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Eleven
It was nearing two thirty when Madison pulled the department car into the lot for Craig’s gun range—or at least they assumed it was the one he frequented, given the desk calendar. Regardless, it was a potential lead to Craig’s whereabouts they couldn’t ignore.
“Steven Malone says Craig destresses at the firing range, so what had him so stressed out that he had to get away?” Madison parked, cut the ignition, and looked at Terry.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe shooting wasn’t enough to calm him this time?”
“Was it knowledge of his mother’s affair eating away at him?”
He gave her a warning look. “Let’s keep an open mind.”
“Or maybe it was the planning and carrying out of the murders,” she persisted.
Terry got out of the car and slammed his door. She followed him, with a smile, into Bradshaw Gun & Country Club.
Guns in glass cases and racks of T-shirts, camouflage clothing, bulletproof vests, and ball caps filled the storefront. There was even a display of bumper stickers and magnets.
A man with a straggly beard, the color of crème brûlée and resembling a frayed scouring pad, stood behind a long counter that had been heavily varnished. Adding to the ZZ Top look he had going on, he wore a patterned handkerchief under a cowboy hat. He was stocking a shelf with boxes of ammunition.
“Can I help you?” He touched the tip of his hat in a friendly gesture, but his arm dropped at the sight of their badges. He turned his attention back to stocking the shelves. “What are you here for?” ZZ Top mumbled.
Madison would have expected a better reception than this. After all, many police officers held memberships at gun clubs to keep up their firing skills, but if this level of service was the norm here, no wonder the officers she knew of went to Stiles Gun Club.
“We have some questions about Craig Malone.” Madison grounded her stance, legs shoulder width apart, hands lightly clasped in front.
The man put down a box he’d been holding and faced them. “What’s to say he’s even a member?”
“You obviously know who he is,” Madison concluded from his response.
“So what if I do?”
“We need to find him.”
“Well, good for you.” Spoken as if it wasn’t his problem, but little did he know that she wouldn’t be going anywhere until she got some information.
“We know that he’s a customer of yours.” She might have been stretching the truth by a skosh.
“Why do you want to find him?” ZZ Top asked, leery.
“That’s between us and him, but maybe he has some friends around here,” Madison laid out in a casual manner.
ZZ Top bent over and leaned on the counter with both arms. “You’re looking at one of them, but why should I talk to you about him?”
“We need to reach him with some news. The sooner we can do that, the better.”
“Something happen?”
Madison and Terry remained silent. Eventually ZZ Top would learn they were there to ask questions, not answer any.
“Fine.” ZZ Top straightened up. “I can pass on a message.”
“We’re not at liberty to leave a message with you for him,” Madison said.
“Too bad then.” ZZ Top lifted the box of ammunition and started to turn, but a door in the back of the store opened.
A man in his late thirties came through, wearing goggles and orange soundproof earmuffs. The sign on the wall next to the door read MUST WEAR GOGGLES AND SOUND PROTECTION FROM THIS POINT. This was no doubt the entrance for the indoor firing range.
The man looked at Madison and Terry and removed his muffs and goggles. “Chuck, I need some more ammo.”
“You got it.” ZZ Top, a.k.a. Chuck, snatched a box of .22-caliber bullets and handed it over to the man. “You’re burning through the bullets today, man.”
The customer laughed. “Add it to my tab? I’ll pay before I leave.”
“Consider it done.”
The man put his goggles in place and lifted his earmuffs.
“You sure there’s nothing you can do to help us find Craig?” Madison rushed out, her question intended to get the customer’s attention.
“Sorry?” The customer lowered his earmuffs around his neck and put his goggles in a pocket. “Did you just say ‘Craig’?”
“I did.” Madison feigned innocence and glanced at ZZ Top, who glared at her. She fought off a smirk and addressed the customer. “You know him?”
“If you’re talking about Craig Malone, yeah, I know him.” The guy walked toward Madison and Terry. “Quite well, in fact.”
“We’re looking for him. I’m Madison Knight, and this is Terry Grant,” she said, presenting herself and Terry as friends, not as cops on a mission.
He held out his hand to Terry, then Madison. “Joel Phelps.”
Any relation to Dustin Phelps, the man I have Leland investigating?
“You’re both cops.” The man smiled knowingly.
“Detectives,” Terry corrected. “What gave us away?”
The man angled his head. “The biggest tipoff is the holstered standard-issue Glocks, but I also have family in the department.”
“Stiles PD?” Madison asked, her throat tightening.
“Yeah. My dad’s retired now, but my younger brother’s still in. He’s mostly patrol, but he’s worked in evidence lockup, too. You might know him. Dustin Phelps?”
“I know him,” Terry spoke up, and both he and Joel looked at her.
“Me too.” She tried to smile but wasn’t sure it fully formed. She cleared her throat and asked, “Are you and Craig close friends?”
ZZ Top eyed her before returning to his stocking of shelves.
“We go back to public school.” Joel ran a hand through his hair. “Why are you trying to reach him?”
“We’re not at liberty to tell you that, but do you know where he might be?” she asked.
“Sure do, and there’s no way you’re getting through to him on his cell. I assume you’ve tried that.”
Madison nodded.
“He’s up north at a buddy’s cabin. No cell towers there, no power, and no running water. It’s peaceful as hell.”
It sounded like hell. Room service and a massage—that was peaceful.
Joel was grinning. “He’s a lucky bastard. I wish I could have gone with him.”
“Where’s the cabin?” she asked.
“Alaska.”
“Alaska?” Madison croaked. Why would anyone choose to go to Alaska in the dead of winter? Sure, it was said that being in nature brought people closer to themselves and God, but there had to be easier, more civilized options.
“Yeah. Some remote village.” Joel laughed. “I take it that doesn’t sound like your sort of vacation.”
“Not at all,” she confessed. “And backwoods in Alaska isn’t somewhere you think of as being a last-minute destination.” Or one a person would actually choose.
“So you came here knowing he was away.”
Busted.
“Yes, we knew that much,” she admitted.
“Well, Craig’s not your typical guy, and he’s prone to making rash decisions, but that’s what you get when you’re untethered, I suppose.” Joel twisted the wedding band on his finger and noticed Madison watching. He held up his hand and wriggled his fingers. “The wife’s part of the reason I couldn’t go with him.”
She bit back her temper. “How’s it her fault?”
Joel tucked his left hand into a pocket. “It’s always about money, and I had to work.”
Yet here he was at a gun range on a Tuesday afternoon. “You don’t hold typical office hours.”
“I don’t work in an office. I’m a freelance writer.”
“You could write in Alaska.”
“No power for charging a laptop,” Joel stressed. “Besides, I’ve got an important interview coming up this week, and I’d prefer to make that one in person.”
“You said he went to a buddy’s cabin,” Terry redirected the conversation. “Did this buddy go up there with Craig?”
“Yes. Usually a group of us go, but this time it’s just Craig and David Reade, who owns the cabin. I can get you Molly’s number…that’s David’s wife.”
“That would be good,” Madison said. “Does David have a sat phone?”
Joel gave her Molly’s number, then said, “To answer your question, David’s got a sat phone, but it’s not going to do you any good. It doesn’t take messages, and David doesn’t leave it on. He just turns it on to call Molly. That’s why if you reach Molly, tell her what you need, she can pass it along to David when he calls.”
“Molly doesn’t go to the cabin?” Madison asked.
“Heck no. She’s got zero interest.”
The woman has good taste.
“Besides, they might be each other’s soulmates, but they still need time apart,” Joel added.
“Whose idea was it to go this time around—David’s or Craig’s?” Madison wanted to get a handle on the reason for the last-minute urge to vacate Stiles.
“Oh, David’s been planning it for a few weeks now, and the invite was out there to us guys, but Craig just decided to go this morning.”
“All right, thanks for your help.” Madison took a step toward the door, as did Terry.
“Don’t mention it. Anything for a friend.” Joel pulled his goggles from his pocket and pulled up his earmuffs.
Madison left the gun range walking tall. They had a fresh lead for tracking down Craig.