Chapter Forty-Three Sloane
Chapter Forty-Three
Sloane
Baiting a hook was easy. But reeling in a fish required finesse and skill.
I sat in the Depot booth. Cody slept on the floor beside me, unaware of the buzz of conversations and rattle of plates around him. I caught Callie’s attention. She was already filling a soda glass for me and a water bowl for Cody.
Cody lifted his head, lapped up water, and went back to sleep.
Grant was working his connections in the medical examiner’s office.
Brian Fletcher’s autopsy was this morning.
The consensus was suicide, but if I were going to kill someone, I’d make it look like it was a self-inflicted wound.
I thought about Taggart, who’d had a new lead and was “the last man who would kill himself.” My thoughts also drifted to Mayor Briggs.
Another self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
Three men associated with the Mountain Music Festival. And all shot dead.
Callie returned with a soda for me. I’d woken this morning hoping my coffee craving had returned. But my stomach refused to consider it. After this case, I’d get tested and confirm if Team Outcast had a new member joining soon.
“You want anything more to eat?” she asked.
“Toast would be great.”
“Will do.” Callie paused. “I heard about the fire.”
“It was an old cabin. Bad wiring, I bet,” I lied. “Shame it burned.”
“The fire chief was in early. He said there’s nothing left but ashes.”
“It was a pile of dry kindling ready to go up. Paxton will figure out the cause.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “Well, then, you should be just fine.”
Callie. Taggart referenced a Callie in his notes. “You were at the festival.”
“Yeah. I was.”
“What was it like?”
A smile teased the edges of her lips. “Great fun at first. So exciting. Not much happened around here in those days.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. Like half the kids in this town, I defied my parents and snuck out of the house so I could go.”
“Callie, you surprise me.”
“I was quite the troublemaker back in the day. If I wasn’t sneaking off to the barn to drink, I was throwing fireballs down the mine shaft.”
“Mine shaft?”
“By the barn. Old gold mine.” She shifted her stance.
“You knew the victims.”
“Sure. I knew your mom. And Debra. Tristan and I went to a dance camp together the summer before.” She patted her full hip. “You can see I haven’t danced in a while.”
“I can’t even clap in time to a song. Were you good?”
“Yeah, I was decent. Tristan was super good. She was the star of our camp.”
I stirred the ice in my soda. “What was she like?”
“She was nice enough. She always had her eye on the prize.”
“Prize?”
“Fame. Fortune. Leaving Dawson.” Callie shrugged. “She could be high-strung. But most teenage girls are.”
“Did she know Rafe Colton?”
“I don’t know how long she knew him, but they were friendly at the festival. But he was outgoing with everyone.”
“Was Tristan using drugs at the festival?”
Her gaze grew distant for a second and then refocused. “It was a lifetime ago. Kids do dumb things.”
“I’m not judging. I’m trying to understand that day.”
“I never saw her using, but she was super agitated that day.”
In 1994, I’d bet she’d been using coke. “And she was with Colton?”
“He was with a lot of girls that night. But yeah, she was clearly into him.”
Luring her to a trailer for sex wouldn’t be a stretch.
“Why are you so interested in Tristan?”
I sipped my soda. Time to bait the hook. “Because she’s still alive.”
“What?”
Her shock was amusing. “I know. She escaped the festival and has been in hiding for thirty-one years. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Shit. Where is she?”
“She was in Northern Virginia. She has had a dance studio up there for twenty years.” The soda slurped as I drained the cup. “Now she’s in the wind. I’m not sure where she is. On the run, I guess.”
“Her daddy must have known.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Does Paxton know?”
“He will soon enough.”
“You’re so different than Patty,” she said.
I detected no traces of disappointment. “I’ve heard that.”
“But maybe that’s a good thing. Better to be tough in this world.”
For once, it might be nice to wear rose-colored glasses. But the universe had never delivered my set.
“Do you remember a gas station with a pay phone on Tanner’s Run? It would have been due south of the concert.”
“Yeah, that was Izzy Bay’s gas station. My brother bought bait there all the time. But it’s been gone twenty years.”
I thought about the old barn on Tanner’s Run Road. Kevin had seemed fascinated by the structure. “Was there a barn near that station?”
“Yeah. It was part of the Foster family farm. Quite the spread in the 1930s. The barn is all that’s left, and it’s barely standing.”
“The Fosters are from the area?”
“No. Foster Sr. came from the east. He came to Dawson to mine gold, but that was a bust, so he became a farmer.” She shook her head. “I remember Kevin used to talk about the mines. He wondered if he could get rich if he dug in them.”
“It’s played out.”
“That and it’s now ready to collapse.”
A customer called out, and Callie glanced over her shoulder. “Better get going.”
“Thanks, Callie.”
Paxton entered the diner, and the instant he saw me, he frowned. I motioned him forward.
To his credit, he crossed the diner, angled past Cody, and sat across from me. “You still smell like smoke.”
“I took a shower and washed my clothes.” I sniffed my arm. He was right. “Any luck on who tried to barbecue me?”
“We’ve roped off the area, but the rain wiped away a lot of evidence.”
“What about the bottles thrown into my house? Anything special about it?”
“The structure is too hot to investigate now.”
Made sense. It could be a day or two before the ashes cooled. “Tristan Fletcher is alive.”
He stilled. “Say that again.”
I repeated my statement as I pulled up the website for Susan’s dance studio. “Alive and well.”
He studied the image. “How do you know it’s her?”
“I’ve talked to her.” I explained how I’d found her and the main details of our conversation. “Call Lannie if you don’t believe me.”
He sat back, shoved out a breath, and then reexamined the image. “Susan doesn’t look like Tristan in these pictures.”
“Thirty-one years and a hair color changes a lot. But it’s her. And her father knew she was alive. He had pictures of her on his walls.”
“I didn’t see pictures like that when I was in the house yesterday.”
I leaned forward. If it came to it, I’d text him the pictures I had snapped during my breaking and entering adventure. “Someone took them.”
“This is the craziest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I get that. But you need to process this information fast. We’re on a clock now.”
“What clock?”
I ignored his question. “Was Taggart’s suicide a shock?” I asked.
“Hell of a shock.”
“And the medical examiner ruled his death a suicide?”
Paxton’s face paled. “He ruled it undetermined.”
“Why not suicide?”
“Something about the angle of the bullet. I thought the doctor was trying to protect Taggart’s legacy, and I didn’t argue.”
“Did you investigate Taggart’s death?”
“Sure, I investigated it. Taggart had high levels of alcohol in his system. But he was a drinker when he was alone. I found nothing else that caught my attention.”
I’d bet Paxton was so worried about finding evidence of suicide he didn’t look that hard and likely missed other evidence.
“Anything special about his last days?”
“Drove the road between the festival site and the town a dozen times.”
I pictured the winding road, the barn, and the mountains. “Did he say why?”
“No. I know the case never let him go.”
I understood that. “And Briggs? He shot himself, too?”
Paxton frowned. “Yeah. Why are you so fixated on this?”
“All of these men were connected to the festival. They knew details that could stir trouble.”
Paxton shifted in his seat. “Everyone in this town had information on the festival.” As I readied to fire another question, he held up his hand. “Back to Tristan. If what you’re saying is true, we need to find her.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Do you think she knows where the bodies are?”
I reached for my phone and texted, I know where the bodies are buried.
Paxton peered over the edge of my phone. “That true?”
“Do you wear a bulletproof vest?”
“Sometimes.”
“Might want to strap one on today, pal.”
As I drove out of Dawson, the dream catcher dangled from the rearview mirror as I dialed Grant’s number. My call went to voicemail. I recapped my conversation with Paxton, the text I’d sent, and my final location.
I turned east on Tanner’s Run Road toward the rolling hills. In the distance, I saw the barn’s dried, sun-stripped boards.
My phone rang. “Grant.”
“Where are you?”
A beat of silence and then: “A mile from the barn on the old Foster family farm. I think that’s where the bodies are buried.”
“How did you come up with that?”
“The original Foster bought the land to mine gold. It went bust, so he turned to farming. There’s a mine shaft on the property.
I think the barn is very near that shaft.
Thirty-one years ago, someone could have parked a van inside the barn.
This person could have gone undetected as they dumped the bodies in the shaft. ”
“Who did it?”
“That’s what I’m about to find out.”
“I’m fifteen minutes from you. Can you wait?”
“No.” Cody rose on the passenger seat and stared out the windshield.
“Someone set fire to your house, Sloane. Someone wants to kill you.”
“Yeah. Not ideal.” I knew the road well enough to take a slight right a quarter of a mile before the barn. “I got my man Cody to help me.”
He swore. “Do not engage.”
I pulled off the road and parked. “I could say okay, but I would be lying.”
“Sloane. Just wait.”
“No can do.”
“Why are you pushing this?”
I hooked Cody’s leash on his collar, got out of the car, and helped him to the ground. “I’ve done this before.”