A Bone to Pick (Page 17)

Garcia raced across the blacktop and bolted up the embankment to the next lot. In city shoes, he slipped halfway up the slope, going down on his knees in the wet grass. He scrambled to his feet.

Logan’s hiking boots gave him better purchase on the slick ground. Plus, Garcia looked like he favored TV and burgers, while Logan ran on the park’s trails every morning and was still army ranger fit.

He caught up before Garcia had run twenty feet. He reached forward and snagged Garcia’s leather jacket at the shoulder, then yanked backward. Garcia’s feet kept going, and he went down hard, flat on his back with his head lower than his feet. The air whooshed out of him with an audible grunt. He lay on the sloped ground, gaping like a fish out of water, the wind clearly knocked out of him.

He sucked air for a few seconds, then wheezed, “I’m gonna sue.”

“Go for it.” Logan grabbed him by the bicep and hauled him to his feet. “But first, we’re going to have a talk with the sheriff’s deputy, the one you assaulted this morning when you broke into a crime scene.”

“You can’t prove anything.”

Logan leaned close. “Then why did you run?”

Garcia tried to jerk his arm from Logan’s grip. “Get your hands off me.”

“Yeah. That is not happening.” Logan frog-marched him toward his room. “Behave yourself, or I’ll knock you on your ass again.”

“Where are you taking me?” Garcia shivered. His jeans were wet from his slide in the grass, and his jacket wasn’t zipped.

“Back to your room to wait for the deputy. Unless you want to wait out here.” Logan shrugged. “That would be fine with me. I’m dressed for the weather.”

“You can’t arrest me,” Garcia whined. “You’re not a cop.”

“Which is why I’m calling one now.” Technically, Logan had law enforcement power. Unfortunately, once he left the park, that authority became a little murky. But he wasn’t letting a potential murder suspect get away.

Logan pulled out his phone one-handed and called Tessa. As much as he hated to bother her, he didn’t have a choice. He pressed the speed dial number he’d assigned to her that morning.

The phone rang several times before she answered in a groggy voice, “Logan? What is it?”

Shit. She’d been asleep.

“I’m sorry for waking you. I’m holding a Mr. Nick Garcia in the parking lot of the Harbor View Inn. He has a New York accent and a big fat lip. Do you want to talk to him, or do you want me to contact whoever is on call tonight?”

Fabric rustled on the other end of the line. “I want to talk to him. I’ll be right there.”

Tessa hung up. Logan and Garcia had reached Garcia’s room.

“Do you want to wait outside or in?” Logan couldn’t force his way inside without a warrant, and he didn’t want to compromise any evidence that could be in the room.

“Might as well go inside.” Garcia trudged over the threshold. “There’s nothing incriminating here.” He spoke with the certainty of a man who had experience eliminating evidence.

Logan followed him into the unit. Garcia perched on the edge of the bed, glaring at Logan in defiance.

Was Garcia a thug or a killer?

Logan turned the desk chair around to face the bed.

“I didn’t kill him,” Garcia blurted out. “You can’t frame me.”

“But you know that he’s dead.”

“Well, yeah. Everyone in town was talking about it.”

“Then why did you break into his place?”

Garcia’s temper got the best of him. A vein on the side of his neck pulsed, and his face reddened. “He ripped off my mother, that’s why. I just want to get back what he owed her.” Garcia’s jaw tightened with indignation. “He charmed her into letting him stay in her extra bedroom, then he stole her ATM and credit cards. That little shitbag cleaned out her bank accounts.”

Garcia huffed. “I got here the other day and did a little surveillance. When I learned he was using a fake name, I figured he didn’t have a bank account. He’d have the cash stashed somewhere.”

“How much did he steal?”

“Twenty thousand bucks.” Garcia jabbed a finger at Logan. “I know it’s not a fortune, but it was all she had. It’s the principle of the matter. He stole from my ma. I’m disappointed that he’s dead ’cause I wanted to punch him in the face.”

“So you didn’t kill him.”

“No,” Garcia said. “I just wanted what’s owed to her. Not a penny more.”

8

Disoriented, Tessa set down her phone and sat up on the couch. Still processing Logan’s call, she ran a hand through her hair. Her stitches burned under the bandage on her leg. Her gaze fell to the blanket that covered her, then to the laptop that was closed on the coffee table. She’d been working when she’d fallen asleep.

Who had brought her a blanket and closed her laptop?

A sick feeling stirred in her belly. There was only one other person in the house. The thought of her mother walking around, unsupervised, disturbed her. She stood and limped to the foyer. Moonlight shone through the front windows. Tessa turned the doorknob. Unlocked.

No.

After being awake the entire night before, Tessa must have been sleeping so soundly that her mother had covered her with a blanket and walked right out the front door without waking her.

She whirled and raced back to her mother’s bedroom. The door was open, the room empty.

“Mom!” Tessa ran through the rest of the house, calling for her mother, knowing she wouldn’t find her but needing to methodically check every room before she moved her search outside. Out of habit, Tessa grabbed her gun and off-duty holster from the gun safe as she passed her bedroom. She clipped the holster to the waistband of her jeans.

Noticing that her mother’s coat and boots were missing from the foyer, Tessa stepped into her own boots and grabbed her jacket. Outside, the temperature had dropped. Dampness on the wind and clouds overhead promised rain. Shivering, Tessa checked the chicken enclosure and barn.

But her mother wasn’t anywhere on the property. Maybe she hadn’t gotten far.

Panic twisted in Tessa’s belly and numbed the pain in her leg. She stood in the driveway, scanning the road in both directions. To the north, the left side of the road was lined with thick forest that eventually bordered the state park. To the south, the road led to Widow’s Walk. Which way to go?

Tessa’s mom had been headed north when Cate had found her the previous night. If dementia had proven one thing, it was that her mother was a creature of habit. Tessa jumped into her patrol vehicle and began driving north on Orcas Road.

She said a silent prayer that she’d made the right choice.

As she drove, she switched the phone to speaker and called Logan. “My mother slipped out of the house. Would you take Garcia to the station and have Bruce put him in the holding cell? I’ll question him after I find my mother.”

“I’ll drop him off and help you look for her.”

“Thank you.” If Tessa didn’t find her in twenty minutes, she was calling in additional reinforcements. The night was warm for December, but people could suffer from hypothermia in fifty-degree weather. She thought of her mother, dressed only in her nightgown, sitting at the table the night before, refusing to put on warmer clothing. Her coat and boots were missing, and Tessa hoped she was wearing them.