CASCADE COURIER

Timber Falls Cloaked in Mystery as Rainy Season Begins

by Charity Jenkins

Sheriff Mitch Tanner had his hands full when just hours before the rainy season began Bigfoot was spotted on the edge of town by our local bread delivery man. This is not the first Bigfoot sighting here—nor the last—but the real mystery is the disappearance of Dennison Ducks decoy painter Nina Monroe! The sheriff refused to confirm reports that foul play might have been involved, but one source said Nina’s boss, Wade Dennison, was very upset when she didn’t show for work this morning. Nina has been in town for only a month and little is known about her. But never fear, this reporter will get to the bottom of it….

Mountain Sheriff
B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former award-winning journalist, B.J. Daniels had thirty-six short stories published before her first romantic suspense, Odd Man Out, came out in 1995. B.J. lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Zoey and Scout, and a temperamental tomcat named Jeff. She is a member of Kiss of Death, the Bozeman Writers Group and Romance Writers of America. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards in the winters and camps and boats in the summers. All year she plays her favorite sport, tennis. To contact her, write: P.O. Box 183, Bozeman, MT 59771 or visit her Web site at www.bjdanielsweb.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Charity Jenkins—She’s set her sights on confirmed bachelor Sheriff Mitch Tanner—and the newspaper story she’s working on could get her killed.

Mitch Tanner—The rainy season in Timber Falls is always bad, but this year it starts with a murder.

Nina Monroe—The duck-decoy painter lied about who she was and why she was in town—and now she’s gone missing.

Wade Dennison—The owner of Dennison Ducks is hiding something. But is it murder?

Daisy Dennison—She became a recluse when her baby daughter, Angela, was stolen from her crib twenty-seven years ago.

Angela Dennison—Twenty-seven years ago Angela was stolen from her crib and never seen again.

Alma Bromdale—The nanny had been sleeping soundly in the room next to Angela’s…

Desiree Dennison—For years she’s had to live in her missing younger sister’s shadow. The last thing she wants is Angela to turn up now in the flesh.

Jesse Tanner—Is it just a coincidence that Mitch’s outlaw older brother shows up in Timber Falls now?

Ethel Whiting—She knows the Dennison family better than anyone in town. Maybe too well.

Sheryl Bends—Did the painter hate Nina Monroe enough for stealing one of her duck designs that she could have killed her?

Bud Farnsworth—The production manger at Dennsion Ducks has a chip on his shoulder and a mean temper.

Kyle L. Rogers—The P.I. doesn’t know it, but he was hired to make sure the kidnapper’s identity stays a secret.

This book is dedicated with much appreciation to JoAnn Brehm. Thank you for sharing your stories about life in Oregon and the long rainy season.

Oregon is a beautiful, diverse state and one I found both fascinating and a little mystifying. Especially in the deepest, darkest woods on the rain shadow side of the Cascades, where it takes little imagination to believe that Bigfoot watches from the shadows.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Tuesday, October 27

Darkness pressed against the window. Beyond the glass, something moved at the edge of the tangle of growth.

Under the glow of the desk lamp, Nina Monroe feathered the paint along one side of the wooden duck decoy.

She’d forgotten she was alone in the isolated Dennison Ducks decoy plant. Nor had she noticed how late it was. Her mind had been on her future.

For the first time in her twenty-seven years of life, her future looked good. Not just good. Dazzling. Almost blinding. Sometimes she had to pinch herself it was so hard to believe. Soon she would have everything she’d ever wanted. Soon she wouldn’t be painting duck decoys in the middle of nowhere, that was for sure.

A voice in her head warned her not to count her chickens before they’d hatched. The voice was that of her old-maid aunt Harriet and she shut it out, just as she had all of her life. Aunt Harriet the doomsayer.

After tonight, Nina would finally have what she deserved. It had been a long time coming. She smiled at the thought of blowing this dinky boring town knowing she’d never look back, never even give Timber Falls, Oregon, another thought. She felt dazed by the possibilities. And filled with righteous indignation that it had taken so long for justice to finally be done.

She’d picked Halloween. A perfect time to unmask the true villains. By Halloween, she’d be long gone—but not forgotten. She would have it all, the money—and—the revenge. Who said revenge wasn’t sweet?

A noise at the window made her look up. From the darkness appeared a distorted face. It filled the window, the eyes like empty sockets.

She let out a strangled cry, dropping her paintbrush as she shoved back her chair and stumbled to her feet.

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the face was gone. She snapped off the lamp, the only light in her corner of the decoy plant, and stood in the dark staring out at the night.

Beyond the glass was a jungle of ferns, vines, moss and trees that fought for space in the suffocating rain forest on the Pacific Ocean side of the Oregon Cascades. Sometimes she felt so closed in here she wanted to scream.

Like right now. The trees moved restlessly in the wind. Shadows flickered over the glass from what little moonlight pierced the forest.

She took a breath and tried to calm herself. There was no one out there. It had just been a trick of moonlight and shadows. Hadn’t her life always been full of shadows? But not for much longer.

So close to finally getting everything she wanted, she felt nervous, jittery, excited and maybe a little spooked. Spooked because something could go wrong.

But she knew that was just her aunt Harriet talking. After all those years with the pessimistic old woman, Nina could hear Harriet in her head. The voice of negativity. The voice of defeat.

She pushed all thoughts of Harriet away as she looked out the window again and saw nothing but the movement of trees and ferns in the faint moonlight.

Glancing at her watch, with its glowing dial, Nina saw that she had at least another hour to wait. She wanted to try to finish this duck decoy, hating to admit that over the past month, she’d come to enjoy the painting.

It required an exactness that appealed to her. She’d found she had a talent for it that surprised—and pleased—her.

From behind her, she heard a soft click. The sound of the door, on the other side of the building, opening?

She turned slowly. A single small bulb illuminated the employee entrance, casting the dark images of hundreds of ducks over her. Mallard and canvasback, pintail and greenwing, buffalohead and widgeon decoys filled the shelves from the floor to ceiling.

From where she stood, she couldn’t see past the shelves covered with ducks. Had she imagined the sound, just as she’d imagined the face at the window?

“Sure, that’s all it was,” she could hear Aunt Harriet sneer. “Fool.”

Something moved across the light on the other side of the building. A flicker of dark shadow followed by the soft scuff of a shoe on concrete. The scent of damp night air cut through the sweeter scent of freshly carved pine. She heard another click. The door closing?

It was too early. Unless there’d been a change in plans. But then, wouldn’t she have gotten a call? After all, tonight was supposed to be the last time they would meet. Once she had the money…

She glanced up at Wade Dennison’s second-story glassed-in office, half expecting to see the owner of the plant watching her as he so often did. But the office was dark, just as she knew it would be, and there was no one behind the glass.

Another soft scuff of a shoe, closer this time. She told herself it had to be one of the employees. No one else had a key to get in. Unless in her excitement she’d forgotten to lock the door.

Her heart lodged in her throat as she frantically tried to remember locking the door.

Maybe meeting here hadn’t been such a good idea. But usually she had the place to herself, preferring to work at night. Her co-workers thought she worked late to impress the boss and resented her for it—as if she cared. But that was why meeting here had seemed ideal. No one ever came around at night and she didn’t have to worry about her nosy old landlady eavesdropping.

“Who’s there?” she called out, expecting an answer.

Silence.

She hadn’t been afraid, hadn’t had any reason to be afraid. Until now.

She heard Aunt Harriet snickering inside her head. “Told you this scheme would get you killed.”

Nina hadn’t considered how vulnerable she was, alone here in the plant. Dennison Ducks was ten miles from town and a good two miles from the nearest house, which was Wade Dennison’s.

Another soft scuff of a shoe on the concrete. This one much closer. Her pulse jumped. Who was in the building with her? Someone who’d seen her car in the parking lot, known she was in here alone, maybe even knew exactly where she was in the building? Or one of the people she’d been expecting, only earlier? Either of them would have answered her. So who was in the building with her?

She could feel a presence on the other side of the row of ducks, someone moving slowly, purposefully, between the shelves toward her.

Panic filled her. She grabbed the duck off the table, smearing the wet paint. She could make a run for it around the opposite end of the shelves, dash for the door, but she knew it would be too easy for the person to cut her off before she got out—even if he didn’t have a weapon.

She could hear breathing on the other side of the dense wall of carved ducks. It had to be someone who knew why she’d come to Timber Falls. Knew why she’d wanted to work at Dennison Ducks so badly. Someone who’d found out about her meeting here tonight. Someone who thought he could keep her from getting what she deserved. That narrowed it down considerably.

But which one was dumb enough to try to stop her? She thought she knew as she waited, clutching the large wooden duck in her fist, determined not to let anyone take what was rightfully hers. Not again.

She listened as the footsteps moved closer and closer—stopping at the end of the ceiling-high shelf filled with ducks nearest her.

Quietly she slipped to the end of the row and raised the duck over her head. Come on. Just a few more steps…

The figure came around the end of the wall of duck-filled shelves.

Nina stared in confusion. For an instant, she almost laughed she was so relieved. She lowered the duck. She had nothing to fear.

She couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Chapter Two

Wednesday, October 28

Early the next morning, an ill wind whirled through Timber Falls. It started at the north end of Main, down by the Ho Hum Motel. Just a breeze. But by the time it reached Betty’s Café, it had picked up speed, dirt and dried leaves, stripping Lydia Abernathy’s maple tree bare.

Now a dust devil, it reeled past the Spit Curl, the post office and the Timber Falls Courier, discarding leaves and dust like unwelcome offerings in each doorway of the small Oregon town.

By the time the dust devil swept past Harry’s Hardware and the Duck-In bar, the sky was dark as mud.

As if sensing more than an ill wind had blown into town, Sheriff Mitch Tanner got up from his desk at Town Hall to close the window moments before the panes began to rattle. Dirt and debris clattered against the glass. The dense wall of rain forest surrounding town shimmered in the dull light, a flickering of dark shadows from within.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind died, the dust and debris settled, leaves floated gently to the ground and the first drops of rain plinked against the window.

The rainy season in Timber Falls had begun.

Mitch groaned. Trouble always seemed to accompany the rain. And he feared, this year both had come early. To make matters worse, Halloween was only days away and he’d heard that the Duck-In bar was hosting a costume party. He could figure on a long night of breaking up fights and trying to get locals home safely.

Behind him, Wade Dennison cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Sheriff…”

Mitch dragged his gaze from the rain-streaked window, trying to shake an ominous sense of dread as he turned his attention back to the man sitting across the desk from him.

Over sixty, his dark hair peppered with gray, Wade Dennison had a look of privilege about him.

“It just isn’t like Nina not to show for work.” Wade was a soft-spoken man, but a powerful one in this town. He owned Dennison Ducks, Timber Falls’s claim to fame—and its main source of income.

Mitch nodded, wondering why Wade was in such a tizzy. This couldn’t be the first employee who hadn’t shown up for work.

“I called. Her landlady said she didn’t come home last night,” Wade was saying.

“She doesn’t have a cell phone?”

Wade shook his head, worry in his gaze. Maybe more worry than was warranted? More worry than was appropriate for a young and attractive female employee?

“Could be she stayed over at a friend’s or a boyfriend’s,” Mitch suggested. “Or maybe she’s with family.”

Wade shook his head. “She doesn’t have any family. No boyfriend, either. Or friends.”

Mitch raised a brow.

“At least not that I know of,” Wade added. “She’s only been in town a month.”

A month was plenty long enough to make friends, let alone a boyfriend. But Mitch didn’t say anything.

Wade shifted in his chair. “Nina’s…shy. Keeps to herself. She’s real serious, you know?”

He didn’t. But he was curious about how Wade knew all this. Mitch had seen Nina Monroe only a few times around town and just in passing, but he remembered her as being attractive with long dark hair and dark eyes. “Serious how?”

“She’s a good worker, always on time,” Wade was saying. “In fact, she works late a lot, real serious about her job.” The older man cleared his throat again. “That’s why I’m worried something might have happened to her.”

Mitch’s radar clicked on. “Like what?”

Wade shook his head. “I’m just saying she would have called if she wasn’t coming in.”

A shadow filled the open office doorway. Town clerk Sissy Walker stood, hands on her ample hips, a look of irritation on her face. He knew the look only too well.

“Ms. Jenkins on line two,” she said. “It’s the fifth time she’s called this morning. She says if you don’t talk to her, she’ll track you down like a dog.”

Mitch groaned, knowing that was no idle threat. “Wade, I have the information on Nina that you gave me. Let me do some checking and get back to you.”

Wade Dennison slowly rose to his feet. “You’ll let me know as soon as you hear something.”

It wasn’t a question. “You know I will.” After Wade closed the office door behind him, Mitch picked up the phone and hit line two. “Charity?” It was never good news when Charity Jenkins called.

“Hello, Mitch,” she said, a hint of humor in her tone. No doubt because she’d managed to get him on the line—in more ways than one over the years.

“You know threatening a sheriff is against the law,” he said, always surprised by what just the sound of her voice did to him.

She laughed. She had a great laugh. “You gonna lock me up?” She made it sound like something she wouldn’t mind.

He tried to imagine Charity in one of his cells and shook his head at even the thought. “What’s so important that you’ve got Sissy ticked off already this morning?”

“Sissy is always ticked off,” Charity said. “I called about the latest news.”

He wasn’t sure what news that might be. Knowing Charity, she’d probably already gotten wind of Nina Monroe’s alleged disappearance. The woman was a bloodhound.

Charity owned the local weekly, Timber Falls Courier, she’d started straight out of college, her journalism degree in her hot little hands. Mitch secretly believed she’d only started the newspaper as an excuse to butt into everyone’s business—especially his. He was sure she couldn’t make much money at it in a town the size of Timber Falls. But as he knew only too well, Charity loved a challenge.

“What news is that?” He hated to ask.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard! There’s been a Bigfoot sighting on the edge of town. Frank, the Granny’s bread deliveryman, saw it clear as day in his headlights last night. Practically ran off the road he was so upset.”

Mitch swore under his breath. Bigfoot. Great. The news couldn’t have been worse if an alien spaceship had landed at Dennison Ducks and abducted Nina Monroe. Bigfoot. This sort of thing only brought more wackos to town—as if Timber Falls needed that. And during the rainy season!

“I’m over at Betty’s having breakfast,” Charity said.

This was not anything new. He could imagine her sitting on her usual stool at the café. The sight was more than appealing. She’d be wearing jeans and a sweater that would hug her curves. Her burnished auburn hair would be pulled up into a ponytail. Or maybe down around her shoulders, falling in natural loose curls around her face, making her big brown eyes golden as summer sunshine.

“Everyone’s talking about the sighting,” she was saying. “I hear it’s made all the big papers.”

He groaned, hating to think how many people would drive up this way hoping to get a glimpse of the mythical creature. Just the way they did the last time. Damn.

“Betty made banana-cream pie,” Charity said. She was making his mouth water and she knew it. The woman was relentless. “Have you had breakfast?”

Only Charity Jenkins would think pie was the “breakfast of champions.” Not that he hadn’t spent a good share of his mornings over the years on the stool next to her having pie for breakfast. The woman had corrupted him in ways he hated even to think about.

But not this morning. “As enticing as your offer is, I have to pass.” Charity would do anything for a story, including tempt him with banana-cream pie. But he wasn’t about to say something he would regret so she could print it.

Besides, he had to get on the Nina Monroe case, if there was a case, and the last thing he needed was to start the rainy season by spending time with Charity Jenkins. Hadn’t he learned his lesson with that woman?

“Is there something going on I should know about?” she asked, always on alert.

“No,” he said quickly. Probably too quickly. “I just don’t want anything to do with this article. You know how I feel about these damned Bigfoot sightings. Fools seeing things that we all know don’t exist and then shooting off their mouths.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“No! And speaking of fools, make sure there is no mention of my father and Bigfoot this time. I mean it, Charity.”

She made a disgruntled sound. “You really are no fun.”

“Yeah, so you keep telling me.” She’d always said he had no imagination because he didn’t buy into flying saucers, ghosts or marriage. If she hadn’t already, she could add Bigfoot to that list.

“Well, all right, if you’re sure. By the way,” she said in that seductive soft tone of hers, “thanks for the present.”

“Present?”

“The one you left on my doorstep?” She didn’t sound very sure.

“Charity, I didn’t leave you a present.”

“Oh, I thought…”

He heard the disappointment in her voice. He hated hurting her. It was one of the reasons he would never have left her a present. “Sorry, it wasn’t me.”

She let out a small sigh as if she should have known. Just as she should have known not to set her heart on marrying him. But she had, anyway.

Despite his feelings for her, he couldn’t marry her. Couldn’t marry anyone. But especially Charity. Just the thought of mixing their genes made him break out in a cold sweat.

“I wonder who could have left the present, then?” she said more to herself than to him.

He wondered the same thing. Hadn’t he known it was only a matter of time before some man swept Charity off her feet? Knowing it was one thing. Having it actually happen… It surprised him how much the idea of Charity with another man rattled him.

“I almost forgot,” she said. “Didn’t I just see Wade Dennison come out of your office a few minutes ago? Something going on at Dennison Ducks I should know about?”

This Charity he could deal with. “Not everything is a news story. Or any of your business.”

Charity laughed. “We both know better than that.”

He hung up and saw Sissy in the doorway again, giving him one of her why-don’t-you-do-something-about-that-woman? looks. “Let me ask you something,” he said before she could start to nag him about his personal life. “Do you think Wade Dennison is handsome?”

“Not my type.”

“No, I mean, do women find him…attractive?”

She snorted. “He’s got money, so hell yes, women find him attractive.”

Mitch shook his head, wondering why it was so hard to get a straight answer out of a woman. “Is it possible that Wade and a twenty-something woman might—”

“I see where you’re going with this,” she interrupted impatiently. “Would he be interested in a woman young enough to be his daughter?” Her brows shot up. “Wade Dennison is a man, isn’t he?” With that she turned and marched back to her desk.

Mitch shook his head and looked at the information Wade had given him. But his thoughts veered off again to Charity and the “present” some secret admirer had left her. It bothered him that the man didn’t have the guts to come forward and make his intentions known. He wondered who the guy was. And what his intentions were.

With a curse, he again looked at what Wade had given him, focusing on Nina Monroe’s address. He groaned when he saw who her landlady was—Charity’s Aunt Florie. This town was too damned small, and it only seemed to get smaller when the rainy season began.

CHARITY JENKINS took a bite of the banana-cream pie, closed her eyes and instantly conjured up the image of Mitch Tanner. Something about the combination of sugar, cream and butter…

Of course, she’d been thinking about Mitch since she was four, so it came pretty easy after twenty-two years.

It was odd, though, the way she saw him in her daydreams. If she was eating something rich and wonderful, like banana-cream pie, then Mitch always appeared in snug-fitting worn jeans and a T-shirt that accentuated his broad muscled chest and shoulders. Without fail, he would be smiling at her, the sunlight on his tanned face, his eyes as blue as the Pacific.

Other foods, however, such as vegetables or anything low-fat, had Mitch in his sheriff’s uniform, scowling at her in disapproval. For obvious reasons, she avoided those foods.

She took another bite of pie, closed her eyes and was startled when Mitch popped up in her daydream wearing a black tuxedo and standing at an altar.

Her eyes flew open, her heart pounding. Her wedding? The one she’d imagined and planned since age four?

On this, she was not mistaken. Mitch in a black tux, she in white satin. Or maybe white silk. Or lace. The imagined wedding changed, depending on her mood. But the groom never had.

“The pie all right?” Betty asked as she stopped on the other side of the counter.

“De-e-elicious,” Charity said, closing her eyes again and licking her lips in true delight, hoping to see Mitch in that wedding tux again. No such luck. She opened her eyes as Betty refilled her diet cola.

Betty Garrett was a pleasingly plump bottled-blond on this side of fifty but who could pass for thirty-five in a pinch and had a talent for attracting the wrong men the way a white blouse attracts blackberry jam. She’d married and changed her last name so many times that most people in town couldn’t tell you what it was at any given moment. Right now Betty was between men, but it wouldn’t last long. It never did.

“I just put a couple of lemon-meringue pies in the oven in case you’re interested,” Betty said.

Interested? Lemon meringue was her second favorite.

“I figure this Bigfoot sighting will bring ’em in for sure. Did last time,” the older woman said. “I decided I’d better make some extra pies.”

Bigfoot sightings packed the town. The curious drove up to Timber Falls in hopes of seeing what some called the Hill Ghost or Sasquatch.

“I heard the No Vacancy sign is already on at the Ho Hum and a half-dozen campers are parked over by the old train depot,” Betty was saying. Everyone wanted to see Bigfoot and prove the legendary creature’s existence.

None as badly as Charity Jenkins, though. Every journalist dreamed of that one big story. The Pulitzer-prize winner. Charity yearned to write about something other than church dinners and wooden decoys. The truth was, she desperately needed one big story. It was the only way she could make everyone in this town see that she wasn’t like the rest of her family, she was a normal level-headed woman and a serious journalist. All right, she didn’t care about everyone in town. She just wanted to prove it to Mitch.

She took the last bite of her pie, savoring it, eyes closed. No Mitch in jeans or a tux. She opened her eyes, disappointed.

“Where do you put it all?” Betty asked with a shake of her head as she took the empty plate.

Charity was blessed. Probably because she was a fidgeter. She couldn’t sit still. Nor did she ever stop thinking. Like right now. Between planning how to play the Bigfoot sighting in tomorrow’s paper, she was thinking about Mitch and if her banana-cream-pie fantasy had any credibility.

Just the thought of Mitch standing next to her at the altar was enough to burn up a whole day’s worth of calories. She and Mitch had a history, an off-and-on-again attachment that went as far back as shared glue in kindergarten.

Right now they were at a slight lull in their relationship: he pretended he was a confirmed bachelor and she pretended she was going to let him stay that way.

This morning she’d been so excited when she’d seen the present on her doorstep. She’d been so sure it was from Mitch. Who else? But he’d sworn it hadn’t been him. And why pretend he hadn’t left it if he had? Then again, why pretend he wasn’t wild about her when he obviously was? She’d never understand the man.

“Would you look at this place?” Betty said, shaking her head. The café was full, everyone talking about the Bigfoot sighting. “I can’t believe these fools are still arguing over Bigfoot after all these years.”

Charity glanced around the small café. It was the only place in town to sit down and eat, plus it was the place to get homemade pies and cinnamon rolls and the latest scuttlebutt.

As she picked up her diet cola, she had an eerie feeling that someone was watching her. It wasn’t the first time, either. She turned and caught a flash of black on the street outside. Her breath caught as a black pickup drove by. It was the same black truck she’d seen last night by her house and again on her way to Betty’s this morning. Both times she’d had the feeling the driver was watching her.

She shivered as she watched the truck disappear up Main Street. While she could only make out a large shape behind the dark-tinted windows, she could feel the driver watching her through the rain. Her stomach tightened, remembering the present she’d found on her doorstep this morning. Could one have anything to do with the other?

RAIN HAMMERED the roof of the Sheriff’s Department patrol car, mist rising ghostlike from the drenched pavement, as Mitch drove out to the address Wade had given him for Nina Monroe. A swollen gray sky hung low over the pines as if closing in the tiny town, limiting more than visibility.

Mitch dreaded another rainy season in Timber Falls, especially one that appeared to be starting a month early and could last until at least April. It wasn’t just the endless rain or the dull overcast days. Without fail, the rainy season seemed to bring out the worst in the residents.

One year, Bud Harper hung himself from a beam in his garage just days before the sun shone. Another year, a local guy shot up the Duck-In bar when he caught his wife there with another man. And twenty-seven years ago, during the worst rainy season of all, Wade and Daisy Dennison’s baby girl Angela disappeared from her crib, never to be found.

It was always during the rainy season that strange and often horrible things happened in this small isolated town deep in the Cascades. It was as if the gloomy days, when the rain never stopped, did something to make the residents behave more oddly than usual. As if on those days, the only place to look was inward. And sometimes that was as dark as the day—and far more disturbing.

And if the rain wasn’t bad enough, there was the forest that surrounded Timber Falls, imprisoned it, really, and constantly had to be fought back as if it was at war with the tiny town. As he drove past the city limits, the forest formed almost a canopy over the two-lane highway, a tunnel of green darkness over the only road out.

To the clack of the wipers, he turned off in front of a cottage-style house with a dozen smaller bungalows lined up behind it. Years ago, the place had been a motel. But not long after Wade Dennison started his decoy factory, Florence Jenkins had taken down the motel sign and started renting out the bungalows as apartments.

It was about the same time that Florence discovered her hidden powers. The sign out front now read: Madam Florie’s. Under it was her Web site address.

Nina Monroe had been renting from Charity’s Aunt Florie, Timber Falls’s self-proclaimed clairvoyant.

Mitch braced himself then climbed out of his patrol car and hurried through the pouring rain to the front door.

When an elderly woman opened the door, he tipped his hat, dreading this more than he’d imagined. “Mornin’, Florie.”

“Sheriff. I’ve been expecting you.” She smiled knowingly, her eyes twinkling in her lined face. “Saw that you’d be by in my coffee dregs this morning.”

He nodded. If Florie could see the future in her coffee cup, more power to her. He just didn’t want to hear about his own future. He wanted to be surprised.

She motioned him in with a dramatic sweep of her arm, reminding him of some exotic, brightly feathered bird. Florie was sixty if she was a day. Her dyed flame-red hair swirled around her head like a turban. She wore a flamboyant caftan, large gold hoop earrings, several dozen jangling bracelets and a thick layer of turquoise eye shadow.

Florie and her much younger sister Fredricka, Charity’s mother, had been raised by hippies in a commune just outside of town. Freddie still lived on the old commune property with a dozen other people but seldom came into town. While Freddie raised organic vegetables, Florie predicted the future to tourists in the summer and locals during the rainy season—another reason Mitch had cause for concern during the rainy season.

The old motel office was painted black and had recessed lighting that illuminated the only piece of furniture in the room—a purple-velvet-covered table with a crystal ball at its center. Florie had had the ball shipped in from a store in Portland. It gleamed darkly, as if mirroring the weather outside.

“I suppose your coffee dregs also told you why I’m here,” he said as he entered. “Or maybe Wade mentioned it when he called you about Nina Monroe not showing up for work?”

Florie gave him an annoyed look and pointed to a sign on the wall in the entry that read No Negative Thoughts. A series of other small signs advertised palm, tarot and crystal ball readings.

“I was concerned after what I saw in my cup this morning,” she said, lifting one tweezed dyed-red brow as she waited for him to ask.

No way was he going there.

“It involved my niece Charity,” she added, not a woman to give up easily, a trait she shared with her niece.

“I understand that Nina Monroe rents from you and she didn’t come home last night,” he said, cutting to the chase.

Florie nodded, obviously disappointed by his lack of curiosity about those telltale coffee dregs.

“How do you know she didn’t come home last night and then leave again before you got up?” he asked.

“Because I was up until daylight.” At his surprised look, she added, “My Internet business—horoscopes, tarot cards, psychic readings, all by e-mail. You really should get your chart done. I’m concerned about your aura.”

He had worse things to worry about than his aura right now. “I need to see Nina’s bungalow.”

Florie stepped behind a dark-velvet curtain. She came back with a key attached to a round small cardboard tag.

When he reached for the key, she took his hand and turned it palm up.

“Ah, a long life line with a single marriage.” She beamed and dropped the key into his palm.

He shook his head. His palm lied. His parents’ marriage had more than convinced him what his future didn’t hold—a wedding.

“‘Aries’?” he asked, reading the lettering on the key’s tag.

“I try to match my guests and their bungalows based on their horoscopes. Better karma.”

“So Nina was an Aries?”

“No, the Aries bungalow just happened to be the only unit I had open when she showed up.”

He reminded himself that Charity shared Florie’s genes. All the more reason to keep Charity at arm’s length. Several car lengths would be even better. “So what was Nina?”

Florie shrugged. “She wouldn’t tell me her birth sign. Can you believe some people aren’t interested in enlightenment?”

He could. “Nina rented the bungalow in September?”

“Drove up in that little red compact of hers looking for a room. September nineteenth. I remember because she didn’t even have a job yet. But that very afternoon, she got one at Dennison Ducks. Kismet, I guess.”

Or something like that. “No need for you to come out in the rain with me.”

Florie took a bright purple raincoat from the closet and a pair of matching purple galoshes. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you go alone. I’ve been picking up some really weird vibes from that girl,” she said, and stepped past him and out the front door.

He followed her around back through the rain to the first of twelve bungalows, the one with the Aries symbol on the door.

Standing on the small porch, he felt a sudden chill as if someone had walked over his grave. Florie knocked, then cautiously unlocked the door.

“Oh, my!” she cried as the door swung open on the ransacked bungalow.

“Stay here,” he ordered, and stepped inside to look for Nina Monroe’s body in the mess.

Chapter Three

“You all right?” Betty asked, looking concerned.

Charity turned back to the counter as the black pickup disappeared from view in the steady torrent of rain. “I just thought I saw…” She shook her head, catching herself. “Nothing.”

She didn’t want it all over town that she thought somebody in a black pickup was following her. Or that she’d found a present on her doorstep, a palm-size heart-shaped red stone in a small white box with a bright-red ribbon and a small card that read THINKING OF YOU in computer-generated letters. No name.

“Is it me or is the whole town on edge today?” Betty said. “Kind of gives you the creeps thinking that Frank might really have seen Bigfoot.”

“Yeah.” Charity turned again to look through the rain to the dense forest beyond the street. The foliage was so thick that not even light could get through in places. Who knew what lived there?

Charity shivered. “Frank’s a pretty reliable witness,” she said. “He saw something. Something he thought was Bigfoot, at least.”

Betty nodded and moved away. Behind Charity, several other diners began arguing amongst themselves.

“All Frank saw was a bear,” said one.

“A bear that walks on its hind legs?” said another.

“It was dark,” a third put in. “Probably just saw a shadow move across the road.”

“I say it’s some ancient ancestor. You know, a former race of giants.”

“Who just happens to live in the Timber Falls mountains and never comes out? Puh-leeze.”

Charity had heard these arguments for years.

She went back to thinking about Mitch. No hardship there. She’d so hoped he’d left the present. Just as she hoped he’d change his mind about marriage. She knew he wanted her, but just not on her terms. If she’d settle for anything else…

Well, she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. No matter how tempted she was. She was the one in the family who was going to do it the right way, not like her mother, who had three daughters—Faith, Hope and, what else, Charity—and hadn’t bothered to get married until all three were old enough to be bridesmaids.

It was embarrassing to come from a family of not just old hippies but screwballs. Was it any wonder Mitch was scared to death to marry her and have children, given her genes?

That was why she had to show him. He’d been surprised when she’d gotten her journalism degree and started her own newspaper. Now all she needed was a Pulitzer-prize-winning story. She would change the family’s image, even if it killed her, by doing everything the way it should be—right down to the wedding in white.

“Charity, tell them,” Betty called to her from across the café. “Tell them about all those Bigfoot sightings going years back and all over the world.”

“It’s true,” Charity said, pulling herself away from her daydream. “A creature like Bigfoot has been reported in every state except Hawaii and Rhode Island. More than two hundred sightings going back to ancient man and probably untold numbers of people who have seen something and kept it to themselves because they were afraid of being ridiculed.”

“Yeah, then how come no one’s ever found any Bigfoot bones?” another customer asked.

“Maybe they bury their dead,” someone replied.

“Or the bodies decay too quickly in this kind of climate,” someone else suggested.

“Or Bigfoot is nothing but a myth,” still another said.

“Charity, you really believe Bigfoot exists, don’t you?” Betty asked as she refilled her diet cola.

A woman who hung on to the belief that one day she’d get Mitch Tanner to marry her? Oh, yeah. “He not only exists, but one of these days I’m going to prove it.”

“You do that!” Betty said, and shot an indignant look at the customers who laughed.

Charity could just imagine a photo of Bigfoot on the front page of her paper. Imagine the look on Mitch’s face. He’d have to take her paper seriously then, wouldn’t he? And her, as well.

But he’d also have to apologize to his father. Lee Tanner had become the laughingstock of Timber Falls a few years ago when he’d stumbled across a Bigfoot on his way home from the bar—and reported it. No one had taken him seriously because he’d been drunk. But Charity had seen the truth in his eyes. Lee had seen something out there that night. Something that scared the hell out of him.

“A confirmed Bigfoot sighting could really put Timber Falls on the map,” said Twila Langsley.

Twila had put Timber Falls on the map six years back when Charity and Mitch had discovered some of Archibald Montgomery’s mummified remains in the huge carpetbag Twila carried, the rest of him in a trunk at the end of her bed.

Archibald had been Twila’s beau, and she, it seemed, had killed him more than fifty-odd years ago to keep him from running off with her best friend, Lorinda Nichols. Archie, the slick devil, had been romancing them both.

Twila did five years at the state pen. She got out on good behavior in time to celebrate her ninetieth birthday.

No one in town felt any ill will toward her. She just wasn’t allowed to bring her old carpetbag into Betty’s—even if all she carried in it now was her knitting.

“I don’t think even Bigfoot could put Timber Falls on the map,” Betty said.

“If there is a Bigfoot, it’s got to be smart,” one of the customers noted. “Smart enough to know we’d cage it or kill it if it came near us.”

Betty laughed. “Smarter than my ex-husbands, then.”

Charity thought about having another piece of pie, unable to get the image of Mitch Tanner in the tux out of her mind. Did she dare hope it meant what she thought it did?

She finished her soda and had started to leave when she saw the black pickup again. Her heart lodged in her throat as the pickup slowed. She could see the shadow of someone behind the tinted glass just before the driver sped away. One thing was certain. Whoever was driving that truck was following her.

“DID YOU FIND HER?” Florie asked from the doorway of the ransacked Aries bungalow.

Mitch shook his head. He didn’t find a body, but he feared Wade was right about Nina Monroe’s being in trouble.

“I told you I was picking up weird vibes,” Florie said.

Mitch was picking up more than a few of his own.

The bungalow was tiny, just a living area, bedroom, bath and kitchenette, all furnished with garage-sale finds.

In the bedroom at the back sat a sagging double bed and a scarred chest of drawers beside an open closet door. The bath had a metal shower, sink and toilet. No storage.

It was obvious someone had searched the place, looking for something that was small enough to conceal under a couch cushion. Or in a toilet tank. Or at the back of a drawer. Drugs? It was Mitch’s first thought.

“Any idea what they might have been looking for?” he asked Florie on the off chance she’d done more than pick up bad vibes.

She shook her head. “The girl didn’t have much. I don’t even think she owned a suitcase. The day she checked in here all she had was that old compact car and whatever she had stuffed into a large worn backpack.”

He glanced through the open door of the bedroom. A stained and frayed navy nylon backpack lay on the floor, open and empty. “She talk to you about where she was from?”

“Didn’t talk at all. I barely saw her. Got up early and came in late.”

“Any friends stop by?” He knew Florie kept a pretty good eye on the comings and goings of her tenants. The crystal-ball business was fairly slow in a town the size of Timber Falls.

“There was a guy. A couple of nights ago.”

Mitch’s ears perked up. “What did he look like?”

“Didn’t get a good look at him. It was too dark. She never used her porch light. But he was tall as you, wore dark clothing. I got the impression he didn’t want to be seen.”

“What did he drive?”

Again Florie shook her head. “He must have parked down the road,” she said. “But they had one heck of a fight.”

“About what?”

“That, I can’t tell you. I could just hear the raised voices for a few moments, then nothing.”

“You didn’t recognize the man’s voice?”

“That darn Kinsey had her stereo on too loud in the Aquarius bungalow next door,” Florie said. “You know she’s gone and dyed her hair cotton-candy pink. Like I’m going to let someone with pink hair cut my hair.”

He nodded. Kinsey had come back from beautician school determined to make her mother’s shop, the Spit Curl, hip.

Mitch moved to the bedroom, wondering who the man was Nina had been arguing with. Florie stayed in the bungalow doorway. Only a few items of clothing hung in the closet. Probably just what had fit into the backpack. Either Nina couldn’t afford more or she hadn’t brought all her belongings to Timber Falls.

A bell jangled outside. “It’s my private line,” Florie announced. “I’m going to have to take it. One of my clients needs me.”

He could tell she hated to leave. This was probably the most excitement she’d had in years. But money was money. “I’ll be here.”

She nodded as the bell jangled again, then took off hunkered deep in her coat against the rain.

Mitch looked around the room, hoping to find an address book or some clue where Nina might be.

The room was bare except for the bed and four-drawer dresser. There were no knickknacks, no photos, no personal items other than clothing in here or in the living room.

All of the drawers in the dresser had been pulled out, the sparse contents dumped on the floor. All except the bottom drawer.

He moved to the dresser, squatted down and pulled on the stuck drawer. Empty. Still squatting, he glanced under the bed. Nothing but dust balls.

The lack of clothing bothered him. Even counting what Nina was last seen wearing, the woman had only about four days’ worth of clothes.

That seemed odd to him. But if there were more belongings, where were they? And why did she leave them behind when she’d come to Timber Falls?

It made him wonder if this was only to be a short stay.

He started to get up, shoving the drawer back in as he rose. It stuck. He had to pull hard to get the drawer to slide out again. As he did, he heard a soft metallic clink.

Withdrawing the drawer completely, he turned it over, curious what had made the sound. There were several pieces of torn masking tape stuck to the bottom. Something had been taped there but had broken loose.

Setting the drawer aside, he crouched down and felt around under the dresser until his fingers touched something small, metallic and cold.

His heart leaped as he withdrew a tarnished-silver baby’s spoon and saw that the handle was in the shape of a duck’s head. The same shape that had made Dennison Ducks famous. Even through the tarnish, he could read the name engraved on the spoon’s handle: Angela. He felt a chill spike up his spine.

He’d heard that Wade Dennison had hired a jeweler in Eugene to make specially designed silverware for each of his daughters. First for Desiree, then two years later for Angela. Could this be Angela Dennison’s baby spoon? And if it was, what was Nina doing with it twenty-seven years after the baby had disappeared from her crib?

CHARITY RAN through the rain to her old VW bug parked in front of Betty’s and sat for a moment with the heater running as she tried to shake off her chill.

She’d seen the black truck again and there was no doubt in her mind that it was following her. Worse, she thought, looking at the small white box with the bright red ribbon sitting on her passenger seat, she suspected the driver had left her the present.

She stared at the box for a long moment before picking it up. There was no writing on it, not even a store logo. She opened the lid again and parted the white tissue paper.

Earlier all that had registered was that the stone was heart-shaped. She’d been so excited about getting a present from Mitch that she hadn’t noticed that the stone was also blood-red and cold to the touch. She shivered as she turned the stone over.

There was nothing on it. No lettering. No artist’s imprint. Nothing. The shiny surface seemed to capture what little light the gloomy day afforded, absorbing it deep within, as if harboring it like a secret.

She pulled out the tissue paper to make sure there wasn’t something inside the box that she’d missed. Like a clue as to who had left it for her. Earlier it had seemed like a gift. Now it felt more like a threat.

She stuffed the heart back into the box, hurriedly closing the lid. The defroster had finally cleared enough of her windshield that she could drive the two blocks to the post office. But as she started to pull out, she caught a glimpse of a black pickup one street over.

She shifted into gear and took off after it. As she reached the corner, she half expected the truck to be gone. But there it was, creeping along as if the driver was lost. Or sightseeing. Could she be wrong about it following her?

There was only one way to find out, she thought, as she floored the gas, roared past the pickup and then hit her brakes, skidding sideways to block the street.

She leaped from her car into the pouring rain, ran up to the driver’s side of the pickup and jerked the door open.

A startled gray-haired man stared out at her. Beside him, a younger woman with blond hair clasped both hands over her chest as if she was having a heart attack.

Too late Charity noticed that the windows on the pickup weren’t tinted. This wasn’t the black truck she’d seen earlier, the one she was sure had been following her. On closer inspection this pickup was a much newer model. Worse, she knew the driver.

“Charity?” the elderly man gasped.

She groaned. “Mr. Sawyer, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.” He’d left Timber Falls about ten years ago after his wife died, but he’d kept the old Victorian house at the edge of town that had been in his family for generations.

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking?” the blonde next to him demanded.

“It’s all right, Emily,” Liam said to the woman. “It’s just Charity Jenkins. She’s a good friend of my daughter Roz’s.” He turned to Charity. “This is my wife, Emily. I’ve moved back home.”

He’d remarried? And come back to Timber Falls? Charity had noticed someone painting the old place just the other day, but never dreamed Liam Sawyer would return.

“Congratulations,” she said, trying to hide her surprise and embarrassment. “I hope that means Rozalyn will be coming up to visit.” She hadn’t seen her friend for several years now.

Liam smiled ruefully. “She’s awfully busy. You know she’s a famous photographer now.”

Charity nodded, the rain dripping off the front of her hood. “I have all her books.”

“Could we get going?” Emily asked Liam.

“I’m sorry,” Charity said again, realizing the rain was getting into the pickup. Liam seemed oblivious to it, though. “I’ll move my car.”

He smiled at her. “It is good to see you, Charity. Please stop by and visit.”

“Tell her to wait until we get settled,” Emily said. “The place is a disaster. It’s going to take months to get it into any shape at all.”

Charity sprinted back to her car and hurriedly pulled away, thinking about Roz as she drove to the post office to pick up her mail. She and Roz had been inseparable as kids. Of course Roz would be coming to visit her father, no matter how busy she was. It would be good to see her again.

Postmistress Sarah Bridges looked up as Charity came into the small post office. “Just got all the mail out,” Sarah said from behind the caged opening on the left. To the right was a row of mailboxes.

“Anything good in mine?” Charity asked as she walked down to her box and, using her key, opened it to see a stack of bills.

“You know I never pay any attention to who gets what,” Sarah called from behind the wall of boxes.

Uh-huh. Charity flipped through the stack as she walked back to where Sarah stood. Sarah was a good source of gossip.

“So what’s new?” she asked Sarah.

“Liam Sawyer’s remarried and back in town.”

Darn. Charity hoped she had the jump on that story. No such luck. “I know. I just saw them.”

Sarah shot her a look. “What do you think of the new wife?”

Charity might have shared her thoughts on Emily Sawyer if it hadn’t been for an old loyalty to Roz. “I only saw her for a minute.”

Sarah nodded, lips pursed, eyeing her as if she was holding out. “Well, you have a good day.”

Charity doubted that, given how the day had gone so far. She pushed open the door and made a run for her car through the rain. She hadn’t gone but a few steps when she caught a movement from the alley between the post office and bank.

An instant later she was hit by what felt like a freight train. Her mail went flying as she was knocked down in the mud by someone wearing a large dark raincoat. The cloaked figure stopped, back turned to her and knelt to hurriedly scoop up her mail from the wet ground.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, too stunned to stand—until she realized the person in the dark raincoat wasn’t picking up her mail to give her, but going through it!

“Hey!” Charity cried.

The dark raincoat didn’t turn. Behind her Charity heard Sarah come out of the post office. “Charity?”

The figure dropped the mail and took off at a run down the alley.

“What in the world?” Sarah demanded, charging out to scoop up the wet mail and help Charity to her feet as the dark raincoat disappeared around the corner.

Charity took the mail from Sarah, her gaze still on the street where the figure had vanished. She heard an engine start in the distance. A few seconds later, a black pickup with tinted windows roared off two blocks away.

MITCH TUCKED the baby spoon in his pocket as Florie swept back into the bungalow on a gust of wind and rain.

“How’s the client?” he asked, trying to cover the fact that she’d startled him.

“Problems of the heart,” she said with a wave of her hand. “She’s going to call me back. Have you figured out where Nina has gone?”

He shook his head. “When she arrived she didn’t have a job, you said.”

Florie nodded. “She asked me about a bungalow, I said I had one, she said she’d take it and then she asked me how to get to Dennison Ducks.”

So Nina had been confident she was going to get a job at the decoy plant. It was the biggest business in town, and maybe Nina had experience that made her confident she’d be hired. But Mitch also knew jobs at the plant were hard to come by. Nor were there many openings, because wages and benefits were good and with so few jobs in Timber Falls, employees tended to stay.

“What kind of paperwork did you get her to fill out before you rented her the bungalow?” Mitch asked, hoping for a clue as to Nina Monroe’s life before she showed up here.

“None, other than her name,” Florie said with a shake of her head. “I just go by whatever vibe I pick up.”

“Vibes, instead of a former address or references?” he asked, unable to hide his disbelief.

“I’ll have you know vibes are much more reliable than references.”

He sighed. “But you told me her vibes were bad.”

Florie flushed. “Actually, no, I said they were weird. I remember thinking she was awfully nervous. From her aura I could tell she had man trouble. But with women that’s usually the case, isn’t it?”

“But you rented to her, anyway?”

“She had cash,” Florie said with an embarrassed shrug.

He counted to ten. “She get any phone calls while she was here?”

“Just one. From some woman. Sounded old. Maybe her mother, or grandmother. Nina didn’t want to the take the call but finally did. I heard a little of it. Nina said, ‘How did you find me? I told you to leave me alone.’ She paused, then said, ‘Right, you’re worried about me. That’s a laugh. Don’t call here again. You’re just going to mess things up.”’

Not bad for hearing only a “little” of a one-sided conversation. “The woman ever call again?”

Florie shook her head. “And before you ask, the number was blocked. You know, on my caller ID. I only checked because I didn’t like the vibes I got from the caller. Just like what I’m picking up now about Nina. Worse vibes than before, you know?”

He knew, thinking of the missing woman and the baby spoon in his pocket.

Chapter Four

Back at his office, Mitch closed the door and went straight to his computer. He typed in Nina Monroe’s name and her social security number Wade had given him—not surprised by the results.

Nina Monroe had lied about not only her social security number, but her name, as well.

“I’m going to get some doughnuts,” Sissy said, sticking her head in the door.

“Lemon-filled?”

She nodded and smiled. “You need anything be fore I go?”

He shook his head and waited until he heard her leave before he went down to the basement where the old files were kept.

He dug out Angela Dennison’s file, dusted it off and took it back upstairs.

Sheriff Bill “Hud” Hudson had been like a father to Mitch, as well as a mentor and friend. Hud had also been a first-rate sheriff and the reason Mitch had taken the same career path, instead of following his father’s example and becoming a drunk.

Hud had been sheriff at the time of Angela’s disappearance. At first, it was believed that the baby had been kidnapped. But no ransom demand was ever made and no body was ever found.

Not far into the file, Mitch started seeing a pattern, one he didn’t like. In these types of cases, the parents are usually the first suspects, and Wade and Daisy Dennison were no exceptions.

In Sheriff Hudson’s interview with Daisy, she testified that she didn’t recall seeing Wade until the baby was discovered missing the next morning. She’d said she’d gone to bed early and didn’t know when Wade had gotten home.

Wade, however, said he returned home at his usual time to find that Daisy had been drinking. They’d argued. She’d gone to bed. He’d slept in the den until he was wakened by the nanny early the next morning screaming that the baby was gone.

The nanny, Alma Bromdale, said she’d put the baby to bed about eight that night and gone to bed early herself. She’d taken some cold medicine that made her drowsy and thought that was why she hadn’t heard anything in the adjacent room where the baby was sleeping.

That meant none of the three had an alibi.

Alma Bromdale. Mitch wrote down the name in his notebook. The nanny had been with the Dennisons for more than two years. She’d been hired just before the Dennisons first daughter, Desiree, was born. Alma was twenty-five at the time, from Coos Bay and had listed her job experience as one previous nanny job, baby-sitting and a nanny course through the adult-education program at the high school. She must be about fifty-two now.

Alma had been fired the day after the presumed kidnapping and had left Timber Falls. Mitch checked the telephone directory online. There was only one Bromdale in Coos Bay—Harriet Bromdale. A relative? He wrote down that name, as well, wondering what in the hell he was doing.

So he found an old baby’s spoon with a Dennison duck head and “Angela” engraved on it. And so Nina Monroe was the right age and was now missing. Did he really think Nina might be the missing Angela?

He looked down at the file again, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to think. Hud had noted in his interview with Alma that she’d seemed scared and upset, both natural for someone who’d just learned that the baby she was responsible for had been stolen—and from the adjacent room.

Alma had admitted that Wade and Daisy fought and, yes, she’d overheard them arguing about the paternity of the baby. Wade didn’t think it was his.

Mitch swore under his breath.

The alleged kidnapper had climbed the trellis to the second-story room, but was believed to have taken the baby down the back stairs and out through a rear door on the first floor. Unfortunately, Sheriff Hudson had noted Wade had initiated a search of the area, using a few Dennison Duck employees, before calling the sheriff, and they’d tracked all over and destroyed any evidence there might have been outside the baby’s bedroom window.

Baby Angela had been wearing a pink nightshirt. The only other item taken from the room was the quilt from her bed. Nothing else. No baby spoon, but Mitch knew that the spoon could have easily been overlooked.

He continued down the list of suspects to the live-in housekeeper who’d been fired a week before the abduction, a woman by the name of Georgette Bonners.

Georgette had been angry and, like Alma, had nothing good to say about the Dennisons. She had also alluded to the fighting and the question of the baby’s paternity.

On the night of the abduction, Georgette said she was with her husband, Tim. He confirmed it. Both were now deceased.

Mitch closed the file, telling himself he was probably barking up the wrong tree. But there was that damned spoon. And Nina Monroe was missing. He put the file in his drawer and locked it.

As Sissy came in with the doughnuts, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door, taking the lemon-filled doughnut she shoved at him on his way out with a grin and a thanks.

The road to Dennison Ducks was narrow and dark, ten miles carved through the forest. Today, with the rain beating down, the road was even darker, gloomy somehow.

Or maybe it was just his mood, which hadn’t been helped by the thought of that damned present someone had left for Charity. She’d sounded so excited. He wondered now what the gift had been.

Dennison Ducks was Timber Falls’s claim to fame. Of course, if Wade Dennison had his way, the town would be renamed Dennison. Or even Dennison Ducks. Fortunately Wade didn’t have his way all the time.

The decoys were sold in a small outlet store in town next to the Timber Falls Courier office, from mid-April to mid-October. But few people knew where the ducks were actually carved, since none were sold on site at the plant. There wasn’t even a Dennison Ducks sign on the large metal building, just a small sign at the gravel parking lot that read Employees Only.

There was no gate. No security guard. And since no one lived on the premises, no one had seen Nina Monroe arrive or leave last night, according to Wade.

This morning there were a half-dozen cars in the lot. Mitch had called on the way to make sure Wade was in his office. He was and had told Mitch he could talk to any of the workers he needed to. Earlier Mitch had suspected Wade hadn’t been telling him everything. Now, after seeing Nina’s ransacked bungalow, he was convinced of it. He parked and rang the bell at the employee entrance. The door was opened by Bud Farnsworth, the production manager.

Mitch was assaulted by the heavy scent of freshly cut pine as he entered the building. From deep inside came the drone of band saws, carving machines and sanders. Ducks in various stages of production lined the tall metal shelves that ran the length of the room.

“Wade said you’d be coming by.” Bud didn’t sound happy about that. “You know this is our busiest time of the year, gearing up for Christmas.” He was a burly fifty-something man with receding dark hair and small dark eyes that always seemed to be squinted in a frown. Like most of the employees, he’d started working at the decoy plant in high school and had worked his way up.

Bud drank on his time off and it showed in his ruddy complexion, as well as in his cranky demeanor, probably the result of a hangover. “Before you bother to ask, I don’t know anything about Nina Monroe. She didn’t work for me. Never said two words to her.” Bud’s crankiness verged on hostility. “Paint department’s down there.” He pointed between the shelves of ducks.

“If you think of anything that might help, give me a call,” Mitch said to the man’s retreating back.

Bud gave no sign he’d heard.

Mitch rounded the end of the last shelf to what was obviously the paint department. Three artists were seated at a large wooden table next to a window. Both the table and the floor around them were covered in dried paint. One of the four chairs at the table was empty. Nina Monroe’s.

Mitch made his way to the painters, recognizing all three women. The thing about living in a small town like Timber Falls was that everyone knows everyone else—and their business. For most people, that was a curse. For the town sheriff, it was a mixed blessing.

Sheryl Bends didn’t look up as he dragged out the empty chair next to her and sat down. He’d gone to school with Sheryl, even kissed her once in junior high. She was divorced from Fred Bends, a local logger, had worked at Dennison Ducks since high school and spent most evenings at the Duck-In Bar.

She had a narrow face with strong features and wide pale-green eyes, and wore her brown hair in a single braid that fell to the middle of her back. She often invited him over for dinner at her place. He’d never accepted, although he’d been tempted on occasion—usually when he just couldn’t get Charity off his mind. But he’d never been tempted enough to actually accept.

Sheryl wore her usual outfit—a Western shirt, jeans, moccasins and long beaded earrings. Both the shirt and jeans seemed to be fighting to keep her ample breasts and bottom from bursting out.

“Hello, Sheriff,” Sheryl said, giving him one of her slow sexy smiles.

“Sheryl.” He felt his face warm a little.

From across the table, Tracy Shank seemed amused to see him flustered. Tracy was thirtysomething with cropped brown hair and close-set eyes. She gave him a nod and kept working.

Next to her sat Pat Ames. She was fiftyish with a head of gray curly hair and a small delicate frame.

“Sheriff,” Pat said, and kept painting the drake decoy in front of her.

He turned his attention to Nina’s workspace, hoping to find some personal item that might give him a clue as to her whereabouts. But while the other women had photos of husbands or boyfriends or kids, there was nothing personal at Nina’s end.

Mitch watched the women work for a moment, wondering if he should talk to them separately. He hoped they’d be more honest as a group. Also, he was still expecting Nina to turn up. It wasn’t as if he had a murder investigation on his hands.

“I suppose you heard I’m looking for Nina Monroe.”

They had. He went through his questions with Pat and Tracy, who told him what they knew, with Sheryl nodding in agreement. According to the women, Nina stayed to herself, didn’t talk much, didn’t socialize with her fellow workers, didn’t even eat her brownbag lunch with them.

“Where’d she eat lunch?” he asked, having noticed what looked like a coffee-break room on his way in.

The women shrugged. “She’d leave the building,” Pat said quietly as she carefully painted a patch of Mallard green on her duck decoy.

“She ate outside?” he asked.

Pat shrugged and whispered, “Wade usually left for lunch right after her.” Pat didn’t look at him, just kept working.

“You think there was something going on between them?” he asked, keeping his voice down, too.

No answer.

Sheryl glanced past his shoulder. He followed her gaze to the large plate-glass window of Wade’s office on the second floor. The office was situated so that it overlooked the plant floor, giving him a view of the entire production area. Wade stood at the window, watching.

Mitch shoved back his chair, stood and thanked the women before heading upstairs.

Wade was still standing at the glass looking down when Mitch stepped into his office. He turned, not looking happy. But then, he seldom did.

“Have you found out anything?” he demanded.

“Not much. I’d like to see Nina’s employment file.”

“I don’t know what help it’ll be.” Wade motioned for Mitch to draw up a chair in front of his desk as he stepped into the reception area outside his office, opened a large file cabinet and pulled out a file folder. His secretary’s desk was empty, Mitch noted.

On a high shelf that ran the circumference of the office were samples of every decoy ever made at Dennison Ducks, all painted, all different sizes, shapes and types of ducks. The light made the dozens of eyes glitter as if watching him.

Wade handed Mitch the file and returned to his big black leather chair on the other side of the desk.

The folder had little in it. The Dennison Ducks employment application was one page. Under Former Employers, Nina had named a craft shop in Lincoln City called Doodles and a restaurant called The Cove in North Bend along the coast where she’d been a waitress. Not exactly great references for decoy painting, which he’d always heard took a great deal of artistic talent. So why had Nina been hired so quickly at Dennison Ducks?

Nina had left the phone numbers of her past employers blank. Under the space for her former address, she’d just put Lincoln City and the name of a motel or apartment building there, Seashore Views. No address. No phone number.

“There isn’t much here,” Mitch agreed. “And it doesn’t look like she had any experience as a painter.”

“She’d done some painting at the craft shop where she worked.” Wade sounded defensive. “She just didn’t put it down.”

Uh-huh. There was nothing about painting experience on her application. Nor was there anything under next of kin or a number to call in case of emergency. “What do you know about her personally?”

Wade looked surprised. “Personally? I don’t know anything about her.”

“You must have talked to her,” Mitch said.

“I might have complimented her on a couple of the designs she came to me with, but nothing other than that. I let my group leaders or my secretary handle all personnel problems.”

“Were there problems with Nina?” Mitch had to ask.

“None that I know of.” Wade seemed to avoid his gaze.

Mitch didn’t like the feeling he was getting. “You told me earlier that she didn’t have any family or friends or boyfriends.”

“That’s just what I heard.” He straightened several items on his desk, obviously nervous.

“Who is the group leader in the paint department?”

“Sheryl Bends.” Sheryl who hadn’t said squat the whole time Mitch had asked questions.

“Do you have a photograph of Nina?”

Wade seemed startled by the question. “Why would I have a photo of her?”

“I thought maybe you had some sort of employee card with her photo on it or possibly a photo that was taken at some Dennison Duck function,” he suggested.

Wade shook his head. He was perspiring, although the office was quite cool. There were large patches of sweat darkening the underarms of his shirt. “Nina had only worked here a month. She missed the company summer picnic.”

Mitch asked for a copy of the one-page application and a W-9 form she had filled out stating only one deduction, everything that had been in her file. Wade made the copies himself on a small copier just outside his office.

“Where’s Ethel?” Mitch asked, wondering where Wade’s secretary was today.

Wade blinked as if he’d been a thousand miles away. “She’s off sick.” He handed him the copies, his fingers shaking as he did.

The man was awfully upset about an employee he’d hardly known and who’d only worked for him a month.

“Wade,” he said folding the copies and putting them into his coat pocket, “I need you to be honest with me. If there’s something more going on with Nina—”

Wade waved him off. “I’ve got a lot on my mind today, some personal things I need to tend to. I’m just concerned about her, that’s all. I don’t want anything to have happened to her.”

“Why do you think something has happened to her?” Mitch asked. Wade didn’t know about Nina’s ransacked bungalow. Or did he? Wade knew something. That much was clear.

“I just think about Desiree…” Wade broke off, shook his head and looked away. “You know, if she was the one missing…”

“How is Desiree?” Mitch inquired, pretty sure he already knew the answer. Desiree was twenty-nine and pretty wild.

“Fine,” Wade said quickly. “Desiree is fine.”

Mitch studied him for a moment. “Okay,” he said, and got to his feet, thinking about the baby spoon in his pocket, wondering how to ask about it, deciding now wasn’t the time. “If you hear anything…”

Wade glanced at his phone. “I’ll call you,” he said, seeming anxious to get Mitch out of his office.

As Mitch passed the secretary’s desk on his way out, he wondered if Ethel Whiting had ever missed a day of work in her life. Ethel had been with Wade since day one. She probably knew the family better than anyone in town.

Coincidence that she’d called in sick on the day Nina Monroe had gone missing?

The phone rang in Wade’s office as Mitch started down the stairs. “It’s about time you called,” Wade snapped, making Mitch pause on the steps. “Listen to me, Desiree. I’ve always bailed you out of trouble, but this time you’ve gone too far. You know damned well what I’m talking about—” The office door closed, cutting off anything further.

Mitch could only imagine what sort of behavior Wade had been referring to. He’d heard stories about Desiree Dennison and her wild antics. Who hadn’t? Mitch had picked her up for speeding in that little red sports car on several occasions. Recently she’d reportedly run Sissy’s brother T.C. off the road. T.C. made furniture at his small shop outside of town.

Fortunately for Desiree, T.C. hadn’t wanted to press charges, but it was obvious that Desiree had purposely forced T.C.’s old pickup off the road because he’d been going too slowly.

Maybe what had Wade upset and concerned this morning was really Desiree, not Nina Monroe. Wade should be concerned about Desiree. The woman was headed for trouble, sure as hell.

It was still raining, coming down in sheets, as Mitch stepped outside to find decoy painter Tracy Shank having a cigarette under the overhang of the roof. She glanced around when she saw him as if she thought someone might be watching her and stubbed out the cigarette.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing more than I already knew.”

Tracy lit another cigarette, took a drag and blew the smoke out into the rain. “There’s something going on. Something…odd.”

“With Nina?”

“With Nina, with Wade, with this place,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder. “Nina was no painter. She just showed up one day and Wade hired her. She acted like all she wanted was to learn how to paint decoys. That’s why she worked late all the time.”

“You don’t think that was the case?” he asked.

She let out an oath and shook her head.

“Then why work late?”

“I don’t know. The plant is deserted after six. She’d have the whole place to herself. Painters are pretty much allowed to work their own hours, but something else was going on with that girl.”

“You think she was meeting someone here? Having an affair? Wouldn’t that make more sense at her apartment?” he asked.

“She was living at Florie’s,” Tracy pointed out. Everyone in town knew how Florie was about minding everyone else’s business. It ran in the family. “If she didn’t want anyone to know, the plant would be the perfect place.”

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