Page 45 of Chasing a Kidnapper

She nodded. “Or the killer was driving in from the Badlands or Mount Rushmore area and stopped at the first sign of civilization.” A horrible thought hit. “Do you think Bryan’s body was dumped here as a warning to me?”

“I think this guy has already broken into your home, assaulted Laurel, tried to kidnap Gabriel and took shots at us. That’s more than a mere warning, Trish.”

“You’re right.” She sighed. “I tried to find a connection on social media between Nick Cutter and Bryan, but there’s nothing. Maybe he’s not our guy.”

“Maybe not, or there’s a team of people working together on this. We know for sure someone took the black Ford sedan,” he pointed out.

She glanced at him. “Being an investigator is frustrating.”

He barked out a laugh. “Yes, it can be. But solving a case is extremely satisfying.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.” She could see the building housing the Wild Wild West Restaurant up ahead. “Looks like it’s a bit run-down.”

“Yeah.” West frowned. “We’ll ask questions first. We may want to eat someplace else.”

“Whatever you’d like is fine with me.” In all her patrols, she had never been called to this restaurant.

And wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad one. Either the patrons avoided the cops at all costs, or the inside was nicer than what it appeared from the outside.

She hoped for the latter.

West parked the car, then let Peanut out of the back. She gestured to the beagle wearing her K-9 vest. “Do you think there are weapons inside?”

“Never hurts to have Peanut’s nose warning me if there are,” he said with a shrug. “The name of the restaurant could attract the type of clientele who carry concealed weapons.” He glanced around curiously. “There is also the possibility the gun traffickers might use a place like this the way they used the Plains City Pizzeria. As a staging location. Or a meeting place.”

She nodded, steeling herself for whatever they would find inside. West opened the front door for her, saying in a low voice to Peanut, “Want to find tools? Find tools, Pea.”

The dog lifted her snout to the air and sniffed, making her smile. Crossing the threshold, Trisha was surprised to see the interior was rather nice, with the usual Wild West type of motif. Wild Bill Hickok and his infamous last poker game, when he was brutally gunned down in the back by a former rival, was the area’s claim to fame. Tourists expected to find this kind of thing.

There was a long gleaming oak bar along the wall to the right, and a spattering of tables took up the rest of the room. It appeared as if the kitchen was somewhere in the back.

A woman wearing skintight jeans, a denim shirt and a cowboy hat strolled over to meet them. “Table for two?” she asked, glancing down at Peanut. Seeing the K-9 vest, she frowned. “Are you here in some sort of official capacity?”

“I’m Detective West Cole and this is Officer Trisha McCord.” He took a photograph from his pocket. Trisha winced when she saw the picture of her ex-husband’s battered face. “Do you recognize this man?”

The woman took a step back and shook her head. “No. Is that the dead guy our cook found out back?”

Not a surprise that the news of Bryan’s body being found had run through the restaurant.

“That’s correct,” Trisha confirmed. “You’re sure he was never a customer?”

“I didn’t say that,” the woman said, backpedaling. “I don’t recognize him, but I don’t memorize every person that eats here. You know how many people stop in as they’re passing through?”

“A lot, I imagine,” West agreed. “We’d like to know if any other employees recognize him.”

“Ask away.” The woman threw up her hand. “Nobody here has anything to hide.”

Trisha noticed how West eyed Peanut as he moved across the room. It wasn’t until they reached the bar that Peanut’s nose rose again. She sniffed the air, then sat and stared up at West.

“Can I help you?” The bartender’s nametag identified him as Jim.

West flashed his badge, but Jim didn’t appear impressed. “Do you recognize this man?” West pushed the picture of Bryan’s battered face across the bar.

Jim barely looked at it. “Nope.”

“Do you have a gun behind the bar?” West asked.

That made Jim’s head snap up. “No! Why do you ask?” he demanded.

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