CHAPTER 14

I wake up sore from the tumble I took, and I’m achy and grumpy. The dream I had last night has stuck with me, and I have to remind myself it wasn’t real. I take more ibuprofen before I leave for headquarters.

Because we’re a small police department, there’s no one scheduled to work on Sunday, but I don’t have the place to myself. Maria is already here when I arrive, churning out flyers. I hope our antique printer can take the strain.

I call Bobtail Police Department and talk to Hogarth. He’s frustrated that they haven’t found any solid leads to Elaine Farquart’s disappearance. “We have got to find them,” he says. “I’m already getting calls from panicked women, wondering if they’re next.”

“You may not like it, then, but my deputy has made up flyers, and some women from Bobtail are going to distribute them.”

He sighs. “I may not like it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’re planning to do the same. I’ll just have to deal with any fallout.”

“There’s been a development on this end. Last night I surprised an intruder in Loretta’s house.” I tell him that he knocked me down and managed to get away. “He was searching for something when I discovered him. I wondered if he might be worried that Loretta had a printout of his photo that could identify him. Elaine Farquart’s neighbor said Elaine showed her a photo of a guy she was going to meet, but we didn’t find it in her house. It occurred to me that the same guy may have broken into Elaine’s house and stolen it.”

“We didn’t see any signs that anyone had broken in, but I’ll send somebody over to her house right away to check it out. We didn’t take fingerprints because it wasn’t really a crime scene, but we’ll do that now. Do you know how the guy got into Loretta’s house?”

“As far as we could tell there were no locks jimmied on the doors or windows. My deputy suggested that if the intruder were the kidnapper, he might have gotten the key from Loretta.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, but it makes sense, and he may have gotten Elaine Farquart’s key as well.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to call the FBI and see what legal means they can use to get information from the dating website.”

“I hate to tell you,” Hogarth says, “but I already did that, and they said we’ll have to get a court order, and that’s not easy. We don’t really have probable cause.”

“Maybe we can appeal to the better nature of whoever runs the website.”

He snorts. We both know how likely that is.

“By the way, I do have a possible lead. Loretta confided in a woman. She told the woman that she had made appointments with men she met on the dating website.” I tell him I went to the coffee shop in Bryan and talked to a potential suspect who turned out not to be suspicious after all.

“That’s more than we’ve managed to uncover.”

“This afternoon I’m going to the coffee shop in Bobtail where Loretta was supposed to meet the second date. Can I drop by and get a photo of Elaine Farquart? If they don’t recognize one, they might have noticed the other.”

“Absolutely, and we can give you a copy of the sketch that came from the description Elaine Farquart’s neighbor gave us too.”

“Have you located her car?”

“No.”

“I was thinking the cars might be in a garage.”

Hogarth agrees. He tells me to let him know if there’s anything he can help with.

Maria is printing out flyers, and she calls Kathy Weinman to arrange to get them to her. She isn’t home, so Maria leaves a message.

“If she’s at church, she probably won’t be home until after noon,” I say. Since Maria isn’t technically on duty, I tell her to go home and wait for Kathy’s call.

It’s not even ten o’clock. I’m not going to the coffee shop in Bobtail until this afternoon, to try to catch the same people on duty, so I’ve got time on my hands. I brew myself a pot of strong coffee and sit back to think.

Elaine Farquart was abducted from Bobtail, and Loretta was supposed to meet someone at a coffee shop in Bobtail, which means logically we should focus on the Bobtail area to search for Loretta. If we found one of the cars, we might be able to narrow the search, but the fact that neither of them has been found suggests they are tucked away. If both cars are inside, it means the abductor either has a two-car garage, or larger, or maybe has a big place to keep cars, like a warehouse or barn. Barn suggests countryside. There are more than enough big barns and out-buildings around to make finding the cars highly unlikely.

Elaine and Loretta are around the same age, widows who both happened to use the same dating website. Are there other things the two abducted women have in common? Was it possible that they knew each other? The dating site they used wasn’t the biggest one, so why did they choose it? I think back to the comment the FBI officer made— that women who go on those sites change their appearance before they dip into online dating. Maybe they bought clothes in the same shop. Loretta loved to shop, and she usually liked to go to the outlet mall down near San Antonio. But I don’t even know what shops are in the mall, much less where Loretta might have gone. Maria might have more luck than I would trying to trace something like that.

I’m ready for an interruption, so I’m glad when I see someone drive into the parking lot. But then I see that it’s Father Sanchez. He must have come here straight after morning mass. Here we go again.

Dusty is thrilled to have company and leaps around the priest’s feet. Sanchez crouches down and makes a fuss over him, which the Baptist preacher didn’t do.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have services?”

“We Catholics like to get that over with early. Mass is over by nine. At least in my church.”

“Well sit down and have a cup of coffee. I imagine I know why you’re here,” I say.

“I expect you know at least one of the reasons.”

“The rodeo?”

“That’s number one.”

Sanchez accepts a cup of coffee, and we sit down at my desk. He’s mid-forties, wiry with a shock of dark hair. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt. His only concession to the priesthood is a collar.

“I’m not sure how to handle this rodeo situation,” he says. “I suppose I should give in and let the Baptist preacher have his way.”

“As I pointed out to Reverend Becker, it won’t stop with the Baptists. If they get their part, then all the other churches will want a hand.”

He gives a shout of laughter. “Everybody will want a hand in, and they’ll squabble over every job, like it’s going to get them into heaven.” He waves his arm up in the air like he’s at a meeting. “I want the peanut concession. No, I want it. You can have the soft drinks. No . . .” He swats his leg. “I sometimes think I’m not cut out for the priesthood. The idea of all that confusion kind of appeals to me in a perverse way.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give you my usual check, and you can organize the rodeo however you want to. I don’t want to get involved with church politics.”

“Thank you, but it isn’t going to solve my problem.”

“Maybe you could talk to the Methodist preacher and get him on your side? He seems like an easy going man, and he has been around for a long time. I bet he’d be willing to help you.”

He brightens. “Not a bad idea. Although I hate to put him in Becker’s sights.”

“What do you mean?”

Sanchez looks uncomfortable. He gives a half-shrug. “I don’t want to badmouth the man. Something about him bothers me though. I’ve never met a preacher who’s so relentless. Maybe it’s because he’s ambitious.”

“Ambitious? Then being sent to a small town like this will be his worst nightmare. No wonder he’s itching for something to keep him occupied.”

“Chief Craddock, all of us religious leaders have to go where we’re sent, especially in our first few postings. Some of us are luckier than others and end up where we should be. All those years ago when I first came here, I was disappointed, and I hoped I’d be moved before long. But then I got to really know the place, and when they asked me whether I wanted to go elsewhere, I told them I was content.”

“I’m glad you stayed.”

He nods in acknowledgment of our friendship. “The fact that Reverend Becker is too big for the town may be the reason they chose it for him. To take him down a peg or two. He told me he came to being a preacher only recently and that they put him here in a small congregation to test him.”

“He said something similar to me,” I say.

He grins. “The citizens of Jarrett Creek better watch their step. I suspect he wants to reel in a few new members so he can make the case that he should be moved to a bigger church, where he can have more of an impact.”

“Either way, you’re the one who has to make the decision whether to include him in the rodeo.” I take out my checkbook and make out my usual donation. “Now you said there were two reasons you came.”

“The second one is more in your ballpark, thank goodness. I’ve got two brothers who are at each other’s throats because each of them wants his son to be the flag bearer in the opening ceremonies.”

A light dawns. “Two brothers? This wouldn’t be T.J. and Robert Caisson, would it?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I just know.” I wonder if he knows that Robert shot T.J. “Are they Catholic?”

“Oh, no. In fact, I’m not sure they’re churchgoers at all. The school decides who gets to be the flag bearer. It has to do with grades and attendance. Both these boys are good students and have good attendance records.”

I’m surprised to hear it, but I’m glad. Sanchez tells me that because Robert’s son is the older one, he should theoretically be the flag bearer. “But he got held back a grade because he was sick a lot in kindergarten, and now he’s a grade behind T.J.’s son. T.J. thinks that because his son is in a higher grade, he ought to be the bearer.”

“Have you suggested any solutions to them?”

“I suggested they flip a coin, and I thought they were both going to attack me.” He laughs. “I’m afraid they’re going to come to blows.”

“I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it. You may not feel that way if I tell you that Robert shot T.J. last week.”

“Shot him! How did I not hear that news?”

“If they were normal people, I would think it’s because they were embarrassed to come to blows over something as silly as that, and they kept it quiet.”

He groans. “This puts a different light on it. I have to think of a way to calm the situation.”

We sit quietly for a minute, thinking. He’s a companionable man, and the silence is easy. Then I have a thought. “Have you ever had a girl as flag bearer?”

Sanchez sits up, a big grin splitting his face. “No, we have not. And it’s high time we did!”

“I agree. You think the school will go along with it?”

“I’m pretty sure I can persuade them.”

“How are you going to break it to the Caisson brothers?”

“That’s easy. I’ll tell them a woman’s committee came to me and demanded that a girl be allowed to do it. Men like them are cowards. They won’t dare go against women.”

I wonder whether Robert’s wife will take it the same way the men will. We’ll see.

After Sanchez leaves, I take care of paperwork that has been piling up. Dusty watches me, and every time I get up to pour another cup of coffee, he races to the door in hopes of an expedition.

By noon it’s still too early to go to the coffee shop in Bobtail, but I’m too restless to stay around, and I decide to go back to Loretta’s house. Maybe in the daytime I’ll pick up something that I didn’t notice last night.

First, I stop at the next-door neighbor’s place. When I pull up, they’re just arriving home from church. Sharon tells me to come inside and asks me to stay for Sunday dinner. “I put on a roast before I left this morning, and it should be ready to eat.”

I eye Dusty, deciding if I should let him stay on the porch or leave him in the truck with the windows down.

“You can bring the dog in. We had dogs for years. Our last one, Maxie, died last year, and I miss having a dog.”

I take her up on the dinner offer. While we eat, I tell them about last night’s break-in and ask whether they saw or heard anything.

“We weren’t home. We went over to a friend’s house for supper last night and didn’t get home until almost ten. Did they take anything?”

“No. I surprised the guy in the act, and although I didn’t catch him, he didn’t get away with anything.” I tell them I’d appreciate it if they keep an eye on the place. “If you see anybody going in there though, don’t try to stop them. Just call me.”

“I wouldn’t try to stop them,” Sharon says, “but I can’t speak for Ken.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“I promise not to be a hero,” he says.

When I leave, I walk around the perimeter of Loretta’s house, hoping for a clue. Any clue. A footprint. A dropped item, a piece of clothing snagged on a windowsill. But there’s nothing. Dusty busies himself with staring up into a tree where a squirrel holds forth with his opinion that a dog shouldn’t have appeared in his usually dog-free yard.

Before I leave, I turn the hose on Loretta’s garden for twenty minutes, not an activity I usually enjoy, but I’m doing it for Loretta.

I’m climbing into the car when I get call from a number I don’t recognize.

“Chief Craddock? This is Marlene Becker.” Reverend Becker’s wife has a timid voice.

“Your husband said you had an interest in art. Is that what you’re calling about?”

“Yes, it is. I don’t want to impose, but I’d love to see your collection if you don’t mind. At your convenience.”

I’m eager to get to Bobtail, and I didn’t plan to go until mid-afternoon, so I still have an hour to spare. It occurs to me that if I get in the good graces of Becker’s wife, she might persuade him to back off the goat rodeo. I tell her I’m free if she wants to come over now.

“Oh, could I?” She sounds almost desperate.

I tell her I’ll be at home.

She’s a tiny woman of fifty, wearing her Sunday church clothes, a prim blue suit with a white blouse, and tiny silver earrings. “You sure this is convenient?” she says, standing on the porch, her enormous brown eyes beseeching. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“No, I rarely meet anybody who has an appreciation for my art. I’m happy to show you around.”

It turns out that she does have a fair amount of knowledge of art and is especially taken with the Diebenkorn. “You’re right,” she says. “It’s not one of his finest pieces. But I have to say the worst Diebenkorn is better than the best of most other artists. This one has those beautiful blues and greens.” She has relaxed as we look at the art, becoming almost chatty.

We compare notes on the art museums we like best and agree that the one in Houston has improved a lot over the last few years.

“I keep meaning to take a trip to Houston to go to the museum, but there’s too much to do here in town, being the preacher’s wife.” Her anxious expression returns.

“Have you met Ellen Forester? She has the art gallery and workshop downtown?” I hesitate to call it downtown. Our downtown is one block long.

“I heard her mentioned. I haven’t had a chance to meet her yet, but I’d like to.”

“Maybe the two of you could plan a trip to Houston.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. She’s . . .” She swallows. “My husband doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to spend a lot of time with a woman who, well, who’s divorced.”

“I see. Well, maybe one of her art students . . .” I feel annoyed. Ellen is a friend, and judging her by her marital status seems foolish. But then I’m not a Baptist.

“I guess I shouldn’t let him tell me who I can be friends with.” Marlene’s face has flushed, and I feel sorry for her.

“I think you’d like Ellen,” I say.

Marlene Becker takes her leave quickly after that. I wonder what her husband would have to say if he knew I was having a fling with a woman “out of wedlock.”