Chapter 11

After their discovery at the cabin, Fenton and his companions had driven straight into town where Tom had brought them to Dan's, the bar which brewed and sold Addingtons. Unfortunately, the owner - a wizened old man called Andy - had told them that there had been no strangers in the bar for at least two weeks, much less one that had bought the local beer.

Dejected, they left the bar.

"Well, that was a waste of time," said Sam gloomily.

"Not necessarily," said Fenton thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

Sam looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, from what I can see, this might be a small town but the area is pretty big," said Fenton. "Lots of twisty little roads and turnoffs. Without Con and Tom's help, we would have been completely lost."

"I know, what's your point?" asked Sam.

"My point is that the kidnappers seem to know the area," said Fenton. "There had to have been more than one, yet they were able to find the cabin and move my family out of there without anyone noticing."

"It was dark when they moved them, and it's a wooded area," Jack pointed out. "It wouldn't have been very hard to do."

"But without looking for directions? And in the dark?" Fenton prodded. "Pretty mean feat for some out-of-towners, wouldn't you say?"

"We don't know that, they could have stopped for directions," objected Sam.

"No, they couldn't," Tom broke in. "Old Andy would've told us once he knew we were looking for strangers."

"Old Andy might not have known," Sam answered.

"Oh, but he would. There ain't anything Old Andy don't know about the comings and goings in this town," said Tom.

"Exactly!" said Fenton. "So how did those kidnappers manage to find their way around here without asking for help…"

"Unless there's someone local involved!" Con finished, stunned.

"That would explain why Andy doesn't remember any strangers buying the beer," said Sam slowly. "Because it was bought by someone local."

"Looks like it," said Tom unhappily.

"Tom, where's your sheriff's office?" Fenton asked. "I want to get that blood checked out."

"It's just down here," said Tom. "Come on, I'll show you."

"No," said Fenton. "I want you and Con to go back into the bar and find out from Old Andy - without getting his suspicions up - which locals drink that beer. I have a feeling he might be more forthcoming with someone he knows."

Tom nodded. "Will do. Sheriff's office is down this street, turn right at the bank and it's at the end of that street on the left. Ask for Sheriff Coombs because his Deputy, Rawston, is a snippy little whelp! Tell 'em Tom sent you."

"Thanks, Tom," said Fenton. "Why don't you and Con follow us over when you're finished?"

"Sure thing," smiled the old man, as he and Con headed back into the bar.

"Fenton, let me do the talking when we get there," said Sam. "Just in case anyone recognises the name Hardy."

Fenton nodded. "Good idea, Sam. Here's the glass."

Fenton removed the glass - which he had placed in a bag to preserve it - from his pocket and handed it to Sam. Then the three men quickly followed the directions Tom had given them. They arrived at a small, dusty, red-brick building and entered to find a rather round, brown haired man in uniform behind the desk.

"Excuse me," said Sam as the man looked up. "I was wondering if you could help us? We're looking for Sheriff Coombs."

"That would be me," boomed the man jovially. "What can I do for you folks?"

"Tom Elling sent us to see you," Sam explained. "My name is Sam Radley and I'm investigating a case that's led us up here."

The Sheriff nodded but didn't speak.

"I found this," said Sam, holding out the broken glass, "and was wondering if I could have it analysed. It's extremely urgent."

The Sheriff stared thoughtfully at the bag.

"You know, usually I'd have to tell you that I can't help you because we haven't got that sort of equipment here," Sheriff Coombs told them.

"But today?" Sam asked.

"I can tell you that we don't have that sort of equipment here, but I know of someone who does," the sheriff answered. "But it's not exactly above board…"

"That doesn't matter," interrupted Fenton hurriedly. "We're not exactly looking for this to stand up in court."

"You aren't?" the sheriff stared at them a little suspiciously, his friendly manner evaporating. "I thought you were working on a case, wouldn't you need any evidence to be admissible in court?"

Fenton stared at the man. With their suspicions that someone local may be involved, there was no way he wanted to give the full story to anyone, even to the sheriff.

When none of the men answered him, the sheriff rose from his seat. "I don't know what's going on here, but you'd better be able to provide me with proof that you really are detectives."

"They're okay, Jim," said a voice from behind them, and the three men spun around to see Con coming through the door with Tom Elling right behind him.

The sheriff's face split in a wide smile. "Con Riley! When did you get here?"

Con approached the sheriff and they shook hands. "Just this morning, Jim. How've you been?"

"Pretty good," Sheriff Coombs answered. "Although Elise has me on some darned diet. Keeps telling me it's for my health."

Con laughed and his eyes strayed to the desk where a mug of coffee and a plate of biscuits sat. "Look's like you're really sticking to it too."

The sheriff grinned. "What Elise doesn't know won't hurt her! So, what brings you to our neck of the woods? Didn't think it was time for your usual trip just yet."

"It's not." Con glanced at Fenton. "Jim, have you got somewhere we could go to talk?"

"What's wrong with here?" asked the sheriff. "There's no one here. Rawston's been out sick for the last few days, and there's no one in the cells."

"You sure we won't be overheard?" asked Con.

"Positive," answered Sheriff Coombs. "Come on, we'll go into my office." He led the way to a door behind the front desk and opened it. The men tramped into the small office and the sheriff closed the door.

"Okay, Con, spill. What's going on?" he asked.

Quickly, Con told him everything that had happened, from the kidnapping right up to their suspicions that someone local might be involved.

The sheriff frowned. "Someone local? I don't think I can believe that. That beer bottle could have been up there before your family even arrived, Mr. Hardy."

"Not a chance," Tom said. "That bottle was there less than twenty four hours, I'm certain about that."

The sheriff sighed. "Then that's good enough for me. But I don't know of anyone around here who would be involved in something like this."

"Me neither," Tom agreed.

"But someone has to be," Fenton insisted. "Tom, did Andy tell you who drinks that beer around here?"

"Nope," Tom answered. "It was easier to tell me who didn't drink it, because just about everyone around here does."

Sam groaned. "We may as well be looking for a needle in a haystack!"

"We still have the blood sample," Fenton reminded him. "Sheriff, you mentioned something earlier about getting it checked out. How do we go about doing that?"

The sheriff shifted uneasily in his chair. "We have a local boy who's a bit of a whiz kid. He's got all sorts of crazy stuff set up in his barn and I know he's got the technology to test that blood sample for you, but I really don't want to get the kid in trouble."

"This kid can help me find my family," said Fenton, "I have every intention of looking the other way."

"That's good," Sheriff Coombs smiled. "I know what the kid does isn't exactly legal, but I've never touched him because I know it's harmless. And sometimes that crazy stuff he deals with can actually be helpful!"

"Such as now," said Fenton. "Can you take me to him?"

"I could," said the sheriff slowly. "But his place is nearly an hours drive from here, and I don't know how long it will take him to test this sample…"

"What? You think it might be a waste of time?" asked Con.

"No. But I don't think we all need to go out there," answered the sheriff. "You fellows have been up all night and it's now nearly five, why don't you get some rest and I'll take it?"

Fenton hesitated. Could they trust this man?

Con seemed to know what he was thinking. "It's okay, Fenton. Jim can take care of it."

"And we're no use to your family if we collapse from exhaustion," Sam pointed out.

Reluctantly, Fenton agreed.

"Is there a hotel or something around here we could check in to?" Jack asked.

"No, but Martha Kelly has a boarding house," the sheriff told them. "You head up there, and I'll meet you there when I'm done."

"I'll take 'em," said Tom. "Martha will look after you and make sure you eat something proper."

Sure enough, Tom led them to a pretty two-story house just down from the sheriff's office, where a bustling, kindly old woman insisted on making them something to eat. While she prepared a quick meal, Con went to the store and picked up toothbrushes and other necessities for them.

Once they had eaten, they retired to the rooms that Martha had prepared for them. Tom went home, insisting that Con ring him the instant Sheriff Coombs returned.

As Fenton climbed into bed, he felt certain he wouldn't sleep. His mind was too filled with images of his family and what might be happening to them. However, Fenton had underestimated just how exhausted he really was; he was asleep in seconds.

A/N: Please, if you have the chance, take the time to review. I've had over 500 reads in the last 24 hours but only one review. Feedback is always appreciated, it makes an author feel like their effort is worth it!