Chapter Three #2
Sara shrugged. “If he does, he does. We may end up having to wait for the next time he uses his credit card. But hopefully those guys will feel sorry for Miller’s mother and not tell him if they really do know him.”
“Hopefully. It really was a Hail Mary.”
“For now, we’ll assume your Hail Mary worked in our favor.
We’ll keep eyes on the pharmacy that Wendy’s used twice.
Luckily there are only a few in town if she decides to hop.
We’ll put cameras in the parking lots so we can watch them all.
The town isn’t that big. If we’re at one pharmacy and see the mother go into another one, we can make the drive in the time it takes her to get the medicine. ”
“Okay.” Elle rotated her head, feeling her neck crackle. “At this very moment, though, I want a hot shower. It’s freezing. My feet are like blocks of ice.” The motel they’d found in Willits had a small shower, but the water heater was more than adequate.
“I brought some heavier jackets, just in case. You can have one.”
“Yeah, right. I don’t think so.” There was no way she’d fit into any of Sara’s petite-sized clothes. Elle was at least eight inches taller without her boots on. “I’ll buy a heavier coat tomorrow. I’ll get up early and hit the Walmart in Ukiah as soon as they open.”
“Fine. I honestly thought you’d be more used to the cold by now. It’s not like we’re in the mountains or anything. It’s barely below freezing.”
“Well, my blood is still on a Florida thermostat. I’m damn cold and not ashamed to whine about it.”
Sara chuckled. “You can have the shower first when we get back to the hotel. Let’s check out tomorrow and go back to the coast after you’ve bought your coat. If Miller’s wife is using doctors and pharmacies over there, we need to be closer.”
“Yeah. I liked the inn we stayed at before. Should we just go back there?”
Sara nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
Mendocino, California
Wednesday, January 21, 5:40 a.m.
“Dad?”
Startled, Ronan looked up from his laptop, jostling his mug. Coffee sloshed over the side and he cursed quietly as he grabbed a napkin to mop up the mess on the kitchen table while Penny poured herself a travel mug.
She sniffed it and winced. “You trying to send me into caffeine-induced cardiac arrest? Why do you make it so strong?”
“Why do you make yours so weak?” he countered. “There’s an egg and cheese biscuit in the microwave. I figured you’d be too rushed to eat and you need food. You drink too much coffee.”
“Thank you, Dad,” she said dutifully, then fetched the food from the microwave and sat at the table, scratching Puff behind his ears when he leaned against her.
She didn’t have to bend to reach the dog’s ears. He was huge and Penny was petite, like her mother had been.
Without a word, Ronan handed her the sticky roller because Puff was a shedding machine. His white hair clung to everything. He and Penny kept sticky rollers in every room, in every vehicle.
But the Great Pyrenees was a sweet boy and a decent protection dog and Penny loved him, so Ronan put up with the mountains of dog hair.
Penny frowned at him. “Why are you up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Because of Dianne?”
“Partly, yes.” He’d seen Dianne’s sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling when he’d tried to sleep, but he’d also seen the photo of Giselle Randolph’s lips thinned in pain as she carried that child from a burning building. “I have a lead, so I got up early to make some phone calls.”
And to rewatch the video of the press conference she’d given—or maybe had been forced to give—after saving the child. He’d found it online when he’d gotten home the night before and he’d already watched it three times.
Giselle Randolph had appeared calm and collected, but there was a tension in her voice, a genuine dismay over the man she’d been unable to save from the fire. She’d nearly died herself trying to get him out.
The fugitive had killed someone and had kidnapped a child, holding her hostage in order to get away.
Ronan didn’t understand the bounty hunter’s dismay until a reporter asked her why she’d tried so hard to save the fugitive.
She’d answered that the families would never get to confront the man who’d turned their lives upside down.
He would never stand trial for killing someone and for traumatizing a child, potentially for life. He’d never pay for his crimes.
Ronan respected that. He respected her. He wasn’t sure he should, but for the moment he did. He’d reassess after he confronted her over Dianne’s death.
She’d better tell him who she was looking for. If she didn’t, he’d stick to her like superglue. She wouldn’t be able to draw a breath that he didn’t know about.
“Who are you calling before six a.m.?” Penny asked.
“Inns along the coast.”
Penny tilted her head, quietly assessing him. “Because you’re worried whoever killed Dianne might go after more innkeepers on the night shift?”
He’d raised a smart young woman.
“More or less.” If the two bounty hunters had talked to Dianne, they may have talked to other innkeepers as well. Those people might be in danger. He hoped to track the women’s movements. He didn’t expect that their agency’s office would be too forthcoming with their itinerary.
“Who’s even answering the phone right now?”
“All the inns that serve breakfast.”
“Ah.” She finished her own breakfast sandwich. “I gotta go. Oh, I emailed Mary Walker last night. Asked if she needed help at the inn. She said they were closing the inn, at least until after Dianne’s funeral. She’s already rerouted all their guests to other inns.”
Ronan sighed. “That’s going to cost them a lot of money, but it’s probably the best thing to do for now.”
She gathered her book bag, then paused to look at his laptop screen.
“Who is she? Wait, I’ve seen her before.
” She leaned in to read the captions on the video he’d been about to watch a fourth time, then looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide.
She looked just like her mother except for her eyes.
Penny’s were gray, like Ronan’s. “I remember that case. It was all over the internet. She’s a bounty hunter.
You think she’s looking for someone. You think that someone killed Dianne. ”
“You sure you want to be a nurse? You’d make a great cop.” Which he was glad she had not chosen. He’d worry about her even more than he already did.
“That’s just logic from years of living with you.” Her gaze returned to Giselle Randolph’s face on the screen. “I thought it was some rando who broke in and tried to rob Dianne.”
“It still might be. Don’t—”
“Discuss this with anyone,” Penny finished, sounding put-upon. “I know, Dad. You know I won’t.” She made a frustrated noise. “Now I’m officially late. Love you.”
“Love you, too!” he called after her retreating back. “Drive safely!”
The front door closed and Ronan refilled his coffee mug. He did need to call the inns, but he also wanted to call the East Coast. Florida, specifically.
He needed more information on Giselle Randolph.
Actually, he really just wanted it at the moment. He might need it later if she didn’t cooperate. She hadn’t been a bounty hunter all that long. The surface check he’d run on her showed that she’d been a California resident for three years, licensed for fugitive retrieval for most of that time.
Before that, it seemed she’d been an attorney in Sarasota, Florida. Family law.
He looked down at Puff. “That’s a big change, going from law to hunting, and moving three thousand miles to do it. I want to know why, don’t you?”
Puff’s tongue lolled out and Ronan took that as a yes.
It was just after nine in Florida, so he looked up the number for the Sarasota PD, dialed, gave his credentials, and waited to be connected to a supervisor.
“This is Sergeant Bellinger.”
“Good morning. This is Detective Clarke from the Mendocino County Sheriff’s Department in California.”
“Early there,” Bellinger commented. “How can I help you, Detective?”
“I’m looking for information on a bounty hunter here in California. She used to be an attorney in Sarasota. Giselle Randolph.”
There was a long moment of silence, followed by a wary “What do you want to know about her?”
That was definitely odd. “Do you know her?”
“Not well. I know her father better. Judge Randolph.”
Oh. He hadn’t expected that. “I’d like to know why she left Florida.”
“Why?”
“I’m getting ready to interview her. She’s a person of interest in one of my cases. A homicide.”
“You think she committed a homicide?” Bellinger asked, not masking his surprise.
“No.” He really didn’t. “But she’s had contact with my victim. I need to find her, and when I do, I want to be sure I have a good feel for how to approach her. She’s achieved some notoriety since changing careers.”
“And locations,” Bellinger added dryly. “It’s not a huge secret, Detective. She left Florida after her husband was killed in a car accident. After she’d recovered from her own injuries sustained in the wreck, she packed up and headed west.”
“I see. She was managing her grief.”
“Kind of. See, Elle was driving that night.”
Oh. “So she was managing her guilt?”
“Kind of,” Bellinger said again. “She was driving, but her husband attacked her. She tried to get the car off the road. Ended up hitting a telephone pole.”
“Why did he attack her?”
“He was an abusive drunk. BA was triple the legal limit, as I recall. Came out that he’d been an abusive drunk for years, in and out of rehab. Elle stayed with him, supporting him through every rehab stint, hoping he’d get sober. Hope’s a tricky bitch.”
It was, indeed. “Had he attacked her while driving before?”
“No. She said that was the first time. She’d been ready to divorce him. Had her bags packed and everything, but she was asked to drive him home after he got drunk at a party, and then…well, she didn’t need the divorce anymore. He died at the scene of the crash.”
“Was the pending divorce the reason he attacked her that night?”