Free Tahoe Blue Fire (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 13) by Todd Borg Page A

Darla Ali?” Mallory said.
    “No. Diamond’s MP was a man named Sean Warner.”
    Mallory paused a bit, and I could hear him sucking the last drops of what surely was Coke in a can. “Darla’s roommate reported her missing when she didn’t come home from work.”
    “Descriptors?”
    “Five-six,” he continued, “blonde, blue, and, as her roommate Sanford Burroughs described her when he filed the missing persons report, twenty-four and fabulous.”
    “Boyfriend?” I said.
    “No, he’s not the fabulous-girls type. Real concerned, though. He reported her missing two nights ago when she didn’t come home from work, and he’s called twice since then, wondering if we’ve learned anything.”
    “Have you?”
    “Not much. I ran an errand with Officer Harlan first thing this morning. He and I were backtracking a suspect and we had some extra time. We were near Darla’s place, so we stopped by. Darla and Burroughs share the top floor of a triplex. I’m sure Burroughs would be real pleased to have you stop by. Make him think the world cares about Darla.”
    “She have family?”
    “According to Burroughs, yes, but Darla never told him much about them other than they were in Maine and she came to Tahoe to get as far from them as she could. Something about bad blood with the dad for bad things he did when Darla was younger, and bad blood with the mom for staying with the dad after she found out about the bad things. Burroughs said that Darla said she’s never going to see or speak with her parents again.”
    “Lot of that going around,” I said. “Job?”
    “Waitress somewhere. I forget.”
    “Do you have the home address handy?”
    “There’s more to my job than playing secretary for you, McKenna. But hold on and I’ll leave all these other robbers and killers and wife beaters and accident victims and ringing phones and unanswered emails and text messages while I look for you.”
    My phone went silent. I waited two minutes. Mallory and I get along pretty well, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t attend to some business and fetch another Coke and maybe order some Chinese takeout before he came back.
    The phone line clicked, and Mallory read off an address.
    “What about her car?” I asked.
    “No car.”
    “Anything else unusual happen in town recently?”
    “Nope. Lemme know if you find anything.”
    “Will do. Hey, Mallory.”
    “What?” he said.
    “You make a helluva secretary,” I said.
    He hung up.
     
     

NINE
     
     
    I took Spot outside, wary of the forest. As an ex-cop, I knew to take all threats seriously. But all I could do was be careful. I walked Spot in the shadows, then let him into the Jeep, and we headed to the SLT impound lot.
    As I slowed for the sharp curve entering the southbound tunnel of Cave Rock, I noticed a black pickup some distance back. Later, as I crossed the state line into California, I saw it again, although it may not have been the same vehicle. Black pickups are common in Tahoe. Just before I parked near the impound lot, there was yet another large black vehicle far back. But when I turned to take a careful look, it was gone. It was the kind of coincidence I didn’t normally pay attention to. But after being shot at and getting the threatening note, I was more vigilant.
    I got out of the Jeep as the impound lot attendant walked out of the office, stepping around puddles of melted snow. The spring sun came through the trees and hit the pavement here and there, making it steam. The man wore faded jeans and a faded jean jacket and his brown-gray hair was pulled back into a long, thin ponytail.
    “Paperwork?” he said from the other side of a chain-link fence.
    “No paperwork,” I said.
    He gave me that hardened look that all impound lot attendants get after two months on the job and they’ve learned that half the people showing up haven’t paid their fine and they beg or lie or spin some story about having to get their car so they can drive their dying