Cold Case at Camden Crossing

Then she felt hands pulling at her, moving her. She tried to open her eyes, but the world was foggy.

Breathing rasped around her. She tried to see who was pulling her from the bus, but it was too dark. Then she heard crying again—another scream. Voices.

Was her sister all right?

She struggled to see, but...there was a man...his face...hidden in shadows. Who was he?

Tawny-Lynn jerked awake, panting for a breath. The dream...had been so real. A memory.

She had heard a voice. Seen a face.

A man’s? A woman’s? Peyton’s maybe?

God help her, who was it?

* * *

CHAZ POPPED OPEN a cold beer when he made it home, his mind obsessing over Tawny-Lynn. Was she sleeping now? Or was she awake, terrified the person who’d left her that bloody message would return and make good on his threat?

Tension knotted his shoulders. He wanted to be back at White Forks watching out for her. Making sure she was safe.

Holding her...

Dammit, no. Tawny-Lynn was the last woman on earth he needed to be attracted to.

Why her?

Why now?

Life would be so much simpler if she cleaned that place up quickly, hung the for-sale sign, left town and never came back.

Then he wouldn’t have to think about her being on that deserted run-down ranch by herself where God knew anyone could sneak up and attack her.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enemies. She had too many to count.

The people who’d lost family members in that crash despised her for not being able to give them closure by identifying the person who’d hit the bus and caused the crash.

Their family members, Coach Wake and half the town had also been questioned as suspects and resented it because Tawny-Lynn could have cleared their names.

Coach Wake has literally sobbed at the news of the crash, saying maybe if he’d been with the girls on the bus he could have done something to save them. Instead, he’d driven his own car, taken a side road, then stopped for cash and a surprise cake to take to the celebration dinner.

Tawny-Lynn’s delicate face flashed in Chaz’s head, and he grimaced, sipped his beer and headed to his home office. The cabin was small, but he’d carved a workspace in the second bedroom where he’d hung a gigantic whiteboard and laid out everything he knew about the missing girls from Sunset Mesa and Camden Crossing.

A smaller board held photos of other missing young women from various states for comparison purposes so he could look for connections.

Once again, he studied the pictures former sheriff Harold Simmons had taken of the accident. The bus was a mess, dented and crushed against a boulder in the ravine, flames shooting from all sides.

Keith Plumbing, a local handyman had driven up on the scene and called it in. His statement said he’d first seen smoke, then stopped and realized it was a bus and called 911. He’d run down the embankment to rescue the students trapped inside, but by the time he reached the bus, it burst into flames. He saw Tawny-Lynn lying in the dirt several feet away. But no one else was around.

Due to the fact that Keith called in the accident and had a history of drinking on the job, and he’d worked in Camden Crossing and Sunset Mesa, the sheriff questioned him as a person of interest. Plumbing could have caused the crash, then lied about the timing, dragged Tawny-Lynn out to safety but couldn’t save the others.

Although he’d sworn he hadn’t seen Peyton or Ruth. And if he’d hurt them or kidnapped them, where had he taken them? He hadn’t had enough time between the time of the crash and when he’d called in the accident to dispose of a body.

Another photograph showed Tawny-Lynn unconscious on the stretcher, her leg twisted, blood streaking her face and hands. She looked so pale and fragile that he wondered how she’d survived.

Shaking off emotions he didn’t want to feel for her, he glanced at the list of suspects the sheriff had considered. Plumbing had been one. He’d also questioned Barry Dothan, a young man with a mental disability that affected his learning and behavior.

Dothan liked to watch teenagers and took pictures of them on the track, swim team and softball field. But his mother swore that Barry was harmless, that he would never hurt a soul. The pictures of Ruth and Peyton posted on the corkboard above his bed were the only evidence that incriminated him. Some of the girls at school claimed they felt uncomfortable around him, but none of them had accused him of inappropriate behavior.

Chaz downed the rest of his beer and grabbed another, pacing to calm himself. God, his heart hurt just imagining what might have happened to his sister and Ruth.

He skimmed the former sheriff’s notes. The investigators they’d called in from the county had found remains of three girls and the driver in the ashes left after the bus had exploded.

Ruth and Peyton were not among them.

So what the hell had happened to them?

Could Plumbing have had more time than they’d originally thought, time to kill the girls and dump their bodies somewhere?

They’d searched the man’s truck. No girls, blood or forensics inside.

They’d also combed the area surrounding the crash site for bodies, a dead end as well.

Dothan didn’t seem smart enough to abduct two girls and hide them.

But nobody else was there.

There had to be, though—or else how had Tawny-Lynn escaped the burning bus?

Peyton or Ruth could have dragged her out. But then what?

Frustrated, he slammed his fist on the desk, rattling paper clips and files.

He forced himself to look at the pictures of the two girls who’d gone missing from Sunset Mesa the year before. Almost the same time of year.

Avery Portland and Melanie Hoit. Avery grew up with a single mother, worked at the ice cream shop and was voted most likely to succeed in her class. She was popular, on the dance team at school, and class president.

Melanie was a cheerleader, pretty and aspired to be a model. Some of her classmates described her as the girl everyone wanted to be. A few others commented that she was a snob.

But so far everyone they’d questioned had alibis.

And neither girl had been found. No body. No ransom calls.

Nothing.

The parents wanted closure just as the residents in Camden Crossing did.

He slumped down in the chair and glanced back at the photo of Tawny-Lynn. No wonder his parents and the other family members of the victims had turned on her.

She might be the only lead they had.

He understood people’s anger and frustration.

But why would someone want to hurt her? Then she’d never be able to tell them who else had been there that day.

The answer hit him like a fist in the gut.

Someone didn’t want her to remember because there had been foul play.

And if she could identify the culprit, she could put him or her in jail....

* * *

HE WATCHED THE house where Tawny-Lynn slept.

The images of the girls who’d died tormented him. He hadn’t meant to kill them all. He loved them too much to do them harm.

But things had gotten out of hand. Then everything had gone wrong.

His gut churned with memories of the screams of those girls in the fire. That had been...terrible. He had nightmares to this day. He would never have wanted any of them to suffer like that.

His heart was racing as he remembered the panic that had seized him when the bus had exploded.

Ah, sweet Peyton. So easy to love.

And Ruth... He’d wanted her so badly back then.

Another few months and maybe Tawny-Lynn would have appealed to him, too. She did now.

So sexy and athletic and that soft, blond hair... She’d turned out to be pretty after all.

Too bad she might have to die.

Chapter Six

Tawny-Lynn couldn’t go back to sleep. She didn’t even want to go back to sleep, and relive the same old nightmare.

If only she could recall the face of the person who’d rescued her.

She climbed from bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and yanked her hair back into a ponytail. The mammoth job of cleaning the rest of the house awaited her.

But she needed coffee and food, and now that the kitchen was clean, she needed some groceries to get by on until she could make the necessary repairs to the ranch.

She jogged down the stairs, but the sound of her sister’s voice called to her as if she was begging her to find her.

She grabbed her purse and cell phone, then remembered her car was in the shop. She’d seen the keys to her father’s pickup somewhere. If it was still running, she’d take it into town.

She glanced around the living room, daunted by the task she faced, then went back to the kitchen and remembered that she’d put the keys in the wicker basket with the bills that needed attention. Keys in hand, she jogged outside and found the truck parked beneath the makeshift carport her father had erected. The ancient truck was rusty and chugged and coughed as she tried to start it, as if it hadn’t been cranked in ages. But her father had to have driven it to pick up his booze and the junk boxes he collected.

After three attempts, the battery finally charged to life, and she pulled from the carport. Remembering the intruder the night before, she scanned the property surrounding the ranch, but everything looked still and quiet.

Relieved, she barreled down the dirt drive and turned on the road to town. She passed the high school, pausing for a second to watch as the teenagers began to arrive. Students had gathered in the parking lot to hang out before going inside just as she and Ruth and Peyton used to do with the team. Softball season was almost over, and a sign out front congratulated the team for making it to the state finals. They were probably beginning play-offs now. Coach Wake was sure to be ecstatic.

She sped up, entered the town square and parked in front of the diner, desperate for coffee and breakfast. Thunderclouds darkened the sky, promising rain, and she pulled on her denim jacket and walked up the sidewalk to the diner. An old-fashioned hitching post and wagon wheel made the wooden structure look like a building from the past.

The delicious scent of bacon and coffee engulfed her when she entered, and her stomach growled. When had she eaten last?

She glanced around the room in search of an empty booth and suddenly felt tension charge the air. Voices quieted. Laughter died. A few whispers echoed through the diner.

Nerves climbed up her neck.

Suddenly Chaz appeared looking larger than life and so sexy that need spiraled through her.

“Good morning, Tawny-Lynn.”

She wasn’t so sure of that. “Maybe I should leave.”

He shook his head. “No, sit down, have breakfast with me.”

Did he know what he was doing? “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

He took her arm and ushered her into a booth to the left. “Well, I do. I’m sheriff. People had better take note.”

Some emotion she couldn’t define swelled inside her. She hadn’t had anyone stand up for her in a long time.

She sank into the booth, exhausted already, and the day hadn’t even begun. Chaz motioned for the waitress, and she appeared, a pencil jammed into her bouffant hairdo.

“Morning, Sheriff.” She glanced down at Tawny-Lynn, her penciled-in eyebrows knit together. “Hey, sugar. You new to town?”

Tawny-Lynn fiddled with the paper napkin as she read the woman’s name tag. Her name was Hilda. “I used to live here. I’m Tawny-Lynn Boulder.”

“Oh, right, hon, I heard you were coming home. So sorry about your daddy.” Hilda set two coffee cups on the gingham tablecloth and filled them with coffee from the pot on her tray. “He used to come in for coffee every now and then.”

When he was sober? Tawny-Lynn couldn’t imagine.

But she relaxed at the woman’s friendly smile.

“What’ll you two have?”

“The breakfast special for me.” Chaz grinned at Tawny-Lynn. “They make the best biscuits in town.”

She noted the chalkboard. The special was three eggs, sausage and pancakes. If she ate all that, she’d be too full to get any work done.

“I’ll take the country breakfast. Scrambled eggs with cheese.”

“Sausage or bacon?”

“Sausage.”

Hilda smiled again, then called their order in and headed to the next table.

“Did you sleep any last night?” Chaz asked.

She fiddled with her napkin. “A little. But I dreamed about the crash.”

He was watching her, his interest piqued, but he didn’t push. “You dream about it a lot?”

She nodded. “All the time.”

“What happens in the dream?”

She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped the ponytail holder behind her ear. “I’m at the ball game. We win, everyone’s excited, cheering. Then we run to the bus. Coach says we’ll meet for pizza.” Goose bumps skated up her arms.

“Then?”

“Then we’re in the bus and everyone’s talking and then the bus jerks...like someone hit us, and the driver loses control.”

Chaz sucked in a sharp breath. “That fits with our theory.”

“You believe someone caused the accident?”

“Yes, but we don’t know if it was an accident, or if someone intentionally slammed into the bus.”

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