Mistletoe Justice. Carol J. Post
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accounting manager? Wiggins had said she’d quit without notice. Maybe she’d found something and didn’t want to be there when it all blew up.
Darci frowned. If she was smart, she would do the same thing.
But that wasn’t an option. She needed her job. The years she ran Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts had been good. But during the summer months, keeping her head above water had been difficult. So she’d sold the shop and applied for several jobs. When she landed the one at P. T. Aggregates, she’d been thrilled. First with the pay. Second with the insurance benefits. Both opened up opportunities for Jayden that she didn’t have as a self-employed store owner. It had almost seemed too good to be true.
Maybe it was. Maybe her dream job would become a nightmare.
A chill that had nothing to do with the cool weather swept over her. She turned and headed toward her car. Tonight’s conversation confirmed what she had suspected all along—Wiggins wasn’t a man to be messed with.
Well, he had nothing to fear from her. She wasn’t a sleuth. She wasn’t even a detective wannabe. Whatever he was involved in, she was content to just do her job and stay blissfully ignorant.
Because if Wiggins even thought that she knew his business, he would deal with her. He had ways of guaranteeing her silence. He would make sure she didn’t talk.
Maybe he would even make her disappear.
Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?
* * *
Conner Stevenson eased to a stop at the entrance to the mine and waited as two vehicles exited the gravel drive. The first was Rupert Wiggins’s Mercedes. The CFO of P. T. Aggregates was well paid. That power and prestige showed in everything he did, from the way he carried himself to how he talked down to those under his command.
But Wiggins could talk to him any way he liked. Conner was right where he wanted to be. After five months of trying to land a job—any job—with P. T. Aggregates, he’d finally succeeded. The glowing recommendation from C. S. Equipment had had a lot to do with it. But nothing that Sandy, his HR person, had said was false. He really did know his stuff. He had years of experience with heavy equipment repair—overseeing, as well as hands-on. Sandy had just failed to mention that he was the owner of the company.
Conner made his way up the gravel drive, a crumpled McDonald’s bag in the seat beside him. He wasn’t finished working, but the trip off-site had been necessary. Not only had he been half-starved himself, but his nephew, Kyle, had needed something to eat. So had the teenage neighbor girl Conner had rooked into helping him after the previous babysitter quit. If he was lucky, she would survive until he found a replacement.
Conner sighed. He’d take it a day at a time. One minigoal had been reached—he now had his foot in the door at P. T. Today completed his first full week as their equipment mechanic. Actually, tonight would complete it. His first week on the job, and he’d almost been whipped by a Caterpillar.
But after cleaning the carburetor, installing a new manifold and changing a couple of hydraulic cylinders, he was on the home stretch. It was a good thing. Wiggins said the backhoe had to be running by the end of the day. He just didn’t say what time.
As he rounded the back of the office building on his way to the equipment area, something moved at the edge of his headlight beams. He drew his brows together. No one should be there. The mine didn’t run a night shift. He turned the wheel left and angled his pickup toward the building.
White light flooded the scene. An older red Corolla sat parked in front of the back door of the break room, picnic tables to one side. A figure stood frozen in his headlight beams, eyes wide. Dark, windblown hair framed a pale face.
It was Darci Tucker, the accounting manager. The same position his sister had held. He hadn’t officially met Tucker, but he’d seen her around and knew who she was. He’d made it a point to find out. Based on what a couple of his coworkers had told him, Tucker had shown up two weeks after his sister had left.
Except Claire hadn’t left. She’d disappeared. Vehicle and all.
The cops investigated, talked to her friends, neighbors and coworkers. After coming up with nothing, they’d finally given up. Maybe they would have stuck it out longer if Claire hadn’t had a habit of disappearing every few years since age sixteen.
But this time was different. She’d been clean for over a year and was working a steady job. And she was finally being a mother to her seven-year-old son, had even started taking him to church.
And there was that phone call, the last time they’d spoken. She’d called to say she was on her way over. Said she’d discovered something and was scared. She never made it. And he never found out what that “something” was.
He eased to a stop but didn’t pull into a parking space. Checking out Claire’s friends and neighbors had led nowhere, so he’d expanded his unofficial investigation to her workplace. It looked as if he was on the right track. Apparently Wiggins’s after-hours meeting had included Tucker. And judging from her deer-caught-in-headlights pose, she hadn’t planned on being seen.
He lowered the window and tilted his head through the opening. “I’m Conner Stevenson, the new mechanic.”
His words jarred her into motion. She swung open her driver’s door.
“Pleased to meet you.” She didn’t introduce herself.
“I have to finish a repair on the backhoe. It’s giving me fits, but I get the impression Wiggins doesn’t entertain excuses.”
“Wiggins can be demanding.” She gave him a slight smile, but still appeared poised to bolt at any second.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I just came back to get something.”
His eyes dipped to her hands. One held a set of keys. The other was empty. She wasn’t even carrying a purse. If she had really come back to get something, it was apparently small enough to fit inside the pocket of her lightweight jacket.
“Did you find what you needed?”
She nodded, the motion stiff and jerky. “Yep. Everything’s good.”
That was a lie, if he’d ever heard one. He held up a hand. “Have a nice weekend. Mine starts in about an hour, if the Caterpillar back there will cooperate.”
“Good luck.”
She got into her car and backed from the space. When she pulled forward, she released the clutch too quickly and the car lurched. At the edge of the building, she made a sharp turn onto the drive, and its back fishtailed, slinging gravel.
Conner frowned. Darci Tucker couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He stepped on the gas and headed into the field. Someone at P. T. Aggregates probably had information about Claire’s disappearance. But he had a Caterpillar to wrestle. And he needed to get it done and get home before Jenna threw in the towel, like the four sitters before her had. No matter what kind of recommendations they came with or how much experience they had, one week with Kyle had put each of his babysitters at the end of her rope.
He could relate. That was exactly where he had been since Kyle stepped over his threshold. And he couldn’t blame the kid. He never knew his dad, and now his mom was missing. He was moody and bitter and angry at the world. And Conner hadn’t the slightest clue how to help him.
He brought his F-150 to a stop next to the service truck that held his mechanics’ tools. He hadn’t signed up for this. He was supposed to be free and single and enjoying life. He was still single. But freedom had flown out the window the moment his sister disappeared. And it had seemed like three forevers since he had enjoyed his life.
He sighed and stepped from the truck. Maybe when he was finished, he would do a little snooping. He dismissed the idea as soon as it came. The incriminating stuff was likely to be inside. What he needed to do was get