Missing in Conard County Page 2

  Kelly was sure he knew the answer. “Rusty’s Tavern. You want me to take Bugle out there?”

  He nodded. “They’ll be opening soon enough. Maybe one of the bartenders will remember them. Regardless, Bugle will know if they’ve been there.”

  He sure would, Kelly thought. “So what made their parents worry?”

  “They knew the girls were going out last night. Each of their families thought they were staying at one of the other girl’s homes. Apparently nothing definite had been arranged except a pajama party at one house or the other. By the time parents started worrying and calling each other, it was late and they all figured it wasn’t that...simple.”

  It was so unlike the sheriff to hesitate over a word. She guessed he was as worried about the young women as anyone. As certain this wasn’t going to end well.

  “There’s still hope,” she said, rising as she realized he was done. “I’ll head straight for the tavern. Do we have a target for my dog?”

  “The parents are each bringing some clothing. Guess you’ll have to wait until they get here.”

  “Or Bugle could smell the car interior. It’s in the impound lot now, right?”

  “He might get more scents than the girls.”

  She shook her head. “The parents aren’t going to pick up a piece of their clothing without touching it. He’s going to get multiple scents. One of the wondrous things about him is that he doesn’t get them mixed up.”

  He put up a hand. “Whatever you think best.” Glancing at the old wall clock to his right, he added, “Another half hour at least before anyone will be at Rusty’s.”

  “I’ll be there when they are.” She paused. “We’ve got photos and personal data?”

  “Not enough. Ask Sarah Ironheart. She may have been able to pull a digital copy of the yearbook. It won’t be printed for another two months. Otherwise we’re waiting for photos and all the rest from the parents.”

  She didn’t want to meet the parents. Cowardly of her, she supposed, but right now all they could do, once they provided necessary information, was slow her down.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t care. It was that she would care too much.

  Sarah Ironheart sat at a desk near the front of the office, images scrolling across her monitor. A woman in her fifties, partly Native American, she had features that had worn the years well. Her long black hair, now streaked with gray, was caught in a ponytail on her neck, and the collar of her uniform shirt remained unbuttoned.

  There was a chair beside the desk, and Kelly slid into it, waiting for Sarah to reach a pause point. “Damn it,” Sarah said finally.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The yearbook editors haven’t organized much of this file. I don’t know how they’ll get it finished in time to print it and put copies in students’ hands by the end of the school year. Heck, some items aren’t even in the total file yet, but in separate pieces.”

  Sarah leaned back in her chair. It was old and groaned as it tipped backward. “Coffee,” she said as if it were the answer to everything.

  “Want me to run across the street?”

  Sarah cocked a dark eyebrow at her and smiled. “Trying to escape?”

  Kelly half shrugged, feeling rueful. “I’d like to avoid the parents. Guess I can’t.”

  “All of us should be that lucky. You still need a target. They’re bringing them.”

  Kelly didn’t even try to argue. Yeah, Bugle could pick up the girls’ scents from the car, but they’d be much stronger on items of clothing. “Stay,” she ordered Bugle. He waited, still as a piece of statuary, while Kelly stood. “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Black. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” The coffee bar was against the back wall, a huge urn that simmered all day long. The coffee was famously awful, but it carried a caffeine charge. What amused her, however, was that just in the time she’d worked here, she’d watched the addition of about seven types of antacids to the table behind the foam cups.

  Velma, the dispatcher who had been with the department since the dinosaurs had roamed the earth, still smoked at her desk despite the no-smoking sign right over her head and made the coffee. No one ever complained. But now there was that row of antacids. Velma ignored it.

  Kelly smothered a smile at the incongruities but poured Sarah her coffee. She’d like some herself, but she’d wait until she could get something that wouldn’t hit her stomach like battery acid.

  Sarah thanked her as she returned and handed over the coffee. Then she rubbed her neck once and returned to scanning the images on her screen. “It would help,” she said quietly, “if all these photos were labeled by name. Or sorted by class.”

  “Still early days, huh?”

  “For the yearbook, evidently.”

  Just then the front door opened and a blast of cold air could be felt all the way across the room. Kelly immediately recognized Allan Carstairs, the county’s animal control officer. Although he was loosely attached to the sheriff’s department, he seldom wore a uniform. Today a dark blue down parka with a hood covered him to below his narrow hips—funny that she could see those hips in her mind’s eye—above jeans. Thermal long johns, she guessed. A staple for everyone during parts of the year. Like the insulated winter boots on his feet.

  She watched him ease his way through the room, pausing to talk to some of the gathered deputies. At last he approached the spot where she sat with Bugle and Sarah.

  “How’s it going?”

  “I guess we’re going to see,” she answered.

  He nodded, his expression grim. Sharp angles defined his face, giving him a firm look that rarely vanished, even when he smiled. Gray eyes met hers, but right now the gray looked more like ice. It wasn’t a warm color.

  “Which three girls?” he asked.

  Sarah spoke. “Jane Beauvoir, Mary Lou Ostend and Chantal Reston.”

  Kelly felt her heart squeeze. Jane had been the only one she’d met, but still. So young. So entitled to a future.

  “Hell,” said Al. “Chantal volunteered with me last summer.”

  “We need to get the rest of the K-9 units in here,” Gage suddenly called from the hallway that led to his office in the back. “Where the hell is Cadel Marcus? Jack Hart? What kind of search can we run without the dogs?”

  “A sloppy one,” Kelly muttered. Bugle eyed her quizzically.

  Impatience grew in Kelly. She wanted to get on with it, find out if the girls had been seen at the roadhouse last night. If so, there might be a clue about who had picked them up. Or might have. At this point, however, it had clearly been no simple offer of a ride home.

  The door opened again, this time for longer and letting in more icy air as the fathers of the three girls arrived. Randy Beauvoir entered first, followed by Kevin Ostend and Luis Reston. Kelly knew all three of them by sight, but only vaguely as she’d never had any business with them or their families.

  She rose to her feet just as Gage reappeared and greeted the three men. They looked tense, worried, even a touch fearful. “Come back to the conference room,” Gage said. “You’ve got the pictures? The clothing?”

  The men nodded and Gage turned. “Kelly?”

  “Coming.”

  Velma’s scratchy voice suddenly penetrated the murmur of quiet voices. “Boss? Connie Parish says they need some help with crowd control. Word is getting around and folks are gathering near where the car was found to start their own searches.”

  Gage cussed. “Send ten men out there before they trample any evidence. Get ten volunteers. I got some business here first, then I’ll go out there, too.”

  “I’ll go,” said Al Carstairs. He might be the animal control officer, but he had the physical stature to be intimidating, and the military bearing to go with it.

  Velma looked around. “Nine more?”

  B
efore she could see who went, Kelly and Bugle were being ushered into the conference room. In the relative quiet once the door closed behind them, the room filled with a different atmosphere. Fear. Worry. Even some anger. These fathers were like rifles that didn’t know where to point.

  “We’re helping with the search,” Randy Beauvoir said.

  “I never thought you wouldn’t. But I need Deputy Noveno here to give Bugle his target scents, and I want pictures of your daughters to go out with her, and with damn near everyone else. We’re going to digitize the photos. They’ll be on every cell phone in the county, okay? And TV, as well. But first things first.”

  * * *

  A SHORT WHILE LATER, after a quick stop at Maude’s diner to get a tall, hot latte, with her truck heater blasting, Kelly and Bugle headed east out of town with evidence bags holding part of the girls’ clothing and photocopies of the full-size portraits. Even as she was driving she heard her cell phone ding, and figured it was probably the digital photos with background info.

  It was beginning to hit her. She’d found the vehicle that had been carrying the girls only last night. Shouldn’t some instinct have kicked in? Made her look inside the car, study the ground around for signs of a scuffle? Anything?

  But the scene hadn’t struck her that way. Once she knew the occupants were gone, that even their purses had vanished, there seemed to be nothing to worry about. No one injured, because if they had been they would have been on their way to the hospital and her radio should have been crackling with information.

  It had been quiet, dark. People misjudged and went into ditches all the time, especially on cold nights where even a small patch of black ice could cause loss of control. She hadn’t seen or felt any ice, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been there when the car ran off the road.

  But without any damage to the car or any obvious sign of foul play, there was really nothing she could do except get the vehicle towed when she couldn’t get ahold of the owner.

  Randy Beauvoir and his wife had been in Laramie for the weekend. They’d come home midday today, Randy had told her and the sheriff. They’d received Kelly’s voice mail but hadn’t immediately worried. No messages suggested the girl was in trouble. Probably at a friend’s house for the night, as discussed. They’d get the car out of impound later.

  But then Chantal’s family had phoned, and the dominoes started tumbling. The girls weren’t at one of their houses. Their families had no idea where they might be. Kelly’s message about the car had suddenly struck them as a blinding warning flare.

  The early winter night had begun conquering the landscape. Bright floodlights warned her of the approaching accident scene. She felt ill to the pit of her stomach. As she passed the cordoned-off area where the car had been found and crowds were beginning to gather, all she could hope was that somebody at Rusty’s would give her a clue.

  * * *

  THE GRAVEL PARKING lot was clear of all but one vehicle, an aging pickup truck. Neon signs in the windows didn’t yet shimmer with life and wouldn’t until Rusty officially opened his doors.

  She knew Rusty. She’d been called a number of times to help when some customers grew rowdy. Rusty did a better job than most of keeping it under control, but sometimes even he needed help. Roadhouses farther out had more problems, but here only ten miles out of town, the clientele seemed less likely to want to tussle, especially with the law. Most nights people came, drank and danced to local live music, and peace ruled, if not quiet.

  This was the place that drew the patronage of local couples as much as local cowboys, and while she doubted anyone would think it wise for an unescorted woman to come here, three teens should have been safe. Older folks would have kept an eye on them, and Rusty would have served them soft drinks.

  The door was unlocked. She pulled the tarnished brass handle and the ancient entry squeaked open. Inside the lighting was dim. The table candles in their squat hurricane lantern holders hadn’t been lit.

  Rusty was behind the long bar, polishing it with a rag. Directly across the large room from him, across the big dance floor, was a stage still holding band equipment.

  “Hey, Rusty,” she said as she and Bugle entered. “How’s business?”

  “Pretty good, but it always is on a holiday weekend. Tonight we’ll be damn near empty. Can I help you, Kelly?”

  He was a tall, lean man who always looked as if he needed to eat more of his own sandwiches. A gray moustache curled around the corners of his mouth.

  “Have you heard about the three girls who’ve gone missing?”

  Rusty’s watery blue eyes widened. “No. Is that why you’re here?”

  She nodded and opened the brown envelope she’d brought with her, the one that held the eight-by-ten photos of each girl. She recited their names as she pulled them out. “Jane Beauvoir, Chantal Reston and Mary Lou Ostend. All high school seniors. We found their car in a ditch about five miles west of here just last night. No sign of them anywhere.”

  “Jeez,” Rusty said, leaning toward the photos as if his old eyes needed some magnification. Reaching up with one hand, he turned on a bright light over the bar. Kelly blinked.

  “Anyone else here yet?” she asked, even though it didn’t feel like it.

  He shook his head. “We don’t open for another hour. Not much to do before then.” He picked up the photos one by one and studied them.

  “They were here last night,” Rusty said slowly. “Seems like they might have showed up a little after eight. Early. I hardly noticed because we were already full. Holiday,” he said again as if in explanation.

  “All three?”

  “I do believe so.”

  “They hang out with anyone?”

  He shook his head. “They sat at that table over there—” he pointed “—and drank enough diet soda to float a battleship.” He lifted his gaze. “No alcohol, I swear.”

  She nodded. “Can I let Bugle sniff around while we talk?”

  “Go for it, although how he’s going to smell squat over the stale beer and fried chicken beats me.”

  She didn’t argue or explain, but squatted down and pulled the three evidence bags from her pocket. One by one she let Bugle sniff them, then said, “Seek.” He was off.

  Straightening again, she pulled out her cell phone and hit the record button. “I’m taping this, okay? Just in case you mention something that winds up being important to us. All right by you?”

  “Happy to do it,” he answered. His gaze had wandered over to the table where he said the girls had been sitting. “Damn it, Kelly, they’re so young and were just having fun. Haven’t heard that much giggling since my own school days.”

  Then he paused and looked at her. “I didn’t pay close attention, though. I wish I had. I’m sorry. We were busy. All they were doing was sitting and drinking cola. Oh, yeah, and they ordered a BLT to share. That was it. I didn’t see anything wrong so I wasn’t staring.”

  She nodded. “I understand. Anything at all catch your attention? Did one of them dance with anyone?”

  He scratched his head and closed his eyes, pondering. “Dance? I think I saw two of them dance together. Line dancing. Nobody feels awkward if they don’t have a partner, you know?”

  “I know. So that was it?”

  “Maybe not,” he said after another minute. “They’re pretty. I saw some guys wander by to talk with them, but they didn’t stay.” His eyes popped open and met hers intently. “My opinion, if you want it...”

  “Everything you’ve got.”

  “Those girls weren’t looking for trouble of any kind. Now, I’ve had people their age in here before, skating the line of being unwise. Trying to get someone to buy them a beer, wanting to dance with anything in pants. It happens. These girls were different. It was like they were having a private party and everything else was background.”

  Kelly tipped her
head a little. “Unusual?”

  “For that age. I was impressed. Must have good mamas.”

  Kelly wouldn’t know about that. Turning, she saw Bugle sitting patiently upright beside the table Rusty had pointed out. Yup, they’d been there.

  “Seek,” she told him again. Then the trail became more winding. It wandered out onto the dance floor, approached the bar, headed down the hall to the ladies’ room, then back to the table. “Find,” she urged him, envisioning the evening the three girls had spent here.

  He lowered his head and wound up at the front door. They’d left.

  She looked again at Rusty. “So...nothing concerned you. You didn’t feel like getting out your baseball bat?” She’d seen him swing that thing once. It put a quick end to most arguments.

  “I wish I could tell you something. Nothing got me concerned enough to really pay attention. Nothing raised my hackles. But I’ll keep thinking on it. Dang, those poor girls. If the car was in the ditch I don’t suppose they ran away.”

  “They didn’t get far if they wanted to.” Reluctantly, she turned off the recorder and slipped the photos back into the envelope. Then she passed him her business card, needlessly since he certainly knew her and how to call the department. It just made her feel like she was actually doing something. “In case,” she said.

  “In case,” he agreed. “Can I post some photos?”

  “They should be on everyone’s cell phone soon, but if you want some copies to put up, I’ll let the office know.”

  He nodded slowly. “Maybe someone saw something I didn’t. I’ll tell everyone to check their phones tonight.”

  “And I’ll get you some posters. It’s early days yet, Rusty.”

  “Forty-eight hours, isn’t that what they say?”

  Her nod was short, wishing she could deny it.

  “You never know,” Rusty called after her as if to be reassuring. “They could be somewhere safe.”

  “Sure. Thanks for your help. Someone else might come round.” Because they were all going to get dizzy running in circles trying to find these young ladies. Every step would be retraced a hundred times.