Betty Pierre - Murder.Com

Angie furrowed her brow. "Strange you'd ask. Last week, he mentioned there were problems at work." She glanced up at the ceiling. "But with Ken's girls hurt in that school bus wreck and all, we never had the chance to discuss it. But talk to Ken, he might know."

"I'll do that." He picked up his glass and stared at the melting ice cubes. Her answers puzzled him. He'd always thought she and Bud were so close, yet she seemed to know so little about the company. And he didn't know how to put her fears to rest. Taking a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket, he wrote a number on the back and stood, handing it to her. "You can't always reach me at home or the office, but that's my cell phone number. It's always with me. If you haven't heard from Bud by morning, call me and I'll start checking."

Reaching for the card, she looked up at him, her eyes pleading for some assurance.

He solemnly shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Angie. I don't know what to tell you." He rubbed the stubble on his chin and headed for the front door. Angie followed. Before he stepped out on the porch, he gently grasped her shoulder. "Hang in there. I'll keep in touch."

He winced at the sight of her pinched face and hastened down the steps, but before climbing into his car, he glanced back toward the house. Angie's silhouette, outlined by the foyer light shining through the door, appeared to be frozen to the spot.

Chapter Four

Tom's eyes flew open when the loud jingle jarred him awake. He kept the phone on the far side of the room so he'd have to get up to answer it. But last night, he'd placed his cell phone on the bedside table just in case Angie might call. Half awake, he fumbled with it until he realized the constant ringing came from the other one. He groaned, yanked off the covers and rolled out of bed. "Coming, coming."

"Yeah, Tom Hoffman here." After a few moments of listening, he frowned. "I'll be right there."

He threw on some clothes, grabbed his jacket off the chair and charged out of the house. The sun's rays were just beginning to peek over the surrounding hills. He drove fast and knew he didn't have far to go when the odor of metallic smoke and burnt flesh scorched his nostrils.

Parking behind one of the fire trucks, he leapt out of the car and dashed around the large yellow vehicle, but came to a sudden halt behind the yellow tape separating the street from the accident scene. Glaring spotlights lit the area like daylight. He blinked and stared at the rear end of a charred Porsche. It appeared that the car had missed the sharp turn and careened over the embankment, hitting a huge oak tree head-on. The exploding gas tank had ravaged anyone or anything inside the car. He stepped over the tape and walked slowly toward the wreckage. The two technicians glanced up momentarily from their meticulous work, removing what remained.

His eyes watered from the lingering smoke, but he managed to write down as much of the curled license plate as he could make out. After tucking his notebook back into his pocket, he walked back up to the road and studied the surrounding terrain. Odd there weren't any skid marks. He glanced back at the Porsche and made a mental note of its position. The fumes made breathing painful as he stumbled back over the rough ground toward his own car.

He gripped the steering wheel and muttered. "Get hold of yourself. Just because that car is a Porsche, doesn't mean it's Bud's."

Not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment, he drove down the road a half mile and parked. After getting away from the sickening smell, he took several deep breaths and gathered his composure before making a call to the station. He remained on the line while they ran a check on the license plate.

"Detective Hoffman, Bud L. Nevers does have a white Porsche registered and the license plate contains those last three numbers. But I'll need the rest of the figures to confirm that it's actually his."

His worst fears realized, Tom couldn't speak for a moment, then choked out. "That's fine, thank you."

Fighting the lump in his throat. He stared across the hood of the car where the early morning sun played across the dark blue metal. It all blurred together like an oily puddle of water. How will I tell Angie? He remembered the pain when he learned of Sara's cancer. Even though he'd tried to prepare himself, it wasn't easy to lose the one you love. Sara's slow death still haunted him. His large shoulders shook with deep sobs.

Several minutes passed before he forced himself to turn the car around and head back to the crash scene. Two officers remained at the site, supervising the tow truck which had the car on its platform.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bouncing pieces of curled metal sitting precariously on the truck bed. His nostrils wouldn't let go of the horrible stench of burning flesh. Even though he knew it would be several days before a positive identification could be made of the body, he needed to tell Angie. He couldn't imagine her hearing it over the news.

When the truck turned into the station warehouse, Tom witnessed the removal of the wrecked vehicle and its placement inside the station warehouse. He ordered a complete examination of the burned Porsche.

*****

Angie stared at the ceiling of the dark bedroom. She wondered why she'd even bothered to get ready for bed. No way could she sleep. The painful suspicion that Bud might have left her kept crossing her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it. They'd been so happy together. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes onto her pillow. "Oh, Bud, where are you?"

If he didn't show up for work, people would start calling the house. What would she tell them? She didn't know anything. The thought frightened her, making her heart feel heavy.

She'd talk to Tom first thing in the morning. Even though she knew he couldn't start a search for another couple of days, maybe he'd help her find a private detective. She couldn't stand waiting any longer. This decision had a calming effect and she slipped into a deep sleep.

At eight o'clock, a soft tap on the bedroom door awakened her. She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Nevers, are you awake?"

"Come in."

Marty partially opened the door and poked her head inside. "Detective Hoffman is here. Says it's important. He looks mighty serious. Is something wrong?"

Angie jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe and dashed past her startled housekeeper. "Bud's missing!"

Marty's hands went to her mouth and she followed Angie down the stairs.

Tom stood in the entry with his back to the stairwell. Angie had just finished tying her robe when he turned to face her. She knew something terrible had happened when she saw his somber eyes and the deep frown-lines etched in his face. Silently, he took her arm, looped it around his and led her into the living room.

Angie heard his voice, but his words sounded distant and jumbled. When she opened her eyes, they wouldn't focus. Her vision finally cleared and she recognized Tom, with a soft damp cloth in his hand patting her forehead and cheeks. He leaned forward from his seat on the ottoman and spoke softly in her ear. "Marty's called Dr. Parker. He should be here any minute."

She sat up on the couch and grabbed his arm. "Tell me it's not true!"

He gently urged her back down to a lying position. "Angie, all we know right now is the car that crashed could be Bud's. It will take several days before a positive identification can be made. We're only assuming it's Bud, because he's missing."

Her body rocked with sobs. "It must be. He never let anyone else drive that car."

Tom wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. "We can still hope."

At that moment, Marty escorted Dr. Hank Parker into the room. He'd been Angie's personal physician for years. Tom moved back and the doctor sat down next to her. "I just heard the news. How are you doing?"