“Yeah, so?”
“So…” she answered, then paused.
“What is it?” Ben pressed.
“We had another flashlight, but I called it off and decided not to go in.”
“Why?”
“Honestly? I was spooked.”
“You, spooked? I find that one hard ta’ believe.”
“I’m serious, Ben,” she told him. “It was a weird feeling… I don’t know for sure exactly what…but it really did spook me. I felt like a rookie agent… See… I told you it was silly.”
“Not really,” he suggested. “Maybe there’s somethin’ to it.”
“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe I’m just overtired. The SAC called me in too early for words this morning. I haven’t actually had much sleep.”
“Yeah, well ya’ do sound like you’re draggin’.”
“I am. Maybe I should let you go and turn in early. The sheriff is coming by to pick me up in the morning, so we can go back out to the scene. Hopefully I won’t freeze up this time.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “But don’t ignore your gut.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not kiddin’, Constance.”
“I know you aren’t.”
“Okay… Talk to ya’ tomorrow?”
“Probably,” she said. “I’ll call when I get a chance.”
“Okay. Sleep tight.”
“Enjoy your pizza.”
Constance stabbed the END button to terminate the call. The ibuprofen hadn’t had a chance to kick in just yet, so her head was still aching, but at least it wasn’t unbearable. She held the phone
up to check the time. The digits on the screen showed that it was pushing 5:30.
As she started to lower her hand she caught a dim flash and focused on it. Her pearlescent pink nails were shining in the light from the small lamp on the side table. Laying the cell phone aside, she held up both hands and splayed out her fingers. As she gazed at the retro manicure she felt herself smile, but only for a brief instant before the corners of her mouth bent into a deep frown.
Given what Sheriff Carmichael had told her earlier, Merrie Callahan had fallen into catatonia by now. Constance couldn’t help but imagine the abject fear that was likely going through her tortured mind at this very moment, and it turned her stomach sour. As she lay there in silence, unable to think of anything else, she could taste the acrid tang of bile on the back of her tongue.
CHAPTER 14
7:32 A.M. – December 23, 2010
Greenleaf Motel
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
Constance finished threading her holster onto her belt and then worked the end of the flat strap through the remaining loops on her blue jeans. As she pulled the leather tight to buckle it, the corner of her P226’s slide momentarily jabbed into her side and she winced. What little sleep she’d finally managed in the early hours of the morning had apparently been spent rolled over on top of her cell phone. Between the hard plastic rectangle and the unforgiving mattress, she now had a tender spot in exactly the wrong place, given that she preferred a high-ride FLETCH holster for her sidearm. She lifted her layered shirts and had another look. The partial outline of the phone was still visible on her skin, and it was definitely going to bruise.
“Oh well,” she muttered aloud as she pulled the garments back down and straightened them. “I’ve had worse.”
Her voice sounded rough, even to her own ears.
She twisted slowly at the waist, stretching. Halfway through the motion her back popped in a way she wasn’t entirely sure it was supposed to. A massage was definitely going to be in order once she was back home. Probably professional, because whenever she let Ben do it, things tended to take a radically different course. The detour was certainly therapeutic in its own way, but not what she was after at the moment.
Of course, that could always change.
Constance walked to the back of the room and inspected herself in the streaked mirror over the sink. She had actually applied a little more makeup than usual in an attempt to hide the bags under her eyes. Judging from the face staring back at her, the attempt had failed miserably, but she didn’t feel up to taking another run at it. She would just have to look as tired as she felt.
A quick glance at her watch told her that Sheriff Carmichael wasn’t due for another twenty minutes or so. She pondered whether she should just park herself in a chair or take a walk up to the motel office in search of caffeine. Since there was no coffeepot in the room, she’d started her day with a severely travel-worn packet of instant decaf that she had found in her suitcase and prepared with lukewarm water from the tap. As expected, it definitely wasn’t cutting it in the waking up department.
She let out a heavy sigh, then donned her coat and stuffed her cell, wallet, and room key into the pockets. She definitely needed something, so if the office didn’t have coffee, then maybe she’d grab a soda from the machine. She was just stepping out into the frosty air as the sheriff was pulling into a parking space nearby.
She gave him a quick wave, then checked her door to be sure it was locked. Stepping off the sidewalk and skirting around the nose of her own vehicle, she drew up alongside the cruiser and climbed in.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Yeah. Bad habit of mine,” Skip replied, then pointed toward the floorboard on the passenger side. “That thermos there next to your left foot is full of coffee. It’s fresh.”
“You read my mind,” she replied with an almost thankful tone in her voice. Shifting in the seat, she leaned forward and reached for the dinged, gray metal cylinder.
“I just figured Artie still hasn’t put any coffeepots in the rooms,” he told her.
“You figured correctly.”
“Not surprising, the cheap old coot. Go on ahead and use the cap,” he offered. “It’s clean, and I already had my fill at home.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Oh yeah, and it’s just black. Hope that’ll do.”
“That’s fine. Right now I don’t care, as long as it’s hot and has caffeine.”
Skip was sitting slightly twisted in his seat, the back of his shoulder resting against the inner driver’s side door and his left hand lazily hooked onto the top of the steering wheel. Reaching up with his right hand, he used his thumb and forefinger to smooth down his mustache while regarding her quietly. After a few heartbeats had thumped by, he asked, “So… About an hour’n a half? Maybe two?”
“What?” Constance asked while twisting the inner cap back onto the top of the thermos she was now squeezing between her knees.
“Sleep,” he said. “No offense, young lady, but you look like crap.”
She took a sip of the freshly poured java, then nodded. “Oh… Yeah… About two, I think. Which makes a total of maybe six in the past two days. Last night I just couldn’t stop thinking about…”
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed as her voice trailed off. “That’s not all that unusual. Oh, and trust me, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I know I look like crap too. Three fingers of bourbon and a sleeping pill didn’t do me much good last night either. Never does this time of year.”
“Yeah,” was all Constance could think of to say in that moment. She took another sip of the hot brew, then stared thoughtfully at the thick fingers of steam rising from the metal cup. “Have you checked on her this morning?”
“Yep… Always do.”
“How is she?”
“On the outside, just like I said: starin’ off into space.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “On the inside, I’m afraid nobody really knows what’s goin’ on except her. And since there’s not a damn thing I can do to fix it, I try not to think about it too much… Hard not to, though… Guess you found that out last night.”
Once again, words failed her. “Yeah.”
“So, do you want to stop over at That Place and grab breakfast first?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll grab something later.”
“Okay… Well, go on then. Buckle up,” the sheriff instructed with a wave of his hand, then shifted around in his seat and levered the cruiser into reverse. He cast his gaze over his shoulder and began to back the vehicle out of its parking space as he added, “We’ve got police work to do.”