“I don’t want to see you for at least two weeks,” Conrad MacHale said, signing and dating the vacation request Julian handed him. “No two or three days and you’re back.” MacHale paused to examine him more closely. “Man, you look like hell—like you haven’t slept since this case started. Go relax. Get on that motorcycle you’re so fond of, find a hot date and have a good time. Just don’t come back for two weeks. A month would be better, but we can’t spare you that long.”
“In a month a guy could forget how to do the job.”
“I doubt that.” MacHale’s laugh was dry as he passed Julian a copy of the form. “Your record’s one of the best in the precinct, if not the whole town.”
Julian left the chief’s office smiling, but without responding to the rare compliment. Mac didn’t give them often and he wouldn’t appreciate gushy thanks. All the same, his comment went a long way toward relieving Julian’s fatigue. And he was tired. This last case had taken a long four months.
Still, there was no job he’d rather have. A collar like the one he’d just made made up for all the crappy days. Their team had solid DNA evidence linking Fred Struthers to a string of rapes and murders in a normally secure section of town. With Struthers in custody, residents and cops could breathe easier.
As he left the building, heading home, Julian remembered his folks hadn’t been overjoyed with his career choice. They both had safe jobs, as they pointed out. Sam had delivered mail for almost thirty years come rain, snow or blistering sun. Beth sold real estate part-time. Their combined income left them comfortably middle-class, and had made it possible for their four kids to attend university. At thirty-one, Tag managed a swank Atlanta hotel. Josh, twenty-nine, was a news anchor at the local TV station. Celeste, the baby at twenty-eight, worked as a neonatal nurse now that her twin girls had started school.
Julian’s siblings were all happily married and had given his folks grandbabies to spoil. He would’ve thought they’d be happy with that. But any time he made it to Mosswood for family gatherings, he felt subtle—if not overt—pressure, to get married. One Cavenaugh or another would invite an unsuspecting single woman to dinner for the express purpose of shoving her at Julian.
Celeste, married to a doctor, had once asked if he ever met women at work. He grinned to himself, recalling her face when he’d said, “Sure, sis. Hookers.” That had effectively put an end to questions for that meal. Of course, he knew Celeste was asking if he met any nice single women cops. Cops marrying cops worked for some, but Julian preferred not to talk shop 24/7. When he got home, he wanted to leave the world’s troubles behind. His time off was erratic, which made regular dating difficult. It was a big reason why, at thirty-three, he was still unmarried and okay with it. Mostly. At times, he envied his siblings….
THE NEXT DAY, after packing the saddle bags on his custom black-and-chrome Ducati Monster, Julian cruised the back roads to Mosswood. He loved feeling the wind in his face. Spring in Georgia could be muggy or mild; today was pleasant. Sunshine filtered through a canopy of hickory and sweet-gum trees, late-blooming dogwoods still had enough waxy blossoms to entice photography buffs out of their cars.
The scent of honeysuckle permeated the air, and Julian glimpsed a pair of yellow-throated warblers flitting among the bushes. He’d forgotten how freedom felt.
He didn’t bother planning how to approach his dad. Sam Cavenaugh’s love for his kids wasn’t complicated. Julian knew they’d be able to talk openly and honestly about what was worrying Beth.
Julian motored along his parents’ treelined street. His family’s redbrick home complemented a backdrop of well-tended flowerbeds and a manicured lawn. Julian and his siblings had grown up here, and the sight of the house always made him nostalgic. Of the four Cavenaugh kids, Julian was least likely to ever need a five-bedroom home. Still at every get-together, he said, “Remember, if you two ever want to downsize, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”
His mom must have been watching for him. Julian had barely parked his bike in the drive and removed his helmet when she burst from the house, ran to meet him and engulfed him in a hug. Like all her boys, Julian towered over Beth’s petite five-two frame. Because she loved to cook, she tended to be on the plump side. The fact Julian looked gaunt didn’t escape her eagle eye.
“Sakes alive, I can see there’s no doughnut shop near your station. Well, no matter, I’m fixing your favorite meal tonight. No objections, now,” she said when Julian opened his mouth. “And I’ve invited a nice young woman to join us. A new member of my gourmet cooking club. Such a sweet girl. I just know you’re going to love her.”
“Ma, I came because you asked me to talk to Pop. If this visit is really about you matchmaking, I’m getting right back on my bike.”
His mother kept a firm hold on his arm as she steered him inside. “Honestly, I thought you prided yourself on juggling a dozen cases at once. Are you saying you can’t meet a pretty girl and head your dad off at the pass?”
“I’m saying I’m not looking for a wife. If that’s why you invited the gourmet cook to join us for dinner, uninvite her. Besides, the fewer people who hear about Pop’s sighting another missing child, the better.”
“You’re right.” Beth pouted a bit as they entered the house, but she picked up the phone anyway, so Julian knew he’d made his point.
He’d unpacked a few shirts and was seated at the kitchen table enjoying a cold beer, when his dad ambled in from work. Sam greeted his son with a slap on his back that morphed into a sort of hug.
“Hey, stranger. I hear you caught the guy you were looking for. Congratulations! I assume that’s why Mom and I have the pleasure of your company. Good work, son.”
“Thanks. It was a tough case. The chief wants me rested and ready to testify at the trial. I thought I’d see if you felt like tossing a line in the river. Why don’t you grab a beer? We can go sit on the back porch and discuss the best fishing hole.”
“Sorry, son. You’ll have to go fishing alone. I’m involved in a bit of surveillance, myself.”
“Oh?” Julian feigned surprise.
“Let me get that beer. And then we’ll go out where your mom can’t overhear us. She thinks I’m a meddling old fool but I know I’m right this time. Actually, I’m glad you’re here. This is right up your alley.”
Julian had thought he’d have to pump his dad for information. This was almost too easy, he decided, twisting the cap off a second bottle of light beer.
Once they’d settled into matching wicker rockers, Sam leaned toward Julian and began his story. “There’s this new family on my postal route, see. They moved in about four months ago. A mom, dad and three kids. Two boys go to school and, like normal kids, are out tossing a ball or riding bikes when they get home. The girl, a pretty little tyke, looks out the window until someone inside notices and closes the drapes. I call that odd. Something’s not right. So, I go to my file of missing-children cards and bingo, I see a kid that could be her, only younger. Same hair, same heart-shaped face. If you were me, wouldn’t you call the hotline?”
Julian took a swig from his bottle and rocked back in his chair. “I might remember the last time this happened and take it kinda easy, Pop.”
“Yeah, yeah. That other time was unfortunate. I missed a big clue. That boy was out around town, attending school. I’m smarter now. I’m keeping an eye on this family.”
Julian picked at the label on his beer. “You see any evidence this girl’s being abused?”
“No. But, shouldn’t a five-or six-year-old be in school, or out playing with her brothers? If they are her brothers. She’s blond as blond can be. The boys are dark eyed and dark haired. Dad’s got long black hair. He ties it back like some young fellas do. I’ve only seen the mother once. She has sorta nut-brown hair.”
“The man, does he act sneaky or is he a tough-guy sort?”