While Others Sleep

Following him into his office, she watched him ease himself into the black leather chair behind the desk. Behind him, on the wall, were credentials and citations. Campbell knew if he’d had his way, Yancy would have boxed them away years ago. She’d been the one to insist that clients would be impressed and reassured by them—proof of his training and skills. She suspected they meant more to him now than ever as he struggled to regain his stride.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he set it on the coaster. “I haven’t seen you looking this wiped out since—”

“I know.” Campbell hoped to cut short any lecture he’d been planning.

“Hurts worse than you’ll admit.”

Yancy’s conversational approach was to state conclusions like a twenty-dollar fortune-teller. It used to drive Campbell nuts, until she realized he took no pleasure in anyone’s pain or defeat, he simply believed in shorthand and shortcuts whenever possible.

“When you start fessing up, I will too.”

His grunt could have been a chuckle and he indicated his pen and pencil holder. “Well, your mother said you got your stubbornness from me. Feel free to bite down on one of my freshly sharpened No.2s if it gets so bad your teeth start to itch. In the meantime, tell me more about what you think is going on.”

“I’m done guessing. I’m going to dig up more answers.” Too weary to simply stand and in too much pain to sit without rocking, she wandered around his office.

“Maida has to be at her son’s house, that’s all there is to it. Her family would have screamed bloody murder until they had squad cars lined up at the gatehouse if she hadn’t arrived.”

“If they knew she was coming.”

That possibility had Campbell’s mouth going dry again, and she took a deep drink of her soda. “The only way we can determine whether they did or didn’t—or if she even spoke to them—is to go inside the house and check her answering machine.”

“Forget it. If we get to where that becomes our only choice, we call the sheriff and hand things over to his department. I mean it, Belle. You know Tyndell won’t let us into the house under these vague conditions—and he’s our only option if we don’t contact the sheriff.”

His expression reflected her feelings about having to call in the local authorities. “Fine, then I’m ready,” Campbell said. “But let me pay the family a courtesy call. Regardless of his neglect, and Patsy’s resentment of her mother-in-law, Dwayne eventually does what needs to be done.”

“Because his mother is going to leave him more comfortable than he probably is.”

Far more than he deserves to be, Campbell thought, rubbing her thumb over the condensation on the soda can. “We need him working with us not against us, especially since the procedure for filing missing persons reports has been upgraded. With the National Crime Information Center program at officers’ fingertips, it takes nothing for police departments to research a subject on their computers. The only people who will get criticized now are those who delay reporting a missing person in the first place.” This was basically the same technology that was allowing the Amber Alert to go national.

“One big problem,” Yancy said. “Maida wouldn’t qualify for priority listing. She might be over seventy, but she’s fully cognizant and no real threat to herself or anyone else.”

Campbell signaled for his patience. “I have to confide something she hasn’t told anyone yet. There’s a health wrinkle aside from the cataracts.”

Yancy didn’t hesitate. “Alzheimer’s?”

“Osteoporosis. Advancing fast.”

“How would that influence a situation like this?”

“She wants to live in her own home as long as possible.” Campbell knew she had to confide more. It didn’t matter that this was her father, the head of a company that held privacy and confidences as sacred. She saw it as breaking her word to a friend. “She’s had two episodes of allergic reactions to medication. The first time she simply developed hives around her neck and her eyes swelled shut. The next time she had some trouble breathing.”

“She called you and you didn’t get her to the hospital?”

“She told me afterward. She took Benadryl and used cool packs. They worked.” Campbell stopped pacing to face her father. “I was as upset as you are when she confided this. That’s the point. Maybe she’s had another reaction, a worse one, but was determined not to involve or inconvenience me and tried to get to Emergency on her own. You know how proud some of these people are.”

“You said yourself, she’s not at the hospital.”

“Dad, a favorite figurine is lying broken on her patio. At first I assumed the storm did it. Ike must have thought so, too, because he didn’t mention it when he checked her place for me. She was fond of the silly thing. Call me crazy, but if she watched it break in the storm, or she accidentally broke it while trying to secure something…well that could have had a powerful emotional effect.”

Yancy’s eyes, usually a stormy, cooler gray than her own, warmed, but not with intellectual appreciation. “Belle, listen to yourself. I’m proud of your thoroughness. Just don’t be quick to assume responsibility in any of this. If Maida didn’t take her medication, that was her choice. If she left the premises instead of calling you at the gate to ask for EMS help, again, so be it. What I’d like you to consider is that she confided only as much as she did so you would cut her some slack regarding rules and regulations. Are you sure she’s not involved with some guy?”

Campbell’s initial reaction was indignation. “She’s not a teenager whose brain has logic gaps as wide as the Gulf. In any case, if she was involved with someone, I think he would be on the premises. Maida doesn’t often leave the Trails these days. I’ve told you that, or has your medication affected your memory?”

Yancy snorted and reached for his coffee. “Calm down. I just want to know we’re all on the same page when we hit that big alarm button.”

“Punch it, Dad, because I am alarmed, and I’m trained not to be,” she replied quietly.

“We’ve had a perfect record here providing security to the property—no burglary, no assaults, no murders.”

But they’d had a few stalkings and embezzlements. “As I said before,” Campbell replied, “her family is the type to push litigation if something goes wrong. Maida has said enough about their lifestyle to suggest their debt situation would benefit from a quick cash settlement.”

“Parasites.” As he spoke, Yancy massaged his abdomen. “Well, you’d better get to it, then.”

His growing paleness troubled her. “You’ve had a difficult night yourself, worrying about me on top of the others.”

“I’m just reminded that we need to hire new staff, that’s all.”

But they couldn’t afford to without new clients. Naturally, they couldn’t take on new clients without more employees, and for that they needed some interim financing. Right now, no bank was going to give them a loan until Yancy’s next physical certified a clean bill of health. Adding to their problems were 9/11 regulations to incorporate into their daily procedure—as was the case for everyone in the law enforcement and security business. They’d also lost a small bundle putting two employees on full-time debris search after the Columbia shuttle tragedy.

Campbell moistened her lips, preparing to broach a subject she’d been debating privately. “Have you considered taking on another partner, Dad?”

“I have the one I want, that’s enough.”

His tone left no room for discussion. As touched as she was, Campbell couldn’t help feeling that her father had made the legal changes to the corporation merely as a gesture to keep her psychologically afloat. For her part, she didn’t feel she brought enough to the company to warrant such pride and defense, aside from six years’ experience as a Longview police officer, which had yielded no savings, no legitimate investigative experience—just the academy training.

“Nothing has changed over at LPD that I know of,” she continued. “I’m still a greater liability than an asset to you. If you considered that offer from National—”

“Not today, Belle.”

The nation-wide security firm had approached him just before her resignation from the LPD and his surgery. Even then Yancy declared he would close before surrendering his company to them. But a person could change his perspective.

“Dad, I was pulled over again on Friday. There wasn’t any ticket or anything, but the officer took his damned time, especially after I told him I was on my way to a dental appointment. He just goaded me in the hopes that I’d do something foolish.”

“Bastard. Who was it this time?”

“That’s irrelevant. The point is, I’ll continue to be harassed until I physically make myself scarce, or they get the backbone to do that for me.”

The word “permanently” didn’t need to be spoken.

Yancy slapped his hand down on the desk blotter so hard that his coffee mug almost went flying. “Dammit! You’re moving in here. If you didn’t see the need before—”

“I’m not going to let a handful of ignorant bullies control me.”

“Bullies with badges. Come on, move in. You know this place feels like a museum half the time.”

“Invite Cheralyn to move in with you.” He’d ended his budding relationship with Cheralyn Eastman the same day he’d returned from the clinic with his diagnosis. When the suggestion earned her a glowering look, she countered it with a one-shouldered shrug. “You’re alive. You’re going to be around awhile. Why deny yourself good company?”

“Your love life is off-limits, but you get to give me advice?”

Campbell averted her gaze. “It’s only been a year.”

“Fourteen months, and that’s a lifetime when the guy proves to be a—”

“Dad.” In no shape to go three rounds with the champ, Campbell saluted him with her can of soda. “Message received. I’ll let you know what I learn from Maida’s family.”

5

7:30 a.m.

The Saunders lived in an upscale development, a spare mile northwest of Maple Trails. New roads framed by concrete curbing as white as fresh-squeezed toothpaste stretched around groves of dogwood, live oak and a relatively new planting of native pine. Safe ground for Campbell, since this area was also outside of LPD jurisdiction and private security systems were the fashion.

Locating the correct address, she parked in front of the two-story Tudor, badly designed in gray brick. As she approached the leaded glass and oak front door, she took special note of the teal-colored Ford compact with the battered front end tucked in the upper corner of the driveway. It reminded her of Maida’s concerns about her granddaughter’s poor driving record to date. Right now, though, all she cared about was that the senior Saunderes’s vehicles were still in the two-car garage.

A considerable amount of noise from inside the house reassured her. She rang the front doorbell, waited a good half a minute and rang again.

Suddenly she saw blurred movement beyond the thick glass, then the door swung open and Dwayne Saunders scowled at her. He was dressed in the uniform of an executive—starched white shirt, red tie, soft-leather gray loafers and belted gray slacks that did little to conceal a slight paunch momentarily sucked in. Campbell allowed that he cleaned up well. She was less impressed with his puffy face and unhealthy coloring.

“Yes?” he demanded.

Amazons weren’t his type; she could see it by the stiffness entering his features as he registered her uniform and that they stood eye to eye. In turn she schooled her expression into what she hoped was something less icy than her usual countenance of late. Maybe he remembered her from Maida’s last birthday party—or maybe not, since he’d behaved like a petulant teenager dragged to a family event against his will. She had not forgotten that sullen mouth and close-set eyes.

“Sorry to intrude, Mr. Saunders, but I’m—”

“Yes, yes. I remember.”

“Good. I need to ask you about your mother.”

“What? Why? Is she sick?”

“I hope not, sir. We’re being thorough, nonetheless. Are you aware that she left the estate late last night in a rush and hasn’t returned?”

“My mother? She never drives after dark. She has night blindness.”

Jerk, she thought. He clearly had forgotten about the cataracts. “I witnessed it myself, sir. And although it was quite stormy—”

He shook his head and began shifting, ready to close the door. “It didn’t get bad until late, what…midnight? She would have been asleep for hours. You must be mistaken.”

Campbell softened her tone. “There’s nothing wrong with my vision, Mr. Saunders. Have you been in touch with your mother?”

Before he could answer, a svelte blonde dressed in chilled-peach satin appeared at his side followed by a waft of Organza perfume. “What’s going on, Dwayne? You promised you’d take Debra and Marc to school so I can make my hair appointment. They have to leave. Now.”

“I said I’d do it, Patsy.”

Campbell pretended not to notice the rising notch of tension in his voice. “Hello again, Mrs. Saunders. I’m Campbell Cody with Cody Security. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we’re concerned about Maida.”

Despite the early hour, the woman looked fresh and fashionable even in a house robe. In contrast, Campbell was never more aware of her appearance—stained and torn uniform and frizzing hair. Whatever mascara and lip gloss she’d put on last night had been bitten off or washed away hours ago. Add to that, she was almost half a foot taller than the woman. No amount of slouching would improve that contrast, so she stood tall and let Maida’s son and daughter-in-law think what they would.

“What’s she done now?” Blue-eyed Patsy sighed.

Campbell was aware of Dwayne momentarily shutting his eyes.

“I swear, that woman should sell that house once and for all before we all go as loopy as she is.”

“She’s missing, Patsy.”

Bristling at the subtle rebuke from her husband, Patsy directed new disdain at Campbell. “Excuse me? How can she be missing in her own house with security all around her? You mean you’ve lost her.”

“She’s not ours to lose.” Campbell had met her type too often to be annoyed. “She is a free citizen, fully cognizant and deserving the respect due to anyone her age. That said, she left the estate under unusual circumstances last night and hasn’t returned. We’re hoping you might know something about the matter.”

“Unbelievable,” Patsy drawled. “In the same breath you insist she’s of sound mind and then have the gall to admit—”

A sudden crash in the kitchen followed by a pained cry had both husband and wife racing into the interior of the house. Since they didn’t slam the door in her face, Campbell followed.

In the middle of the kitchen, amid shattered glass and splattered orange juice, Debra Saunders, Maida’s seventeen-year-old granddaughter, stood staring at the TV. On the screen was Wanda White of KLTV, the Longview-Tyler station, sharing the overnight tragedy regarding the teenage girl found mortally wounded behind a local restaurant.

“EMTs worked valiantly to save the teenager, but Stacie Holms was pronounced dead shortly after arriving at Good Shepherd Medical Center.”

“Stace.” The word was both an anguished whisper and a protest. Then with a wrenching sob, Debra Saunders covered her face with her hands. “Oh, my God. Oh, no…”

Campbell felt for the teen. She couldn’t forget that she herself had crossed paths with the victim last night at Good Shepherd. A girl who, as luck would have it, had driven the same car Maida did. Was there information here that needed to be reported to the investigating team?

“You’re a good friend of Stacie Holms, Debra?” Campbell asked.

Patsy Saunders spun around. “What do you think you’re doing? You need to leave, Ms.—Officer. This is a family moment.”

“Mrs. Saunders, I’ll make this as brief as possible, but I’d like to ask Debra—”

“Get out!” An adamant Patsy pointed with fierce determination to the door.

Knowing she was way out on thin ice jurisdiction-wise, Campbell held up her hands and obeyed, with a veneer of calm that vanished once she was back in the car.

“Dammit!” She struck the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

She’d had no business trying to quiz the kid. Not only was she overreaching her authority, she was jeopardizing any form of cooperation with the adults. At this point she doubted Dwayne or Patsy would ever talk to her unless it was to press charges for neglect.

6

8:03 a.m.

“Why didn’t you call?”

Back at the offices, Campbell took her father’s annoyance as the minimum penance due. “I thought what I had to report was better said in person.”

Ushering her in, Yancy shut the door to his office, leaving Beth Greer, his efficient though curious young receptionist-dispatcher to wonder. Normally, he had an open-door policy, unless he was interviewing a prospective client, or was on a conference call, or was lying down when it didn’t pay to fib about his weakened state. This didn’t look like one of those.

“So?”

Campbell eyed the TV remote in his hand. “Have you heard anything more from Maple Trails while I was gone?”

“There’s additional damage to the houses down from the marina. Never mind that, what did the Saunders say? Was the daughter there by chance?”

As he spoke, Yancy aimed the remote at the unit behind his desk. When Campbell saw the screen go blue and read Video, she understood. He’d seen the news, too.

“Debra, yes. She was watching TV in the kitchen. She took the news hard.”

“Figures. There may be about twenty-five hundred students at the high school this year, but I reckon, by the time they’re seniors, the kids all have a good idea who everyone else is in the class.”

Campbell wondered if his instincts had meandered down the same path as hers. “I tried to find out how well Debra knew the Holms girl after questioning her parents about Maida, but Patsy turned alpha female. Sorry. It would have been helpful for us to have something to offer the authorities if we need to ask them to bump up a search for Maida.”

Yancy signaled his agreement of that with a slight shift of his thick eyebrows. “What did her loving son have to say about his mother’s whereabouts?”

“He doesn’t have a clue. That is, he says he hasn’t a clue. The commotion with Debra prevented me from probing his memory a little further.”

“So, for the moment, Maida has been forgotten? Maybe conveniently?”

The VCR tape momentarily captured her attention. Campbell knew what was coming. Even so, she experienced a pang at the sight of the crime scene, the white Grand Am behind the news anchor. “That’s it. That’s the 911 I heard on the scanner last night. Look at the car—see what I mean? That’s why I let you and Ike talk me into going to the hospital. When I heard that the victim was being rushed to Emergency, I wanted to check on her myself. Don’t ask me why I didn’t listen for a better ID to make sure it was Maida.”

“It’s definitely one of those freak situations. Sorry as I am for the kid, I can’t help feeling this is buying us time.”

Campbell understood. This brought them back to Dwayne. But before she could say anything, the intercom buzzed.

Yancy stopped the VCR and hit the TV’s mute button before reaching across his desk. “Yes, Beth?” he said into the machine.

“State police on line one, sir.”

Yancy grabbed the receiver. “Dolan—good of you to get back to me so fast.”

Exhausted in too many ways to count, Campbell was slow to figure out who Yancy was talking to. Wondering what he was up to, she watched his narrow-eyed stare as he looked beyond the miniblinds out to the street. As a state trooper, Yancy had cut a distinguished figure in his uniform, intimidating enough for most of her friends to give their old home a wide berth—a reaction he encouraged, since there were a number of pranksters in her circle.

“Okay, thanks. I’d appreciate that, Dolan. We’ll get it faxed to you as soon as I get the additional information confirmed.”

The moment he hung up, Campbell was already leaning across the desk. “You called Captain Wheat?”

“Didn’t think it could do us any harm. He always said he owed me for finding his boy’s Harley before that chop shop spread the parts across the country. He checked on overnight activity in our area. Says so far there are no reports of anyone matching Maida’s description, and no one’s called in to check on anything bearing her car’s plates. I guess you could call that good news.”

To a point. They could be reasonably sure she hadn’t had an accident or been stopped for reckless driving or speeding. But that left plenty of other possibilities.

“At least we can delay talking to Tyndell.”

Campbell couldn’t believe Yancy was suggesting that. “How do you figure? Patsy may stay preoccupied with their daughter’s emotional state, but I’d be surprised if Dwayne hasn’t already gone back to wondering about my visit. I’ll bet there’s already a call from him on Maida’s answering machine, and another on the main office’s switchboard.”

“He’ll wait, thinking she might be in the shower, and try again.”

“Listen to me. He may not be the son Maida hoped for, but he knows what she expects from her chief beneficiary. I’m the one who’s going to shower and change. Then I’m going back to the Trails and track down Bryce. I’d rather suffer his company than watch him in a TV press conference with Dwayne.”

“Well, while you’re burning all cylinders, start making a list of Maida’s friends and the places you know she frequented when she did leave Maple Trails. If it turns out that we do have to make this an all-out search, that will save us some time.”

“Good point. By the way, I’ll get cleaned up here so you don’t have to nag me about doing more driving.”

“I’m overwhelmed.”

Less than an hour later Campbell found Yancy sitting on the edge of Beth’s desk. Between his guilty look and her big calf eyes, Campbell suspected she’d been their prime topic of conversation.

“You have a big mouth,” she said, certain Yancy was the guiltier of the two.

“I was only telling Beth a little about Maida. Remember the time she was baby-sitting for her grand-son—oh, heck, it was three years ago—and she intentionally ran over that rattlesnake?”

Campbell didn’t believe his story for a second—she knew he’d told Beth about her latest lightning experience—but the snake story was an amusing one. Maida’s aim was way off and she’d only broken off the snake’s rattles. Her grandson had been so upset that Maida asked one of the security guards to take the creature to the vet to see if they could reattach them.

Shaking her head, Campbell headed toward the door.

“Hey—if you’re going back to Maple Trails, why aren’t you in uniform?” Yancy called after her.

She simply lifted a hand in farewell, not yet ready to explain.

7

Northwest of town

8:03 a.m.

Certain the ceiling would rot and collapse on him before he would sleep, Blade kicked free of the tangled sheet and blanket, and swung his legs to the floor. The room spun before him in a dusky blur thanks to the combination of fatigue and the bourbon he’d downed to block out what he’d seen last night. Beyond the closed drapes the birds outside sounded as if they were in serious competition for screen time in a Hitchock remake.

Food. Slowly, it registered that they must be impatient for their day’s ration of seeds, especially since the storm had returned winter to Texas. On the heels of that realization came a taste of February chill against his bare skin and he glanced around, wondering what new damage the storm had caused on the roof or a window. Nothing would surprise him, since he’d made no improvements and only the most mandatory repairs to this three-room shack since taking on the lease almost a year ago.

Blade had decided on this remote eyesore for a reason other than economics; it also ensured protection and relief from all but the most determined solicitors. The place was a far cry from his roots, but then that was what set black sheep apart from others. He owned few creature comforts—a king-size bed obtained at a furniture closeout sale, and a thirteen-inch TV found in a closet that he’d pounded and shaken until it gave him enough picture to check on the news and the weather. His existence made Thoreau appear like the Hugh Hefner of his day.