for the luscious cakes, pies, pastries and muffins at the Dollhouse didn’t suffer early onset dementia or anything else, except maybe a touch of arthritis. The sisters had mentioned no other health issues, but rather had insisted that Liz was in perfect health.
He was just about to start his car engine when Officer Joe Jamison pulled his patrol car in next to Steve’s car. As Joe got out, Steve rolled down his window and grinned at the bear of a man.
“What’s up, big man?”
Joe shrugged broad shoulders. “The usual, writing warnings and tickets for folks who can’t read speed limit signs. Later I’ll be looking out for the usual Friday night drunks. What about you? Who’s the lucky lady tonight?”
Steve laughed. “You know my reputation is mostly based on rumor and fiction, but actually there is a lady on my mind this evening, and I’m going to do a little hunting for her.”
Joe raised a dark eyebrow. “Hunting? Since when did you ever have to hunt for a woman? It seems to me that every time we’re out together, there are a couple of hot women throwing themselves at you.”
“You don’t do so bad yourself,” Steve replied with a grin. Joe often joined Steve, Frank and Jimmy for Saturday night drinks at the Wolf’s Head, a popular local tavern.
“For me it’s got to be the uniform. We all know women like guys in uniforms, even if they do look like grizzly bears.”
Steve laughed. “You don’t look like a grizzly bear. You look like a big guy who can take care of any trouble a damsel in distress might have. And speaking of damsels in distress...”
Steve quickly explained about Liz Marcoli. “I’m planning on driving around a bit now before heading home to see if she’s anywhere on the streets. I’d appreciate you and anyone else who’s working the night shift doing the same on the nightly patrols. There’s a photo of her on my desk.”
“Will do,” Joe agreed. He backed away from Steve’s car. With a wave Steve pulled out of the parking lot and headed slowly down Main Street.
He’d learned from the sisters that Liz Marcoli had been a young widow; she’d lost the love of her life in a car accident when she’d been only thirty. According to the sisters, Liz had never dated again, had never expressed any interest in marrying or having any kind of a romantic relationship.
But would Liz share the details of a man in her life with her nieces? Wasn’t it possible that Liz might have a secret lover? That she’d been whisked away for a spontaneous romantic couple of days and hadn’t told her nieces anything about it?
Still, that didn’t explain the baked items neatly packed for delivery and her purse on the kitchen counter. Although walking away from responsibilities was not a crime, it was also not normal, and anything abnormal like this had the potential to be a crime.
However, a friend the women didn’t know about might have needed emergency help, and the possibility of a spontaneous absence because of a man in her life was equally plausible.
He knew how busy Roxy stayed at her restaurant, and from what he’d learned talking with Marlene and Sheri, they were business owners, as well. Running the roadside building near town would require a lot of time and energy on their part.
So how well did they really know their aunt? What he needed to do tomorrow was talk to the friends and neighbors the ladies had provided him with in a list and see what Liz Marcoli did when she wasn’t with her nieces.
Steve knew better than most that you could think you knew somebody, that you could love and trust somebody, and in the end realize that person had secrets and that you really didn’t know them at all.
A thick band of pain inched around his chest, and for a moment it felt like an old familiar friend. There were now days at a time when he stayed so busy that he didn’t feel the ever-present heartache—minutes in time when he almost forgot, but not quite.
He shoved away thoughts of his own issues and instead focused on the street he slowly cruised, looking for a sixty-five-year-old woman who might be walking in the dark after suffering a head injury or some other medical issue that might have her disoriented.
The streets were nearly deserted. The small town of Wolf Creek closed up early, with most stores shutting down by eight in the evenings. Although many of the businesses were geared toward the tourism the town enjoyed, there were also the normal stores found anywhere.
He drove slowly, occasionally using his high beams to peer into an alley or a recessed storefront.
At this point he didn’t feel the frantic panic over the missing woman that he’d seen in Roxy’s eyes. It was too early to panic.
As he passed the Dollhouse, his gaze went up to the third floor, where lights appeared to glow from every window, like beacons calling out in the night to the missing woman.
He couldn’t help but think of the woman who lived on that third floor. Roxy was a wildcat, driven by her emotions, and while he found himself impossibly attracted to her, at the same time she scared the hell out of him.
Right now what he felt toward her was an empathy born in a common trauma. Hopefully Liz Marcoli would be found soon, alive and well, and this vanishing would have simply been some sort of miscommunication.
His own missing-persons case was an ongoing heartache that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. The pain of the absence of a loved one had built a shell around his heart, forcing him to pull on the facade of a carefree, flirtatious, shallow man in order to survive his emotional pain.
He hoped Roxy and her sisters never had to deal with days, weeks, months of such ongoing agony. He knew better than anyone that the lack of closure in such an event transformed a person—and, in his case, had the power to completely break a man emotionally.
Chapter 3
Roxy jerked awake just after five in the morning. She was on the sofa, still dressed in her clothes from the day before and appalled that she’d fallen asleep at all.
She’d spent most of the night before on the phone with her sisters and then checking and rechecking with Liz’s friends until it had gotten too late to make any more calls. Then she’d paced the floor, waiting to hear something, anything, about Liz’s whereabouts.
Her body’s need to rest had apparently finally overwhelmed her panicked fear, and even though she’d only been asleep a couple of hours, she felt guilty for sleeping any length of time while her aunt was still missing.
As she roused herself from her awkward position on the sofa, muscles ached and protested the time spent on the sofa and not in her comfortable bed.
Coffee, her brain screamed. Coffee and then a long, hot shower. Although she’d like to call Detective Steve Kincaid and see what he’d done the night before to find her aunt, she knew it was an unreasonable thought at an unreasonable hour of the morning. She doubted that much work had been done overnight, and, in any case, if he’d found out something pertinent, surely he would have called her.
She turned on the kitchen light and stumbled across the room to the coffeemaker. This was her usual time to get up in the mornings, and she normally enjoyed the half hour or forty-five minutes she gave herself before heading downstairs to start the prep work for the day.
Even
