Chapter 3 - Someone in the Garage

I turned off the kitchen lights.

Erin stared at me.

"What are you doing?"

"Making it harder to see us from outside."

Tessa's face tightened.

"Is somebody here?"

I crouched beside her.

"Maybe. I need you to take Miles upstairs and go into my bedroom. Lock the door."

"Are you coming?"

"Right after I make a phone call."

"You promised you wouldn't yell."

"I'm not going to yell."

"At the person outside?"

"I'm not going outside."

That was the truth, even though every instinct in me wanted to cross the yard and drag whoever was in that garage into the light.

I handed Erin my phone.

"Call the sheriff."

"You call."

"I want both hands free."

Her eyes widened.

"Grant."

"I'm not going out there. Call."

She did.

While she spoke to dispatch, I checked the locks on the back door and moved Tessa and Miles upstairs. Tessa carried her stuffed fox under one arm. I carried Miles.

At the bedroom door, Tessa whispered, "Is it Ryan?"

"I don't know."

"He scares me."

That stopped me.

"Why?"

She looked down.

"He smiles when he's mad."

"Did he ever touch you?"

"No."

"Threaten you?"

"Not exactly."

"What did he say?"

"He said kids who repeat adult conversations can break families."

My vision narrowed.

"When did he say that?"

"Last week."

I forced my voice to stay soft.

"You did nothing wrong by telling me. Nothing."

"Okay."

"Lock the door after I leave."

"Okay."

I kissed her forehead, settled Miles in the portable crib, and stepped into the hallway.

The bedroom lock clicked behind me.

Downstairs, Erin had finished the call.

"They're seven minutes out."

"Good."

"Tessa said Ryan scares her?"

"Yes."

Erin covered her mouth.

"He told her not to repeat adult conversations."

Her eyes filled with horror.

"I didn't know."

"I know."

This time I said the words without anger.

The back security light went dark.

Erin grabbed my arm.

"Did it burn out?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because I replaced that bulb last month."

A shadow crossed the narrow window in the mudroom door.

Erin stopped breathing.

I moved her away from the glass.

"Stay behind the wall."

"Do you have a gun?"

"Locked upstairs."

"Should you get it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because deputies are coming, and I don't want to be the man standing in a dark house with a weapon when they arrive."

She nodded quickly.

A car engine started behind the detached garage.

Tires spun against gravel.

I moved to the front room and looked through the side of the blinds.

A dark pickup tore down the alley behind our property with its lights off.

I could not see the plate.

I could see the dent in the passenger-side rear panel.

"Is that Ryan's truck?" I asked.

Erin joined me at a distance from the window.

"He drives a black F-150."

"Dent on the back?"

"I don't know."

Red and blue lights appeared at the end of our street.

I exhaled for what felt like the first time in a minute.

Two sheriff's cruisers stopped in front of the house. I met the deputies at the door with my hands visible.

The older deputy introduced himself as Deputy Harris. The younger one was Deputy Lin.

"You Grant Mercer?"

"Yes."

"Dispatch says possible unauthorized person in a detached garage?"

"Correct. We heard movement. A truck just left the rear alley."

"Anyone supposed to be on the property?"

"No."

"Any weapons in the garage?"

"No firearms. Tools, dog equipment, old filing cabinets."

Harris looked toward the back.

"You stay here."

"Gladly."

He almost smiled.

The deputies went around the side of the house with flashlights.

Erin stood behind me in the entryway.

"Do you think he came back for something?"

"Probably."

"The phone?"

"He didn't know I had it unless you told him."

"I didn't."

"Then the garage."

Ten minutes later, Harris returned.

"Door was forced."

"Forced?"

"Pry marks near the latch. Inside is a mess. Looks like somebody opened several cabinets and dumped contents."

"Can I see?"

"In a minute. We want photographs first."

Deputy Lin walked up carrying a clear evidence bag.

Inside was a black nitrile glove.

"Found near the side gate," she said.

Erin whispered, "Ryan wears those sometimes."

Lin looked at her.

"For what?"

Erin swallowed.

"He said he didn't like leaving fingerprints when he handled old documents."

Harris's expression changed.

"Ma'am, who is Ryan?"

That became a much longer conversation.

We told them enough to make the situation clear without turning the driveway into a divorce hearing. Ryan Vale. Former attorney. Secret relationship with Erin. Prior access to the property. Possible financial documents. Possible unauthorized entry.

Harris wrote everything down.

"Do you have a photo of him?"

Erin did.

She pulled up an image on her phone.

Harris sent it to Lin.

"We'll put out the vehicle description too."

"Can you arrest him?" Erin asked.

"Not based on a dark truck and a glove," Harris said. "But we can document the break-in. If we recover prints, video, or other evidence, that changes things."

"There are cameras," I said.

"Where?"

"Front door, driveway, kennel trailer, back gate."

"Working?"

I stopped.

The cameras ran through a network recorder in my office.

Ryan had been inside my office.

"They should be."

Harris nodded toward the house.

"Let's check."

The recorder was powered on.

The hard drive was not.

Someone had disconnected the internal data cable.

Deputy Lin leaned over the unit.

"You do that?"

"No."

"Anybody else have reason to?"

Erin looked sick.

"Ryan."

I pulled up the cloud app on my phone.

The service kept motion thumbnails even when local recording failed.

Most were ordinary.

Delivery driver.

Tessa riding her scooter.

Me loading a dog crate.

Then I found a thumbnail from 6:14 p.m.

A black pickup at the alley gate.

The image was small but clear enough to show the rear dent.

Deputy Harris photographed my screen.

"Save that."

I opened the next thumbnail.

A man in a baseball cap and dark jacket moving toward the detached garage.

Erin sat down.

"That's him."

"You're sure?" Lin asked.

"Yes."

The third thumbnail showed his face turned partly toward the camera.

Ryan Vale.

Harris's tone became more serious.

"That's useful."

"Useful enough?"

"Useful enough that I'm calling it in."

While the deputies worked, I finally entered the detached garage.

It looked as though somebody had tried to search twenty years of my father's life in ten minutes.

Folders covered the floor.

Old tax returns.

Training certifications.

Veterinary invoices.

Photographs.

A rusted coffee tin full of keys.

The lowest drawer of the green filing cabinet had been pulled completely out and dumped.

I knelt beside it.

"He was looking for something specific."

Deputy Lin stood behind me.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he ignored half the cabinets."

I pointed.

"Those are my records. These were Dad's."

Erin stepped into the doorway.

"Ryan asked about your father's business."

"What business?"

"He said your father had partners before the dog facility."

I looked at her.

"Dad was a drilling contractor."

"Ryan said there was another partner. A man named Clay."

My hands stopped moving.

"Clay Barlow?"

"You know him?"

"Knew him."

Clay Barlow had been my father's closest friend until the year everything fell apart. I was twenty-three. Dad stopped talking about him overnight. Clay moved to Texas. I had assumed it was a business dispute.

"What did Ryan say about him?"

"Only that Clay's name was connected to Cobalt Prairie."

I looked at the files on the floor.

Then I remembered something.

My father used to keep important documents in places nobody considered important.

Not in a safe.

Not in a desk.

In training manuals.

He said thieves looked for valuables, not boring things.

I crossed the garage to an old wooden bookshelf.

Most of the books had been shoved aside.

One remained exactly where it had always been.

A faded binder labeled CANINE FIRST AID - 2007.

Ryan had not touched it.

I pulled it down.

The binder was heavier than it should have been.

Inside, beneath laminated veterinary charts, was a large brown envelope.

My name was written across it in my father's handwriting.

GRANT - IF BARLOW EVER COMES BACK.

Erin whispered, "Oh my God."

Deputy Lin raised a hand.

"Don't open it yet."

"Why?"

"Because this garage is part of a reported break-in. Let us photograph it where it was found."

I set the binder down carefully.

My phone rang.

Mitch.

I answered.

"Please tell me you're not chasing anybody through a field."

"I'm standing next to two deputies."

"Good. County records are weird."

"How weird?"

"Cobalt Prairie Holdings existed. Formed twelve years ago. Your father was listed as manager for six months. Then management transferred to Clayton Barlow."

"Clay."

"You know him?"

"Dad's former business partner."

"It gets better. Cobalt filed a lien against the dog-training property nine years ago."

"A lien for what?"

"Eight hundred seventy thousand dollars."

I nearly laughed.

"The property wasn't worth half that then."

"Exactly."

"Was it released?"

"Yes. Two weeks after your father died."

"By who?"

"Clayton Barlow."

I stared at the envelope.

"Mitch, I just found something Dad left for me."

"What?"

"An envelope labeled, 'If Barlow ever comes back.'"

Mitch went silent.

"Don't open it without the deputies documenting it."

"Already heard that lecture."

"For once, listen."

Deputy Harris finished photographing the binder and nodded.

"You can open it."

I slid one finger beneath the flap.

Inside were six pages.

The first was a handwritten letter from my father.

Grant,

If you're reading this, Clay or someone working for him has started asking questions again. The land is yours. The lien was never a real debt. I signed documents I should not have signed because I thought I was protecting you and your mother. I was wrong.

My throat tightened.

I kept reading.

Cobalt Prairie was used to hide money from a drilling contract investigation. Clay wanted my name because mine was clean. I agreed until I learned what he was doing. When I tried to leave, he threatened to put the debt on our property and make it look legitimate.

I looked at Mitch's voice on speaker.

"Are you hearing this?"

"Every word."

The next page contained account numbers.

The third was a photocopy of a notarized agreement stating that the Cobalt lien had been created under coercion and that Clay Barlow had no ownership interest in the Mercer property.

The fourth was a list of names.

One name stopped me.

Ryan Vale.

Erin whispered, "No."

Beside Ryan's name my father had written:

BARLOW'S RUNNER. LAW STUDENT. PICKS UP DOCUMENTS. DO NOT TRUST.

I stared at the note.

Ryan had not discovered my father's secret recently.

He had been part of it seventeen years ago.

"How old is Ryan?" Mitch asked.

Erin answered.

"Thirty-nine."

"He'd have been twenty-two."

"Law school age," I said.

The final page was a photograph.

My father stood beside Clay Barlow outside an oilfield office.

A much younger Ryan was behind them holding a banker box.

On the back, my father had written one sentence.

If Clay can't reach me, he will eventually try to reach my family.

Erin sank onto an old stool.

"He didn't come back because of me."

I looked at her.

"What?"

"Ryan."

Her face had gone white.

"I thought I found him again. I thought the affair started because we reconnected online."

She looked at the photograph.

"He found me because of you."

Before I could answer, Deputy Harris's radio crackled.

He listened, then looked at us.

"They located the truck."

"Ryan?"

"Truck's abandoned near Waterloo Road. No driver."

"So he's on foot?"

"Maybe."

Harris paused.

"There's something else."

"What?"

"Passenger door was open. There was blood on the seat."

Erin stood.

"Blood?"

"We don't know whose."

The second phone buzzed in my pocket.

Every person in the garage heard it.

I took it out.

A new message from R appeared on the screen.

You found the letter.

May you like

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Then another.

Ask Erin what she promised me in exchange for keeping Tessa's name out of it.