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The dog wasn’t whining with anxiety. His tail was sweeping slow arcs in the dust as if he was welcoming the man who now towered over them from the other side of the gate.
“Are you Earl’s son?” She gave him her friendliest smile. When he didn’t answer, she added, “I’d like to talk to him, if that’s okay?”
He extended a meaty fist over the gate, turned it palm up, and opened his fingers to reveal a crumpled note.
Apparently aware that she might hesitate to take it from his hand, he laid it on the flat surface of the fence post at the gate, then turned back to the house. She waited until he was inside before she reached for the note. It was hastily scrawled. Nearly illegible.
I got something you need. Midnight in the park by the trailer court. Don’t bring nobody else, and don’t come out here no more. E.S.
She’d been on a lot of stakeouts. Though she wouldn’t hesitate to fire her gun in the line of duty, the thought of going out there in the dark, where Earl and his son might be hiding in the shadows, was enough to give her pause.
Why did Earl want to meet her—and what could he have that she needed?
CHAPTER SEVEN
How could Kyle have blown off his own mother’s birthday without a word?
Sara had been calling his number in Minneapolis for the past several days and leaving voice messages. In the last one, she’d given him the time and name of the restaurant and had asked him to call her if he planned to come. There’d been no response.
Now she stood alone in her mother’s living room with gaily wrapped packages in her arms. “I couldn’t get a hold of Kyle, Mom,” she said. “But this is your birthday, so you and I are going out.”
Her firm tone had cowed a lot of tough suspects through the years, but Bernice Hanrahan was made of sterner stuff.
“No.”
“Yes, Mom. I made reservations at Josie’s out on Lake Ryan. It’s small and quiet—hardly anyone will be there at six on a Wednesday night. We’ll get a nice table overlooking the water.”
Bernice gave a vague wave toward her stove. “I’ve got a little casserole baking.”
“Is it done?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good. Then you can toss it in the fridge and reheat it for tomorrow night.” Sara set the gifts on the little bench by the door, then sidestepped her mother and reached into the front closet. “Tell me,” she called out over her shoulder, “how many times I’ve made it back to Minnesota on your birthday over the past twelve years.”
Bernice folded her arms across her chest.
