Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) Page 4

  “That’s what I told her,” Tammy said.

  “Then why’d you take the forms?” he asked.

  Tammy shoved them back at Carly.

  But Carly backed away. “Just look them over. Plenty of people around here get public assistance.”

  Darren snatched the forms from his wife’s hand. Frustrated, Carly got back into her Jeep and turned around. Maybe when Darren’s head wasn’t throbbing, he’d change his mind. She put another visit to the family on her agenda. If Darren wasn’t going to be reasonable, she had to make sure the children were fed.

  As she pulled to the end of the driveway, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Darren stalked to the edge of the property. He held the folder over a barrel, pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and set the papers on fire. Unease burrowed into her bones. Staring at her, he held the torch until the flames reached his fingertips.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Rogue County Interagency Drug Task Force was attached to the sheriff’s office. Seth’s new job was to coordinate investigations between state, county, and local law enforcement. Most of the time, it was exactly as exciting as that sounded. But someone had to do it.

  Meth production was already burgeoning in rural Rogue County, and now they had manufacturers of this new drug to chase down. With the mild Oregon climate, marijuana literally grew like a weed, and any idiot could make crack, though he might blow himself up in the process. Law enforcement couldn’t keep up with the supply of drugs. Too few cops spread out over a huge expanse of land, the relative ease of production, and the allure of an easy dollar to a largely poor population compounded the problem, not to mention the sheer number of outbuildings on secluded properties. Drugs were an ongoing, losing battle, and Seth couldn’t afford to miss an opportunity to bust the C-22 drug ring.

  He pulled into the Rollinses’ driveway for his first interview of the day. The door opened on the first knock.

  “Alex Rollins?” Seth showed his badge and introduced himself.

  Mr. Rollins walked away, leaving Seth to follow him into the kitchen. The Rollins family wasn’t rich, but it was holding tightly to middle class. The country oak motif of the house was slightly out of date, but the rooms appeared clean and well maintained. The scent of fresh coffee lingered, and a mug steamed on the counter.

  “Coffee?” Mr. Rollins asked.

  “No, thank you.” Seth leaned against the counter. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “You and everyone else.” Mr. Rollins gulped coffee. “The social worker just left a little while ago, though I’m not even sure why she was here.”

  Seth’s belly chilled. His gaze dropped to a file folder on the table. Carly’s business card was paper-clipped to the front. She’d beat him here.

  Son of a bitch. That answered his question about how deeply she was involved in this case. Obviously she planned to dig that hole as deep as possible, and then go looking for a bigger shovel. Or maybe a backhoe.

  He put aside his anger and got on with the interview. His son had already confessed, and Alex was cooperative. He answered Seth’s questions in a numb state of disbelief. He didn’t know anything about his son’s drug use. Peter’s friends’ parents had been clueless about their own kids as well, but Seth had found that parents were often the last to know. Teenagers were regular magicians. They found the most creative places to hide their stashes.

  The local police had already searched Peter’s room. They hadn’t found anything. Seth gave it a once-over anyway but came up empty. He took a list of Peter’s friends on his way out.

  On Seth’s agenda for tomorrow: interview Peter Rollins and Russ Warner at the juvenile detention facility. Right now he had to drive back to the county sheriff’s office in Hannon, where he’d update the sheriff and deputies on the drug situation here in Solitude.

  Frustration simmered in his chest at the waste of his afternoon. He could be interviewing the list of parents in his hands instead of liaising. Seth was used to being a detective. Half of his new job was driving back and forth to different law enforcement agencies and filling out paperwork. He didn’t have much time for actual investigating. Facilitating the flow of information was important. Law enforcement didn’t stand a chance in this drug war unless agencies worked together. But did it have to be him?

  He crossed the bridge that marked the boundary of Solitude. Below the bridge, the water of the Rogue River churned over rocks. Farther downstream, where the new resort was located, the river was calmer, with long pools of quiet water and some of the best salmon fishing in the area. Upstream, Class II and III rapids brought kayakers from all over the country. A kayaker paddled under the bridge, resting his oar across his knees and seemingly enjoying the quiet water.

  How long had it been since Seth had spent a day on the river? He and Carly used to fly-fish together, afternoons that often led to finding a secluded spot and enjoying a little outdoor nookie. Those days were gone. They’d had Brianna, and both their careers had become demanding. No more time for any letting-nature-take-its-course-type activities.

  The air conditioner of his county cruiser blew a pathetic stream of lukewarm air at Seth’s chest. He headed for the county seat forty-five minutes away.

  Had Carly been sent to talk to Alex Rollins, or had she volunteered? It didn’t matter. Seth knew his wife. She wouldn’t leave this case alone. Alex Rollins was only the first among many. If Carly thought Russ Warner was innocent, she wouldn’t rest until she proved it. Seth had to find the dealer before she nosed her way any further into this case. Her job could be rough, but drug dealers were a whole new level of danger.

  At four o’clock Carly parked in front of Loretta Warner’s small house. The burned-out shell of a barn sat out back. Woods ringed three sides of the property. In the narrow dirt driveway, Loretta’s beaten Taurus listed to the left. Carly rapped on the front door. No one answered. She knocked again, harder.

  “Loretta, I know you’re in there.”

  The door swung open. Loretta stood on the other side of the torn screen door. One hand held a lit cigarette. The other was fisted and propped on her hip. Still in her miniskirt and baby T, but she’d ditched the platform sandals. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk about Russ.”

  “Didn’t we do that already?” She blew a stream of smoke in Carly’s face.

  Carly didn’t react. She’d had worse. “Can I come in?”

  “I guess,” Loretta huffed, then turned and walked away.

  Carly opened the screen door and followed her into the house. Smoke barely cloaked the sharp scent of cat pee. Loretta went into the kitchen and flicked her cigarette over an ashtray on the table. It was a small room, with just enough space for a two-by-two table pushed against the wall and three mismatched chairs. Since Carly had been there last, Loretta had cleaned up. Dirty dishes were confined to the sink. No overflow onto the counters. No beer cans in sight. The gold pattern on the vinyl tiles was worn completely off except for a thin strip close to the baseboards, but the floor appeared to have been swept in the recent past. Loretta would never be nominated for housekeeper of the year, but she’d clearly made an effort since Ted was killed.

  Leaning a hip on the edge of the table, Loretta crossed her arms and sucked hard on her cigarette. A scraggly gray tabby rubbed against her ankles.

  “Do you know anything about the drugs Ted was selling?”

  “I’ve gone over this a hundred times with the cops. Ted didn’t tell me nothing.” Loretta mashed out her cigarette. Ashes slid over the side of the ashtray and landed on the table. “If I had drugs worth selling, I wouldn’t still be livin’ in this shit hole.”

  Interesting argument, and in Carly’s opinion, more persuasive than a straight denial.

  Carly leaned against the doorway. “What about Russ? Are you sure he doesn’t have the drugs?”

  Loretta stopped to light a fresh smoke. She waved the match out and dropped it in the ashtray. “I don’t
think so. We might not look like we’re that close, but him and me, we’re all that each other’s got. We spent a lot of years ducking Ted’s fists together. Russ wouldn’t leave me out of anything that big.”

  Carly knew the police had thoroughly searched the house and outbuildings in May. They hadn’t found any drugs or drug-manufacturing equipment. Ted had either been a middleman or had been making the drug elsewhere. The acreage around the property was a vast and dense forest capable of hiding a small production facility.

  “Are you going to see Russ?”

  “Yeah. I just got home from work. I’m going now. Supposed to be a lawyer there too.” She dragged on her cigarette. Her hand shook, giving away her nerves. “Am I allowed to take him anything?”

  “Since he’s in summer school, they might let him have his textbooks,” Carly said. “Hopefully, he won’t be there very long.” She was crossing her fingers that the marijuana possession wouldn’t get Russ real time in juvenile detention. If Carly could prove he was innocent of dealing, he might get off with some community service and drug counseling. “I know he’s been trying hard these last few weeks.”

  Loretta chewed on her thumbnail. Her eyes moistened. “I thought we were finally gonna be okay. Not great, but okay. Now this. Why would that kid say he bought drugs from Russ?”

  “I don’t know. Does Russ have any friends?” Carly asked.

  “There are a couple of kids he mentioned. Mostly he hangs with Gary Fisher. Gary’s daddy, Darren, used to come over to see Ted sometimes and bring Gary with him. The boys have a lot in common. They both know what it’s like to have an asshole for a father,” Loretta said in a bitter tone. “Gary already knew what was going down. It wasn’t like Russ could bring other kids home when Ted was around.”

  “No, I guess not,” Carly said. “Darren and Ted were friends?”

  “Not exactly friends. More like acquaintances,” Loretta clarified.

  Carly shouldn’t have been surprised. Solitude was a microscopically small town. That Ted and Darren had known each other didn’t mean much. “Does Russ have any other friends? Maybe one of them could verify that he was home on Monday.”

  Loretta rattled off a few names that were vaguely familiar to Carly.

  “I really thought we were going to make it.” Loretta stubbed out the cigarette. “We just can’t get a break.”

  “I don’t believe Russ is guilty,” Carly said.

  “Then you are the only one in town.” Loretta wiped an angry finger under her eye. “Everyone else assumes the worst.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Depressed by the events of the day, Carly drove toward Main Street. She stopped at the convenience store and picked up a gallon of milk, a quart of ice cream, and a bucket of Nell’s famous fried chicken. She’d promised to bring home dinner. Maybe she and Mom would crack a bottle of wine tonight.

  Oh, wait. She couldn’t. This was her week on call.

  “Hey, Carly.” Nell rang her up on the same old-fashioned register that had been in the store as long as Carly could remember. No computers for Nell. Inventory was taken with pencil and paper. “You get back with Seth yet?”

  Well, she’d almost succeeded in putting her marital problems out of her mind.

  Small town rule #5: If you forget what you were doing, ask a neighbor.

  “No,” she answered.

  Nell tsked. “That’s a shame. That boy dotes on you.”

  Carly didn’t bite. She knew better. But she did get an idea. Nell knew everything about everyone. “Do you know Russ Warner?”

  “Loretta’s boy? Sure. He comes in here from time to time.”

  “Is he ever with other kids?” Carly had a hunch. There was one reason Russ might lie about being alone Thursday afternoon. He must be protecting someone. A friend? A girl? Hmm.

  Nell named two of the boys Loretta had said were Russ’s friends. “Wait. Last week I saw him in here with that pretty Grace Ellis.”

  Carly’s head snapped up so fast her neck cracked. “Did she used to date the football player who died in May?” Of an overdose of the same drug that Beverly Rollins had supposedly taken.

  “That’s her.” Nell made change. “She’s way out of Russ’s league. If her parents found out she was hanging around with him, they’d have a fit.”

  Which would explain why Russ was keeping quiet.

  “Thanks.” Carly put her change in her purse and turned to leave, nearly bumping into an older woman.

  “Good afternoon, Carly.” Town councilwoman Faye O’Rourke smiled. Despite the sweltering temperature, not a gray hair was out of place, and for all that was holy, the woman wore a sweater. Faye was known for her cardigans, but Oregon summers weren’t usually this hot. Today, her sweater made Carly sweat. Maybe Faye was sick.

  “Oh, hi, Faye. I didn’t see you come in.”

  “I’m such a fixture around here, no one even notices me.” Faye laughed.

  The O’Rourke family used to own a large chunk of Solitude, but they’d sold much of it off over the years to keep the business running and to build a new resort over on the banks of the Rogue River. The office for O’Rourke Properties was a few doors down from Nell’s store.

  “How’s construction at the resort coming along?” Carly asked.

  “Getting near the end of phase one,” Faye said.

  “That’s almost a shame,” Carly said. “You’ve put so many people to work. I hate to see the job finished.”

  “Yes, but once the resort gets up and running, we’ll be hiring people. Don’t you worry.” Faye nodded. “There’ll be increased business all over town when tourists start pouring in.”

  “I hope so.” Though Carly couldn’t imagine crowds “pouring in” to Solitude, they could hope. Maybe Darren Fisher would find work when the resort was finished. “Nice to see you both. I need to run.” Carly picked up her bag and walked toward the door. Her phone vibrated and she paused to fish it out of her pocket. Her mom’s number appeared on the screen.

  “Terrible business about Beverly Rollins,” Nell said to Faye.

  “I feel terrible. Just last week I had to let Alex Rollins go.” Faye sighed. She lowered her voice to a whisper, but Carly could hear her. “Shoddy work.”

  Most of the local builders were doing work on the Rogue River resort project. Poor Alex Rollins had lost a job, possibly his wife, and effectually his son, all in the course of a week.

  Answering her mom’s call, Carly left the store still wondering if Alex Rollins’s job situation had anything to do with his son’s or wife’s drug use. Her job had taught her that abuse and neglect weren’t confined to poor families. She made a note to talk to Russ’s friends. Could the Rollins family be hiding a secret?

  Home was ten minutes outside town. Carly drove around her mother’s house and down the lane along the meadow that led to the cabin. Her parents had lived in the two-bedroom bungalow when they’d first been married. Later, when the family expanded, they’d built the larger house closer to the road. The cabin had served as guest accommodations over the years, but for the last few months it had been Carly and Brianna’s home. A football-field-size meadow provided just enough privacy, while still making it convenient to walk Brianna to the main house before work in the morning.

  Carly parked and got out of the Jeep, proud of herself for wrapping up all her appointments before five o’clock for a change. Sweat coated the backs of her legs, the one place the cool air of her car’s air conditioner didn’t reach. Looking out over the yellow-dotted field, she breathed in the scent of dry grass and buttercups. The perfumed air was still hot.

  “Mama.” Brianna’s voice carried over the quiet. Clad in a pink bathing suit and sneakers, she raced off the covered back porch of the main house and bolted in Carly’s direction.

  Carly braced herself for the collision.

  But Brianna slid to a dusty stop a few feet before impact. “Mama, Uncle Bruce said he’d take me swimming if it was okay with y
ou.”

  “Did he?” Carly smiled, but irritation flared. Her brother should have asked her first. She was tired and hot and crabby. The last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with people. O’Rourke’s Lake was a favorite hangout for teenagers at night. In the daytime families went to the muddy beach to cool off. It wasn’t an officially approved public swimming hole, but everyone went there anyway. It was still daylight, but there was the possibility that some of the local kids would be there, gossiping about Russ or Peter or C-22 making the rounds in town.

  “Mama, come on.” Brianna grabbed Carly’s hand and dragged her back to the main house.

  Shirtless and barefoot, Bruce sat on the back porch, his guitar draped over his lap. He strummed “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” one of Brianna’s favorite songs. Bruce was Carly’s younger brother, the only one of the Taylor siblings not gainfully employed. Playing in a bar on Friday and Saturday nights didn’t produce sufficient income to support an adult, which was why Bruce still lived at home. James, the oldest, was a lawyer and the current mayor of Solitude.

  “It’s hot. Come on down to the lake with us.” He stood up, set the guitar aside, and gave Carly a peck on the cheek. A pair of low-slung board shorts hung from his narrow hips. “We’ll take a six-pack and chill out.”

  A dunk in the cool lake waters sounded like heaven, but Carly raised a finger. “You can talk me into the lake, but there will be no alcohol while supervising a seven-year-old in the water.”

  “You’re right, of course,” he said in his best placate-the-bossy-older-sister voice. At least he didn’t say, “Lighten up, Carly” anymore.

  “Brianna, go grab some towels,” Carly called.

  “Yay!” Her daughter raced for the cabin.

  “Really, Bruce, you should have asked me first.”