Dakota Meltdown

The rest of Paul’s response was lost on Brenna. As the name Janine Drummond sank in, Brenna’s stomach dropped as if she’d hit a major dip in the road. “Did you say Dr. Drummond?”

“Yeah.” Paul’s head came up. “You know her? She was an older woman who had a practice here for over twenty-five years.”

“I know Dr. Drummond. She’s a very nice woman. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.” Brenna had been one of her patients. Dr. Drummond had helped her deal with the emotional side of being scarred. But the others didn’t need to know that yet. Maybe never.

The doctor had been someone she could talk to when no one else had understood. Who would do such a thing? Brenna forced the tears back. She couldn’t show emotions with this bunch. Especially Nick Tarver. Emotion was a sign of weakness. She gulped past the lump in her throat and worked at a casual tone. “Dr. Gomez must be new to the area. I don’t recognize the name. Do you know anything else about her?” Brenna asked. “What kind of doctor is she?”

“Professor at the university. She specializes in quantitative physics.” Melissa shrugged. “Paul and I were about to go out and question her staff.”

“Carmichael is into real estate, also lives alone,” Paul said. “We’ll stop by her office as well and see if anyone knows anything.”

“Good. Any sign of forced entry?” Brenna asked.

“No,” Nick said. “Either our perpetrator entered through unlocked windows or the victims opened their doors for him. We did find one of the windows where the snow and ice had been scraped away.”

“Any fingerprints?” Brenna knew from the letter the guy was careful. He wouldn’t risk leaving a sloppy fingerprint.

“Not one.” Paul shook his head. “The places were clean. There was evidence of a struggle around Dr. Gomez’s bed with bloodstains on the carpet. We’ll have it analyzed to verify.”

Brenna tapped a finger to her lips. “Have you pulled names of registered sex offenders in the area?”

“Done.” Nick pulled a list from beneath a tack on the wall and handed it to Brenna. “One pedophile, Timothy Johnston, known for indecent exposure with grade-school kids, and one other, a convicted rapist, Bart Olsen, out on parole for the past month.”

Paul pulled a sheet of paper off the clipboard and handed it to Nick. “Just got a report from Johnston’s parole officer. Said his parolee has been in Tennessee visiting relatives for the past two weeks and they have eyewitnesses that place him in Nashville at the time of the abductions. That puts him out of the picture for now. No one’s seen Olsen, and his parole officer hasn’t heard from him in a week.”

“Not good. When they catch up with him, I want to sit in on that interview,” Brenna said.

Nick frowned. “No.”

Brenna blinked. “No? Not even, ‘let me think about it’ or ‘maybe that’s not a good idea’? Just ‘no’?” She planted her fist on a hip. “I’m investigating this case, too. If I can’t interview potential suspects, I can’t do my job.”

“You can watch from behind the mirror.” Nick’s jaw set firmly. He wasn’t budging. “I don’t want you in range of this guy in case he is the killer.”

“You’re assuming the note writer is the kidnapper and the missing women are dead.”

Nick nodded. “Based on the note, the blood found in the Gomez house and the smear of what looked like blood on that paper, yes.”

“I’ll let you do the interview this time.” Brenna held up her hand when Nick opened his mouth to speak. “But don’t pull this on me again. I’m a trained investigator. I know how to conduct an interview.” Before he could say another word, she spun on the heel of her black leather boots and marched down the hallway.

“If anyone asks, I’ve gone to the Riverton Inn. Otherwise, I’ll be back in an hour,” Brenna said to the officer at the front desk.

“Shouldn’t you clear it with Nick first?” Melissa Bradley leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Since he doesn’t consider me part of the team, I don’t have to inform him of my whereabouts.” Brenna needed to get away and clear her head so she could concentrate on the case. And she had a short social visit to make. Emphasis on short. “If it means anything to you, I’ll clear it with him when I get back.”

BRENNA STOOD IN FRONT of her sister’s spacious two-story home on West Nodak Street. The road was lined with dozens of similar homes—tan, white and gray siding as far as the eye could see, each sidewalk and driveway adrift with the new-fallen snow. The longer she stood, the colder her ears grew with the wind beating against her cap, penetrating the double layer of yarn. Facing the wine-colored door, she had two clear choices: go in and face her family, or stand here and freeze. Funny how freezing seemed the lesser of the two evils.

The wooden door opened and her sister, Alice, peered through the frosted glass of the storm door.

Okay, so now she was down to one choice and it was made for her.

“Brenna? What are you doing standing out in the cold?” Alice pushed the storm door open wider and waved toward her. “Get in here before you freeze.”

“Hi, Alice.” Brenna stepped in on the all-weather mat and immediately removed her boots and outside clothing. “Where’s Mom?”

“Nice to see you, too.” Alice hung her jacket on a peg and then held out her arms. “Don’t I get a hug from my favorite sister?”

Feeling ungracious and unloving, Brenna tried to cook up some enthusiasm for the sister she hadn’t seen in a month. “I’m sorry, of course you get a hug. I’ve missed you,” she said.

“Liar.” But Alice hugged her anyway. “Mom’s in her room. Come on back and say hello.”

Quick to establish expectations up front, Brenna blurted, “I can’t stay long. I’m here on business.”

“I heard on the news.” Alice’s pretty face crumpled into a worried frown. “Isn’t it terrible? Two women missing in just a few days.”

Make that three. When Brenna opened her mouth to respond to her sister’s concern, she was interrupted with a loud, “Alice!”

“That will be Mom. You’d better get back there and say hello.”

“Is she with us today?” Brenna asked.

Alice held her hand out palm down and tipped it back and forth. “In and out.”

“Great. Isn’t there anything they can do for her?”

“We’ve got her on rivastigmine tartrate, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”

Brenna’s heart ached with the mental loss of the only parent she had left. “I wish we had her back.”

Their mother had started showing signs of Alzheimer’s two years ago and her progression had been swift and painful to her family. Once an active woman who enjoyed volunteering at the hospital and the Salvation Army thrift shop, Marian Jensen had her driving privileges revoked and was forced to move in with Alice and her husband so they could make sure she didn’t wander out into the cold and die of exposure.

“She shows up on occasion, maybe she’ll be with us today.”

“Let’s hope.” With a deep breath, Brenna pushed her shoulders back and followed her sister down the hallway. “Are you sure you’re okay with this arrangement? We could look into a nursing home.”

“No way. Mom’s only sixty-eight and she gets around just fine. We need to save the money for a nursing home when I can’t help her anymore.”

“I feel bad this is all on your shoulders. Just let me know what I can do to help. Maybe I can watch Mom and the kids one weekend so you and Stan can take a trip or something.”

“That would be great.” Alice smiled. “I don’t know the last time Stan and I had time alone.”

“Of course it’ll be after we solve this case.”

“Oh, I hope it’s soon. It’s so scary knowing there’s a psycho loose in our town. This is Riverton, for God sakes, not Minneapolis or Chicago.”

Alice led the way into a well-lit room with a double bed on one side and a small couch positioned close to the window. Their mother sat on the couch, a colorful afghan draped across her lap and a crocheted shawl around her shoulders.

Brenna bent to press a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Hi, Mom. It’s me, Brenna.”