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Impressed, Jenna opened her iPad and scanned the files. “Okay, have you sorted them into highest probability?”
“I sure have.” Kalo leaned back in his chair and sipped on his soda. He indicated to a jar on the table filled to the brim with candy. “Candy anyone?”
Jenna scanned the files. “No thanks, I’m good.” She frowned. “Only two live in Black Rock Falls. Lance Barker, plumber out of Clawed Rock, and Matthew Oakley, an auto club mechanic who works from his home out at Winding Alley in Lower Stanton Forest.”
“The Blackwater suspects are Joshua Sage, an IT tech out of Hollows Ridge, and Wiley James, a realtor out of Bison Ridge, Blackwater.” Carter looked at Kalo. “A realtor? Don’t they usually stick to their own counties?”
“Nope, once they’ve passed the Montana licensing requirements, they’re good to go statewide.” Kalo gathered some candy from the jar and smiled. “This guy has an office but works mainly through an online site. He is a liaison between buyer and seller, meets people at the properties or their homes.” He grinned. “So many things online now, the going-into-the-office daily routine will be a thing of the past soon.”
“I see that most of these people would easily gain access to a person’s home. Joshua Sage is a computer technician who works for IT-Fix-R-Us and lives out at Hollows Ridge.” Kane glanced up at Kalo. “Have you considered how these people would have been able to cause a problem for them to be called out, and why would the home owners choose these particular contractors?”
“Whyis easy.” Kalo popped candy into his mouth. “Howis your problem, apart from the IT guy. I could cause problems for anyone online by hacking into their computer, no doubt, so could he, well, enough for someone to call in help.” He shrugged. “Why these people? Because unless you use a certain contractor, what do you do? You run a search on your phone for someone to fix your problem. Everyone I’ve given you has ads running. So, when you search for, say, a plumber, up comes Lance Barker’s ad because he fits the usual search requirements. He services your area, is a plumber and he adds an inducement, for instance ten percent off the first job, or work guaranteed. People usually go straight to the ad that appeals to them.”
“A realtor wouldn’t need an excuse to go to a person’s home.” Jo looked at Jenna over the top of her laptop. “I’ve had them drop by and ask if I planned on selling my house, or one of their clients was interested in buying in the area. So, he’d be on the top of my list.”
“So, then Matthew Oakey is a fit because we already know whoever abducted Maisy Jones pushed something up her exhaust pipe to stop her truck.” Kane leaned back and smiled. “Case closed. He tampered with their vehicles, then showed and abducted them.”
“There’s not enough room in a tow truck to abduct an entire family.” Carter tossed a toothpick into his mouth. “This guy drives a tow truck for work, but does he own a pickup or similar?”
“Not that I can see. He drives a tow truck with a logo on one side.” Kalo scanned his screen. “It has one of those hooks hanging from the back for towing.” He turned around his laptop to display the ad. “See, there’s a picture of his ad: ‘day or night, just call and I’ll be there.’” Kalo grinned. “I love this part: ‘I’m your knight in shining armor with a wrench.’” He met Jenna’s gaze. “I checked him out. He was arrested for a misdemeanor in college and walked away with a fine.”
Jenna listened with interest. “Plumbing could be tampered with as well. Most people who have gone missing are away from home some of the day and no one would take notice if a plumber or any of these men made a visit.”
“I rest my case.” Kalo grinned.
TWENTY-SIX
Blackwater
It was one of those perfect days. Ginger Vaughn straightened a picture on the wall inside the town hall and turned to smile at some of the people wandering by. The current exhibition had been a huge success. She held one in the town hall once a month along with other local artists and made a decent living from the sales. After selling two of her paintings in the last hour, out of the blue she’d received a phone call from a woman who’d offered her an exorbitant price for one of her pieces. The picture wasn’t one of her personal favorites, which made selling it all the better. Not that she’d ever given negative opinions about her artwork. In fact, it was the complete opposite. She’d tell the clients how she could hardly bear to part with them. For some reason, the idea she loathed to sell her paintings made the clients more enthusiastic to buy them.
Ginger checked her watch. She needed to slip away and crate the painting. The client would be arriving at her studio at six. Well, not the client, the client’s husband, who was dropping by on his way home from work. Of course, she rarely conducted business in her studio. Buried deep in the woods, it was her sanctuary—a place where she wouldn’t be disturbed. The client’s inability to collect the painting from the exhibition had been a problem, but the substantial offer and the fact it would be paid in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills made anything possible. How much inconvenience could a woman’s husband collecting a painting possibly be? She waved over one of the gallery assistants. “Ellen, I need you to speak to anyone who comes to ask about my pictures.” She thrust a list of prices into her hand. “Try to negotiate for more than the list price and I’ll give you your usual commission. Come and get me if they need to speak with me. I need to get one into a crate for a buyer and get it into my truck for delivery, and I’m running out of time.”
“Yes, of course.” Ellen reached for her radio. “Tim, can you come and help one of our artists with her painting? Yes, in the storeroom.” She smiled at Ginger. “Tim will be right along to help you load it into your pickup.”
Ginger couldn’t get away fast enough. She drove through town and then hit the highway at high speed. Sleet hit her windshield and ice caught on the wiper blades as she left the highway at the Broken Wolf Forest exit and took the dirt track to her studio. She wouldn’t be able to work at the small cabin for much longer and had already packed up, ready to leave. Once the snow became heavier, she’d be isolated and the snowplow didn’t come out her way. She’d move her unfinished paintings to her house in town and work from there over the long winter.
The sleet turned to snow as she bumped along the road and coated the way ahead with powder. She couldn’t risk unloading the picture in the snow, so she backed into her garage. Not wasting any time, she jumped out of the truck and ran around the back, opened the hatch to the tray cover and slipped out the painting, dropping it carefully to the floor. Letting out a long breath, she leaned it against the back wall and checked her watch. Dammit, her client would be five minutes behind her. She ran back to the open door of her pickup and jumped inside. As she drove out of the garage a huge black truck came through her gate and stopped, steam pouring from it like a snorting bull.
Happy to see the client’s husband had arrived on time, she parked in the driveway outside her front door and jumped out. The tinted window in the truck buzzed down slowly and a man looked at her. She smiled at him. “Have you come to collect the picture?”
“Yeah.” He looked up at the sky. “I’m not happy about carrying it to my truck in this weather. It might get damaged and my wife won’t be happy. You know what they say about a happy wife and all, don’t you?”
Waving a hand in dismissal, Ginger pointed to the garage. “Yes, of course. Don’t worry, it’s in there all crated up and ready for you. I collected it from the gallery. If you back into the garage, we can get it inside your truck without getting it wet.”
“Okay.” The man nodded. “I have a roll of bills to give you as well.” His gaze moved over the garage. “Can you go inside and guide me in? I don’t want to damage anything. It looks kinda small.”
Nodding, Ginger ran into the garage and waited for him to turn the truck around. She waved him toward her as she backed into the garage. He followed her inside leaving the front of the truck half out of the garage, opened the door and climbed out. He was a big man and very intimidating. A sudden shudder of worry slid over her. Would he take the painting and disappear without paying her? She pulled her invoice book from her pocket as he walked toward her. “You’ll need the paperwork to say you purchased one of my pictures.”
“Yeah, my wife was very clear about that part.” He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s all there.”
Ginger stuffed the bills into her jeans pocket and writing fast, made out a receipt. “What name is it?”
“John Smith.” The man looked at her and inclined his head. “This it over here?” He indicated with his chin to the crate.
“That’s it.” Ginger held out the receipt. “I hope the crate won’t damage the interior of your truck.
“Hmm, that is a problem.” The man ignored the receipt and stared at the painting. “Can you jump inside and guide it in for me? I can lift it okay, but it might scratch the paintwork. The truck is wide enough for you to crawl out beside it.”
