words indicated one who was accustomed to getting people’s attention. She definitely had Jim’s.

“I’m his father. Who are you?” Jim asked, bewildered.

“My name is Leisha Hamilton and Scott has disappeared. I wondered if you’d heard anything from him.”

Jim felt stunned. When he found his voice, it sounded ragged. “Disappeared? What makes you think he’s disappeared?”

There was no change in the disembodied voice. “I’ve been living with Scott for a while now. He left the apartment sometime on Thursday, while I was at work, and I haven’t heard from him since then. I thought he might have told you where he was going.”

Jim shook his head in denial, as if she could see him, but his mind was racing. Was this some sort of a practical joke? Who was this woman? Scott had never mentioned her. In fact, his son hadn’t said that he was living with anyone. Only a week earlier, Scott had called and excitedly told Jim he had just gotten engaged to a girl named Jessica. He had met her the previous summer, when she had been a high school senior, a few years younger than he, but they had broken up when she went off to college at Mississippi State. Scott said, “She came back to Texas on spring break and we’ve gotten back together. I’m having a ring made for her.” She was planning on moving to the Dallas area as soon as the semester ended and they were going to get married. Scott wanted to bring her to Pennsylvania to meet his dad and Barb. In an upbeat voice he told his dad about all the other plans he had. At the end of the call he’d revealed how much his dad’s support had meant to him and said they’d talk soon.

That happy conversation was only a week ago and now some strange woman was saying she had been living with Scott and he had suddenly disappeared! This made no sense. Trying to get his thoughts in order, Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Leisha, I have to be honest with you. I’ve never heard of you.”

“I’ve been living with Scott since March,” she answered. “Mr. Dunn, I just don’t know where he went. He had the flu for two days. In fact, he got so sick at Max’s Monday night that he stayed over there.” Jim knew that Max Gianoli was Scott’s boss.

“He didn’t go to work Tuesday, and Tuesday night I had to go get him,” Leisha continued. “He was so weak; I had to help him walk. He stayed in bed Wednesday and was still sick Thursday morning, so before I went to work, I gave him some medicine and a glass of water. When I came home, he was gone.” She might have been reading a shopping list, for all the feeling in her voice. She paused for a few moments, but Jim didn’t say anything. Finally, she went on.

“Like I said, when I came back, he was gone. But he left the jeans he had been wearing. His car keys and the keys to the apartment were in the pocket.”

Jim felt frozen. Now this woman was making even less sense. Four days had passed. Jim shook his head, pondering, Scott would never go anywhere without his car. He was especially attached to the car, which he had named “Yellow Thunder.” The name was an apt description of how it must have seemed to Scott, speeding down the highway, the Camaro’s high-performance engine roaring, his high-performance stereo blasting.

“Isn’t this the weekend,” Jim asked, perplexed, “Scott was going to change the motor from the yellow Camaro to the white one?”

“Yes. It’s down at the place where he works. It’s half torn apart already. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I have the keys right here in my hand.” She sounded impatient—the first emotion Jim had detected in her voice.

Jim was unnerved. Doubts echoed. Scott would not go anywhere without his car. And he would not pick this weekend to go away. He was involved in a major project, transferring the motor from Yellow Thunder into a white Camaro he had just bought. The body of the white car was in better condition than the yellow one, but the motor in Yellow Thunder was better. From the two, Scott would create a car superior to either one.

More uncertainties reverberated: discussing his plans the last time Jim and his son had talked, Scott had also told his dad that he was entering another Crank It Up competition for the electronics store where he worked as a car stereo installer. The goal of the competition was to install a stereo in a vehicle in a way that would get the best performance at the highest decibel level without distortion of the sound. Scott was a genius at this sort of thing and had won dozens of first place trophies as evidence of his creativity. In fact, he had told Jim, with a grin in his voice, he had been given the nickname “Ice Man,” because he had figured out that by putting blocks of ice on the tops of the speakers, he could increase the quality of sound at exceptionally high decibel levels. Jim couldn’t understand what was going on. Scott would not miss one of those competitions. Nor would he just take off without letting Jim know he was going to do it. He always kept in touch. And this strange woman was telling him four days had passed since Scott had left.

“Why did you wait so long to call me?” Jim demanded.

“I was mad at Scott for leaving like that,” she said bluntly. “I figured he’d be back home in a couple of days. But now I’m starting to worry. He hasn’t been to work. He hasn’t called his boss. No one’s seen him anywhere.”

“Do you know if he was seeing other women?” Jim asked, thinking of Jessica, the girl Scott had spoken of.

“No,” she snapped. “I don’t know. It’s possible, I guess.”

Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he answered. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Perhaps all this was just a misunderstanding. Perhaps Scott would surface momentarily and his father would feel foolish when he heard some perfectly reasonable explanation. He didn’t want to cause Scott problems at work now that everything appeared to be going so well for his son. “Let’s give it a couple more days,” he said hesitantly. Leisha agreed and gave him her phone number at the restaurant where she worked.