Durable Goods Read online

  Copyright March 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9781940758695 Paperback

  ISBN: 9781940758718 EPUB

  ISBN 9781940758701 Mobi

  Cover Design: Shelley Holmgren

  Published by:

  Intrigue Publishing, LLC

  11505 Cherry Tree Crossing Rd. #148

  Cheltenham MD 20623-9998

  In memory of W. K. Hayes and for Marjorie Hayes with love

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest thanks goes out to the many people who are behind this endeavor. The outstanding team at Intrigue Publishing for their expertise and support, I am so grateful to be working with you. Melanie Rigney, my editor, for knowing what works, what doesn’t, and catching me when I slip. For my readers, Tina Perry Buckley and Heather Smart who see all the things I don’t. Above all, my husband, Mike, and my children Jenny, Jeff and Micah, it’s your faith that keeps me at my desk. Lastly, to my constant companions, Enya and Muddy, who wait patiently for their walks until the last word hits the page.

  ORACLES of the KINGDOM

  MONDAY

  He walked into Bennett’s Market looking like anybody else in search of gas and junk food. I was disappointed. I thought he’d stand out, thought he’d be the kind of person that makes you hesitate and forget for a moment what you were doing. But he was any guy, tall, gaunt and unshaven in worn out jeans with a split across one knee that gaped when he walked, like a mouth gasping for air. The sleeves of his faded flannel shirt were rolled to his elbows. I recognized the Jesus Saves tattoo on his forearm from the file I’d seen on Isaac Bennett at the St. Bart police station.

  He walked toward me and nodded. I slipped a bag of Cheetos beneath my poncho, into the waistband of my pants, and nodded back. A hint of a smile appeared in his eyes.

  I glanced at my partner, Griff Cole, standing on the other side of the store, flipping through the pages of Popular Mechanic. Griff looked like a tourist in his gray wool sport jacket, jeans and square-toed Buckaroos. This time of year, most Mainers were in their winter uniforms, flannel shirts, down vests and LL Bean boots. A spray of black hair fell over his forehead and he raked it back with his free hand, taking in Bennett. His eyes grazed mine before dropping back to the magazine.

  “Cigs,” Bennett said to the girl behind the counter nodding to the overhead rack. “And twenty bucks on number 3.”

  The clerk punched some numbers into the register. “Cigarettes are out back still boxed. I have to go get them, but your gas is all set.”

  “Back in a minute, then,” he said to her.

  I stood in front of the candy rack and stuffed a Snickers bar in with the Cheetos, timing it so he’d see me do it as he turned from the counter.

  “Hungry?” he whispered with a conspiratorial wink.

  I stepped away from him fast and tried to look scared, which wasn’t entirely untrue.

  “Hey lady, you need help or something?” the clerk asked.

  “Just looking,” I said.

  “Well, hurry it up. This ain’t a hangout.” She raised her arms over her head, split her ratty ponytail in half between fisted hands and pulled it tight.

  “Ahh, leave her alone, Ruth,” Bennett said smiling at me. “It’s a big decision.”

  Ruth disappeared in search of his cigarettes and I watched him walk out the door and over to his truck. There was a hitch in his step that suggested, despite his lean frame, he wasn’t in his prime. Weathered and early forties, the seat of Bennett’s jeans hung low off his bony hips and he looked in need of a meal. Standing alongside his pick-up, he shoved the gas nozzle into the tank of the F-150 and kept his eyes on the storefront.

  I looked at Griff again. He nodded.

  At the cooler against the wall, I took out an ice tea then reached back in and knocked a bottle of root beer onto the tiled floor. It shattered, creating a bubbling, brown puddle of soda and glass.

  Ruth reappeared from the back of the store, holding a carton of Marlboros in her hand. “What the…?” She started toward me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll clean it up. Have you got a mop?” I reached my arm toward her and with my other hand beneath my poncho, released the candy and Cheetos, letting them fall into the puddle at my feet.

  Ruth looked at me then at the parking lot where Bennett was fiddling with the gas tank and back to me again. “I’ll clean it. You get the hell out of here,” she said, her tone more anxious than angry.

  “No really…” I started, but she cut me off.

  “Get the hell out, now,” she said, her eyes shifting toward the door.

  The bells above the entrance jingled as Bennett stepped inside. “You mind your mouth,” he said pointing a long, nicotine- stained finger at Ruth. “What’s going on?”

  Her eyes bore into me, conveying something I couldn’t discern then she turned toward Bennett. “She’s got a bunch of stuff under her shirt and making a friggin’ mess too.” The irritation was back in her voice.

  “I said, watch your mouth.” He turned to me. “You really are hungry.”

  I didn’t speak and started to move away from him, but he grabbed my wrist.

  “It’s okay. You can have those.” He bent and lifted my candy and Cheetos out of the puddle of root beer, wiped them on his jeans and handed them back to me. He fished in his pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to Ruth. “That’ll cover her food and clean this up.”

  She took the money, dropped her hand to her side and stood for a moment looking at the floor.

  “Mop,” Bennett barked.

  Without a word, Ruth turned toward the back of the store.

  Bennett watched her go then looked at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Britt.”

  “You need a ride, Britt? And maybe a meal?”

  I nodded.

  Before following him out the door, I glanced at Griff one last time. My going undercover to investigate Bennett was an argument Griff had lost. But this case had opportunity written all over it, personal and professional and as usual, I hadn’t given up until I got what I wanted. I’d been so fixated on my chance to shine that I’d dismissed the unknowns of the case as insignificant. Like who was Isaac Bennett beyond his rap sheet for disturbing the peace? And what else was for sale at Oracles of the Kingdom besides organic produce? Looking back now, I see that I put glory ahead of common sense and what happened to me was my own fault. I’d been in this too long to make such a rookie mistake.

  The door of Bennett’s beat to hell pick-up whined as he opened it. “Hop in, sweetheart,” he said. His eyes moved from my sneakered feet to my cropped black hair and back.

  My heart beat a hole in my chest as I settled on the passenger seat and closed the door. We pulled onto the road, fishtailing through slushy snow left over from last night’s storm. I stared straight ahead and tried to breathe, telling myself that I could do this, I really could. At least I was pretty sure that I could.

  “You got anypla
ce to be?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No.” My voice cracked and the word came out in a whisper.

  “I got somewhere you can rest and get something to eat. Sound good?”

  I looked at him and nodded, even tried to smile.

  He palmed my head and shook it beneath his hand. “What’s with the haircut, you tryin’ to pass for a boy?”

  “It’s easy to take care of.”

  “Don’t think there’s much chance of you bein’ mistaken for the opposite sex anyway.” His eyes fell to my breasts and he gave me a knowing grin.

  I loosened my poncho, folded my arms beneath it and turned away from him watching the pine trees sail past. We swerved and skidded over the road, avoiding frost heaves and potholes characteristic of Maine’s winter. Griff would be on his way back to Portland by now. Mission accomplished.

  “Where were you heading?” he asked with a sidelong glance.

  I shrugged. “No place in particular.”

  “Nobody looking for a pretty girl like you?”

  I shook my head and my stomach tightened.

  He smiled looking pleased with himself, like he’d just lured a fish into his net.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “We’re all God’s children. I like to help Him out when I can. But don’t think of this as a hand out. It’s food and a bed in exchange for labor.”

  I nodded.

  “Where you from?”

  “Portland.”

  “What’re you doing this far north?”

  “My mother lived in Bangor.”

  “Lived as in not anymore?”

  “She died last month.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  I shrugged. In truth, my mother was probably alone in the shadows of our non-descript colonial, conversing with a bottle of vodka. That is if she hadn’t passed out yet. Not that I cared. Dead or incoherent, it was all the same to me.

  “Your dad?”

  “Don’t know him.” That was mostly the truth too. My dad spent so much time with his college students (the female ones) that I really didn’t know much about him except for what my mother had told me. By her standard, he was a no good son-of-a bitch. At this point in my life I was well beyond caring what he was.

  “Friends?”

  “I haven’t lived anywhere long enough to make any.”

  “Well you’ll make some now.” He squeezed my hand.

  I forced myself not to pull away. I needed Isaac Bennett to like me because I had something to prove and four days to do it.

  THE WEEK BEFORE

  It was hard to believe that only a week ago, I’d been snorkeling in the turquoise waters of St. John with my boyfriend and business partner, Griff Cole, and his daughter, Allie. But our wheels had no sooner touched the tarmac on our return flight and Griff’s cell phone rang. He’d lifted the phone to his ear.

  “John,” he said.

  “Stark?” I mouthed.

  He nodded at me. Agreed to something John said over the phone and hung up.

  “Now what?”

  “Needs a favor.”

  “Regarding?”

  “Kira. He thinks she might have contacted him.”

  “We’ve got a couple of other cases ready to go.”

  Griff nodded. “I know.”

  “So…”

  “So we fit John into our schedule.” He gave me a sideways smile and squeezed my hand. “We’ll make it work.”

  John and Griff’s dad were partners on the force. When they walked in on a liquor store robbery after a department softball game, both were off duty. John walked out. Griff’s father didn’t. John took over as a father figure so when he comes to Griff for help, saying no is not an option.

  We were loading our bags into the trunk of a taxi when a black Suburban pulled to the curb behind us. Official CID plates, Portland, Maine’s Criminal Investigation Department, told us it was no welcoming party.

  Allie looked at Griff. “Dad, you’re not going to work already, are you?” She turned to me, her eyes tearing up. “Mom won’t be home from the hospital until tomorrow. I thought we’d have tonight to…” Her eyes fell to the pavement then came back up to rest on me. “Just be together.”

  I put my arm around her shoulders. “Nobody’s taking your father away from you. You know him better than that.”

  “When I said let’s talk, I didn’t mean at the airport.” Griff said to Detective John Stark as he approached from the Suburban. “I thought we might at least unpack first.”

  John stood in front of us, hands in his pockets. A preemptive snow shower dusted the sleeves of his wool coat. He nodded toward his SUV. “C’mon, you don’t need a cab. I’ll take you.” He stepped past us and lifted Allie’s suitcase from the trunk of the taxi.

  Griff glanced at me and shrugged. Grabbing the strap of his canvas bag and the handle of my carry-on, he followed John to the back of the idling Suburban.

  “Dad,” Allie protested with a sidelong glance at John.

  “It’s just a ride home, Allie,” Griff said.

  “A ride and dinner,” John added.

  The aroma of Chinese food, Allie’s favorite, hit us as soon as we opened the doors of the vehicle. A hint of a smile crossed her mouth and she gave John a roll of her eyes that said she knew a bribe when she smelled one. Griff slid onto the passenger seat and Allie and I settled in the back, my stomach growling in anticipation.

  John eased the car to a stop in front of a brick townhouse in Portland’s West End. A downsize for Griff after his divorce from Eliza and a far cry from the lake house they’d owned for seventeen years. Griff said the only thing he missed was the ample stock of bass.

  “Get the door,” Griff said handing me his keys. “John and I can get the luggage. Allie…”

  “I’ve got it,” she said and stepped from the SUV with a take-out bag under each arm.

  With the cardboard containers laid out on the counter and a pile of forks and spoons beside them, we filled our plates and sat around the kitchen table.

  “Drinks?” Griff asked setting a beer in front of his plate and handing one to John.

  “No thanks,” John said, holding up his hand. “Water’s fine.”

  Griff hesitated for a second then glanced into his near empty frig. “Coke?”

  “Even better,” John said keeping his eyes on his plate.

  Griff and I exchanged glances. I’d never known John to refuse alcohol in any form. Since the death of his wife three years ago and the subsequent disappearance of his daughter, Kira, he struggled for a reason to get out of bed every day. So the sight of him now refusing a drink was something I’d never seen before.

  When stomachs were full, Allie had reluctantly excused herself to take a shower and John tossed a picture of Kira onto the table. Wavy, blond hair, a full grin of straight white teeth and cobalt eyes laughed at us from the photo. She’d been fifteen when Alexis succumbed to cancer and refused to forgive her father for not placing her in the best oncology unit in the country. Two weeks after the funeral she’d disappeared. In the first year of her disappearance she was high priority, but as one year turned to two and then a third without a trace of her, the department backpedaled. They called her a runaway, labeled the case cold and shelved it.

  John tossed a postcard on top of the picture. It had been torn into tiny pieces and taped back together. It read, “OK”.

  “You think this is from her?” Griff asked.

  “It’s from her,” John said. “I know it.”

  “You tear it up?”

  “Came like that.”

  Griff raised his eyebrows.

  “At first I thought she was telling me that she’s all right. Then I did a web search on the St. Bart postmark and came up with a blurb on Oracles of the Kingdom or “OK.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “According to the description on the town’s website, it’s a religious based, organic farm. To me, you put religious and farm in the same senten
ce and I call it a cult, at the very least a cover. I think she’s there and needs help.”

  “You been up there yet?”

  “Twice. The St. Bart sheriff was less than helpful so I went to the department in the next town over, Fort Kent. They’d heard of the place but didn’t know much about it. If the farm is a cover for something else, I figured it was smarter to wait for you to get home and come up with a plan than for me to go barging in alone.”

  Griff picked up the card and turned it over in his hand. He ran his thumb over the postmark. “St. Bart, Maine. What’s that, 300 miles or so? Could she be that close?”

  “We’re going to find out.”

  “You show this to anyone in the department?” I asked.

  “They had their chance to look for her.”

  “They couldn’t catch a break,” Griff reminded him. He slapped the card against the palm of his hand. “This might give them one.”

  “I’m already on their shit list. If this turns out to be nothing it’ll just add fuel to the fire. Screw ‘em. I’ll pull them in if I need to, but I have to have something solid first.” John checked his watch. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Where to?”

  “A meeting.”

  “As in AA?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “What brought this about?”

  He took the postcard from Griff and raised it up. “This did. Tomorrow morning I’ll meet you at your office. I don’t need the department looking over my shoulder. Let’s take a ride to St. Bart, see if the sheriff’s a little more friendly with three of us there.

  After he closed the door I looked at Griff. “What do you think?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a place to start. We never had one before.”

  “Do you think Kira sent it?”

  “I don’t know, but the answer to that will either keep John on his feet or send him to his knees. He’s been in limbo ever since she disappeared. It’s time she released him, one way or another.

  OK

  MONDAY

  “Like hell,” Griff said when I brought up the idea of infiltrating OK.