All day and into the night, Levaughn, Boomer and I scoured the shoreline for clues. Other than a pink barrette, a butane lighter, and a toy truck, we found nothing to aid us in narrowing on Daphne’s whereabouts. For hours upon hours we knocked at doors, asking if anyone in the household heard strange noises early that morning, before sunrise. Or if anyone saw someone on the beach.
Boomer told us he thought he’d heard a scream, but he couldn’t be certain he hadn’t dreamt it. Apparently, he suffered with PTSD after a mission gone wrong, or right, depending on how you looked at it. A baby died by his hand. That was the gist of it. However, from the story he told, no one could have predicted what would happen in that split-second.
Unfortunate and heartbreaking, yes. His fault, no. But that didn’t make it any easier for him to live with, knowing if he hadn’t fired the rifle at that precise moment the Iraqi baby might still be alive. Poor guy. Guilt ate him up inside. And now this? How much more could one person take?
On the trek back to the cabin, Boomer said, “The Galley Restaurant and Pub.”
Head cocked, I squinted at him. Had he finally lost his mind?
“The restaurant I took Daphne to, The Galley Restaurant and Pub.”
“Oh,” I said, relieved. “For a minute there I thought— Never mind. Not important.”
Checking his notes, Levaughn confirmed, “That’s the place Denise Phelps worked. Let’s go check it out. Someone there might remember you. More importantly, they may remember a shady character hanging around. Or someone watching Daphne. In most abduction cases the victims are almost always stalked first. Sorry. You probably know that already.”
“Victim?” Tears teemed Boomer’s pained eyes. “How long was Denise alive before…?” His words trailed off. “Best guess.”
“I can’t answer that. As you know, survival depends on many different factors. The bad guy’s mood at the time, the victim’s willingness to cooperate. If the suspect has a history of mental illness, a vic can sometimes buy time by forcing him to view her as a person rather than an object. Guessing, at this point, is futile. Our time is much better spent following what little evidence we have.” He laid a supportive hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “Try to stay positive. I know it sucks. Believe me, I do. But thinking about the worst possible outcome doesn’t do you or Maya any good.”
“I’ve given that speech too, Levaughn, and you’re right. I just can’t help but think if only I woke a few seconds earlier, I might have been able to prevent this. None of this would be happening.” His head dropped into an open hand. “Why couldn’t I save the one woman I would die to protect?”
“We won’t quit till we find her, brother. You have my word.”
“That goes for me too,” I added. “No way will we let you go through this alone.”
“Thanks,” he said, seemingly unconvinced we’d ever find the love of his life.
Couldn’t blame him. The odds of finding Daphne alive were not in our favor.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I drove west on Route 302 in search of The Galley Restaurant and Pub, Boomer in the passenger seat, Levaughn in the back. Not five minutes into our trip the air conditioner died, and the summer temps heated the interior.
Sweat soaked my hairline. “I don’t know where I’m goin’, so you need to point it out.”
Boomer flinched as if I’d jarred his mind from someplace else. “What? Sorry. Didn’t hear you.”
“I said, I don’t know where I’m goin’. Is the restaurant far?”
“Oh. No. Take a right after this variety store, into the parking lot. The Galley is out back. Quaint little place. Daphne loved it.” When his gaze fell to the floor his lips turned inward as though fighting back the urge to bawl.
I glanced in the rear view mirror, and Levaughn rested his head over the back of the seat, closing his eyes. The despair radiating off Boomer was so intense neither of us could escape it.
In front of the The Galley Restaurant and Pub, I shifted into first gear and killed the engine. “Maybe you should stay here.”
“No way.” Boomer whipped open the passenger door and got out.
I swiveled back toward Levaughn, hushed, “If he loses it in there, we’re screwed. And if the cops come, it’ll be game over. They’ll order us to stay out of their case.”
“Agreed. Okay, let’s go about this another way. You question the staff while I keep Boomer occupied.”
“Works for me. Let’s rock ‘n roll.” Slamming the door closed, I hollered for Boomer to wait. Oddly enough, he complied, and I rushed to catch up to him. “We’ve got a plan.”
Levaughn strode up behind me. “You and I are gonna hang back. If anyone has information to share, Shawnee will get it out of them. Trust me on this.”
“Fine. For now, we’ll do it your way.” He turned his watery gaze on me. “But if they give you a hard time—”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, cowboy. No one’s gonna mess with me, not if they know what’s good for ‘em.”
I hopped three stairs that led to a covered porch, and then swung open the glass door. The interior of the restaurant screamed Maine, with its knotty pine walls, ceiling, and natural-bark-edged bar. Netting with lobster traps cornered private booths, creating a cozy atmosphere for dining or hanging out with friends and family. At the bar, I waved over the waitress who loaded her serving tray with cocktails. Levaughn and Boomer lingered near the door.
In a rush to serve her customers, the waitress tried to blow me off. “Sit anywhere. Someone will be right with you.”
“I’m not here for lunch. Go ahead. Do your thing.” I leaned back against the bar, my elbows resting on the polished wood top. “I’ll wait.”
Without a word, she bustled to her table. Serving the drinks, she tossed darting glances in my direction, and I couldn’t fathom why. Did I have lipstick on my teeth? To be safe I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth.
On her way return trip she smoothed a loose strand of chestnut hair into a messy ponytail, ran both hands down the sides of a black apron tied around her waist—the serving tray tucked under one arm—and straightened the hem of her long T-shirt, the pub logo printed on the chest pocket.
Did I make her uncomfortable? Why? Unless she had something to hide. Maybe I could use this to my advantage. Real quick, I shifted to my sight to Levaughn, then refocused on Little Miss Guilty. From my back pocket I withdrew my RPD identification and flashed it at her without giving her a chance to notice anything but the background image of a badge. “Police business, ma’am. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Umm … yeah. A booth toward the front window is empty. Will that work?”
I swept an open hand toward the booth. “Lead the way.” When I glanced back at Levaughn, his jaw had gone slack. No doubt I’d hear about this later. Ah, well.
Hands folded on the table, I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “See that guy by the door?”
“The black dude? Oh my God. Is he dangerous?”
Upper lip twitching, I flared my nostrils. “Is there some reason you assume he’s the one I’m talkin’ about?” Racist bitch.
“Uh … I … Err … No. I mean … Umm …”
I slapped the table, and she nearly jumped out of the booth. “I don’t have time for this crap. Look at the man next to the handsome detective. Tall, black hair, gray eyes, muscles galore?”
“Yup. I served him and his bride-to-be the other night. That’s what he called her. Isn’t it adorable?”
“Yeah. Great. And?”
“If memory serves, they had an adorable little girl with them. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven months old. Maya, I think her name was.”
“Correct. That night, did you notice anyone staring at them? Maybe someone a bit too interested in his fiancé?”
“No, not that I recall.”
“How ‘bout Denise Phelps, do you know her?”
“Denise? Sure. We’ve worked together for five or six years.” Her eyes tilted toward the pine ceiling. “What year did I start?”
“Hey.” I snapped my fingers in her face. “Stay with me. Did Denise ever mention anyone who made her uncomfortable, or someone she didn’t wanna wait on? Maybe she asked you to switch tables at some point.”
“Hmmm … I don’t think so. Though, now that you mention it, it was odd how she just up and quit.”
“Did she give notice, or did she simply never return to work?”
“She never showed for her shift, and I got stuck working a double. I couldn’t believe it. She knew I had a date that night. Some friend she turned out to be.”
The cops hadn’t told her yet? This once, I had to stay out of it. Finding Daphne was more important. “Sorry about your friend.”
“She’s missing, ya know.”
“I do, yeah. That can’t be easy.”
Like flipping a switch, her entire demeanor changed. “Love your hair, by the way. Those chunky red streaks look the bomb. The diamond-stud nose piercing rocks too. I’ve always wanted to do it, but I haven’t gotten up the nerve to take the plunge.”
Caught off-guard, a flush swept across my cheeks, never expecting the conversation to veer toward my signature style. “Thanks.” Clearing my throat, I shook back into investigative mode. “You said you and Denise were close. In the days leading up to her disappearance, did she ever mention Long Lake?”
“All the time.”
I jolted back in my seat. “In what context, exactly?”
“She had the hots for this guy who rents wave runners and jet skis.”
“Gotta name?”
“Derrick, I think. Never met him. He runs the rental place at Long Lake Marina.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic. Thanks for your time.” I rose from the booth. Almost made a clean getaway too, before she chased after me.
“Did something happen to that man’s fiancé?” she said, as if the question had just dawned on her. “Is she missing, too?”
“Sorry. I can’t comment on ongoing investigation.” On my way toward to the door, I waved over my head. “Thanks again. Have a great day.”
Levaughn and Boomer followed me out to the jeep. Once I pulled the driver’s door closed, I swiveled to face them. “We’ve gotta name—Derrick. Guess where he works?”
Levaughn countered, “Long Lake.”
“Bingo. He runs the rental shop at Long Lake Marina. I think that’s the place with the white lettering across the shingled-roof.”
Boomer gasped. “That’s where Daphne bought tickets for the sunset cruise.” He clutched his chest—paused, as if absorbing a gunshot to the heart—and then slowly released a soul-crushing groan, like a single father’s first glimpse of his beloved child’s casket. “Why didn’t I go inside with her? Me and Maya were right outside the door while some maniac set his sights on my …” His words trailed off, as if saying the words aloud caused too much pain. With the heel of his hand he slammed his forehead over and over. “Stupid … stupid … stupid.” Leaning forward, he stared out the windshield at the blue skies above us, softly begging for absolution.
After how close he came to losing Daphne in the wilds of Montana’s Crazy Mountains, I could only imagine the helplessness he felt. Men never coped as well as women. It must be even worse for an ex-SEAL with special ops training.
What could I say to sooth his pain? Nothing seemed appropriate. No words could heal his fractured heart. The only way to make him whole again was to find Daphne. But as much as I longed to believe we still had time, truth was, every second mattered. If we zigged instead of zagged, she could die by the hands of a serial killer.