Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5 Page 22

  He put a hand on the butt of his gun. “What’s this about?”

  I tried hard not to notice his hand, and stared at my reflection where his eyes should be. “I think I should talk to her about this first.”

  “Fair enough. If she changes her mind, how can she get in touch with you?”

  I still had my wallet in my hand, and I took out a business card that had my cell phone number on it. “She can call me.”

  He didn’t look at it, just took it and slipped it into a breast pocket. “Are you staying in town?”

  “At the Sagebrush Inn.”

  “And you’ll be leaving town when?”

  “Soon.”

  The eyeglasses stayed on me for a few seconds. “Good.” He gave me a curt nod, dismissing me.

  I felt him watching me as I walked to the 4-Runner, got in, and eased back down the circular drive. He stayed rooted in place, and was still there when I reached the end of the road and turned onto County Road 15. Then I finally breathed normally.

  As I drove back into Sagebrush, I knew one thing: I had no intention of leaving until I either talked to Jennifer Madisen or knew why she was so intent on avoiding me.

  When I got back to the hotel, Willie was lounging in a lawn chair by the pool, reading. She wore a sky-blue bikini, her skin was glistening, and she looked hot – the sexy kind of hot. She looked up when she saw me. “How did it go?”

  I kissed her, then sat down in a lounge chair next to her and told her what happened. She was giggling when I finished.

  “Not my finest moment,” I said.

  She closed her book and set it aside. “So you never got to ask her about Marcia Holder?”

  “No.”

  “Did Jennifer and Marcia grow up around here?”

  “I have no idea. I could only find this town listed as a place of residence for Jennifer, and I couldn’t find anything for Marcia. If they are from here, someone will know it.” I wiped sweat off my brow and glanced at the pool. “As much as I’d like to change into my swim trunks and dive into that water, I have more to do. Are you okay here for a while longer? I thought I’d ask around town about the two of them.”

  She blinked at me. “This is a small town, but it’s still too much for you to cover on your own. We only have the rest of today and tomorrow.”

  I grinned. “I’ll work fast.”

  “How about I help you?”

  I gestured at the pool. “And give this up?”

  “I don’t want to be out here too long.” She grabbed her book and stood up. “I’ll take a shower and then we can start. This’ll be fun!”

  “Okay,” I said. I pulled out my phone and looked up Sagebrush on a map. “It looks like Main Street cuts through the center of town.”

  “I could’ve guessed that.”

  I ignored the jibe, stood up, and showed her the map. “I’ll start on this side of Main Street,” I pointed at the phone, “and you can take the other side. Work your way west, and I’ll go east. We can touch base after an hour or so. Pop in and out of some of the businesses, keep it casual, and see if you can get anyone to talk. And don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

  “Babe,” she patted me on the cheek, “don’t worry about me.”

  “That’s a switch. Usually you’re concerned about me.”

  “With good reason. You get yourself into all kinds of jams.”

  “Ouch.”

  She laughed and sashayed ahead of me toward the hotel. As I watched her, I momentarily forgot what I was supposed to do.

  “Focus, Reed,” I said, sounding a lot like Willie, who said the same thing to me a lot.

  “I’ll be ready in a little bit,” she called over her shoulder. “You want to wait here or in the room?”

  “I’ll talk to the desk clerk,” I said as I caught up to her.

  “Okay.”

  She went down the hall to our room, and I ambled to the lobby. The young desk clerk was still behind the counter, still playing his video game. And I received another annoyed look when I approached. He poked the keyboard with a finger and the sounds of the game stopped, but he kept glancing at the screen.

  “Did you find the Madisen ranch?” he asked.

  He remembered that. Good.

  “I did, thank you.” I leaned on the counter. “Unfortunately I didn’t get to talk to Jennifer.”

  “She travels a lot, so maybe she’s on a trip.”

  “Does she have a job that requires her to be on the road?”

  He snorted. “She doesn’t work.”

  “You know her?”

  “Everybody knows the Madisens.” His tone indicated I should’ve known that.

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. Her dad’s been the mayor here for like, forever, and he owns the dairy plant outside of town. Don’t get on his bad side.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He shrugged.

  After he didn’t answer for a moment, I moved on. “What does Jennifer do, besides travel?”

  “I dunno. But she and her old man – he’s the sheriff – they got money. I’m thinking of going to school to become a sheriff, if it would get me a ranch like that.” He scratched at the stubble of beard on his chin. “You been in their house?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s nice.” He stretched out the word. “They know how to spend.”

  “I hear there’s a sister named Marcia.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I heard my parents talk about her some.” He hesitated, as if pondering what he should tell me. “She hasn’t lived here in a long time.”

  “Where’d she move to?” I tried to sound casual, but I was excited. Maybe I’d actually find out something about her.

  “I dunno.”

  And just as quickly, my elation fizzled.

  He suddenly focused on me, wondering about my questions. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Boy, was he sharp. Wouldn’t that be obvious since I was staying at a hotel? “Correct,” was all I said.

  “Why all the questions? You a newspaper reporter or something?”

  I jumped on the cover he’d just provided for me. “Something like that,” I said. “Doing a write-up on small towns and their mayors.”

  “You could do better,” he said.

  “Why do you say that? This looks like a nice, small town.”

  He snickered. “Sagebrush is small.”

  “But not nice?”

  “You live here, you only got so many options.” Then he muttered, “They see to that.”

  “Who?”

  His face suddenly paled as he stared past me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Willie coming toward us. She looked refreshed in a pink sundress and sandals.

  “Oh, she’s with you,” the clerk said, visibly relaxing.

  “You ready to go out?” Willie asked me as she smiled at the clerk.

  The clerk had clamped his jaw shut. He was through talking.

  “Anyplace good to eat?” I asked.

  “Main Street Café,” he said.

  “Clever,” Willie said.

  The clerk gave her a blank look. “Huh?”

  “Kind of like a Goofball Brother,” I murmured.

  Willie smacked my arm.

  “Thanks,” I said to the clerk. I took Willie’s hand and we strolled out of the hotel.

  She jerked a thumb toward the lobby. “What was that about?”

  I told her about the conversation, and the clerk thinking I was a reporter. “When you’re talking to people, see if you can find out anything about the mayor. His name is Holder. Apparently everybody knows him and the rest of his family.”

  “Anything else?”

  I shrugged. “Let’s see what we can dig up.”

  As we drove toward Main Street, I couldn’t help but wonder about the clerk’s reaction when he saw Willie and, it seemed to me, thought she was someone else. He’d looked scared. Because he’d been talking to me? Why would that be a problem?

 
Chapter Eight

  I parked at one end of Main Street, near an insurance office.

  “I’m going to start there.” Willie pointed across the street as she got out of the 4-Runner.

  “Sagebrush Style.” I could see mannequins in dresses in the front window. I rolled my eyes. “Are you taking this seriously?”

  “Of course. I can shop and talk.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Like most men, I avoid clothes shopping with my wife, if at all possible.

  She laughed as she crossed Main Street and disappeared inside the store. I tried the insurance office, but the door was locked. I moved on, sauntering into a bakery. I ordered a cookie and tried to strike up a conversation with a thin woman behind the counter.

  “You like living here?” I asked.

  “Sure, it’s a nice town.” She started frosting a cake.

  “Any job opportunities?”

  “Maybe at the dairy plant.”

  “I hear Mayor Holder owns it.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Is he an okay guy?” I went on.

  “Yeah, sure.” Not much conviction in her voice.

  I tried a couple more questions, but she busied herself with decorating the cake so that she didn’t have to pay more attention to me. I ambled back outside and continued down the street.

  Half the block was taken up with a feed and grain store, with several pickup trucks parked in front. A few men stood around their trucks and stared at me guardedly as I paused nearby. I was about to poke my head into the store when a flash of neon on the next block caught my eye. I walked toward it and saw that it was a Budweiser sign hanging over the door of McHale’s Tavern. A sly smile crept across my face. Willie could shop and talk, and I’d drink and talk. I didn’t know many tight-lipped drunks, and I’d bet I’d get some information at a bar.

  Cool air hit me as I entered McHale’s. I let my eyes adjust from the bright sunshine and glanced around. To the left were four empty booths, and across from them was a long wooden bar. A path between led to a door at the back, labeled “Restrooms.” Two men in jeans and worn baseball caps sat on stools at the bar, both nursing beers. A bartender leaned against the back of the bar, watching some kind of fishing show on a TV mounted up in the corner. He glanced over at me and gave me a nod. I walked up to the bar and slid onto a stool.

  The bartender sauntered over. “What’ll it be?”

  “You have Fat Tire?” I asked, ordering my favorite beer.

  “Yeah.” He reached into a cooler, grabbed a bottle, deftly popped the lid off, and put it down in front of me. “Three bucks.”

  Not bad, cheaper than bars in Denver. I took a drink and set the bottle down.

  “Passing through?” the bartender asked.

  “Kind of.” I decided to stick with the cover the hotel clerk had given me. “I’m a reporter. I’m writing a story about small Colorado towns.”

  “This one’s small all right.”

  I took another drink. “I’ve heard nice things about Sagebrush, that it’s a good community, a great place to raise your kids away from the big city.”

  “Ha!” said one of the guys farther down the bar. He had white hair and a leathery face. His wrinkled hands clutched a beer, and his gut protruded over his Wrangler jeans. His prying ears told me he was bored and dying to talk. “It’s strict here, thanks to Mayor Holder. If you cross him, you better look out.”

  It was clear he didn’t like the mayor.

  “Watch it, Stan,” the bartender said to him. Then he turned back to me. “Don’t listen to him. The mayor’s a good guy, and he’s made Sagebrush a fine place.”

  A younger guy on the other side of Stan grunted. “I don’t care what you say, McHale, Stan’s right. The mayor is a mean old SOB.”

  The bartender – McHale – shook his head. “The mayor’s fair, is what he is.”

  “As long as you play the game,” the guy grumbled. He was about my age and stick thin, an old baseball cap tilted back on his head. “You don’t play the game, you don’t got a job, or anything else in this town.”

  “Boozer, you lost your jobs due to that.” The bartender pointed to Boozer’s beer. “Geez, you even have a nickname because of your drinking.”

  “Maybe so,” Boozer slurred, “but you wouldn’t have this bar if it wasn’t for the mayor.” He drained his beer bottle and set it down on the bar with a thud.

  McHale cocked an eyebrow at me. “The mayor’s all right. The town’s all right.”

  “Everything’s all right with you.” Stan guffawed and squinted at me. “You going to write about the mayor, too?”

  I shrugged. “I might. It sounds like it might make my story more interesting.” And it might help me find out about Marcia Holder.

  “He won’t talk to the press,” Boozer said.

  “Holder can be mean, just ask his kids.” Stan stared at the bartender, daring him to contradict him. McHale didn’t say anything.

  “He’s got a couple of daughters, right?” I asked.

  “And a son.” Boozer took off his cap, scratched his head, and then propped the hat back high on his forehead. “I used to work for him.”

  “Before you lost that job, too,” McHale snapped.

  “He owns a farm equipment store, down on Tenth Street,” Stan chimed in. He finished his beer in a long gulp.

  I pulled out a ten and slid it across the bar. “How about a round on me?”

  As McHale got Stan and Boozer their Budweiser longnecks, I said, “You think the Holder kids would talk to me?”

  “I doubt it.” McHale started to put change in front of me and I waved him off. “Thanks. Jennifer, that’s his oldest, she lives out east of town. And the son, Toby, he’s got a place west of town. But they kind of stay to themselves.”

  “You got to be in their circle of friends, like rich, or they won’t talk to you,” Boozer said. He held up his beer at me and nodded his thanks. “Must be nice to have a trust to pay for things.”

  “A trust?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate further.

  “What about the other daughter?” I asked.

  “Marcia,” Stan said. “She’s the youngest. She don’t live around here anymore.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. “Where is she now?”

  They collectively shrugged.

  “No one knows,” McHale said.

  And just as quickly, I was back to square one. But they were talking, so I kept asking questions.

  “Everyone felt bad for Marcia, after that bad business,” Stan said.

  Boozer frowned. “She never got over it. I knew her in school. She was nice, but after that … she needed to get away.”

  I stared at them. “What bad business?”

  McHale glanced at them. “I think maybe you’ve said enough.”

  “Oh, he don’t care.” Stan waved in my direction. “See, a long while ago, when Marcia was in high school, she got herself in the family way, if you know what I mean. She had the baby, but then someone kidnapped that little girl.”

  “Poof,” Boozer said. “Gone.”

  I leaned in, trying not to show my excitement. “No one ever found the baby?”

  “No,” McHale said. He eyed me carefully. “You’re better off not talking to the family, and especially about the baby.”

  “When did Marcia get pregnant?” I kept my voice even.

  “Eighty –” Stan started to say.

  “That’s enough,” McHale interrupted.

  “Five,” Stan finished, and glared at McHale. “Anyway,” Stan turned bleary eyes to me. “You ask me, Mayor Holder had something to do with that baby disappearing.”

  “Maybe I should cut you off,” McHale fired at him.

  Stan grabbed his beer bottle. “If my money’s not good, his is.” He pointed a bony finger at me.

  “Why would the mayor be involved in the baby’s disappearance?” I asked.

  “Because he’s a mean dude,” Boozer said. “And
it wouldn’t look good for him.”

  Stan nodded. “And because Pastor Sheehan wouldn’t have liked the mayor allowing Marcia to keep the baby after she had it out of wedlock. The mayor was not happy about that, and neither was Pastor Sheehan.” He propped an elbow on the bar. “Pastor Sheehan is the other person in this town you don’t want to cross. You make either him or the mayor mad, you can forget about getting a job or making money around here. They’ll see to that.”

  “You did all right,” McHale said.

  Stan shrugged. “I played the game, just like you.”

  Boozer snorted. “And you’re still bitter about that.”

  Stan gazed at his beer and didn’t say anything.

  “Pastor Sheehan?” I said.

  “He’s the pastor of the First Community Church.” Boozer gulped some beer. “The only church in town.”

  “Well, there’s St. Michael’s, the Catholic church,” Stan said.

  “You got a problem with churchgoing folk?” McHale asked him.

  Stan held up his hands. “Don’t like being forced to go, is all.”

  “No one forces you.” McHale threw him a withering look.

  Boozer let out a short laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  I waited for more, but they clammed up. McHale started talking about fishing, and that turned the conversation away from the mayor and the pastor.

  I drank a little more of my beer, but was feeling like the odd man out as they kept glancing at me. I finally slipped off the barstool. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Good luck with your article,” Boozer slurred. “And watch out for the mayor. He drives a black Caddie, so you’ll know if he’s around.”

  “Shut up,” McHale said to him.

  Stan gave me a curt nod. “Appreciate the beer.”

  “You bet,” I said.

  As I headed out the door, McHale turned back to the TV, and Stan and Boozer lapsed into silence. I walked outside, my mind racing. Marcia Holder had a baby girl in 1985, and the baby had been kidnapped. It sure seemed like Marcia was Gina Smith’s real mother. But how could I track down Marcia to talk to her, if the Holders in Sagebrush wouldn’t discuss her? I was also puzzling about the three men in the bar. Why did Stan and Boozer have such distaste for the Holders and Pastor Sheehan, and why did McHale defend them? Did it matter?