Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (80 page)

He spoke first. “Hi. Sorry to disturb you so late, but my car
broke down and I need to call a tow truck. I was hoping to talk to you anyway.
May I come in?”

“About what?” Barry said as he took a step back from the door.

He noticed Barry’s hesitancy, so he stepped into the hallway and
glanced around. Kay stood on the stairs in a blue shirt and blue jeans. The
tight curls of her brown hair swept around her face. She appeared tired, but a
natural beauty over shone the droop in her eyelids. She had the same slim figure
as her daughter.

He pushed the hood off his head. “Hello, Mrs. Miller.”

“Hello,” she answered hesitantly.

“Who are you?” Barry asked, one hand still on the open door.

“Vincent Fonck sent me….”

“How do you know Vincent?” Barry demanded.

“He sent me to retrieve a painting that was left to him in a
will by Kay’s father.”

“The painting is gone,” Barry said bluntly.

“Yes. I heard. I’m also sorry about your nephew’s death. I…”

Barry abruptly cut him off. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing, except that he died in this house.”

“His body was found in the house, Mr…?” Barry let the question
hang.

“Bowden. Chase Bowden.”

“That doesn’t mean he was killed here.”

“Humm.” Considering the condition of the body and the room as he
had found them, he didn’t think the body had been moved.
Why would Barry
believe otherwise?

Kay descended a few steps. “I believe Mr. Bowden wanted to use
the phone.”

“Yes, please. And could you suggest a tow?”

“A cousin of mine owns a company in Bellevue. Would you like to
use that?” Kay asked as she reached the base of the stairs.

“That’s fine.”

“Where’s your car?” she asked as she picked up a phone in the
kitchen.

“On the street. Close by. If you could just have him meet me
here...”

“Dead battery?” Barry asked.

“Vandalism.”

“While you were watching the house?”

He looked him in the eyes. “No. I was with my car when it
happened.”
This man was very suspicious or hiding something.
“I wasn’t going to mention
it to you, but since you insinuated that I was spying on you, I guess I will.”

Barry glared back.

“I was shot at. The bullets wrecked the car.”

Kay reentered the room. “Why would someone shoot at you?” she
asked, sounding amazed. It hadn’t been the first time for him, although never
with ghost bullets. Now that was something she would really get amazed over.

“Good question. And one I can’t answer.”

Kay offered a possibility. “Because you were coming out here to
talk to us?”

“No. I didn’t know you were home. Although the shooter might
have thought that. I wanted to take a look at the office, if that’s okay?”

Barry shook his head. “You were going to break in?” he snapped.

He wanted to fling back the fact that he had already been in the
house, but controlled his response. This man rubbed him the wrong way. “I
thought the police still had control of the scene. I hoped for a little
professional courtesy from them.”

Kay stepped in between the two men. “The truck is on its way.
And I think we’ve forgotten to show you a little courtesy ourselves. Would you
like some tea or hot apple cider?”

“Apple cider, please. Thank you
.”
It would warm up
what Riley had made cold. His insides.

Kay smiled. “Barry, show Mr. Bowden the study, while I get the
cider.”

Barry frowned. He turned his back and walked down the hall into
the study. He flipped the light on as he entered, then stepped to the side of
the door. Bowden walked past him and looked around. Barry didn’t leave. He
folded his hands behind his back and watched closely.

Bowden pointed to the bare spot on the wall. “I assume that’s
where the picture hung?”

Barry nodded his head, still refusing to speak.

“And Adam’s body was found where?”

Barry pointed at the desk.

“Would you show me, please?”

Barry walked behind the desk and pointed at the floor.

“Who found him?”

“I don’t know. We weren’t home. Someone called the police
anonymously.”

“Really?”

Barry didn’t reply.

“From where?”

“Didn’t ask.”

Kay walked into the room with a mug. “Didn’t ask what?” she
said.

She handed it to Bowden who took it in his left hand and sipped
the hot cider. Barry didn’t answer her, so he did.

“I was wondering where the anonymous call had been made from.”

Kay lifted her hands, looking surprised. “I don’t know.”

“And how did the person know Adam was here? He didn’t live here,
did he?”

She shook her head.

“How was he found? Did someone break in?”
Could it have been
Andre Fonck?

Barry snorted. “We don’t know that either. We weren’t home.”

“I assume you’ve talked to the police already?”

Barry cocked his head sideways, and took a step towards him.
“Yes. We have.”

“Do they have a suspect?”

“They did. Probably still do. Which makes me wonder how you got
out of jail and why you are here.”

“They didn’t know who I was.”

Barry stepped closer, his chest inches from Bowden’s, his tone
challenging. “And neither do I.”

“Call Vincent.” He turned away and opened the top drawer on the
desk. It was full of offices supplies, pencils, pens and blank paper. He opened
the drawer on the side of the desk and pulled out a pile of paper. He rifled
through bills and statements. The bottom drawer held navigational charts, some
in book form and some loose, which he spread out on the desk.

“Dad did a lot of boating,” Kay said, when she saw the charts.

Most of them were written on. Courses had been drawn out with a
ruler or straight edge. Longitudes and latitudes were scrawled all over the
charts.

Riley had said the picture was of a scene looking from the water
toward the land
.
“Where does he keep his boat?”

“In Everett.”

Bowden scratched his head. He couldn’t search the room like he
wanted to with them standing there. He needed a solid two hours of
uninterrupted time to really check out everything. He picked up the mug and
took another sip of the hot cider, examining the room slowly from behind the
desk, which faced the door. Kay and Barry watched him closely.

Kay had been more accommodating than Barry, so he made his next
request to her. “Could I see your father’s room?”

“Of course. It’s upstairs. The door on the right.”

He left the study and walked down the hall. Barry and Kay let
him go.

“What are you doing? Letting him walk around like that?” Barry
asked Kay loudly.

Chase paused to hear the answer.

“He’s only trying to help.”

“He’s trying to help Vincent. Maybe you should call your uncle
and find out about this guy. He might not even know him.”

Bowden walked up the stairs. There was only one door on the
right side of the stairs. A hallway to the left contained five other doors. He
opened the door on his right. The room smelled musty. Eight months ago, Kay’s
father had died in his sleep, in his bed, in this room. He turned the light on
and walked in.

A tan and white comforter covered the bed, but the sheets were
missing. A fine layer of dust rested on the dresser and the windowsill. 
The dresser was still full of clothes. He opened the top drawer and lifted the
clothes up. There was a black leather wallet buried beneath them. He opened it
up and found that it was empty.

“My grandfather always carried that.”

He looked up. Tara stood in the doorway wearing a white
terrycloth robe. Dark circles under her eyes indicated that she had been
crying.

5

Tara looked at the wallet that Bowden held in his hand. “I gave
him a new wallet for Christmas, two years ago, but he couldn’t throw that one
away.”

He put the worn-out wallet back in the drawer.

“I saw the door open,” Tara said as she stepped in. “I’ve never
seen it open since his death.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She looked around the room, standing with her bare
feet on the old brown carpet. “Grandpa bought a lot of things for a lot of
people, but he rarely bought anything for himself.” She looked down at the
carpet and lifted her toes. “This carpet has been in this room since I was a
little child; maybe longer.”

She looked up at him and tried to smile. “I’m sorry. You didn’t
come here to listen to me being sentimental. Were you trying to find
something?”

He nodded and smiled. “It’s okay. I mean… your reminiscing.”

He opened another drawer and looked through the clothes. He glanced
over at Tara. She was watching him. He closed the drawer and glanced around the
room. He couldn’t work with her watching him. He didn’t want to offend her.
Rummaging through her grandfather’s belongings, digging for clues, might affect
her.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked as he walked to a
window and looked out. He could see the darker forest through the slashing rain
and the blackness of the night.

“About a year. We moved in when Grandpa wasn’t able to care for
himself. That way Mom could help him.”

He could see Tara in the reflection of the window. Her shoulders
sagged and her head drooped. She appeared exhausted.

“How are you doing?”

A tear formed in the corner of her eye and rolled down her
cheek. She stared silently at Bowden without answering. He wondered what he had
said to strike such a sensitive nerve.

She lifted her arm and dabbed the terrycloth sleeve against the
teardrop. “You’re the only one who has asked me that—and I don’t even
know you.” She let her arm fall to her side and the tears began to flow. “I’m
sorry,” she said between sobs.

“I’m Chase Bowden. I’m here on behalf of your uncle Vincent.”

Tara rubbed her face against her sleeve, causing her blond hair
to roll over her shoulders. “Are you here for the painting?” The question was
followed by a sniff.

He nodded.

“Everyone comes here to look at the painting. It’s gone now.”

“Who is everyone?”

“Relatives. They started showing up about a month ago. They
would drop by to chat and then they would go stare at the painting.” She ran a
finger along the top of the dresser. “No one ever showed an interest in it
before.”

She looked at the streak and then at the dirt on her finger.
“That was about the same time that Uncle Vince sent a letter requesting Mom
ship it to him. About a week ago, it disappeared. Then yesterday Adam was
murdered.” She rubbed the dirt from her finger into the palm of her other hand,
then stared at him with big, wet eyes. “I don’t know what is going on.”

“Do you know who…” Bowden almost asked about the painting first
but caught himself, “would want to kill Adam?”

She shook her head.

He wanted to believe her. She stood in front of him, clothed in
white—beautiful. Her crystal blue eyes shone with a purity that kept him
from considering her as a suspect. He could be wrong, but eyes don’t lie.

“Do you know who would want the painting?”

“I think everyone did.”

“But you don’t know why?”

Tara shook her head again, her blond hair lifting and falling
over her shoulders.

“Do you think the two are connected?”

“You mean…?” She pursed her lips as she thought about it. “If
they had happened at the same time, sure. But… Yeah, it’s still possible, I
guess.” She tilted her head, bit her lip. “I hadn’t thought of it before.”

“Do you think he died in the study?”

Tara’s head came up. “Why? Did you find something?”

“No. It was just a comment that your dad made.”

She shook her head. “I just assumed he died in the study. But we
weren’t home. Mom and I were at Bellevue Square, shopping, and Dad was looking
at some real-estate.”

He wanted to circle her in
his arms, pull her close, hold her tight. She seemed confused,

hurt, and innocent. He wanted to protect her. No. That wasn’t
the word. She wasn’t in any danger, that he knew of. Security. He wanted to
give her security.

“I’m sorry about the questions.” He glanced around the bedroom
wishing he could stay with her. “I guess I’d better see if the tow-truck is
here yet.”

He started for the door. She reached back and closed it. She
leaned against it and looked up into his face. He flushed and his heart started
pounding.
There’s no way this could be happening
,
he thought. She wasn’t the
type to invite a man. He gazed into her eyes and saw confusion. He placed his
hand on the door, inches above Tara’s shoulder.

He could smell the shampoo from her shower. He didn’t know what
to say. Maybe he should just kiss her.

She took a deep breath. “I….” She swallowed the word. “Mr.
Bowden, do you believe in ghosts?”

“No. They’re….” The response came automatically along with a
chuckle that said
you’ve got to be kidding
.
“Well. Up to an hour ago, I would have said, ‘no.’”

Her eyes widened. “You saw him? Gray hat?”

Bowden back-peddled and she followed him. “Gray coat?” Her eyes
sparkled.

He nodded. There was an eagerness, an excitement in her eyes,
that wasn’t there for him.

“Recently? He’s still around?”

“Yes. I saw him about an hour ago.”

She smiled broadly. “I haven’t seen him since I was a little
kid. Grandpa used to tell me stories about him. I would sit on his lap and he
would make me promise not to tell anyone, and then he would tell me about the
ghost. When I visited here, the ghost would come to my room and talk to me and
sing me to sleep.”

Tara looked through Bowden, as if her thoughts were taking her
back a dozen years. “But I haven’t seen him for a long time. I thought maybe
adults couldn’t see him.”

Her voice trailed off and her gaze drifted out the window. He
turned to see if the ghost was outside. No.

She laughed. “He always told me he worked for the FBI.”

Bowden spun around.
A Bureau man?
“I should get going.” He glanced at his watch but his eyes
didn’t focus on the numbers.
What was the Bureau doing out here?

He reached past Tara and grasped the doorknob. She put her hand
on his chest and opened her mouth to say something, then her mouth closed and
her hand slid off his chest to fall at her side.

Peaches. That was what her shampoo smelled like. He turned the
knob and she stepped back, her eyes still locked on his.

“Do you know his name?” he asked, curious.

Tara shook her head.

“It’s Sam Riley.”

He stepped through the door leaving Tara behind, a faint smile
on her lips as if recalling fond memories.

Kay met him at the bottom of the stairs. She held his hot cider
in one hand while she spoke to a large man wearing heavy boots and blue
coveralls. “Chase Bowden, this is my cousin, Doug Sanderson.”

Bowden stuck out his hand.

Doug grabbed it and shook it vigorously. “I’d of hooked your car
on the way here, but I didn’t see it.”

“I’ll show you.” He took his cup from Kay and asked, “May I take
it with me?”

She flashed him a smile. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He looked for Barry, but couldn’t see him. He
turned to Doug. “I’m ready.”

The big man lumbered out into the rain, covering the distance to
the tow truck quickly, with long strides.

He pulled his hood up over his head and then put his hand over
his mug before stepping out into the driving rain. He ran behind Doug until he
reached the truck. Going to the passenger side, he grabbed the handle and
tugged. It was locked. A moment later, Doug reached over and unlocked it.

“Sorry about that,” Doug said, as water ran from his hairline
and onto his forehead. He wiped it off with the back of his sleeve.

Bowden wondered if anyone could get used to all this rain.
“That’s all right,” he said.

The big engine in the tow truck roared to life when Doug turned
the key. “Kay said you were out here looking into Adam’s murder. She said that
Vincent hired you. How did you get out here so fast?”

“I was already on my way. I had originally come for the
painting.”

“Yeah? That painting thing is a mystery. It’s worthless. Amateur.
Why would a burglar take that? Only that? You know. Nothing else was taken.”

“Turn right,” Bowden instructed, when they reached the end of
the driveway.

“Oh, you missed the driveway? Pretty easy to do in the dark.”
The engine grew louder as Doug accelerated. “Are you going to need a ride back
to your hotel?”

“Yes. I’m at the Sheraton downtown.”

Doug whistled. “Nice place.” He rubbed his thumb against his
first two fingers. “I’ll bet that costs some bucks.”

Bowden chuckled. It did, but this was his fifth night in Seattle,
and he hadn’t slept in that bed yet. Vincent was paying. “There’s the car.”

Doug pulled past and backed up to it. He jumped out and a few
minutes later he jumped back in, soaking wet. “Your car’s full of water.”

“It’s a rental.”

“Oh. You know it doesn’t always rain like this.”

“Really? I heard you guys once had 98 consecutive days of rain.”

Doug laughed. “We had 98 consecutive days where we had some
precipitation. It didn’t rain like this.”

Chase only nodded. He didn’t feel like talking. He had too many
loose ends that he had to tie together… and too many cases.

“Do you want to go downtown? I’ve got a lot down there, too. It
will cost you a little more than stopping in Bellevue, but I could drop you off
at the Sheraton.”

“Thanks.”

It was still raining when he jumped out of the truck and ran up
to the doors of his hotel. A man in the hotel’s uniform opened them for him.
The man pointed at a barrel with about six umbrellas in it. “You may take an
umbrella next time you go out, sir.”

Bowden beat the rain from his coat and then flipped the hood
back. His short hair had flattened against his head. He ran his hand through it
and walked to the elevator, thinking that with the hotel issuing umbrellas,
Doug’s claim somehow didn’t ring true.

Once in his room, he crawled out of his wet clothes. He set the
plug in the bottom of the Jacuzzi and turned on the hot water, then wandered
over to the phone and dialed it. It rang three times before it was picked up on
the other end, but no one spoke.

“It’s Chase Bowden. I’m at the Sheraton….”

“In Seattle,” finished the person on the other end. “I know
that. I just couldn’t think who we had out there.”

“Hi, Sandy.”

“Hello, Chase. What do you want now?”

He laughed. “What? What makes you think I want something?”

“You never call to ask me to dinner,” she said in a pouting
voice.

“I’ve got reservations at nine if you can make it.”

She laughed. “What do you need?”

“I ran into something out here I didn’t expect.” He wondered how
he should phrase the question. He decided to start with a little history.
“Seventy years ago an FBI agent was killed here. A bullet to the head. I’d like
to find out about that, and the case he was working on. His name was Sam
Riley.”

“Sam Riley, FBI,” Sandy echoed. “Seventy years?” Her voice held
a tinge of disbelief.

“That’s what I understand.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can find.”

“And Sandy?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be at this number all night.”

There was silence on the other end. “You want this
tonight
?”

“It’s important.”

“Chase. The case is seventy years old. It can’t be that
important and, as if I have to remind you, you don’t work here any more.”

He sat silently for a moment. His next words were whispered. “I
know, Sandy. Just as soon as you can, okay?”

“Sure. And be careful out there.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Chase.”

He hung up the phone. The water was still running in the Jacuzzi
and he walked into the bathroom to check on it. It wasn’t full. A small fridge
sat in the room and he opened it up looking for a beer. He found champagne,
chardonnay, red wine and white wine. He kept digging. In the back he found a
forty of Red Hook ale and a forty of Samuel Adams. He pulled these out and shut
the fridge.