Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,64
son of a bitch. But he didn’t think he could trade it for numbness again.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number, waiting with his heart in his throat. After three rings with no answer, he realized she might just be ignoring his call.
Maybe he should take that as her answer.
Then someone picked up. A male voice. “Yeah?”
The unfamiliar voice gave him a start. “I—I must have the wrong number—”
“Maybe not,” the voice on the other end said. “I just found this cell phone on the ground. Maybe whoever you’re calling lost it?”
Sutton felt a flutter of unease. “Where are you?”
“Bramlett Nurseries in Bitterwood, Tennessee.”
Ivy had been going to see a man about a truck. Had Bramlett Nurseries been one of the names on her list? If it was, she might have found the place of particular interest because of the deadly nightshade plants. After all, where better to look for a plant than at a nursery? “I was calling Detective Ivy Hawkins with the Bitterwood Police Department.”
“Oh, yeah!” the man on the other end of the phone said. “Yeah, I seen her earlier, talking to the boss. Reckon maybe she just dropped it by accident. Want me to see if I can find her around here?”
“That would be great.”
There was the muffled sound of movement on the other end of the call, muted voices conferring just out of earshot. Finally the man said, “She was definitely here a few minutes ago, but nobody knows where she is now.”
“Okay, thanks.” He started to hang up, then added, “Hey, you still there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you located?”
“Emerson Valley, just outside Bitterwood. If you’ve been ’round here long, there used to be a horse farm where we are now—Emerson Farm? Used to raise Tennessee walkers.”
“I know the place. Thanks.”
Emerson Valley was only about ten minutes away. He made it there in eight minutes and parked next to Ivy’s department car, which sat near the front entrance of the sprawling plant nursery.
There was a man at the front counter, finishing up with a customer. Sutton waited, looking around for Ivy inside the store, but she wasn’t in sight.
When he got the chance to talk to the clerk, he introduced himself, grimacing inwardly at the man’s wary shift in expression when he said the name “Calhoun.” “I called earlier, looking for Detective Hawkins.”
“Right. Yeah, we haven’t found her yet.”
Sutton frowned. “Her car’s still parked outside.”
“Oh.” The man looked surprised. “I just figured she left when the boss left.”
“The boss?”
“Mr. Bramlett. He took off in the truck about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Could Detective Hawkins have gone with him?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t think so. Mr. Bramlett was by himself when he drove off.”
Fingers of alarm crept up Sutton’s spine. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I saw him go. Just him in the driver’s seat. I didn’t see nobody else with him, which I thought was kind of weird ’cause he was hauling a big mulch order over to the park in Meadowbrook—you don’t want to try to handle that by yourself.”
“He didn’t take the mulch order.” A man passing by stopped and laid his hand on the counter. “Mulch order’s still out there on the loading dock.”
“Oh.” Once again the man behind the counter looked flummoxed. “Okay, then.”
“Can you call Mr. Bramlett?” Sutton asked.
“Sure thing.” The counterman pulled a phone receiver from beneath the counter and punched in a number. He waited a few seconds, then looked up at Sutton. “No answer. That’s odd.”
Very odd, Sutton thought, his gut starting to tighten. “Were you the one who found her cell phone?”
“No, that was Kel.” The counterman called over a man in grimy jeans and a faded denim shirt with the words Bramlett Nurseries embroidered on the left front pocket. “You found that phone, right?”
“That’s right,” Kel answered. He looked with curiosity at Sutton.
“Can you show me where you found it?” Sutton asked.
“Yeah, sure.” Kel led him outside, past the loading dock, where several pallets full of packaged mulch sat, and stopped in a grass-free area a few yards away. “It was layin’ right here.”
Sutton scanned the area for any sign of Ivy. He didn’t see her, but he spotted fresh-looking tire tracks in the soft ground. “Is this where you park the company truck?”
“Sometimes. It was parked there this morning, anyway.”
All the pieces were starting to fall into place, and the picture they formed had Sutton’s heart rattling hard against his sternum. “Thanks,” he told Kel, walking a few feet away and getting into his truck.