by Alex Kava
“Even longer when you’re alone.”
“You got that right.”
“You feel safe where you are?” Hannah wanted to know.
Frankie hesitated then said, “Yes.” She gave her friend the details of her choice and the precautions she’d taken. “It’s the safest I’ve felt all day. Especially with the storms.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to be dodging storms all weekend. Now listen, before you drive all the way down here, my FBI friend wants to meet with you. Do you think you can get to Montgomery tomorrow about 12:30?”
“Sure,” Frankie said as she grabbed her notes and looked over her route. “That’s four hours from Nashville. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’m trying to cut a couple hours off for both of you. Maggie will be flying into Atlanta, so it’s a two-hour drive for her. It’d be twice that for her to come down here to the panhandle. You can meet with her for lunch and then you’ll still have plenty of time to head on down. I’ll have a room all waiting for you.”
“Hannah, are you sure? I’ve been thinking about this and I don’t want to put you and your boys at risk.” Frankie didn’t want to remind Hannah that they might be killers.
“After everything you and me have been through together? Girl, we’ll do just fine.”
But there was something in Hannah’s voice that Frankie recognized. Her friend wasn’t as confident as she sounded.
“Do you remember that meat-and-three this side of Montgomery? Southern Blessings?”
“Of course. Your grandparents used to take us there. Miss Opal used to bring us extra biscuits. I can’t believe it’s still there.”
“Miss Opal passed away a few years back. The new owners haven’t changed a thing. In fact, you need be bring some of those biscuits with you.”
Frankie knew what Hannah was doing, trying to pretend that all was good and normal. She didn’t stop her.
“I told Maggie that’s where you’d meet her,” Hannah told her. “At 12:30. The place should be clearing out a bit, but on a Saturday, who knows. Her name’s Maggie O’Dell. I’m sure you’ll recognize her. She’ll be the only Yankee in the place.”
Hannah laughed, and this time it was genuine with all the melody. Frankie smiled. She’d been gone almost as many years as she’d lived in the south, but being born there seemed to give a person lifelong credentials. But her friend was right. She’d probably be able to pick the FBI agent out of diner’s usual lunch crowd.
“I know you haven’t been able to check your email,” Hannah said, her voice already serious, again. “You said Tyler mentioned he was sending you something. Is that right?”
“Yes, he did. I yelled at him about it. I can’t believe I yelled at him.” She couldn’t think about that right now. “I haven’t seen anything from him. My watch sends me notifications of my emails. Maybe it got dropped in my spam file.”
“Do you mind giving me your email address and password? Maggie said it might be helpful if her computer analyst could take a look.”
“Okay.” Frankie gave Hannah the information. “So I guess if she agreed to meet with me, she doesn’t think I’m just being paranoid.”
“No. No, she doesn’t. Maggie talked to a Chicago detective. Your friend, Tyler was shot. It wasn’t that far from his friend’s apartment.”
“Is he okay?” Even as the words came out of her mouth, Frankie knew.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. He’s dead.”
27
FLORIDA PANHANDLE
Brodie didn’t mean to interrupt Hannah’s phone conversation. Hannah gestured for her to come into the kitchen then pointed to the freshly baked cookies. That was the aroma that had brought her back downstairs. Brodie still couldn’t get used to things like this. Not just baked goods, fresh out of the oven and set there on the counter, but the idea that she could take one whenever she wanted.
“You get some sleep, sweetie,” Hannah told the caller.
Brodie noticed that Hannah called several people “sweetie,” but she called Brodie, “Sweet Pea.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Finished, Hannah looked at Brodie and said, “I don’t know about you but I could sure use a glass of milk and a cookie. How about joining me?”
Brodie nodded.
“Grab a couple of small plates. I’ll get the milk.”
Brodie washed her hands at the sink. Some days she wondered if she would ever feel clean enough. Thankfully, no one gave her a tough time about it, except for Thomas, Hannah’s younger son, and usually it was only because he didn’t want anyone expecting him to wash his hands.
The cookies were still warm, the chocolate gooey and the edges crispy.
“Was that your friend, Frankie?” Brodie asked.
Hannah nodded.
Over dinner, she had told Brodie about her childhood friend, that she was in some trouble and might be staying with them for a few days. Isaac and Thomas were excited. They called her Aunt Frankie. But Hannah seemed concerned if it was okay with Brodie.
Which was yet another thing she wasn’t used to—people asking and caring about her opinion. First, it was Ryder asking if it was okay for him to leave and now this. Brodie wished they didn’t worry so much. She wished they didn’t try so hard. She didn’t want to be a burden.
It reminded her of the day she arrived. At lunch everyone had been talking, asking polite questions, but mostly just making conversation. Suddenly, she realized they had all stopped and were staring at her plate. She had dismantled her sandwich, separating the bread, tomato, lettuce, cheese and turkey. Then she carefully put it back together again and started breaking it into bite-size pieces. At first, she thought maybe she shouldn’t be using her fingers. Was that why they were staring at her? But everyone else had their sandwiches in their hands.
It was Hannah who finally asked if everything was okay.
“Would you like something different?” she offered.
Brodie couldn’t imagine what would be more delicious. It even had mayo on it and the bread was fresh, no green mold or flecks of insects. Iris Malone often hid drugs in Brodie’s food, sometimes sneaking it in her favorites. Brodie hated the way the pills made her feel—not just groggy, but her body felt like it was disconnected from her brain.
“I’m sorry,” Brodie had finally told them when she knew she’d never be able to explain. She remembered how her fingers stilled, and her eyes stayed on her plate all the while feeling the flush of embarrassment. Soon she heard laughter and she wanted to crawl under the table.
“Well, it looks like you started a new trend,” Ryder said.
When Brodie looked up she saw that Isaac and Thomas had started breaking their sandwiches into small pieces and popping them into their mouths. It took her a minute to recognize the young boys weren’t mocking her, they were enjoying the fun, new way to eat their lunch.
In the weeks since then, Brodie realized she was becoming a bit of a hero—a strange unconventional hero— to Hannah’s two boys. It wasn’t just granting them permission to break up their food and eat with their fingers. There were other things. Two days ago she’d killed a spider on their bedroom wall using the palm of her hand.
Their mouths dropped open and their eyes were so wide that Brodie immediately asked, “What? Was it poisonous?”
Though she was pretty sure it wasn’t. As a girl growing up in the South, she had memorized what every poisonous spider and snake looked like. It had actually come in handy when she was confined to outdoor sheds and later, the basement prison.
Ironic Isaac and Thomas thought of her as a hero. They had no idea how much she had relied on them. One of her first lessons on manners came from Isaac kicking her under the table when she didn’t immediately follow his example of saying “thank you.” Brodie hated to admit it, but she felt most comfortable with the two little boys. They didn’t treat her like she might shatter into tiny pieces. And despite being twenty-seven years old, her mind and social manners were more on their level than her adult
counterparts.
Now, as Hannah sat across the table from her, Brodie could see she was still concerned about her friend. She had heard more of the conversation than she wanted to confess. But she wanted to make Hannah feel better. She’d done so much to make her feel welcome in her home.
“You make the best cookies,” Brodie told her.
“Thank you, Sweet Pea. These are your brother’s favorites, too.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Not since earlier. But they’ve been showing pictures on the news of the damage. Lord have mercy! It’s a miracle there weren’t more deaths.”
“Ryder and Grace, they’re like heroes, aren’t they?”
“Grace is, indeed, a special little dog. And your brother...well, he certainly has a gift with dogs. He knows dogs better than he knows people. And he’s definitely more comfortable with them than he is with people.”
“Jason says you can trust dogs more than you can trust people.”
Hannah looked at her as if giving it some consideration then said, “Yes, I imagine that’s true.”
“Did Jason and Scout leave, too?”
“Yes, Sweet Pea. It’s just you, me and the boys.” Hannah paused before she added, “Until your mom gets here tomorrow.”
She could feel Hannah’s eyes stay on her, but Brodie’s strayed out the window. She didn’t want to think about her mother. The thought made her sick to her stomach. It reminded her of all the lies Iris Malone had told her. For years, Brodie had no idea they were lies. Even now, for some reason she couldn’t stop her body from reacting.
Outside dark clouds were ruining the sunset. She noticed they were gathering in the same spot as this morning. The same spot where Creed and Jason had gone.
“Will they be safe?”
She expected Hannah to reassure her, but the woman was already tense, worrying about her friend, so Brodie shouldn’t have been surprised when Hannah said, “I sure pray to God they are.”
Something about Hannah’s tone that suddenly made Brodie feel a sense of urgency. Her pulse started racing and her eyes darted around the kitchen. She realized she didn’t know where Kitten had gone. How could she have lost track?
“She’s right here,” Hannah told Brodie, knowing exactly what Brodie was looking for without a single word exchanged.
Hannah scooped up the kitten from under the table and deposited the ball of fur on Brodie’s lap.
“Have you thought any more about names?”
“Names?” Brodie’s fingers stroked the cat’s soft fur, willing her mind to reset to calm.
In the beginning when she first found the kitten, she would panic any time it was out of her sight. She’d never had someone she loved so much that it hurt like a kick to the stomach just to imagine losing her.
“Seems like she deserves a better name than Kitten.”
Brodie tried to release the tension buckled between her shoulders. Kitten was fine. She was fine. She was in warm, safe house eating cookies with a woman she could trust not to hurt her.
“How did you come up with Grace?” Brodie asked. Her first encounter with the Jack Russell terrier helped her realize she didn’t need to be afraid of all dogs.
“That was easy,” Hannah waved a hand at her like she was swatting a fly. “When Ryder found her she was all skin and bones. Poor thing looked beat down. First time I saw her I told him it was by amazing grace that that dog was alive. Almost immediately we began calling her Grace. What was the first thing came to mind when you saw Kitten?”
“I was glad she wasn’t a rat.”
Hannah laughed. Brodie caught herself smiling. She loved the sound of Hannah’s laughter. It was like listening to music.
28
SOUTHERN ALABAMA
Creed was relieved when he saw Jason’s SUV making its way through the barricades.
Two volunteers and another state trooper had taken Baby Garner. Michael and Elizabeth Garner were the names on the car seat with an address in Richmond, Virginia. Trooper Sykes confirmed that the drivers’ license they’d found on the passenger was that of Michael Garner. At this point, they could only presume that Elizabeth had been driving.
Grace had put the volunteers through a thorough inspection before she was satisfied enough to release the baby to the pair. Since then, Creed and Grace had walked a grid in the field, spanning out from the crumpled vehicle and tackling about a hundred-foot radius. This was after they’d walked the entire line of fallen pine trees twice. Grace went through the motions, but she hadn’t latched onto another scent cone. Creed worried that she gotten too overheated and too worked up over the crying baby. In this kind of heat and humidity Creed always kept an eye on his dogs. He restricted Grace to twenty-minute searches followed by thirty-minute breaks. She usually fussed about the breaks, but now she appeared bored.
He led her to a grassy patch, free of debris and pulled out her water dish. She did a lazy-sit, watching over his shoulder. She was distracted. She sniffed the air and stood, again, but from her stance, Creed recognized her agitation.
He glanced over his shoulder, but he already knew what was making her anxious.
Grace could smell the storm.
Weather patterns produced their own distinctive odors, and Grace was like a canine barometer. She wasn’t afraid like some of Creed’s other dogs, but she did become restless by a drop in pressure, and she could sense any shift in the static electric field. From the curl of her tail and the pitch of her ears, Creed knew she was already on edge. The incoming storm was close.
He still hoped Jason and Scout could do a fresh search of the field. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Elizabeth Garner out here to be battered by a second round of wind and rain. It did no longer mattered whether she was alive or dead, he just wanted to find her. But the clouds were already snuffing out the few hours of daylight that remained.
The Butler County sheriff waved at him and walked over. There was no hesitation as he sloshed through the receding water.
“We have to pull the response teams,” he yelled to Creed. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. The man didn’t look happy about it but also looked exhausted. “I have a couple of rooms reserved for you guys.” He gestured back to the Interstate. “You can get on and head up north toward Montgomery. About five miles.”
“That’s nice of you, Sheriff. You didn’t need to do that.”
“The least I could. If it wasn’t for you, we’d never have found that little one.”
“Grace found him.”
“That, she did.” He gave her a genuine smile, but Grace had started pacing at the end of her leash. “She’s picking up another scent?”
“No, it’s the storm.”
“Look, Trooper Sykes told me you’ve been beating down this field looking for that missing driver.”
Creed rubbed at his bristled jaw. In the back of his mind he could hear the mantra: Grief belongs to the families. Dread belongs to the handlers. Did he do enough? Was it possible he missed something?
“Right now,” the sheriff continued, “You need to go take care of yourself and your dog, but I hope you’ll stick around the area tomorrow. Meteorologists are saying we’re in for a helluva weekend. I’d sure appreciate having your crew nearby and available if that’s possible?”
“Of course.” His eyes were on Jason and Scout. Despite the darkening sky Jason had the tailgate up and was preparing for a search.
“We might do one last search,” he told the sheriff. “A fresh dog could make a difference.” He saw Jason glance back at him and Creed gestured to him.
“Just make it quick. You know the way it is down here. Sunshine one minute and the next all hell breaks loose.”
Scout was already bounding toward them. A couple of hours in the SUV would have the dog eager to get to work. He looked like an undisciplined jackass, practically dragging Jason, but the young black Lab had come a long ways. And so had his handler. The two misfits made perfect team.
&nbs
p; Creed glanced over at the sheriff and saw the man’s gaze lock on Jason’s prosthetic. It was six months new to Jason and sometimes Creed saw the kid as uncomfortable with it as he had been with the empty hanging sleeve. The technology was state-of-the-art, DARPA’s newest and best, but came in stages. Jason’s version still didn’t include cover that looked like skin. That was still to come, along with more sensors. For now, he looked like a bionic man with a sleek black and metal arm. Hannah’s boys called Jason the Transformer, and Creed could tell he liked that. But then the kid would get out in the public and practically hunch his body in defensive mode. It had taken Creed a while to realize Jason’s chip-on-the-shoulder attitude wasn’t exactly all about the arm.
He introduced the sheriff to both Jason and Scout. Grace had come over to greet the Lab then she wagged in front of Jason until he reached down and petted her. They were close to the smashed vehicle, and Jason’s eyes were already scanning over it.
To Jason, Creed said, “The driver’s missing. You might be able to get some scent from the inside. The seat, the floorboard. Maybe even the steering wheel.” By now, the passenger’s body had already been removed, but Creed knew Scout might still be distracted with the smells left behind from it.
Just then, Creed noticed the small door to the gas tank was open. The tornado had done strange things to the vehicle and prying open that compartment was the least of the strange things. But the gas cap hung loose by its cord. Would the storm’s pressure be able to unscrew the cap?
He turned to look back up the incline to the Interstate junction. First responsers, law enforcement officers and volunteers were packing up. Where there were once buildings—a gas station, convenient store and fast food restaurant—now stood piles of bricks, cinder blocks and two-by-fours. A couple of tow trucks were and a stock trailer were loaded with the crumpled remains of vehicles.
“Sheriff, is there anyone around who went through the storm?”
“Owner of the gas station is trying to salvage some of his inventory before the next downpour.”
