Thread of Truth, стр. 1

Thread of Truth

By Jeff Shelby

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Thread of Truth

Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

Books by Jeff Shelby

The Joe Tyler Novels

THREAD OF HOPE

THREAD OF SUSPICION

THREAD OF BETRAYAL

THREAD OF INNOCENCE

THREAD OF FEAR

THREAD OF REVENGE

THREAD OF DANGER

THREAD OF DOUBT

THREAD OF TRUTH

The Noah Braddock Novels

KILLER SWELL

WICKED BREAK

LIQUID SMOKE

DRIFT AWAY

LOCKED IN

IMPACT ZONE

WIPE OUT

The Moose River Mysteries

THE MURDER PIT

LAST RESORT

ALIBI HIGH

FOUL PLAY

YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

ASSISTED MURDER

DEATH AT THE DINER

SCHOOL OF MURDER

DEAD IN THE WATER

The Rainy Day Mysteries

BOUGHT THE FARM

WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

CRACK OF DEATH

PLANTING EVIDENCE

ONE BAD EGG

BALE OUT

LAST STRAW

CUT AND DIED

SOUR GRAPES

TYING THE KNOT

The Capitol Cases Mysteries

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

NATIONAL MAUL

DARK HORSE

The Sunny Springfield Mysteries

DEAD BY DINNER TIME

BEAUTY AND THE THIEF

CUTTING TIES

The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries

WHAT SHE LOST

WHAT SHE FOUND

WHAT SHE KNOWS

The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

STAY AT HOME DEAD

POPPED OFF

FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

Novel for Young Adults

PLAYING THE GAME

Short Story Collections

OUT OF TIME

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ONE

“We don't believe our son is missing,” Tom Locker said.

I shifted on the couch in Tom and Alice Locker's living room. They lived in a modest two-story home in Del Mar Heights, just on the east side of Camino Del Mar, which most people called Pacific Coast Highway. Alice made coffee, but none of us had touched the mugs sitting on the table.

“You don't think he's missing,” I said. “So why am I here?”

They exchanged a look. They were both in their late forties, with the tan complexions of people who had the money to live near the beach and the time to actually enjoy it. Tom wore a black golf shirt and tan shorts that were several shades lighter than his skin. Alice’s silver sundress matched the color of her nail polish and the threads of gray just beginning to appear on her hairline.

“Because you find people,” Tom said. “That's what we've been told and that's what I read about you. Isn't that true?”

“I've found some people, yes.” I glanced at the untouched coffee. The mugs were ceramic, each of them a different shade of blue. “But there are never any guarantees.”

“But it's what you do,” Tom said. “Isn’t it?”

He was right about that. I'd given up my newfound teaching job after only a couple of years and was back to doing what I'd learned to do when my own daughter had gone missing: find people. I had yet to be convinced I could make a living at it, but it was the only environment I felt comfortable in.

“Mr. Tyler,” Alice said, forcing a tight smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “We just want to know where Desmond is.”

I nodded. “I understand that. But why don't you think he's missing?”

Tom leaned back in the sofa across from me. The furnishings were sparse but tasteful, the colors neutral. Both couches were chocolate brown, the coffee table and matching end tables made of a blond wood. The artwork on the wall reflected the views outside: landscapes complete with palm trees and long stretches of beach. Apart from the family portrait hanging above one couch and the scattering of candids tucked into a bookcase in the corner of the room, I could have just as easily been sitting in a hotel lounge.

He thought for a moment before responding. “I guess I phrased that incorrectly. We don't think he's run away.”

Alice affirmed that with a shake of her head.

“Okay,” I said. “Where do you think he is?”

“We don't know that.” Tom rubbed at the day-old stubble on his chin. “But, right now, most people would tell you that he's run off.” He paused. “Desmond isn't a perfect kid. He's had his issues.”

Alice's eyes drifted downward.

“What kind of issues?” I asked.

Tom folded his arms across his broad chest. “I could tell you that he fell in with the wrong crowd and that he made some poor choices in friends, and those things are true. But, ultimately, they were Desmond's choices. No one else's. He used drugs. He was arrested.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “The difference with Desmond, though, is that he got scared.”

“Scared?”

Tom nodded. “Most definitely. He spent some time in custody and in juvenile detention.” A sad smile spread across his lips. “He would never say exactly what happened, but it was pretty clear that it scared the crap out of him. He was out of his element there. If he'd harbored any illusions of a life as a tough guy, that place scared it right out of him.”

“Not a bad thing then,” I said.

“Not at all,” Tom agreed. “Not at all. When he got out, he was ready to clean up his act. And he did, in every way possible.”

“As far as we know,” Alice added.

Annoyance flashed through her husband's eyes, but it passed quickly. “Of course. We can't be completely certain that something wasn't going on behind the scenes with him, but as far as we know, he'd truly gotten himself turned around. It showed.”

“Has he left home before?” I asked.

They looked at one another, exchanging a look that already gave me the answer.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “One time before, was about two years ago. But that was when he was in the thick of it. He was gone for two nights and even though we contacted the police, we were pretty sure we knew where he was. He eventually came home.”

“Is that when things got better?”

Alice folded her hands in her lap.

“No,” Tom answered. “It was still pretty bad.” He paused. “I don't want to give you some rosy picture that isn't true. We had a rough road with Desmond for quite some time.” He