Broken Toys Read online

  The beginnings of anxiety skittered down Noah’s spine. I sure hope I don’t know the answer to that question. Fine muscle tremors started in his fingertips and began a slow trip up both arms. “I guess that’s what we have to figure out. Along with whose body it is. Did you know hip implants have serial numbers on them?”

  “To be honest,” Rhyden said, “I never really thought about it one way or another, but I have to say I’m glad this one does.”

  Noah slid his fingers in a reverse pinching motion over the surface of the phone, enlarging the image of the hip implant because the numbers and letters etched into the object were barely legible. He then emailed the picture to the office so an admin could research the manufacturer, where the implant had been installed, who did the actual installation and when.

  “Come on,” Rhyden said, “I need to head back to the house. I’ve already missed several texts from the girls.” He checked for messages and grunted. “Huh. That’s weird.”

  “What?”

  “No text messages. The girls rarely call me anymore. They usually text. Apparently, it’s uncool to actually speak to your parental unit.” He dialed the house number. It rang and rang. No answer.

  Noah chuckled as he climbed back into the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt. “And there you have reason number six hundred and seventy-eight why I don’t have children. You give them life. Feed them. Nurture them. And they cast you off like a dirty sock when they don’t need you anymore.”

  He studied the driveway where the crime scene technicians still labored at scooping up and sifting the contents of what used to be Mr. Schmidt’s driveway through three screens of increasingly finer mesh. “I don’t envy them when Mr. Schmidt gets home. He’s gonna pop a gasket when he sees his driveway.”

  “I can hear him now.” Rhyden started the engine while punching in numbers on his phone. “No answer from either Sam or Bree. Bree, I understand. She’s always misplacing her phone, but Sam’s has practically grown to her hand. I’ll try the landline again.”

  “Do you want to skip the office and go straight to the house? Check on the girls? You can take me back…”

  The radio squawked. “Bennett County to 1541.”

  “1541, Bennett County,” a deputy responded. “Go ahead.”

  “Bennett County, 1541, we have a domestic disturbance at 225 Redbud in Magellan. Neighbors report fighting in the front yard. Repeat physical disturbance at 225 Redbud.”

  Rhyden reached up and turned down the volume on the radio. Shooting out a hand, Noah stopped him. “Wait a minute. The address sounded familiar.”

  “I wasn’t listening.” Rhyden grabbed the microphone mounted on the dashboard, picked it up and keyed the mic. “819, Bennett County, repeat traffic please.”

  “10-4, 819. Domestic disturbance, 225 Redbud in Magellan. Report of minors fighting in the yard. No weapons.”

  “Son of a…” Rhyden whipped his truck out into traffic, squealing the tires and flipping on his lights and sirens. “That’s my house.”

  Noah braced himself against the dash as Rhyden slid around the corner of Elm onto Redbud. A minute later, they pulled into his driveway. Rhyden threw the transmission into Park so hard and fast it gave Noah whiplash.

  Bree and Sam rolled through the front yard, yanking hair, scratching, kicking, and biting. A crowd of neighbors gathered around the edge of the yard enjoying the show. Some held up their cell phones to record the action.

  Rhyden leaped out of the truck, leaving the engine running and the door open. Moths flew in, swarming the cab light. He ran straight to the girls. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

  Noah stretched across the console and shut off the engine. Blaring sirens drowned out the ticking of the cooling engine as a marked county unit, red-and-blue lights flashing, rolled up behind the truck. A second unit quickly followed.

  He climbed out and walked around the front of the truck. Closing the driver’s door, he leaned against it. Showing his badge to the deputies, he waved them to a stop. “He’s a ranger, too. Those are his daughters. Let him handle it. Please.”

  The girls fought across the yard, rolling in and out of the splashes of pale-yellow light provided by the security light and the red-and-blue puddles from the Bennett County units’ overheads. They screamed, punched, and tried to subdue one another with jiu-jitsu choke holds.

  Rhyden dove into the fray. “Break it up. Now.”

  The girls ignored him. Noah gasped in shock as Bree drew back and punched Sam square in the face. Blood spurted from her nose.

  Bet Rhy wishes he hadn’t taught the girls how to fight so well now. Noah laughed. Damn, I love those girls. He searched for Madison, the baby. He spotted her on the porch, wringing her hands and hopping from foot to foot.

  A shriek drew his attention back to the older girls. Sam grabbed Bree’s hair and yanked. A handful came away in her fist.

  Noah grinned as he remembered scuffling with his older cousin. With Mom dead and Dad in prison, Grandda and Nana had raised him. He couldn’t remember why his cousin lived with them, too, but he did. Grandda always let them duke it out when they were younger. Not so much as they got older. Noah’s expression darkened with memories. Unconsciously, his hand slipped into his pocket to roll the spark plug between his fingers.

  Cursing pulled him back to the present just as Rhyden caught an uppercut to the chin meant for Bree. Noah winced. That will leave a mark.

  The sheriff’s deputies started forward again to help break up the fight. Noah held up a hand to stop them. Placing two fingers in his mouth, he let loose with a loud, shrill, ear-splitting whistle.

  The girls jerked to a stop. They saw Noah and the neighbors gathered on the outskirts of the lawn. Sheepishly, they broke apart, panting. They glared at one another, then slammed into the house through separate doors.

  Rhyden rubbed the bruise forming on his chin as he approached Noah and the deputies. Crimson embarrassment stained his cheeks. He held out a hand for the deputies to shake. “Gentlemen, I am so sorry.”

  Maddie flew through the grass and latched onto Noah’s leg. “Unca Noah.” She tugged on his shirttail. “Unca Noah, Unca Noah, Bree and Sam were fighting. Sam kissed a boy. Ewww! He put his tongue in her mouth. I saw him. Why would you put your tongue in someone’s mouth?” She wiped her hand across her mouth as if she were scrubbing away a kiss. “Everybody in my school knows boys have cooties. Bree cried and yelled, and then she hit Sam, and Sam hit her back, and the stupid boy ran away.”

  As she paused to draw in a breath, Noah smiled down at the pint-sized bundle of energy wrapped around his legs, uncertain how to respond. Before Rhy’s ex-wife, Cara, walked out on Rhyden and the girls a few years back, Noah had never been around young girls—ever. With his own situation, he had been so lonely and in such pain. He recognized a similar pain in his fellow ranger. Gradually, through work, they became close friends, and eventually Noah had been adopted into the family as an honorary uncle.

  “Unca Noah, are you listening to me?” She tugged on his shirt again before thrusting her arms up in the air. “Pick me up.”

  Rhyden walked up and scooped Maddie into his arms, rescuing Noah. “You okay, pumpkin?”

  The little girl wrapped her arm around her father’s neck, turning her attention to him. “I called you, Daddy, but you didn’t answer. Why? I called you. A bunch of times. Like a bazillion times. Boys are gross. I’m never gonna like boys.” She shook her head emphatically. “Nope, never ever.”

  Noah ruffled her hair. “If only, Miss Priss. If only.” He made eye contact with his partner and nodded to the house. “Why don’t you go ice your chin and check on the girls? I’ll deal with this out here and catch a ride back to the station with one of the deputies.”

  A deep sigh escaped Rhyden. “Thank you,” he said, with an expression of extreme gratitude. Repositioning his youngest daughter on his hip, he said, “What do you say, Maddie girl? Want to go see if your sisters have killed one another yet?”


  Noah chucked Maddie under the chin. “See you soon, li’l raccoon.”

  “After while, crocodile.” The youngster offered him a fist bump before snuggling down on her daddy’s shoulder. “Come on, Daddy, let’s go inside.”

  Noah turned to the crowd of bystanders who were busily reviewing and sharing the videos they had taken on their cell phones. Great, the Trammell girls are going viral twice in one day. They’re gonna be stars. He cleared his throat. “Okay, folks, show’s over. You can all go home now. And by the way”—sarcasm dripped from his next words—“thanks for all your help.”

  He stepped over to the deputies who were still standing by their vehicles. “Sorry about this, gentlemen.” He shrugged. “Teenagers. What can I say?”

  ****

  Darkness shrouded the covered porch lining the front of the house. He approached on foot, drifting through the shadows, staying out of sight. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was disturb the elderly neighbor’s yappy dog. He tugged off his boots and carried them up the steps. He avoided the third step, which he knew from observation creaked. Once he reached the porch, he paused, casting a furtive glance around the neighboring houses. So far, so good. No one noticed him. He dropped his boots on the porch, cringing at the slight thud.

  Creeping forward, he drew near the front door. Ever so slowly, careful not to make a single sound, he tested the front door. Unlocked. He twisted the knob until the latch released with an almost inaudible click. He stopped and listened. No reaction. Really, people? Will you never learn to keep your doors locked? As much crime as there was in the area and still doors were left unlocked.

  He nudged the door open. Again, he waited. No reaction. He stuck his head in the door and scanned both directions. No one in sight. Silently, he slipped through the door, drawing it closed and locking it behind him. He stood in the entryway, clothed in shadows, gathering his thoughts.

  The scents of garlic and onion tickled his nose. His stomach growled, reminding him it had been hours since he had last eaten. Following his twitching nose, he drifted down the hallway toward the kitchen on silent feet. He lurked in the hallway, watching and listening.

  Music floated from a radio sitting in the window over the farmhouse sink. He watched the slender Hispanic woman dance around the kitchen in her sock-clad feet. Her socks don’t even match. A flash of pure heat seared his brain, shooting straight to his groin, as she bent over to check the contents of the oven. He snuck up behind her. Swiftly, he grabbed her around the waist and tugged her back to his chest.

  “Ooof!” The air left his lungs as her elbow connected sharply with his solar plexus. He released her and stepped back.

  She spun, a butcher knife flashing in her hands. She pulled up short. “Damn it, Noah, I could have hurt you. You know better than to sneak up on me.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “I know. It’s late. I thought you’d be asleep, but then I saw you in the kitchen, all bent over like that…” He shrugged. “What can I say? I couldn’t help myself. And why the hell wasn’t the front door locked?”

  Catalina Ramos glanced up at the clock on the microwave. “Damn. It’s later than I thought. Why don’t you ever come home at a decent hour? Where have you been?”

  Laughter bubbled past his lips. “Breaking up a brawl at Rhy’s house.”

  “A brawl? Rhyden had two dates show up at the same time?”

  Noah snorted. “That’ll be the day. Boy can hardly handle one female at a time. His ex really screwed him up.” He shook his head and related the events of the evening to Cat, finishing with “Poor Rhy. I don’t know who to feel sorrier for—him or the girls.”

  Cat removed a pan of bubbling lasagna from the oven and placed it, steaming hot, on the trivets sitting on the dining room table next to a green salad. “Would you grab the dressing out of the fridge? And where’s my kiss?” She reached back into the oven and pulled out the garlic bread. Still holding the foil-wrapped bread in her oven-mittened hands, she asked, “Should I volunteer to talk to the girls?”

  Noah snagged a kiss as he headed to the refrigerator. “I offered your services already. Rhy declined. But stay ready, just in case. I bet he may change his mind and be calling for help before too terribly much longer. I wish you could have seen the look on his face when Sam popped him square on the jaw. Priceless.”

  He tiptoed up behind her, leaned over, and kissed the neck exposed by her spicy cinnamon espresso ponytail. He whispered in her ear, “Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

  She leaned back against him and raised her lips for a kiss. “I love you, too, babe, but next time you sneak up on me like that, you may end up on the floor bleeding. Fair warning.”

  “Lock the door, and I won’t be able to sneak up on you.” Noah took the bread from her hands and placed it and the salad dressing on the table. He spun Cat around for a proper kiss. After releasing her, he laughed again and said, “And have I told you lately how grateful I am we don’t have children?”

  Noah wasn’t sure what to make of the emotion flashing through Cat’s eyes as he sat down and filled his plate. Before he could ask her about it, she spoke up. “How was your day? You seem a little off. Everything okay?” She picked up her own plate, grimaced, and placed it back down.

  Flashes of childhood memories of being part of an outlaw Traveler group brought a frown to his face. Fear that his secrets could be exposed turned the lasagna to sand in his mouth.

  Chapter Six

  Plastic skateboard wheels scraped against concrete. Exhilarated whoops split the air. Shouts from the skaters were easily heard over the tinny rattle of the pickup’s exhaust shield. Patrick Gorman sat in his Great-Uncle Paddy’s lime green F-100. It wasn’t like his great-uncle needed the truck, considering he currently sat on death row for first degree murder.

  Engine running, a/c blasting semi-cold air through dusty vents, Patrick watched teenagers in the skate park grind ledges and rock to fakies on the ramps, waiting for the perfect target.

  There.

  On the far side of the park, a lone figure hovered on the outskirts of the action. Longing almost vibrated off the teenager dressed in a shapeless, long-sleeved, button-down man’s shirt and baggy blue jeans despite the heat. The young woman sulked, leaning against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, left thumb tapping against the fingertips of her left hand, moving rapidly from fingertip to fingertip.

  He jerked the keys from the truck’s ignition, climbed out, and wandered over to where the teen stood. As he approached, she jerked her sleeves down—but not soon enough to cover the thin, pink scars parallel-parked on the inside of one arm from elbow to wrist.

  Patrick smiled inwardly. Jackpot.

  Tapping a cigarette from a soft pack of smokes, he raised his chin in greeting. “Got a light?”

  The girl narrowed a pair of cocoa brown eyes. Her shoulders hunched forward. She tugged on her shirt sleeves, tugging them farther down over her hands. Sweat glimmered along her hairline, darkening her greasy brunette hair a shade or two. “What do you want?” The finger tapping picked up pace.

  Patrick held up the cigarette. “Just a light.”

  “Don’t smoke.”

  With a shrug, he slipped the cigarette back into the package. “Don’t skate either, do you?”

  She cocked her head. “How do you know I don’t skate?”

  “No board. Why are you here?”

  “What difference does it make to you?”

  “None, I guess. Aren’t you hot?”

  “Again, what’s it to you?” She stepped away from him, crossing her arms across her chest and turning her back to him. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Hey.” He raised both hands, palms out. “Just trying to be friendly. I’m new in town. Wanted to make a friend.” He gestured toward the skaters doing heel-flips, ollies, and grinds. “These losers suck. You seemed interesting. You don’t wanna be seen with me, no skin off my nose. It’s all good.” He turned to walk away.

  Voice h
esitant, she called out. “Hey, wait.”

  Patrick smiled inwardly. Hook, line, and sinker.

  Fumbling in her pocket, the teen withdrew a silver Zippo lighter engraved with a skull and crossbones over the background of an American flag.

  “Here.” She tossed the lighter to him.

  Patrick snagged the lighter from the air. He slid a cigarette from the crumpled red-and-white cellophane package, tucked the filter between his lips, and clicked open the lighter. The scent of lighter fluid seeped into the air. He struck the flint wheel with his left thumb. The wheel scratched, and the spark flickered to life. Bending forward, he held the lighter to the end of the cigarette. The blue flame danced as he took a deep drag. Blowing out gray-white smoke, he clicked the lighter closed. He bounced the Zippo in his hand, enjoying the weight of it, before he tossed it back. “Thought you didn’t smoke.”

  “I don’t smoke—cigarettes.”

  “What do you smoke?”

  The girl stared at him, lost in thought.

  He waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  She blushed, a soft tinge of red creeping up her chest and neck. “Sorry.”

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Her blush turned to a crimson red and flashed from her chest across high cheekbones to the roots of her hair. “Has anyone ever told you your eyes look like someone pushed sapphires into your face with a sooty finger? Or that your voice sounded like melted, dark chocolate?” She slapped her hand across her mouth and mumbled, “Did I really say that aloud?”

  Patrick chuckled, a deep, warm sound. “What’s your name?”

  “Rochelle.”

  “So, Rochelle, you don’t skate. You don’t smoke…” He paused. “Cigarettes. Whatcha’ doing hanging out at a skate park wearing long pants and longer sleeves in triple digit heat?”

  ****

  Patrick climbed the three metal steps leading to the door of his Great-Grandda’s recreational vehicle. Grandda said he was too old to be living under his parents’ roof and let him crash in the RV. Laughter echoed through the open windows. He paused on the top step and listened to the chatter of his crew waiting for him inside. The voices were too muffled for him to make out what they were saying.