Sinking Suspicions

Chapter 6

37 Chapter 6 Lance locked up Sadie’s house and started to replace the key under the flowerpot , then changed his mind and dropped it into his pocket. The dog food he’d left by the back porch remained untouched. He called out Sonny’s name and waited. Still no sign of him. Joe, Sadie’s paint horse, stood under a shade tree near the barn, brushing flies away with his tail. Lance climbed into his truck and headed toward Sycamore Springs. He drove past the Eucha cemetery and followed the road to Highway 20. As he drove, Lance could see the heat radiating from the asphalt. It was going to be another scorcher. Lance’s thoughts turned back to Buck. He hoped the old man really was off on an adventure somewhere and not in trouble. More than that, he prayed Buck wasn’t dying a slow death somewhere in this heat. The number he’d copied from the notepad near Buck’s phone didn’t make any sense until Maggie used her magic on the Internet and came up with the phone number of a chicken processing plant in Sycamore Springs. Lance couldn’t imagine what business Buck would have at a processing plant that only sold frozen chickens wholesale to grocery stores. That led Lance to wonder if it had something to do with Buck’s predicament with the IRS. Before long, he’d know. This stretch of highway had become so familiar to Lance he thought he could drive it blindfolded. He hardly noticed the familiar houses along the 38 way, the tree-covered landscape mixed with cleared pastureland dotted with horses and cattle. When he reached the highway, he unconsciously surrendered to the lonely ribbon of curves for the next several miles to the small community of Jay, Oklahoma. He squirmed in his seat as thoughts of Sadie surfaced. She was never far from his mind. The woman had done something to him, something he simultaneously adored and hated. She had taught him the meaning of love, and the mere thought of living without her made his stomach churn. He’d had that feeling only once before in his life. It had ended very badly, and he’d promised himself he’d never be trapped by another. But here he was—in love again. It had happened before he’d had time to squash it like a bug under the heel of his boot. He tried to push her to the back of his mind as he drove. Lance continued north through Jay and turned back east, still on Highway 20. In less than twenty minutes he was in Sycamore Springs, the place where he’d become a seasoned police officer under the guidance of Charlie McCord. The population of Sycamore Springs had been shrinking for the last several years, and he guessed it was now home to no more than a couple thousand people, some white, some Hispanic, with a large number of Indians mixed in, mostly Cherokees. Poverty had overtaken the small town. The main industry was simply chickens—chicken houses and one large chicken processing plant. Lance drove through the main part of town and parked next to four other farm trucks in front of the Waffle House. He had fond memories of the small restaurant, a daily meeting place of the local police officers. This would be where his friend Charlie McCord said he’d be, waiting for retirement day to arrive. Lance got out and went into the restaurant and scanned the crowd for Charlie or anyone else he knew. No luck. He sat at the end of the counter where he could see the entire restaurant without effort. “Eating or just drinking, honey?” The middle-aged waitress looked as if she’d lived a harsh life, one where hard work had stolen her youth sooner than it should have. “Coffee. Black.” She slid a mug in front of him and filled it with steaming coffee. Lance turned and surveyed the parking lot again. 39 “Male or female?” she said. Lance grinned. “Charlie McCord said he’d meet me here.” “Oh, honey, you’re going to have a long wait.” She wiped the counter with a wet cloth. “He stormed out of here over thirty minutes ago. Turned on those flashing lights of his and tore off toward the chicken plant. Doubt he’ll be back very soon...