Fatal Storm (4 page)

“Very wealthy and very cursed,” the flower
child said with a shiver.

The chief pulled Padre aside and said,
“Usually we would question these three separately, but I don’t want
them out of my sight.”

“Agreed. How do you want to handle it?”

“You start the questioning. I’ll jump in from
time to time. Start with whoever the hell the leader is. I’d say
the tall one.”

John motioned Jack over. “I told my men just
to do a quick walk through the house. When they are through, have
them search the property, two in each direction. There are
walkie-talkies in the cars. Have them contact me if they find
anything out of the ordinary. They have a photo of the missing
person.” He waited for the sergeant to leave, then turned back to
the group. Leyton stood over them like the hulking gargoyle on the
roof’s turret.

“Mister Monroe is Sheila’s father,” John
started. “He is here to listen and learn but not to interfere.
Isn’t that right, Leyton?”

Leyton turned his wrath on the chief, but
after a few seconds snorted his agreement and reluctantly sat down
on one of the high back throne chairs. John pushed a button on the
recorder, then nodded toward Padre who pulled out several sheets of
paper.

“Josh McReady?”

“That’s me,” Lurch replied. His hair was as
red as the chief’s. Macabre tattoos of skulls and snakes covered
his arms. He looked more like an overgrown kid in sagging cutoffs
and a tee shirt with a skull and cross bones in the center.

“You founded the Indiana Paranormal
Investigators two years ago. Is that correct?”

“Yes, me and Flea, I mean Curt Fleeter.”

“That’s me.” The geek gave a limp wave but
dropped his hand quickly when he saw the scowl forming on Leyton’s
face. The thick glasses made his eyes resemble a cartoon
character’s. “I handle the electronic equipment although we are
both fairly knowledgeable about electronics. Me, of course, more
than Josh,” he added.

Padre turned toward the flower child.
“Veronica Ernstine.”

“I go by Venus now,” she replied. “Just my
first name.”

“Oh jezzus.” Leyton gave an eye roll toward
the ceiling but stared in amazement as though impressed with the
wood moulding.

“You met Josh when you attended Northwestern
University and...”

“For crissake,” Leyton snapped. “Let’s cut
this bullshit and ask them what happened last night.”

“Leyton,” John cautioned. “We have to confirm
their identity for the record, so please...”

“All right, okay.” Leyton folded his arms
across his chest.

“Move on,” John said.

“What time did you arrive?”

Josh went through the timeline, how his trio
had arrived at three o’clock to set up. Sheila didn’t arrive until
four-thirty. They had explained their equipment and procedure to
Sheila as a photographer snapped numerous photos. “Her notes are
still here.” Josh motioned at the notebook at the end of the table.
“We did a walk-through of the house before it got too dark. Then we
ate and waited.”

“Waited for what?” Padre asked.

“You know.” Josh motioned with his hands.
“For things to go bump in the night.”

“And man did they ever,” Flea said with the
excitement of a four-year-old. Washed out jeans hung on his bony
frame. His arms were in need of a gym as there appeared to be very
little muscle mass under his shirt.

“Creeped me out,” Venus said with a
shiver.

John and Padre exchanged glances. Leyton had
a permanent scowl on his face.

“When is the last time you saw Miss Monroe?”
Padre asked.

“Around three this morning, or a little
before three. We were getting some really good EVP readings.”

“EVP?” Padre asked.

“Electronic voice phenomenon. Usually what we
can’t hear is sometimes picked up by our EVP recorder. But last
night was phenomenal,” Josh added with a wide grin.

“Yeah,” Flea agreed. “It was awesome. We
caught it all on tape.”

“I should have conducted a seance,” Venus
added with a sigh.

Leyton opened his mouth but John held up his
hand to head him off.

“Anyway,” Josh continued, “we were all on the
second floor. Then Venus and I made our way to the first floor. We
were looking for candles in the kitchen because we were losing
power.”

“And where was Miss Monroe at the time?”
Padre asked.

“She went off on her own,” Josh replied. “We
each had flashlights and she wanted to, I don’t know, check things
out for herself.”

“Why didn’t you just turn the damn lights
on?” Leyton snarled.

“You don’t investigate haunted houses with
lights on,” Josh snapped.

“What? The light hurts their eyes?” Leyton
rolled his eyes toward John.

“Besides, the power went out,” Venus reminded
them.

Padre suppressed a smile. “So then what
happened?”

“When Josh and I returned to the library, we
heard her,” Venus offered.

“Miss Monroe?” Padre asked.

“No, the little girl.”

“Little girl?” John asked.

“It was Julia,” Venus clarified. “That’s who
went missing back in...”

“We don’t need a history lesson.”

“Leyton, if you don’t mind.” The chief was
ready to send Leyton home. “Just let them finish.”

“Our research identified the original owners
of the house as Jonathan and Marian Sebold. Julia was the
daughter.” Venus started to add.

“Back to Sheila Monroe,” Padre said.

“So, Venus and I were in the library, Flea
was still upstairs, but Blondie...”

“She has a name, dammit,” Leyton huffed.

“Uh, yes. Sorry. Sheila was god knew where,”
Josh replied.

“There was a terrible storm,” Flea
interjected. “We lost power, it like knocked out all of our
electronics. We thought we heard a scream but it was only the wind
howling. Must have been a tornado because, like man, I have never
seen a storm that severe before. Anyway, we took candles and
searched the entire house. We called out her name. None of our cell
phones were working. The walkie-talkies were out so we waited in
the ballroom for daylight.”

“So you left her.” It almost sounded as
though Leyton’s voice had cracked. “I’ll sue the lot of you for
neglect.”

“Hey, her car was still parked outside so we
knew she was still somewhere in the house,” Josh argued. “Besides,
she signed an agreement not to hold us accountable.”

“And I have ten lawyers on staff who will
drill holes in that agreement.” Leyton’s threat was interrupted by
John’s walkie-talkie.

“Go ahead, Jack”

“We have a body, Chief.”

“Hey, big boy. How about a cheese curl?” Sara
poked the treat between the grating in the door, but the scarlet
macaw looked past her shoulder and trained one ringed eye on
Dagger. “Come on Einstein. You like cheese curls.” Without turning
she said, “Dagger, you are making Einstein nervous. You pace like a
caged animal. You’ve avoided playing with him, and he can tell
something is wrong. You know he’s very sensitive.”

Dagger yanked open his desk drawer, pulled
out a Brazil nut, and held it up. “His only problem is he doesn’t
recognize me without my beard. All he sees is razor burn.” He
shoved the Brazil nut through the grating and took time to rub the
top of Einstein’s head. The macaw grabbed the treat with one claw,
studied it, squawked his approval, and flew to the top of the
fifteen foot tree in his aviary.

“What you need is a case.”

“What I need is food.”

“I’ll buy you lunch. Just listen to a few of
these first.” Sara sifted through the opened mail and pulled out a
letter. Dagger Investigations was never advertised. People heard
about them only through referrals. Dagger used a post office box
which Simon checked and hand delivered the contents several times a
week.

“Did you take your vitamins?”

“Yes, all eighty million of them. I feel like
a walking chemical factory.” Dagger plopped down on the couch and
rested his legs on the coffee table.

“There aren’t eighty million. Such a baby.”
Sara snapped the letter open. “Here’s one. How about the case of
the missing heirloom. A vase from the Ming Dynasty which has been
in the family for fifty years disappeared while the family was in
Europe.”

“Inside job. Tell them to check a family
member who needed drug money.” Dagger stretched out, hands behind
his head. “Could also be one of the cleaning people.” He glanced up
at the steel crosswalk which bisected the upper floor. The windows
on the first floor extended all the way to the ceiling. Above the
crosswalk was a large skylight. Sara’s bedroom was upstairs while
Dagger’s living quarters were downstairs. Simon constantly reminded
him of the number of stairs from the first floor to Sara’s
bedroom.

Sara tossed that letter aside and picked up
another. “Hmmmm, here’s a woman who claims her husband was
kidnapped by aliens and replaced by one of their own.”

“We’ll get Skizzy on that one. He’ll believe
whatever the woman says.” His eyes swept to where Sara was leaning
on the wooden ledge surrounding his work area. Waist length hair in
a myriad of colors ranging from black to auburn to blonde drifted
down her arms. Plum-colored slacks hugged every curve of her body.
He dragged his thoughts to the empty suitcase in his bedroom. It
had been his plan since their last case that once he was back on
his feet he would leave. The more he stuck around, the more in
danger everyone would be. Every time he even entertained the
thought of packing his suitcase, Sara always gave him a subtle
reminder how he was no longer in danger from BettaTec. She never
tried to talk him out of packing. Matter of fact, on more than one
occasion she had offered to help. Maybe once his razor burn healed
he would pack.

“Here’s one.” Sara straightened and turned
from the desk. “A fourteen-month cold case. Kara Jensen claims her
husband, Rick, left for a business meeting in Miami but never made
it.”

“Him and two thousand other bored
husbands.”

“Not really. His car was found on Fenton Road
with a flat tire.”

“I’m sure Padre and his team of crack
detectives investigated that one thoroughly. If Padre didn’t find
anything, no one will.”

“Well, they didn’t find anything and the wife
is desperate.” Sara shoved the sleeves up on her pink sweater as
she carried the letter to the couch. He noticed how the clothes she
wore blended with the decor. Mauve and pink flowers could be found
in the fabric of just about every piece of furniture and the area
rug. It made his eyeballs ache. Dagger’s idea of color was a
lighter shade of gray. Black and gray were about all he ever
dressed in.

“Look.” Sara held up a picture of a blue-eyed
baby with a pink floral band in her hair. “She was only six-months
old when he left. The wife claims Rick would walk over hot coals
for Bella. Whenever he traveled he always contacted her on the web
cam to say goodnight.”

“Yeah, cute kid. I still say hubby found a
warm body to cling to. It wouldn’t be the first time a husband
suddenly is a father and not quite liking the role. You do remember
Scott Peterson, right?”

“Except he didn’t disappear. His pregnant
wife did.”

“Yeah, but some men feel impending fatherhood
puts a crimp in their freedom. Jensen made it look like he met with
some ill-fate, but probably abandoned his car and hopped on a
motorcycle he stashed nearby and took off. Were his bank accounts
cleaned out?”

Sara skimmed the rest of the letter. “Don’t
know. We’d have to ask Padre. Poor woman. Without a body she can’t
even claim the insurance money to live on.”

“Ah, money. The root of all evil.” He swung
his legs off the table and sat up.

“Speaking of money, we haven’t made any in
the last two months.” Sara sat down on the coffee table facing him.
“You know, the green stuff.”

Money was the last of their worries. Dagger
had tons of it from previous jobs, both legal and questionable. He
paid Sara rent for his share of the house and a salary as his
assistant at Dagger Investigations. But money had never been high
on Sara’s list of wants. If anything, he had created a Robin to his
Batman, a Tonto to his Cochise. She had instincts better than his
and talents he could never do without. Sara’s only problem was
boredom. He studied those turquoise eyes, flawless skin, and sultry
lips and had to keep reminding himself not to mix business with
pleasure. It didn’t help that every other word out of Simon’s mouth
told him to go for it before someone else nabbed her.

Dagger pulled the letter from Sara’s grasp
and heaved out a lengthy sigh. “I was really getting used to
lounging around.”

“I noticed.”

He skimmed the letter and studied the picture
of Kara and Bella Jensen. “Okay. Have Skizzy hack into the police
department records and print out everything they’ve got. Then we
can discuss the case over lunch.”

The man lay face down in a shallow ditch
seventy yards from the mansion. It was obvious from the path of
bent and twisted foliage that he had barreled through a thick patch
of underbrush. Around his neck was a silk scarf with bold red
flowers against a black background. His hands had been duct-taped
behind his back. Leyton was the last to arrive, fearful of what he
might find.

“It’s a man, sir,” Sergeant Jackson assured
him. The patrolmen parted as Leyton pulled to a stop next to Padre
and Wozniak.

Padre studied the ground between the ditch
and the mansion. It looked as though a herd of elephants had
trampled the area; and with all the rain last night, any indication
of what direction the deceased might have come from had been washed
away. The sky overhead didn’t look promising. Clouds were a low
ceiling of threatening gray, hardly moving as though too heavy to
keep aloft and looking for a place to rest.