Dying for Dominoes Page 15

  That was the theory, which made sense, and yet the buckle ends of the seat belt were still engaged. That didn’t make sense. Ben looked over the grainy pixels under magnification. The belt itself was gone, burned in the fire most likely, but the buckle was still connected. How did she get out without unbuckling the belt?

  “What is it?” Rian repeated. “Ben, tell me.”

  He explained the photo and his observations without the sordid details.

  “If she survived the crash, where is she?”

  “I can’t imagine she walked away unharmed. More puzzling is how she got out of the car. And where is she now? Those are the questions that beg for answers.”

  “I have to go looking for her,” Rian said with so much fervor that Ben knew nothing would stop her. “Come with me. You know where to start looking. You know what to look for.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, and in that instant knew he would do whatever Rian asked him to do. Even if he had to cross a line to do it.

  They agreed where to meet halfway, Ben driving from his side of the state, and Rian driving from her homestead near Bluff Springs. It had taken her more than two hours, and Ben was waiting for her when she arrived at their predetermined rendezvous.

  “I think there is more to this story than you shared on the phone,” Ben said, his hands light on the wheel. “Do you think Zack was having an affair? With someone in Hot Springs? You said as much on the phone.”

  Rian shifted uncomfortably in the seat. He knew she couldn’t possibly enjoy riding in a police car, even if it was in the front seat.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she said quietly. “We just need to find Amy.”

  “Tell me everything that led up to her disappearance.”

  Rian turned to face him. “Everything?”

  “Well, the highlights anyway. As you see them.”

  Rian laid her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. He saw dark shadows beneath her lashes and wondered how long she had tossed and turned before she made the call to him for help.

  “So much of what I know puts you in jeopardy,” she said finally, turning to look at him. He left his eyes on the road. “Zack was a dirty dealer. I didn’t want to help him, but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me for help?”

  “I have come to you for help. I just waited too long.”

  Ben was silent. He knew to give her space. If she wanted to share, she would. If she didn’t, no amount of harassment would change her mind.

  He drove quickly, keeping his eyes on the road while the car sped along Highway 7’s curvaceous lanes, tires squealing on the turns.

  “We were playing dominoes like we do every week. Zelda mentioned she wanted Zack gone and that we should help her. Genna made a joke about it and, before we knew it, we were talking about killing a husband and getting rid of the body.”

  Rian glanced at Ben out of the corner of her eye. “I thought we were just joking around, but then he winds up dead, and then Genna’s car gets a big dent right where a man’s knees would be. I say to myself, ‘Can this be a coincidence?’”

  Ben glanced at Rian and then turned back to the road.

  “I just couldn’t take the chance. Genna was acting strange, indignant, like when you get caught red-handed and you won’t admit it. She acts like that a lot, especially when she’s cheating at dominoes. But I couldn’t tell if she was covering for Zelda or herself, or if the situation just made her nervous for everyone. So we took the Mercedes to my detail guy. If there was any shred of evidence, it got fixed.”

  Ben frowned and shook his head. “So you’ve made yourself an accessory at the very least.”

  Rian shrugged her shoulders. “This is all my fault,” she said stubbornly. “I know Amy thought the same thing, and I have to wonder if she found something in the hotel that might also have gotten fixed. I think she thought we all were in on it somehow, except we left her out of our plans. She’s tender that way. Hates to be left out of anything—even if it’s something horrendous like the flu.”

  “So what do you think Amy was trying to do?”

  “She was looking for something or someone. I think she thought the Hummer would make a good magnet. The Hummer had to be well-known down here, even among those drug lords who drove up into my yard a few weeks ago.”

  Ben blew out stale air and shook his head. “You never told me about that.”

  “No, and I may not tell you about it now.”

  He couldn’t help but grin.

  From the Hot Springs detectives and the details they had shared with him briefly, Ben knew Zelda Carlisle was the primary suspect in her husband’s death. They didn’t have evidence to make an arrest, not for murder, but they were confident they soon would. They were following her every move, and they didn’t believe Mrs. Carlisle was alone in that crime. They believed she had help from her friends.

  Rian was one of those friends and the implication troubled him.

  The detectives had yet to determine whether they were looking at a murder charge or involuntary manslaughter. Evidence would make that determination when they had more of it in their hands. Carlisle didn’t die from impact; he bled to death from the glass shard in his neck. There was no way someone could premeditate that, so it could have been an accident—of sorts. It could have been an angry wife who ran him down and then realized later what she had done.

  And that troubled him, too.

  There was a possibility that Zelda and her friends were responsible for both Carlisle’s death and Amy’s disappearance. Was it possible that they had rigged the Hummer to go over the hill without a driver? Maybe the seat belt played a role in that. Possible. But probable? He couldn’t quite picture any of it, knowing these four women. He didn’t know all of them that well, but he knew Rian, and murder would never sit well with her.

  Besides, it would take much more than daring to conspire such a dramatic series of events. Putting an end to the Hummer might put an end to any lingering evidence and confuse the investigation—if that’s what they were trying to do—but it all carried such an untenable weight of danger and risk. Too much could go wrong.

  Maybe that’s why Rian was worried about finding Amy. Was there more to that than he realized?

  Ben squared his jaw. He glanced again at Rian and saw that she was watching him closely.

  “You look like you’ve got lockjaw.”

  Ben relaxed his mouth. “Just trying to figure this out.”

  “Don’t try too hard. You’ll fry your brains.”

  “Do you know who killed Zack Carlisle?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I do know I wish our paths had never crossed.”

  Ben pulled the cruiser to the shoulder of the road. They stood on the hillside where the Hummer had been hauled topside. A wide swath of broken branches and tree trunks led down the hill, not all of it carnage from the Hummer’s descent. Trees had been felled to make way for the wrecker crew, and the car had been wrenched up the hill and then towed into town. All that was left behind was a charred ring that looked like a spaceship had attempted a crop circle in the hard limestone of the Ouachita Mountains.

  “Where do we start?” Rian asked. They were still standing on the shoulder of the road just above the wreck entry.

  “I’m sure they already scoured this section of the woods,” he answered, “but I want to look again. And then we need to widen our search.”

  Ben kicked the toe of his boot at the remnants of a shattered taillight on the edge of the pavement. It probably broke as the vehicle was towed to the top, but he made a mental note to check the report for that detail anyway, just in case it didn’t belong to the Hummer.

  He surveyed the woods that spanned out in front of them, a 360-degree view of dense forests and hard stone bluffs. It was a lot of acreage to se
arch for someone alive, or dead. The hillside was far too treacherous for someone to travel in the dark, especially if that someone were injured. A climb uphill would be preferable, but difficult. A downhill climb would be easier but more dangerous. One wrong step in the dark and Amy could step off a cliff into nothing but air, or worse, take a rough tumble down the rocky hillside.

  He thought to move down the slope to look, but he didn’t want Rian to come with him. And he didn’t want to leave her alone. He glanced over at her, where she was still scanning the expanse of woods surrounding them, her eyes dark with apprehension.

  “Ready?” he asked and nodded to the rugged downslope. She nodded and followed.

  Burnt brush crunched beneath their boots as they made their way down to the outcropping where the Hummer had come to a stop. The acrid smell of fire filled what little breeze rustled the hillside as they walked the site, slowly circling counterclockwise. The ground, charred black at the center, was blistered by the heat even as they searched farther out.

  Ben considered that wild boar or a mountain cat could have pulled Amy from the car and dragged her off as prey, but an animal wouldn’t come close to a raging fire. Even if an animal had pulled the body out from beneath the seat belt straps, which seemed unlikely, the force would cause some damage—as gruesome as that sounded—and leave evidence of some sort behind. He didn’t see any such remains—no bones, hair, or shredded clothing.

  While these were grisly thoughts he had no intention of sharing with Rian, the idea was hard to shake. How had Amy gotten out of the car without unbuckling the seat belt? And why hadn’t this observation been included in the officer’s report?

  All the evidential findings might have been already bagged, but a crash site wasn’t necessarily a crime scene, and the early responders were looking for injured, not evidence. To be fair, the crews were pulling an abandoned vehicle from over the ridge. They weren’t looking for a missing person. And not all details got noticed in any investigation. It happened more than the public needed to know.

  Logic told him there were many possibilities. Even more curious was how this was connected to Zack Carlisle. Rian had said as much. This question was like a fleabite he couldn’t reach. An itch he couldn’t scratch.

  He glanced at Rian, who was following in his footsteps several paces behind.

  “There’s nothing here,” she called out. “What are we looking for?”

  “This,” Ben said, bending down and reaching into a thicket. He pulled a glove from his pocket and gripped the steel of a blade before bringing the knife into full view.

  Frowning, he examined the knife, a bowie with a sharp clip point that was honed only for the express purpose of killing. Etched into the wide blade was a name he recognized. Hanby was one of the finest knife makers in Arkansas, a White River Cherokee and buffalo rancher who lived in the Ozark Mountains not too far from Bluff Springs. He could feel the weight of the blade and heavy buffalo horn handle as he held it aloft. No doubt the buffalo hide sheath was still hanging from the owner’s belt. Someone would be very sorry they lost this knife.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  “No,” Rian said.

  “This isn’t Amy’s? You’re sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. Amy doesn’t carry a knife. And certainly not one like that!”

  “Could it have been in the Hummer? Did it belong to Zack?”

  Rian’s forehead bunched over her brows. “I don’t know. It could be, but I can’t imagine why. He was no hunter.”

  Ben dropped it in a bag to preserve the fingerprints he knew would still be on it. “This is how Amy got out of the car,” he said. “I had a hunch and here is the evidence that fits. Someone cut the seat belt straps to pull her out.”

  Rian’s eyes widened. “But why?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe the buckle jammed. This could have been the only way she could get out. Maybe someone . . .”

  He saw the fear flash across Rian’s face. Amy really could be in danger, real danger, and the reality of it was coming home to roost. He saw that thought in her eyes. He felt the fear in her stance. While she usually stood against the world rough, tumble, and feisty, he knew her better. He knew the vulnerable place in her heart she hid from everyone. Even from those she loved. That place was laying bare now, and he saw it all.

  “We will find her,” he said softly and pulled her to him. He felt her shoulders relax against his chest. “I promise you, we will find Amy.”

  He hated the lie. There were miles of dense forest surrounding them, and within that, acres of bluffs with caves and outcroppings where someone could hide. Or be hidden. Or be attacked by wild game. He doubted they would find Amy unless whoever took her from the Hummer wanted her to be found. That troubled him more than Rian needed to know. If Amy’s disappearance was connected to Zack Carlisle’s murder, connected to a drug cartel, she was in more danger than any of them realized.

  “It’s too late to get a search for Amy underway, now,” he said quietly, motioning to the sun heavy on the horizon between two mountain peaks. “We can get an early start if you want to stay over . . .” He smiled broadly at the thought. “There’s a clean little motel not far from here . . . That is, if you want to stay the night.”

  “But I didn’t bring my PJs,” Rian said with a sexy smile, easing his mind just a little. He hoped that he would soon be able to ease hers, too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She heard her name being called like a lullaby from far away. Standing on the beach in her childhood hometown, staring out at the sea, foamy waves flowing over her toes on the sand, she could hear them—her friends—calling for her to join them, but they were too far from shore to reach without a boat.

  Overhead the shorebirds circled and dove, their wings beating the air like the blades of a fan on high speed. The beating wings grew louder and then moved away.

  When she opened her eyes, it was daytime and the dream was gone. There was no ocean, no birds, no friends calling her name. Instead, she lay in a pool of sweat. Blinking in the light, she tried to focus her eyes. One small window letting in dirty daylight showed her the faded paneling that surrounded her. The room couldn’t have been more than ten feet square.

  She glanced at the mattress underneath her, naked of sheets, the black-and-white ticking old, threadbare, and stained. Don’t even think about those stains. Her stomach grumbled and her throat ached with thirst. Her head felt too heavy to lift. She lay still, letting her senses awaken from a deep drugged sleep. The stench overtook her first. Gagging, she heaved, and her body rumbled with pain, like thunder bouncing through mountains. Her ears rang in her head and, beneath that, she heard the subtle beat of her heart pounding.

  In a moment the nausea and pain passed, and then, wiggling until her feet hung off the end of the bed, she shifted until they touched the floor. Resting them there, she waited again for the pain to fade. Then, rising on unsteady legs, she steadied herself against the doorframe and then stepped through.

  Ahead was a small kitchenette with a stove, sink, and fridge. Shuffling to the refrigerator she opened the door. Only stale air greeted her. Taking the few steps to the sink, she turned the tap. It didn’t even hiss.

  She rushed toward the door, hope flowing through her, but reaching for the handle, hope faded just as fast. The knob turned, but the door didn’t open. She yanked at it, but something seemed to be holding it shut from the outside. Pressing her nose to the window, she drew in a breath, and foul air rushed at her. The stench came from outside.

  She cupped her hand around her eyes and pressed against the window. Through the grimy grid of the window screen, she saw a campfire ring a few feet away. Five empty camp chairs circled the fire ring, with beer cans littering the ground at the base of each chair, cans piled as if the drinkers were claiming his trash as a trophy. The remnants of a leftover meal sat on the rocks by th
e fire. A metal grate balanced over the stones with a cast-iron skillet on top. Her stomach grumbled again at the thought of food.

  Jiggling the doorknob again, she felt her strength wane, and although she heard something clang on the other side, the door held fast. She moaned again, and her shoulders dragged down with despair. She was a prisoner in an old trailer, somewhere deep in the backwoods, injured, lost, and a long way from home.

  The table with two wooden chairs and a bench against the wall caught her eye. At one time the cushions would have been festive orange-and-yellow stripes. Now they looked brown and dirty, the cloth showing the foam rubber pad underneath. Eyes widening with hope, she saw the bag on the table and stumbled to reach it. Inside was a six-pack of Mountain Dew, four cans of Vienna sausages, and an unopened box of saltines. Instinctively she raised her right hand, wincing at the pain. Then, after fumbling with the pull tab, she opened a can of soda and chugged down the warm liquid, bubbles burning the back of her throat like fire. She ripped the saltine package open with her teeth and slid a cracker over her split lip. The salt burned as she licked her lips. She guzzled another soda and ate half the sleeve of crackers like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe it had been days.

  Sated for the moment, she sat at the table and waited. Sooner or later he would return, she knew. And when he did, she would demand to be taken to a hospital. But what did she have to bargain with? What did he want with her? Where was she?

  Somewhere in the boondocks.

  Somewhere no closer to proving her friends’ innocence. She had failed them, and she had failed herself.

  She reached for the peridot charm at her throat.

  It was gone!

  An anguished cry escaped her lips. Shoulders sagging with sadness, her head dropped to the dirt-smudged table. Her tears flowed hot, salty, and full of regret, until finally she felt the last of her resolve run out of her as the tears pooled on the grimy surface.

  She lifted her head when she heard them coming. Through the kitchen window, she saw three pickup trucks speeding single file in a cloud of dust down the road toward her before screeching to a stop on the other side of the fire ring. Fear swept through her. Who were they? What did they want?