CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BUD’S BAR WAS pretty much what Harp had expected. He’d been smart enough to buy himself a change of clothes when he got to Billings. That seemed easier than going back to the apartment and Vicki. He didn’t know what he was coming home to anymore.
Now he wore jeans, boots and a checked shirt. He’d driven his truck down since his patrol car was now at the sheriff’s office until he could go back to work. This wasn’t the kind of bar he wanted to walk into in uniform anyway.
It was dark and smelled of stale beer. He let the door close behind him and waited a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was small—just big enough for the large U-shaped bar at its center and a half-dozen poker machines against one wall and some tables and chairs against the other wall.
Bud’s looked like a rough place that had seen better days. The floor tiles were of an indiscriminate color and worn thin. As he stepped in and found an empty bar stool, he noted the vinyl seats were cracked and torn, and had long since lost their cushioning ability.
He ordered a draft and looked around. There were people in front of all but one of the poker machines. He could only see the backs of their heads and the glow of their faces in the screens. None of them fit the boyfriend’s description he’d gotten from his friend Gail at the office.
The bartender was a big thirtysomething guy with dark hair who looked like he lifted weights. After Harp ordered a draft, the man shoved a draft in front of him and took his money without a word. For this time of the afternoon, Harp was a little surprised to see how many people were bellied up to the bar.
Several of the men on the other side of the bar were arguing. The bartender made a beeline for them. Harp couldn’t hear what he said to them, but they quieted right down.
Gail had told him that the bartender who’d been on duty the night Maggie had been there was named Brian Bateman. He heard one of the patrons say, “Bri, we could use a couple more down here.”
Bri as in Brian? Harp had just taken a sip of his beer when the door to the bar opened, throwing in a shaft of bright sunlight from outside. Like everyone else, he turned and was momentarily blinded.
The man who entered was big and blond.
Harp shot a look at the bartender, who had also turned toward the door. One look at Bri’s expression and he knew that the man who’d just entered was Maggie Thompson’s old boyfriend. As the man walked past to take a freshly vacated seat two stools down, Harp noticed he had tar on his boots and jeans. Brian went over to get the man’s order with the same diffidence he’d shown Harp.
But after he’d placed a beer and a shot in front of the man, he headed to the back. Harp saw the bartender on the phone and had a pretty good idea who he was calling.
Unfortunately, the big, blond man also noticed.
“If you just called the cops on me again...” the man said as he shoved to his feet. He picked up his half-empty beer and hurled it at the bartender’s head.
Harp wished now that he’d brought his stun gun. He slipped off his bar stool, thinking he was going to have to improvise. The boyfriend was much bigger than he’d expected. As the blond man headed for the door, Harp picked up his bar stool and swung it, catching the man in the back.
The man was big and tough. He spun around, looking for a fight. Things would have gotten ugly if the bartender hadn’t leaped over the bar to give the man a tap with the baseball bat he kept behind the bar.
The blond went down like a ton of rocks and was out cold.
“I’m with the sheriff’s department up in Gilt Edge,” Harp said. “I’m assuming that’s who you just called?”
Bri nodded.
“Mind calling them back and telling them it’s covered?”
While the bartender made the call, Harp checked the man’s wallet. His name, according to his Montana driver’s license, was Gary Long, forty-two. The address was one there in Billings. Other than a couple of credit cards, the wallet held a twenty and some ones, along with a pay stub from a roofing company.
“Could I get a couple of you fellas to help me take him out to my rig?” Harp asked.
* * *
FLINT DROVE TO the Stagecoach Saloon as if in a fog. From the moment he’d walked into his house and seen the overturned bookcase, he’d been out of his mind with worry. It was almost at the crucial seventy-two-hours point. After that, a case was considered cold and chances of getting the victim back alive had dropped considerably.
The worry had worn on him night and day until now he felt like a zombie. He wasn’t even sure he was thinking clearly.
Earlier, he’d felt some strange hope that Maggie was okay, but that hope was quickly fading. Had he lost his mind? He’d actually been relieved that Celeste and some old abusive boyfriend of Maggie’s could have taken her? He’d been afraid when he’d heard that Celeste hadn’t been anywhere since returning. All he’d thought about was who was taking care of Maggie, who was feeding her, who was making sure she was warm and dry and not out in the winter storm?
But if this former abusive boyfriend had Maggie, if he was the one she’d come to Gilt Edge to escape from and now the man had her...
He felt sick to his stomach. Worse, he couldn’t be sure that some unknown person hadn’t kidnapped Maggie for fifty thousand dollars. All he knew was that he had to do whatever it took to get her back—even if it meant asking his family for help.
As he entered the bar and café, he felt his heart breaking. He’d prided himself on being able to handle his problems himself, probably because he hated asking for help.
“Any news?” Lillie asked as she ran to him and threw her arms around him.
“Nothing yet.”
As she pulled back, Darby joined them to put an arm around his shoulders. “Would a drink help?”
He was already choked up. Their sympathy was killing him. “It can’t hurt at this point.” They all moved to the bar. Lillie pulled up a stool next to him while Darby went behind the bar to get them something to drink.
“We got a ransom demand,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking.
Darby froze behind the bar. “How much?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
Flint saw his siblings exchange a look.
“We’ll raise it. How much time do we have?” Lillie asked.
He shook his head, finding himself close to tears. His family. He couldn’t have loved them more than he did at that moment. “The kidnapper will get back to us. I guess. Mark just got the one letter making the demand.”
Darby swore under his breath. “We need to call Hawk and Cyrus. We’ll have to put up the ranch but it belongs to all of us.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Flint said, but neither Lillie nor Darby seemed to be listening.
Lillie was on the phone to their brothers. “They’re both on their way,” she said as she disconnected. “It’s going to be all right,” she said, putting a hand on Flint’s.
He nodded, but in his heart he feared it was already too late for Maggie.
* * *
“WHERE AM I?” Gary Long said twenty minutes later when he regained consciousness inside his house after Harp had gotten the address off the man’s driver’s license. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded as he found himself duct-taped to a dolly that Harp had found in Long’s garage and wheeled into the kitchen. It hadn’t been easy binding the man with only his one good hand. Getting him out of the pickup, though, had only been a matter of pulling up next to the garage, opening the door and shoving him out in the snow. He’d then rolled him unceremoniously onto the dolly, taped him and stood him up.
“Where is Maggie Thompson?”
“Is that what this is about?” The man snorted and tried to get loose only to find that his ankles were also bound to the dolly. “Why? Have you lost her?”
Harp caught him before he tipped the contraption over and fell face-first to the floor. “You were seen at her house. Tell me about you and Maggie.”
Gary shook his head. “Kiss my rosy red—”
“Look, I can turn you over to the sheriff in Gilt Edge or you can tell me what your connection is to Maggie. Or we can talk about the meth I found in your bedroom.”
The man swore. “If Maggie says I did anything to her, she’s a liar.”
“So you two dated?” he asked.
Gary laughed. “Dated? Is that what she told you?” He shook his head. “We shacked up for a while. That’s all it was.”
“Then why were you trying to get her back?”
A muscle jumped in the man’s jaw. He struggled to get loose before finally giving up. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
“I’m a sheriff’s deputy. You were seen with her at Bud’s and then later going into her house in Gilt Edge.”
“Oh yeah? So what? Anyway, it wasn’t her house. It was some cowboy she was moving in with.”
“She told you that?”
“Maybe I figured out a few things on my own.”
“So you’ve been following her.”
Gary said nothing. “What happened when she saw you at her boyfriend’s house?” Harp asked.
“What do you think happened?”
“I think you hurt her.”
Gary shook his head as he looked away. “Is that what she told you?”
That was the second time he’d said something to that effect. Harp was beginning to wonder if they had the wrong man. When he’d gotten Gary out to his pickup, he’d taken the man’s key, expecting it to go with a brown van.
But there was no brown van in the parking lot at Bud’s. Instead, the only vehicle key on Gary’s ring went with a small, older-model two-wheel-drive pickup. Harp had also searched the man’s house and found no sign of Maggie.
But what he had found was meth in one of the drawers in the bedroom that he knew he could use as leverage.
“Maggie didn’t tell us anything. She’s missing.”
That got the man’s attention. “Missing?”
“If you know anything about what happened to her—or about the meth I found in your bedroom...”
Gary groaned. “Okay, I saw her that day at the cowboy’s house. I surprised her. The house was open, okay? I didn’t break in. She wasn’t happy to see me. We argued. I might have pushed her.”
“And she might have fallen and smacked her head on the edge of the bookcase?”
“Look, when I left she was fine. She was pissed and threatening to call the cops if she ever saw me again, but that was it.”
“What did you do then?” Harp asked.
“I told her I was done. Move in with her cowboy. I didn’t care. And I left.”
“That was the last you saw her?”
“Yeah, I wanted her back. I love her, all right? I thought maybe we deserved a second chance... I’ve changed.”
Harp doubted that, but he said nothing.
“She made it perfectly clear that she’s moved on. So that was that. I told her that the cowboy can have her. Now she’s missing? I swear I know nothing about that. She was fine other than a little blood on her temple, but otherwise was fine when I left.”
Harp got the feeling that he was telling the truth. “Did you see anyone as you were leaving?”
Gary shook his head.
“You didn’t notice another vehicle parked nearby?”
He started to shake his head again, but stopped. “I saw an old brown van parked in the trees behind the house. If anyone was driving it, I didn’t see them.”
* * *
FRANK TURNED ONTO the road to the Roberts North Dakota farm, feeling as curious as Nettie was about meeting Jenna’s parents. In the afternoon light, the place sat on a wind-scoured plot devoid of trees or even snow. Old farm equipment rusted in a nearby field and a windmill clanged as it turned slowly in the breeze. He and Nettie climbed out.
There were no Christmas lights or decorations to be seen. If not for the faded curtains at the windows and the pickup parked out front, he would have thought the farm abandoned.
“This place gives me the creeps,” she said as they started toward the porch steps.
“You can stop right there!” a strident female voice announced. “Whatever you’re selling, we aren’t interested.”
Frank looked up to see a thin, weathered elderly woman in a faded housedress standing on the porch, holding a shotgun. He stopped walking and so did Nettie. The woman looked as if she knew how to use the firearm.
“Mrs. Edith Roberts?” Nettie asked.
“Like I said—”
“We’re here about Jenna.”
The shotgun wavered in her skinny arms for a moment. “Don’t know anyone by that name.” Her voice broke, though, as she said it.
“We’re afraid your daughter is in trouble,” Nettie persisted. “We’re hoping you can help us find her.”
“That doesn’t come as much of a surprise. You the law?”
“Private investigators,” Frank said.
The woman licked her thin lips. “Like I said—”
“We know Jenna is your daughter. We also know that she gave birth to a baby thirty-three years ago,” Frank said. “We’re afraid that the father of that baby now has Jenna and plans to hurt her.”
“Clark Terwilliger?” Edith Roberts said the name like a curse, lowering the shotgun to one hand as she reached for the porch pillar with her free hand for support. Her gaze went to the horizon. “Les will be back soon. If he catches you on his property—”
“We can make this fast,” Nettie said. “Please, let us come in.”
The woman hesitated. Her brown eyes looked as washed-out as the land. “The moment we hear his tractor coming up the road...” Seemingly weak from the news, she stepped away from the pillar. The shotgun thumped against her stick-thin legs as she led the way inside.
They followed her into a living room with a worn sagging couch, two threadbare recliners and an ancient television. There were religious sayings on the walls and pictures of Jesus.
“We need to know what happened to your grandchild,” Nettie said.
“I don’t have a grandchild,” Edith snapped as she stood the shotgun by the door and motioned for them to sit down. She stayed standing by the wall, her arms crossed over her flat chest. Frank could see that the woman had her ears nervously peeled for the sound of the tractor. He wondered what would happen if Les Roberts found them there asking about Jenna.
“What happened to the child that Jenna gave birth to?” Frank asked.
“It died.”
“I don’t think so and neither does Clark Terwilliger. We heard he’s been looking for the baby.”
“I wouldn’t know nothin’ about that. A midwife took care of it.”
“Here at the house?” Nettie asked.
Edith shook her head. “Over at my sister’s in Turtle Lake. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted it done. God’s will that it died. Jenna came home and we put it behind us best we could.”
Frank doubted Les Roberts had put it behind him, especially given what Dana had told them about Jenna’s parents. “How long before Jenna left here after that?”
The woman seemed upset by the question and maybe a little guilty. “Run off at sixteen.”
“Have you seen her since?”
Edith looked away for a moment. “Called once a few months later. Needed money. Les...”
“You didn’t send her money,” Nettie said. “Did she say where she was calling from?”
“Didn’t ask. That’s the last we heard from her.”
“Then you didn’t know she’d gotten married to a farmer in Montana?”
Edith looked almost pleased to hear that, but then said, “You say she’s in trouble now, though.”
“The father of the baby, Clark Terwilliger, is apparently after her and might have already found her.”
The woman shuddered at the name as if it was one not spoken under this roof. “Don’t know how I can help. Like I said—”
“Why would Clark think the baby survived?” Frank demanded.
“How would I know what a man like that thinks?”
“Mrs. Roberts,” Nettie said. “If the child survived—”
She shook her head. “You’re wastin’ your time.”
“Let us at least talk to your sister,” Nettie pleaded. “What is her name?”
“Edna. Edna Burns, but she is goin’ to tell you the same thing I did.”
But there would be a birth certificate—and a death certificate, if she’d really died, Frank thought.
At the sound of a motor engine, he saw Edith tense. “You have to get out of here.” Fear made her rigid.
They’d been sitting on the edge of the couch and now rose quickly. “Here is my card,” Frank said. “If you think of anything else that might help us...”
She took the card and shoved it deep into the pocket of her dress as she turned and hurried to the door.
They both stepped out into the blinding light. Frank blinked. He could see a tractor coming across the flat surface of stubble field, still a good half mile away. He and Nettie hurried down the porch steps and into the SUV. He glanced at Edith standing board-straight on the porch, her face a mask of fear.
“He won’t hurt you, will he?” Nettie asked as she whirred down her window.
“Go! Please! I’ll be fine.”
Frank started the engine and drove down the road. The tractor passed in the field next to them. From beneath bushy white brows and a dark stained baseball cap, Les Roberts glowered at them as he slowed the tractor. And then they were past him.
He glanced in the rearview mirror as the elderly man pulled up to the house and climbed off the tractor before heading toward the porch, where his wife was waiting.
“I feel like I need a shower,” Nettie said. “You think she’s all right?”
He saw her glance back. “Our staying would have made it worse. I suspect she’s had plenty of experience dealing with him.”
His wife shuddered. “I can’t imagine being that terrified of a man.”
Frank reached over and took her hand. “You would have killed him in his sleep years ago.”
She squeezed his hand, and when he glanced over at her, he saw tears in her eyes. “I hate to think there are still women who live like that. Poor Jenna, growing up in that house, let alone coming back to it after...” She looked away, wiping at her tears.
* * *
EXHAUSTED AFTER HIS meeting with the family, Flint had gone back to the ranch. He knew he needed sleep. Upstairs in his room, he lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind whirled. Maggie, where are you? Was she also somewhere lying on a bed, staring up at a ceiling? He just hoped she was all right.
He thought of the ex-boyfriend. Mark would have a name soon. The Billings cops would pay him a visit. If he had Maggie... He thought of what Mariah had said. Maybe a basement. Maybe soon he would get the call that she’d been found alive and well and was on her way home. Home.
Flint thought of his house, of the two of them living there. He thought again of the Christmas tree he planned to get from the mountains. He had envisioned the two of them decorating it together, holiday music in the background, a crackling blaze in the fireplace. He could almost smell a beef roast cooking in the oven.
And then a terrible thought would hit him that Maggie was never coming back because Maggie was dead. He tried to push away the dark thoughts, but they loomed over him, following him about like a black cloud. He could feel his heart pounding. He stared out at the falling snow, wondering when it was ever going to stop.
Closing his eyes, he tried to get back the Christmas scene, but it refused to come. Determined not to let his mind go down another dark hole, he instead recalled their first kiss.
They had both been so wary about falling in love. They’d both wanted to take it slow. Or at least he had. Maggie had agreed. So they’d spent many hours getting to know each other.
Those were the most wonderful days, he thought now. They had gone on picnics and hikes. They’d swum in the creek, taken bike rides and ridden horses. They’d been like kids and he’d felt himself falling hard for her.
Their first kiss was after one of those horseback rides. They’d ridden up into the mountains after saddling up at the ranch. It had been a beautiful Montana summer day, the sky a blinding blue without a cloud to be seen. The air had smelled of fresh water and flowers and pines. Everything was green and alive.
They’d gotten off their horses to walk down to the creek’s edge. When he couldn’t stand it any longer he’d grabbed her and kissed her with a passion that neither of them had expected.
He’d wanted her right then, but the kiss had scared him. He’d had passion with Celeste—the wild, untamed type that ran like a race between love and hate. He didn’t want that again. And at the time, he’d thought that was the only kind there was.
Months later, after several attempts that were blocked by Celeste and his job, they’d finally made love. It was sweet and slow. At least at first. Then it was filled with passion and love and tenderness. He’d realized that was the way it was supposed to be.
Just thinking about that night made him ache. If he’d had any doubts about him and Maggie, they’d ended that night. He loved her and she loved him. He’d found himself wanting all the things he had yearned for when he’d married the first time: a home, children, a life filled with joy and love.
With Maggie, he really believed that they could have it all. And yet he’d dragged his feet because of Celeste, because of that disastrous marriage, because of those broken dreams.
He reached over and picked up the small velvet box with the engagement ring in it. If only he’d asked her before... He opened the box. The diamond flashed brightly as if mocking him. He closed it and put the box into the top drawer of the nightstand, fearing it might stay there forever.
Why hadn’t he asked about old boyfriends? If he had, he might have a name, and Mark would know now and have found the man. Maybe have found Maggie. If Maggie was with the man... Wasn’t that better than some stranger who wanted Maggie for some other godforsaken reason?
He closed his eyes, his head aching. As he lay there, he told himself he would never be able to get to sleep.
When his phone rang, he jerked awake.