“And we’re going to find that out how?” Tinkie asked. “It’s not like he’s going to leave a written confession on the kitchen table.”
“If we don’t look now, we may never have another chance.” I walked back to Dallas, who was waiting at the curb, and asked her to drive around the block and park. “Leave the motor running,” I said. “We shouldn’t be long.”
“If I see him coming back, I’ll drive by and blow the horn three times.”
“Good plan.” I waved her off and rejoined Tinkie.
“We don’t have to do this,” Tinkie said. “Let’s just give the money back. Really, Sarah Booth. It’s almost Christmas. We could end up in jail, or worse. I don’t like our client enough to ruin the holidays.”
Her words gave me pause. She was right—I knew that. But we were so close. “Let’s do this. If we don’t find anything, we’ll talk about dropping the case.”
“If we do this, we might as well hang on until we flush out the culprit,” she said, almost under her breath. “You’re going to deal with Oscar if we get caught.”
Saying no wasn’t an option. I checked the door—unlocked. “See, it’s not even breaking. It’s just entering.” I tried to put the best face on it.
“Shut up and let’s get inside.” Tinkie all but shoved me in the door and closed it.
Goode’s house was eerily neat—almost as if no one actually lived there. There was a sense of emptiness about the place. Except for the sound of something moving around in the back of the house.
“We should announce ourselves,” Tinkie said.
“Like what: ‘Private investigators, please don’t shoot?’” I tried to curb my sarcasm.
“We could say we’re the police.”
“Follow me.” Tinkie and I both had guns, but they were back in Zinnia, locked safely away. We didn’t travel with firepower—except for Tinkie’s brand-new Taser.
I crept down the hallway toward the sound of shuffling.
“What is that?” Tinkie whispered.
“I don’t know. Maybe a dog.”
“Don’t open the door!” She tried to step in front of me, but I blocked her.
“Stay back. Oscar will kill me if you get hurt. The good thing about Coleman is that he’ll only blame me if I get hurt.”
“Because he knows how hardheaded you are.”
I gave her an eye roll and put my hand on the doorknob to a back room. The sound was definitely coming from inside. I couldn’t tell if it was a dog trying to escape or something more sinister.
Tinkie put a hand on my shoulder. “What if it’s something we shouldn’t let out?”
“What if it’s someone in trouble and we’re too cowardly to look?”
“Go ahead.” She released my shoulder.
I turned the knob slowly, praying that I wouldn’t feel resistance on the other side. The door opened easily and I peeked through the crack. The room was dark. Nothing. I pushed the crack wider, searching carefully before I stepped into the room. Before I could do anything, something hit the door with great force—so much force that the wooden door flew back toward me and smacked me in the forehead. The pain was instant.
“Damn!” Tinkie ran to the kitchen and grabbed wet paper towels. She held them to my forehead and wrapped my hand around them before she shoved the door, hard. There was a muffled moan. “What the hell?”
Before I could stop her, she forced her way into the room and flipped on the light switch. “Holy Christmas,” she said. “It’s Goode. He’s been hog-tied on the floor.”
Even though I was in pain, I knew I wasn’t seriously hurt. My head was as hard as it was reputed to be. I pushed into the room. Behold! The lawman was on the floor on his stomach, his feet tied together and pulled up to his butt and then tied to his hands. He was also gagged with duct tape.
“I’ll get a knife,” Tinkie said. “Looks like the drawstring from the curtains.” She looked around, and sure enough, the curtains were torn down and thrown on the floor. But how in the heck had anyone gotten the better of Goode? He was about six-three and looked to be very fit.
“Crime of opportunity,” I said.
“Murrahahahah!” Goode said, thrashing about on the floor.
“Okay.” Tinkie leaned over and snatched the duct tape from his mouth. I could almost hear the hair follicles ripping out of his skin.
“Owwww!” Goode yelled. “Cut me loose this minute.”
Tinkie shrugged. She’d had enough of being ordered about. “I’m good with leaving him tied. How about you?”
That set up another howl, and I took the knife from Tinkie and sliced the cord that bound him. At first he couldn’t use his arms or legs—he’d apparently been tied in that position for a good while. At last he sat up. “How did you know I was here?”
“We heard what sounded like a struggle.” We had to have a reason for breaking and entering or we’d be in legal trouble. We were the rescue squad—the good guys—but we’d still broken the law.
“How did you hear me?” He looked at both of us.
“Tinkie has bat hearing. She heard something and I walked around the house to look.”
Goode struggled to his feet and searched his pockets. “Cell phone?”
I handed him mine and he called the police. He gave me back the phone. “Units are on the way. You should put ice on your forehead. You’ve got a knot.”
“Who did this to you?” Tinkie asked.
Goode thought a minute before he answered. “I’m not certain. When I was leaving the B and B, I saw someone on the property. I didn’t get a clear look, but whoever it was knew I saw them. They took off and I pursued on foot, but I lost them. There are too many places to hide on those big properties. Anyway, I stopped by the PD to file a report and then went home. Someone was waiting on me.”
“You were struck from behind?” I asked.
“I came in the front door, put the keys
