39

Anna passed away silently early Monday afternoon without ever regaining consciousness. Oliver held her hand and stroked her forehead as nurses silenced beeping machines.

One of the doctors stood next to him. “We did everything we could, Pastor. Her body had just been through too much.”

Oliver couldn’t speak, so he just nodded. Not seeing a battered and bruised shell in front of him, instead seeing the woman he married eighteen years ago, smiling and full of life. His chest felt as if it would explode from the pain. The only thing keeping him together was the recognition that all of Anna’s days had been numbered by the Lord, and for some reason, today was the end of Anna’s journey. Part of him wished to return to the time she was missing because there was still a hope then that she was fine, praying alone somewhere.

But then Oliver felt a wave of thankfulness that she had been found. At least he’d been given the opportunity to say good-bye. It would have been excruciating if he’d never known her exact fate.

He kissed his wife one last time, then wiped his eyes with his palms before leaving her for the comfort of the church family standing by in the waiting room.

–––

By the time Oliver headed home to Rogue’s Hollow, he felt hollowed out with fatigue and grief. So many emotions swirled inside: anger, hurt, sorrow. Jethro was at the wheel, and he was glad for the man’s silence so he could examine his personal thoughts quietly. It was difficult not to acknowledge that mixed with all the emotions swirling through him, there was anger toward God. The question he’d heard so often after tragedy, the one hurting members in his congregation asked, echoed in his head: Why?

Did God ever answer that question?

He remembered what he’d said to Chief O’Rourke: “I have to trust God, or nothing in this life would make sense.” He gripped that thought as tightly as he could.

He also considered the widow Devaroux and how he’d held her and tried to provide comfort at the loss of her husband. How could he know he’d be going through the same painful loss three days later?

Round and round, musings running through his brain tied him up in knots. He lost track of time until Jethro slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop. Oliver put his hand out on the dashboard as he was thrown forward, but the seat belt kept him tight in place.

“What? Was it a deer?”

“No, it’s Tilly.” He gave a wave of his hand toward the left, and Oliver saw Tilly Dover making her way across traffic lanes. They were in Shady Cove and Tilly was shuffling toward the 76 gas station mini-mart.

“She’s such a sad child,” Jethro said as he got the car moving again. “Glad I didn’t hit her.”

“Jethro, stop. Go back.”

“What?”

“Go back to Tilly. She knew Glen, and she’s the one who called about Anna, led us to where she was by the creek. Maybe she’ll be able to tell me something about what happened to him and Anna.”

“Useful information from Tilly? Oliver, she’s crazy as a loon. She’s a few clowns short of a circus.”

“I know, I know. But something tells me she might know useful information about . . . about the situation, the crimes. Humor me.”

“Okay.” Jethro pulled over to make a U-turn as Oliver kept an eye on Tilly in the rearview mirror. He saw her go inside the mini market. He’d never told Jethro that Tilly had trashed his home and bowled him over in her attempt to escape. Watching her shuffle across the highway in her blue hoodie dulled his hope that she’d be helpful. Maybe Jethro was right. She was probably loaded. On an hourly basis, it was hit-or-miss as to whether or not Tilly would be lucid. Oliver prayed she’d be able to tell him something.

Jethro pulled into the gas station lot and found a place to park around back. Oliver got out, intending to walk around to the front door. But he nearly ran into Tilly as she came sprinting around the corner.

“Tilly.”

Fear spread across the girl’s dirt-smudged face like a wave. She skidded to a stop and looked to her right.

“I just want to talk to you.” Oliver reached out a hand, but Tilly lurched away, breaking into a run back toward Highway 62.

Oliver started after her and then another person bolted out of the store, the mini-mart clerk.

“She just stole a beer!”

Both men scrambled to catch her but neither could reach her in time. Oliver saw the car and yelled for Tilly to stop, but it was too late.

The sound of a horn and squealing tires rent the air, punctuated by the dull thump of Tilly hitting the hood of the sedan, flying up, then rolling downward into the street. The beer can exploded when it slammed into the ground, and Oliver was showered in a stream of cold beer as he reached her side, kneeling down on the pavement, praying she wasn’t hurt badly.

–––

Tess asked Bender to wait while she jogged to her vehicle and retrieved her crime scene kit and an empty box. When she returned to the tent, she found him kneeling on the ground, petting Killer, who seemed perfectly content with the man.

“You’ve made a friend,” Tess said as she opened her kit and pulled out her camera.

Bender stood and brushed himself off. “I’ve got a soft spot for dogs. What are you going to do with her?” He stepped back so she could photograph the area.

“Not sure,” she said as she began snapping photos to document the scene. “I need to be certain no one in his family wants the dog before I make a decision.”

He grunted and folded his arms, expression unreadable. Tess wondered if he was going to slip back into the jerk he’d been up until today.

“Chief, can I say something here? I need to get it off my chest.”

Tess dropped the camera down to her side and faced Officer Bender. “About?”

“About the grief I gave you when you first came here.” He hiked a shoulder. “I want you to know it had nothing to do with you being a woman. I don’t have a problem with women. I was afraid you’d be a California cowboy and you’d run roughshod over all of us.” He took a deep breath. “You haven’t done that. Even with Dixon being, well, stifling. You’ve been . . . fair. And the fact that you cared enough to save this dog has helped change my mind-set. I just wanted you to know.”

Tess gave him a nod, impressed that a guy who seemed like such a jerk a week ago would be big enough to make such an admission. “Thanks, Officer Bender. I appreciate that. Hope that means you won’t be running off to Medford PD.”

He chuckled and gave her a wry smile. “I’d much rather work here in the Hollow, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Glad to have you on board.” She held out her hand and they shook. “Grab some gloves. As soon as I finish these pictures, let’s tear this apart and hopefully find something that can help us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Buoyed by this turn of events, Tess resumed photographing and concentrating on uncovering something that would help her find a killer.

Photographing finished, together they began to pick through Glen’s belongings. Tess found the flannel shirt matching the fabric she’d removed from the bushes where Glen was killed. It was wadded up in a ball in the corner of the tent, still damp.

There was mail in the shelter with Glen’s name on it, addressed to a PO box in Shady Cove. There was also a brand-new Bible and a couple of books, a sleeping bag and some clothes, male and female, two hunting-type knives, dog food, and an assortment of canned food in a metal foot locker. She also came across a couple of brochures for Platinum Security Systems.

“Maybe he was looking for their tent package,” Bender said.

Her cell phone rang and she stepped out to take the call. It was Klamath Falls PD. They’d found Duncan Peabody. He’d been stopped for speeding. Glad but irritated at the same time because she just didn’t have a spare minute to deal with Duncan, Tess referred the officer to Duncan’s parents.

“I’d like to, Chief, but the kid is adamant that he can’t go home.”

“What’s he afraid of? He’s not alleging abuse, is he?” she asked, reasonably certain the Peabodys were not abusive people, but stopping short of assuming.

“Won’t say. Just insists he can’t go home.”

Tess went back and forth with the guy. Duncan was his problem. One of her father’s old rules when dealing with other agencies: “You catch ’em, you clean ’em.” The Klamath Falls officer had to deal with the parents.

“Bad news?” Bender asked.

She disconnected and hoped that Duncan’s parents would handle their runaway on their own and not want her input.

“Klamath Falls PD found Duncan. He’s giving them a hard time.”

“Kid’s a handful.”

“And their problem right now. We’re out of the loop now, I hope,” she said. “Now let’s get this cataloged.”

The only oddity in the little shelter were some shin guards, the sort you’d wear on a dirt bike. She was pretty certain Glen didn’t have a dirt bike. Tess photographed it all and collected a boxful to take back to the station.

“Nothing here to point to his killer,” Bender noted.

“Unfortunately true.” She sighed and wiped sweat from her brow. “Glen is an enigma to me.”

“How so?”

She waved a hand over the tent. “He lives like this, uses food stamps, somehow scrapes together enough money to keep his Jeep running, but when he gets his hand on a bag full of money, he gives it to the Macphersons.”

“He told Anna that only God could make the money clean. To me that means he thought the money was dirty.”

“But what if instead of being drug money, it was just hidden money?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose Beto was stashing money to hide from his wife? Maybe taking money under the table?”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of under-the-table cash. I’m still having trouble with Beto as a bad guy. But I do remember that divorce: it was nasty. His wife hated it here. She lit out back to New York as if she were set on fire. Lives in a spendy condo, I hear, and Beto’s complained about how she’s sucking him dry.”

“Beto might have been hiding money from his wife and somehow Glen found out. That could explain why he didn’t report the money stolen.”

They began to carry their stuff down the hillside. Killer followed when Tess called her name.

“Seems like a guy would find a better way to shelter that much cash.”

“For you and me, maybe, thinking rationally. It hasn’t been my experience that people going through painful divorces think rationally. Glen’s own parents prove that.”

“Oh yeah.” Bender rolled his eyes. “I was a kid, but I do remember that. Their fights lit up the valley. Acosta and his wife were a close second. While I can’t see Acosta as a drug dealer, I can see him hiding assets from his wife.”

He frowned. “Maybe that’s what happened: Glen found his stash, stole it, and gave it to Pastor Mac, but . . .”

“What?”

“I can see Beto being mad, furious, but I can’t see him killing Glen and pushing Anna Macpherson into the creek. It doesn’t track for me.”

“Still, the scenario is something to think about,” Tess said as they reached the cars.