Standoff At Christmas. Margaret Daley

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Have you called Linda?”

      “No, I didn’t want to alarm her if I didn’t have to. If anything happened to Aunt Betty, we would be devastated.” Like when Jake had left Port Aurora years ago. His departure had stunned her, as if he’d taken part of her with him. She cared about the town and its people, but her family and Jake had been the most important people in her life. “I’ll call her, then we can stay inside by the front door.”

      While Rachel placed a call to Aunt Linda, Jake picked his way through the mess in the living room to look into the kitchen. When she answered, Rachel said, “I’m at Aunt Betty’s house. Her car is here, but she isn’t. She was upset today, and I wanted to make sure she was all right. Do you know anything?”

      “Well, that explains the weird message from her at lunchtime. I was waiting until she got home to call her. Her car is there?”

      “Yes, where she parks it in the shed.” Rachel glanced at the chaos and hated to tell Aunt Linda, but she continued. “Someone tore her house apart as though they were looking for something. For all I know, they could have found it.”

      Her aunt gasped. “I’ll be right there.”

      “No, stay put. The police are on the way. What did the message say?”

      “That she should never have taken those pictures.”

      “What pictures?” Rachel asked as Jake returned to her side.

      “I’m not sure. You know how she’s always snapping pictures. She was excited about some new project and was going to show us this weekend. She told me one day the town might want to even display the photos.”

      Maybe that had been what she’d wanted to talk to Rachel about. But then if that were the case, why had someone searched her house? Strange. “Display what?”

      “She was being secretive. You know how she is about the big reveal when she gets an idea. Why would anyone try to steal from her? The only things worth taking are the TV and her camera, although it isn’t a digital one like most people use today. Are they still there?”

      “The TV is. I didn’t check for the camera in her darkroom, but Jake said that second bedroom was trashed like the rest of the house.”

      “Really, I can’t see someone taking it. It’s old. Not something that someone would steal. How about her food processor I gave her for her birthday?”

      Rachel remembered seeing it in the kitchen, in pieces. “It’s here.”

      A long pause from her aunt, then in a tight, low tone, she said, “Then something has happened to her.” Her voice sounded thick.

      Rachel peered out the front window, seeing headlights piercing the snowy darkness. “The police have arrived. I’ve got to go. I’ll be home as soon as I can. We’re probably overreacting.” At least she prayed she was.

      “Rachel, let me know what’s going on. If you need my help, call. Are you sure I shouldn’t come over?”

      “Yes, she might call you. Someone needs to be there. Besides, the police are here, and they’ll probably kick us out while they check the house. When we find Aunt Betty, she’ll need you and me to help her clean this mess up.” If they find Aunt Betty. She couldn’t rid her mind of that thought.

      Jake opened the door for the two police officers from town—the older man, Police Chief Randall Quay, and the younger one, Officer Steve Bates.

      The chief shook Jake’s hand. “It’s good to see you back home. What do you think?” He gestured toward the trashed living room.

      “I’ve searched the house as much as I could without disturbing anything, but there are some places I didn’t get to check. The closet in the second bedroom, the pantry and the back arctic entry.”

      “Aunt Betty used the closet in the second bedroom as a darkroom.”

      The chief nodded once, then turned back to Jake. “Can you help me? Since you’re here, I’d like to send Officer Bates on up the road. We are shorthanded with this storm that moved in early. It seems to bring the crazies out.”

      “Sure, I can help. Mitch here can track if we need that.”

      “Betty is a special lady. She taught me in Sunday school.” Chief Quay moved farther into the room while his officer left. He frowned, his gaze fixed on a broken vase. “She didn’t deserve this.” He pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of the living room.

      “I can cover the kitchen.” Jake started forward.

      “I appreciate it. We need to find Betty.” The chief turned to Rachel. “Can you make some calls to people she may know and see if she’s with them?”

      “I already called Aunt Linda, and she’s not with her. But I know a few others she’s close with at the fishery. I’ll give them a call.” Rachel pulled out her cell to use the list of phone numbers stored in it. She was relieved to be able to help and needed to stay busy to keep from fixating on what might have happened to her aunt. She picked up the phone and began dialing.

      * * *

      Jake carefully started on one side of the kitchen and made his way around it. Behind the island in the center in the midst of the emptied flour on the floor, he found footprints—one set, too big to be Betty’s, more like a man’s size eleven. He took a photo with his cell of that and anything else of interest. He refrained from touching anything in case the chief wanted to dust for latent prints.

      So far no evidence that Betty had been here when this happened—except her car parked in the shed. That would need to be searched, too. In fact, after he went through the kitchen he would go out the back arctic entry and check Betty’s old pickup.

      When he reached the pantry, he used a gloved hand to open the door. His gaze riveted to the spots of blood on the wooden floor about six inches inside. He lifted his eyes and scanned the disarray, homing in on bloody fingerprints on a shelf as if someone tried to hold on to it. Maybe trying to get up? Whatever went on in here, a fight occurred in this walk-in pantry. Did the intruder find Betty hiding?

      The question still persisted. Then where is Betty?

      He took more photos, then proceeded to the arctic entry. A pair of boots and a woman’s heavy coat hanging on a peg were the only things in the small room. He took the coat and let Mitch sniff it, then kept hold of it in case he needed it again. His dog smelled the floor and paused by the exit outside. This was probably the way Betty came into her house since this was closer than the front entrance to the shed. Jake returned to the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight on the wall by the door.

      On the stoop, Jake took in the area. The snow falling had filled in any footsteps, but that wouldn’t stop Mitch. His German shepherd sniffed the air and started down the three steps, then headed toward Betty’s pickup.

      As he approached the driver side of the vehicle, he spied a bloody print on the metal handle. Not a good sign. Mitch barked at the door.

      Jake said, “Stay,” then skirted the rear of the old truck and opened the passenger door. The seat was empty.

      Then he investigated under the tarp СКАЧАТЬ