Killing Trail: A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery Page 8

  “What talk?” Sophie said, ever alert to any disciplinary action her sister might need.

  Cole looked at her. “You might as well come in and join us. I only want to have to do this once.”

  Jessie adjusted the flame under the soup. “Come on, Sophie, we’ll all go.”

  He led the way, Sophie hurrying to keep up. Angela, pale and drawn, looking even thinner than usual, reclined on the couch, a chocolate-colored fleece throw pulled up to her chin.

  “Hi, Angel, how are you feeling?”

  “Not too bad.”

  “Can we stop the movie for a minute?”

  Angela hit the pause button on the remote.

  Cole noticed a glass of bubbly liquid on the end table beside her. “Is that ginger ale?”

  “Yeah, I can drink it now.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “Here, can you scootch up your legs so I can sit beside you?”

  “I wanna sit beside you, too, Daddy,” Sophie said in a plaintive tone.

  “You can sit right here, on my other side,” he said.

  Cole found himself wedged between his two daughters, while Jessie sat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table. He reached out a hand, and Angela slipped her cold fingers into it. He felt a slight tremor in them before she clasped his hand. He rubbed her fingers, trying to warm them.

  “What is it, Dad? What’s wrong?” Angela asked.

  “How do you know something’s wrong?”

  “You look sadder than usual. Have you heard from Mom?”

  He shook his head. He felt adrift in unfamiliar waters. At the clinic, he was used to being in charge, and he could handle emergencies, sickness, or even death. But this, this was something for which he felt ill-prepared. There was only one way he knew how to do things, and that was to tackle them head on.

  “Angela.” He paused and looked at his youngest, too. “Angela and Sophie . . . I hate so much to have to tell you this, but I have some very bad news.”

  Tears sprang to Sophie’s eyes. He could feel her become tense as a taut wire fence beside him. “Is it Mom?”

  “No, honey, this isn’t about your mom. It’s about Grace. Grace Hartman. I don’t know any way to cushion this, so I just have to say it. I found out last night.”

  “What, Dad?” Angela’s voice sounded thin and pinched.

  “Grace is dead.”

  For a moment, everything in the room went still. He met Jessie’s eyes, and she gave him a slight nod of encouragement.

  Sophie began to sob. Cole put his arm around her and hugged her close.

  Angela sat immobile; a shattered expression gradually took over her face. Her voice quivered. “Did she wreck her car?”

  There was nothing else to do but just get through it. “No, honey. Someone killed her.”

  Angie gasped and put her free hand up to her throat, fingers fluttering. Cole had to stop himself from squeezing the one hand he held even harder. It felt fragile and cold inside his, and he didn’t want to crush it.

  “Someone killed her?” Sophie said between sobs. “A bad person?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I think it’s safe to say a bad person did it.”

  Cole had been watching Angela, and he saw her slowly start to crumble. Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled, spilling over. He felt himself melt at that moment, too, and the sorrow he’d kept in check for so many hours finally took over. Gathering his daughters into his arms, he allowed his own tears to flow.

  Soon Jessie joined them on the sofa, spreading her arms wide, trying to hold and comfort them while all four of them wept.

  Chapter 11

  After spending the morning at the cabin and gravesite, Mattie and Stella finished up and started the drive back down the mountain. The Crime Scene Unit had arrived from Byers County and had gathered information, some of which answered a few immediate questions.

  “So now we know the blood on the cabin deck is human,” Mattie said.

  “Yeah. CSU can have that blood type for us before the autopsy. DNA will take longer. At least we’ll be able to match type by this afternoon at the latest.”

  “Could they tell anything else by the stain?”

  “It’s fresh, although they couldn’t say exactly how old. It’s feasible it got spilled there in the last twenty-four hours. Looks like the victim got shot, dropped right there, and bled out. She was shot in the chest; probably hit the heart, so that fits. Someone took a swipe at cleaning it up but didn’t work at it too hard. They might have thought no one would pay attention to blood at a hunting cabin.”

  Stella settled into the passenger seat, hanging onto the safety strap above the window, while Mattie steered the cruiser back down the steep mountain road. “Your dog made a valuable find back there, Mattie.”

  Mattie tried to tamp down the pride she was feeling. She could hear Robo panting in his compartment behind her. She turned the air conditioning on and directed the flow back to him. “I know it.”

  “We’ll be retrieving the slug from the girl at the autopsy this afternoon. If the calibers match, it’s safe to say this casing came from the bullet that killed her.”

  “And we’ll know the shot came from a handgun, not a rifle,” Mattie said. “That pretty much eliminates accidental death from a hunter’s stray bullet.”

  “Since the casing can be matched to the weapon that fired it, we’ll be able to identify the gun that killed her if we find it,” Stella said. “In the meantime, CSU will try to get a fingerprint or a print fragment off of it this afternoon. Maybe that will lead us to our killer.”

  They’d reached a spot lower in the foothills, and Mattie’s cell phone beeped, letting her know simultaneously that they’d driven back into cell phone range and that she’d missed a call.

  “Let me pick up this message,” she said.

  It was from the vet. She summarized for Stella. “That was from Dr. Walker. He said he needs to remove the bullet from the dog’s leg this morning, and since he can’t reach me on my cell phone, he’ll try to reach me at the station. Last night, I told him one of us needed to be there when he took the bullet out to protect the chain of custody on the evidence. I hope someone was available.”

  “His daughter’s the one we have to interview, right?”

  “Yes. She was also the one who was sick all night.”

  “Call him and tell him we’ll swing by now to talk to the girl.”

  Mattie knew it might not be that easy. The vet seemed pretty protective of his daughter. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I want to talk to her before I get tied up in that autopsy this afternoon, so don’t take no for an answer.”

  Walker answered on the first ring.

  “This is Deputy Cobb. I’m just coming down from the mountain. I see that you called.”

  “Yes. I ended up reaching Sheriff McCoy. He sent Deputy Johnson over to attend Belle’s surgery, and he took the slug with him when he left.”

  “That’s good. Thanks for taking care of that.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you catch this guy.”

  “Did you tell your daughter about Grace?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded grim. “She finally fell asleep. She had a tough night and now a bad morning.”

  Mattie cringed inside, but she had to push. “We need to talk with her as soon as possible. We’re moving forward with the investigation and time is of the essence. The detective is with me now. Could we talk to your daughter in about twenty minutes?”

  He paused long enough that Mattie was beginning to construct an argument in her mind.

  “Yes, we can work that out,” he said at last. “Just come to the house. Angie will be awake when you get here.”

  Whew. “That would be great.”

  “I already talked to Angela about speaking with you. She wants to do whatever she can to help. I think it gives her something to do so she doesn’t feel so helpless.”

  Mattie felt grateful for the vet’s proactive attitude, and it sounde
d like he was trying to impart that to his daughters as well. Nothing at all like her own father, but it reminded her a little of Mama T.

  “We’ll see you soon,” she said, and she disconnected the call.

  “Good work,” Stella said. “And Mattie, one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Would you take the lead on establishing rapport with this girl?”

  It was an unexpected request, and Mattie gave the detective a searching look. “Why’s that?”

  Stella shrugged and made a squeamish face. “I don’t do kids.”

  *

  If there were two species on the face of the planet that Mattie could relate to, they were dogs and kids. She’d spent years in foster care surrounded by all kinds of kids, and she understood them. Sure, she understood their dreams, their goals, their puppy-love interests. But more important, she understood their fears: the fear of not fitting in, the fear of not having enough food to eat, and the big one—the fear of getting hurt.

  Mattie found an old cottonwood tree in front of the vet’s house that she could park under. Pulling up so that the cab of her car was in the shade, she rolled down the front windows.

  “Let me pour some water for Robo and put it in the back for him before we go inside,” she said.

  She kept his supply of water in a gallon jug in the trunk of the car, and she made sure it was full and fresh daily before leaving her house. By the time she finished, the vet had opened his front door and was standing out on the wide covered deck, waiting for them. He opened the door as she and Stella approached.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Mattie recognized his grief in his red-rimmed and swollen eyes. As she entered the room and encountered the rest of his family, she saw that they all suffered the same.

  “This is my sister, Jessica Walker,” the vet said, introducing a tall, slim woman. A small girl with brown curls came forward to hang on Walker’s left forearm. He indicated her by flexing his bicep and lifting her up. “This is my youngest, Sophie. And my oldest, Angela.”

  The girls were as Mattie remembered them, and they couldn’t have been more different. The youngest looked adorable with her freckles and short, solid build, while the older one stood tall, willowy, with pale skin and white-blond hair. She could tell they’d both been crying, and her heart went out to them.

  “Okay, Sophie, time for you to go upstairs with Aunt Jessie,” Walker said.

  “Dad-dy,” Sophie said in a quiet but decidedly whiny voice, looking up at her father with wide, beseeching eyes. “Can I stay here with you?”

  “Nuh-uh,” Walker said. “Nope. We talked about this, half-pint. Now upstairs you go.”

  “Come on, Sophie,” the aunt said, holding a hand out toward her. “Let’s go read some stories.”

  Although she made a show of not wanting to, the young girl did as she was told.

  Just like Robo.

  Walker gestured toward the living room while Angela led the way. It had a huge vaulted ceiling and was dominated by a fireplace made of rock. Leather furniture, oak end and coffee tables, Navaho rugs, and pillows and throws made the room homey and inviting. Walker waved Mattie and Stella over toward some chairs while he and Angela seated themselves side by side on the couch.

  “Thank you for talking with us, Angela,” Mattie said, starting out by giving the teen lots of eye contact, making sure she knew that Mattie was talking directly to her and not to her father. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Angela’s eyes filled, and she looked down at her hands for a moment.

  “And I want you to know,” Mattie continued, “that we’ll do everything in our power to find out who did this to your friend. Your talking with us is very important, and I believe you might be able to help us understand some things about Grace that could give us leads. We plan to search for her killer until we find who did this.”

  Angela had regained control and was now looking directly into Mattie’s eyes. She liked the teen’s serious demeanor and guessed there wouldn’t be much drama from this one.

  Mattie glanced at Stella, and the detective gave her a nod.

  “Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt Grace, Angela?”

  The girl shook her head. “No one. There’s no one who would want to hurt Grace. She’s one of the most popular girls in school.”

  Angela seemed to be having trouble speaking of her friend in the past tense. “Is there anyone who might have been jealous of her? Anyone at all?”

  Angela seemed to be looking inward, thinking. “Well, maybe. I mean, some of the girls might be jealous, but . . . well, no one ever acted mean to her out in the open. I don’t even know of anyone acting mean behind her back.”

  “Did Grace have a boyfriend?”

  “No, not a boyfriend really.”

  “Someone she likes, someone that likes her but she doesn’t like him back?”

  “Well, she’s liked someone for a while now, but I don’t think he likes her back.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Mike Chadron.”

  This answer took Mattie by surprise. Chadron had to be at least seven years older than Grace. She glanced at Walker, who looked shocked.

  “Do they spend time together?” Mattie asked.

  Angela looked at her dad, and he encouraged her with a nod. “Well, at first he was helping her train Belle. And then he told her he was too busy to help anymore and that she’d better stop coming over. I thought maybe he wanted some space, like maybe he thought she was being too intense or something. Grace can be that way sometimes when she decides she wants something.”

  “So did Grace quit going over to his place?”

  “Yeah, but once she got her driver’s license, she’d spy on him sometimes, follow him places. I told her she was, like, stalking him, and it was ridiculous. But she just laughed.”

  Stella leaned toward Angela, tense and direct. In a brassy voice, she asked, “Are you sure they weren’t involved with each other and Grace just didn’t tell you about it? Maybe she kept secrets.”

  A look of confusion crossed Angela’s face. She hesitated, appeared unsure of herself. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

  The doctor placed a protective arm along the back of the couch behind his daughter’s shoulders. One look at his face told Mattie he wasn’t pleased with Stella’s confrontational approach. She scooted to the edge of her chair, hoping Stella would get the signal that Mattie was supposed to be taking the lead.

  “That’s all right, Angela,” she said. “It’s okay for you to stick to telling us the things you know.” Then giving Stella a pointed look, she added, “You can leave the speculation for us to do later.”

  Stella raised her hands slightly, as if in surrender, and settled back in her chair.

  Mattie tried to get back on track with the teen. “So as far as you know, Grace had a little crush on Mike, followed him sometimes. Did she ever say where she followed him?”

  Again, Angela appeared to search her memory. “Not really. Grace thought it was fun, you know, trying to follow him in the car without him seeing her.”

  “Did she ever mention following him up into the mountains or anything like that?”

  Angela shook her head. “No. Not that I can remember.”

  “Did Grace like to drive up to the mountains?”

  “I’ve been away most of the summer, and she got her license while I was away. I mean, we talked on the phone all the time, but we never talked about where she was driving her car.”

  Stella spoke up again, this time in a more modulated tone. Maybe she’d been listening more carefully to Mattie’s approach. “Angela, do you know if Grace was involved with drugs of any kind?”

  Angela looked at the detective, her face remaining certain, sure of her answer. “No, Grace didn’t want to have anything to do with drugs. Her parents would’ve killed her—” Her wan face blanched even more. “I mean, she knows how her parents feel about drugs.”

  “And how did
Grace get along with her parents?”

  Angela’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “Are they doing okay? Have you seen them yet?”

  Stella’s voice actually sounded kind when she answered. “No, I’ll be visiting with them this afternoon. I just wondered if Grace got along with them.”

  Suddenly, Angela folded forward, put her hands to her face, and sobbed. The vet leaned over his daughter, trying to provide what comfort he could. Mattie could tell how much the thought of the Hartmans’ pain affected them both. She met Stella’s eyes and settled back in her chair, sending her a silent message to wait a few moments.

  Soon father and daughter regained control, and he reached for a box of tissues beside him on an end table. “Here, Angel,” he said, before looking at Mattie. “Are we about done?”

  “No, Dad. I’m okay,” Angela said, wiping tears and blowing her nose in a dainty way. “It’s just that, well, if you’d met them, you’d know they’re older than most of our parents.” Her lip trembled, and she bit it for a second, struggling to maintain her composure. When she continued, her voice was high pitched and quivery. “She’s their only kid, you know, and they love her so much. They give her everything she ever wants, but she doesn’t act spoiled about it. They just . . . love each other. That’s all.”

  Through her tears, the girl glanced at her dad. He hugged her tightly against him with one arm.

  Mattie cleared the tightness from her throat. “So from your perspective, they had a good relationship, right?”

  Angela nodded.

  “And as far as you knew, Grace didn’t use drugs,” Stella added.

  “She would’ve told me. She didn’t.” Angela’s eyes moved from the detective back to Mattie. “Wait . . . do you guys think this has something to do with drugs?”

  “We don’t know yet, Angela. But what if it did? Do you think there’s anyone, oh say, someone at school or maybe someone out in the community, who might have approached Grace to buy drugs?” Mattie asked.

  Angela’s face took on a guarded look. “There’s always kids at school with something.”

  “Don’t worry. You probably won’t be telling me anything I don’t already know, Angela. And anything you tell us is strictly confidential, our secret. Are there any kids you know of that are selling drugs?”