Chapter Thirty-Eight Judson
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Judson
Amy Stocker didn’t return my half dozen messages. I needed to talk to her about Gabe. Did she know about the cyanide in his toolbox? Or his plans to poison his wife? Love and money were two of the strongest motivators I’d seen.
A receptionist set down her phone and came around the desk as I crossed the real estate office’s lobby. “May I help you?”
I flashed my credentials. Smiled. “I’d like to speak to Amy Stocker.”
She frowned. “Amy’s not in today. Is there a problem?”
A badge could make people tense up, close down. I kept my body loose. “Can you tell me where she is?”
“I’m not sure. She hasn’t been in the office for a week. Usually, real estate agents let us know when they go on vacation, but she hasn’t.”
“You’re saying she’s missing?”
“No, not really. She has a new boyfriend,” she rushed to say. “She’s been talking about taking a vacation with him.”
“She’s not answering her phone. And I went by her apartment. No answer.”
“Sounds like vacation to me,” she said.
“What’s her boyfriend’s name?” I asked.
She frowned. “I’m not sure.”
I leaned in, dropped my voice a notch. “Gabe Durant?”
She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Yes. But don’t say it out loud. He’s married, and she told me last week he’s ready to file divorce papers.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Maria Durant, Gabe’s wife, died last night.”
Her face strained with shock and fear. “Dead? No way. She was young.”
I waited.
She hesitated, then confessed, “I pinged Amy’s phone.”
“You did?”
“A bunch of us have Find a Friend. Safety precaution. Just in case a serial killer wants to see a listing.”
“Smart. Do you know where she is?”
She pulled her phone, swiped, and turned it toward me. “That’s the thing, she hasn’t gone very far.”
“Where is she?”
She swiped her phone and turned the screen toward me again. I glanced at the blinking dot.
I zoomed in—no roads or structures around it. I widened the screen until the interstate, familiar secondary roads, and a lake appeared.
She studied the landmarks. “This can’t be correct. I mean, that’s part of the Hale land, right?”
“You sound certain.”
“Every real estate agent in the state knows it. It’ll be the biggest get for whomever gets the listing.”
“Right.” I held up her phone. “Is there another cell you can use? I’d like to hold on to this until I find Amy.”
She frowned as if I’d asked for a limb. “That’s my phone.”
“I know. But I need to find Amy, and this is my best shot right now. I’ll have it back as fast as I can.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll use the agency cell.”
“Thanks.” Minutes later, I was on my way to the Hale property, winding along an old fire road cutting into the back of the land.
I downshifted as I pulled onto the rutted road. It hadn’t been graded in years. Snow or rain, and the road would’ve been a muddy mess. But the recent drought had left it passable.
The rolling hills in the background were alive with oranges, yellows, and greens. I loved this property and this land and was sorry to see it ignored for so long.
Down the road, I took the left branch leading toward the creek. I’d been on the land enough to know that Hale House was about a half mile due east.
Raine and I used to hike this area when we were dating. We’d spend hours wandering the woods, searching for the remains of the original house and well. We weren’t so interested in exploration as we were needing quiet time together. She was always calmer in the woods.
I glanced at the blinking location. A few hundred yards west. I parked, killed the engine. Out of the truck, I moved toward the thicket of woods. Branches cracked under my boots.
The deeper I went, the more the past pressed in—me, Raine, football. She thought I’d always put the game before her. She was wrong. I saw the game as our future.
As I stepped over a dead log lying on the path, a foul scent grew strong. I’d smelled it before.
My hand on my weapon, I kept walking. The stench thickened as I approached the dry creek. I’d lived this moment before. Seventeen years ago, Raine had been charging ahead through the woods. She’d always been like that. She’d run headlong into life, never considering the consequences.
I’d thought her courage came from family money. Later, I’d learned the Hales had been broke for decades.
“Slow down. What’s the rush?” I asked.
“The rush is Mom is missing.”
Sweat dampened the hair framing her face. I’d never met her mother, but Raine had hinted she had mental health issues. “Why would she be out here?”
“She’s always run past the cemetery and then in this direction.”
Raine shoved past branches. It was hot as hell, even in October. My legs were smoked from the morning practice. And I wasn’t interested in chasing a hunch.
“Why would she come here?” I asked.
“She said it was peaceful.”
Raine kept moving. I turned, ready to return to Hale House.
And then her scream echoed through the woods.
I rushed forward, closing the distance between us. Branches scraped my arms and face. My heart pounded.
When I shoved through, I found Raine standing in the dry creek bed. She was looking down. As I moved closer, I realized it was a body.
“It’s Mom,” Raine said.
Raine reached for her mother.
“Stop. Don’t touch her. She’s dead.” I pulled her back.
Raine burrowed her face into my chest. She rarely dropped her guard, but in that moment, I felt the fear ripple through her body.
Now, almost half a mile from the same spot, the memory clung to me.
We’d been so close in that moment. Yet that horrific discovery changed everything.
The police had interviewed us. Hutchinson had pressed us both for any detail.
Raine grew more distant. We stopped talking.
Barely spoke three words at her mother’s funeral.
By the next year, I was at a college training camp, and she was attending another university.
A flash of bare skin caught my eye. I moved closer and saw thick blond hair splayed over the dried creek bed. It was a woman, lying face down. The phone blinked that this was Amy’s location.
I rubbed the side of my neck. I dialed local law enforcement. “This is Agent Blackwood. I need a forensic team. I’ll drop the location. Possible homicide.”