Chapter 27
“Her husband’s phone was out of the country at that time,” Isabella said. “It was in Germany for two weeks.”
I had it on speaker so Jack could hear.
“Kinda hard to get pregnant when your husband is out of town,” he muttered.
“Not if you’re fooling around.”
“Hannah found out Carolyn was pregnant with someone else’s baby,” I surmised. “She threatened to tell Carolyn’s husband if she didn’t back down on the probate case.”
“Bingo.”
“But who’s the father?”
Isabella said, “Judging by the text messages and phone calls between Carolyn and Grant at the time, I'd say he's a safe bet."
Jack grinned. "This keeps getting better and better."
I thanked Isabella for the information and ended the call.
"You think people would be able to do the math," Jack said.
"Some people don't want to face the truth. It's easier to live in denial."
"Well, Carolyn's husband's going to find out sooner or later.”
"You think Grant knows the kid is his?"
"He's gotta suspect something.”
"Maybe he's not that bright.”
“Or maybe the two of them are in on it together.”
“Solves both of their problems,” JD said.
“Why would Grant send us in her direction?”
“Maybe he figures he can throw her under the bus and weasel out of it.”
I chuckled. “She’ll drag him into it when the time comes.”
My phone buzzed with a call from Mendoza. "Carolyn's Oscar Mike. She's got the kids with her.”
"Where’s she going?”
"I'm not a mind reader, but I'm following her now.”
"Keep me posted.”
“Wilco.”
We drove back to Diver Down to grab something to eat. The sky had turned angry on the horizon. Gray clouds rumbled. It wouldn't be too long before the storm came in. The outer bands of Tilda were definitely going to get us wet. The storm would put a damper on the festivities on Oyster Avenue.
Teagan greeted us with a smile as we took a seat at the bar. “How’s your day going?”
“It’s going,” Jack said. “You?”
“Busy,” she said with big eyes before darting away.
The place was packed, and Teagan didn’t have much time for chit-chat.
Harlan sat at the end of the bar, nursing a beer, not thrilled about the excess crowd. He liked it calm and quiet, and Halloween was anything but.
We looked over the menu for a minute while Teagan attended to other customers. When she returned, Jack ordered the pulled pork sliders, and I went with the soft-shell crab po’ boy.
Paris flashed on the flatscreen behind the bar.
“Coconut Key has become a hotspot for conspiracy theorists, paranormal investigators, and cryptid hunters in search of a deadly werewolf. Jordan Raine stands by his offer of $10,000 to anyone who captures or kills the creature that took the life of his wife and another young girl on the island. Authorities have yet to identify the creature responsible but have informed us a panther still remains on the loose from the zoo. As hunters and enthusiasts continue to flock to the island, I must caution everyone that hunting and discharging a firearm within city limits is illegal and could result in criminal charges. With me now is Clifford Beaumont from Alabama.”
Paris stepped close. Clifford sat on the tailgate of his pickup truck, dressed in camo, wearing a camo trucker hat. He held a shotgun in one hand and a cheap light beer in the other. This guy was an accident waiting to happen.
“You've come a long way," Paris said.
Clifford was a good old boy with a round face, short reddish hair, and a rounder belly. "Damn right. $10,000 is a lot of money. Hell, I'll kill that sum-bitch. Mount him on my wall.”
Several other hunters stood around. The camera panned to them. Paris interviewed them one by one. "And where are you from?"
"Texas,” another tall, skinny gentleman said.
"And you're confident you'll be able to find and kill the werewolf?"
"Hell yes," Tex said. He had a thick mustache and wore a straw hat. His belt buckle was almost as big as the state he came from. His pressed Wranglers and lizard-skin boots weren’t exactly camouflage, but I didn't think any of these guys were going to find the werewolf.
He continued to boast about his equipment.
"I got a shotgun, I got night vision, I got infrared, I got a sniper rifle.
Somebody's going to get that thing, might as well be me.”
I just shook my head in disbelief.
Paris talked to another gentleman decked out in military gear with an urban camouflage pattern, an AR-15, and night vision opticals attached to his tactical helmet.
"To catch a werewolf, you have to think like a werewolf.
You need to anticipate his moves and be where he might strike next.
Set up an ambush. Both of these attacks have been on the beach, so I think that's the best place to look.
That's where you'll find me at the full moon.”
"Does it concern you that your activities may be considered illegal?”
"I haven't done anything illegal yet. I don’t consider it breaking the law in order to save somebody's life. I got no problem with that.”
Paris looked back to the camera. "We'll keep you updated as the story develops. Please be safe out there. I'm Paris Delaney, and you heard it from me first.”
At least she cautioned people against the idea. I’m sure the sheriff would have a fit if he saw the clip.
We were about halfway through the meal when Mendoza called again. “Carolyn dropped the kids off at a friend's house. She's at the grocery store right now.”
"Think she's going to run?"
"I would. I'll let you know where she goes next.”
"Thanks, I appreciate it.”
We stuffed our faces, and my phone buzzed again. I figured it was Mendoza again. When I pulled the device from my pocket, the screen displayed an unlikely name.
I took the call and said, "This is getting to be a regular occurrence. If I didn't know better, I'd say you missed me.”
"Keep dreaming,” Taryn said. “Unfortunately, I have another situation. I called the university police, but I thought you might want to take a look at this. It could be related to the burglary at my house.”
"What happened?"
"Somebody broke into my office.”
"Are you there now?”
"Yes.”
"We are on the way.”
"How's that for service?” Taryn said, impressed. “Should I feel privileged?”
"Possibly,” I replied with a grin.
She told me where her office was located.
I ended the call, and we hurried out of Diver Down. The wind had picked up, and the sky had grown even darker. Trees swayed, and wind gusts ripped leaves from branches.
We jogged to the Porsche, climbed in, and headed over to the university. We parked in the Founders’ Court as usual, then tried to beat the rain across campus. We weren't exactly successful. It started to drizzle by the time we made it to Greyminster Hall.
We stepped inside the gothic stone structure that was like a cathedral—a fitting home for an occult studies professor.
The stone walls had been stained with rain and years of grit and grime, giving it an old-world patina.
Gargoyle water spouts loomed overhead. Lush ivy crept up the stone walls.
We entered through the arched solid oak doors and hurried down the hallway, the sounds of our shoes echoing off the oak panels, bouncing around the vaulted ceiling.
It smelled like wood, old books, and mystery.
A central switchback staircase took us up to the third floor, where we found Taryn in her office, cleaning up.
Drawers had been rummaged through, books ripped from the shelves, and papers littered the floor.
There was no sign of forced entry. The door didn't look jimmied. The stained-glass window was open, and a gentle breeze drifted through. It was too high up and not large enough to fit through.
Taryn scooped up papers from the floor and looked up at us with an appreciative face. "Thanks for coming.”
JD and I squatted down and helped her clean up the mess. “Do you have any idea what they were looking for?”
Taryn cringed. “I’m not really sure.”
She knew damn good and well what they were after.
My doubtful eyes stared into her. "Somebody broke into your house and rummaged through your stuff. Now they've broken into your office and ransacked the place. They’re after something, and I want to know what it is. No more bullshit."
She cringed again, then said, “I think I know what they’re after."
"I'm listening."
My phone buzzed with another call from Mendoza. I was more interested in what Taryn was about to say, but I took the call anyway.
"Bad news. Carolyn loaded up her sailboat with supplies and just cruised out of the marina.”
I grumbled a few obscenities under my breath.
Mendoza asked, "Is there anything we can do?"
"Not at the moment. We don't have an arrest warrant. The DNA won’t come back for a day or two at least, even with a rush job.” I paused. "Call the harbor patrol, have them follow her. Maybe they can stay on her tail.”
“We don't have jurisdiction past 12 miles.”
"It is what it is. Call the sheriff and let him know.”
I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket. Then, I refocused my attention on Taryn. “You were saying?”