One
Sheriff Daryl Flynn was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Sweat was rolling down his face. In his hand was a piece of paper that was going to change his life. No! It was going to destroy his life.
He looked through the glass partition of his office and marveled at his three deputies calmly working away.
Peace, he thought. That’s what he needed, what he was working toward. In the last few years there’d been several murders in tiny Lachlan, but for a while now, all had been calm. The only problems were noisy neighbors, lost dogs and a few speeding tickets given to people from Miami.
But everything was about to change. The paper he was holding said that in fourteen days, Randal Medlar would be released from prison—five years early.
For a moment, Sheriff Flynn closed his eyes. He had planned it all so carefully. He was supposed to retire in four years, just before Randal was released. He would talk to his wife about leaving Lachlan and moving somewhere far away. He knew it would take about three minutes to persuade her. Evie carried her passport with her. “Just in case I’m offered an adventure,” she liked to say. She was sick of living in their small town, where people thought nothing of calling at 3:00 a.m. to say their cat hadn’t come home. Evie wanted to see the world. “Before I’m too old to enjoy it.”
He looked at the paper again, hoping he’d misread it. In just two weeks, Randal Medlar would be free—and Daryl was sure he’d return to Lachlan.
Randal’s wife, Ava, lived outside Chicago, and there was a tiny possibility that her husband would go to her. Throughout the years, Daryl had used his access to legal channels to keep track of what went on with Randal, and he knew Ava often visited him in prison. But then, Ava had always been a faithful and loving wife—so devoted that she’d caused a lot of the mess he was facing now.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair, still staring at the document as though he could change what was written. His hand was sweating so much that the corner of the paper was disintegrating.
He had two problems. The first was Randal’s daughter, Kate. In the last years, Daryl had become quite fond of the young woman. But he knew Ava had hidden everything from her. Rather than admit her husband was in prison, Ava had told her daughter that Randal died when Kate was four years old. The child had grown up believing it was just her and her mother. It wasn’t until she was an adult that she was told she had an aunt, Sara Medlar, who was a famous author and lived in little Lachlan, Florida.
Kate had taken the news quite well and had immediately contacted her aunt. Sara had welcomed her niece so enthusiastically that Kate got a job in Lachlan, drove south and moved into Sara’s big house, where Jack Wyatt, the grandson of Sara’s childhood sweetheart, was also living.
From what Daryl could see, the Medlar Three got along splendidly. Jack had a construction company that was rebuilding the poorest part of Lachlan, and Kate was doing well in her real estate job. Sara had retired from full-time writing and devoted herself to photography and whatever else she could use her active mind for. Yes, they did tend to stick their noses into any criminal activity in Lachlan—and from what he’d heard, in other places too—but when they weren’t snooping, they caused no problems.
But how would Kate react when she found out that everything she believed about her life was a lie? Not only was her father alive but her beloved aunt had testified against him. It was Sara who sent Randal to prison. “You did this. To your own brother. You’ll never see Kate again. I swear it!” Ava had screamed on the day of the verdict. Two security guards had dragged her out of the courtroom.
Daryl knew how Kate would react. She’d be furious. Kids always were. They were unforgiving of the errors of their elders. As judgmental as the Inquisition. Would Kate be so angry that she would leave town? Turn her back on everyone and disappear? That would break the hearts of a lot of people. Jack and Sara would probably never recover.
Daryl dropped the paper and put his head in his hands. None of that compared to his second problem, one that was a lot more serious than injured feelings. Long ago, there had been a “job.” A big one. Involving millions. Daryl was only twenty-eight then. He was married and broke and desperately wanted to give Evie all that she deserved. And there was Randal, forty-one and silver-tongued. He’d always been able to smile and sweet-talk and make you believe that everything would be fine. Until the very last, he always got away with whatever he did. For that job, Randal had been the mastermind, the genius of it all. Daryl, Walter and Jack’s father, Roy, had followed Randal without questioning him. True, they had benefited, but there had been problems later.
Daryl looked at the paper. So now Randal was being released early—for good behavior, no less—and Daryl was sure he’d come straight to Lachlan. He’d want to see his daughter, who didn’t know he was alive.
And he might want to confront his sister for helping put him in prison. How would Daryl, now the sheriff, deal with that?
Of course Randal would want to look up his old friends. Roy and Walter were dead. That left Daryl.
All Randal had to do was remind the sheriff of what they’d done together and... Then what? Blackmail? Would Randal threaten to tell the Broward Sheriff’s Department if Daryl didn’t do whatever illegal thing he came up with? Daryl would lose his pension and his good name. What would Randal want this time? Grand theft? Expensive cars to disappear? How about a Ponzi scheme?
No doubt Randal had learned a lot about crime while he was in prison and he’d want to try everything. The word dishonestwasn’t one Randal understood.
So how would Daryl be able to withstand him? Randal could talk anyone into anything. He could—
Daryl looked around his office. Unless I’m not here, he thought. If Randal can’t find me, he can’t blackmail me into doing anything. And I’d have time to think about what I need to do. Early retirement? Evie would love that!
He looked at his three deputies. Who could take over if he wasn’t here? That he had no one who could replace him was the reason he gave Evie as to why he could never take a vacation.
Pete and Dave were cousins. They were good-looking young men who smiled a lot. They were so nice that people thanked them for handing out tickets.
If—no, when—trouble happened because of Randal Medlar, they wouldn’t have a clue about what to do.
Bea was also a deputy but she did office work. She’d never be able to withstand Randal’s honey charm.
Daryl began to sweat harder. If only he could find someone to take his place.
The front door opened and in came Heather Wyatt, Jack’s mother. She was passing out invitations to a school bake sale. She smiled at Daryl and held up the flyer. He nodded. Yes, she could hang it up. Anything to help the community.
When she turned away, he thought about her son, Jack. His father had been Roy Wyatt, the town’s bad boy, part of Randal’s gang—and one of Daryl’s best friends when they were growing up. But thanks to Evie, Daryl had gone straight, while Roy had never changed. If there was a fight, Roy was in on it. Gambling, drinking, women, Roy was there. He and Randal had been great friends. Exactly the same but direct opposites. They—
Daryl nearly choked. Jack!
Jack Wyatt, reformed bad boy, now a good businessman, was also a sleuth of criminals. The protector of Sara and Kate. He was the only person Daryl knew who could possibly stand up to Randal Medlar. After all, Jack had stood up to Roy.
Daryl checked the date on the paper again. He had fourteen days to persuade Jack to become a deputy. “Just while I’m gone,”Daryl would say. “You know Dave and Pete can’t handle anything on their own.” He’d add that Jack’s juvenile records were sealed, so yes, he could be sworn in as a deputy. “For Evie,” he would say. “She’s always liked you so much.”
Yes, he thought. Jack could do it. No! He would do it.
He called Evie. “You know how you’ve always wanted us to go on a cruise? Well, I can, but there are some restrictions.” He glanced at the paper. “We must leave on the eighth.” It was two days before Randal was to be released. “If it’s even one day later, I can’t go. And let’s stay away for at least six weeks.” He listened. “Couldn’t care less. Australia maybe?” That seemed far enough away. “Think you can do it?” When there was no answer, he smiled at his phone. She’d hung up and had started her search for a cruise that fit the requirements.
Okay, he thought. Step one is done. Now he just had to cajole, persuade and challenge Jack Wyatt into swearing in as a temporary deputy.
Daryl smiled. His plan was so heinous, so full of half-truths and secrets, that Randal would be proud of him. Too bad he’d never know.
Twelve Days Later
Lenny was on his belly, binoculars in hand, as he watched the house. It was his third day there and he had come to know the little family—as he was being paid to do.
The husband was in his forties, a lawyer in a fancy firm on Broward. He was what Lenny thought of as a “taken care of man.” His pretty young wife—who was the one Lenny had been told to watch—managed the house, their two boys, the food and the little farm with its chickens and a screen house full of salad greens. If she disappeared, the man wouldn’t be able to find his shoes.
Lenny figured the wife liked that people depended on her. From what he’d seen, she rarely left the property. Her only regular visitor was a young red-haired woman and they spent their time inside a building that was set back under the trees.
He’d been curious as to what they were doing, so one night he went inside. The lock was easy to open. It was a workshop and to his amazement he saw that the two women were making birdhouses. Not those plain, one-hole things you saw for sale in craft shops, but big, elaborate reproductions of real houses.
Lenny had been so awed by the miniature buildings that he’d spent too much time inside. The photos, the tools, the perfect little houses, fascinated him. When he left, it was breaking dawn. He’d made a mistake! The woman, Charlene Adams, always got up early—and she was leaving her house as Lenny exited.
Silently, he slipped around the side of the workshop. When she went inside, he let out a sigh of relief. That had been close.
As he made his way to the back of the property to hide in the overgrowth, he shook his head. He’d come to like the little family. He really hoped he wouldn’t be told to kill them.
Suddenly, he saw a movement. It was slight but it was there. He’d had years of practice in seeing what others didn’t. Charlene was in her workshop and the husband was at work, the kids at school. So who was by the barn?
Lenny knew how to be still but he redoubled his efforts. Over the years he’d kept himself at minimum weight and maximum flexibility. While muscle was nice, he’d found that speed and agility were what was needed for his jobs.
The man came out of the shadows and Lenny watched as he crept around the barn. He was looking up at all the ins and outs—exactly what Lenny had done on the first day.
He was a young man, and the way he moved showed he was trained in some form of martial arts. Inwardly, Lenny groaned. Those guys were sneaky. They concealed knives everywhere and they could hit a target.
But maybe the kid was just a stalker. Charlene was very pretty and she was there alone most of the time. Neighbors who might hear screams were far away. It was a stalker’s paradise.
When the young man went into the barn, Lenny gave a sigh of defeat. This was no stalker. Unless his many years of experience were worth nothing, he knew what the guy was planning to do.
Lenny waited a few moments, hoping he was wrong. In the loft was an open window for the loading of hay. If the man placed himself there, it would show his true intent.
There was a flicker of movement at the window. When Charlene left her workshop, the man would be ready. Lenny clenched his teeth. His worst fears were confirmed. Did he have a rifle? With a scope?
Lenny rolled to his back, took out his burner phone and called the one and only number on it. It was answered immediately. “You hire somebody else? To check up on me?” Lenny whispered.
“No.” The man sounded as though he’d expected this. “I was afraid people would be after her, but she isn’t the real target. Are you seeing the older man I told you about?”
“No. This guy is young. Early thirties, if that. He’s had some training.”
“Maybe he’s a friend, a visitor.”
Idiot! Lenny thought. “No. He’s like me. He’s after her or whoever is connected to her.”
There was an audible sigh. “Can you find out what he wants? Just don’t let him harm her! She’s my ticket to—” He broke off. “I have to go.” He hung up.
“Your ticket to getting whatever you want,” Lenny muttered.
When he’d been hired, Lenny hadn’t asked many questions, but the man was so nervous that he’d said too much. He’d even dropped a name as he tried to make Lenny believe he was actually a good man, that he’d never done anything like this before. Like Lenny cared.
“I just want you to watch her and tell me every person she sees.”
Ah, Lenny thought. A jealous lover. Or a wannabe lover.
They’d sat in the diner for a few minutes more. With a weak, shaky hand, the man slid a fat envelope across the table. Lenny thought, This is one of those “before I die” things. A pair of crutches leaned against the booth and from the look of him, the man didn’t have long to live. Lenny sat still as he watched the man make his way out of the diner on the crutches, then get in his car and drive away. From experience, Lenny knew it was better to not let anyone see the car he drove.
Annoyed with this new complication, Lenny put his phone away, then stood up. He waited a moment to get the blood flowing—damned old age! He began the trek across the property via a way where he wouldn’t be seen.
In the barn, the two horses made no noise. On the first day, he’d befriended them with apples. He’d hidden a few, and with his gloved hands, he tossed them into the stalls. The noise of the foraging horses would cover him.
There was only one ladder up and Lenny wasn’t about to use it. The half-floor loft had a safety rail but it was open. He would enter at the end, out of sight of anyone up there. He’d already figured out a way to go: step onto the old desk, foot on the reins rack, catch the loft floor, then swing up over the rail. He did it in near silence.
The young man was sitting on a bale of hay, eyes closed as though he was doing some sort of meditation. Kids! Lenny thought with a sneer. When the young man looked up, there was a flash of shock at seeing Lenny standing there. But then his training kicked in. Slowly, he stood, but he was leaning to the side, probably starting to reach for a weapon.
But Lenny had a gun. It was just a .22 but at this distance it would do the job.
The young man stood still in front of the open window. He was staring. “I know who you are.” There was awe in his voice.
Lenny had a scar through his left eyebrow. Sometimes he covered it, but today he hadn’t bothered.
“I’ve heard about you.” There was a gleam in the kid’s eye that said he wanted the prestige of taking out a legend.
“Look,” Lenny said, “I just want info. I don’t want to hurt anybody.”
The kid smiled in that way that only youth can. He seemed to be saying, How could an old man like you hurt me?
Lenny took a chance. “Does this have anything to do with Randal Medlar?” A slight widening of the kid’s eyes showed the answer was yes. Who the hell is this Medlar? Lenny thought. He’d looked him up online but there was nothing. Only true VIPs could keep that kind of anonymity.
The young guy was inching forward while keeping their eyes locked. Lenny gave an internal grimace. The kid probably thinks I’m too old, too senile, to know what he’s doing.
Lenny lunged, meaning to make the kid step away. The young man did, but he lost his balance. To Lenny’s shock, the kid fell backward—straight out the big open hay door. When he hit the ground below, there was the crack of bone. Good! Lenny thought. He’ll be in a cast for weeks and out of my way.
Leaning forward, he looked down. The young man was lying on the ground, his neck at an odd angle. Lenny had seen enough death to recognize it. The man’s neck was broken. He was dead.
Lenny raced down the ladder, then outside, being careful to step only on the paving stones, and stood over the kid. Now what? he wondered. He couldn’t leave the body here. Cops would be all over the place. He had to get rid of it. But how? Wood chipper? Naw. Too much trouble to find one. It was Florida, so how about alligators? There were bound to be some nearby. He liked that idea. Clean and tidy. And it had a hint of environmental protection about it.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps until too late. Charlene had left her workshop. Worse, she’d seen him!
As fast as he’d ever moved, Lenny disappeared. Like a puff of smoke, he was gone.
From his hiding place, he saw Charlene take a few more steps, but then she seemed to realize that she shouldn’t confront a strange man. She had half turned away when she saw the young man on the ground.
Lenny had seen enough about her to know what she would do. She ran to help the kid. He stood in the background, fading into the trees, as he watched her try to revive the man. Mouth-to-mouth, plus her hands on his heart and pumping.
He had to give it to her—she really tried to bring him back to life.
Lenny was waiting for her to give up and go back to get her phone. He knew she rarely carried it with her. When she did, he’d go to the loft and see what the kid had left behind. Weapons? His phone? Had the punk recorded the whole job and put it on his Facebook page?
To Lenny’s horror, he saw a car drive up and he knew who it belonged to. It was the red-haired girl who built birdhouses with Charlene. He knew she’d call the sheriff and there’d be no way Lenny could sneak back into the barn.
Reluctantly, he climbed over the fence at the back of the property and drove to his motel. He had a deep feeling of failure. Maybe he was too old for this job.
He took out his burner phone. He had to report to the man with the money.
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