Tracks of Her Tears (3 page)

Carly spotted a box of tissues on the counter and handed it to Misty. “Why was Travis in jail?”

Misty blotted her eyes and blew her nose. “I don’t know. Something about a bar fight. Amber Lynn didn’t like to talk about him much.”

“Do you know his last name?” Carly dug a notebook out of her purse.

Misty nodded. “White.”

Sadness welled as Carly suppressed an image of Amber Lynn. The poor girl had been shy and sweet. She’d deserved better. “You don’t know where he lives, do you?”

“No,” Misty said.

“Amber Lynn did,” Mrs. Kaminsky chimed in as she cleaned the baby’s hands with a wet cloth. “She had his address and phone number written in her book.”

“Her book?” Carly asked.

“Amber Lynn didn’t have a cell phone or a computer,” Mrs. Kaminsky said. “She used my laptop once in a while or went to the library. She kept a pink address book in her kitchen drawer.”

“I thought everyone had a cell phone.” Carly had been in homes where the kids were hungry enough to eat ketchup from foil packets, but every adult in the house had a smartphone.

“Not Amber Lynn.” Misty sniffed and pressed her fist to her mouth, as if trying to stifle a sob. “She was saving every dollar she could.”

Carly needed to call Seth. “Did Amber Lynn say anything to you about what she was doing last night?”

“She was excited about working at Fletcher’s. All her singing money went into her savings account.” Misty sniffed. “Do you think Travis killed her?”

“I don’t know, but you need to tell the police everything.” Carly pulled out her cell phone.

“Okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to find him.”

The baby babbled, and Carly asked, “Do you know if Amber Lynn had family?”

“She never visited her parents. She was trying to distance herself from her entire childhood. I got the feeling it wasn’t very nice. Plus she said if people knew who and where she came from, they wouldn’t think much of her.”

Small Town Rule #1: You’re judged by your family’s reputation.

Amber Lynn had been working hard to live down her family history, not an easy task in a close-knit rural area. As Carly dialed Seth’s number, pity swamped her. Poor Amber Lynn had been trying to provide for her child, and someone had killed her. But Carly could not suppress her fear for her brother. Where was Bruce?

C
HAPTER THREE

Seth scanned the trashed apartment. The front door opened into the living room. Seth could see into the kitchen through a doorway, and a short hall led to the single bedroom and bath. They’d already done a quick walk-through to look for Bruce, but there’d been no sign of him. Seth had also called for reinforcements, and deputies were currently knocking on doors to ask neighbors if they’d seen or heard anything unusual the night before.

“No sign of a break-in,” he said.

“Her purse is still missing. Either he had her key,” Phil said, “or she let him in.”

Amber Lynn had minimal furniture. The only piece that looked remotely new was the crib tucked into the corner of the bedroom. Her box spring and mattress sat on the floor. Both had been shifted. The closet door stood open, and clothes had been tossed across the bed. It was impossible to tell if there had been a struggle in the apartment, but Seth didn’t see any blood.

“You take the bedroom. I’ll go into the kitchen.” Seth tried not to disturb the scene as he searched. “We’re looking for financial records, a computer, calendar, or address book. Anything that might tell us what was going on in her life.”

Seth spied a folder on the kitchen floor. With gloved hands he picked it up and thumbed through a stack of financial records. Seth scanned the pay advices and bank statements, and a handwritten spreadsheet on which Amber Lynn had itemized her income and expenditures in painstaking detail. She was on a tight budget, but she’d managed to accumulate nearly $500 in her savings account. Considering her income, the total was impressive.

Setting the papers on the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been flipped over, a small Formica table, Seth scanned the rest of the gray vinyl floor. The edge of a checkbook peeked out from under a pile of broken dishes. He slid the blue plastic case out and opened it. Amber Lynn had fifty-seven dollars in her checking account.

“I found forty bucks in cash under a dresser drawer.” Phil walked into the kitchen, stepping around the heaps of dish towels, broken plates, and overturned drawers.

Seth swore. “Considering the thoroughness of this search, we can safely say that money wasn’t the reason for the break-in.”

“He definitely would have seen it,” Phil agreed. “Also, patrol called. They drove the whole route from here to Fletcher’s. No sign of a cargo van on the roadside or at the bar.”

Seth spotted a calendar, open to December. He picked it up by the corner. A funeral home’s name and address was printed on the bottom corner. It looked like a freebie she’d gotten in the mail. On Tuesday, December 22, she’d written, “Fletcher’s 8 p.m.” Underneath the calendar was a pink address book. Seth set the items with the financial statements.

So far Seth had found nothing to indicate anything was amiss in Amber Lynn’s life. On the kitchen counter, a plastic basket held a few keys. Seth picked up a black key fob. “Let’s check out her car. Any idea how long forensics is going to be?”

“It’s two days before Christmas. They’re short staffed. Most of the techs are at the body site.” Phil followed him outside.

Two deputies working on a door-to-door met them on the walkway.

“Any luck?” Seth called.

The first deputy shook his head. “I took the top floor. Most apartments are empty. I expect folks are working today, since it’s a weekday. The three neighbors I talked to were asleep before midnight and didn’t see or hear anything. However, the old lady in 24B said Amber Lynn and her ex had an argument yesterday, but she couldn’t hear the details.”

“The lady that lives below heard footsteps overhead around two a.m.” Deputy number two read from his notes. “It went on for a while so she assumed the baby was cranky, and Amber Lynn was walking the floor with her.”

“Did anyone see Amber Lynn after eight o’clock?” Seth asked.

Both deputies shook their heads.

“So we still don’t know if she and Bruce made it back here,” Seth said, but he doubted it. No one had heard a gunshot. Incapacitating two adults manually would generate some noise, especially since one of them had been a strong young man who would fight to protect his woman. It was far more likely that whoever had killed Amber Lynn had had her purse and key and let himself into her apartment. But what had he been looking for?

“You want us to keep going?” the first deputy asked.

“Yes. Try every building. Then try again later. The entire complex couldn’t have been asleep.” Seth led the way to the parking lot. The cold bit at his skin, and wisps of fresh, powdery snow blew across the pavement. Walking between the rows of cars, he pressed the UNLOCK button on the fob. He heard a chirp and stopped. Pressing the button again, he scanned the rows of vehicles.

“Over there.” Phil pointed. Light blinked on a worn Ford Escort.

Seth opened the door with one finger on the latch. A car seat was secured in the back. Small toys, Cheerios, and two sippy cups littered the seat and floor. Seth opened the console. Mints, ChapStick, hand sanitizer, baby wipes. Nothing unusual. The seat appeared to be adjusted all the way forward for tiny Amber Lynn. “Anything interesting in the glove box?”

“Not really,” Phil said. “Registration. Car repair receipts. A tire pressure gauge.”

Seth popped the trunk but found only a spare tire and some tools inside.

“What now?” Phil asked.

Seth paced behind the Escort. “County and state cops are looking for Bruce’s van. Forensics is processing the park scene and Amber Lynn’s apartment. Now we retrace their activity last night. We need to talk to the owner of Fletcher’s. I called the two other band members and left messages for them to call me.” Bruce’s band sometimes practiced at the Taylor farm. Seth had met the drummer and bass player numerous times.

“Seth!” Carly called from the sidewalk. She tossed the hood of her parka over her long dark hair. A woman stood next to her in a jacket totally inadequate for the bitter cold. Seth assumed she was the woman Carly had just told him about on the phone.

He crossed the lot. Carly’s face was pinched with worry, and Seth’s heart clenched. He’d give anything to find her brother. He was well aware that his wife was an intelligent and capable woman, but he still wanted to protect her.

“This is Misty.” Carly introduced them. “I have to get back to the baby.” Carly walked back toward Mrs. Kaminsky’s apartment.

“Can we go inside, please?” Misty’s teeth chattered.

“Of course.” Seth followed her to a first-floor apartment in the same building as Amber Lynn’s place.

In between sobs and sniffles, Misty told Seth about Amber Lynn’s argument with her ex-boyfriend.

“Did he threaten her?” Seth asked.

“Not exactly,” Misty said. “He started off with a whole bunch of self-pity. But when she turned him down, he said she was a selfish bitch. He was starting to get nasty when Bruce showed up.”

“Did he threaten Bruce?” Seth asked.

“No.” Misty shook her head. “It was the other way around. Bruce told Travis if he bothered Amber Lynn again, he’d have to answer to him.”

Seth took her contact information. Travis White had just become the primary suspect. As Seth left her apartment, Carly was coming out of Mrs. Kaminsky’s unit with a purple-coated toddler on her hip and a diaper bag over her shoulder. Behind her the older woman carried a car seat and a shopping bag full of toys.

Seth took the car seat from the older woman. “Did you find a place for her?”

Carly avoided eye contact. “Yes.”

Her evasive posture set off Seth’s warning bells. “Carly?”

“My mother is going to be her temporary emergency foster.”

“What?” But what had he expected?
He’d
been the one to call
her
.

“Mom insisted. She called Judge Simmons at home.” Carly’s father had been the police chief of Solitude for decades. Patsy Taylor knew everyone in the county. No judge would turn her down for anything.

“So, basically she’ll be staying with us?”

“It’s almost Christmas, Seth.” Carly shifted the child’s weight. “I know we have a lot on our plates already, but this is just temporary. It’ll be easier on her because she knows us.”

Seth wasn’t convinced about the temporary part. Carly looked way too comfortable holding that baby. Once the Taylors took a creature under their collective wing, they tended to keep it forever. He thought of the rescued pygmy goat that followed his daughter around the barnyard like a puppy. But what could he say? “We don’t have time for a child in need, find a foster home”? Seth couldn’t do it. They both knew foster home placement was a roll of the dice. Some were far worse than the situations that put the kids in the system in the first place.

“It’s the right thing to do.” He leaned closer and kissed Carly on the lips. “I love you.”

“Me too.” She pressed her temple to his jaw for a few seconds.

Straightening, he tugged the child’s knit cap lower on her ears. “You’d better get her into the car.” And he had to get back to finding Bruce.

He secured the car seat in the back of Carly’s Jeep.

“I’m going to take the baby to my mother. Then I’ll get busy trying to find her family. Any leads in tracking down Bruce?” Carly strapped the baby in. She climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

“No. But we’ve just started. I called Zane. He and Stevie are organizing a search in Solitude.” Seth leaned over and kissed his wife goodbye. “I found her address book. I’ll send you any relevant family contact information.”

Carly stared through the windshield, her face full of anxiety.

He touched her shoulder. “We’ll find Bruce.”

But will he still be alive?
The odds weren’t in his favor.

With a grim nod, she closed her vehicle door and drove away.

Seth found Travis’s address in Amber Lynn’s book. He left another deputy in charge of guarding Amber Lynn’s apartment until the forensics team arrived, and searched for Travis’s record on the laptop in his car. Thirty-two-year-old Travis White was a scruffy dirty blond with a skinny build. He’d served nine months in prison for aggravated assault.

Phil followed Seth in the marked car toward a rural neighborhood just outside the city limits. Seth turned down a dirt driveway and emerged in a clearing. A surprisingly neat one-story house sprawled in front of a detached garage. A late-model extended cab pickup sat next to a beat-to-shit black Ford Escort that looked like it had been used in a demolition derby.

Thick chains and a padlock secured the garage door. Seth parked and got out of the car. Phil pulled up behind him. Seth peered through the garage window, expecting to see a meth lab. Tools and woodworking machinery filled the space.

“The house is owned by Luke White. Travis’s parole officer says he’s Travis’s brother.” Seth said as he joined Phil on the gravel driveway. Together they walked toward the front of the house. Seth spotted movement through the window. The screen door was shredded. Standing to one side, Seth knocked. Phil took the other side of the door, one hand resting on his weapon. No one answered, but the sound of two men arguing came through the door.

“I told you if there was any trouble, I’d throw you out on the street.”

“Don’t let ’em in.”

“Like hell. I’m not covering for you. You stole from me.”

“I did not!”

Footsteps approached. A man opened the door. About thirty-five years old, he was just over six feet tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. Callused hands, worn jeans, and steel-toed boots said he worked hard for a living. “Can I help you?”

Seth flashed his badge. “We’re looking for Travis White.”

The man stepped to the side and gestured for them to come in. “Come on in, Officers. You can have him.”

Hinges creaked and a door slammed.

The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s probably him running out the back door.”

Seth sprinted around the house just in time to see a thin figure in jeans and a black hoodie run into the woods.

“Stop! Police!” Seth had played football and lacrosse in college, and the months he and Carly were separated had been filled with hours upon hours of angry, frustrated exercise. He cranked up the speed. There was no way that little bastard was going to outrun him. He was not letting the man who might know where to find Bruce get away. Seth left Phil in the dust.

Fifty feet away, Travis turned down a ravine. They ran behind another house. A large dog barked behind a rickety chain link fence. Cursing his dress shoes and suit, Seth hit a patch of snow and skidded through the turn. He went down on one knee, then lurched right back into a dead run. Travis darted behind a shed. Seth slowed and drew his weapon. Travis could be armed.

Listening, Seth heard labored breathing. He led with his gun around the corner of the shed. The door yawned dark.

“Come out with your hands up,” Seth yelled. He scanned the ground around the foundation. One set of footprints led inside. Travis was in there. As much as Seth wanted to drag him out by the hair, he’d wait for Phil. Travis wasn’t going anywhere. Seth stayed out of the direct view of the open door, in case Travis had a gun. “I can hear you breathing from out here, Travis. You need to lay off the booze and exercise now and then.”

Panting, the dumbass burst from the door and took off again. If he hadn’t needed to talk to the stupid son of a bitch, Seth would have shot him. Instead he lunged after him, grabbing him by the back of the hood and yanking. Travis went down on his back, wheezing. He flailed for a few seconds, both hands going to his throat, where the neck of the hoodie had caught him in the windpipe.

Dumb. Ass.

Seth flipped Travis onto his belly, planted a knee in his back, and cuffed him. Seth patted down his pockets but found no weapons. Just a cell phone and wallet. He leaned on Travis’s spine. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?” Travis gasped at the snowy ground. “Hey, you’re hurting me. This is police brutality. Ow. My hand.”

Seth grabbed the dumbass’s elbow and hauled him onto his knees. Travis’s left ring finger was black and blue, and he’d made a crude splint out of a pencil secured with duct tape. “What happened to your finger?”