Twists and Tears (Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Page 6

  “The deceased was killed elsewhere and thrown into the pigpen after the fact.” Morgan nodded.

  “Exactly. So whether it was the wife, or the youngest kid, whoever did it didn’t do it in the pigpen, and no traces of… DNA, were found anywhere else on the farm.”

  “Seems like it’d be more trouble to kill him and bring him home than to just kill him at home,” Morgan mused.

  “Yes, but the chances that he was taken somewhere remote to get the job done are looking pretty good.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Oh, yeah, the coroner determined time of death to have been a couple of days before the body was discovered. The bank called and said that Warner had been in on the day of his death, and they had some video footage that we might be interested in seeing.”

  “Did anyone take a look at the footage?” Morgan asked, wondering why this was the first he’d heard of it.

  “Oh, uh, no. I think everyone figured that you’d want to go do it.”

  “Well, I certainly would have. If someone had mentioned it,” he made a face.

  ***

  “Hi, Andrea,” Morgan Tyler greeted the attractive redhead at the bank. “Phil over at the lab said that security had some video footage that they want to show me.”

  “Oh, yep, I heard about that, but I did not want to know the details,” she shuddered, clickety-clacking the keys on her computer. “How are you doing today, Officer Tyler?” she looked up at him through her lashes while she typed.

  “Busy as usual,” was the polite reply. Andrea had been trying to get his attention for months, and he never seemed to notice. “Who do I need to see?”

  “Calvin. He called and made the report. Hang on a sec and I’ll have him come out here to lead you back to security. He has this cool control room with all of these cameras and whatnot.”

  “Sounds good, thanks.”

  ***

  “Here we go,” Calvin Deavers found the spot on the security digital record that he was looking for and hit play.

  “There you see Mr. Carnes entering the bank,” he began narrating.

  “Wait, freeze that image,” Morgan ordered, then pointed to the screen. “Who is that? Can you enlarge the picture?”

  “Yep,” Calvin obliged, revealing the identity of Warner’s companion.

  “Well, I’ll be darned,” Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Yeah, but there’s more.”

  Calvin hit play again and showed them moving from the reception area, into a small room.

  “What is that?” Morgan asked.

  “Safety deposit box viewing room, watch,” the security guard instructed.

  They stood in the little room until a box was brought to them by a staff member. Once the staff member left, the box was opened.

  “Do you have audio for this?” Morgan asked urgently.

  “No, that we don’t. We ain’t that sophisticated yet,” he chuckled. “But I talked to the guy who brought the box in, and I can tell you why they were there.”

  “Do tell,” Morgan gave Calvin his full attention.

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  Tom Hundman was born to be alone. Deep inside, he’d always known it, and he’d been doing nothing but fooling himself, letting himself develop feelings for Rossalyn Channing. She was a woman who knew what she was doing with her life. She had guys like Butch Clemmons and Morgan Tyler admiring her, even if she didn’t have a clue. There was nothing to attract her to a PTSD-suffering, emotionally stilted free spirit like him anyway.

  He packed the saddlebags of his motorcycle with enough supplies for a few days and planned to hit the road, but a warning beeping on his cellphone tabled his impulsive plan for the moment. Glancing at the radar map, he saw not only green rain cells, but yellow, red and even the dreaded purple.

  Severe thunderstorm warning for Chatsworth and surrounding area. Golf ball-sized hail, wind gusts up to eighty miles an hour, heavy rains and tornadic activity is possible. Non-emergency travel is not advised. Take extra precautions when driving, and prepare to move to the lowest part of the center of your home if necessary.

  Tom shook his head, muttering, “Great. Hail and possibly tornadoes, just what I need.” He grumbled his way out to the driveway, walking his motorcycle into the garage for safekeeping. Just in case, he grabbed a kerosene lantern hanging up in the garage and a survival backpack from a deep drawer in the kitchen, taking them to the basement. He switched on the radio in the kitchen, just as the light café curtains at the window began to flutter in the increasing breeze.

  ***

  Rossalyn jumped, looking up from the expansion plans for the first time in hours, when thunder rumbled and lightning ripped across the sky. Her immediate thought was of Ryan, so she texted him.

  Hey, it’s beginning to storm. Are you okay?

  His angsty teenage answer made her smile.

  Mom! Don’t text me please, we’re in the movie theatre!

  Last time, I promise. Don’t forget to call me when you need a ride.

  There was no answer, which meant that Ryan had most likely turned off his phone so that his mother would quit embarrassing him while he was at the movies. He’d come by his independence naturally, and Rossie could only shake her head and smile, knowing she’d be hearing from him when the movie ended.

  Getting up from the table, she went around the house, methodically closing all of the windows most of the way. The day was warm, and the air in the house soon became stifling, despite the dark clouds and breezes that were beginning to pick up.

  ***

  The lightning cracking the sky and the thunder rumbling had only added to the drama of the adventure movie that the boys were intently watching, hands moving automatically from popcorn bags and candy boxes to their mouths, with long pulls on soda straws in between. The boys looked out of the lobby, seeing and smelling the rain-wetted streets.

  “Guess I better call my mom,” Ryan mused, one cheek full of chocolate-covered caramels.

  “Why?” Dylan gave him a look. “It isn’t even raining anymore.”

  He was right. The thunder, lightning and rain had stopped, leaving behind tattered trees, wet pavement, and an almost tangible electric charge in the air.

  “Yeah, but look over there,” Ryan pointed to the east when they got outside, and the sky was entirely black.

  Dylan surveyed the sky, nodded and made perhaps the most disastrous proclamation of his brief lifetime. “We can beat it. C’mon, you don’t live that far from here.”

  “I don’t know… what if it starts storming again?” Ryan was skeptical.

  “We can hide under a tree or something,” Dylan shrugged. “Come on, are you afraid of getting wet or something?”

  “The worst thing you can do in a storm is hide under a tree,” Ryan rolled his eyes, ignoring his friend’s jab.

  “Then we’d better hurry up so we don’t have to,” Dylan insisted. “Come on. If it starts raining we can run, no big deal.”

  Ryan sighed. It wasn’t raining at the moment, and the storm did look pretty far away. They’d just made it to the edge of his neighborhood when the tornado sirens started blaring. Dylan put his hands over his ears and looked wildly about, then pointed to a patch of sky to the east that had a strange green color and a tiny fingerling of a cloud snaking toward the ground.

  ***

  The radio crackled a warning just as the tornado sirens screamed through Tom Hundman’s house.

  “Everybody goes crazy thinking these sirens mean something. All they do is make us jump into the basement for no reason,” he groused, heading for the front door.

  Standing out on his lawn, he looked to the east and saw that the sirens meant business this time; a twister was building and it looked like a big one. The wind whipped up suddenly, stinging his face with flying bits of sand, leaves, and debris. The biker headed inside, planning to grab some food and water before heading to the basement. On his way through the kitchen, he looked
out the back door toward Rossie’s house, hoping that she and the kid were okay, and could’ve sworn that he saw a dark figure crouched behind the bushes next to the kitchen. As the wind began to howl and thunder turned into the sound of an oncoming freight train, Tom had no choice but to get inside and take cover; his life literally depended on it. Eyes watering from the wind and debris, he couldn’t tell whether there actually was anything or anyone outside of Rossalyn’s house, and if there was now, there wouldn’t be after this storm hit.

  Grabbing a container of salami and cheese from the fridge and a box of crackers from the pantry, he headed downstairs, taking his radio with him. He couldn’t get phone reception down there, but he could listen to the radio.

  ***

  Rossalyn had been glad when the rain stopped, figuring that Ryan and Dylan would come walking in the door at any time. When the wind picked up again, she became increasingly nervous. Pacing the house, phone in hand, she called and texted Ryan repeatedly, alarmed when she received no response. Had he forgotten to turn his phone back on? Was he still sitting inside the movie theatre. Was she being overly concerned? She had just picked up her keys and purse, and headed for the front door when the tornado sirens began blaring through the town. Heart in her throat, Rossie whispered, “No… oh gosh, no,” and tore out of the house. Ryan and his safety were the only things on her mind.

  The concerned mother hadn’t anticipated the sheer force of tornadic winds, however, and as soon as she burst through the front door, which slammed wide open as the wind took it, she found herself pelted with tiny missiles of sand and debris, barely able to stand upright as she clung to the porch railing. The walk from the front porch to the garage was long, maybe fifty feet, but there was nothing between the two structures that she could grab to keep herself upright. Filled with fierce determination, and willing to crawl if she had to, Rossalyn made her way down the porch steps, pulling herself along the railing as the wind tore at her clothes and hair, sharp bits and pieces of earth stinging her exposed skin.

  The sky began to rumble like a freight train, and didn’t stop. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Rossie looked toward the west, her heart stopping when she saw a large grey funnel cloud snaking its way toward the ground, and moving closer.

  “Nooooooo!” she screeched, letting go of the railing and trying to take a step on her own.

  In her haste, she was blown off balance, and though she scrabbled to gain a hand-hold on the grass, the clumps slipped through her fingers and she tumbled into the small picket fence that separated the back yard from the front, her head striking a rock that bordered her garden of pansies, rendering her unconscious.

  A strapping male darted from the side of the house and scooped up the unconscious woman. Holding her tightly, he battled the fierce wind and rain, heading for the former coal chute which led to the basement.

  ***

  “What do we do now?” Ryan hollered to be heard above the sirens and ominous rumblings as the sky split with lighting.

  “Run!” Dylan shrieked, heading into the neighborhood.

  Tom Hundman’s house was the first one that they came to, and with the twister bearing down on them, the boys headed for his back door because it was closer than going to Ryan’s house.

  “Mr. Hundman!” Ryan banged on the door as hard as he could, yelling as though his life depended upon it. “Mr. Hundman!”

  Both boys pounded and pounded on the door, then Dylan thought to try the doorknob. It was unlocked and they tumbled inside, pushing hard against it to get it closed again.

  “We gotta find the basement,” Dylan yelled.

  “Over here,” Ryan took off running toward the basement door, only to find it locked.

  They pounded again as the house began to shake. Suddenly it flew open, and a frowning Tom Hundman snatched both of them by the front of their shirts, jerking them onto the basement stairs and locking and barring the door.

  “Get down!” he hollered, as heavy objects began battering the house.

  There was a windowless storage room in the center of the basement, where Tom had set up a storm retreat for himself. The boys ran for the room and huddled together on a seventies-era brown couch with orange teapots dancing merrily on the retro fabric. Tom rushed in, close at their heels, and barred the door to the small room. The radio he’d brought down with him played nothing but static as the tornado descended, sucking all the air from the house above. Dust rained down on them from the floorboards over their heads, and there was a hideous shrieking sound that made both boys cover their ears and tuck their heads between their knees like they’d learned in the drills at school.

  Knowing that he couldn’t be heard over the din, and knowing that they might all be about to die, Ryan rocked back and forth, chanting, “Please let Mom and Barney be okay, please let Mom and Barney be okay,” as he gritted his teeth to keep from crying. Little did he know that Dylan was beside him, understandably bawling like a baby.

  Tom Hundman pulled both boys off the couch and onto the floor, covering the three of them with a mattress he kept down there for that specific purpose, having weathered his share of storms, and the three of them huddled beneath it, deafened by the destruction over their heads.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  Rossalyn mewled in pain, her head hurting so badly that she couldn’t even open her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” a soothing voice murmured, adjusting an ice pack near her temple.

  She opened her eyes slowly, her vision blurred, feeling nauseated and woozy. She blinked, trying to clear the fuzziness, but the effort was exhausting. Just as she began to fade from consciousness, a face that seemed somehow familiar swam into view.

  “I’m dead,” she murmured, as the world faded to black.

  “No baby, you’re not,” the man above her whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. “I am.”

  ***

  When he’d seen Rossalyn straining to defeat the storm, he knew that Ryan was on her heart and mind, and his throat seized with love and pain. He went to her when she went down, his heart aching as he scooped her up into his arms, kissing her rain-spattered face and hair as he carried her to safety. He hadn’t been this close for so long. All the weeks of watching and waiting and trying to come to grips with who he was and who he could be in her life, had now come to this. What a searing lesson life would have taught him if he lost her now. But where Ryan was, he had no clue.

  Overcome with emotion, he held her in his arms as the storm raged above them, hoping with everything within him that she’d open her eyes again. When the pounding of her cozy cottage ceased, he made quick work of cleaning out her head wound and stitching it closed. She didn’t even flinch, which terrified him. He checked her vital signs and was mildly reassured to discover that, while unconscious, her other systems seemed to be functioning as they were supposed to. He wanted to survey the damage upstairs, with the hopes that he could bring Rossalyn up and make her more comfortable, but he didn’t want to leave her, not even for a precious second, so he gently took her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, and carried her up the stairs.

  Unlocking the basement door, he opened it and stepped into Rossie’s kitchen. Debris had blown into the house, the result of a shattered bay window in the living room, but aside from the complete ruination of the two wingback chairs right beneath the window, everything else seemed dirty and covered with debris, but intact. He laid Rossalyn down on the couch, after brushing away twigs, splintered wood, and pieces of miscellaneous flotsam that the twister, which hadn’t been a direct hit, thankfully, had blown in.

  He’d gotten her an icepack because he knew that her wound would be exceedingly painful when she woke up, and when she’d made a small, pitiful sound, his heart had shattered. Knowing that seeing him would be a terrible shock, he’d stayed out of her line of vision until it seemed like she was going to pass out again, but hearing the words, “I’m dead,” fall from her lovely lips, had nearly been his undoing
. So involved was he in making certain that Rossalyn Channing was okay, he never even saw two teenaged boys and a mountainous biker charging toward the house until they were on the porch steps and at the door.

  When they burst in, his heart clenched in pain and joy. Ryan stopped short, staring, then slowly shook his head back and forth in disbelief. They locked eyes and the world ceased to exist outside of the two of them in that moment.

  “Dad?” Ryan’s voice cracked as the tears came and he continued to stare in disbelief.

  “Hey, boy,” Will Channing said softly, just like he used to, and the teenager, weeping freely now, ran into his arms.

  Tom Hundman, taking it all in, stood stock-still at the door and whispered a single word, which Will heard and Ryan did not. “Janssen?”

  With a slight shake of the head, Will signaled to the dumbfounded biker that this was not the time for that particular conversation. Tom might know him as Covert Operative Darryl Janssen, but his unconscious wife and sobbing son did not. He had a lot of explaining to do, and his first priority was not to relieve Tom Hundman’s curiosity.

  “She needs a hospital,” the biker growled, then turned to Dylan, who was standing beside him, baffled. “C’mon kid, I’ll get you home.”

  “But the tree fell on your garage. Your bike is smashed, how are you going to get me home?” Dylan’s face was filthy and tear-streaked.

  “We’ll walk. Streets are probably blocked anyhow.” He gave one last, long look at the Marine with whom he’d served in Afghanistan, the boy sobbing in his arms, and at the woman lying prone beside him, then grabbed Dylan’s shoulder and headed out the door.

  Barney, who had been hiding under Ryan’s bed during the storm, came galloping down the stairs to stand by his boy, curious about the man who smelled so much like him.