Tracks of Her Tears (6 page)

“Andrew has also volunteered to help with the search today.” Donald’s thick glasses steamed up. He unzipped his North Face jacket and polished the lenses on the hem of his wool sweater.

“Thank you,” Carly said. “We appreciate all the help we can get.”

Hoping the search was ready to start, Carly kept one eye on the front of the room.

“We’re turning it into a corporate retreat, where executives and upper management can learn team-building skills.” Andrew’s chest puffed. “You desperately need more accommodations in this area. The truck stop motel I’m staying in is rough.”

If Carly hadn’t been upset over her missing brother, she would have found the thought of rich Andrew Reynolds sleeping on a lumpy mattress at the truck stop motel humorous. But at that moment she had little interest in Donald, Andrew, or the O’Rourke resort.

Carly saw Zane move in front of the table. “Well, thank you for helping today. Please excuse me.”

“Can I have your attention?” Zane raised his voice over the murmur of conversation. He pointed to the map on the wall. “We’re focusing our initial search on the area in the triangle between the Taylor farm, Amber Lynn Cooper’s apartment in Hannon, and Fletcher’s bar out at the truck stop. As you can see, I’ve divided the area into sections. There is some intentional overlap. Bruce drives a blue cargo van, but be on the lookout for anything unusual. If you spot anything worth getting out of your vehicle to investigate, please radio Sheila first and give her your location. The weather is going from bad to worse, so be careful out there.”

C
HAPTER SEVEN

W
hat I wouldn’t give for decent visibility.
The storm intensified as Seth drove down the rural highway. Snow was accumulating on the road. The Jeep rounded a bend, and the rear end fishtailed. Seth steered into the slide, and the vehicle straightened. He eased his foot off the gas pedal.

Carly stared out the passenger side. She’d taken off her hat and gloves in the car, and her hands were clenched tightly together in her lap. Patsy sat in the center of the back seat and alternated her attention between the windows on either side of the vehicle. They reached the open space of the interstate that led into Hannon, and Seth pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Inside the Jeep, fear was palpable.

“What are we doing?” Carly asked.

“Honey, the rest of the highway is open right into Hannon. There aren’t any more woods to hide a van, and the county deputies already drove this stretch. If Bruce’s van went off the road here, someone would have seen it.” He reached for her hand across the console. “I’m sorry. Maybe someone else will have better luck.”

“He’s not dead,” Carly insisted. “He can’t be.”

“Here’s out here,” Patsy said. “We just have to find him.”

Seth turned. His mother-in-law was staring out the window on the passenger side of the Jeep, her brows set in a stubborn line. When he’d first married Carly, he’d thought Patsy was a little nuts. She’d make these weird statements, never actually claiming they were predictions or ESP or anything of the sort. She’d just say she had a
feeling
something was going to happen. And he’d thought the crazy might be contagious since everyone else in the family—hell, everyone in the damned town—took her
feelings
seriously. Appalled that her husband, the chief of police, an experienced, educated, and intelligent lawman, was on the list of believers, Seth had once asked his father-in-law why. Bill had shrugged and simply said, “Because she’s always right.”

Over the years Seth had learned that when Patsy Taylor said she had a
feeling
, he’d better pay attention. She’d been the only person to claim Bill’s death hadn’t been natural—and she’d been right on the money. Now Seth not only drank the same Flavor Aid as the rest of the town, he chugged it. So without asking any questions, Seth steered through a three-point turn. If Patsy said Bruce was out here, Seth would keep looking until he found him.

“Okay. We’re going to drive the same road in the opposite direction. Some of the woods we just drove through are thick.” There were also ravines and rocks and some fairly steep grades that could make a vehicle invisible to passing motorists. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’m going to drive slower. Patsy, you just do your thing.”

Whatever that was.

They passed back into the forest. Snow clung to branches and covered the ground on both sides of the road, covering any tire tracks. Twilight was falling, casting the woods in darkness. Snow swirled in his headlights. He glanced at the dashboard. The temperature had dropped to twenty-five degrees and was forecast to hit a rare low for southwestern Oregon.

Two miles down the road, Patsy sat up straighter. “Slow down.”

Seth did as he was told. The Jeep crawled along, snowpack grating under the tires. Then he saw it. A gap in the foliage. He pulled over. Putting on his hat and gloves, he said, “Carly, call Sheila and give her our location. Stay in the car while I check this out—”

Patsy was already opening the door. She buttoned her coat as she picked her way across the slippery shoulder. Seth jumped out and hurried to his mother-in-law’s side. He put a gloved hand under her elbow. She was hardly frail, but her petite frame had appeared to shrink since Bill’s death, and in his father-in-law’s absence, Seth found himself increasingly protective toward her.

A flashlight beam cut through the twilight. Carly appeared next to them. “I texted Sheila.”

Seth brushed some snow off the ground at his feet. Tire tracks leading into the woods cut through the dirt. A vehicle had gone off the road here.

“Please let me go first.” Seth took the flashlight and moved away from the women. He shone it down through the thick foliage. The ground sloped downward. His boots slid on a patch of ice. Reaching for a tree trunk, Seth got his feet back under his body. He parted the underbrush and caught a glimpse of blue below him.

“I see something.” Seth pushed his way through. Some of the branches were broken, but many had sprung back into place, hiding the vehicle’s path. He skidded another ten feet down the slope. At the bottom of the ravine, a blue cargo van rested nose-down, its hood obscured by evergreen branches. The rear bumper, sticking up in the air, was dented. Black paint streaked the chrome. Had someone in a black vehicle smashed into Bruce’s van?

Seth’s heart double-timed as he skidded the rest of the way down the slippery slope. His body didn’t stop until his hands hit the bumper. The van listed to the left, on the driver’s side. Seth went to the other side and hoisted his body up onto the passenger door. The window was broken. Shards of glass littered the interior.

Bruce!

His brother-in-law was slumped over the deflated air bag on his steering wheel. Dried blood from a cut on his temple caked the entire side of his face. His seat belt held him upright. The dashboard had folded, the twisted interior of the car pinning him in place. The console box was open, and an emergency Mylar thermal blanket was tucked around his upper body.

Please don’t be dead.

Seth reached into the vehicle, but his arm wasn’t long enough to touch his brother-in-law. He squirmed until his entire torso was inside the vehicle. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, Seth reached for Bruce’s neck. He nearly wept with relief when a weak thud hit his fingertips.

Bruce was alive.

But his skin was cold and his breathing shallow. Ignoring the tearing of his coat on a glass fragment, Seth wiggled out of the car. “He’s here! Call for an ambulance and a rescue crew,” he shouted as he scrambled back up the slope. There were blankets and first aid supplies in the Jeep, but Seth wouldn’t be able to get Bruce out of the van. A fire crew would need to cut him out of the vehicle.

He climbed back up the slope and burst out of the woods.

Patsy’s eyes begged for information.

“He’s unconscious. I can’t tell how badly he’s hurt, but he’s alive.” Seth turned to Carly, who was on the phone asking for assistance. “Tell them to bring hydraulics. He’s pinned.”

He went back to the Jeep and opened the hatch. Carly relayed the information over the phone.

Seth grabbed blankets. “What’s the ETA?”

“Twenty minutes.” She handed the phone to her mother. “Let me come with you.”

“You both need to stay here. It’s slippery, and the way the van is tilted, you’d never be able to get inside. I really need to focus on Bruce, not worry about you.” Seth hoped she understood. She didn’t like it when he was overprotective.

“All right.” She nodded. “Be careful.”

Seth skidded back down the slope and hoisted himself into the van. Bracing his weight on the crumpled dashboard, he attempted to assess Bruce’s condition. “Bruce.” He touched his face.

“It’s Seth. We’re gonna get you out of here. Help is on the way.” A single groan was the only response. Seth shone the flashlight down, but much of Bruce’s body was concealed. “Can you talk to me?”

Bruce moaned. “Can’t move.”

“The paramedics will be here any minute. They’ll get you out of here.” Without any ability to free Bruce from the wreckage, the best Seth could do was wrap a blanket around his shoulders.

“C-cold.” Bruce said. His eyelids fluttered. “I think my leg is broken.”

Seth tucked a second blanket around Bruce’s upper body. “Just hang on a little while longer. The rescue crew is on the way.”

But Bruce’s head lolled against the doorframe.

“Bruce?” Seth slid his hands down Bruce’s shoulder and arm to his hand. He grasped it. “Squeeze my fingers.”

There was no response. Did he not hear or was he unable to move? As the sound of a siren floated in the thin, cold air, Bruce’s breath rattled in his chest. Even though Bruce wasn’t responding, Seth kept hold of his hand. “Hold on, Bruce. They’re almost here.”

In the hospital waiting room, Seth made a cup of coffee in the machine. In a row of chairs against the wall, Carly and her sister flanked Patsy, each clutching one of her hands.

James entered the room. His eyes swept over the crowd. He pulled his hat off and walked to Seth. “No word?”

Seth shook his head. “No.”

“How was he when they brought him in?” James asked.

“Unconscious.” Seth glanced at his wife. “He had a space blanket in the van and was aware enough to use it at some point.”

“My dad taught us to carry emergency supplies at all times.” James sighed. “There are times I feel like he’s still with us.”

“He left a pretty strong legacy,” Seth said. “Tonight it might have saved Bruce’s life.”

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Seth turned to see the other two members of Bruce’s band suited up in their winter wear.

“Hey, man. We got your messages,” said Psych, the drummer.

Seth steered them outside. “Did anything weird happen last night?”

The bass player, Spencer, pushed his black cap back on his head. “Not that I noticed. We played. We got paid and left. The crowd was light. No one even threw any bottles at us last night, but then, men are usually more attentive when Amber Lynn sings with us—sang with us,” he corrected with a frown. “I still can’t believe she’s dead. She was awesome.”

“What a voice.” Psych nodded solemnly.

“Did anybody pay particular attention to her?” Seth asked.

“As I said before, the crowd was pretty well behaved,” Spencer said.

“Wait.” Psych slapped his friend on the shoulder. “On our last break, I went to take a leak and ran into Bruce standing guard at the ladies’ room. He was waiting for Amber Lynn. He said that Bob had cornered her in the hallway on her last trip. Bruce was plenty mad.”

“Bob Fletcher?” Seth asked. Anger burned straight up into his chest.

Psych’s head bobbed like a hula dancer on a dashboard. “Bob is a total douche.”

“Did anyone else give Amber Lynn a hard time?” Seth asked.

“Her ex was there.” Psych blew a ragged lock of hair off his forehead. “But he’s always an asshole, so there’s nothing new there.”

Bob had cornered Amber Lynn, Travis had been at the bar, and Seth was damned tired of people lying to him.

Neither of the boys could remember anything else unusual about the night. Seth thanked them and stepped aside to call Phil. He relayed Psych’s statement.

“I’ll be sure to pay close attention to the time stamp on the surveillance video from the bar,” Phil said. “The office door also opens onto that hallway, and there’s a camera in the corner. I’ll review that file again more carefully.”

“Thanks, Phil. I have to go,” Seth said as a doctor who looked to be about twelve years old entered the room. Seth didn’t recognize him, and as a county deputy, he spent a fair amount of time talking to people in the ER.

Seth ended the call.

The doctor approached Patsy. “Mrs. Taylor?”

She stood, her legs wavering. Stevie and Carly rose with her and supported her on both sides. James took his place behind them. The Taylors were the picture of solidarity. Seth had once envied their closeness. Now he moved forward to be part of the inner circle. He wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders, and took an odd pleasure in the way she leaned on him. He’d never fully be able to eradicate the protectiveness he felt toward his wife. The primitive instinct was lodged deep in his soul. The best he could hope for was to tame it and learn to be a better communicator.

The doctor pushed wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and met Patsy’s gaze. “He’s going to be all right.”

A collective exhalation eased the tension in the room.

“Miraculously, none of his injuries are that serious. He has a concussion, a broken leg, and hypothermia. We’ll keep him for a day or two, but I don’t see why he wouldn’t be home for Christmas day. I’ll have the nurse come get you the minute you can see him.” The doctor smiled at Patsy.

“Doc,” Seth said. “I’m Detective Harding, Rogue County special investigator. I need to talk to Bruce. Is he awake?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. Let me see if he’s done being stitched.”

Seth hugged his wife. “I’m going to talk to Bruce, then I have to go back to work. Are you all right with that?”

Carly nodded. “Go find the bastard who killed Amber Lynn.”

“That’s my intention. I love you,” Seth said.

He kissed his wife on the mouth, then followed the doctor to the ER cubicle.

“He’s done.” The doctor held the curtain open for Seth. “Detective Harding is here to see you.”

Bruce lay on a gurney. His face was bruised and swollen, and a piece of gauze was taped over the gash on his forehead. His left leg was elevated on pillows and encased in a dark-blue cast starting just below his knee. Except for his broken leg, he was piled in white thermal blankets. An IV line disappeared under them. He blinked at Seth and reached for a plastic cup of water on the rolling tray. Seth helped him direct the straw between his cracked lips.