A Broken Bone (Widow's Island #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,19

that was a good sign. Anyway, we expected him around four o’clock. He had robotics club after school. When he didn’t come home by four fifteen, I called his cell phone. He didn’t answer. Then I called the school. He’d been there until classes let out at two thirty, but the teacher who runs the robotics club said Gavin didn’t show up. It was about four thirty by the time I completed the calls, so he’d been missing for two hours. I drove around looking for him. Nancy stayed here in case he came back. She called everyone she could think of.” Frank closed his eyes for a few seconds, then swallowed. “When five thirty came and he still wasn’t home, we called you.”

“Where were you between two thirty and four o’clock that afternoon?” Tessa asked.

“Here, working in my office,” Frank said. “Nancy works with Mark one on one in the mornings and Trevor in the afternoons.”

“Do you know a man by the name of Carl Hammer?” Logan asked.

Frank shrugged. “No. Never heard of him.”

Tessa asked, “Have you ever been on Mimosa Street?”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you own a gun?”

“No,” Frank said. “I’m not against them in general, but we’ve had some troubled kids live with us—a few were suicidal. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

Tessa sent Frank out of the room and ushered Nancy in.

She returned to her original spot on the sofa.

Logan leaned forward. “Did you know Frank was punishing the kids?”

“No.” She swiped a hand under her eye and straightened her spine. “It didn’t happen. Frank wouldn’t do that. He loves these kids. He works hard to connect with them, to gain a little trust. You don’t know how hard that is.”

“Why would the boys lie?” Tessa asked.

Nancy’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know.”

Tessa went through the list of questions, and Nancy echoed everything Frank had told them.

A knock sounded at the door, and one of the boys shouted, “Someone’s here.”

Two social workers were at the door.

The next thirty minutes were miserable. Nancy was in tears. Frank held her against his side, but he was barely holding it together. Trevor cried, Mark sulked, and Ian looked stoic as the boys carried black garbage bags full of their possessions to the social workers’ car.

Something felt wrong about the whole situation.

When it was over, Logan and Tessa returned to her vehicle.

Logan watched the social workers’ car drive away. Trevor stared out the rear window. “If the boys were being mistreated, why do they look so sad to be leaving?”

Tessa started the engine. “Maybe Nancy was really good to them, and they’ve probably all had worse than Frank dished out.”

Logan wanted to punch Frank, except the man seemed as upset as his wife. Had he thought he was doing the right thing by disciplining the boys?

“This all feels screwy.” Logan fastened his seat belt. “Do you think Frank killed Gavin?”

“I don’t know. Clearly, Frank has a mean streak he hides well. Maybe he’s good at hiding a much darker side. It’s also possible that Gavin ran away and somehow connected with Carl Hammer. Carl has a criminal record. We can place him at the location of the murder, and it appears he ran from the scene. He was spooked enough to leave all his stuff behind.”

Logan studied her profile. “You said you ran checks on the Waldens. Did you check out the boys’ histories too?”

Concentration lines fanned from the corners of her eyes. “They all come from troubled families, but none of them have a juvenile record.”

“What do we do now?”

“Tomorrow we can talk to the school. It’s too late today.” Tessa tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Hopefully, trace evidence from the autopsy will give us some information, but that report might not be in for a couple of days.”

Logan’s phone rang. “It’s Jerry Hooper.”

Jerry ran the local pot shop.

Logan answered the call.

“Logan, I was hiking in the state forest, and I ran across a weird little camp up by the waterfall. There were all kinds of little traps set on the paths.”

“Traps?” Logan pictured the trip wires behind the house on Mimosa Street.

“Skinny wires strung between the trees, attached to aluminum cans,” Jerry said.

“Can you give me the coordinates, Jerry?” Logan realized how ridiculous his question was as soon as it left his mouth.

“I don’t have GPS.” Jerry didn’t even have a cell phone. “I’ll meet you at the north parking lot and take you there.”

“On my way.” Logan ended the