by Lisa Jackson
Now, as they stood together under the meager protection of the front awning, Hale asked, “You sure you’re up for this?”
Savvy was standing a little hunched over, the way she had ever since she’d gotten on her feet. The tender areas were becoming less tender, but she was still definitely sore. “I can’t wait to get home and take a shower in my own shower.”
He half laughed in agreement. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for bringing me here.”
He nodded, then asked cautiously, “Do you know what your long-term plan for Declan is?”
“You mean the breast-feeding?” Savvy asked.
“That . . . and you are his aunt, among other things. . . .” He flicked her a look, his gray eyes sober. “I always figured you’d be a big part of his life, but now . . . maybe even bigger.”
“I want to be,” Savvy responded. “Absolutely.”
“But your job . . . it has a lot of hours, and you’re with the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department.... It’s not right around the corner.”
She wanted to argue with him about everything, when in fact he was right on all counts. “I’ll figure out how to pump,” she said. “But I guess you’ll have to use formula, too.”
“I think Kristina bought some. I’d better head home and do some inventory before I meet Victoria at the hospital.”
“Okay.”
He bent his head to the rain and walked quickly to his TrailBlazer. She did the same, sliding into the Escape and familiarizing herself with everything inside as the vehicle was a few years newer than hers.
She didn’t need chains on the main road, so she made good time down Highway 101 to Deception Bay. She’d been on the road forty minutes when she drove past the turnoff to Siren Song, and she looked up as she passed. The top floors of the lodge were visible from the road above the Douglas firs, and the place looked forbidding and cold. Or maybe that was just her imagination.
How would you feel, Detective, if the great-grandfather of the son you just bore was suddenly attacked, possibly killed, and you’d done nothing about it?
She couldn’t get caught up in Catherine’s craziness. And yet . . .
It’s him! It’s him. Was your sister sexually involved with him?
“Stop it,” Savvy snapped at herself. Maybe there was someone out there named Declan who thought Declan Sr. was his father. Maybe he was his father. Catherine liked to spin tales, but maybe Hale’s grandfather had been involved with Mary, too. Why not? If she was as sexually luring as Catherine made out, anything could have happened.
Or maybe it was true that Declan Sr. had had a love affair with Catherine Rutledge.
“Or maybe it’s all fantasy,” Savvy said aloud.
And yet . . . and yet . . .
When Savvy drove up the small hill to her house, the snow was still deep and undisturbed, but the Escape’s four-wheel drive made it easy. She pulled into the garage, and before she hit the button to send the garage door back down, she looked at her tire tracks. The snow was already melting around them. Good.
Gathering up Kristina’s clothes, her messenger bag, and other personal items she’d taken from the hospital, she headed up the back steps. She was sick of this weather. Sick of herself. Sick of everything. Except little Declan . . . and maybe Hale . . .
Hale.
She grimaced, remembering the sexual thrill that had shot through her last night, just after she’d finished breast-feeding the baby. Shaking her head, she aimed straight for the shower. Embarrassing, that was what it was. And weird. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t . . . her.
An hour and a half later she was through with the shower and was blow-drying her hair. Combing it into a ponytail, she gave her body a hard look in the mirror, turning sideways. Yes, there was some pooching out. No denying that. But with exercise and a decent diet, she believed she would be back to her old self soon enough.
Feeling better, she opened her closet doors, pulling out black slacks, a dark gray shirt, and a long overcoat. She gathered up the clothes she’d brought in from her car and took them to the alcove off the kitchen, which served as her laundry room. She threw her ski jacket in the washer along with some detergent, then piled Kristina’s clothes into the laundry bin that sat on top of the dryer.
So, now what? she thought. Baby Declan was being taken care of by his father and the nanny, who evoked feelings of jealousy in Savvy, which made her groan aloud at herself. “Get a grip,” she told herself in disgust.
A little over a half hour later she put the wet laundry in the dryer, threw a look at the clock. Two p.m. She needed to buy a breast pump tout de suite, so she drove into Tillamook and purchased one, trying it out in the front seat of her rental, beneath the overcoat, which she’d taken off and laid over her body. Twenty minutes later she thought, What a pain in the ass, when it was a total trial and nothing much came out.
After that, she sat staring through the windshield for another ten minutes. Then she drove to the station.
O’Halloran had told her they would talk about whether she would be chained to desk duty on Monday. Might as well find out if that decree still stood.
Catherine refused to head upstairs to her room, partly because she wanted to put off going up those steep steps when she still felt somewhat shaky, partly because she was waiting for Earl, who was on a second trip to the hospital to pick up Ravinia and Ophelia.
Isadora said to her, “Let me get you something to eat.”
“No, I’m not hungry. I just need a little time.”
“I’ll just get some tea and crackers.” Isadora hurried off, clearly needing to do something. Catherine inwardly sighed. Everyone’s solicitousness was about to kill her.
Lillibeth had parked her wheelchair directly in front of Catherine. “What happened? You don’t have to go back, do you?”
“I’m fine,” Catherine assured her.
“You’re sure?” Cassandra asked. “It was just an accident? Just a fall?”
“Yes,” Catherine said firmly. “I have a concussion. I slipped, and my head hit one of the flagstones.”
“Don’t do that again,” Lillibeth begged.
“I don’t intend to,” Catherine answered with asperity.
As much as she loved her nieces, she really needed them to give her some space. There were things that needed to be done, problems that needed to be addressed, and she needed Earl’s help to accomplish them.
Like exchanging the bones in the grave marked as Mary’s with those in the unmarked grave, where Mary’s bones actually lay.
But how to accomplish that, with all the girls—women—so attentive and aware of Catherine’s every movement now?
She was pretty sure she was going to have to confide in one of them, and with God as her witness, she thought it might have to be Ravinia.
Cassandra was sitting in one of the chairs across from the couch, the side of her face fanned with jeweled light from the Tiffany lamp, which was cutting into the afternoon’s gloom. The prism of colors against her cheek gave her an otherworldly look. Like Lillibeth, she questioned, “It was just an accident?”
“I’m sorry I had to leave,” Catherine said, trying to assure them. “Sometimes things just happen.”
“There’s always a reason,” Cassandra argued.
“No, there isn’t.” Catherine would’ve gotten to her feet and stalked away from them, but she was blocked by Lillibeth, and honestly, she wasn’t 100 percent yet.
Isadora returned with a tray of tea and crackers and several tiny ceramic pots of strawberry and apricot jams. Nobody touched it, however, and Catherine swallowed her frustration, picked up a waferlike cracker, and spread it with apricot jam. Isadora poured her a cup of tea, and once she was eating, everyone else finally stopped staring at her and joined in.
Ravinia had the journal, and with her nosiness, it would only be a matter of time before she started asking about the man in the grave. Maybe Catherine could head her off at the pass, but there were other issues pressing
upon her.
She needed Earl to go to Echo Island and find out who was there. As far as she could tell when Isadora and Cassandra helped her into the lodge, there was no fire visible any longer; hopefully it had burned out. If at all possible, she would like to meet Earl outside the gate, where they could both see across to Echo and mark out a plan.
An hour later Earl’s truck could be heard approaching, and Catherine got to her feet with relief. Lillibeth reluctantly moved her chair away, and Catherine went to the door.
“You sure you feel steady enough?” Isadora asked. Normally, she was the rock-solid lieutenant Catherine could rely on, but even she’d been rattled by Catherine’s injury and trip to the hospital.
“Why did Ravinia get to go?” Lillibeth asked, a question she’d asked before.
“She came on her own,” Catherine answered her, again.
Cassandra said, “I don’t want you to go outside.”
“Cassandra!” Catherine was at her wit’s end.
“Maggie. And there’s something out there. You know it, too, but you’re ignoring it.”
“I’m not ignoring it.” Catherine was brusque. “I have things I need to do, and I appreciate your concern, all of you, but I need some space. Some time to make plans for us.”
“He’s coming,” Cassandra said, and Lillibeth squeaked with fear and stared at her sister.
“Right now Earl’s here,” Catherine said. “I’m going to meet with him outside. Just . . . let me,” she said in a rush of frustration.
Isadora opened the door to Ravinia and Ophelia, who entered in a blast of cold air. Immediately, Ophelia said, “Where are you going?”
“Just to talk to Earl. I’ll be right back,” Catherine told her.
She brushed past them, choosing her steps carefully, still faintly dizzy. She felt someone take her arm and guide her and realized Ravinia was beside her, leading her up the flagstone path to the gate.
“I’m not going to have you fall again,” Ravinia said.
“You just want to know what I’m going to talk to Earl about,” Catherine accused.
“That too. But you’re not steady enough to walk by yourself.”
Catherine pressed her lips together, conceding the point. Time was racing by, and she didn’t have the luxury of arguing with her, a losing game with Ravinia in the best of circumstances.
Earl was waiting patiently outside the gates, though they were unlocked and Catherine passed through to meet him. He had a key of his own, which he used only when he came to do yard work or repairs. With Ravinia beside her, Catherine felt oddly unsure of what to say. Earl frowned upon seeing the girl, but there was nothing to do.
“I need someone to go to Echo and find out who’s there,” Catherine said. She glanced toward the island, which was a dark mound.
Earl’s frown deepened, but he nodded slowly. “I will see if I can.”
“But then there’s that other matter,” Catherine said. The one she’d told him about when he drove her from the hospital: switching the bodies in the graves.
“When can that be done?” Earl asked her. Like Lillibeth, he’d asked that question before, several times, and Catherine had never had an answer.
“What other matter?” Ravinia asked.
Catherine felt a faint stirring inside herself, the harbinger of precognition. She waited, and thought, He’s coming. . . .
It might be dangerous to go to Echo Island, and not just because of the weather and the approach, she thought with an inward shudder.
“What other matter?” Ravinia repeated.
“The graves,” Catherine said suddenly. “If you can’t get to Echo, let’s take care of the graves first.”
“All right,” Earl said.
“Tonight,” Catherine replied, pressing.
“Tomorrow,” Earl said after a moment of thought, and then he locked the gate and headed out.
Catherine turned back toward the lodge with Ravinia at her side. “What’s with the graves?” Ravinia asked.
“Detective Dunbar says there will be an exhumation, so I need to make sure your mother’s bones are in the ground beside her headstone.”
Ravinia looked at her carefully. “They’re not now?”
“No. They’re in a separate place in the graveyard.”
“So, whose bones are in there?”
Catherine felt her stomach tighten. She hadn’t talked about it. Ever. Not even with Mary, who’d been there, who’d saved her . . . “The bastard who tried to rape me. The one your mother killed in order to stop him.”
“My mother killed someone?” Ravinia asked in surprise.
“And he deserved to die,” Catherine responded tautly.
“My God, Aunt Catherine . . . who? One of our . . . fathers?”
Catherine thought back to the evil monster who’d pushed her into the closet, his hot breath stinking of bourbon, his eyes a malevolent blue flame that burned into her as his hands crawled all over her and he bit at her neck and breasts. “Yes,” she stated flatly. “But he sired a son, not a daughter. And I think he’s out there on Echo, biding his time. Waiting to come for us.” She looked to the west, but there was no fire tonight. Then she turned to Ravinia, who was standing immobile, waiting for more. “I may need your help in this endeavor.”
“Just tell me what I have to do,” Ravinia said, on the same wavelength as Catherine for possibly the first time in her life.
Conversation stopped as soon as Savvy eased into the chair behind her desk. Lang wasn’t immediately visible, but she’d seen his car in the back lot. Burghsmith looked to Deputy Delaney, who’d been off for a week on a pre-Thanksgiving vacation, and Delaney looked to Clausen, who finally said, “Lang filled us in. Real sorry about Kristina.”
“Yeah.” If Savannah said anything more, she risked those tears that were hovering behind her eyelids, ready to jump out at a moment’s notice.
“Congrats on the baby,” he added. “O’Halloran really put the fear of God into you about desk duty, huh?”
He was trying to keep things light, but his eyes were serious and she could feel the empathy, even if he wasn’t showing it. This was not good. If they were going to be nice to her, damn it, she was not going to make it through the day.
Lang appeared from the break room with a cup of coffee and an individual-size bag of barbecue potato chips from the vending machine. Seeing Savvy, he put the cup and chips on his desk and sat down across from her. “You really did come to work.”
“I said I was going to.”
“Think you and I could talk alone for a moment?”
“Sure,” she said slowly, wondering what was coming. She looked around, but before she could get up from her seat, the other officers left in a herd, as if they knew what was coming and didn’t want to be anywhere around. “Uh-oh,” she said.
“You didn’t mention yesterday that Kristina’s death was a homicide.”
“That hasn’t been fully determined yet,” she said.
“Yeah, it has.” Lang looked at her with sympathy. “O’Halloran took a call from Detective Hamett out of Seaside. They interviewed Hale Bancroft yesterday.”
“St. Cloud, Lang. St. Cloud,” she said, her face flushing from growing fury. “I just saw Hale, and he didn’t say anything about it.”
Lang lifted his palms. “Maybe there’s a reason for that.”
“Don’t play word games. What are you suggesting?”
“That maybe he didn’t want you to know that they were looking at him.”
“Looking at him,” she repeated. “You’re kidding. You have to be kidding. Hale? It’s not him.”
“He is her husband,” Lang pointed out, “and by his own admission, they were working on their marriage, so something wasn’t right between them.”
“Hale said that? To Hamett?”
“And his partner, Evinrud. They went to Hale’s house yesterday afternoon and asked him where he was Saturday night, and he said his wife never came home Friday night at all, and
that he hadn’t seen her since Friday afternoon.”
“Hale did not kill my sister.”
“A neighbor saw a white truck outside the crime scene that night. Your sister’s car was parked there, and the truck was just down the street.”
“Hale drives a black TrailBlazer. I just saw him getting into it.”
“Bancroft Development trucks are all white. That was confirmed by St. Cloud as well.”
“Jesus, Lang.”
“I’m just telling you what I know.”
“Then it’s someone else. Someone . . . maybe . . . Kristina was involved with.”
Lang gave her a long look. “Are you saying she was involved with someone?”
“I’m saying that I have some other ideas. Not Hale St. Cloud. Where’s the evidence report on the Donatellas?”
“You still want that?”
“Yes, I want it.” Savvy was sick of being treated like she was somehow deficient in her skills as a detective.
“Okay, but I want to know what you’re thinking about your sister. Hamett and Evinrud already want to talk to you.”
“I need to talk to Hale first.”
“Savvy. What the hell? I’m telling you he’s a suspect. You can’t talk to—”
“Not about the case,” she snapped in frustration. “About his wife. My sister. And whether he thought she might be having an affair. That’s what I want to talk to him about. If he doesn’t know, I want to be the one to tell him.”
“Let Hamett and—”
“No! That’s just what I’m saying! You’re not listening. Owen DeWitt suggested that Kristina might have met someone . . . at the Donatellas’. Someone she was meeting there.”
“Holy shit . . .”
“That’s why I want to talk to Hale first. I don’t think he killed my sister, but believe me, if he did, I’ll be first in line to string him up.”
