CHAPTER 15

 

 

Jace dreaded making the call to police detective Ackroyd, but knew he must. He feared hearing the facts that might force again the specter of Quigley into their lives. Or if not, have to bear any further accusations about his father. He wanted the assurance Quigley remained safely incarcerated, awaiting trial for two separate murders.

“I’ve been out of the county, finishing up a special state case,” Ackroyd reported. “I’ll check about Quigley. I do know there was a local TV station feature a while back on inmates who receive fan letters from females. Quigley was included. Of course, his pen pals believed in his innocence. Plus, they commented on his ‘hot mug shot.’ One of them quoted, ‘I think of him as a misunderstood, battered soul.’”

“That’s crazy.”

“I’ll call you back.”

A half hour later, Jace’s cellular phone rang.

Ackroyd wasted no time. “I’m sorry. Bad news. Quigley escaped after stabbing two guards with plastic knives he made himself.”

“When?”

“Three days ago. If I wasn’t on that other case, I would have known. In fact, I would have been called immediately to do follow-up detail, as the original supervising detective. Now I’m officially re-instated. You didn’t see anything in the newspaper?”

“I’ve had my nose to the grindstone, checking out Dad’s financials. Did you know about his wife, Yvonne? Found shot dead here at the house.”

“Ahh. Suicide?”

“Don’t think so. Maybe an accident. Or murder.”

“What does your father think?”

“He vehemently denies any part in it, though he believes he was the only other person in the house at the time.”

“And what do you think?”

Jace could hear the detective tapping on a glass, like the ticking of a clock. “Saw definite signs in our basement here of a possible Quigley intrusion.”

“She was shot, did you say?”

“I know what you’re thinking. Not his M.O. Unless he upgraded.”

“Another thing, a cellmate of Quigley’s escaped too, hours later. He was left alone in an interrogation room, somehow worked his way out of the handcuffs and climbed up out of a vent. There’s a video of it. Incredible! Not a proud day for the team.”

“Could be related?”

“Hard to say. Maybe coincidence. I’ll check my sources for more info. Want to do a ride-along with me? You know Quigley as well as anyone. Help me sort out his thoughts, motives, and possible movements.”

“Give me an hour.”

“I’ll give you two. I can catch up on my paperwork.”

Jace made two more phone calls. He reached his father at McKane Riding Company in Santa Dominga, the only really viable business he owned, and the other to Reba.

“Abel’s coming in the house,” she warned.

Jace broke into her hesitation. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m wondering when you’ll come back ...” He sensed she started to say home. “... to Road’s End. And I think Abel wants to talk to you.”

Abel grabbed the phone.

“I didn’t do it,” he said first thing through the speaker.

“Do what?”

“Start the fire.”

“What fire?”

“The fire in the hay. I was minding my own business when a bat flew at me.”

“Did it bite you? Some of them have rabies, you know.”

“No.”

“So, what does the bat have to do with the fire?”

Abel hesitated. “It scared me, and I dropped the match.”

“I see. Why did you have a match?”

“I was practicing.”

Jace tried to restrain the frustration edging his voice. “Practicing what?”

“Lighting a lantern.”

“Next time, make sure there’s nothing around that can catch on fire. What burned?”

“Just some hay. I promise. Well, and my leg a little when we stomped it out.”

“Are you all right now?”

“Yes. Reba gave me toast with lots of butter and jam,” the boy said with a sniff.

“I’m sure that made you feel lots better.”

“Yeah. She’s okay. I’ve got a talking robot she gave me. Can I have a puppy? The Youngers are saving one for me.”

“What about Dewey? You still have him.”

“Can’t I have two dogs?”

“Let me think about it.”

Abel handed the phone back to Reba.

“I’ll try to watch Abel much closer,” she said, “so he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Hey, I understand. Par for the course in caring for an active almost eleven-year-old.” He quickly made the decision not to mention Quigley’s escape yet, especially with Abel close by. “I’m going to be here a little bit longer.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Have more business to tend to.”

“For your Dad?”

“And loose ends about Yvonne.” There, that was honest, without adding stress on her end. He could explain it all later, after he and Ackroyd got things resolved. “Love you, Reba Mae.”

After a pause, he heard a faint, “Miss you, Computer Guy.”

“Miss you more, Ranch Boss.” He hoped the former walkie-talkie moniker didn’t sting her too much.

 

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Reba made her own long-distance call when Jace hung up. The threatening letter disturbed her enough to wonder, who might be her enemy? She suspected only one, for sure. Quigley. Waves of angst bumped against her, leaving her disturbed, puzzled, and floundering for truth and safety.

She slowly dialed the number of her good friend Ginny George Nicoli of Santa Dominga, California. They chatted about Ginny’s pregnancy, her large extended family, and thriving business venture with the Marketplace George franchise.

Then, Reba asked, “How are you and Paris doing?”

“Relationships can be so ...”

“So hard?”

“Impossible! Messy!”

Amen, sister.

After a pause, Ginny said, “But Paris seems reconciled to helping with the George Deli franchise while moonlighting on the side with writing his true crime mysteries. And I can’t wait to be a mother.”

Reba tried to nonchalantly change to another subject. “Have you heard anything about Quigley lately?” she said as low as she could.

“Only that he escaped. What else have you heard?”

A stunned Reba quickly quashed any further discussion with a “Nothing” and diverted as soon as possible to more baby talk. She tried to stay attentive, but a well of panic rose higher and higher.

Escaped? How? When?

Jace hadn’t mentioned it. Should she let him know?

No. Why give him another worry?