Chapter 27

Bulka dropped her stick – what was left of it – at Frank's feet. Her tongue hung from her mouth and she was panting. She, Frank, and Joe were in the backyard of the rental house. Joe watched as Frank picked up the stick and heaved it toward the edge of the river. Bulka tore after the stick like her life depended on it. She and Frank had been playing this game of fetch for ten minutes.

Joe marveled at the dog's stamina and Frank's patience. Joe was on his cell phone talking to Detective Ziegler. Joe had wanted to check-in with Ziegler before he and Frank left for the hospital to visit Connie.

Ziegler was full of good news and bad news. The good news was that he had been to the shipping container graveyard last night and had talked to a few of the hobos. Bad news, however, was that the conversations were brief and unproductive. Sure, some of the hobos had said men had gone missing, but that was kinda par for the course for hobos. Hobos were drifters by nature. None of them stayed in one place for long, not more than a year or two. Well, except Colonel Charles. Everyone agreed that he had been there, in the container graveyard, for many years. No one could say for sure how many years.

Joe thought that might be a significant piece of information. "What about the guy with the gray beard?" Joe said to Ziegler. "You talk to him?"

"I asked around, Hardy. No one's seen him since you and your brother were there. According to Colonel Charles the guy's name is Tommy Sims. The Colonel spoke highly of him, said they were buds, but that Sims had seemed depressed lately and had been going off by himself a lot."

A sick feeling settled in Joe's stomach. "No one's seen him since, what was it, Sunday night?"

"As far as I can tell," Ziegler said.

Joe didn't like hearing that, that Mr. Beard – Tommy Sims – was missing. Could he have taken off? Just up and left? Sure, happened all the time with hobos. But Joe had gotten the feeling from Sims that he was committed to finding out what had happened to his missing buddies.

"Glad you checked it out," Joe said into his phone and thanked Ziegler for the info. He pushed the end button and stared into the distance, thinking. What had he expected? Colonel Charles wasn't going to admit anything to a police detective. Joe had hoped that one of the other hobos would have been more cooperative, given more information, but apparently that hadn't happened. And now another hobo was missing – Mr. Beard.

Joe shifted his focus to Frank who was being chased by Bulka. They were having a good time running around the yard, tiring each other out. Frank teased Bulka with the stick. Maybe not the smartest move. He waved it in the air and held it out, begging her to snatch it out of his hand.

"Here, girl. You want your stick?"

No body waved a stick in front of Bulka's nose and got away with it. She clamped down on one end, twisted her head, and jerked. Tried to wrest the stick from Frank's hand. He held tight to the other end and now, man and dog were locked in a classic tug-of-war.

Bulka planted her paws, claws digging into the grass, and growled. She was determined to reclaim her stick. The growls grew less playful by the second and more adamant.

Frank saw the sparks in Bulka's eyes. The game was over. This was a real test of wills, a real fight for the stick. Frank let go of his end and promptly fell on his ass.

Joe shook his head and chuckled. "Not your most graceful move, bro."

Frank, duly chagrined, pushed himself off the ground and dusted off the seat of his pants. "Yeah, didn't plan that out very well, did I?"

"Can't say that you did," Joe admitted. He was still thinking about Mr. Beard.

"What'd Ziegler have to say?" Frank asked.

"Not much. The Colonel and hobos were tight lipped. There was one piece of news and it's not good."

Frank's brow creased and the corners of his mouth curved down. "What's that?"

"Mr. Beard, AKA Tommy Sims, hasn't been seen since Sunday night, the night we were there and he talked to us."

Frank's eyes narrowed with concern. "You're right, that's not good news."

Joe shrugged and held out his hands. "Sims could've taken off. He could've decided to hit the road."

Frank's face scrunched up and he shook his head. "I don't think so. He was scared that night. I saw the fear in his eyes. It was clear he was taking a big risk following us and talking to us. He did that because he wanted someone to know about the missing men. It seemed to me he wanted to do right by his friends."

Joe sighed. "Yeah, I sensed the same thing. Sims definitely wanted someone to look into those disappearances. He most likely put his life in danger by talking to us. I'm positive the Colonel has eyes and ears all over that graveyard. It probably didn't take long for him to hear about Beard meeting us that night."

Frank nodded slowly. "Yeah, the Colonel knows everything that happens in that graveyard and more importantly, he controls everything in that graveyard. I highly doubt he'd appreciate Sims talking to us. That was done behind the Colonel's back." Frank didn't have to add, and without the Colonel's permission.

"That's what's got me worried," Joe said. "I don't think the Colonel takes kindly to people who disobey or go off on their own."

"Yeah," Frank said. "The Colonel might be tempted to …"

"To make a person disappear?" Joe said finishing the sentence. His eyes met Frank's. "I know we're both thinking it."

Frank nodded in grim agreement.

Joe rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There is a chance Sims left of his own accord. If he's afraid of the Colonel he could be laying low somewhere."

"Could be." Frank did not sound convinced. "Still, I'd like to know where Sims is. I had the impression he wanted us to keep in touch with him."

"I got the same impression," Joe said. "And that's why I think we should pay Colonel Charles another visit tonight. We go in under the pretense that we have more information on the murder-for-hire we want him to do for us, well, for our 'alleged' client in Chicago." Joe hitched a thumb at Bulka lying in the grass chewing on her stick. "We'll take Bulka with us."

Frank grinned. "She'll go crazy with all the smells down there."

"Be good for her," Joe said. "You never know, her nose might come in handy."

"It might," Frank agreed. He wondered exactly what that nose would find.

"Okay, then we're all set for tonight," Joe said. He was suddenly anxious to get back to the graveyard. This time with Bulka. She might pick up a scent. She might lead them to something important.

"But first," Frank said, "we have to head over to the hospital and check on Connie."

"Right. I hope she's doing better."

"Me, too." Frank whistled softly at Bulka. "C'mon, girl. Time to go in. You have to stay in the house while we're gone."

Bulka lifted her head and when she saw both brothers beckoning her, she hefted her stick in her mouth, got up, and trotted behind them and into the house.

# # # #

Frank insisted they buy flowers. "Connie's hurting and she's in pain. Flowers will cheer her up," he said.

Joe agreed with the sentiment. "Yeah, flowers are nice. Women like flowers."

He and Frank were in the hospital's teeny, tiny gift shop. It was crammed with glass shelves filled with breakable items. Joe felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Any second he was going to turn the wrong way and knock something off a shelf. "Hey, get whatever you want," he said. "I'll wait in the hall."

Frank gave Joe a questioning look.

Joe pulled at the neck of his t-shirt. "It's-it feels a little tight in here," he said and hurried out the door.

Frank shrugged and went back to viewing the assortment of flowers. He picked out a lovely vase of rose lilies and paid for them.

"The flowers look nice," Joe said when Frank exited the shop carrying the vase.

"Hopefully, Connie will like them," Frank said and the men started walking toward the wing with the patient rooms.

# # # #

Peggy MacDonald was saying good-bye to Connie when the brothers entered the room.

Peggy turned and smiled at the Hardy brothers. "Well, look who's here, Connie. Two very handsome men and I believe they have something for you." Peggy's eyes twinkled as she winked at Connie propped up in bed.

Frank handed the flowers to Connie. "Just a little something from my brother and me. We hope you're feeling better." She didn't look better. If anything, she looked worse, but that was the nature of bruises.

"They're-they're beautiful." Connie held the flowers gingerly. "I-I don't deserve .."

Peggy saw the tears well in Connie's eyes. The poor thing was overwhelmed by the simple act of a get-well gesture. Peggy cut in in a soothing voice, "There, there now. Aren't those flowers gorgeous? And how very thoughtful of Frank and Joe to get them for you."

"Y-yes and I love them. But they shouldn't have."

"We wanted to," Frank said quickly. "We wanted to get you something to cheer you up, to help you feel better while you're here."

Connie nodded weakly. Peggy took the flowers gently from Connie's trembling hands and set the vase on the side table.

Peggy smiled. "They're close enough you can smell them and see them all day and night."

Joe stepped next to the bed and placed his hands on the bed railing. "Frank and I are here for you. We're going to see you through this, we're going to catch the men who did this and make them pay."

Peggy held up an index finger. "Guys, someone may have beaten you to that."

Frank turned and frowned at Peggy. "Who?"

"Sergeant Wyman," Peggy said. "She was here earlier, brought photos for Connie to look at. A photo lineup."

"I-I picked out two men," Connie said quickly and wiped the tears from her eyes. Identifying her attackers seemed to give Connie a bit of courage and confidence.

"Sergeant Wyman said those were the two men she had suspected and that a bartender had given her their names." Peggy glanced from Frank to Joe. "Wyman said she talked to you two this morning. That one of you had been attacked by the same men?"

"Me," Joe said. "I was attacked Thursday night by three men. From the descriptions Connie gave me, I figured two of the men were the same ones I'd had a run in with. That's why," guilt rose up hard and fast and he paused to take a breath, "that's why I feel responsible for Miss Marshall's injuries. Those men were looking for me. They hurt Miss Marshall in order to try and find me. They thought she knew where I was staying."

Peggy looked horrified. "Oh, I see. B-but why are they looking for you, if you don't mind my asking?"

Joe didn't mind at all. "Those men work for Kyle Nicholson. You know who Kyle Nicholson is?"

"Everyone knows who Kyle Nicholson is," Peggy said. There was a note of disapproval in her tone. "Well, anyone who's lived in Healy for more than a year."

"So I've heard." Joe's jaw clenched like he'd bitten down on a piece of hard candy. "I'm investigating the murder of one of his workers, Dan Sagget, and for some reason Nicholson doesn't like that. He's trying to get me to stop my investigation. My theory is he sent those men to scare me off the case. As you can see, it didn't work. I'm still here and I'm still investigating."

Peggy appeared confused. "I thought you and your brother were investigating the murder of Connie's mother?"

"We are," Frank said. "The two cases are related. We suspect the same killer murdered both people."

Joe explained, "At one time, Dan Sagget and Connie's mother were husband and wife."

Peggy nodded slowly. "I see. Well, I hope you find this killer soon."

"So do we," Frank said.

Joe's gaze fell upon Connie. She looked scared. All this talk of murder, her mother and her step-father, and she was right in the middle of it. She had to be wondering if she was next on the killer's list.

Joe wanted to relieve Connie of some of her fears. "Frank and I are going to make sure Connie has a safe place to go when she's released from the hospital and that she has someone to look after her. She shouldn't be left alone."

Peggy cleared her throat. "Funny you should mention that. I was telling Connie – just before you and your brother arrived – that she can come and stay with me. I've got a guest room that's just begging for someone to use it." The older woman smiled down at the frail woman in the hospital bed. "Like I said earlier, I'd love for you to stay with me for a while. My husband's already approved it. He said I need someone else to care for besides him. He says I'm driving him crazy checking on him all the time, taking his temperature and fussing over him. He needs someone to relieve the pressure."

Peggy laughed at her joke and the brothers smiled.

"I like the idea," Joe said. "I'm just a little worried about security."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Peggy assured him. "We've got security cameras all around the house and property. That's how I knew to answer the door when Connie knocked. I could see her on the video. She was out there on my doorstep shaking and shivering. I could tell she was in a bad way."

Joe looked at Frank.

"Sounds good to me," Frank said. "Sounds like Connie will be safe with you Mrs. MacDonald. My brother and I can help with groceries and medical supplies."

Peggy shook her head and held a hand up. "No, no, no. I got this handled. You boys just worry about catching the killer and I'll take care of Connie."

Joe grinned at Peggy. "I don't think we can turn down an offer like that."

"Then it's settled," Peggy said. She reached out and took Connie's hand in hers. "It's final, dear. You're coming home with me when the doctors release you."

Peggy looked genuinely happy. She, the eternal caregiver, was never happier than when caring for someone.

Connie looked ready to cry again, woefully unaccustomed to all the outpouring of love and concern. But she'd take it. Lord yes, she would take it.

The brothers left the hospital in an optimistic mood, well in regards to Connie. Her after care was in the hands of Peggy MacDonald. Connie couldn't ask for anyone better. The brothers would check in on her with daily phone calls and a visit when they could manage it.

The brothers approached Frank's vehicle. Joe stopped and said, "I'd like to swing by the police station and see Sergeant Wyman. I'd like a look at that photo lineup to see if I ID the same men Connie did."

"Good idea," Frank said.

# # # #

Sergeant Wyman closed the door to her office and motioned Joe and Frank into chairs in front of her desk. Joe scanned the office as he took a seat. The place was neat and tidy with a few feminine touches. Family photos on a bookcase shelf told Joe that Wyman had a husband and two daughters.

Wyman sat behind her desk and directed her statement at Joe, "I was going to call you, Mr. Hardy, about that photo lineup. I'd like you to take a look at it, too. Connie Marshall picked two men out without hesitation. I got their names from Wanda the bartender."

Wyman smiled at the mention of Wanda. Joe suspected the two women had worked together on other bar fights or altercations.

"The men weren't hard to find," Wyman said. "Wanda even had a partial address for one of them."

"Do they have a criminal record?" Joe said.

Wyman put her forearms on her desk. "Nothing serious, mostly bar fights. That's why they're in the system. I think what you're really asking is, do they work for Nicholson?"

Joe smiled. Wyman was very perceptive. "You read my mind," he said.

Wyman returned the smile. "They do. They're dock hands. Both say they've worked on the docks for about a year."

Frank cocked his head. "You've had a chance to interrogate them?"

Wyman's mouth twisted as she gave a dismissive shook of her head. "Not really. I asked a few brief questions when we arrested them. You know; name, date of birth, place of employment."

Frank and Joe nodded, both quite familiar with the routine.

Wyman continued, "They're being booked now. My partner and I will do indepth interrogations this afternoon."

Joe dug his notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket. "Can I have the suspects' names?"

Wyman paused and an eyebrow rose. "Any reason you need those, Mr. Hardy?"

"I have a theory where these guys might have been before they were hired on at the docks. My brother and I are doing interviews this afternoon, we can mention these guys' names and see if something interesting comes to light."

Wyman narrowed her eyes and studied Joe for a full thirty seconds. "You know what, let's see if you can ID the perps in the photo lineup first. You ID them, then you get their names. Sound fair?"

"Sounds fair." Joe hoped like hell he could ID the men.

He did ID them, like Connie Marshall, without hesitation. It was Mr. Dumb, the leader of the trio who had attacked Joe, and Mr. Tank. Real names: Gerald Harris and Clay Peters. Those names were burning a hole on the notepad in Joe's pocket. He and Frank were in the SUV and headed to the rental house to eat, play with Bulka, and prepare for their evening adventure. The shipping container graveyard and Colonel Charles awaited.

Joe was also going to run Bulka through a few drills before they left. He wanted her back in tune with her Army training. It didn't look like she'd forgotten it, but Joe wasn't taking any chances. Tonight was serious busy. Colonel Charles was a dangerous man with dark secrets and Joe wanted Bulka on high alert. No telling what trouble lurked at the graveyard.

Frank wheeled the SUV into the driveway and killed the engine. He turned to Joe who had been silent during the drive from the police station to the house. "So, what's your thoughts on Harris and Peters?"

Joe ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek. "I think they were hobos before they went to work on the docks. I'd like to run their names by Colonel Charles and see what kind of a response we get."

Joe saw curiosity flash in Frank's eyes. "Should be interesting," Frank said.

"Should be," Joe agreed

Both men got out of the SUV and headed for the house.


A/N: Thank you dear readers for the reviews on the previous chapter. Wish I could post faster, but I have other things going on. One is my upcoming vacation! I'll be leaving in a few days so, sadly, there won't be another update for a month. :( I'll get back to writing and posting when I return. :) Take care everyone and thanks again for the reviews!