Logan went left, racing across the dead grass in the front yard, and hopping over the rotting wooden fence that surrounded the back.
“What the hell?”
It turned out the house on the left wasn’t empty after all. A fat guy with a salt-and-pepper goatee and balding head was sitting next to a barbecue, drinking beer and cooking a steak.
“Get out of my yard!” the man said. “This is private property!”
He made a movement like he was going to get out of his chair, but he never quite pushed himself all the way up.
“Sorry,” Logan said, not breaking stride.
“Where do you think you’re going? I said get the hell out of here!”
Logan leaped just before he reached the back fence, grabbed the top with his hands, and vaulted himself into the neighboring yard.
Though no one was outside this time, there was a dog. It was small, a Yorkie or Maltese or something like that. Whatever it was, it didn’t look happy that someone had intruded into its kingdom. Rapid-fire yaps spewed from its mouth as it ran toward Logan, halting just far enough away so that it could make a mad dash if Logan turned aggressive.
“Dude! This isn’t a freeway!” It was the man from the other yard again, not yelling at Logan this time, but at someone else who’d dared enter his domain.
Logan reached the front fence next to the house, found the gate, and popped it open. As he passed through, the yappy dog almost got out, but he forced it back and closed the gate tight. A few seconds later, he was on the new road, running once more toward Center Street.
He retrieved his phone. “Are you still there?” he asked.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“Coming up on Center Street. I’m about three blocks from the motel.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Logan didn’t slow until he turned onto the sidewalk that lined the main drag. On the corner was a shoe store, and next to it an ice cream shop. He went a half-dozen feet past the shop, stopped, doubled back, and went inside. A handful of customers were waiting in line. Logan positioned himself against the wall, and acted like he was reading the menu above the counter.
He raised his phone and whispered, “Ice cream place near the corner. I’m inside.”
“I see it,” Dev said. “Stay there.”
Less than ten seconds later, the El Camino pulled to the curb and parked. Logan disconnected the call, but just as he was about to step outside, Dev held up a hand and stopped him.
Two seconds later, one of the men chasing him raced by without pausing to look inside.
Dev follow the man with his eyes, then looked back at Logan and nodded. Logan bolted out the door and climbed quickly into the El Camino. As soon as he was inside, he ducked below the dash so the others wouldn’t spot him. Dev pulled leisurely out into Center Street’s sparse traffic.
“Anything?” Logan asked.
Dev took a moment before he answered. “No.”
“Drive around. Let’s make sure we didn’t pick up a tail.”
After several minutes, and multiple changes in direction, Dev said, “We’re clean.”
“Let’s go back to the motel,” Logan said. “I’ve got a call to make.”
“Everything okay?” Callie asked.
“We seem to have stirred something up,” Logan said. He was alone in his room, pacing between the bed and the window. Dev had returned to the other motel to keep an eye on things there.
“What?”
“That’s a great question.”
He brought her up to speed. When he finally finished, she said nothing for a moment.
“Your friend, Mr. Pepper. He’s going to be all right?”
“No permanent damage.”
She paused again. “I…I didn’t expect anyone to get hurt.”
Neither had Logan. “Well, I think we’ve at least confirmed the fact that this is more than just a wife with second thoughts.”
“She is in trouble, isn’t she?”
Instead of answering, Logan asked, “Were you able to learn anything from the stuff I sent?”
“I did a rough background check on Diana Stockley.”
“And?”
“To start with, that wasn’t the name she was born with. She changed it a little over two years ago. Before, it was Diana Baudler.”
There was that time frame again. “Why did she change it?”
“Don’t know, but she’d been arrested a few times as a teenager. Maybe she decided it was time to start over.”
“She was in her late twenties then,” Logan pointed out. “Seems a little late to be changing your name because of a troubled childhood. Any record after she became Diana Stockley?”
“No.”
Logan took a moment to think. “Where’s she originally from?”
“Oklahoma. Her dad left when she was young. She and her siblings ended up getting sent to live with an aunt in Des Moines.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ve pieced together a partial employment history, but I’m still working on it.”
“What do you have so far?”
He could hear the clicks of a keyboard over the phone, then Callie said, “As Diana Stockley, she’s been in Braden just short of two years.”
“So right after she changed her name.”
“Pretty much. Before that, as Diana Baudler, she worked at a place called-”
“Let me guess. Harkin Services in El Portal, California,” Logan finished for her.
“Right,” she said, surprised. “How did you know?”
He told her about obtaining Diana’s rental application from Mark Hackbarth.
“But her name was different. Why would she put that down?” Callie asked.
“Because she had to put something down. My guess, with the way the economy is here, she probably didn’t think anyone would ever check.”
“You could make a living at this if you wanted,” she said, impressed.
“Yeah, if. What about before Harkin?”
“For about a year, she seemed to be making the rounds of bars in Reno and Carson City. Prior to that she worked in Flagstaff, Arizona, for almost four years at…” She paused. “Harkin Services.”
“Again?”
“Same employer, different location.”
Flagstaff was only a three-hour drive from Braden. If Diana had lived there for four years, she’d know the town pretty well. It might feel safe.
“Did you find her address in Flagstaff?”
“Hold on.” More keys clicking. “Yeah, I’ve got it, but that was a while ago.”
“I know, but give it to me anyway.”
She read it off to him. As she finished, Logan’s phone beeped with an incoming call.
“Just a second,” he told her, and switched to the other call.
“I think they’re getting ready to leave town.” It was Dev.
“Why do you think that?”
“A few minutes ago, the woman and her friend came back in a hurry. The two who were chasing you met them in the parking lot. They had a conversation and then they all went into different rooms. Less than a minute ago, each came back out carrying a suitcase. They’re putting them into their car now. What do you want me to do?”
“Follow them,” Logan said immediately. “Let’s see which way they go.” He switched back to Callie. “Sorry about that. Anything else?”
“That’s all I have for now,” she said. “If I find more, I’ll let you know.”
“Hold on,” he said. “I have two names you can check. Paskota and Frisk. Paskota’s a female and might be a doctor. Frisk is male, no known occupation.”
“First names?”
“The woman’s first name might start with an E, but that’s all I got. Don’t have anything on the man’s.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“Thanks, Callie.”
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay safe.”
Ten minutes later he got a call from Dev. “They’re headed east on the interstate, just about to pass into Arizona.”
Northern Arizona was a collection of small towns separated by large areas of nothing. Small towns, and one that was a bit larger than the others.