Venus in Blue Jeans (29 page)

Cal worked on breathing. In, out.
She wasn’t hurt. She couldn’t be. No.
“Where did they go then, Janie?”

“I don’t
know
!” Janie started sobbing again, scrubbing her fists against her cheeks. “I ran after them when they drove off. I
tried
to keep up, Cal, but I couldn’t run fast enough. They headed east.”

Cal patted her arm, telling himself not to yell. “Where do they live, Janie? Would they go there?”

She shook her head. “Clete lives here in town. But he lives with his folks. They couldn’t go to his place.”

“What about Brody?”

“I don’t
know
.” Janie’s voice was wretched. “I just don’t. Somewhere outside town, I think. I heard he’s got a ranch near the Guadalupe River.”

“Who would know where Brody’s ranch is?” Cal kept his voice level, careful not to let his fury and fear show. Pep moved uneasily in his pocket.

Janie gasped again, her chest heaving. “Ham. Ham Linklatter might.”

“Okay.” Cal took another deep breath, trying to slow the pounding of his pulse. “Get your phone. Call the state police. Call the mayor. Call Allie and Wonder and anyone else who might help.”

Then he stopped, thinking for a moment. “Wait, Janie. Before you call anybody else, call Docia’s father, Billy Kent. Tell him Docia needs him.”

Cal didn’t even consider going for his truck. He couldn’t take the time to head back to the clinic and get it—it was faster to run. He sprinted through the rain toward the police station, fighting down the dark sense of dread that kept making his gut clench. Pep swung silently in his lab coat pocket as his feet hit the pavement.

At the station, light spilled through the front window where he could see Ham Linklatter hunched in his seat at the main desk.

Cal pushed the front door open so hard it crashed back against the wall.

Ham half rose to his feet, staring with his hollow eyes, then subsided into his chair again. “What’s got your ass up, Doc?”

“Your boss, Brody. Where does he live?” Cal planted himself in front of Linklatter’s desk, clenching and unclenching his fists. He didn’t usually tower over people on purpose. Right then he towered.

“That’s…privileged information.” Cal watched Ham struggle to get the right word. He really did look like a talking skull.

Cal pulled himself up to his full height, crossing his arms across his chest, towering a little more. Pep yipped, the sound echoing in the empty room. “Your boss and your coworker have kidnapped Docia Kent. They’ve taken her east out of town. Now tell me where he lives.” Cal leaned over Ham’s desk, placing both fists on the blotter.

“Kidnapped? The chief?” Ham snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s horseshit. Your girlfriend probably stepped out with someone else and told you a story to cover up.”

Something hot and hard boiled up inside Cal’s chest, something he’d never felt before. He was one of the good Toleffsons, the ones who always did the right thing. The Boy Scouts. His brother Erik was the one who always lost his temper. His brother Erik wouldn’t think twice about pounding Ham Linklatter into the ground like a fencepost just on general principles.

Cal reached out, grabbed a handful of Ham’s shirt and jerked him off his feet. He lifted him up until they were eye to eye, watching Ham’s face turn crimson as he struggled. “Listen to me, you miserable excuse for a law enforcement officer. Your chief is crooked. So is Morris. I don’t know what they’ve done with Docia, but if they’ve hurt her, I’m going to hurt them. A lot. And if you don’t help me find them—right now—I’ll start by hurting you.”

Maybe he wasn’t so different from his brother Erik after all.

Cal tossed Ham back toward his chair where he landed with a loud thump, arms and legs sprawling. The chair rolled backward to crash into the wall behind him.

Ham gasped for breath.

“If it makes any difference to you, one of them probably assaulted Margaret Hastings too,” Cal growled. “So if you still want to kill the bastards who did it, I’ve got a couple of candidates for you. Now tell me where the hell Brody lives.”

Ham still stared, wide eyed, his chest heaving. Then he leaned forward to place his elbows on the desk. “They hurt Margaret?”

Cal nodded. “Seems likely.”

Ham reached for his hat. “C’mon, Doc. I’ll take you where Brody lives.”

When she could no longer hear the sounds of retreating footsteps, Docia clawed at the top of the bag. Her fingers slid into the small opening where the drawstrings were pulled tight, and she yanked down as hard as she could.

All she managed to do was pull the top of the hood down over her eyes. She pushed it back and fumbled for the zipper pull, yanking down again.

Nothing. Damn Brody and his superglue! Docia fought back the fear that made her chest ache.
Don’t panic, Dummy. Don’t panic!

She felt around the top of the bag, sliding her fingers over the stitches, the slick nylon, looking for a hole, a tear, a weak place, anything she could slip her fingers into.

Damn, damn, damn!
Of course Brody hadn’t bought the cheap sleeping bag. Of course he’d bought ripstop.

She hooked her fingers over the edges of the hood and pulled and pulled, but there was no give, no weakness anywhere in the fabric.

And the sound of rushing water was definitely getting louder.

Rain pelted so hard on Ham’s truck the windshield wipers could only create a small wave. The drumming on the roof made talk close to impossible.

“Where are we going?” Cal yelled.

Ham yanked on the wheel to avoid a truck-sized pothole. “Brody’s got twenty acres outside town along the river,” he bellowed. “He’s got a doublewide.”

The rain let up slightly, and Cal suddenly caught a glimpse of white limestone cliffs rising beside them. He lowered his voice. “Does he live out here?”

Ham shook his head. “Naw,” he bellowed, “he’s got a place in town too. But he spends all his spare time out here. If he was going to hide something, this is where it’d be.”

He turned the truck deeper into a narrow canyon curving between pale limestone cliffs, then negotiated carefully down a steep drive. “Land’s worth a heap of money,” he yelled. “I don’t know what he paid for it. A lot, I reckon. Word is he’s having trouble meeting the payments. Nando Avrogado said he figured Brody might have to sell out.”

“Ham, I don’t give a shit about Brody’s finances.”

Cal gripped tight to his armrest. He needed, really
needed
, to find Docia. After that he’d find Brody and Morris.

And he’d turn them into hood ornaments.

For almost the first time in his life, he really wanted to use his size to hurt somebody.

“This is it,” Ham hollered.

Cal leaned out the window, trying to see through the rain. A doublewide trailer sat dark and empty on a slight promontory on the other side of the canyon. If anyone was there, they hadn’t turned on the lights.

“What do we do now?” Ham bellowed.

“It’s not raining as hard,” Cal said between gritted teeth. “You don’t have to yell anymore.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ham lowered his voice fractionally. “So what do we do now? He’s not here.”

The idea that Ham, the only policeman present, was turning to a veterinarian for detective strategy might normally have been funny. Right then, that fact just made Cal’s stomach clench harder. “I’m getting out. Maybe she’s in the trailer.” He reached for the metal door handle.

“What should I do?” Ham sounded almost plaintive.

Cal gritted his teeth again. “Call the state police. Tell them your chief has committed a felony.”

“You mean the highway patrol or the Rangers?” Ham’s brow furrowed.

The prospect of pounding Ham into the ground like a fencepost began to sound attractive again. “Call the Rangers,” Cal grated. “Call everybody you can think of who might be able to help.”

Ham pulled out his cell phone and looked down at the screen. “There’s no reception out here.”

“Use the cruiser radio.”

“Nobody’ll answer. There’s no one back at the station because I’m out here with you.” Ham turned his hollow eyes toward Cal.

Cal unclenched his hands. He needed this idiot in one piece, at least for the time being. “Drive back up the road a ways. Keep trying until you get a signal on your cell.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ham turned back to the steering wheel.

Cal stepped into the pouring rain as Ham made a U-turn and headed up the road. He walked across the wooden bridge and climbed the trail to the trailer entrance.

It took him less than five minutes to circle the trailer. He tried to peek in the windows, but the shades were pulled down tight. He climbed the wooden steps to the front door and rattled the handle, only to confirm it was locked.

Cal took a deep breath and then pulled his foot back and kicked the door near the handle. Once, twice. The metal groaned.

He heard Pep whimper.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I meant to leave you with Ham. Sorry, buddy.” He kicked once more and the door flew open.

Cal stood in the doorway. In the dim light from the windows and open door, he saw a sagging sofa. A table and plastic chairs. A miniscule kitchen.

A flashlight lay on one of the kitchen counters. He picked it up, then walked quickly down a short hall to his left, shining the light in front of him.

Two bedrooms. Both empty. He took a deep breath, trying to relax his shoulders. He’d find her. Wherever she was. He walked back to the living room, pulling open every door he saw—two closets and a bathroom.

No Docia.

Stepping back onto the steps outside, he tried to make out the lay of the land through the sheets of falling rain. He could see the outlines of trees and limestone cliffs. Somewhere close by he could hear a fast-running river.

She could be anywhere.

His shoulders stiffened with frustration. She was here. She had to be here. He wouldn’t think of any other possibilities.

“Docia, where are you?” he yelled.

Docia had managed to get the laces on the hood to loosen slightly. She’d pulled it half off her head. Now she tried to push her arm through the opening, hoping she could force it down further.

She kept rolling against the tent walls as she struggled, rubbing off rainwater and condensation. The sleeping bag was sopping, soaking through to her body. Her skin felt chilled, the cold seeping deep into her muscles.

Not for the first time in her life she wished she were smaller. In fact, she promised herself when she got back to Konigsburg, she’d take off that extra five pounds that had been hanging around for the last couple of years.

When
she got back to Konigsburg. She didn’t let herself think
if
.

Panic rose again, tightening her throat. “Get over it,” she muttered. “You’re not going to let that bastard get away with this.”

Besides, she needed to see Cal again. She really
needed
to see him. Each time she thought about him, her chest ached worse.

And then, through the drumming rain, she heard a voice. “Docia, where are you?”

Was it possible to have an aural hallucination? Docia could have sworn she’d heard Cal yell. She hadn’t tried yelling up to now, both because she was afraid Brody might still be around and because she figured no one was there to hear her. Her pulse hammered again.

“Cal,” she screamed. “Oh Cal! I’m here! I’m here!”

Cal froze on the trailer stairs. He was almost certain he’d heard her voice. Somewhere through the dense curtain of rain, she’d answered him. “Docia,” he yelled. “Docia where are you? Call to me!”

He heard the voice again, distantly, the words faint. She was out there. Somewhere.

In his pocket, Pep squirmed, digging his paws against Cal’s side. Then he yipped.

Cal looked down as the dog tried to dig his way out of the pocket. Cal shook his head. “No, buddy. Too wet for you out here.”

Pep yipped once more, trying to pull himself up, his paws slipping against the fabric, his huge brown eyes alert and urgent.

After a moment, Cal reached in and lifted him out, bringing him up to eye level. “If you can do this, I swear you’ve got a home for life.”

Pep licked his nose with a quick swipe.

Cal set him down. For a moment, the little dog stood huddled in the rain, his tail tucked between his hind legs. Cal’s heart dropped like a stone.

Then they both heard it—Docia’s voice faint in the distance. Pep’s head came up. He stared off into the trees for a moment and set off, galloping down the wooden stairs, toenails clicking.

Cal took a breath and followed, careful not to step on him.

Pep dodged around puddles, tripping quickly through the mud, sending little spurts of water flying up beneath his paws.

Cal thought about yelling again, but he didn’t want to distract Pep. Trees loomed ahead, and the sound of the running water was much louder now.