Chapter 5
“Who was it?” Clay called and headed back to the kitchen to see what the call was about. “Bad connection?”
His wife was as white as the milk-paint cabinets.
“What’s wrong?” He started to take the phone from her ear but she shook her head.
“Who are you?” she said to the caller. “Why are you doing this? Hello? Hello?”
He gently pried the phone away, listened, and got dead air. “Whoever it was hung up. What did they say?” He scanned the phone’s caller list to see if there was a number. Nothing. He hit redial anyway only to get a recording that the number’s identification was blocked.
“I have Hope.” Emily gripped the edge of the counter and Clay pulled out one of the bar stools for her to sit down. “Do you think it’s connected to the letter? Or is this starting all over again?” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
He wrapped his arms around her and held tight. “I don’t know, Em.” But if the call wasn’t connected to the letter, it was a bizarre coincidence. Why now? There hadn’t been anything about Hope in the news. “Was it a man or a woman?”
“I couldn’t tell. The person sounded distressed.”
“What do you mean by distressed?”
“Like he or she was having trouble breathing or maybe they were just trying to disguise their voice. I don’t know.” She stood up and went for the phone. “I need to call Drew.”
He started to say why, but stopped himself. Emily’s ex-husband had always been decent. Unlike most divorces, theirs had been amicable. They’d been so grief-stricken over the abduction of their daughter that it had consumed them, eventually tearing their marriage apart. Drew had remarried and seemed happy. And while there was no reason to resent the guy, Clay did. Perhaps because he’d been Emily’s first real love and Hope would always connect them. Irrational as it was, Clay was jealous. He supposed if Jen were still alive, Emily might have similar feelings about her, although Clay’s relationship with his late wife had been anything but harmonious.
He watched Emily dial Drew’s number and sat at the breakfast bar so he could listen in on their conversation, curious if this yahoo had been calling Drew, too. It was a hell of a thing, especially after all this time. Some people were truly warped. He wondered if there was a way to trace the call and made a mental note to ask Rhys about it at dinner.
“Well?” Clay asked, impatient as Emily described to Drew what had happened.
She shook her head and when she finally got off the phone said, “He’s going to ask the FBI to call me.”
“But he didn’t get a call?”
“Nope. Then again, he’s not listed. Anyone who read the news clippings about the monster who claimed to have taken her knows I’m married to you and that you own McCreedy Ranch . . . that number is listed.”
He nodded. The media had also reported that Drew was an attorney in Silicon Valley. He wouldn’t be too difficult to track down but there would be receptionists and legal assistants to get past. Here, he, Emily, or one of the boys answered the business line. Although McCreedy Ranch was one of the largest cattle operations in California, it was run like a small, family business. No hoops to jump through.
“I’m gonna talk to Rhys about putting a tracker on the line.” He reached for her and pulled her against his chest. “It’s just another crazy.”
Paige started to cry and Emily broke away to get her. “Go ahead and shower. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
No, but if this person tried to contact them again, he wanted to be ready. Have something in place to trail the sadistic son-of-a-bitch. On his way upstairs he ran into Justin.
Justin gave him a head nod. “You talk to Emily?”
“About?” If the notes and weird phone calls continued, they’d tell the boys. For now, though, there was no need to get them worked up. They were protective of Emily . . . and it was Christmas.
“Me going to SLO this weekend.”
“With Cynthia, right? Her parents okay with that?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t exactly look him in the eye. But Clay decided to leave it alone for now. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ve got to shower and change before the neighbors get here. You do your chores?”
“I’m on my way.” Justin continued down the stares at a jog, his boots thumping on the wooden treads. His boy was as big as him.
“See you at dinner,” he said, and went inside his and Emily’s bedroom.
He fished his cell out of his back pocket and called Rhys. If there was something they could do to catch the caller, or at least ward him off, he’d like to start as soon as possible. Besides, it wouldn’t be easy getting Rhys alone with half of Nugget sitting at his table.
Rhys picked up on the third ring. “You calling to cancel?”
“No. That note I showed you . . . Emily got a phone call tonight. Whoever it was called on the ranch line, said they had Hope, and hung up. Em said it sounded as if the person was either in distress or trying to disguise his or her voice. She couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. Can we trace the call?”
“No caller ID?”
“Nope. The person blocked the number. I tried.”
“It’s doubtful we’ll be able to trace it after the fact but we can work with the phone company to set up a trap if the person calls again.” Rhys paused. “My hunch is it’s some lonely idiot sitting at home during the holidays. You sure you want to go to all the trouble and have it leak to the press?”
“What if there’s something to it?” In his gut, Clay knew Rhys was right. Still, he’d never forgive himself if they blew off someone with real knowledge of what had happened to Hope. Even if it meant a lifetime of following up every bogus lead on the minute chance that it would unearth information. That’s what Emily had had to live with for seven years. “Drew got a note, too. No phone call, though.”
Rhys let out sigh. “Palo Alto PD didn’t seem too interested when I called. Like me, they think it’s a crackpot.”
“Drew’s talking to the FBI. The note shook him up.”
“I can imagine. What did the FBI say?”
“Don’t know, but Drew told Emily he was going to have one of the agents call her about the phone call. I’d rather work with you.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, you know that. But the bureau has more resources. And they know the case inside and out.”
“In the meantime, can we set up that tracer you talked about?”
“We can and I will. But Clay, more than likely nothing will come of it. Honestly, your best course is to ignore the person. Eventually he or she will get bored and go away.”
“Easier said than done. You didn’t see the pain etched across my wife’s face after this asshole made contact with her. I need to take care of this.” The day he took his marriage vows, he made a promise to himself that nothing would ever hurt Emily again.
“I understand, Clay. I really do and I’ll do everything I can. But . . . I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll talk about it then.”
* * *
Two days later, a trap device was set up with the caveat that if the person called from a pay phone or from a burner, law enforcement might not be able to track the call. Rhys advised them to keep a log, recording the time and date of anymore contact.
Leaving him no choice, Clay had to explain the situation to the boys in case they answered the phone. Since Tuesday, though, there had been nothing. No notes, no calls. Someone from the FBI had reached out but Clay got the sense it was a courtesy, that they didn’t consider the recent activity worth their time. The truth was Hope’s case had gone cold years ago, and without any solid leads, law enforcement had moved on.
Emily seemed to have regained her balance. Between planning the cookie swap, readying the house for Christmas, and taking care of a newborn she was too busy to dwell on the anonymous letter or strange phone call. Their biggest conflict at the moment was whether to give Justin their blessing to spend the weekend in San Luis Obispo with Cynthia.
Clay wanted to simply lay down the law and say no. Emily, however, was more circumspect.
“They’re just going to sneak around if you deny him the trip,” she said while testing a new cookie recipe.
He stretched his legs underneath the kitchen table, watching his daughter sleep in her carrier on the chair next to him. “So we let him go? Because I know damned well that seeing the Cal Poly campus ranks low on their agenda.”
“Probably.” She shrugged. “But what do we do? Tell him we don’t trust him?”
Clay sipped his coffee. “I guess not.” He thought about what his father would’ve done in a situation like this. Tip would’ve let Clay go. His old man had been a firm believer in the honor system. And it had worked because Clay wouldn’t have let him down for anything. Not even a girl. “What are your plans today?”
“I’m going over to Annie’s place to finalize our lists.” She held up the tablet she’d been making baking notes in. “Then I’m going to town to make sure we have enough tables at the community center for all the cookies. Afterward, I may grab lunch with Maddy. How about you?”
“I told Flynn I’d have a look at a bull in Vinton he’s interested in. Other than that, my day’s pretty open.”
“Want to meet us in town . . . have lunch?”
“Nah, you all do your thing. You don’t need me tagging along. You want me to take Paige?”
“Nope. She can come with me.” Emily cocked her head at the carrier, letting her gaze linger on their baby girl, who continued to sleep peacefully. “I like to show her off.”
His lips curved up because he knew the feeling. “Come here.”
She sashayed over with a spatula in her hand. He took it from her, put it down on the table, and tugged her into his lap.
“Love you,” he whispered and kissed her on the mouth.
“Mmm. Love you too.”
They sat for a while making out until the timer went off. Emily got up and took her cookies out of the oven, leaving Clay straining against his jeans.
“You’re killing me,” he told her.
She twitched an eyebrow at him. “It’s killing me too. Just a little time longer. Here.” She brought him a piece of shortbread. “Wait for it to cool or you’ll burn your mouth.”
He’d never been any good at waiting. He took a bite and like she’d warned, scorched his tongue. “Good.” He fanned his mouth. “But hot.”
“I told you.”
He finished the rest of the cookie and got up to get his boots out of the mudroom. “Flynn’s picking me up so I better get going.”
“Take some for the road.” She packed a few bars of shortbread in a snowman tin and put it on the counter.
“I’ll do that. If Flynn’s lucky I might give him one.”
Paige started to stir, the phone rang—the ranch number—and they both froze.
He reached across the counter and tugged it free of its holder while Emily stood stock-still. “Hello.”
“On my way.”
Clay shook his head at Emily and mouthed “Flynn,” then returned to the call. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Emily let out a breath, scooped Paige out of the carrier, and waited for him to get off the phone. “You left your jacket in the hallway.”
“I’ll get it on my way out.” He leaned down and kissed her and then the baby. “I think it’s over, Emily . . . just some wacko who probably saw Jesus or Santa Claus in his toast and thought he was helping.”
They’d certainly had every mental case in the country calling after the jackoff in prison had been caught in his dirty lie. A woman in Texarkana, claiming that she’d ridden the same spaceship with Hope after being abducted by aliens; a trucker in Boise, who remembered giving her a ride; a waitress in Albuquerque, who swore Hope was being held hostage by bikers. The problem was a small percentage of the tipsters sounded just credible enough to give Emily false hope that her daughter was still alive.
“I hope you’re right,” she said, wearing a weak smile.
He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“Yep. You too.”
By the time he got outside, Flynn was sitting in his pickup with the engine humming. Clay hopped into the passenger seat and rolled down the window to shoo the dogs away.
“Thanks for doing this,” Flynn said as he turned the truck around and took it slow down the driveway. “Normally I wouldn’t need a second opinion but the damn bull cost an arm and a leg and Wes has got a big project in Glory Junction he’s working on.”
“A lot of new homes going up. Everyone wants to be near those ski slopes.”
“Yup. Too crowded for my taste.”
Clay slid him a glance. “You ski?”
“Nope. If I wanted to break my neck I could do that right here at home, riding bulls or broncs. Lucky should count his blessings that he’s still in one piece.” Their other neighbor was a retired champion bull rider. “How ’bout you? You ski?”
“A couple of times. I guess I didn’t love it enough to keep up with it. And now with the baby . . . I don’t see us skiing in the near future.”
Flynn nodded. “Paige, she’s a cutie. The other night at dinner you seemed distracted. She keeping you up at night?”
“Yep, but that’s not why I was distracted.” Clay told Flynn about the notes and phone call. “You’re a former FBI agent, you think this’ll go away?”
“Ah, man, I’m sorry. I had no idea. After all this time, you’d think the sickos would harass someone else. But yeah, I think whoever it is will eventually find someone else to bother. You talk to Rhys about it?”
Clay nodded. “He set a trap up on our phone but said he wasn’t likely to get anything off the letter. Just seems weird that a person would go to this much trouble, especially when there’s been nothing about it in the news.”
“You sure the note and the call are connected?” Flynn turned onto the highway and headed toward Vinton.
“No. But it seems like too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I do. Given the amount of media attention there’d been on the case, neither of you is that difficult to find. And in my experience, these people have all kinds of motivation. Money, attention, some of them are delusional enough to think they’re helping. You talk to anyone at the bureau?”
“Emily’s ex did and one of the agents called us but my impression was they didn’t think there was enough to get involved.”
“I could make a few calls if you want. But my suspicion is there’s nothing there.”
“You’re probably right. It’s just that Emily has enough on her plate right now.” Having another child had filled her with a combination of guilt and fear.
“It’s tough,” Flynn said. As a former agent and federal prosecutor, he’d know what something like this did to a person. “The ex flipping out?”
“Like us, he thinks the letter was a hoax but it raised his hackles enough to call the FBI.”
“It’s good that he did that. You never know and now it’s on their radar.”
And the cycle of Emily obsessing over whether this person knows anything about what happened to her daughter starts all over again. Besides it being unhealthy, it was unbearably painful. Clay didn’t want her to have to go down this road again.
“Yeah, it’s good,” he said for the sake of ending the conversation.