He climbed into his Jeep and checked the clock on the dash. 11:02. Driggers’s night shift had just started. He cranked the engine and began the ten-minute drive. After pulling off the road in the same spot he had stopped Saturday night and making the trek back to the Driggers property, he crept through the tree line bordering the asphalt drive, staying well out of sight of any possible latecomers.
When he reached the back of the building, he waited in the shadows, binoculars hanging from a strap around his neck. The airstrip lay behind him in the darkness, beyond the thin row of trees that hid him. The hoot of an owl rode on a gentle breeze, punctuating the crickets’ monotonous song. Some small creature nosed about nearby, maybe an armadillo or possum.
The only light that escaped the huge building was at the opposite end, where the production area was. Where Shane stood, everything was dark. That didn’t mean anything. With no windows and the rear bay doors shut tightly, every light in shipping and receiving could be on and he wouldn’t know it.
He moved across the back toward the production area, passing the room where he’d overheard Spike chew out the guy with the New England accent. It was dark, but the large space at the end was well-lit. Two men worked inside, their backs to him. They appeared to be packing figurines into boxes. With the double spotlights placed at all four corners of the building, Shane couldn’t get as close as he’d like. He was dependent on the binoculars.
He rounded the corner and moved along the side of the building. The two men he’d seen from behind seemed to be alone in the large room. Judging from the number of vehicles in the parking lot, there were at least two others working tonight’s shift, besides Spike. So where were they?
He crept toward the front of the building, still hidden in the shadows. As he passed by the last window on the side, one of the men closed the top of the box he’d packed and put it on top of two others already waiting on a hand truck. After the other man added his, the first disappeared into the hall with the four boxes.
When Shane rounded the front corner, closed vertical blinds hung at the single window beyond the production area. Paper-thin slivers of light squeezed between the edges of the slats. This was the other locked room. Shane had never seen what was inside. With the blinds shut tight, he wasn’t going to see it tonight, either. Not without getting into the building.
As he watched from his position against the tree line in front, the production area door swung open and one of the men he’d observed earlier stepped out. Shane pressed himself against the tree beside him and prayed that neither the glow of the moon nor the light from the building spots would reveal his presence.
The man lit a cigarette, then stood leaning against the door jamb, smoking. Finally, he dropped the butt and ground it against the asphalt with one booted foot. After walking back inside, he disappeared into the hall, leaving the large room empty.
When Shane circled the back corner of the building, the light in the other locked room was on. He peered through the binoculars. Three men carrying boxes walked into the room single file and stacked them against the wall. Spike stood at the opposite end, a figurine in his hand. He held it up and studied it under the sharp fluorescents, turning it slowly.
It didn’t look like anything special. A brown-skinned worker wearing blue jeans, a colorful plaid shirt and a sombrero gripped the handle of a rake. Driggers produced pieces for every budget. Shane couldn’t vouch for the craftsmanship of the pieces, but they likely weren’t high end like the vases Jess told him had been stolen.
One of the men brought in the last box and placed it on the table, top flaps open. After Spike put the figurine inside, the man taped the box shut and stacked it with the others. There looked to be two or three dozen in all. One box held figurines. What about the others? Was there something in those boxes incriminating enough to kill for?
The men filed out, Spike last, and the room went dark, the only light coming from the hallway. That, too, disappeared as the door was pulled shut.
Shane hurried back around to the front. The door leading out of shipping and receiving swung open, and the men exited one by one. Spike brought up the rear, shut off the lights and secured the building.
“Thanks for the extra effort. You’ll be well compensated.”
One of the men grinned in the light of the spot. “Don’t mind a bit. It’s these rush orders that are keeping me in spending money.”
Shane frowned. Was that what this was about? A rush order? Someone needing a bunch of figurines for the grand openings of a chain of stores?
No, surely Prissy wasn’t killed over some figurines, no matter how unique.
He watched the five men get into their vehicles, then one by one move up the asphalt drive. He didn’t leave his position until the last set of headlights had disappeared.
As he trudged toward his vehicle, he heaved a weary sigh. His covert activities hadn’t brought him any nearer to solving either case—the drug running or Prissy’s murder. Maybe the Driggers brothers weren’t connected with his drug case.
But they had their hands in something other than manufacturing porcelain.
And Priscilla Parker had stumbled
