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When he got to the car, he collapsed in the driver’s seat and downed half a bottle of water. Just his luck to run into the woman of his dreams on this nightmare assignment.
He dug his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and called his boss, Mickey Tedesco.
“I was just thinking about you, man. All settled in up there? I hear it’s some beautiful country.”
“Don’t try to sell this, Mick. I checked into my hotel and took a walk in the woods to have a look at where the kidnap victims were held a few months ago, not that those kidnappings had anything to do with the Timberline kidnappings, except that the brother of one of the original victims turned out to be the kidnapper.” He dragged in a breath. “Why am I doing this? Doesn’t the FBI have more urgent cases that need my attention?”
“You know why, Duke.” Mick coughed. “It’s always a good idea to ease back into work after a...um, situation.”
“I’m good to go, Mickey.” His hand tensed on the steering wheel. “I don’t need to be poking around a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping case based on some slim new evidence, which isn’t even evidence.”
“I don’t know. It may not have started out too promising, but you might be getting more than you bargained for, Duke. You might have yourself a hot one.”
A vision of Beth aiming her pepper spray—pepper spray he’d given her—at his face flashed across his mind. “I might be getting more than I bargained for, all right. That bogus Cold Case Chronicles show is out here nosing around.”
Mick sucked in a breath. “Beth St. Regis is there, in Timberline?”
“Yeah.” Mick knew a little about the drama that had gone on between him and Beth...but not all of it.
Mick whistled. “That makes total sense now.”
“It does?” Duke clenched his jaw. “Are they promo-ing the segment already? She doesn’t even have her crew out here.”
“No. It makes sense that Beth’s doing a show about the Timberline Trio because someone sent us an email about her yesterday.”
Duke’s pulse skipped a beat. “About Beth? What’d it say?”
“The email, untraceable of course, said ‘Stop Beth St. Regis.’”
Chapter Three (#ulink_1bcb06a7-dcbc-5a59-b983-66c29b87ce13)
Beth parked her rental car in the public parking lot on the main drag of Timberline and flicked the keys in the ignition. Why did Duke Harper have to be here mucking up her investigation?
She chewed her bottom lip. He’d been sent out on a cold case because of what had happened in Chicago. She’d read all about the botched kidnapping negotiation that had ended in the death of Duke’s partner, a fellow FBI agent. But Duke had rescued the child.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Duke had a thing about rescuing children...but he couldn’t save them all.
She plucked the keys from the ignition and shoved open the car door. She couldn’t get hung up on Duke again. This story had presented her with the opportunity to get to the bottom of her identity, and she didn’t plan on letting tall, dark and handsome get in her way.
She locked the car with the key fob and dropped it in her purse. The chill in the autumn air had her hunching into her jacket as she walked toward the lit windows lining the main street.
If she recalled from the TV news story on the kidnappings, the tourist shop was located between an ice-cream place and a real-estate office. She started at the end of the block and passed a few restaurants just getting ready for the dinner crowd, a quiet bar and a coffee place emitting a heavenly aroma of the dark brew she’d sworn off to avoid the caffeine jitters. The Pacific Northwest was probably not the best place to swear off coffee.
A neon ice-cream cone blinking in a window across the street caught her attention. She waited for a car to pass and then headed toward the light as if it were a beacon.
The tourist shop, Timberline Treasures, with the same frog in the window, nestled beside the ice-cream place, and Beth yanked open the door, sending the little warning bell into a frenzy.
A couple studying a rack of Native American dream catchers glanced at her as she entered the store.
“Hello.” A clerk popped up from behind the counter. “Looking for something in particular?”
“I am.” Beth gripped the strap of her purse, slung across her body, as she scanned the shelves and displays inside the store. “I’m interested in that frog in the window.”
“The Pacific Chorus frog.” The woman smiled and nodded. “Timberline’s mascot.”
Beth’s gaze tripped across a small display of the frogs in one corner. “There they are.”
The clerk came out from behind the counter and smoothed one hand across a stuffed frog, his little miner’s hat tilted at a jaunty angle. “They’re quite popular and these are originals.”
Beth joined her at the display and reached for a frog, her fingers trembling. “Originals?”
“These are handmade by a local resident.” She tapped a bucket filled with more stuffed frogs. “These are mass-produced but we still carry the local version.”
“Is there a noticeable difference between them?” Beth held the handmade frog to her cheek, the plush fur soft against her skin.
The clerk picked up a frog from the barrel. “The easiest way to tell is the tag on the mass-produced version. It’s from a toy company, made in China.”
“The color is slightly different, too.” Beth turned over the frog in her hand and ran a thumb across his green belly. She hooked a finger in the cloth tag attached to his leg and said the words before she even read the label. “Libby Love.”
“That’s the other way to tell.” The clerk lifted her glasses attached to the chain around her neck. “Every handmade frog has that tag on it.”
“What does it mean?” Beth fingered the white tag with the lettering in gold thread. “Libby Love?”
“It’s the name of the artist, or at least her mother—Elizabeth Love. Libby’s daughter, Vanessa, makes the frogs now.”
Beth took a steadying breath. She’d already figured her childhood frog had come from Timberline, but now she had the proof. “When did her mother start making the frogs?”
“Libby started making those frogs over forty years ago when Timberline still had mining.” The woman dropped her glasses when the browsing couple approached the counter. “Are you ready?”
While the clerk rang up the tourists’ purchases, Beth studied both frogs. Now what? Even if she’d had a frog from Timberline, it hadn’t necessarily come from this store. And if it had come from this store, any records from twenty-five years ago would be long gone.
The clerk returned with her head tilted to one side. “Can I help you with anything else? Answer any more questions?”
“So, these frogs—” Beth dangled one in front of her by his leg “—this is the only place to buy them?”
“The Libby Love frogs are available only in Timberline, although Vanessa sells them online now.”
“How long has she been selling them online?” Beth held her breath. Surely, not twenty-five years ago.
The woman tapped her chin. “Maybe ten years now?”
“Is this the only store in Timberline that sells the Libby Love frogs?”
“Oh, no. All the tourist shops have them and even a few of the restaurants.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “They all sell for the same price.”
“Oh, I’ll buy one from you.” Beth studied the woman’s pleasant face with its soft lines and had an urge to confess everything. “I...I had a toy like this frog when I was a child.”
“Oh? Did your parents visit Timberline or get it from someone else?”
“I’m not sure.” Her adoptive parents could’ve passed through Timberline and picked up the frog, but their taste in travel didn’t include road trips through rural America.
“It’s always nice to reconnect with your childhood. Can I ring that up for you now or would you like to continue looking around?” She glanced at her watch. “I do close in a half hour.”
Sensing a sale, the clerk didn’t want her to walk out of there without that frog tucked under her arm. She didn’t have to worry. Beth had no intention of walking out of there without the frog.
“I’ll look around for a bit.” Who knew what else she’d discover in there? With her heart pounding, she wandered around the store. She felt close to something, on the verge of discovery.
Maybe in a week or two she’d be ready to track down the Brices and present herself to them as their long-lost daughter who had been kidnapped from Timberline twenty-five years ago. It would be a helluva story for the show, too.
She couldn’t forget about the show—she never did. Being the host of that show had given her the recognition and attention she’d missed from her parents. How could she have put that into words for Duke two years ago without sounding pathetic?
Stopping in front of a carousel of key chains, she hooked her finger through one and plopped it down on the glass countertop. “I’ll take this, too.”
As the woman rang up the frog and the key chain, she peered at her through lowered lashes. “Are you here to do a story on the Timberline Trio?”
Beth dropped her credit card. “What?”
The woman retrieved the credit card and ran her finger along the raised lettering. “You are Beth St. Regis of the Cold Case Chronicles, aren’t you? I recognized you right away. My sister and I love your show.”
“Th...thank you.” Wasn’t that what Beth had always wanted? People recognizing her on the street, praising the show, praising her? Wasn’t that why she’d betrayed Duke Harper?
“I...we...”
“Well, I figured it had to be the Timberline Trio case. We don’t have any other cold cases around here. Our former sheriff, Cooper Sloane, made sure of that with the kidnappings we just had. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather when it turned out Wyatt Carson had kidnapped those kids. Why would he do that when his own brother was one of the Timberline Trio?”
“That was...interesting.”
The woman put a finger to her lips. “I can keep a secret if you want, but I think most people are going to realize that’s why you’re here. Timberline is still a small town, despite Evergreen Software. Word will spread.”
“It’s no secret. I’ll be interviewing Timberline residents and visiting all the original locations.” Beth signed the credit-card slip. “I’m just doing some preliminary legwork right now and my crew will be joining me later.”
Of course, the good people of Timberline would know the purpose of her visit. Word may have already spread, thanks to those boys in the woods. Soon everyone in town would know.
But nobody needed to know her ulterior motive for the story—including Duke Harper.
It would’ve been something she’d have shared with him two years ago, but now they had too many secrets between them. She’d noticed he hadn’t offered up any explanations of why a hotshot FBI agent was wasting his time on a cold case, although she already knew the reason.
Beth hugged the bag to her chest. “Thanks...?”
“Linda. Linda Gundersen.”
“You seemed knowledgeable about the stuffed frog. Were you living here when the three children were kidnapped?”
“No. My sister and I took over this shop when we both retired from teaching in Seattle. She’d dated a man from this area for a while, liked it, and suggested it as a place for us to retire.” Crossing her arms, she hunched on the counter. “That was fourteen years ago when property was cheap. Turns out it was a good move because things started booming when Evergreen set up shop here.”
Beth dug a card out of her purse and slid it across the glass toward Linda. “If you know anyone who’d like to talk to me about the case, have them give me a call.”
“I will. My sister, Louise, would love to be on the show.”
“Does she know anything about the case?”
“No, but she hired Wyatt Carson to do some plumbing on our house.” Linda’s voice had risen on a note of hope.
“I’ll see if my investigation on the story takes me in that direction. Thanks again.”
“Enjoy your frog.”
Beth turned at the door and waved, stepping into the crisp night air. Darkness had descended while she’d been in the tourist shop, and her rumbling stomach reminded her that she’d skipped lunch.
Her hotel didn’t have a restaurant on the premises and the yellow light spilling out of Sutter’s across the street beckoned.
She had no problem eating alone—her job necessitated it half the time she was on the road, and her nonexistent social life dictated it when she was at home.
The plastic bag in her hands crinkled and she decided to make a detour to her car. If she had a bigger purse she’d stuff her frog in there, but her cross-strap bag had no room for her new furry friend and she didn’t want to haul the frog into the restaurant. That part of this story she wanted to keep under wraps until she had more proof.
How many adults looking for answers had made the pilgrimage to Timberline, believing they were Stevie, Kayla or Heather? But she had a strong feeling she’d been here before.
She withdrew the frog from the bag and kissed him before stuffing him back in the bag and dropping it on the passenger seat. She’d kissed plenty of frogs in her day, but this one really was going to make all her dreams come true.
She locked up the car and strode back to the restaurant. It had just opened for dinner and a sea of empty tables greeted her—no excuse for the hostess to stick the single diner by the kitchen or the restrooms. She nabbed a prime spot next to the window, ordered a glass of wine and started checking the email on her phone.
Every time Beth looked up from her phone, more and more people filled the room, and she began to notice a few furtive glances coming her way. Linda had been right. News in a small town traveled fast.
If the locals showed an interest in the story, it would make for some good TV. She and her crew never went into these situations with the goal of actually solving the mystery, although a few times they’d gotten lucky. She’d gotten lucky when Duke had shown up during her story two years ago—lucky in more ways than one.
That Cold Case Chronicles’ investigation had led to the arrest of a child killer who’d been living his life in plain sight of the grieving families. It had been one of her finest hours...and had cost her a budding relationship with Duke.
When the waitress brought her a steaming bowl of soup, Beth looked up just in time to see Duke walk into the restaurant.
She ducked her head behind the waitress and peered around her arm.
The waitress raised her eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
“In Timberline, that’s not hard to do even if you are from Hollywood.”
“LA.”
“You are that host from Cold Case Chronicles, aren’t you?” The waitress had wedged a hand on her hip as if challenging Beth to disagree with her.
“I am, but I don’t live in...” She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m from Hollywood.”
“I wasn’t here during the first set of kidnappings but—” the waitress looked both ways and cupped a hand around her mouth “—I could tell you a thing or two about Wyatt Carson. I used to date him.”
“Really?” Everyone seemed to want to talk about Wyatt, but that case was one for the books. “Did he ever talk much about his brother and what might’ve happened to him?”
The waitress’s eyes gleamed. “A little. I could tell you about it...on camera. I’m Chloe Rayman, by the way.”
