End Game (Will Robie #5)(37)

As they cleared a slight rise in the ground the house came into view. It looked like it had been built from odds and ends and scraps of secondhand wood. There were several outbuildings, some chickens clucking behind fencing, and they were greeted by a mutt of a dog that came out from a crevice underneath the front porch.

A dusty pickup truck sat under a lean-to.

Robie put the Yukon in park and they climbed out.

The dog started to growl menacingly.

Robie put a hand on his gun but Reel dropped to one knee and beckoned the dog to her. It approached cautiously, and then, sensing that Reel was showing neither aggression nor fear, it ambled over and let her scratch its ear and stroke its head.

“What’s your name, cutie? Huh? Does that feel good?”

Robie watched in amazement as arguably the most lethal person of his acquaintance gently made friends with the beast.

She stroked its flanks and looked at its muzzle.

Then she looked up at Robie. “This dog hasn’t eaten in a while, Robie. You see its ribs showing. And you see how it’s swallowing and panting like that? No water.”

She looked around, spotted a dog bowl next to an outdoor tap, and filled the bowl up and put it down for the dog, which instantly started gulping water. Reel picked the bowl up before the dog was finished. “Don’t want it to get sick. We need to find its food.”

“We need to find JC Parry,” he reminded her.

“That’s sort of my point. The dog’s fur is well maintained and it otherwise looks healthy. I don’t think Parry is the sort to mistreat animals. He’s got water bowls for it and you see that dog bed over on the porch.”

Robie looked around. “So you’re saying Parry hasn’t been around to take care of his dog.”

“Right.”

“Didn’t know you were such an animal lover.”

She glared at him. “I had dogs growing up. They were my only friends. You know the rest of that story.”

“Let’s hit the outbuildings first and then the house.”

He touched the hood of the pickup truck perched under the lean-to. “Cold. You think he has another vehicle?”

“I think it unlikely. This doesn’t look like a two-vehicle sort of residence.”

They searched the three outbuildings and found lots of junk, hunting and fishing gear, and no sign of Parry.

They entered the front door of the house, which was unlocked.

Now they both had their weapons out.

Reel had left the dog outside.

The house was only one story. The front room was cluttered but the furniture, while worn, was in good shape. There was a blackened-face fireplace. Beyond that was a small kitchen that was neat and clean.

“No plates or cups in the sink,” said Robie.

The bathroom was tiny.

“No used towels, toothpaste, wet washcloths,” noted Reel.

“That leaves the bedroom,” observed Robie.

They approached the door down the short hall. Robie motioned to his left and Reel took up position there and crouched with her gun pointed at the door. She nodded.

Robie touched the doorknob with his hand and then withdrew it.

He nodded at Reel, slammed his foot against the door, and it flew open.

They swarmed into the room, with Reel clearing the area left and Robie the right and their guns meeting up in the center.

The room was empty and the bed made.

They checked the closet for clothes and/or a body.

They found the former but not the latter.

They holstered their weapons and looked at each other.

“Vanished,” said Reel.

“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” added Robie.





CHAPTER





23


They were standing in front of the abandoned B&B where Luke Miller and Holly Malloy had hooked up the previous night.

They had taken Parry’s dog and dropped it off at the sheriff’s office, where it was being fed and watered.

“Why are we back here?” asked Reel.

“I want to see if anything was left behind.”

“But wasn’t the place searched after the gun battle with the skinheads?”

“I never saw anyone do it. Malloy left to look for her sister. The ‘undermanned’ state troopers had their hands full with the skinheads. And look, they don’t even have police tape over the front door. So I doubt there’s an investigation ongoing. Now, I’m not a lawyer, but they’ve already royally screwed up any legal case by not securing the place and putting a cop on premises to guard it. Now it’s contaminated.”

“The Wild Wild West all over again,” commented Reel.

Robie opened the bullet-pocked door and they went inside.

They found it on the second floor in a closet.

A single suitcase. The nametag on it read “Holly Malloy,” with a phone number printed under it.

Robie pulled it out of the closet, laid it on the bed, and opened it.

Inside were clothes, toiletries, a passport, and apparently all of Holly’s other worldly possessions.

Robie checked out the passport. “This was issued to her seven years ago, before she came out here. No stamps inside. I doubt she’s been out of the country.”

He looked at the passport photo. “Holly Malloy. She’s obviously younger in this picture, but it’s the woman I was with last night.”