Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Sloane
“Come here, sleepy girl.”
I pick Aspen up out of her bouncy seat and hobble toward the bedroom.
“I can put her down,” Mom offers.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
I have to grab what I can, when I can. Time is something you can’t get back, and I’m more aware of it now than I was a few weeks ago. I bet you if I asked Nita’s mother, she regrets every second of her daughter’s too-short life she missed. It’s the kind of regret that could destroy a person.
Aspen’s eyes are getting heavy already when I put her on the big bed to quickly change her diaper. The moment I put her down in her crib, she rolls on her side, jams her little fist in her mouth, and closes her eyes. I watch her for a beat before I close the bedroom door and join my mother in the kitchen.
“Want another coffee?”
I grab my mug off the counter and hold it out for her to top up.
“When is Dan picking you up?”
“He said nine forty.”
I sit down at the kitchen table and Mom sits down across from me.
“You’re a natural,” she says, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup at me. “Which, if I can be brutally honest, I wouldn’t have guessed. Probably because I was expecting you to be as flustered and overwhelmed and clueless as I can remember being when I had you.”
“I’m probably just a better actor than you are, believe me, I’m plenty clueless and overwhelmed,” I confess, even though it makes me feel really good she thinks that. “It’s funny how priorities change though. Ambitions change.”
“What do you mean; ambitions change?”
“Well, before, I was dead set on having a career in law enforcement, and now all I think about is being home with Aspen because I’m afraid of all I’m missing. You stayed home after I was born, right?”
Mom smiles as her eyes drift off over my shoulder.
“Yeah. As out of my depth as I was, and as overwhelmed as I remember feeling at the time, I love the memories I have.” Her eyes come to me. “But I wasn’t a single parent.”
“There’s that,” I concede. “Too bad I don’t live in a state offering paid parental leave. I had to use up my sick leave and vacation days to get any time off. I could’ve at least had some more time at home with her.”
“Would’ve helped if her father hadn’t been a waste of space,” Mom points out. “What happens if he shows up some day and demands to see his daughter?”
It’s actually something I have thought about on occasion. I’m not going to stop him from seeing his daughter if he wants to, but if he ever shows up looking for any kind of custody—shared or otherwise—I will fight like hell for that not to happen.
“If he wants to see her, as long as it’s on my terms, he can. But I won’t let him lay any claim on her, and to be honest, I don’t think he will.”
“Well, if ever he shows his face, you better get that last part in writing.”
“I will.”
“By the way, I talked to Steve last night,” she announces. “Told him about your ankle and this case you’re working on, and he suggested I could stay longer than the two weeks, if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mom, but I can’t keep you here. You have a life in Panama, and at some point I’m gonna need to figure my life out on my own.”
“Maybe you won’t have to figure it out on your own,” she offers with a smirk as she gets to her feet. “Here’s Dan now.”
“Detective Eckhart, I understand you have an update for us? A license plate, I believe?”
Special Agent in Charge Bellinger, as he was introduced at the start of the meeting, is a big, burly guy, probably in his fifties. He has the kind of presence that leaves no doubt as to who the top dog is. It’s not that he’s loud, or pompous, he just oozes a quiet authority you can feel in the room. He reminds me of Tom Selleck’s character in Blue Bloods. Looks a little like him too.
We’ve already heard an update from the forensic team, who have apparently finished up in the gorge. Not including Nita’s body, they report up to a possible six additional bodies. One is believed to be male, and missing the right leg. We’re told the others look to be female.
“Yes, a license plate, a name, and an address.”
I hadn’t been able to get to sleep last night and ended up working until three in the morning, running the plate number and pulling information on the owner.
“We received the security feed off three separate cameras from the Exxon gas station in Columbia Falls. The location from where Chelsea Littleton was abducted,” I clarify.
Looking around the room, I go into a description of what I viewed on the video.
“It confirms Chelsea’s own account of events, insofar as she can remember. As the truck drives off, you can catch a quick glimpse of the license plate.”
I catch sight of Betty standing by the door, waving a stack of papers. “We’ll pass around a still of the camera feed with the plate number visible, and the information we pulled on it. As you can see, the truck is licensed to Cedric Transport out of Eureka. A small one-truck delivery service owned and operated by Michael Cedric.”
“Good work, Eckhart,” SAC Bellinger states, assuming I’m done, which I’m not.
“Sir,” I interrupt him. “I have additional information I literally received on my way in this morning.”
He gives me a nod. “Go right ahead.”
“I heard back from the US Forestry Service. They emailed me the copy of a permit they issued back in 1997 for the construction of the cabin our officers found near the trail on Kenelty Mountain.”
“And?”
“A single permit holder, and only one name attached to it; Cornelius J. Cedric. The address on the application looks to be in Eureka.”
“That can’t be a coincidence,” one of the other law enforcement officers pipes up.
“My guess is the two are related,” I agree.
“All right, Detective Eckhart, since you are already deep into this investigation, why don’t you find out what background you can on both Cornelius Cedric and Michael Cedric. Find the connection. Also, forward me the video feed and the information from the USFS.”
“Will do, sir.”
When I get home, I can get on social media and see if I can find accounts in either of those names. That’s usually the quickest and easiest way to get information on someone. People don’t realize how much can be gleaned from the things they post on Facebook or Instagram. This kind of stuff is right up my alley. I’m a bit of a computer nerd and I love poking around, at times skirting the lines of what could be considered legal, but always for the greater good.
Bellinger continues to dole out responsibilities with a focus on identifying the victims and connecting them to missing person’s reports, which is going to take some time. He instructs the various law enforcement departments he wants a BOLO issued for the truck and when spotted, to keep eyes on it until further instruction. His office will be looking into Cedric Transport.
“Any and all new information is to come directly to me. I’m central station, it’s the only way to make sure we don’t miss a thing. Let’s stop this guy.”
As we file out of the boardroom, Jillian falls into step beside me. I’d been surprised to see her still around.
“How’s the ankle?” she inquires.
“Not too bad. The boot keeps it stable.” I glance over at her as we make our way down the hallway. “I figured you’d be gone already.”
“I was asked to hang around. I took Emo down there one last time yesterday afternoon—once the forensic team removed all the remains—to make sure we hadn’t missed anything in the surrounding area.” She shrugs. “We didn’t find anything else.”
She holds open the door to the parking lot for me.
“So…when are you heading back?”
“Now. Emo is waiting for me in the car.” She glances down at my boot. “Did you drive yourself?”
“Dan dropped me off. I have to call him for a pickup.”
“Nonsense, I’m driving by the ranch anyway. I’ll drop you off.”
She pulls up in front of my cabin fifteen minutes later. Mom is on the porch with Aspen who is doing push-ups on her play mat.
“Is that your little one?”
“That’s Aspen. Come on, you can meet her and my mom.”
“Okay, five minutes. It’ll give Emo a chance to stretch her legs before we hit the road.”
Five minutes turn into twenty, which includes a cup of coffee and a muffin.
“Your daughter is precious,” she says, getting to her feet as she hands her back to me. “And she has a lifetime fan in Emo.”
The dog had her nose two inches from some part of Aspen at all times, and my daughter loved it.
“I may consult you about a puppy at some point. Once I find my own place to live,” I tell her as I settle my daughter on my arm.
“Call me any time.”
I hug her and say goodbye to Emo. I’m a bit sad to see them go, I liked the idea of having someone closer to my own age around.
I wave as Jillian drives off, heading down the driveway. When I turn to go inside, I notice my neighbor standing in the doorway of his cabin.
Wolff doesn’t see me; his eyes are fixed on the back of her disappearing SUV.
Dan
I straighten up and stretch my back.
It’s done. It took a bit longer than anticipated, but all the framing is complete.
A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s three fifteen, not too bad. I’m going to quickly clean up my tools and straighten up what’s left of the pile of two-by-fours outside. Then maybe I can pick up a pizza at the Red Dog Saloon and have a lazy night at home.
I’ve got both the HVAC and plumbing contractors coming in tomorrow morning. They’ll have to work around each other, but we’re on a pretty tight schedule. Electrical will be last, before insulation and drywall go up. That part—drywalling, taping, mudding, and sanding—will be the most time-consuming.
I carry the tools downstairs and organize them in the large storage bin near the side door. Next, I head outside to haul the table saw and generator in from the side porch. Then I head to the leftover lumber which is haphazardly tossed around the yard and try to wrangle it back into a neat pile. Finally, I gather up the trimmed pieces in a bin. Whatever I don’t need, I can cut into kindling.
Spotting a few pieces that slipped under the porch, I lean down and fish them out, when my hand touches something metal.
It’s a can of red spray paint.
For marking livestock.
Son of a bitch.
The vandalism to the house had kind of slipped down my list of priorities these past few days with so much else going on. I guess this is as good a time as any to confirm my suspicions.
Holding the can between my thumb and index finger, I carry it to my truck and find the Ziploc bag Isobel’s muffins had been in, and drop the paint can inside. I toss it on the passenger seat before returning to the house to make sure everything is closed and locked up. Then I get behind the wheel and head into town.
She’s behind the register cashing out a customer when I enter the store.
The moment she sees me walking up, she goes rigid. The customer says something to her as he grabs the bag of feed off the counter and flips it on his shoulder. Then he walks out the door and it’s just her and me.
“What can I do for you?” she asks through clenched teeth.
Yep. She’s still angry.
Her eyes drop down to the plastic bag in my hand and stay fixed there, a flush almost instantly appearing on her face. It speaks volumes, and is enough of a confession for me.
“Do you carry this brand, Shelby?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Would you mind checking for me?”
Right then Bill Vandermeer comes walking out of the warehouse in the back. He looks at his daughter and then at me.
“Is there a problem?”
“Shelby didn’t recognize this brand, so I asked her to check,” I explain, noticing Shelby squirm a little.
“Raidex Red?” he asks, noting the brand of the can in my hand. Then he turns to his daughter. “You just stocked the shelves in the warehouse with that stuff last week. Remember we got that shipment in right before the weekend?”
Shelby’s face is now beet red, as she presses her lips together. Her father shakes his head at her before turning back to me.
“I’ll grab ’em for you, how many cans do you need?”
I hadn’t really planned on what I would do once I confirmed my suspicions—maybe go to the police—but now I’m thinking perhaps her father can keep his daughter in check.
“Actually, I just wanted to see if the can came from here,” I tell him.
“I haven’t sold any yet. You, Shel?” he asks his daughter, before catching himself. “Never mind, of course you haven’t or you would’ve remembered we carry it.”
“Could you check to make sure?” I press.
“Sure. I ordered twenty-four of the red, so it’ll be easy to see. One sec.”
He pokes his head back into the warehouse, and I glance at Shelby, who stays silent but is shooting daggers at me.
“I’ll be damned. I’ve got two missing.” Bill points at the can in my hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“I found it under my porch this afternoon. I’m building a log home just east of High Meadow along the Fisher River. Sometime during the night from Sunday to Monday, someone spray painted the inside and outside of my house with red paint.” I hold up the plastic bag. “This red paint.”
“What the hell?”
Bill seems genuinely baffled as he turns to his daughter and catches her glaring at me.
“I’m not sure what’s going on here.”
I’m pretty sure Vandermeer has no idea his daughter and I were briefly involved.
“Sir, your daughter and I saw each other very casually for a short while.” Shelby audibly snorts, but I forge on. “I ended it, mainly because it became clear things weren’t casual to your daughter anymore.”
“I had nothing to do with it, asshole,” she snarls, but it’s like her father doesn’t hear her.
He keeps his attention on me. “You think she did this?”
“Sir, I don’t think it’s a coincidence two cans of red paint went missing from your stock, one of which showed up under my porch.”
The old man presses the palm of his hand against his forehead.
“Lord have mercy, Shelby. When are you gonna smarten up?” he laments. “You’re thirty-two years old, and your mother and I have had it with you.”
I listen to Shelby going off on her father. I feel for the man, but hell, I don’t need to be a part of this discussion. I got what I came for, and her father can take it from here. I can still hear them yelling when I get to my truck. Tossing the empty can on the passenger seat, I get behind the wheel and head for the Red Dog Saloon.
My phone rings in my pocket as I’m sitting in the parking lot, waiting for my pizza. I grin when I see who’s calling.
“You’re an ass,” I tell Jackson when I answer.
I had a feeling he was gonna make me wait an extra day, just to be a dick.
“Calling me fucking names already? Where the hell are you?” he grumbles.
“Picking up a pizza in town. Where are you?”
“Sitting on your goddamn porch with a six-pack and my fucking duffel bag, where do you think I am?”
Grinning, I shake my head. Guess my day isn’t over yet.
“What do you want on your pie?”