“Clint didn’t have any enemies. He was easygoing. If there were bar fights—well, except for the one you broke up—I haven’t heard of anything recent.”
In his time as a cop, Truman had always heard that the victim had no enemies. Everybody always loved the missing person.
Later the truth would come out.
“I’m going to take a look outside around the house,” Truman stated. Ryan simply nodded, his gaze back on his feet.
Truman signaled for Samuel to stay inside and keep an eye on Ryan. Outdoors he stood on the porch for a long moment. The gravel road had streetlights, but the closest one was in front of the house to the left. Trees and bushes blocked any views of the Moody home from the right and left neighbors. But the home across the street stared directly at the Moody house. Lights were on inside and out, and the curtains moved as he watched. Truman hoped the brothers had a nosy neighbor.
He did a quick circuit around the home and the garage behind it, sweeping the ground with his flashlight. He peered through the side door window into the small garage and learned why the brothers parked out front. The garage was packed with junk. Still wearing his gloves, Truman tried the handle and discovered it was unlocked. He stepped inside, smelling mildew and motor oil but nothing worse. There were mattresses, old dressers, tons of stacked boxes, dusty ten-speed bikes, and a motorcycle. He checked every place he thought a body could be hidden. The evidence team would be more thorough. He backed out and shut the door, resuming his lap around the house.
Out front he shone his flashlight in the old Ford Explorer, which he assumed belonged to Ryan.
Did the attacker take Clint’s truck? If not, where is the attacker’s vehicle?
Either the attacker had arrived on foot, or he wasn’t alone.
Could Clint have driven away?
Truman seriously doubted it, judging from the blood in the room.
The Deschutes County evidence team arrived, and Truman gave some brief instructions before turning them over to Samuel. He knew giving the case to a Deschutes County detective was an option. Not yet. At the moment it was simply a missing persons case.
He strode across the gravel street to see who was still up.
“I don’t sleep much anymore,” Sally Kantor told Truman.
She’d insisted on serving him a cup of instant coffee and set out a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Truman took one cookie to be polite. After the first bite, he knew he’d have to exercise self-control not to eat the rest of the cookies. They sat in her living room, which had a large window that faced the Moody house. Her old TV was on a table next to the window, and Sally sat in a recliner that faced the TV and window. Next to her was an end table loaded with novels, crossword puzzle books, and knitting supplies. A bed pillow and comforter were squeezed in the recliner with her. It was her spot.
She was a petite woman with a small hump at the top of her spine, and she wore a pink quilted satin robe that zipped up the front. Her pink embroidered slippers reminded him of ones his grandmother had worn. She’d proudly told him she was eighty-four years young, and she moved with an energy that surprised him. Her curly gray hair was short and neat, and her smile compassionate. She’d opened the door before he knocked, stating that she’d watched him walk across the street. Curiosity and excitement had danced in her dark-blue eyes as she welcomed him into her home.
“I usually knit late in the evenings. It doesn’t take much thought, and the rhythm helps my brain slow down. When I’m tired I turn off the light, pull up my blanket, and sleep right here.” She clapped her hands twice and the light went out. She immediately clapped again to bring it back on. She wore a wide grin when Truman was able to see her again. “I know my Clapper is corny, but it’s one of my favorite things,” she admitted.
As a child he’d been fascinated with the product.
“But you’re not here to have coffee and cookies with an old woman. What happened across the street? I’ve been watching since the first police vehicle pulled up with its lights flashing.”
“Do you know the Moody brothers?” Truman asked before taking another bite of heaven.
“Of course. Clint and Ryan. I can always count on them when I need a bit of muscle to move something around here. Polite boys.”
“Did you see either one of them today?”
“I saw Ryan get home from work a few hours ago. Clint’s pickup was there earlier today. He gets off work at the lumberyard around three, I believe. I didn’t actually see him, just his vehicle.”
“Did you see any other vehicles over there?”
She frowned at him. “What happened? Did someone break in? I’ve always been a little nervous living here by myself, but I’ve got Betty Lou in case someone tries something.” She spread open her bag of yarn and knitting needles, tipping it toward Truman to expose a revolver nestled among the skeins of yarn. “I know my way around a gun.”
Of course she does.
“There was an unfamiliar pickup at the home earlier today,” she continued, setting the bag aside. “I saw two men get out and head toward the house, but I didn’t think anything of it.”
“What time was this?”
She tapped her lips with one finger as she thought. “Well, I’d already watched the local news, which finished at five thirty . . . I’d say they showed up around six.”
“Did you see them leave?”
“No. I made my dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. When I came out the driveway was empty. No vehicles at all.”
“How long do you think you were in the kitchen?”
“Maybe a half hour.”
“Did you get a good look at the two men?”
She cocked her head. “Not really. It was raining and getting dark. But my impression was that they fit in with Ryan and Clint. You know, solid, hardworking men. Jeans, boots, caps. I saw them as two friends coming to visit.”
Like every other man in Eagle’s Nest.
Truman made a notation about the clothing on his pad. “What color was the truck?”
Sally grimaced. “A dark color. I don’t know if it was dark green, blue, or black. I know it wasn’t white or any pale color. And don’t bother to ask me the make. I don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”
Truman tried a different approach. “Would you say it was identical to the truck Clint drives?”
She thought hard. “No. It was different somehow. I only saw it from the back. They’d already parked next to Clint’s truck when I looked up, but the back of the truck wasn’t the same as Clint’s.”
Congratulations. I eliminated one specific year and make of truck.
“Were either of the men heavyset?”
Sally shook her head.
“Would you say they moved like young men? No slow steps of an older man?”
“Not old. Are you going to tell me what happened over there or not?” Impatience colored her tone.
Truman put away his notebook. “We don’t know. Clint is missing and there’s quite a bit of blood in the home.”
“Oh, my!” Sally touched her hand to her chest. “That poor boy. Such a nice man.”
“The brothers get along as far as you know?”
“For the most part. Whenever they were in my home, they were gentlemen. But I’ve heard a few shouting arguments. And my hearing isn’t the best, so they must have been loud for me to hear them all the way across the street. But who doesn’t have those?”
“You never saw them or heard about them hitting each other?”
“Oh, Lord no. Do you think Ryan did something to Clint?” She asked. Her thin eyebrows shot up. “That’s ridiculous. They’re brothers.”
So were Cain and Abel.
Apparently Sally hadn’t heard about the recent bar fight between the brothers. Truman handed her a business card. “You’ve been very helpful. Call me if you see the truck again or remember anything unusual from across the street.”
“Are you going to find Clint?”
“That’s the plan.”
“They’re good boys,” she repeated, but uncertainty shone for the first time in her eyes. “I hope nothing horrible has happened.”
“You and me both.”
TWENTY