“Where’s Fumié’s Jeep?” Cait demanded. “I want to see it.”
“There’s no need for you to go there,” Rook said. “I’ll call and let you know what we find.”
“I’m going.” Her hand closed on the doorknob. “Where’s her Jeep?”
Rook sighed and rubbed his forehead, conceding defeat. “Behind the Dirty Dog Saloon.”
Cait froze. “What? That fire trap?”
“Afraid so. Corliss saw it when she took the trash out. At least she had the sense to call it in, even if it was only to complain about it being there.”
“Holy crap,” Marcus said.
“That place is like a magnet for someone like Wally Dillon and his cousin.” She ripped open the door. “Let’s go. Marcus, please secure the theaters when Ray leaves.”
The Harts stayed at the house with Marcus and Perough, while Cait rode shotgun with Detective Rook. She stared out the window at the empty stretch of road, silently urging Rook to go faster. The Dirty Dog Saloon was located in the middle of a fork in the road—the right branch went to Del Valle Reservoir, the left to Mount Hamilton above San Jose. She cringed as she recalled going to the saloon once with Ilia while seeking information about Marcus. Sitting on prime real estate, the old brick and wood saloon was small, dark, and a fire marshal’s nightmare. It smelled of beer and stale cigarette smoke, and it had barely enough lighting to transform black shadows into human beings. She had a disagreement with Corliss, the owner, and prayed never to have reason to step foot on the property again. Sometimes life has other plans for us.
Rook pulled into the dirt lot and parked next to Vanicheque’s blue unmarked vehicle. A rusted pickup, which Cait assumed belonged to Corliss, was parked off to the side. Cait flung the passenger door open before Rook killed the engine. She ran until she found Fumié’s Jeep behind the building, its doors standing wide open.
“Cait!” Ilia called when he saw her.
She’d been told Fumié wasn’t in the Jeep, but she approached it with trepidation.
As Cait and Rook approached, Vanicheque backed out of the Jeep holding a pair of cords and a piece of duct tape.
Cait began to understand the blind instinct that would drive someone to lash out at another human being. At this moment, she did not trust herself. She shook with rage, and it made her lightheaded. Fear for Fumié consumed her. She glanced over her shoulder at the saloon. It didn’t look any better after the sun slipped below the horizon than it had when she’d been there during the daytime. “Ilia, have you talked to Corliss?”
“I tried, but she was too busy accusing me of bringing cops to the saloon to answer me when I questioned her. She didn’t show any interest in Fumié. Hope I never have to see this place again.”
Officer Vanicheque stared at Cait. “You know Corliss?”
“I met her when I heard Marcus hung out here,” she said without going into detail. She stuck her head in the Jeep and tried to think like a cop. “Any sign of blood?”
“Negative,” Vanicheque said. He reached in a pocket of his jeans and handed Rook a zippered plastic bag with a fractured cell phone. “The cell’s been stomped on. No keys. No purse.”
“She doesn’t carry a purse,” Ilia said. “She puts everything in her pockets.”
Cait forced herself to think rationally. “Maybe she’s walking.” She looked around. “We need to find her before it gets completely dark.”
“Maybe she went to the ranch,” Ilia said. “She’d have to pass it along the way.”
Cait frowned. “I don’t know if she’s ever been to the ranch. She never said. Bo or Khandi would have called me if she was there.” She started to reach in her pocket for her cell. “Damn, I don’t know their number.”
“I could get it,” Rook said, “but we’re so close, let’s just go there.”
“I knew it! Pegged you for a cop first time I saw you,” a voice boomed.
Cait turned and stared at the six-foot Hispanic woman charging toward her, hands clenched at her sides. Despite the heat, Corliss was dressed in the same raunchy clothes she wore when Cait first saw her—baggy overalls over a red plaid flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up over heavy, hairy arms. Her cropped silver hair hadn’t seen soap in ages.
“Corliss—” Cait said.
“You!” She pointed. “Get off my property!” When she stopped within a foot of Cait, Cait stepped away and rested her palm on the Glock at her back. Corliss reeked of marijuana.
“Somehow I get the feeling you don’t like me,” Cait said, sensing Rook and Vanicheque moving closer in case Corliss lunged at her. “Simmer down. What do you know about this Jeep and the girl it belongs to?”
“Don’t know a damn thing about any girl and wouldn’t tell you if I did.” She shot a dark look at Rook and Vanicheque. “Cops are lousy for business.”
Cait glanced around. “You won’t have a business if you don’t talk to us. A girl’s life is at stake.”
Corliss turned away. “Leave me alone and don’t come back.”
Rook reached under his jacket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Maybe you’d prefer time in a holding cell for not cooperating with the police.”
Anger flared in Corliss’s eyes. “I didn’t see nothin’!”
“How about your customers? Or were they too busy inhaling the atmosphere to notice what went on outside that piece of shit you call a business?” Cait said.
Ilia stepped up and calmly said, “Please, Corliss. Tell us what you saw.”
She looked at him and hesitated. “Saw nothing, but maybe I heard a couple of cars. Doors slamming, a motor revving up in a hurry to get away.”
Cait’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you see a girl? Did she go inside the saloon?”
Corliss frowned and scratched her head.
Cait demanded, “Did you see a girl?”
Red blotted Corliss’s face as her eyes shifted to Rook. She shook her head. “I had the TV on in the back.”
Oh, God. “You didn’t hear anyone yell for help?”
Corliss shrugged.
“We’re wasting time here,” Cait said. “We have to find Fumié.”
Her heart in her throat, Cait rolled the passenger window down and stared hard at shadows, shrubs, and ditches as Rook drove down Mines Road. Vanicheque and Ilia remained behind to have Fumié’s Jeep towed to the police station.
Rook reminded Cait, “She’s trained to be a survivor.”
“I wonder how long her Jeep’s been there. If she’s walking, we would have passed her on our way out here,” Cait said.
“Not if she’s scared or she ducked behind bushes when cars passed. We’re almost at the Bening ranch. Maybe she’s there.”
“I don’t understand why anyone would abduct Fumié or why her car was left behind that saloon.”
“She could have witnessed something she shouldn’t have, like Chip Fallon. Whoever drove her car out here has to be a local and familiar with the saloon.”
“Probably John LeBow, Wally’s cousin,” Cait said. “Corliss wouldn’t give up his name if she knew it.”
He slowed and turned in to the ranch. When he parked by the red barn, Cait jumped out and ran to the house. “The spotlights on the barn could have been a beacon of hope for Fumié if she could see them from the road.” She crossed the footbridge, ran up onto the porch, and pounded on the door. Lights were on inside. Disappointed, she said, “Their car isn’t here.”
“If Fumié found her way here, Bo could have driven her home.”
Frustrated, Cait looked through the porch windows but saw no movement inside. She paced the porch. “What should we do?”
“Call Marcus. Maybe she called the house.”
“She couldn’t. Her cell phone’s trashed.”
Rook pulled out his own cell. “I’ll call Perough.”
Cait’s cell beeped. She reached in her pocket and grabbed it. “Bo?” She stared at Rook. “Where are you? Detective Rook and I are on your front porch.”
“We’re in the ER at Valley Care Medical Center with Fumié.”
“Oh, my God! Bo, we’ve been searching for her. Is she hurt?”
“She says she’s fine, but I wasn’t taking any chances and insisted she be checked out,” he said. “The doctor examined her. Except for a couple of bruises, she appears to be okay. Fumié will explain everything when you get here.”
“We’re on our way. Don’t let her leave.” She disconnected the call. “Where’s the hospital?”
“About twenty minutes away.”
As they ran to the car, Cait said, “I hate to admit it, but it’s darn convenient having the Dirty Dog Saloon on the same road as the ranch.” She got in the car and strapped on her seatbelt.
Rook backed the car around. “Was that a positive thought about the saloon?”
“No, just saying. It’s a rat hole and should be condemned.”
“Can’t argue there,” he said, “but I can’t help wonder if there’s some connection to the saloon. It’s not the most convenient place to dump a car . . . or a body, for that matter.”
“Do you think Corliss was lying about not seeing Fumié?”
“No, but she is guilty of watching TV instead of the bar. Then again, what’s to steal? Whiskey? Beer? But if Fumié says she went inside, I’ll go back out there for another chat with Corliss.”
Cait and Rook rushed into the emergency room. Rook held up his shield to the clerk behind the counter. “We’re looking for Fumié Ondo. She was brought in here not long ago.”
They followed the clerk’s directions to a room of curtained cubicles where Bo was waiting.
Bo nodded to Rook. “The doctor wanted to call the police and report Fumié’s abduction, but I told them you were on the way.” He pulled a curtain aside. “Fumié, you have company.”
Cait stared at Fumié, who was sitting on the side of the bed clutching a flimsy hospital gown wrapped tightly around her and looking anxious. “Are you okay?” She gave her a gentle hug when she noticed a purple bruise on her left arm.
Fumié smiled. “Better than the guy who grabbed me. Can we get out of here?”
“What about your parents? Are they here?” Rook asked.
Fumié shook her head. “I called and told them not to come, that I was fine and wanted to talk to the police before going home. The doctor said I could leave after they finished some paperwork.”
A nurse entered and handed Fumié a release form. Fumié signed the paper and the nurse said she was free to go but gave her instructions to take it easy for a day or so.
After the nurse left, Fumié said, “I’m sorry I spoiled your evening, Bo, but I’m sure glad you were home. I was getting cold in my jogging clothes.”
“We’re glad we were home and able to help you,” Bo said.
“Did you know the ranch was on Mines Road?” Cait asked.
“Yes. Tasha used to talk about it, but I’d never been there. When I got to the saloon, I looked in but didn’t see anyone, which was a relief, because that place gives me the creeps. So I decided to walk until I found the ranch. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Cait and Rook left and saw Khandi and her daughter, Joy, waiting in the lobby. “Hi,” Cait said. “Thanks for helping Fumié. Other than some bruises, she’s okay and will be out soon.”
Joy reached for Cait’s hand. “Will you bring Fumié out to the ranch sometime?”
Cait saw Fumié limping toward them. “I think you can ask her yourself.”
Rook pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll be outside.”
When everyone left the hospital, Rook was standing next to his car outside the door.
Bo carried Joy, but hesitated long enough for Fumié to promise to visit the ranch sometime soon.
With Fumié settled in the backseat and Cait in the front, Rook pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. “Do you care to talk about what happened, Fumié?”
“Sure. I was jogging on Cross Road when I heard a gunshot.”
“That’s rural,” Rook said. “Could have been a farmer shooting to scare crows from his crops or vineyard.”
“I don’t think so,” Fumié said. “I heard voices before the gunshot. Then I was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. You need to take a look, Detective. I think someone was murdered.”