CHAPTER THREE
“MAGGIE?” FLINT CALLED as he opened the back door to his house. He’d been thrilled when he’d gotten her message. But just seeing her car parked in the drive made it seem all the more real. He couldn’t wait to see her. He had no idea why she’d changed her mind; he was just glad that she had, especially since he would be giving her the ring this weekend.
Her deciding to move in only made him all the more sure about asking her to marry him. It was time. They’d come through the worst of it, he told himself, remembering the message she’d left him about running into his ex.
Flint could imagine how unpleasant it was for Maggie. Every time he crossed paths with Celeste, it ruined his day.
He noticed that the passenger-side door of her car was open as if she was still in the process of moving a few things in. He thought about checking to see what else needed to come in, but he was too anxious to take her in his arms. After her call, he’d decided to come home early. He’d had to make one stop after hearing that his father had been seen coming out of the mountains. Not that he’d found him at his cabin. He told himself he’d deal with Ely later. He was too anxious to see Maggie.
He had big plans for tonight, he thought with a smile. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to wait until this weekend to ask her.
“Maggie?” He started to step deeper into his house when he saw the overturned bookcase. Books were strewn across the floor. The lamp that had been next to it lay on the floor, the globe shattered. “Maggie?” Goose bumps rippled over his skin as the hair on the back of his neck quilled. “Maggie!”
He rushed toward the kitchen even though the lawman in him told him not to. This looked like a crime scene and if it was... She wasn’t in the kitchen or the dining room. He headed for the stairs at a run, all the time telling himself he might be destroying important evidence.
Taking the stairs three at a time, he reached the landing. “Maggie!” No answer. The silence of the house had an ominous feel to it. “Maggie!”
She wasn’t in any of the bedrooms or the bathrooms. She wasn’t there, and yet all the way he’d been praying that, yes, there’d been an accident, but she was all right. They could buy another lamp. He could clean up the mess. Everything was fine.
But in his heart he’d known the moment he saw the overturned bookcase and the broken lamp. There’d been a struggle—and Maggie had lost.
Trying not to panic, he stopped on the landing and called her cell phone. As he waited for it to ring, he told himself there was an explanation, one completely different from the scenario playing in his head right then.
The sound of a phone ringing drew him back down the stairs and into the living room again. He stepped closer to the fallen bookcase, his pulse in overdrive. There, poking out from under one of the books, was her phone. He bent down and instinctively reached for it, but stopped himself. The screen was smeared with blood.
Half-blind with fear, he stepped back and keyed in 9-1-1. “I need Mark over at my house right away,” he said to the dispatcher. His undersheriff, Mark Ramirez, had a cool head in emergencies and right now he needed that. He hung up, desperately wanting to put out a BOLO on Maggie right away. Just as he wanted to call in the experts from the Division of Criminal Investigation out of Billings. All his instincts told him that he had to find Maggie and fast.
But even as a law-enforcement officer, he couldn’t call in the cavalry until he knew for certain that she was even missing. He also had to stop thinking like Maggie’s boyfriend. He needed to be the lawman he was.
From where he stood, he could see drops of blood on the wood floor. They were still wet. He looked at his watch. Whatever had happened here hadn’t happened very long ago.
Telling himself not to jump to conclusions, he called the hospital. It was possible there had been an altercation and the other person involved had taken Maggie to the emergency room. It took everything in him to remain calm and wait for the phone to be answered.
“Hello, yes, this is Sheriff Cahill. I need to know if Maggie Thompson was admitted to the emergency room. Yes, I’ll wait,” he said even though he wanted to beg her to hurry. He knew that if his instincts were right, every minute counted.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. We have no record of her being in the ER. No one here has seen her.” The hospital was small. Gilt Edge had only a couple of doctors. “Her family doctor is here doing rounds. He said he hasn’t seen her, either.”
“Thank you.” He quickly dialed Just Hair, the salon that Maggie owned. Daisy, the only other stylist, hadn’t seen or heard from her. Neither had her best friend, Belle. He was just disconnecting when he heard a vehicle pull in.
All his fears rushed back. His first instinct was right—just as he’d known in his gut. He hurried to the front door rather than the back and stopped, the lawman in him kicking in again. The lock didn’t appear to have been jimmied. He hadn’t checked the back door, hadn’t taken the time to do anything but search the house for Maggie.
Using his shirtsleeve, he carefully opened the front door. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy any fingerprints that might have gotten left behind. The action felt foolish. Whoever had taken her had used the back door, the one he was sure he’d left unlocked.
Not that he didn’t already know who had done this. He knew who had Maggie. That was why he was so terrified.
“Come in this way,” he called to Mark as the undersheriff got out of his patrol SUV.
The moment Mark saw his face, his eyes widened in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
“There appears to have been a struggle. Maggie’s missing.” His voice broke. He waved Mark in and pointed toward the scene near the back door. “She was moving in today. Her car door is still open. Her purse is on the table by the door. She must have been surprised by someone.”
Mark pulled out his phone and began shooting photos of the room as he moved cautiously toward the fallen bookcase. “I saw Maggie’s car by the back door. You’re sure no one stopped by, maybe took her to the emergency room for stitches? Maybe she called to a neighbor?”
“She hasn’t been admitted to the hospital. I called while I was waiting for you. Nor has her doctor seen her.”
His undersheriff nodded as he knelt down to get a closer shot at something on the floor. Even from where Flint was standing, he could see that Mark was shooting the blood splattered on the floor and on the spilled books. Too much blood and yet not enough to indicate that she was mortally wounded. He tried to find hope in that.
“Maggie’s friends and associate?” Mark asked calmly.
“No one has seen her.” Flint was surprised how calm he sounded. His heart pounded so hard he could barely hear himself think. He felt as if he was shaking all over. He knew better than to jump to conclusions, but all his instincts told him Maggie had been taken. It made no sense and yet...
“I know who has her,” Flint said. “Maggie left me a message earlier. She ran into my ex. She thought that Celeste overheard her on the phone telling me she was moving in with me. I don’t have to tell you that Celeste has done everything possible to keep us apart. If she is as determined as I think she is...”
The undersheriff nodded. “I can see why you would suspect Celeste, but let’s wait until we have all the facts, okay?”
At least Mark hadn’t said, “Try not to panic.” The words would have been wasted on him. He was panicking and with good reason. The scene in his living room showed a struggle. Maggie had been injured. Her cell phone smeared with blood indicated that she had possibly tried to call for help.
“I’m going to run over to the neighbors and see if they saw anything,” Flint said. His closest neighbor, Alma Ellison, lived kitty-corner from him down the street. She was smiling as she came to the door. He quickly asked her if she’d seen Maggie.
“I saw her when she arrived at your house. Is something wrong?”
“Did Maggie seem all right?”
“Yes. She waved and I waved back.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
Alma thought for a moment. “You know how little traffic we get out here. I did notice a brown van go by. It was driving so slow, I knew the driver must be lost. And there was one of those large dark SUVs. I can’t say if either of them stopped at your house since I got busy after that. Is Maggie all right?”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to find her,” he said. “If you think of anything else...” She promised she would call him.
Back at the house, he told Mark what Alma had said. “Celeste drives a large dark SUV.”
“I’m going to have a deputy go by Celeste Duma’s house,” the undersheriff said.
From the moment he’d walked in and seen the mess and couldn’t find Maggie, he’d wanted to race over to Celeste’s house and demand to know what she’d done with Maggie. “I’ll go.”
Mark stopped him. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I can’t let you do that. With you, it would be confrontational. Please, let me handle this. You called me because you know you are too emotionally involved. This is now considered a crime scene. We’re going to treat it as such and pray that we’re wrong.”
Flint knew Mark was right. It was why he’d called him. He’d been afraid of doing something that would put Maggie in even more jeopardy. He listened to Mark on the phone for a moment and then stepped outside, needing the air.
He could tell that Mark was as worried as he was. The question was, where was Maggie now? His hand went to the small velvet box in his pocket. Why had he waited so long to ask her to marry him? What if...? He couldn’t bear to let himself even think it. He had to believe that she was still alive and that they would find her, he told himself as he stepped back inside the door. Mark was still on the phone.
“The only deputy close to town is Harp,” Mark said, covering the phone with his hand and making an it-will-be-all-right face. The county was large and the sheriff’s department was small. It meant stretching law enforcement to its limits sometimes. It was one reason Flint would love to get rid of Harp and get a better deputy.
Flint groaned silently. Deputy Harper Cole was the last person he wanted to depend on right now. He knew why Mark couldn’t go himself. He was protecting the possible crime scene—and Flint. If the DCI became involved, the first suspect was always the boyfriend. He listened to him tell Harp what to do at the Duma house.
“Get inside. Be polite. Try to have a look around and see if anything appears amiss. If Celeste and her husband will let you search the place without a warrant, great. Nice if you could check her car. Just listen, please.” Mark sighed. “Maggie Thompson is missing. Yes, the sheriff’s girlfriend. Now listen. Look for blood. I can’t get into it right now. There could have been an accident involving Celeste and Maggie. Call me if there is any question.” He turned back to Flint as he disconnected. “Harp is actually the best choice right now. No one takes him seriously. If you’re right about Celeste, she won’t be concerned about Harp showing up and should let him in without a warrant. That will save us time.”
Flint tried to breathe a little easier. “Great. I’m forced to depend on the town hero.”
Mark sighed. “It is going to be all right.”
A few months ago, Harp had managed to save two people’s lives. One of those lives belonged to Flint’s brother Darby. The other was Darby’s now wife, Mariah Ayers Cahill. Flint had been ready to fire the deputy before that night and would have months ago if Harp hadn’t been the mayor’s son. He’d given him more chances because of it. But Flint had reached his limit. He’d told Harp that if he messed up again... Then Harp had come through that night and was now the town hero. At least until he messed up big-time again.
And that was why Flint wished it was anyone but Harp going over to Celeste’s house. He knew his ex-wife. If she was behind this, she would lie. Flint would know if she was lying. He doubted Harp would.
He raked a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the fallen bookshelf. As crazy as he thought his ex was, he never really thought she was capable of...of whatever had happened here.
“We don’t know for sure it was Celeste,” Mark said.
Just as they didn’t know that she’d vandalized Maggie’s salon and almost set her house on fire? “She’s certainly capable. But if she did something to Maggie...” Flint couldn’t continue.
Mark laid a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t even know that the blood is Maggie’s. One step at a time. We’ll find her.”
He nodded, but he knew the statistics. The first seventy-two hours were crucial. But that wasn’t if the missing person was injured. He had no idea how badly Maggie had been bleeding. Maggie hadn’t been missing long. If they could find her soon... Otherwise, he knew he might never see her alive again.
“Why haven’t we heard from Harp yet?” Flint demanded.
“He hasn’t even had time to get over there. You need to stay calm. We have to work this one step at a time. Is there anyone else who might want to harm Maggie?”
“No.” He’d answered the question too quickly. Mark was looking at him with concern. “I don’t know. The only person she’s had run-ins with that I know of was Celeste.” He realized he didn’t know if Maggie had had other problems with anyone. Maggie was so independent. He loved that about her, but now he wondered if she would have told him if she’d had trouble with anyone else.
Celeste was a different story since she was his ex. Maggie seemed to think that he could do something about her. Now he sure wished he had.
The undersheriff looked around the room for a moment. “You keep the doors locked when you aren’t home?”
He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he shook his head. “Also, I’ve never changed the locks from when Celeste and I lived here together. She probably still has a key.”
Mark gave him a disapproving look before he asked, “I’m assuming you didn’t touch anything?”
Flint heard something in his voice. “No—you know I didn’t. You aren’t thinking about kicking me from this case—”
“No, I can’t. As you know, in the state of Montana, the sheriff is an elected office. Not even the county commissioners can pull you off a case.”
“Only the Division of Criminal Investigation,” Flint said, suddenly aware of where his undersheriff was going with this.
“I’m hoping to know what we’re dealing with before we call in a DCI team,” Mark said. “You agree?”
A part of him wanted the criminologists on this as quickly as possible. But once they called in the DCI, the team might decide because Maggie was his girlfriend that he be put on a leave of absence. He’d be off the case. He couldn’t bear the thought. Silently, he swore. They had to find Maggie before he was locked out of this investigation. As it was, his house was now a crime scene.
* * *
DEPUTY HARPER COLE cruised down the street toward the Duma house. He wondered what this really was about. Maggie Thompson was missing? There had to be more to it than that. He had tried to ask, but the undersheriff had cut him off. Clearly both Mark and Flint still didn’t have any faith in his abilities. It pissed him off. He was a hero.
Well, at least everyone thought he was. Everyone but his pregnant girlfriend, Vicki. Why had he confessed everything to her that morning in the hospital after he’d almost died? He’d been feeling guilty, amazed he was still alive, and apparently he’d felt the need to confess to someone. But Vicki?
Now he was stuck with her. She could hold it over his head for the rest of their lives because if the truth about that night ever came out...
Harp shuddered at the thought. He would be the laughingstock of town instead of a hero. Worse, he’d be fired. He’d have to leave town. He might never get another job in law enforcement and he’d gotten damned attached to carrying a gun and being “the man.”
Now he slowed in front of the Duma house. Here he was again, dealing with something connected to the sheriff. Maggie Thompson was allegedly missing? So what was he doing here?
He parked in front of the sheriff’s ex-wife’s house and warned himself not to screw this up. Reading between the lines of what the undersheriff had said, Mark thought Celeste Duma had done something to the sheriff’s girlfriend.
Smiling, he climbed out. He loved this sort of small-town drama, especially when it involved the sheriff. It surprised him Flint wasn’t the one coming over here himself. Flint must be going crazy with worry. Why else would he let Mark be calling the shots?
He covered the butt of his gun with his hand as he walked toward the front door. There was no car parked in the drive. As he passed a window in the garage, he peered in. Empty. This was going to be a waste of time. No one was home.
Ringing the bell, he glanced around the neighborhood. It was a much nicer one than where he and Vicki lived. She’d talked him into moving in with her. Another mistake he’d made. She spent most of her time puking her guts out since getting pregnant. She never felt like doing it anymore. He worried this was what marriage was going to be like.
He rang the bell again and then knocked. Total waste of time.
At the sound of a car engine, he turned to see a large dark SUV pull in. Wayne Duma. Now, here was someone who thought a whole lot of himself, Harp thought. Hell, he’d bought himself and his wife matching SUVs for one of their wedding anniversaries. How full of himself was that?
Duma was frowning as he exited his vehicle. Clearly he didn’t like seeing a deputy on his doorstep. “Can I help you?” the man asked in the same tone he probably used with solicitors at his door. It only pissed Harp off more.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Duma.”
“She’s not here.”
“So I gathered. Can you tell me where she is?”
Wayne looked as if he was losing patience. Harp felt the same way. “What is this about?”
Harp didn’t answer. “I need to talk to her. Sheriff’s department business.”
“She’s left town.”
“When did she leave?”
“Earlier. I insist you tell me what this is about.”
“Where did she go?”
Duma looked as if he wanted to dig his heels in.
“Maggie Thompson is missing. I need to speak with your wife.”
The man groaned and looked away. “Not this foolishness again.” He turned back to Harp. “My wife has gone to a spa. If Maggie is missing, it has nothing to do with Celeste.”
“What spa?”
“I have no idea.”
“Was she driving there or flying?”
Duma shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”
“I’m going to need to have a look around. I’m sure we can get a warrant—”
“That isn’t necessary,” Duma said, stepping past him to unlock the door. “Help yourself.”
Harp stepped in and looked around. “Nice place you have here.” He walked through the house. It appeared a housekeeping service had been there recently. It had that smell. It did nothing to improve his mood since he’d never had a place that smelled this good.
“I’m going to take a look upstairs,” he told Duma, who didn’t bother to answer. He was on his phone. Harp listened as the man left a message for his wife to call him.
Upstairs, he stuck his head in each room. The place was immaculate. He couldn’t see Celeste down on her knees scrubbing the bathroom floor to make it shine like that—let alone to wipe up blood. Rich people, he thought with a sharp bite of jealousy.
He figured, as clean as the place was, it wouldn’t be hard to find blood evidence—if there had been any. But so far, he saw nothing to indicate that there had been anything going on there.
At the end of the hall, he pushed open the door into the master bedroom and felt his pulse shoot up. The room looked as if it had exploded. There were clothes everywhere, on the floor, on the bed, thrown on the closet floor.
He heard Duma behind him. The man gasped and then swore.
“Can you explain this?” Harp asked.
“Apparently Celeste had trouble deciding what to take to the spa.”
“Right. Don’t touch anything in this room.” He pulled out his phone. “The sheriff is going to want to talk to you.”