Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) (9 page)

“Those boys don’t understand,” was all she managed to get out before hiccupping.

He dropped his hand but continued to watch her. “So tell me about it.”

She sniffled somewhat. “Tell you about what?”

“Tell me about your dad. Why’d you run away?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. That’s the sad part of
it. The two people who drove me away aren’t even alive anymore.” She shook her head and took the napkin he offered her. Dabbing her eyes, she stared out the passenger window. “He couldn’t handle looking at me.”

Hearing the pain in her voice, he felt sorrow for her. It was natural. What wasn’t natural was the urge he had to pull her into his arms. That was getting way too personal, and just exactly what Trace had warned him not do.

“We looked like our mom, Rachel and me. And after she and Momma died he broke down around me all the time. He was devastated.”

“Grief is a cruel thing.”

“I was only six. I had been in the hospital for weeks recovering. All I wanted to do was go home and be normal again.” She blew her nose and shook her head sadly. “I didn’t understand that things would never be normal again. Not until I looked in the mirror and saw Rachel’s face staring back at me.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes filled with sadness. “That’s when I realized why Daddy got so sad every time he looked at me. He was seeing
Rachel’s face too. And Momma’s.”

He swore, letting his head fall back against the headrest as he studied her face. “You were just a kid, Roxy. There was nothing you could have done differently. It’s a miracle you survived.”

“A miracle, or a curse?” She looked away from him, obviously self-conscious.

“A miracle. It seems strange to me that you don’t realize that after all of these years.”

“All my face has done is bring people in my family a lot of unhappiness. That’s why I disappeared. I was causing problems in my father’s marriage. He was sad and angry and miserable. So was my stepmother.” She sighed, shutting her eyes as if a movie of her past was playing inside her head. “I was a disaster, Chas. You don’t know. You were a lot older than me. I was drinking and smoking. I was self-destructing just to get my father to acknowledge who I was.”

“I did my share of testing my parents. All kids do it.”

“Not like me. And my father was a cop. I put him through hell on purpose. And then, when I
knew he couldn’t take any more, I took off.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never considered running away from his family, even at the worst of times.

“And not only that, I’ve made a complete mess of my life. I haven’t had any one job for more than six months. The first nice apartment I managed to get, I just lost. I’ve slept in cars, bus stations, airports. You name it, I’ve done it. And you would think that over all this time, and all of those experiences, I would have learned something, or changed something in my life for the better.” She shook her head at him again. “But I haven’t, Chas. I’m still blind and stupid and selfish.”

“A selfish person doesn’t give up everything and come home to help two kids they hardly know.”

“They do if they lose their job, their car and what little dignity they have left.” She met his gaze. “They do if they have nothing else to lose at this point, except maybe the guilt that’s been eating at them for the past ten years for taking off in the first place.”

“You’re being extremely hard on yourself right
now. You didn’t have to come here. You could have turned your back and you didn’t. That’s worth something, don’t you think?” There was something about Roxy Tavish that was getting under his normally thick skin in a big way. He didn’t want to admit that to himself and he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit it to her. All the same, it was true.

“Not enough.” She let out a sigh and turned away from him. “Maybe we should put off seeing Dylan until tomorrow. I’m not sure I can take another round of stone throwing, even if I do deserve it.”

He shrugged his shoulders, reaching for the food bag again. “Believe it or not, things could have gone worse in there with Devon. This is a start. You survived.”

“I froze up,” she reminded him, wiping the last remnants of tears from her face.

“Shock does that to a person.”

The ringing of his cell phone kept her from responding. He connected the call.

“Yeah?”

“We have a problem. Dylan Tavish is missing,”
Trace said levelly. “He snuck out last night. His foster parents haven’t seen him since dinner yesterday. He went to bed and when they went to wake him this morning, he had vanished. It’s possible he’s been gone as many as twelve to sixteen hours.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. The area’s being canvassed. The foster family’s house is near the Riverfront Park. I’m guessing our boy has gone underground somewhere. The question is where?”

“I don’t know. I’m on my way back. He might head home.”

“It’s possible. How’d the visit with the other one go?”

“You don’t want to know. I’ll talk to you later.” He disconnected his phone, not really wanting to break this news to Roxy, considering how rotten her day had been so far.

He turned the key and started the engine abruptly.

“What?” she asked, obviously sensing that something was wrong.

“You don’t have to worry about seeing Dylan today, after all.”

“Why not?” she asked carefully, as though she knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Because he hasn’t been seen since six o’clock last evening. He’s missing.”

EIGHT

It didn’t take long for them to get back to Cavern Creek. Roxy followed Chas into the police department, her head reeling. It wasn’t really shocking that Dylan had run off. It was shocking that they hadn’t anticipated this happening.

“No news,” Trace said in greeting when they walked into his office. “Just got an update from Spokane. They’re still looking but they suspect he’ll head here. He probably has some friends—or his brother does—that he’ll have hide him. Someone should probably talk to Devon again.”

“Yeah, right,” Chas scoffed, sitting on a corner of Trace’s neatly organized desk, and earning himself a scowl. “He’s not going to be of any help. Neither will any of his friends. They won’t rat him out.”

“Maybe they will if I talk to them,” Roxy suggested.

“I doubt it. Kids stick together when it comes to
ratting on each other,” Trace said, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t believe those foster parents didn’t keep a better eye on that kid. They were warned he was a flight risk.”

“Yeah, well I’m thinking Dylan may have more to hide than what meets the eye,” Chas remarked thoughtfully.

“You think Dylan did the shooting and Devon’s covering for him,” Trace figured out aloud. “It’s possible.”

“Maybe neither one of them did it? Did you ever think of that?”

Both Chas and Trace turned to stare at Roxy. Chas spoke first.

“Obviously. But with no other suspects and no witnesses, we have no choice but to pursue Devon.”

“Maybe you should concentrate on
finding
another suspect, rather than railroading two young kids who seem to be fighting an uphill battle with the world.” Roxy could see Chas getting mad and she didn’t care. As hurt as she was at how her brother had treated her, she knew his behavior was all in response to the loneliness and desperation he
was feeling. She knew that because at one time, she’d been in his place.

“Don’t get soft on me, Roxy. I know you want to believe your brothers are innocent, but you must admit that neither of them are doing much to help themselves. Devon’s doing everything he can to spoil his defense and Dylan running off just makes him look guilty as hell.”

“They’re kids,” she said simply. “They don’t know the right things to do here.”

“Well they sure as hell aren’t giving us much chance to tell them.”

Trace stared from his brother to Roxy and then back again. Then he shut his eyes and shook his head. “God, you two sound like an old married couple. Are you sure you just met yesterday?”

Both Chas and Roxy leveled him with a glare. He held his hands up in surrender. “Arguing isn’t going to solve this problem.” He looked at Roxy. “We are searching for anyone with a motive that would have wanted Myra Tavish dead. So far, we have nothing. If you have any ideas, we are certainly open to them.”

“I don’t know much about the life my aunt has lead the past ten years. I received cards and letters minimally because I moved around a lot. We talked on the phone once in a great while. I don’t know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt her.”

“Besides your brothers.”

She glared at Chas. “I don’t know that my brothers wanted to hurt her either. There are numerous reasons why your theory that one or both of them shot her is bogus.”

“Okay,” Chas relented arrogantly. “Let’s hear some.”

“For one thing, she’s the only family they had left, excluding me of course. She’s raised them for the past several years as though they were her own sons. She’s done nothing but show them love. Why would they want to hurt the one person who has always been there to pick up the pieces in their lives?”

“She does have a point,” Trace finally said, after a lengthy silence.

“Sometimes those you love are the first people you strike out at when you’re hurting. Besides, the
evidence says otherwise. Until I have a more viable suspect, what am I supposed to do?”

“
Find
a more viable suspect,” Roxy repeated.

“We do need to find the kids’ friends and have a little chat with them.” Trace sat up straight in his chair. “She may have a point about them talking to her, rather than us. They hate cops. She’s just a girl looking for her little brother.”

“She sure as hell isn’t going into that neck of the woods alone.”

“I can handle it, Chas. He’s my brother and I’m prepared to do what is necessary to bring him home. Besides, I know what the rough side of the tracks is like. I’ve been there and done that.”

“And what are you going to do with Dylan when you get him home?” Chas stared at her intently. “A few minutes ago, that thought scared you to death.”

“A few minutes ago, things were different. He wasn’t missing.”

“I’m not trying to undo the pep talk I gave you in the truck, but Dylan probably isn’t going to be any easier to deal with than Devon was. You were pretty upset earlier—”

“I don’t have blinders on, Chas. I know Dylan isn’t going to be a walk in the park.” She let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t have a lot of choices here. He can’t go on the run like I did. We have to find him before it’s too late.”

“She’s right,” Trace interjected, then stood. “Last I heard, Dylan was running around with the Dewitt boy—Danny. And I also saw him with Tommy Wescott. They’re both a year older and go to the junior high.” He looked at Roxy. “You should know right from the start that neither of these boys are likely to help you. I don’t think it would hurt to give it a try though.”

“I’ve seen him with Woody McClean too. He’s more Devon’s pal, I think. That’s one I know won’t be of any help.” Chas frowned evenly. “I know Woody’s parents. Bud McClean is an alcoholic, who spends more of his time at the bar than he does working to support his family. Nelsa is a waitress over at Lola’s.” He looked thoughtful. “I think we’re wasting our time but I suppose we should give it a shot.”

“I can go alone,” Roxy said irritably. “You’re a
cop. They’ll never talk to you.”

“You are not going alone.” Chas’s voice clearly said the subject was not open for discussion. “We’ll head down to the junkyard. That’s where kids like them tend to hang out during the day. We’ll call you later,” he said to Trace and led her through the police station.

“You’re bossy and overbearing,” Roxy snapped as they walked outside into the late afternoon sunshine. She shielded her eyes and glared up at him.

“That’s part of what makes me such a good cop.” He grinned back at her and pushed the key pad of his key ring to unlock the truck doors.

The ride to the junkyard took fifteen minutes. The large, musty area designated for old cars and their parts, lay just on the edge of town, on the other side of a large wooded area, near the highway entrance. Roxy vaguely remembered hanging out here as a teenager. And Trace was right, the kind of kids that frequented this area were not the best friends a person could have.

There was a small shack at the entrance to the
yard, but no one was inside. On the door was a sign that read,
be back later
.

“Who runs the yard?” Roxy asked curiously. The writing on the sign looked like that of a kindergartner.

“Used to be Wally Townsend. Remember him?” Chas steered his truck through the dirt, stirring up dust and smoke as he went.

“Vaguely. Bald and a bad temper. What happened to him?”

“Met with an untimely death a few years back. Heap of junk crushed him to death. There’s not a lot of organization around here. Abel Flannigan bought the place and supposedly runs it now.” Pulling the vehicle to a stop, Chas cut the engine. “A couple of his brothers took over the daily operations but neither of them gives a rat’s ass about it. That
be back later
sign has been on the door for two years. The city council has attempted to shut the place down numerous times but they haven’t managed to get the proper paperwork done yet.”

“In other words, these kids hang out here unattended and do God knows what all day and all
night long.”

“Not entirely. We have patrols that come out here. But we are just a substation. That limits the amount of manpower available to babysit.”

Roxy climbed out of the truck and let her feet slip to the dusty ground. The scent in the air was old, stale. It was familiar at the same time and she felt like gagging. This place had been part of a time in her life that she’d been trying to forget.

“I take it you’ve been here before.” Chas stepped up behind her.

“I already told you what kind of teenager I was. That being said, when I spent time here, it was on the outskirts, not in the midst of hell.”

He chuckled at that. “Well, then follow me. You’re in for a treat.” Chas headed toward the back of the junkyard, slapping at overgrown grass and weeds along the way. It took twenty minutes or so for them to reach a large building that looked like it had been a workshop at one time. Like the shack, it was rundown, with several broken windows and a hole where a door had once been. Without pausing, Chas stepped through the hole and into the waiting
darkness. Roxy followed, but at a much slower pace. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and when they did, she saw several teenagers scampering this and that way, anxious to put cigarettes out and hide what she assumed were bottles of alcohol under whatever was handy.