Page 13 of Little Child Gone (Nikki Hunt #10)

EIGHT

The first neighbors on Nikki’s short list of four lived less than a mile from the Hendricksons’ property.

According to public record, the Watson family had owned the house next door for a few years.

She wanted to find out what they knew about Karl; despite his age, his odd behavior around the apartment was making him seem suspect.

She wanted to speak to Stephanie and Patrick and had left messages for both.

Nikki turned into their driveway, surprised at how different the property looked from the one a half mile down the road.

Unlike the old Hendrickson homestead, the Watsons only had a handful of shade trees, making their cute bungalow visible from the road.

Lush garlands wrapped around the porch spindles, and the snow on the two pine trees on either side of the home glowed from the multicolored lights. In the dreary winter daylight, the lights made the little blue home look like an old-fashioned Christmas card.

A late-model SUV was parked in front of the single-car, detached garage, the reindeer antlers still fixed on the front of the vehicle.

Nikki parked behind it and checked her bag to make sure she had everything she needed. She gasped at the bracing north wind as she exited the Jeep. Ice melt covered the stone path that led up to the front porch, the ice crunching beneath her boots.

Her knock set off a rapid-fire chain of barking from at least two dogs.

They sounded big, and big dogs made her uneasy when she didn’t know the owners.

She’d been bitten early in her career by a Dobermann protecting their owners.

Her husband, Tyler, wanted the dog put down, but Nikki had fought against it. It was never the dog’s fault.

Movement from the window caught her eye, and Nikki had to laugh at the mastiff pressing his face against the glass.

“Hello.” A petite woman with silver hair and a friendly smile had opened the door, the second mastiff at her side. The woman clutched his collar as though he wasn’t the size of a small pony that could drag her down the porch any time he wanted. “Hush, Duke.”

The dog grumbled but obeyed. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m with the FBI.” She held out her badge. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Her eyes widened, but she beckoned Nikki inside.

The other mastiff barked from their spot on the couch.

“Major is our oldest. He knows when it’s worth his time and when it isn’t.

” She stopped at the stairs. “Jeff, come down here.” She patted Nikki’s arm.

“Bonnie Watson. My husband’s Jeff.” She called his name again.

“I’m comin’, woman.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “We’ve been married forty years. He thinks he’s cute.” She directed Nikki toward the nineties-style kitchen. “Can I get you anything? We still have peanut butter fudge.”

“No, thank you,” Nikki said.

Jeff appeared, his jeans and Grateful Dead shirt splattered with paint. He grinned at Nikki. “Duke and Major always make sure we know guests have arrived.” He stuck out his hand. “Jeff Watson. You caught me trying to finish up an oil painting I’ve been working on.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t take much of your time.

” Nikki introduced herself as they sat down at the oak pedestal table.

“I’m following up on some reports we had about odd activities a couple of months ago at the old Hendrickson place.

” Nikki didn’t like to give away any more information than she had to and just wanted a feel for how much notice they took of the property next door.

The Watsons looked surprised. “Didn’t Matt Kline buy it?” Bonnie asked. She smiled at Nikki’s surprise. “I work part-time at the local community center. He hasn’t come around to introduce himself, so we assumed he wanted to be left alone.”

“He took possession right before Christmas,” Nikki answered. “These calls came in about a month or so before that. Have you noticed any unusual activity in the last few months?”

Both Watsons shook their heads. “To be honest, we don’t pay much attention to the place,” Jeff said. “Karl’s gone and his kids… well, it’s not my place to judge.”

“Judge them for what?” Nikki asked.

“For contesting the will,” Bonnie said. “But then, Karl was always a bit of a hermit. We moved here a few years before Karl died. He was struggling to take care of himself and the house then, but he wouldn’t ask his kids for help.

He wouldn’t explain why. Jeff and I checked on him every once in a while, brought him a hot meal.

” Nikki did the math in her head; the Watsons weren’t here when Ms. Smith was.

“Did he ever talk about his kids?” Nikki asked. “Or any part of his family and life?”

“He was a World War Two veteran,” Jeff answered. “He didn’t talk a lot about his personal life, but we knew his wife had passed from cancer several years before, and it was obvious he was lonely.”

“His kids and grandson live in the area,” Bonnie huffed. “But I don’t think they visited much.”

“Did you ever see anyone else at the property?” Nikki asked.

“We spoke to him about getting a home health aide in a couple of times, but he didn’t want strangers in his house,” Jeff said.

“My own mother had passed the year before, and her home nurse was just amazing. I gave Karl her information, but I don’t know if he ever made the effort or not.

” Nikki made a note. It wasn’t that suspect that Karl didn’t want anyone in his home after Ms. Smith disappeared.

Did he know about the bodies; was he hiding them?

“We were on a three-week cruise when he passed,” Bonnie said. “By the time we got back home, he’d already been buried. We missed the funeral.” She made a face. “I heard Stephanie gave him a bottom-dollar funeral.”

“It sounds like a very sad situation. Did the siblings come around much at all before or after he died?”

“I don’t remember seeing either of them,” Jeff said.

“I do,” Bonnie cut in. “We’d just gotten home from the cruise and heard about his passing.

Jeff had gone to the store, but I was in the yard and saw a vehicle at Karl’s place.

I decided to see if one of his children had stopped by.

I wanted to pay my respects.” Bonnie’s eyes darkened.

“His son was loading up the antiques in the house.”

“Those were family heirlooms, hon,” Jeff said. “I can’t blame him for taking them when they couldn’t watch the place constantly.”

“He was rude,” Bonnie argued. “I told him I was sorry for his loss, and he grunted. I thought at first he was holding back emotion, but he got a phone call. It took me a few seconds to figure out that he and his sister were arguing about the antiques. I left.”

Nikki hadn’t gotten that impression of Major Hendrickson from Matt’s attorney. Grief affected everyone differently. She’d reserve judgment until she spoke to him.

“What reports did you receive, exactly?” Bonnie asked.

“Unusual activity,” Nikki said. “If not much of value remained, it was probably kids looking to do something they weren’t supposed to be doing.”

Curiosity burned in Bonnie’s eyes. Nikki stood and thanked the Watsons for their time before Bonnie could ask any more questions. “Before I leave, could I get the home health aide’s contact information? My colleague’s elderly mother needs help, and it’s so hard to find someone you can trust.”

“Of course, let me run upstairs to my studio. My files and all of that are up there.”

“Thanks.” Nikki walked slowly to the door, wary of the two dogs sitting on the couch.

Bonnie followed closely behind. “What’s really going on over there?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why would the FBI be investigating alleged illegal activity at an empty house?” Bonnie asked. “Isn’t that the sheriff’s job?”

Nikki wasn’t about to tell her the truth, but Bonnie already knew Matt Kline had bought the place and hadn’t bothered him or mentioned it to the media. She leaned down closer to Bonnie. “Just between you and me?”

“Absolutely,” Bonnie said.

“Matt had heard about the reports and wanted it checked out,” Nikki said. “I’m kind of doing it as a favor to him. To ease his mind. He’s been through a lot.”

Bonnie’s hand went to her chest. “Bless his heart. Is there anything he needs? I’d be happy to bring food or help clean.”

“He’s wealthy.” Jeff had returned. “He can hire people.” He handed Nikki a crumpled business card. “She may have retired or be doing something else. But if she’s still taking care of elderly people, I’d highly recommend her.”

Nikki thanked the Watsons again and headed back to the Jeep, business card in her hand.

She moved on to the next neighbor. Property records showed Jimmy Regan had purchased the twenty acres just north of Karl Hendrickson’s home a few years before Karl died, after the land had been rezoned to residential instead of farmland.

Regan’s double-wide mobile home sat close enough to the road he might have had a view of the Hendricksons’ comings and goings.

Christmas decorations still decorated the white porch, a striking contrast to the dark-blue siding.

The short driveway hadn’t been plowed since last night’s storm, Nikki’s Jeep creating fresh tracks as she parked next to a snow-covered Toyota Highlander.

She couldn’t say why, but something about the place’s isolation made Nikki take her gun out of the locked case and stow it into the holster. Regan had no criminal record, but Nikki had learned to trust the hairs on the back of her neck.

Snow and ice packed the porch steps. Nikki gripped the railing to keep from falling on her face. The porch didn’t appear to have been shoveled either. What was she about to find?

Nikki knocked on the door, her right hand resting on the hidden SIG Sauer. Several seconds passed in silence before she heard what sounded like a deadbolt unlocking from the inside.

A tall, dark-haired man wearing a headset opened the door a few inches. “Can I help you?”