Temptation Trails - Page 124

“Yeah.” I wiggled the lock, but it was on tight.

“We can’t just open it, can we?”

“Nope. I need a warrant.”

“That sucks. I mean, it doesn’t. Property rights and all that. But I’d love to see what’s inside.”

“You and me both. Although for all we know, it’s either empty or just full of cigarettes and booze the high school kids stashed out here.”

“Reminds me of that old hunter’s cabin we used to use. Not for cigarettes and booze, but, you know…” He grinned.

I did know. The roof had leaked and one window had been broken, but we’d cleaned it up enough to make it a great spot to be alone with a girl. At least by our teenage standards. We’d put a lock on the door, too. Not because we kept anything there, but to keep our rivals, the Bailey brothers, out.

“If I get a judge to grant me a warrant and all I find in there is an expired box of condoms, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Luke laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

We left the locked root cellar and continued our search, but didn’t find anything. Just pine needles and a squirrel who yelled at us from its spot on a tree branch. Luke had to get back to his garage, so we called it a day and hiked back to my SUV.

The next day, I was back on patrol. And I was irritated. My morning had consisted of talking a guy out of setting his neighbor’s hay bales on fire over the outcome of a poker game, responding to a noise complaint that turned out to be the guy’s own TV on upstairs, and investigating a report of a stolen phone that I found under the passenger’s seat of his car.

Yes, it was all my job. But I wanted to be working on the cold case.

On my way down the highway, I did stop and help a woman with a flat tire. That at least had felt worthwhile.

Brenna came on over the radio. “Squad seven.”

“Go ahead, Bren.”

“Can you take a trespassing call at 255 Wildrose Lane?”

I wasn’t far from there. “10-4.”

“Homeowner is out of town but someone drove by, I guess to check on it. Thinks they saw someone lurking around the outbuildings.”

“That’s the old Pine place, isn’t it?”

“I believe so. Rich Pine?”

“Sounds right. It’s probably just Harvey Johnston getting lost again, but I’ll go check it out.”

Rich Pine had been friends with my dad for years. He was a nice enough guy, but he had a thing for collecting old junk. His house was on the outskirts of town, on a plot of acreage that he’d managed to fill with stuff.

I drove down the long dirt road that led to his property. He didn’t have any neighbors within sight, which was probably how he got away with his land looking like a junkyard. His house wasn’t in bad shape and the front yard wasn’t exactly clear of clutter, but it was mostly rusty odds and ends that he’d crafted into yard art.

Behind the house, however, were several outbuildings and a winding maze of junk. Rusted out cars that probably hadn’t moved in decades, old farm equipment, tires, stacks of pallets and scrap wood, and an ancient fire truck that, cleaned up, probably belonged in a museum.

“Squad seven,” I said into my radio.

“Go ahead, squad seven,” Brenna answered.

“Put me at 255 Wildrose Lane. Going in to have a look around.”

“10-4.”

There wasn’t a fence or anything to block my access, so I headed back into the mess. There was a vintage gas pump and a stack of old road signs. A pile of railroad ties and a collection of rusty bicycles. Some of it probably had value, especially for someone who would take the time to restore it, but most of the stuff looked like garbage.

Near the largest outbuilding was what looked like a late sixties Chevrolet truck. Luke was the car expert, not me, but I wondered if he knew Rich had it. Looked like the sort of thing my brother would have loved to get his hands on.