Revelations by Laurel Dewey Read Free Book Online

No ransom. Just odd, non sequitur deliveries to either Jake’s parents’ house or Bo’s office. We’ll see them when we sit down with Bo…”
    “Jordan doesn’t need the money but he’s also not looking for attention. What’s his motive?”
    “Maybe it’s just part of his sickness.”
    Jane reached the outside edge of Boulder and started up the long highway that led to Midas. “’Is he a Frequent Flyer?’” Jane asked, referencing someone with a history of being in and out of jail. Weyler shook his head. “Okay. You know as well as I do that perps typically re-offend a lot sooner than seven years after they get out. And if their arrest history prior to going to prison is zilch, like Copeland, the chances of recidivism go down.”

    “You know my feelings on statistics.”
    “Right. It just takes one person to slant the chart.” Jane let out a tired breath. “One stat I do know is that the odds of a kidnapped kid showing up alive after five days missing are pretty slim. So if Jake is dead and Jordan’s got a part in it, he’ll never see the outside world again.”
    “Maybe that’s exactly what he wants. Maybe between prison and freedom, the former is safer for him.”
     
     
    Forty-five pensive minutes later, Jane wound the Mustang off the highway and into the town of Midas. After one block of service stations and several restaurants, they arrived on Main Street and a sign that declared they were 7,200 feet in elevation. The main drag had a wide-open feel to it—oddly exposed for a town so steeped in secrets. Sidewalks were well swept of debris and showed no signs that snow had fallen just a few days before. Wealth obviously bought swift attention from the town’s public works department. Even though it was a Friday, the streets were nearly bare of traffic and people. Jane mulled that everyone was probably tucked away in their homes—either counting their money or keeping a low profile.
    It was obvious to Jane that Midas was a place where even the most severe euphemistic economic downturn wouldn’t cast a shadow down Main Street. Destructive outside forces like a pesky global recession simply weren’t allowed to penetrate the tenuous façade. There was a tangible eeriness that Jane felt as she drove slowly down the street. It wasn’t like the haunted vibe she got when she visited Creede, Colorado, or the outright fusion of contrasting vibes she felt driving through Peachville. No, Midas was different altogether. Midas felt like a town holding its collective breath; at once on edge and at the same time aggressively protecting itself. There were no outward signs of community involvement. No banners that announced town events. There was none of the corny, albeit apropos, small town greetings, such as
Howdy or Welcome! on the town sign. Midas was a brick wall encased in a steel tomb.
    Weyler directed Jane to drive to the middle of Main Street where the two-story, inconspicuous Midas Town Hall was located. She parked in front, having her choice of seven open spaces. The only action around Town Hall was the sight of two men on ladders installing cables and what looked like a wireless Internet antenna. As she locked the car door, the sickly sweet scent of gardenias surrounded her. Jane glanced at the flower boxes outside Town Hall expecting to see them awash in the ivory flower. But the only thing they held was dirt. Strangely, the aroma was even stronger standing outside in Midas than it was the night before when she first detected the fragrance in her closet. It hung closer to her, almost suffocating her with its intensity.
    “Something wrong, Jane?” Weyler asked.
    “You smell gardenias, boss?”
    “No.”
    “ Seriously ?” Jane said irritated. “You can’t smell that?”
    “Bo’s waiting for us, Jane. Come on.”
    Inside the front door, Jane and Weyler walked into a tiny seating room. An exceptionally round-faced woman sat behind a wall of security glass. As quickly as the scent of