Chapter 6

A few lone figures lay at intervals along the sides of the alley. Debris crunched beneath my feet as I followed behind Gable, searching the sleeping forms for Josie. In truth, I was beginning to hope I wouldn’t find her. I couldn’t stand the thought of delicate, vulnerable Josie exposed out here in this filthy, dangerous alley.

As I knelt next to one of the blankets toward the end of the alley—the last person I saw that we needed to check out—Gable’s hand landed on my shoulder.

“Hey, I’m not sure you should—”

Before he could complete the sentence, an arm shot out from beneath the blankets—thin, but incredibly strong. Claw-like fingers latched onto my neck. A grimy face appeared above the ragged blanket. He had a ratty yellow-gray beard and wore a tattered watch cap. A musty, sour odor rose to my nostrils, mixing with my fear, and I swallowed back a gag that seized my throat.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, bitch?” a man’s voice rasped.

“Ah… I was just…” I choked, grappling at the fingers. I couldn’t loosen his grip.

“Hey, asshole.” I’d never heard such fury in my brother’s voice. “Let her go.”

I don’t know if the vagrant would have obeyed or not, because Gable didn’t leave him any choice. He came up beside me and bent down, chopping an elbow into the guy’s forearm. The man grunted and released his hold, the grimy fingers of his other hand clamping onto his injured arm.

Gable took me by the hand and hauled me to my feet.

“Hey, man,” the gruff voice slurred, “bitch was in my space.”

Gable opened his wallet and tossed two ten’s onto the ground next to the man, then tugged me toward the mouth of the alley. He was silent as he yanked me along the street so quickly I could barely keep up with him.

We received some strange looks and a few raised eyebrows. A transgender hooker shouted, “Oooh, baby. When you’re done with her, come back for me.”

Gable ignored her-him, continuing to drag me stumbling along until we finally reached the car.

Once we were inside, he whirled to face me. “Are you happy?” Without giving me a chance to answer, he slammed his palm on the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if I hadn’t been there? Any idea at all? And, you do realize, he was right? You had no business approaching him like that. I should have let him at you.”

“I know. You’re right.” The sudden realization of what could have happened washed over me and I began to tremble, suddenly stone cold sober. “You could have been hurt, too.”

“Ya think?” Even in the darkness, I could see a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” I said, close to tears. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, shook his head. “You were trying to do the right thing. Trying to help your friend. But there comes a time when you need to realize that some people have to help themselves.”

“You sound like Asia.”

“So, it appears at least someone in your posse has some sense.” He softened the words with a smile and reached out and took my hand. “Even as a priest, I have to be able to tell when someone is ready for my help. You need to do the same.”

I nodded.

He started the car and pulled out onto Independence. “Now, let’s get you home. I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you to get your car.”

“Can you take me to get it tonight?” When he gave me a look normally reserved for the profoundly insane, I quickly said, “I’m totally sober now. I swear. I want to drive out to the lake house and see if she’s there.”

Josie and I co-owned a cabin on Lake Viking. Her parents had owned half a dozen cabins they rented out, but, after their mother passed away, her father had wanted the girls to have one of their own and had given each of them a choice of the six. Josie added my name to the deed without charging me anything. My contribution was to pay the utilities and take care of the upkeep.

Gable stared at me for a long time. A very long time.

“Did you hear one word that I just said to you? Do you realize I’m a priest and hundreds of people come to see me, on purpose, one to five times a week, just to hear what I have to say? And you…” Another head shake. “With you, I might as well be talking to a lamppost. You can’t help her, sis, you just can’t.”

“I at least need to know she’s okay.”

“She’s not okay. She’s a self-destructive junkie, and the more you help her, the longer she’ll stay that way.”

I leaned my head back against the seat. “I just need to know she’s safe for the night. I won’t be able to sleep until I do.”

“And if you don’t find her at the cabin?”

I shrugged. “I still won’t be able to sleep, but I’ll know I’ve done all I can for the moment.”

“Okay, then. You have me so wound up now, I can’t sleep anyway. So, I’ll take you to get your car after our road trip.”

“You’re going with me?”

“No. You’re going with me.”

I wouldn’t exactly call a one hour drive a ‘road trip,’ but I was glad to have him along. I was grateful for the company and happy he no longer seemed to be mad at me.

I reached out and punched the power button on the radio. “Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers burst from the speaker.

“Road trip, it is,” I said.

****

Outside on Lane’s deck, the light was attracting bugs, even though they were scarcer than they would be in warmer weather. Lane needed the air, though. Felt better than his lonely, stuffy house.

At least it wasn’t the home he’d shared with Catherine. He’d rented this one when he transferred to Kansas City. Catherine had gone directly into the hospital. Her stuff was in storage, so there was nothing around to remind him of her, other than the ghost of their marriage.

He sipped a beer as he studied the list of Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast guests. The list was for the past six months. Lane had decided they should go back further than Thursday night and had gotten the records from a reluctant Lily Highland.

One of the past guests could have had a beef with Hebringer. The names were being fed into the computer, searching for a match on anyone with a record, but Lane wanted to look it over himself, see if anything jumped out at him.

He and Webber had been running down leads all day and so far, no hits. Tomorrow, Webber would speak to one of the couples, and Lane would take the single male guest. The other couple—of which the male was condom guy—lived in Michigan. They’d talked to them on the phone, but neither had been able to offer any pertinent information.

Lab reports on the white powder at the crime scene revealed that it was dust. Most likely from a construction site. There was construction going on next door to the newspaper office. Lane would pay a visit to Monroe Donovan tomorrow. Not that he had any reason to believe she, or anyone else at the paper for that matter, was involved in the murder. He needed to ask her about Josephine Detweiler, anyway. He was still looking for Lovell and the girlfriend might lead them to him. He was wanted for questioning in a drug shooting. Lovell knew both the victim and the suspect, so they wanted to talk to him, badly. So far they hadn’t been able to locate Detweiler or Lovell.

Lane drained the rest of the beer and went inside to get another. He’d left the television on, and the discordant sounds of a car chase or something equally intense traveled to him in the kitchen. Some kind of noise-maker was always going in the house, whether it be the TV, the radio, the police scanner… something. He couldn’t stand the silence. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand being alone with his thoughts.

Popping the top off the Heineken, he went back outside and dropped into the plastic chair. He tilted the bottle to his lips and glanced over the railing. His deck looked out over his back yard and into the back of the next neighborhood over. A large Doberman in the yard directly behind his had been gripped in a paroxysm of frenetic barking ever since Lane had come out on the deck. The dog must have worn himself out, or damaged his vocal cords, because now he stood at the fence, challenging Lane to a staring contest. Conceding to the dog, Lane went back to the list. A name caught his eye and his breathing slowed for a brief moment.

Adam Utley, the editor for the Chronicle.

The construction near his newspaper, now this. Two possible ties to the murder. They were weak, very weak. There was construction all over the city. Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast was a popular get-a-way for lovers, so no big surprise Utley had been there. Yeah, weak. But it bore watching.

Utley had stayed there four months ago. Probably with Monroe Donovan. Envy bloomed in Lane’s chest and spread its tentacles down through his gut, catching him by surprise.

What would it feel like to be closed up in one of those rooms with Monroe? To fall together into a thick, soft mattress and…

And what?

Was he actually fantasizing about making love to Monroe Donovan? True, he hadn’t had sex in a long time. Not since the last time he’d slept with Catherine. He’d been tempted, sure. But he was married.

He didn’t feel married. Hadn’t felt married for a while. Technically, though, he was. He still wore the ring. That had to say something. So, he hadn’t given into temptation, although there were times he’d certainly wanted to. Monroe Donovan wasn’t the first woman he’d been attracted to, but she was the one he seemed to think about the most. He found the thought unsettling. He’d only laid eyes on her twice. It was crazy.

Briefly, he wondered if Monroe were mixed up in anything shady, since she and Detweiler were such close friends. His instincts said no, but they had been dulled by the shit that had happened in the past few years. He didn’t trust them. But, hell, he didn’t trust much of anything these days.

****

The moon shone white between the branches of the nearly skeletal trees that shrouded the cabin. The wind tried to yank the door out of my hand as I climbed out of the car.

The cabin backed up to the lake, the screened-in rear deck no more than ten feet from the water. We stepped onto the front porch and I knew right away she wasn’t here. The cabin was dark, deserted. I looked down at the mat. WELCOME stared up at me, and my heart sank.

Josie and I had a system. Normally, we let the other know when we were using the cabin and whether or not we wanted privacy. As an extra precaution, because sometimes we couldn’t reach one another, and cell signals rarely worked out here, we used the welcome mat as a signal. If the mat was face down, with the WELCOME hidden, the cabin was occupied. The word facing up confirmed she wasn’t here, although it was possible she’d just been so out of it, she hadn’t thought to flip it over. Or, she was here and didn’t need privacy, but I didn’t think so.

We went inside, using the key Josie and I kept above the door frame.

The cabin was small and rustic with a tiny kitchen. Josie’s bedroom was downstairs and mine was in the loft upstairs. I looked around and confirmed what I already knew. Dark. Dusty. Deserted. Josie wasn’t here.

Still, we flipped on lights, calling out for her. I went into Josie’s room, while Gable checked mine up in the loft.

The bed was unmade. Towels and clothing were strewn all over the floor. Nothing unusual.

I heard Gable shout but couldn’t make out the words. Racing out of the bedroom, I yelled up to him, “Did you find her?”

He appeared above, leaning over the cedar railing. “No, but I found something I wish I hadn’t.” In one hand, he held a packet of condoms. In the other, a set of fur-lined handcuffs. My cheeks flamed, not from embarrassment, but from fury.

“Didn’t know you were into this stuff, sis. Didn’t want to know.”

“They’re not mine,” I gritted, heading up the stairs.

I marched into my bedroom. At first glance, everything seemed in place. I let my gaze run over the patchwork quilt my grandmother had given me, spread over my queen-sized bed with the black iron headboard. The photo of me and my brothers at our camping trip to Yosemite still rested in its silver frame on my nightstand. The black and gray woven rug was in its place on the hardwood floor.

But, something was different. Felt different.

Even without having seen the condoms and cuffs, I would have known someone had been here. Using my room. And I knew who it was.

The son of a bitch.

Adam and I had spent several weekends here and he knew about the key. He’d brought Tabitha here.

“Hey, are you okay?” Gable asked, and I realized I was crying. I thought they were mostly tears of rage. How dare he bring her to my cabin? Who the hell did he think he was? It was the final humiliation in a relationship that was doomed from the start. After all, it’s difficult to successfully mate with a serpent.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Please take me home,” I said quietly, suddenly so weary I would have fallen onto the bed in exhaustion if I didn’t know what had taken place there. “My sheets.” My voice was hoarse. I was oddly devastated, my hurt over Adam’s betrayal suddenly looming larger than my concern over Josie. I felt terrible about it, but I couldn’t seem to control it.

I didn’t know how to keep Adam from using the cabin again. I couldn’t just take the key or change the locks. Not until I’d spoken with Josie. I had to make sure she’d be able to get in.

Gable put his arm around my shoulder and led me down the stairs and out into the cool night air.

“I’ll be right back,” he told me after helping me into his car.

He disappeared inside. After a few moments, the lights in the cabin went out, one by one. Gable stepped out onto the porch, holding a large, black trash bag. I watched him drop it into the dumpster.

“What was that?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“The sheets from your bed. I sprayed the mattress with Lysol and hairspray.”

“Hairspray?”

“I couldn’t find any Febreeze. I figured as strong as hairspray smells, it would cover any scent.”

I smiled. He was a priest, but he was such a guy.

“Ma gave me a brand new bedding set a few weeks ago that I’ve never even opened,” he said. “I’ll come out this weekend and put it on the bed.”

A new swarm of tears—and love for my brother—surfaced. “If you give me something Mom gave to you, that’ll really chap her ass.”

“An added perk I hadn’t even considered.”

He grinned and I immediately felt better.

“Love you, bro.”

“Back at ya, sis.”

Gable drove me home. We decided he’d take me to get my car in the morning, but I’d call into work. Not only was I sleep-deprived, Adam had pissed me off and he deserved it. Besides, it would give me an opportunity to job hunt.

I called the newspaper’s voicemail from my phone and left a message saying I was sick and wouldn’t be in.

Gable took me home, helped me inside, then waited while I brushed my teeth and slipped into my pajamas. He tucked me into bed, kissing me on the forehead.

“Night, Roe,” he said at the doorway, then flipped the light switch.

I think I was asleep before the room got dark.

****

The next morning, bleary-eyed and still annoyed, I climbed out of bed. After jabbing the button on the coffee pot, I stumbled into the shower. I once more put on pajamas—flannel ones with a sweat shirt—not seeing the need to dress.

I poured a cup of coffee and stood at my kitchen window staring in the direction of the cemetery, although I couldn’t see anything because of the fog. I shivered. It was warm enough in the house, but outside looked cold and bleak.

My head was pounding, partly from the Mojitos, partly from the stress over Josie, and partly from anger at Adam. I don’t know why, after all he’d done, that this seemed such a betrayal. I guess because the cabin was mine. A part of my world I’d let him into. Not something he should have shared with another woman. I mean, who does that? He broke into my cabin and screwed another woman there. Jesus.

I had just poured my second cup of coffee when the doorbell pealed. I started, sloshing coffee onto my hand. Showed what an all-nighter on the streets can do for a person. I dabbed at the hot liquid with a towel, feeling only minor pain from the burn.

I wasn’t expecting company, didn’t want company, but went to the door anyway.

Detective Brody was on the other side of my peep hole. I looked down at my ratty clothes and ran a hand through my tousled hair. Damn. Caught again looking less than glamorous. Of course, it wouldn’t really be easy to catch me looking glamorous.

I debated briefly about not answering, then opened the door. He wore washed-out jeans and a grey jacket, almost fading into the mist hovering in the yard behind him.

“Seems we’re destined to meet over coffee,” he said, gesturing to the cup in my hand.

“Seems that way.” I stepped back. “Come in. Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you,” he said as he came inside.

I shut the door and followed him into my living room. He stopped in front of my Jesse James display. There was a duplicate of a Colt .45 Jesse James had used and a couple of coins that were thought to be his, although it couldn’t be authenticated. There was also a tin cup he supposedly drank from and a tie tac that came from Linus’s great-grandfather, who was Jesse James’ cousin, or step-cousin, or something like that, I wasn’t exactly sure of the connection.

“This stuff looks pretty old,” Lane said, pushing back the edges of his jacket to rest his hands on his waist.

“The pistol is a replica. Most of the other items are authentic.” I pointed to a Kansas City Times newspaper with an article covering Jesse James’ death. “Like that. It’s over a hundred years old.”

He turned to me, his eyebrows raised, an expression either of amusement or wariness on his face. I couldn’t tell which. “You collect Jesse James memorabilia?”

“I didn’t intend to, but yeah, I guess I do.”

“You are aware he was a criminal? A killer?”

I shrugged. “That’s one version. Some people consider him the Robin Hood of the West.”

“Regardless of his benevolent nature, Robin Hood was also a criminal.”

“Well, now you’re just talking like a cop.”

He smiled and crossed his arms. “I am a cop.” Then he said, in an exaggerated western twang, “I’d sure hate to find myself on opposite sides of the law from such a pretty miss as yourself.”

Although I knew he was joking, and I felt decidedly ‘un-pretty’ at the moment, Asia’s remark about handcuffs came to mind, and I flushed.

He seemed to sense a change in the inflection of our conversation, and his eyes dropped over my cotton-clad body. Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Finally, I cleared my throat and turned away with a nervous chuckle. “That’s the worst Old West impression I’ve ever heard.”

He gestured to the collection. “You should know, being an outlaw connoisseur.”

“Actually, those were all gifts from my neighbor, Linus. He’s a descendant of Jesse James. He’s the connoisseur.”

“Jesse James is from here, right?”

“Actually, from Kearney. His home is still there.”

Lane nodded. “Must be a thrill, having the relative of your hero living close by.”

“He’s not my hero, but yeah, it’s fascinating. Linus is a character. Pretty much everyone from Missouri claims to be related to Jesse James, but Linus is the real deal.”

“Sounds like an interesting guy. I’d like to meet him someday.”

It was said as if he planned to be around for a while. A little thrill traveled through me at the thought. Then reality chased the thrill away. Married. He’s married.

I rubbed my free hand up and down my arm—scouring away the notion of a romance with Mr. Dark and Off-limits.

“Was there something you needed to see me about?”

“I wanted to follow up on Josephine Detweiler. Have you spoken to her lately?”

I dropped my gaze.

“Miss Donovan?” he prompted.

I sighed and raised my head. “Yes. She was here.”

His brows rose again. “Did you tell her we wanted to speak with her?”

“Yes, I gave her your card,” I responded slowly, not admitting I waited two days to do so.

“And?” He brushed his jacket back, once more resting his hands on his hips, giving me a view of his holster, his gun. Reminding me who he was.

“And… I assume she didn’t call?”

“No, she didn’t. Is there a reason why you didn’t?”

“Didn’t…?”

“Didn’t call us and let us know she was in town?” His lips tightened, and I could tell he was losing patience.

“Didn’t call and turn my best friend into the police?” My tone suggested the thought was preposterous.

“She’s not wanted for a crime, but if she were, you do realize I could charge you with aiding, abetting, harboring, etc?” His gaze swept over my Jesse James collection and back to me with an expression that implied I was all about harboring fugitives.

I sighed and clenched the hair on top of my head in my fist. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that when she got here, she was…” I cleared my throat. “…ill. I felt she needed a few days to recover. Then, when I told her about it, I thought she would call. When I got home yesterday, she was gone—”

“A few days?”

“Huh?” My eyes went to his.

“A few days to recover? When did she get here?”

I released my hair and lifted my hands, palms up. “Thursday night.”

The blue in his eyes deepened to a shade just darker than a storm cloud. “Thursday night?”

I nodded.

“So, she was here when I ran into you on Saturday?”

I nodded again, feeling guilty and miserable.

“I see.” It was his turn to nod. “Well, Miss Donovan. Although your friend’s not wanted for a crime, she’s a known associate of a man who’s wanted for questioning in a homicide.” Anger sparked in his gaze. “If you speak with Miss Detweiler again, we would very much appreciate it if you’d let us know.”

He went to the door and stopped, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Here.” He slapped a business card into my hand. “In case you lost my number.”

“I didn’t—”

“If you don’t contact us next time, Miss Donovan, I’ll assume you have something to hide.”

I nodded but didn’t speak as he stalked out of my house and into the mist.

After closing the door, I leaned my forehead against it, clutching his card in my hand.

I just thought I couldn’t feel any more miserable than I had when I woke this morning.