by Lisa Jackson
She’d already moved on to another thought: Paulie Williamson, the ex-Portland Bancroft Development manager who’d moved to Tucson. Clark Russo had given her his number.
For a brief moment, she thought about telling Lang what Catherine had said about Mary’s son Declan. How he was coming after them, and Declan Sr., too. How he might have been “gifted” with Mary’s strange sexual lure. How the boys were so much more affected than the girls. Lang knew Catherine well. Knew about the woo-woo. He might give the whole thing some credence, even.
“Have Hamett and Evinrud reached you yet?” Lang asked.
“No.”
“They will. Be careful what you say to their prime suspect,” he said before heading toward the break room with an empty coffee cup.
Savvy gritted her teeth, and then the phone on her desk rang, and she answered, “Detective Dunbar,” checking the clock on the wall. Four p.m.
“Hey, Savvy,” a female voice said. It was Geena Cho, who worked dispatch for the TCSD. “You gotta call from Toonie at the shelter. She said someone there named Mickey really needs to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You gonna call her?” Cho asked, hearing Savannah’s lack of enthusiasm. “’Cause if you don’t, she’ll keep calling and calling and calling.”
“I’ll stop by there tonight,” Savannah promised, adding it to her list of errands to run before she could make her way to Hale’s house.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yes! I’ll go. If Toonie calls again before I get there, let her know I’ll be there within the hour.”
Ravinia watched as Catherine began the trek upstairs to her bedroom, looking exhausted. With much solicitation, Isadora and Cassandra helped her to the second floor, while in the great room below, Ophelia, Lillibeth, and Ravinia watched their progress.
“Aunt Catherine wanted to see Earl again,” Lillibeth said, sounding worried.
“She always wants to see Earl,” Ravinia answered with a shrug. She didn’t want anyone questioning what had transpired between her aunt and Earl. Not with some grave digging in her near future. She suppressed a shiver at the thought.
“Did they say anything while you were with them?” Ophelia asked casually.
Ravinia slid a look at her sister, but Ophelia’s bland expression gave nothing away. Careful, she warned herself.
“Not particularly. Let’s turn the TV on,” Ravinia said and walked over to the old set, switching it on. Lillibeth’s attention span was such that she would tune in to just about anything.
She half expected Ophelia to keep badgering her, but she just stood by while Ravinia channel surfed until she found something their antenna would pick up other than news: an ancient episode of Gilligan’s Island.
“We are going to get cable TV,” Ravinia stated, a challenging tone in her voice, as she left the room, heading toward the kitchen. Ophelia followed after her immediately, but Lillibeth stayed with the television program.
“I thought you were leaving,” Ophelia said.
“You sound kind of anxious to get rid of me.”
“That’s not it.”
“What’s your deal?” Ravinia demanded, taking in Ophelia’s long dress and the loose bun in her hair. “You’ve been drinking Aunt Catherine’s Kool-Aid a long time, but you’ve got a cell phone, and you’ve been sewing me pants and shirts like it’s your job. Yet you look like that.” She swept her hand up and down, pointing out her sister’s dress.
“Well, you’ve certainly picked up some idioms and colloquial terms from outside the gates. Part of your new friendships?”
“You’d better believe it,” Ravinia said with a snort. “Last summer I thought this imprisonment was over, but then you and Aunt Catherine and Isadora decided it wasn’t. I’m not going to live like this.”
“You know it was Aunt Catherine’s idea to shut the gates again.”
“Well, it hasn’t worked. Whoever she’s trying to keep out is coming. Just ask Cassandra. ‘He’s coming.’ She damn near can’t say anything else.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is, Ophelia,” Ravinia said, exasperated. “This whole thing is screwed up!”
“You want cable TV?” Ophelia shot back. “Fine. You’re talking to the right person. I run the books for Catherine, for all of us, and yes, I think we need a new television, and yes, maybe the gates should be opened again.”
Not yet, though, Ravinia thought with a stab of fear. She’d gone into her rant because it was what she always did, but she needed to help Catherine move the bones before anything changed. Still, she had to play a part. “Hallelujah. She sees the light!”
“Do you know how we survive here? How we get the money to pay for the electricity and the food we don’t grow and store on our own?” Ophelia demanded.
Ravinia’s fear turned to irritation. “We have lots of property. We get rent. I don’t need an economics lesson.”
“Somebody has to run things around here. Catherine can’t do it all.”
“She pretty much has so far. And she has Isadora, too.”
“Isadora helps with housework and meals. She doesn’t work with the finances at all. You want better television? How about electricity on every floor? How about you learn how to drive a car, like I did.” Ophelia’s blue eyes glimmered.
“What? You don’t know how to drive.”
“Last summer I studied and practiced, and then I took the test with the Buick and passed.”
“Bull. Shit.”
“You were just too busy running away to notice.”
“Somebody here would have known,” Ravinia retorted in disbelief.
“Aunt Catherine knew. She took me out for driving lessons. You were gone all the time. Locked in your room, or out running around at night with all your new friends.”
“You made me these clothes so I could!” Ravinia glanced down at the pants and shirt that covered her slim body.
“I know what you want. I know you think you need to be free of these walls. So I helped you. When Catherine asked me about it, I told her what I’m telling you now. That you need to be free of these walls.”
“She told me if I left, I could never come back.”
“She’s afraid, Ravinia. For all of us, and there are people out there that want to really harm us.”
It felt like Ophelia was trying to tell her something. Something she didn’t want to state aloud. “How do you know that?” Ravinia asked.
“History. Justice was bent on killing us, and we’re lucky he was killed, because he would have never given up.”
“That’s not all it is. You know something.”
Ophelia pressed her lips together, her blue eyes holding Ravinia’s. She had opened her mouth to say something when they heard Isadora and Cassandra coming back down the stairs.
“Ophelia, what do you know?” Ravinia hissed.
She shook her head and threw back, “What did you and Catherine and Earl talk about?”
Stalemate. She wasn’t going to even hint at the future body switching. She didn’t know when and how that was going to happen, but she wasn’t going to trust Ophelia with the information just yet.
Something crossed her older sister’s face—a flicker of surprise and alarm—just as Cassandra and Isadora entered the kitchen and Cassandra asked, “What are you two whispering about?”
Ravinia waited for Ophelia to say something, but she seemed too distracted to answer. “Ophelia has her driver’s license,” Ravinia said into the gap.
Cassandra’s large-pupiled eyes moved from Ravinia to Ophelia. “You’re leaving?” she asked tremulously.
“No. We were talking about . . . destiny,” Ophelia said, still locked in her own thoughts.
“Whose destiny?” Cassandra asked.
“Yours, Cassandra,” Ravinia snapped, sick of this conversation. She needed to get away from all of them.
“My name’s Maggie now,” she cried. “Why can’t you call me that?”
“Becau
se I just can’t, okay?” Ravinia strode out of the room and ran upstairs, grabbing her bag from her bedroom closet that held the items she needed to leave: a change of clothes, a flashlight, the few dollars that she’d taken from Catherine’s purse. Yes, she was a thief, but she’d pay them back someday, when she was able to. And as soon as she got some real money, she was going to buy some real clothes from real stores.
This graveyard rendezvous couldn’t come soon enough. Earl had said tomorrow night, but Ravinia wanted to leave now. Every nerve in her body felt like it was jumping around. She just had to go. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not till after tomorrow night.
Exhaling heavily, she touched a match to her oil lamp, as the evening light was all but gone. Then she sank onto her bed and felt the journal tucked beneath her shirt at the back of her waistband.
She would keep reading her mother’s diary, even though apart from a few strange passages whose meaning she hadn’t yet figured out, it was kind of a snooze.
But then . . . after tomorrow . . . she was outta here for good.
Savvy made two stops before heading to the shelter: the pharmacy where she’d gotten the breast pump, this time for some nursing pads; and then back to her house for a quick freshening up and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then she was on her way north again, and she would have skipped Mickey and the shelter entirely except for the niggling sense of duty that she couldn’t ignore. She’d said she would go, so she might as well follow through. She had a feeling Mickey was the type to keep calling until she did.
The Savior’s Lighthouse was a long, low building that had once been a mom-and-pop grocery store on the north end of Tillamook. Althea Tunewell was the force behind the shelter’s existence, and she was fiercely devoted to taking care of the homeless men, women, and children who passed through her door. Toonie had been homeless herself for a short time in her youth, and she’d made social work and teaching others about the goodness of God and his son, Jesus, her mission in life.
Savannah ducked her head against a very cold and insistent rain as she headed inside. She wasn’t really sure why she was even here, but Toonie generally didn’t call the TCSD without a good reason.
Inside the place smelled like canned corn and cigarettes, the cigarette odor seemingly embedded in the walls, as no one was allowed to smoke indoors. Savvy’s stomach reacted with an uncomfortable lurch, and she determined to make this visit short and sweet.
Toonie was talking to a woman whose hair looked in need of a serious washing and who also had her own aroma, nothing good. The woman smiled when Savvy approached, and asked, “You here for the meetin’, sister?”
“No, she’s here to see me. Go on now, Jolene. Join the others,” Toonie said before Savannah could answer.
“Jesus loves you,” Jolene said as she turned away, touching at her hair after seeing Savannah.
“I’m so sorry about your sister,” Toonie said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay by a long shot, honey. We both know that. I don’t mean to add to your troubles, especially since you just had your baby, but I felt that you needed to talk to Mickey.”
“I’m not sure I can help him—” Savvy said, starting to demur, but Toonie interrupted quickly.
“Oh, I thought you understood. I think Mickey may be able to help you with that investigation of yours.”
“I didn’t get that message,” she said.
“He’s been talking about you and your baby. Talking about Bancroft Bluff and that house he was found in.”
The Pembertons’ house, before it was purchased back by Bancroft Development. “He was trying to start a fire inside it,” Savvy said.
“Yes. I know.” She thought about something for a moment, then nodded, as if she’d come to a conclusion. “Could you come into my office for a moment? This won’t take long.”
Savvy just managed to keep herself from checking her watch as she followed Toonie through the kitchen to a small room beyond, which might have once been a large supply closet but was now crowded with a desk, a chair, and a fairly new laptop computer. Bookshelves held several copies of the Bible, books on theology, and a few on institution management.
Toonie gestured to a seat, and Savannah sat down on the edge. She wanted to get going soon and didn’t want to give the wrong impression.
“I’ll make this quick,” Toonie said in response. “Mickey has issues with reality, as I’m sure you noticed, but I believe it’s only recently that he couldn’t handle the pressures of his life. His family’s been in touch with him, but he’s unable to accept them yet. He needs medication, and he won’t take it. Says it’s too expensive, and he’s right, but he could get dispensation if he filled out the right forms.”
“I hate to be pushy, but you said he could help me.”
“Just bear with me a small moment or two more.” She pressed her forefinger and thumb together to show Savvy just how small it would be. “Mickey’s a Foothiller. Not a term I would call the mix of Native Americans and whites who live in that area around Deception Bay, but it’s what they call themselves.”
“I know about the Foothillers,” Savvy said.
“Do you know that they possess some . . . oh, ESP, I guess you’d call it?”
Savvy held her gaze. “Like psychic gifts?”
She lifted her hands as if to negate the words that she was forcing herself to say. “I only believe in God’s gifts to us. Our souls. Our integrity. Our concern for our fellow man, but . . .”
“But?”
“Mickey believes in God and Jesus and a whole host of other religious figures associated with the Native American culture and, well, you name it. I’m sure Buddha’s in there somewhere, if you asked him. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but he is surprisingly accurate in predicting . . . coming misfortune.”
“Okay.” Over the past week Savannah had been so inundated with talk of psychic gifts and paranormal woo-woo that she was beginning to become inured to it.
“He says, and I’m paraphrasing here, that the devil is coming and you need to burn him to send him back to hell. He says that he saw him at Bancroft Bluff.”
“Mickey saw the devil at Bancroft Bluff?” Savvy asked. She wanted to say, “The devil was already there and killed the Donatellas,” but she waited for Toonie to finish, as she was obviously coming to a point. Small moment, my ass, she thought.
“He sings ‘Jesus Loves Me’ to ward away the devil. He thinks it keeps him and people around him safe.”
“He was singing it when we took him into custody.”
“Trying to save you and your baby, too, I’ll wager.” She cleared her throat. “Several nights ago he caught the news, and he saw a picture of your sister. He said, ‘That’s her. That’s the one Satan’s taking to the bluff,’ or something like that. I asked, ‘Who?’ and he pointed to your sister and said, ‘We need to tell that nice police lady who’s having the baby Jesus. She’ll send him back to hell. Tell her to burn him.’”
Savvy’s throat tightened. “He saw my sister inside one of the houses at Bancroft Bluff?”
“That’s what he says.”
“Do you believe him?”
Toonie struggled to come up with an answer. “I don’t believe he saw the devil in corporeal form, no. But I think he saw something that frightened him.”
“How long has he been going to the Pemberton house? I didn’t think it was the first time when we picked him up.”
“Would you like to speak to him? I know he’d like to talk to you.”
No, she didn’t want to talk to him. But if he’d seen Kristina somewhere at Bancroft Bluff . . . “Sure,” she agreed.
“We’re just getting ready for dinner, so I’ll take you to the dining room.”
Savvy followed Toonie down a short hallway that connected the main room to the kitchen and Toonie’s office and ended at another large room, full of folding tables with white plastic covers. A line of men and women was forming,
and about three people from the end stood Mickey. His hair had been combed, but his beard was still straggly, and his clothes didn’t look much cleaner. Toonie instructed Savvy to take a seat on one of the benches that lined the perimeter wall, and she went over to Mickey and said something to him. Immediately, his attention jumped to Savannah, and he left the line and racewalked across the room so fast that Savvy tightened her grip on the messenger bag, which lay over her shoulder and currently held her gun.
He leaned in close, and she couldn’t help but pull back slightly. “I saw her with the devil,” he whispered intensely.
“You mean my sister, somewhere at Bancroft Bluff?”
He blinked rapidly. “Your sister?”
“The woman you saw on the news,” Savvy explained.
“Oh, yes! Yes. The pretty lady. She was with him.”
“Where did you see them?”
“They went inside the house.” He looked around nervously.
“The house you were in when I saw you last week?”
“That’s my house,” he declared strongly. “They were in the other one, with the red tile roof.”
“The Donatella house is a Spanish Colonial, and it has a red tile roof,” Savvy said.
He nodded gravely. “The house where the people died. Marcus and Chandra Donatella.”
“Yes,” Savvy said, surprised that he knew their names.
“Yes,” he repeated, then said, “They went inside, but Marcus and Chandra weren’t there yet.”
Savvy blinked at him. “What?”
“They got there first. The pretty lady and the devil.” He leaned even closer. “I had to hide. Couldn’t make my fire while they were there, because they would know I was there, you know?”
“You saw Marcus and Chandra Donatella come later, to join them?”
“The devil killed them. Bang, bang!” His sudden yell made Savvy jump.
After a moment, while she waited for her heart rate to stop thundering, she asked carefully, “You heard the shots when the Donatellas were executed?”
“Bang, bang,” he said again, much softer. “And then the pretty lady came out again, but you can’t run from the devil.” He turned away, his lips quivering. “‘Jesus loves me! This I know, cuz the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong. . . .’”
