I still don’t talk about anything but the drive back until we’re around the table, and Vee’s fully invested in her spaghetti and meatballs. Then I say, “Okay. So. Vee, you bolted from the foster home. Right? Easy, I’m not judging you. I just need to know facts.”
She’s not running from her food. She’s got her hand curled protectively around the bowl. But her eyes warn me not to push.
Too bad.
“Yeah,” she finally says. “I ran. So?”
“You got a good reason?”
“They were assholes.”
“What made them assholes?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I was better off on my own.”
I don’t debate that. I don’t know the full story, and I don’t want to quiz her about potential abuse. That’s for the cops to sort out. It’s important I don’t doubt her, or alienate her; she’ll be off like a shot if I do. Probably taking the bowl with her.
“You got a place to stay?” I ask her. I know she doesn’t; if she did, she wouldn’t have been sneaking into our house.
“Little place in the woods,” she says. “More of a lean-to. It ain’t a palace.”
“Doesn’t sound very safe,” I say. “You want to stay here? With us?”
Her eyes widen. She looks around, as if she can’t believe anybody shares in such luxury. I just see a regular middle-class house with a fairly comfortable couch and a good on-sale TV. But mileage varies. “Here?” she says. “Where?”
“My room,” Lanny says, at the same time that I say, “The couch folds out,” and that’s awkward. But I’m damn sure not putting a lovestruck kid in bed with Vee Crockett and trusting nothing’s going to happen. I’m pretty sure Gwen would say the same. Which reminds me, again, how much I miss Gwen’s presence in this conversation. I’d expected J. B. to call by now, but when I glance at my phone, there’s nothing yet.
“She’s staying with me. In my room,” Lanny declares, as if she’s the decision-maker here.
“Nope,” I say, and eat some more spaghetti. I’m not going to argue about it, and she knows that. She glares. “The couch bed is comfortable. I should know, I slept there for a couple of months.” Gwen and I had things to work out after she discovered how involved I was with the Lost Angels. That wasn’t fun, but I’m not lying about the comfortable bed.
“It’s fine,” Vee says to Lanny. “Not that I don’t like your bed.” She winks, and I open my mouth to ask how many times that’s happened, but then I think better of it. Lanny’s face has blotched scarlet, and she looks deeply shocked that Vee’s said that in front of me.
“Vee,” I say instead of running after that bait, “are we going to be getting a knock on the door from the police, looking for you? Would anything you’re running from cause that? I don’t mean just bouncing from the foster home—I grew up in the system, and I bounced from a few too. I mean actual crimes they can tie back to you.”
She stops eating. She looks at me, and I remember that flat, simmering resentment in her eyes. It hasn’t changed since Wolfhunter. “I ain’t killed nobody recently,” she says. “If that’s what you’re asking.” It’s sarcastic. Vee Crockett was accused of her mother’s murder. As far as I know, she’s never actually killed anyone.
Doesn’t make me trust her.
“I was clear,” I say. “Straight answer, Vee. If you want to stay.”
She’s aware that I’m serious. I see her calculating. She’s a smart kid—not book-smart, but she reads people well. It’s something kids who live on the edges develop early. Some turn it into pure con artistry. Some use it defensively, like she does. She’ll try to game me if she thinks that will work.
She must see it won’t, because she says, “I done what I had to do. Some of it might not be strictly legal, I guess.”
“Bad enough to have warrants out?”
She just shakes her head on that one. I don’t think she’s lying. “Okay. You can stay until Gwen gets back. Then we have a deeper conversation. Finish lunch. You three get to Roshambo for who does dishes.” I eat the rest of my spaghetti and check my phone. No calls from Gwen. I text her one-handed. Funny story, we have a new houseguest. If anything will make her get back to me, I figure that will do it.
I watch the screen.
No answer.
I start feeling that tension creep up my spine, knotting muscles as it goes. The kids are talking. I’m not listening. My focus is all on that screen.
Nothing.
“Cleanup duty, all of you,” I tell them as I stand up. “I need to make a call. Lanny, put the window back on the alarm circuit and lock it up. Vee, that alarm stays on all the time. You’re free to leave if you want to, but you ask before you open that door. Understand?”
She gives me a tired salute. “Yes, boss.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, we’re full up.” I’m already walking for the office. Gwen’s added soundproofing, since so many of her phone calls are confidential. I don’t want the kids to hear me right now.
I call J. B.’s number, and she picks up on the first ring. “Sorry, I was about to call you. The court isn’t quite running on time. Gwen’s being arraigned in about an hour, and then I can post her bail.”
“I was hoping the whole thing would be dismissed.”
“I know. I was hoping for that, too, but the local DA is getting his fifteen minutes of press attention before he lets it fall apart; Carol’s already disappeared, and the phone number Gwen used to track her is already dead, so they’ve got nothing. I doubt the cops are going to find her again; this girl seems to have a real talent for vanishing. Did Gwen tell you about—” She leaves it for me to fill in. So I do.
“About the cult the girl’s running from? Yeah. It sounds familiar.”
“There are definitely similarities to the Wolfhunter cult, but that got cut off at the knees. It’s very possible that the Wolfhunter location was just one of several, though. You should check with your friend Mike Lustig. FBI, right?”
“Right,” I say. Mike was intensely involved in our Wolfhunter problems; he saw how it all worked firsthand, and knowing Mike, he’d still be digging into that cult if there were anything left to find. “I’ll ask him about it if it would help.”
“It might,” she admits. “Okay. I’ll get back in touch once Gwen’s free. Just take care out there. Fallout from this is inevitable, I’m afraid.”
“Copy that. Tell Gwen—ah, hell. She knows.”
I hang up after polite goodbyes and pull up the Knoxville criminal courts docket. If the reporters haven’t already recognized her name, the firestorm will start burning our direction soon. I have until then to make sure the kids—including Vee Crockett, now, because I just made her our responsibility—are safe and our defenses are solid.
The first call I make is to Kezia to alert her; she’ll notify the rest of the Norton PD that we’re going to need eyes on our house to control any journalists who stampede this way. We’ve got protocols, so I’m not really worried until Kez says, “I was hoping not to talk to you, Sam.”
I don’t like that. At all. “Why?”
“Because the statements that our suspects are giving contradict what Lanny told us. They say that they knew nothing about Candy, but that they only chased Lanny because they thought she was the one who did it and they were—I’m quoting a Belldene here, remember—trying to bring her to justice.”
“Bullshit,” I bark.
“And they’re shoveling it high and deep. Anyway, we’re going to need that girl in sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Sam.”
“Come on. I know you’re fair. But will the county DA, or the judges, or a jury around here be that fair? Kez. It’s not like this tie will go to the killer’s daughter.” I can hear the arguments now. We’re the newcomers. The strangers. Lanny’s got bad influences. The Belldenes have been part of this town since before the Civil War. Tie goes to the locals.
“Sam, I’m going to do what I can,
you know that. But you’ve got to bring her in and get this cleared up.”
“Can’t,” I say. “I’m not her legal guardian. Gwen’s not here right now.” I’ve never been so glad of that. They can’t interview someone Lanny’s age without a parent or legal guardian’s permission. And Gwen’s very unavailable right now. “I’ll let you know when she’s back.”
Kez sighs. “Dammit, don’t try to pull something clever. I don’t want to be looking for you too.”
She’s a good friend, Kezia. But that doesn’t mean she won’t come after me and throw my ass in jail. I know that.
“I’ll call when I get Gwen back,” I tell her. “Until then, you’re not talking to Atlanta Proctor. No offense meant.”
“None taken. I’m glad she’s got advocates. Talk to you soon, Sam. A patrol unit’s going to be hanging around the lake, like you asked.” That’s both to help out with the reporters who will descend, and also to alert Kez when Gwen gets back. Dual duty.
I think about what else I can do. Not much, as it turns out, which is frustrating. By the time I could get to Knoxville, Gwen will be bailed out and headed home. But hunkering down here, however logical it is right now, that feels wrong too.
I look up at a knock on the office door, and get up to open it. It’s Vee Crockett. “Hey,” she says. “Can I come in a minute?”
I gesture her into the room and, on a hunch, shut the door behind her. She settles into Gwen’s office chair and spins it around, leaning back at such an angle I’m afraid she’s going to tip and break her neck. I reach over and close down the laptop screen.
“I wasn’t looking,” she says, and suddenly stops spinning to stare at me. “You wonder why I come all the way here, right?”
“You’re not here for Lanny?”
She smiles. It’s not quite right, that smile. Makes me tense up. “Nope,” she says. “Well, I like Lanta all right. She’s a cutie pie. But there’s something I wanted to tell Ms. Proctor.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“You ain’t Ms. Proctor,” she says.
“Vee, I have had a shitty day, I’m really tired, and I’ve got no patience for bullshit right now. Just spit it out.”
She sizes me up, then nods. “It’s about Vernon Carr. The man what owned that compound outside Wolfhunter? Owned the garage too?”
Cult leader. All-around asshole too. “What about him?”
“I know where he’s at.”
I don’t honestly know whether to believe her. She looks smug enough. But I shake my head. “Tell the FBI; they’re the ones looking for him.”
“I figure there could be a reward. But they won’t give it to me. I ain’t old enough. But you could get it and give it to me.”
I’m way too tired for this. Too worried about Gwen and Lanny and Connor. “We’re not cops, we’re not agents, and I’m not lying to the FBI for you. Okay, Vee? You can stay here until Gwen gets back, and then we’ll have a conversation about what comes next. That’s the best offer you’re getting. How’s that?”
“Sucks,” she says crisply. “And you’re kind of an asshole, Sam.”
“When I need to be. But mostly I’m just too tired to sugarcoat things right now.” I expect her to leave. She doesn’t. She spins the chair again, but more slowly. “Vee. Go. I need to make some calls.”
“In a minute.” She faces me again. “What if I told you ol’ Vern ran off to join up with Father Tom?”
“I don’t know who that is, either, so—”
“You don’t know a hell of a lot, do you? Everybody up in Wolfhunter knew about Father Tom.”
“Because . . .”
“Because he started there. He’s the one started the Assembly.”
“A church?”
“Some might say.” She nods. “It’s what Carr was heading up when everybody out there got shot. Assembly’s short for Assembly of Saints, which is Father Tom’s place. Stands to reason that’s where you ought to be looking for Carr. Where Father Tom is.”
Not a church. A cult. I’d never found out the name of the group living out on Carr’s land, or even if it had one. And . . . Gwen’s looking for a cult now too. I lean forward, suddenly very interested. “Wait,” I say. “Carr didn’t start that cult living in his compound?”
“Nope, just ran it. Father Tom started it, but then he left. Got a bigger place, more followers. He didn’t want to stay in Wolfhunter. Who would?”
Legitimate question. “Do you know where Father Tom moved his cult, then?”
She shrugs, and for the first time she looks away. Picks at the material of her pants. She’s nervous, and Vee Crockett doesn’t get nervous.
“Vee? You can tell me.”
She whips her head back toward me, and I see her consciously armor herself up again. “I don’t know nothing about that.”
“You told me you knew where Carr was.”
“Yeah, I just told you, he’s up with Father Tom! I don’t know where it is on a map!”
“Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?”
“Because I’m a liar, right?” she says, and is instantly on her feet. She’s got unnerving eyes, but never more so than when she’s angry, and right now, she’s burning with it. “Fine, I’m a liar. Fuck you, I’m out.”
As quickly as she came, she’s gone out the office door and slamming it behind her. I put my head in my hands and squeeze in frustration. My headache’s getting worse. I need to figure out what the hell game Vera is really playing here. She’s a clever kid, but she’s also dangerous.
Some painkillers and a cold shower slap some energy back into my bloodstream. It does wake me up, though it doesn’t do much for the aches. I make more coffee, and I’m drinking it when I realize that I don’t know where Vee has gone. Or Lanny, for that matter. I knock on Lanny’s closed door.
“Yeah?” she calls. “I’m not dressed!”
“Is Vee in there with you?” I ask.
“No. She’s in the living room!”
Vee isn’t in the living room. She also isn’t in the rest of the house. I search it methodically, room by room, closets included. Anything large enough for her to hide inside.
When I check the security system, it’s disabled. I quickly reset it. Fuck. I know I covered the panel when I keyed in the code, how the hell did she . . .
And then I realize. I’d automatically put the SUV’s keys on the hanging rack by the door . . . and there’s a remote control for the system on the key chain. All she had to do was press the button. And in the shower, I missed the telltale beep.
When Lanny opens her door I check her room, but there’s no sign of Vee there either. She’s gone.
And she took her duffel bag with her. She’s not coming back.
“What did you say to her, Sam?” That’s Lanny, glaring at me. “Did you make her leave?”
“I said she could stay. I didn’t make her go anywhere.”
“But you must have said something!”
Maybe it was my fault. I pushed her, and she went off like a Roman candle. Which, I realize now, would be consistent for someone with her particular combination of aggressiveness and trauma. I got close to something that scared her or was painful to her. Either way, her instinct was to run.
“We have to go find her,” Lanny says. I stop her as she heads for the door, and set the alarm back when she keys it in. I change the code while I’m at it. “Sam!”
“No,” I say. “Not until your mom is back. You’re not going anywhere.”
“We have to—”
“Lanny! We’re not going anywhere. That’s enough.” We don’t have time for Vera Crockett and her maybe-made-up stories.
I don’t expect Lanny to defy me. That’s a failure of imagination on my part, because she glares at me and throws the front door wide open. The alarm starts blaring. I quickly key it off, but by then Lanny’s running down the hill. And she’s fast.
Dammit, kid . . .
I shut and lock the door and run after her, but she darts i
nto the tree line, and I lose her within the next couple of minutes. If she doesn’t want to be found, I’m not going to find her like this. So I stop, pull out my phone, and call up the tracking app.
She’s disabled it on her new phone already. Dammit.
Not enough coffee in the world for this day.
“Lanny!” I shout. “Come on. Don’t do this. Not today.”
I know she’s heard me. But there’s no answer. I turn and head back toward the house. As I do, I see something in the trees on the other side. A glint from glass. Could be a camera lens, and my first thought is that the reporters are back, and dammit, not now.
But then I realize there’s a man sitting almost motionless in the shadows. He’s a young man with a ragged beard in high-quality, dirty camouflage. Probably one of the Belldene clan.
The fact that he’s looking through a rifle scope at me is what I realize next, and I don’t think. I just spin and flatten myself behind the thickest available tree.
And I see Lanny coming out of the underbrush toward me. She’s got a red scratch on her cheek, and a dry leaf caught in her hair, and I let out a wordless yell and tackle her to the leaf litter because if she gets shot because of me . . .
But there’s no shot.
Lanny yelps and beats at me with her fists until I roll away; I fishtail around and crawl to where I can get a look at the nest where the man aiming at me is.
But he’s gone. Just . . . gone. Like he never existed.
Lanny’s furious, but I rush her into the house, grab my handgun, and go out to check the spot, and what I find there proves to me I wasn’t imagining things. It’s a printed picture of me standing on the porch, talking to Gwen. Couldn’t have been taken too long ago, maybe a couple of weeks at most; I can see that dead leaves are piled up near the steps, and I raked those away ten days ago.
The writing on it says SOON.
And there’s a sharp-pointed rifle round sitting on top of the picture, right over my face.
16
GWEN
Jail brings flashbacks of being arrested on the day Melvin was caught. I was held for days before they finally charged me too. Not pleasant memories, and I try to remember that time is over, and this is a different situation. I still have to spend my time behind bars going through all my coping exercises, one after another, to keep myself from feeling the panic that knocks on the door of my head. It almost works.
Bitter Falls Page 17
