Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(40)

“Yes. The press hounded him,” Jenny agreed. “Joe Franklin owns a chunk of wilderness about twenty miles from here. He and his brother inherited the land from their parents, who died in a car accident when the brothers were in their late teens. Cliff is the oldest, and for two years following their parents’ deaths, Cliff was Joe’s guardian. They shared the same address until Cliff was arrested.”

“We need more info on Joe Franklin.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck. Too many hours hunched over his laptop had knotted his muscles. “Did you find anything on the Olanders?”

“Now that’s where things get interesting.” His mom clicked her tongue. “Kennett bought the farm in Randolph County and moved here twenty-five years ago. This is the weird part. No mortgage.”

“A cash buy?” Lance was surprised.

“Yes,” his mom answered. “They bought everything: several hundred acres of land with a house, barns, cows, equipment, customer lists, the works. It was just under a million dollars.”

“Where did the money come from?” Lance asked. “Family?”

“I didn’t find anything in his family’s history that suggests they had that kind of money, but it’s possible.”

But Lance suspected the source of the money was related to the arsenal he’d found in the Olanders’ basement.





Chapter Eighteen

The peal of Sharp’s phone alarm jolted him back to consciousness. It took all of three seconds before he remembered Olivia’s disappearance. He scanned his empty office, then checked his phone for messages and emails.

Nothing.

Disappointment crushed him as if a car were parked on his chest. Sitting up on the couch in his office, he rubbed his stubbled jaw. He hadn’t wanted to close his eyes, but Lance had insisted. Lance had been right. Even through the fog of waking, Sharp could feel his neurons beginning to fire.

He was still groggy as hell, but the small amount of sleep would enable him to function.

Rising, he went across the hall and ducked into Lance’s office. “Anything?”

“I called the cable company, utilities, and township,” Lance said. “None of them sent a white van to Olivia’s street in the past couple of weeks. Stella is on the way. She says she has news. Why don’t you get a cup of tea? You look like hell.”

But Sharp’s brain felt like mush. “I don’t think tea is going to cut it.”

He went into Morgan’s office and called out, “How do you work this coffee machine?”

Lance appeared in the doorway, looking shocked. “When was the last time you drank coffee?”

“I don’t know.” Sharp took a clean mug from Morgan’s shelf. “Sometime in the nineties, I think. But I’m desperate. I can hardly think straight, and I really need to be on my game.”

“Lift the handle, insert a pod, and press the flashing blue button.”

“These plastic pods are terrible for the environment.” But Sharp followed his instructions. In less than a minute, he had a cup of coffee. He took a tentative sip. It didn’t taste as good as he remembered, but he’d drink it anyway.

“What you really need is more sleep,” Lance said.

“That’s not going to happen. Not until we find her.” Sharp turned, panic scrambling for a toehold in his chest. “What if we don’t?”

With every minute that passed, the chances of Olivia returning alive and well decreased.

“You can’t think that way. Not yet. It’s only been a day and a half.” Despite his words, Lance’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Let’s see what Stella has to say.”

“You’re right.” Sharp carried the coffee back to his office. The caffeine wasn’t helping. He opened his laptop and tried to remember what he’d been reading when he’d almost fallen asleep on the keyboard. His office door was open, giving him a view of the foyer.

Morgan walked in. “Stella’s here.”

Following her sister, Stella entered Sharp’s office and unbuttoned her jacket. Physically, the sisters looked similar. Both were tall, with long black hair and blue eyes. But Stella dressed like a cop. Plain black pants, flat black boots, and a black jacket over her gun and handcuffs. She’d contained her hair in a utilitarian bun. Morgan dressed like the successful trial attorney she was. She wore a feminine, fitted gray suit; white blouse; and heels. She’d left her hair down, and it waved just past her shoulders.

“Jenny Kruger called this morning,” Morgan said. “She hasn’t found a ’71 Nova, but Joe Franklin lives on a secluded property where Cliff used to restore antique cars.”

“We need to pay Joe a visit.” Stella tossed her jacket on a chair. “Let me give you a quick update on my end. As I told Morgan, the fingerprints taken from Olivia’s house didn’t have any matches in AFIS.” The Automated Fingerprint Identification System was a national database of fingerprints maintained by the FBI. “Also, the heating and air company that was on Olivia’s calendar for Wednesday checks out. They do background checks on all of their employees. None have criminal records, and the technician who serviced Olivia’s heater has an alibi. He was at a bachelor party at a strip club until three a.m.”

“Then it’s unlikely he’s involved.” Sharp leaned back in his chair.