Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,112

don’t know that, either—that we know where Pastor is, I mean.”

“Right.” He sighed. “I mean, I’d love to find Pastor’s wife, because she could fill in our knowledge gaps—how Eden came to be and all that. But to be brutally logical, she’s been gone for nearly twenty-five years. I don’t think she can help us find Eden now.”

“But,” Croft mused, “this does tell us that Pastor’s wife and children probably didn’t die and probably lived in Waylon Belmont’s brother’s rental house. Waylon was the one who supposedly found their bodies, so it’s fair to assume he’s the one who helped them escape.”

“Like he helped Gideon. It makes sense, actually. Waylon was married to Pastor’s wife for a little while. She left Waylon to marry Pastor right about the time he assumed a new identity and claimed to be a minister.”

“Which was when the embezzlement began.”

“Exactly,” Tom said. “And, if Waylon helped her escape and at some point she lived in his brother’s house, it might also mean that Waylon continued to have contact with his family long after he went into Eden. Unless his brother had no idea who he was renting to.”

Croft held up one finger. “But if the brother did know back then, it means he was in touch with Waylon and possibly with DJ.”

“That’s a lot of ‘mights’ and ‘maybes,’ ” Tom said doubtfully.

Croft shrugged. “I know. We could be veering down a garden path, but if Waylon’s brother knows where DJ is, we need to find that out, because while we know where Pastor is, DJ is still out there with a rifle. Drive, please.”

Tom started the SUV. “So what’s the plan?”

“For now? Let’s let them talk and see where it goes. I’ll ask more targeted questions if we’re not getting the answers we need.”

FIFTEEN

BENICIA, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, MAY 25, 4:30 P.M.

Can I help—” Merle Belmont’s expression fell when he realized who stood on his doorstep. “Oh. Special Agent Hunter.” He sighed. “I suppose you want to come in.”

Okay . . . “Yes, please. This is my partner, Special Agent Croft.”

Merle sighed again. “I guess I knew this was coming. Doesn’t make it easier. Follow me.”

“Thank you,” Tom murmured as he and Croft followed Merle into the foyer, where they were met by Merle’s wife Joni, who patted her husband’s arm sympathetically.

“I’m glad you called him, honey,” she said. “It was the right thing to do. And you’ll get it back, eventually.”

Merle’s eyes dropped to his feet. “I . . . well, I didn’t exactly . . .”

“Merle Belmont,” Joni scolded. “You didn’t call him? You promised me. Now this will be a mess.” She looked at Tom and Croft apologetically. “Please come in. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Lemonade?”

“We’re fine, but thank you for offering,” Croft said. “I’m Special Agent Croft, ma’am.”

“My wife, Joni,” Merle mumbled, then followed his wife, his shoulders slumping.

When the couple’s backs were turned, Croft gave Tom a what-the-hell look. Tom shrugged.

“Well,” Joni said brightly when they were all sitting in the living room. “I suppose you’ll be wanting the keys.”

“I want a receipt,” Merle said, his chin coming up. “And if there’s one scratch on that car when I get it back . . .”

“Merle,” Joni hissed, then sighed. “Please excuse my husband. He’s just disappointed.”

“I don’t understand,” Croft said. “Agent Hunter?”

“I don’t understand, either,” Tom admitted. “What is this about a car?”

Merle visibly brightened. “You’re not here for the car?”

“What car?” Tom asked slowly.

Merle and Joni exchanged a long glance. “Well,” Joni said again. “We assumed you were here to take custody of the Camaro. You know, Waylon’s Camaro. We just got it back from the nice policemen in San Francisco. Merle hasn’t even driven it yet.”

Tom frowned, then remembered the set of GM keys they’d found in Ephraim Burton’s pocket and the very hot car he’d extorted from Waylon Belmont. They must have been one and the same. “I see. Where was the car found?”

“At the airport,” Merle said. “It had been parked there for several weeks before one of the security guards ran a check on the VIN and saw that my father had reported it stolen.”

Makes sense. Tom kicked himself for not thinking to check the San Francisco airport himself. Using his tablet, he pretended to be taking notes as he typed out a message to Croft.

Ephraim Burton had a set of GM keys in his pocket when he died. He left out of SFO when he flew to New Orleans to stalk Mercy last month.