Dark Powers (5 page)

“Her bed wasn’t slept in?”

“No.”

“Were any of her clothes missing?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you called the police?”

“Not till the next afternoon.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“I expected her to come home. And when I talked to Police Chief Judd, he said she probably ran away.”

“You believe him?”

“I don’t know what to think. That girl and I were rubbing each other the wrong way something fierce.”

Sage could understand why. That was exactly her reaction every time she came home.

Angel had switched her focus to Ben, looking him up and down with an appraising eye like she was considering trying to get him into her bed. “You going to introduce me to your friend?”

He answered, “I’m Ben Walker from Decorah Security.”

“Which is?”

“A detective agency,” Sage answered. “I hired them to help me find Laurel.”

“A detective agency with a fancy name,” Angel said. “Are they expensive?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Sage snapped.

“And Laurel hasn’t been to work since two nights ago?” Ben asked.

“As far as I know.”

“Any thoughts about where she might have gone?”

“She got friendly with some of those waitresses that live down at Mrs. Borden’s. She could have crashed with them.”

“A motel?” Ben asked.

“A boarding house where women live who are working here for the season,” Sage answered. “Some of them are from Baltimore. Others are from out of the country.

“Yeah, they jabber in languages you can’t understand,” Angel added, making Sage cringe again. It was a long time since she’d interacted with Angel in the presence of anyone besides Laurel. It wasn’t pleasant imagining what Ben must think.

“We’ll check there,” Ben said as he kept his gaze on Angel. “Can we have a look at Laurel’s room?”

“I’m on my way out.”

“I’ve got the key,” Sage answered.

Angel eyed Ben. “I don’t like having strange men in the house,” Angel answered.

Sage could think of a cutting retort about the strange men she’d tripped over in the morning. Before she could say anything, though, Ben answered, “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

Angel grudgingly stepped aside, and Sage led Ben toward the back of the house, trying to see the interior from his point of view.

Angel had a bohemian style and a knack for working with other people’s cast-offs. An old chair was artfully draped with scarves. The sagging sofa was disguised with a comforter. And Sage remembered when her mother had dragged home the throw rug she’d found outside someone’s house on trash day. Of course, it had taken a couple of treatments to get the cat pee smell out, but now it was a colorful addition to the room.

Sage led Ben down the hall to Laurel’s room, which was quite different from the little girl’s room at Gary Baker’s.

“We used to share this room,” Sage said. “But when I moved out, she took it over.”

There were still two beds, covered with light blue spreads. One looked like someone had climbed out of it and pulled up the covers in a hasty attempt to smooth them out. The other was piled with stuffed animals that Laurel had collected over the years. Bears, cats, a moose and even a couple of wolves.

A dresser held a jumble of cosmetics and stands with earrings and bracelets. The walls were decorated with posters of hot male rock singers. And when Sage opened the closet, she found blouses, blazers, jeans and a few skirts on hangers, and more clothing lying in a pile on the floor.

“If she ran away, it doesn’t look like she took her clothes,” Ben commented.

“Or her makeup or jewelry,” Sage added.

She crossed to the bed with the stuffed animals and picked up a brown bear wearing a cheerleader’s uniform and carrying pom-poms.

“I gave this to her when she made the cheerleading squad in high school. She loved it. I don’t think she would have just left it here if she was planning to take off.”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed.

He opened some of the dresser drawers and looked under tee shirts and shorts.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for drugs.”

“She doesn’t use them.”

“As far as you know.”

She glared at him. “She wouldn’t.”

He closed the drawer and went on to another. “We need to be objective.”

She wanted to say that was easier for him than it was for her. Instead she kept silent.

He felt under the mattress and came out with a flat cosmetic bag.

Sage watched him open it. Inside was seventy-five dollars.

“It must be from her pay,” Sage said. “And she sure wouldn’t leave that.”

“Right.”

When he started to put the money back, Sage reached for the bag. “I’ll keep it. In case Mom decides to do some snooping.”

He glanced toward the door. “You think she’d take it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Sage put the money in her shoulder bag.

When they walked back to the front of the house, they found that Angel had already left.

Sage locked the door behind them, then climbed into the car, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

“Mom wasn’t always that bad,” she said defensively as they headed back to the car.

“What happened?”

“She’s had a hard life. She’d like to be dependent on a man, but the relationships never work out.”

“Why?”

“She’s no judge of character. If a guy is halfway nice to her, she gets too friendly, and they take advantage of her . . . availability. When they get to know each other better, the relationship is likely to blow up in her face.”

“And she took out her frustrations on you and your sister?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite so strongly. When I was little, she used to try harder with us.”

Ben said nothing, and Sage felt even more uncomfortable..

“I should have left you back at the Beach Breeze.”

“No. I need to get the whole picture, and she’s part of it.”

Chapter Four

Ben kept his tone neutral. He knew Sage had been embarrassed by the encounter with her mother, but he wasn’t going to tell her she shouldn’t have come to Doncaster.

He hadn’t been prepared to partner with her, but he was starting to see how she’d be an asset to the investigation.

“Police station next,” he said.

“It’s one street over from Main. On Oyster. Next to the new library building.”

He headed for Main. After turning the corner, he glanced in his rearview mirror and spotted a blue pickup truck behind them. An ordinary model. There must be scores of them in Doncaster, but this looked like the one that had almost run over Sage in the parking lot at Decorah Security. When he slowed down, trying to get a look at the driver in the rearview mirror, it sped around him and barreled down Main.

He sped up.

“What are you doing?” Sage asked.

“Up ahead. That looks a lot like the pickup from the Decorah Security lot. The one that almost ran you down. There’s mud on the license plate, like this morning. And the driver’s got a baseball cap pulled down over his face.”

She peered through the windshield at the vehicle. “I didn’t get a good look when I was at Decorah. Just a flash of something blue bearing down on me. There’s a ‘J’ on the license plate. That’s all I can see under the mud. And the right rear bumper is dented.”

“Sounds like our suspect, but I didn’t spot him on the way to your mom’s.” He tried to catch up, but the light changed, and the truck zipped across. He could almost imagine the guy in the cab giving them the finger.

“Maybe it was a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” he answered, but in his experience, what looked like a coincidence often turned out to be just the opposite.

When the light changed, he drove several more blocks through the shopping area, but the vehicle in question had disappeared. And there were too many tourists on the street for reckless driving.

“He’s gone,” Sage murmured.

“Yeah.” Ben turned to look at her. “Did anyone know you were going to Decorah Security?”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“And I guess from your mom’s reaction, she didn’t know.”

“I figured—why bother.”

He thought over her answer. “Did you spot the truck on the way over to our offices?”

“I was preoccupied.”

He nodded. Someone could have followed her from her house.

“We were going to the police station.”

“Right. Which way?”

“We have to turn around.”

She told him the cross street, and he doubled back, turning then turning again onto Oyster and pulling up at the police station. It was in a converted clapboard house with a wide front porch. The lawn had been replaced by a wide blacktop parking lot—with a prominent sign marking the Chief’s space. A new Ford King Ranch pickup truck was parked in the slot. A model he knew started around fifty thousand dollars. An expensive ride for a small-town police chief.

He switched his attention from the chief’s wheels to the quaint station house. The facility was probably from about the same era as Angel Baker’s house, but in far better repair.

“Looks charming, but I guess they’ve got jail cells in there.”

“I’ve never been inside. The station used to be in a modern building on Main—totally out of keeping with the rest of the area, but they got a deal on this place. Probably Phil Davis handled the transaction, with the other guys I mentioned chipping in some of the cash—above what the town had to pay. Phil got to move his real estate office to the old building and added some charm to the exterior. Charm is important in Doncaster.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” he said dryly. “And connections.”

When Ben didn’t get out immediately, she gave him a questioning look.

“I’m thinking about our approach.”

“Which is?”

“I think we’ll tell him the same thing we told your mom. The truth. You’ve hired Decorah Security to help you find your sister.”

When she looked uncertain, he asked, “What don’t you like about that?”

“I told you that the town wants to avoid trouble. Judd won’t like it if he thinks we’re pressuring him.”

“If we don’t tell him I’m from Decorah and he finds out later, that might make things worse. Or maybe he already knows. I mean, how did that truck show up outside our offices? It sounds like someone was sent to stop you from investigating your sister’s disappearance.”

She winced. “I hate to think someone would actually come after me.”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“I wish I did.”

“Let me do the talking.”

She bristled. “Because?”

“Just from the little you’ve said, you’ve given me the impression that the chief is more likely to deal with a man on an equal basis than a woman.”

“He’s not likely to deal with anyone on an equal basis, except for people like the mayor and the bank president.”

“That bad?”

“They pay him, so he’s respectful. Otherwise he considers himself a step above ordinary mortals.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They climbed out of the car, and Ben looked around, noting the cameras mounted along the roof line.

“Don’t do anything you don’t want recorded,” he murmured as she followed his gaze.

The Victorian charm ended at the door. Inside, the building had been completely remodeled with a high desk separating the waiting area from the offices in back. A young, uniformed officer standing behind the desk looked at them inquiringly as they stepped through the front door. His blond hair was cut short, and his uniform was neatly pressed. He appeared to be the kind of guy who thought the uniform set him apart—perhaps following the chief’s example. Ben had known men like that in other assignments. This guy’s name tag said “Lancaster.”

In response to the officer’s stare, he said, “We’d like to talk to Chief Judd about Laurel Baker.”

“The girl who ran away?”

“The girl who’s missing.”

“And you are?”

“I’m Ben Walker from Decorah Security.” He got out his P.I. credentials and put them on the desk.

Lancaster inspected the creds and pushed them back toward Ben. “I’ll see if the chief is in,” he said.

Ben refrained from pointing out that if the chief wasn’t in, someone was using his parking space.

They waited at the counter, saying nothing. Finally the kid came back, followed by a heavyset man with a stomach that would have earned him a trip to the diet doctor in a metropolitan police department. But this was the Eastern Shore of Maryland, Ben reminded himself, where the rules were apparently more lax, at least in regard to physical fitness.