“What…?”
A large shoe box sat on the gray deck and the contact with her sandal had knocked the lid askew. Chloe couldn’t see exactly what was inside, but what she could see chilled her blood.
Feathers spattered with crimson, and thin shattered bones were visible.
Chloe spun on her heel and ran back into the house, locking the door behind her. She grabbed the phone from its base and dialed Jake’s number.
“Jake? There’s something on my back deck. I—I think it’s dead.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jake pulled into Chloe’s driveway, loped up the sidewalk and knocked loudly on her door. It was opened by the rumpled, young off-duty cop with bleary eyes who’d spent the night outside her house.
“Hey, Jake.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “She’s in there.”
“What did she find?”
“A shoe box with pieces of a dead seagull inside. Looks like somebody blew it up, maybe with a big firecracker of some sort, then put it inside the box. Her name was written in big block letters on the lid. She didn’t touch it and neither did I. I called the PD. They’re sending out someone to collect the evidence and take a report.”
“Damn.” Jake strode quickly down the hall and into the kitchen. Chloe sat at the table, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands. She glanced over her shoulder, saw him and stood. Her face was pale, her green eyes dark and vulnerable.
He held open his arms and she walked into them, her hands clutching the back of his shirt.
“Hey, babe,” he murmured. “You okay?”
“No.” Her voice was muffled against his throat. “It was awful, Jake. Why would anyone do that to a bird?”
“I don’t know. Some people’s actions are beyond understanding.”
She nodded, her hair brushing his throat and chin. “Yes.” Her voice was steadier, stronger. She leaned back and looked up at him. “How long before you catch this person?”
“Maybe today.”
Her eyes widened with interest.
“I was up most of the night tracking down information on Kenny Dodd. He joined the Marines with a friend, Alan Granstrom. Granstrom’s currently living in Mason city, Oregon, the same town where he grew up. I’m driving down there this morning.”
“You think Alan Granstrom might have information about the person stalking us?”
“I think it could be Granstrom himself who’s following us. When Dodd was killed, Alan Granstrom was there and he blamed me for his death. He went crazy, even threw a few punches at me. I chalked it up to shock and grief under battle pressure and forgot about it. I never thought he’d be carrying a grudge after all this time.”
“But someone has, and it might be him.”
“It might be him,” Jake said. “In fact, I hope it is, because then we’ll have a name and a face for our stalker. Up until now, we’ve been looking for a phantom. If we’d been able to get fingerprints from the sedan, we could’ve included Granstrom or ruled him out because his prints are in the military database. But whoever our man is, he was smart enough to wipe the car clean.” Jake paused. “I have to check out Alan Granstrom in person.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Most of the day. It’s a three-to-four-hour drive, one way. And I have no idea how long it’ll take to find Granstrom and talk to him. I doubt I’ll be back in Seattle before tonight.”
“I’m going with you,” Chloe said decisively. “I’ll call my department head and ask if someone else can cover my two classes today.”
Jake thought swiftly, weighing the value of having her safely under his watchful eye versus the unknown situation waiting for him in Oregon. Having her near him, where he could make sure she was safe, won out. “All right.” He released her and looked at his watch. “It’s after nine. Make your call and get whatever you need.”
“Why isn’t Gray going with you?” Chloe asked, suddenly remembering the detective’s interest in their stalker.
“He has to testify in court today on another case.”
Within the hour, they were driving south on Interstate 5 toward Portland, Starbucks lattes in the cup holders on the console between them, the Dave Matthews Band growling out “Crash” on the car’s CD player.
“There’s the exit.” Chloe pointed at the highway sign with Mason City spelled out in big white letters against a forest-green background.
The town’s cluster of buildings was visible from the highway, and Jake slowed to a crawl as they drove through the business center. Shops and stores lined both sides of the wide street, and although small, the town appeared to be prosperous and well kept.
“Alan Granstrom’s address is 238 Tenth Street.” Jake noted the cross streets as they approached an intersection.
“We just passed Eighth,” Chloe said.
“So, do we turn right or left on Tenth?”
“I vote for left.”
Jake waited for an oncoming car to pass before he turned left. The Porsche’s engine purred as they moved down the street, which changed from a small-business area to a residential one.
Chloe peered out the open car window to read house numbers. “Six-forty, six-twenty, six hundred,” she mumbled to herself. “We’re going in the right direction.”
The tree-shaded boulevard drowsed in the early afternoon sunshine. Sprinklers arced sprays of water across green lawns and children played at a corner city park.
“There.” Chloe pointed to a tidy bungalow, set well back on a neat square of lawn with flower borders edging the walk.
Jake parked the Porsche at the curb and turned to her. “I want you to stay in the car.”
“Why?”
“If Granstrom’s our stalker, there’s no way of knowing how he’ll react. I don’t want you in the line of fire.”
“I’ll feel much safer with you than staying out here alone.”
Jake was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged, thrust open the driver’s side door and got out. By the time he reached the sidewalk, Chloe was waiting for him, impatient to proceed.
“I hope someone’s home,” she said as they walked to the porch and climbed the steps.
“So do I,” Jake agreed. “And I hope Granstrom’s our guy.” He rapped on the locked screen door and waited, then rapped again, louder this time.
“Coming!” The feminine voice was followed by the hurried sound of footsteps on a wooden floor. A young woman appeared, a toddler perched on her hip. She studied them through the screen. “Yes?”
“We’re looking for Alan Granstrom. Is he home?”
“Yes—he’s got a day off. Can I tell him who’s visiting?”
“A friend—I served in Afghanistan with Alan. We’re passing through town and just wanted to say hello.”
She smiled, obviously reassured by Jake’s words, and pushed open the screen. “Come on in.” She raised her voice and half turned to call over her shoulder. “Alan! You have company.”
The door eased shut behind Jake and Chloe just as the toddler began to cry. The woman patted the baby’s back and waved them toward the living room. “Go on in. Excuse me—I have to change her diaper.” She hurried off, disappearing up the stairs.
Chloe lifted an eyebrow at Jake, who merely shrugged and gestured toward the room. As they stepped through the archway, he moved ahead of her, placing his body between her and the man walking toward them.
The lanky, blond-haired man in his early thirties, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, halted abruptly when he saw Jake. “Morrissey? What are you doing here?”
“Granstrom.” Jake nodded hello, his tone neutral. “This is Chloe Abbott.”
Chloe and Alan exchanged polite nods before he looked at Jake once again, clearly puzzled.
“We have a few questions to ask you about Kenny Dodd,” Jake continued.
“Kenny?” Alan shook his head in confusion. “What about Kenny?”
“Someone threatened Chloe in a document that included Kenny’s name.”
Alan’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at Chloe. “I don’t get it. What does that have to do with me?”
“It’s pretty simple. Chloe’s been threatened and stalked by someone in Seattle. So have I. And both our names have been tied to Kenny by the person who’s following us.” Jake’s expression was lethal. “You went ballistic when Kenny died, and you made it clear that you blamed me for his death. You were the first person I thought of when Kenny’s name came up.”
Understanding dawned and Alan immediately shook his head. “Oh, no. You’ve got the wrong guy. In the first place, I haven’t left town. Ask anybody—ask my wife, ask my boss. And even if I had the time, I don’t have the need. I put what happened in Afghanistan behind me when I got out of the marines. I’ve got a life here, a wife, a baby, a decent job…. Nope.” He shook his head again, underlining his words. “The only person I know who’s still obsessed with Kenny’s death is his dad.”
“His father? Have you talked to him recently?” Jake asked.
“Sure. He lives two streets over from me. I’ve known him since I was a kid. Kenny and I grew up together. We were pretty much inseparable, and if he wasn’t at my house, I was at his. We even enlisted together.”
“When did you last see Kenny’s father?”
“About two months ago, I guess, maybe a little longer. He was stirred up over a copy of the incident report he finally got from the military about Kenny’s death. Come to think of it…” He paused, eyeing Jake. “He told me he’d figured the Marines would make you pay for killing Kenny. He ranted about the military failing to make sure justice was done.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Why are you asking all these questions about Kenny’s dad?” Granstrom’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why should I tell you anything?”
Jake shrugged. “You can tell me or you can tell the police. It’s up to you. But if there’s a squad car parked outside your door, the neighbors are going to get curious. Your call.”
Granstrom’s eyes flickered to the stairway. “All right, ask your questions,” he said in a low voice. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, what’s his full name?”
“George Dodd.”
“How old is he?”
“I’m guessing late fifties, maybe a bit older.”
“What does he do? Is he retired or still working?”
“He’s a widower. Retired—has been for a few years. He left the union just before my dad did.”
“The union?”
“Yeah. My dad and Kenny’s dad were electricians. They worked out of the Union Hall over in Greensburg.”
Although a foot of space separated them, Chloe felt Jake tense.
“You said Dodd lives near here—do you have his address?”
Alan gave them the information and after a few more questions and answers, Jake and Chloe left. They were in the car, pulling away from the curb, before Chloe spoke.
