Chapter Six #2
She chewed slowly as she considered all that he’d said.
“Were any of the seven cases people from the area?” She figured the answer was no since she would certainly recall someone local disappearing and never being found.
Well, except maybe for during the time Alex was sick.
She had been a wreck and totally off the grid as far as news went.
“None. All were folks who had come to the area for a vacation.”
Like his sister and her husband. Her heart reacted to the reality of what he was saying.
“Sixteen years, seven cases with nine victims,” she said aloud, mostly to herself. “Is that a lot for an area this size?”
He took a swallow of his beer. Since he didn’t make a face she assumed the drink was still good. “The number isn’t a lot, but the specificity is significant. Seven blonde white women, two with partners. Now there’s Briana, a blonde white woman, with her husband. I call that a pattern.”
“Wow.” Charly was taken aback by the statistics as well when he laid them out that way. “Should we ask Sheriff Malone about this?”
Not something she looked forward to. Other than being a decent sheriff, one thing she knew about the man: He did not like to be called out on his work record.
He preferred the praise for a job well done.
She remembered her father saying that about him when he was sheriff and Tully Malone was the chief deputy.
“Let’s talk about Sheriff Malone,” Billie suggested. He’d finished off his sandwich and was concentrating on his beer but taking his time.
Alex had done that. As much as he loved beer—and he did—he said showing his ass once in college was enough to set him right about how to handle alcohol. He had taken his time with any alcoholic beverage and never overindulged.
“What would you like to know?” She popped the last bite of BLT into her mouth. So good, even if she did say so herself.
“The usual stats were easy to find.” He braced his forearms on the table.
“Fifty years old. Married three times, two kids—one each with the first two wives. Fairly good record on the job, which he has held for sixteen years. There have been some complaints but not so many. The usual stuff. Unfair with certain cases. A couple of accusations about brutality on the part of some of his deputies. Not so much in light of the length of his career and how touristy the area is.”
There was plenty Charly could say but she weighed her words. What Billie was asking for were facts, not personal opinions. At least that was what she thought he wanted to hear.
“He was about the age I am now when my father died,” Charly said first. “He was arrogant, cocky, hardheaded and bucking for a promotion. Those are things my father said to my mother on more than one occasion. I was too young to notice or to care. I had just turned eighteen. It was the final weeks of my senior year of high school, and I was focused on going away to college in the fall.”
He watched her as she spoke. Analyzing her, she decided. She couldn’t help wondering what he thought. She leaned back in her chair and let her hands rest in her lap. Oddly enough, she wasn’t nervous. But she did wonder what he would ask next as if their conversation was some sort of foreplay.
Foolish, Charly. No. Desperate was the word.
“You don’t recall anyone disappearing while you were growing up?”
Easy question. “I do. I distinctly remember four cases. My father found them each time.” She hesitated.
A frown furrowed its way across her brow.
“There was a case that happened not long before he…died. I don’t think that one was ever solved.
” A memory pinged her, and her mouth opened in surprise.
“It was a blonde woman. White. Youngish. Everyone over twenty seemed old to me in those days. But then my parents…died and I don’t know what happened with that case. ”
His gaze seemed somehow more intent now. Bored into her as if he might see what was in her memory for himself. “Do you remember a name?”
“Fran…something. Frances.” She scrubbed at her forehead, then she recalled. “Francesca. Francesca Andrews.” The frown was back, tugging at her brow. “I don’t think she was ever found. Does that make eight?”
He nodded. “It does if she wasn’t found. I didn’t find her in my search. Let’s check her age and see if she was found.” He used his cell to google any available information on the woman.
Blond hair and blue eyes flashed in Charly’s mind. The image of the woman’s photo in the paper followed.
“Francesca Andrews,” Billie said. “She went missing just as you said.” His gaze met hers.
“Like the other blonde women, she was a visitor to the area. But she didn’t show up in my search because she was found.
” His focus returned to his phone. He frowned.
“Now this is a bizarre twist.” His gaze met Charly’s once more.
“She went missing again two months later—from her hometown of Nashville, Tennessee.”
Her anxiety level soared. After her father died. “That is bizarre. What are you thinking?”
“Has there ever been talk of human trafficking issues in the area?” He set his phone aside.
“In my research on the flight here, I found the topic discussed occasionally on one website or the other. But nothing that gave me pause. Now that I’m here I can see how this would be the perfect location for that sort of thing.
Drug smuggling and the like. Guntersville is easy access to the Tennessee River.
Getting someone or thing out of the city on a boat in the middle of the night would be relatively easy. ”
“We had plenty of that,” she agreed. “The drug smuggling. My father set up a task force when I was in eighth grade and stamped out a lot of the drugs coming in. It hasn’t been big in the news around here since that time. Like most places, I hear the talk of human trafficking.”