Mystery at Sunset Ridge

By H. L. Chandler

A real estate deal turns deadly. The land owner, Charlie Taylor, is killed, and Matt Doran, the developer is missing. Now Kramer Construction is pushing for control of the land. Billie Ross, of Ross Investigation

Services, is hired by the missing man's sister. As Billie digs deeper into the mystery her own safety is at stake.

Is the missing real estate developer a murderer, or a victim? The police suspect Charlie's death is the reason Matt is missing, and they want to question him. Those who know Matt have doubts, he surely isn't capable of murder. Billie's job is to find him, not determine his guilt or innocence. Those who want Matt to remain hidden are intent upon stopping Billie's investigation. Even if it means making Billie disappear!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091418

Book preview

Dedication

As always, to my readers. Hope you enjoy this mystery.

One

Billie Jo Ross sat at her desk in the office of Ross Investigation Services. Spring sunlight drifted in a side window, turning the room a pale gold. She held the telephone to her ear and listened patiently as, between sobs, Elise Bradfort stammered out her story. Elise lived in St. Louis with her husband, Bob, who owned a software company. The missing person Elise was calling about was her brother, Matt Doran.

I didn't know who else to call, Billie. The police have started a search for him, but I want someone who really cares to be there. I would go, but...

Elise broke down completely, unable to continue. Her sobbing continued for a long minute.

Billie rubbed the small scar above her left eyebrow. She had caught a rock-throwing peeping tom and one of his rocks as well. It was the first case she and David had worked. An elderly neighbor lady had hired them because the police couldn't spare an officer to stay on her property.

Billie Jo and her husband, David, had started the Ross Investigation Service in their hometown of Pinecrest, Arkansas, when Billie was twenty-three years old. A year later, David was killed in a car wreck on Highway 65 near Branson, in Missouri. After that, the agency became Billie's life. At twenty-nine, Billie felt as old as the Ozark hills she called home. While she listened to Elise crying, tears came to her own eyes, blurring the sun-drenched office.

As the sobs dissolved into gulps, Elise continued. Matt has been gone for three days. I kept thinking he'd show up. You probably remember him from high school. You knew our mother passed away three years ago, didn't you? He is the only close family I have left. I’d come help look for him, but with my chemotherapy I’m not able.

At age thirty-eight, Elise had been stricken with breast cancer. Billie's heart ached for her. On top of everything else, Elise didn’t need a missing brother.

Billie nodded. Yes. Mom told me. I am so sorry, Elise. I wish I could do something for you, health wise, I mean. But I'll do my best to find Matt.

She did remember Matt Doran. Maybe not as well as Elise would have liked, because the Doran kids had been years ahead of her at Pinecrest High. Still, she recalled a lanky boy with brown hair and chocolate-colored eyes. She had seen him a few years ago when he'd been back to Pinecrest on a visit. He had grown into a tall, well-muscled guy with a friendly smile. His wife had been with him—she was pregnant, and they seemed happy. Matt was a building contractor with several developments to his credit. Why would he suddenly be missing? Elise was right to be worried.

Billie was on the telephone with Elise for over an hour. She couldn't rush this call.

In the outer office of Ross Investigation Services (RIS), the receptionist/secretary, Lila Johnson, peered into Billie's office. Lila frowned, rolled her large blue eyes, and puffed out her plump cheeks. It was clear she thought Billie was taking too long with this client. Lila had joined the agency two years ago and, even at the young age of twenty-five, was fast becoming the office's mother hen. She supplied Billie and the two other investigators with sweet rolls, cookies, and the occasional cake. Lila was overweight, kept her hair an unnatural shade of blond, and wore more clunky jewelry than an Elvis impersonator. However, Lila's talent for scheduling, record keeping, and office management had saved her job more than once.

When Billie hung up, Lila stuck her head around the doorjamb and then came in. So, are you taking this case?

Billie nodded and ran a hand through her thick, black, shoulder-length hair. I have to help Elise. Billie handed Lila a piece of paper from a notepad. Here is her fax number. Send the usual contract. That is her husband's office number; he'll be handling the bills.

Lila fluttered her thickly coated eyelashes. What if it turns into a long investigation? Should I do a credit check? Sometimes we end up a little short on payment.

Billie stood. At five eight, she was two inches taller than Lila. The boots she wore added another couple of inches. Don't worry, Lila. Bob Bradfort has a successful business. We'll be paid.

Lila brightened considerably. One of her crusades was making sure all clients paid on time.

Right. Then I'll send the fax immediately. She started to leave, then paused. "Oh yes, Clayton said to tell you he'd be in the office later. He'll write up his report on the malicious mischief at Brownie's. George is still at the courthouse digging through records. And... your mother called. Again! You know, if she could, she'd put a global positioning doohickey on you instead of your car."

Lila clicked her tongue in disapproval and bustled back to the outer office. Lila was firm in the belief that Billie’s first obligation was to the office, while Billie’s mother was equally convinced that she came first.

Billie walked to the window across from her desk. She pursed her lips as she gazed out on Pinecrest's main street and recalled what she knew about Matt Doran. He lived in Redbud, a growing community near Harrison. In the past ten to fifteen years, the area south of the Missouri border had had a population explosion. Vacation homes lined the banks of the many rivers and lakes, while one housing development after another grew at the edge of each small town. Matt should be doing well as a builder. He didn’t strike Billie as someone who would simply up and leave a family and promising business.

Billie stepped toward the front office.

Lila! she called. Get me a credit report, DMV, any information you can on Matt. And a rundown on Redbud and the chief of police over there.

All but done, boss.

Billie smiled. The reports would be ready when she needed them. In the meantime, she'd check in with her mother. There was no point in ignoring her. When Cynthia Hyatt-Walker called anyone, they’d be smart to answer quickly. Besides, in case Billie had to be out of town for a few days, she'd want someone to feed Fluffy, her big orange tomcat. She quickly dialed her mother’s number. When it rang and rang, finally going to voice-mail, she didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed. She left a short message simply to prove she had tried to return Cynthia’s call. She also needed to speak with Clayton Tremain. Perhaps he’d be back in the office before she finished a few things and headed home. If not, she could call him later.

Clayton was a licensed agent. However, Billie still considered him an apprentice. She wasn't ready to turn him loose on his own. Ross Investigation Services had certain standards. Billie was determined to maintain an honest, efficient agency. In memory of David, if nothing else.

Clayton stood six feet tall and had the trim body of an Olympic track star. His blond hair, green eyes and sweet smile made him a favorite of ladies young and old. It also helped in his work. He got people to talk. They opened up to his boyish charm. A useful asset in the investigation business.

However, there was a downside to Clay. He was clearly enamored with Billie. It was like having a gorgeous, playful pup around. He was eager to please and at the same time convince her he was a serious suitor. Billie had to watch what she said to keep from hurting him. They were the same age, but Billie felt years older. She sighed and once again hoped Clay would find a nice young lady to keep him occupied. Losing David had matured her in uncountable ways. And the continuing struggle to keep the business going left little time for socializing.

Investigating was a demanding business. Cynthia, Billie's mom, told anyone who would listen what she thought of Billie's chosen profession. RISK it should be called! They left the 'K' off thinking they could fool people. Yes, Billie thought, life was full of pesky things; risk was only one of them.

Clayton's youthfulness was balanced by Billie's other investigator, George Riley. A retired police officer, George was the first person she and David had hired. She'd never been sorry. George offered stability to the office. When things turned rough, his patience saved the day. George's wife, Willa, had stuck with him through twenty-five years of law enforcement. She was as sturdy and settled as George. Billie counted herself lucky to have them in her life.

She hurriedly straightened her desk, packed her cell phone, laptop, and small notebook into the nylon navy blue case she carried. She was anxious to get started; Elise hadn't sounded at all good. On her way out of the office, she stopped at Lila's desk.

If I don't get back to the office before I leave town, tell George and Clay I'll call from Redbud when I get an idea of what is going on over there. You can wrap up Clay's report on Brownie's.

Brownie's Bowling Alley had suffered a rash of destructive pranks. At least that was what Billie hoped it was. Just some wild kids with nothing better to do. The Pinecrest police had tried to patrol the area, but Brownie had decided to pay for private surveillance.

Lila nodded, a confident look in her wide blue eyes. There was no doubt she'd keep firm control while Billie was out of the office.

RIS's one story, brick office stood directly on the sidewalk, with diagonal parking in front and a small paved parking lot on the side. Billie pulled the case’s wide strap over her shoulder and stepped around the corner of the brick building into the parking lot.

April was in full swing, with soft breezes, pale green buds misting the trees, and daffodils in rampant bloom. As Billie started to climb into her Ford Explorer, a rusty brown pickup roared into the lot and came to a stop beside Billie's SUV. Clayton hopped out and jogged around the bed of the truck toward Billie. A red baseball cap covered his tousled blond hair. His green eyes sparkled, bright as the spring day.

Hey, where you headed? I thought I'd get back in time to talk with you about the bowling alley. And see if there is anything else I can do for you.

Clayton raised a suggestive eyebrow which Billie chose to ignore.

How did it go? Find out anything? she asked.

Oh yes. I sure did. Listen to this—it wasn't the kids after all. The Quick Trip, to the north of Brownie's? Well, the manager in there, he is one mean dude. Some of the bowling customers were parking in his lot. He claimed they dropped trash and blocked people from coming into the store. He'd reported it, but no one did anything. So, he decided to handle it. I saw him last night. Got some great pictures of him heaving a brick through the back window. He was getting ready to upend the Dumpster when the police got there.

You called them?

Yep. Just like you always say to do. I didn't confront him. But, he knows it was me. And he saw I had the camera. Clay's smile twisted a bit. Sorry about that. He said some pretty nasty things about RIS.

Nothing that hasn't been said before, I imagine, Billie answered. Lila will fill you in on our latest case. I need to get going.

Billie climbed into her car and Clay stepped back, a slight frown on his smooth brow. You be back by evening? I thought we might catch some supper tonight. I know you like those ribs out at the Pork Barrel.

Yes, I do, Clay. Not tonight, though. Go check with Lila, and if the Quick Trip guy gives you any grief, Lila will know the procedure.

As Billie pulled out of the parking lot, she saw Clay in her rearview mirror. He was standing by the pickup truck, his hands on his hips and a disappointed look on his face. She was going to have to talk to him about that hat of his. A red ball cap? No wonder the Quick Trip manager spotted him!

IN THE LAST CENSUS, Pinecrest's population was eight thousand souls. In the years since, it had grown even more. Because it was located on the southeast edge of the Ozark Plateau, the weather was a few degrees milder than the more northern sections.

Billie Jo Walker Ross's family had been in Arkansas since before statehood. Billie's fourth great-grandfather, Joseph Walker, had come from Kentucky in 1825. Actually, his family of seven had crossed into Missouri first. Then, they kept moving south. By June of 1836, when Arkansas became a state, Joseph Walker had a family of nine boys and three girls. Billie had family scattered all across the area.

Billie's mother, Cynthia, was a Hyatt from Mississippi. That didn't mean much to Billie, but it certainly did to Cynthia. Cynthia had met William Joseph Walker when they both attended Old Miss. She hadn't been keen on moving to Arkansas—wasn't that state a bit backward? However, the Walkers were well-established in local banking and Cynthia decided to take the chance. As it turned out, William was able to provide the acceptable house and grounds in Pinecrest at the south end of Main Street. Cynthia joined her clubs, had the prescribed number of children, a girl and then a boy, although she was a bit miffed that they hadn't arrived in the proper order, a boy first.

As Billie drove down Main toward the Walker home, her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She wanted to slip down the side driveway, park in front of the garage, and hurry up the stairs to her apartment before Cynthia saw her. She'd make sure Fluffy had food and water, pick up a change of clothes, just enough to get by in case she didn't make it home that night. If she could get this done before she confronted Cynthia, it would make getting away easier.

The dogwood trees were in full bloom. The layered white blossoms, which were actually white leaves, floated like huge, ghostly snowflakes among the bare branches. The Walker home had an old dogwood in the side yard, and several raspberry-sherbet colored redbuds in the front. Cynthia took pride in her landscaping. She had a standing order with Mitchell Lawn Care; they promptly removed dead branches and unsightly leaves. Each season found the Walkers’ one-acre grounds appropriately landscaped.

The house was a standard 1940s two story square brick. It had a colonnaded porch and a side porte-cochere over the drive. The original servants’ quarters were above the brick, three-car garage at the end of the driveway. However, the Walkers had never had live-in help. Cynthia made do with day help and a nursemaid when Billie and her brother, Gerald, were small.

After David died, Billie couldn't stand to live in the house they had bought together. For lack of somewhere better, she had moved home. The apartment over the garage was a blessing, close to her family but without being too close. Billie parked the black Ford in the side drive and made it up the stairs and into her apartment without, to her knowledge, being seen.

After giving Fluffy a fair amount of attention, which he tired of before she did, she did a bit of straightening in the apartment, then packed a bag. As she started down the outside stairs, Billie frowned. She wondered why Cynthia hadn’t answered the phone. What if she wasn’t home? How annoying if she wasn’t! Billie needed to talk to her about Fluffy. She loved her mother, but sometimes she could be emotionally tiring.

Cynthia was in the kitchen, her golden hair freshly coifed and lacquered in place. She wore a pale green pantsuit and darker green slippers. Her long nails were a lush shade of lavender that matched her lipstick. The white, ruffled apron tied around her slender waist was spotless.

When the screen door opened, Cynthia turned, holding a CorningWare casserole dish in her hands. A perfect, raw roast sat in the glass pan. Oh, there you are. Cynthia smiled. I kept calling your office. That girl, Lila, insisted you were busy on the telephone, she said. Just let me pop this in the fridge. We'll be back early enough to get it in the oven. You know how your daddy loves a good roast. Cynthia wiped her hands on a white cotton towel.

Then she heaved a sigh and batted her long eyelashes. Actually, I imagine it will have more than enough time to get done. William does get so caught up in his work, never home on time... Cynthia frowned and straightened her shoulders. Why, look at you! Billie Jo, you aren't even dressed!

Billie looked down at her black and white blouse tucked into a pair of Rider jeans. She thought she was dressed!

Of course I am. This is what I wear to the office most of the time.

I'm not talking about the office. Now, hurry back out there and put on something nice. That pretty new dress I gave you for Easter. Maybe pin your hair up? But hurry, we're going to be late if you dally.

Then Billie remembered.

Oh Mom, I'm sorry. I came home to pick up some things and to ask you to check on Fluffy if I don't get back tonight. I forgot all about Mrs. Ashton. Just tell her some business came up and I had to get right on it. She's nice, she'll understand. You two can have a lovely lunch. I'll make it some other day.

Cynthia turned a shade of white associated with the spring dogwood, especially around her tightened lips. Billie Jo Walker, you can't do this. I'll be so embarrassed! I don't know what I'll do!

Billie frowned. I don't see why. You and Carla have been friends for years. She isn't going to embarrass you.

Cynthia lifted her chin, a small tremor making her lips quiver. "Carla will understand. It is her nephew, Roger Garrett, who might not!"

A big light popped on for Billie. Another fix-up. That's