“He?”
His gaze into her eyes seemed to deepen, and an uneasy air developed in the room.
Does he see right through me? Does he know I’m trying to guide a confession from him? I don’t want to be here alone with him.
“Tyler, yes,” he licked his lips, “but he’s not the only guilty one.”
“Who else is guilty?”
His eyes lit up. “They all are.”
She pressed her hand against the armrest and engaged her core muscles to pull her up from the couch, but his gaze, transfixed on her eyes, kept her still.
“You must have found out more about him. About how he’s all rich and famous now. Maybe you know more than most. Maybe you realize what a punk he was—selfish and immature. Disrespectful. If you keep looking, you’ll realize he was capable of it. He didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”
“Mr. Gaines, I understand he has given you that impression. But I work with facts.”
He licked his lips again and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but he closed it again.
“I’m here for the truth,” Grace said. “No matter how painful it is. I’m not here to judge anyone.”
He fell out of his trance and cleared his throat. “Would you like a drink?”
“No thank you. I won’t be staying long.”
He frowned. “I thought you said you have something I’ll want to hear. You haven’t told me anything I don’t already know.”
I need time to think.
“Okay, I’ll take that drink first then, please.”
He stood and walked out of the room, and only then did the invisible magnet holding her to the couch let go. When she stood, a photo of a familiar face caught her eye—a younger Karlie than the woman she met at the mall. Donelle and her best friend stood together, arms wrapped around each other, and Grace noticed their bracelets. Karlie wore several as she had before, but one matched Donelle’s only bracelet. A silver friendship bracelet.
Karlie wasn’t wearing that one, was she? Too many to tell… Bracelets that look like the one found in Edgar Cull’s trunk.
Grace took her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture.
“Tea or coffee?” Charles called from the kitchen, his voice closer than she expected.
“Tea, please!”
She heard the tap running as she inspected the picture on her phone. Two bracelets.
Why would Donelle or Karlie’s bracelet end up in Edgar’s car?
Is this the same bracelet you found in Edgar Cul— she typed and stopped as Charles poked his head around the corner. “Milk or sugar?”
“Black is fine,” she said and sent the text, shoving it back into her pocket.
“Be right back,” he said and ducked back into the kitchen.
She took a step back from the picture and into the doorway. “Mr. Gaines. This picture of your daughter and her friend? Do you see the bracelets they are wearing? Do you still have Donelle’s?”
He turned to her. “I’m sure I do. I have everything of hers in her room.”
“Could I see it?”
“I’ll go up while the water is boiling.” He took the stairs two by two as Grace frowned at the picture.
He never looked at the picture close enough to see which bracelet I’m referring to… Unless she’s only ever had one.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she took it out as footsteps walked across the floor above her.
That’s the one, Shelling’s text read. Is that the woman who died the night Edgar was working?
She typed back “yes” and sent the message as footsteps walked above her again. She left the living room, heading into the kitchen with the view of the door facing the stairway.
“I can’t find it,” he called.
If Edgar ended up with the bracelet, did Charles Gaines give it to him? Did he take it? What’s going on?
Charles trotted down the steps with more energy than he’d had before, even the first time they spoke. He crossed in front of her to the stove with the kettle. “Sorry, why do you ask about it?”
“We went to speak with Karlie at the mall the other day. She had a bunch of bracelets on, but not that one. I was just curious if maybe Donelle had both for some reason.”
Will he buy that? No. I don’t even buy it. I need to leave.
“Why would that matter?” he asked, his back still turned.
She took a step toward the front hallway. “I was just curious.”
He turned, and she stopped. “Are you leaving?”
“I don’t have any more time today, but I can come back again.”
He shook his head. “I want to know what you know. You came to tell me something. What?”
Intermittent low whistles escaped from the kettle behind him as her phone vibrated in her pocket again, cutting through the silence. Charles stepped toward her as she reached for it, her hand hovering over her gun. He passed her and strode down the hallway to the door, and she relaxed, following him until he reached out for it.
Instead of twisting the knob, he twisted the lock, and the kettle whistled a steady scream as she drew her gun.
Twenty-Eight
Madigan trailed two cars behind the city bus, closing in on it once again after it made a stop. It stopped again before the next intersection, and she searched around the side as passengers filed out. The woman who had to be her mother stepped out and jogged across the road as Madigan waited behind the bus for a green light.
The woman crossed the next street again, and Madigan rode into the turning lane while the traffic rolled forward, turning through the intersection as the woman climbed a small grassy hill. Madigan slowed down and read the sign for the public school as she approached the turnabout. She kept her eyes on the woman as she ran down the hill toward a baseball diamond full of young girls in baseball shirts playing t-ball.
Madigan pulled into a spot in the back of the parking lot and watched as the woman approached the crowded bleachers. A man who looked a bit older than her with gray hair reached his hand down to help her up onto his bench. She kissed his cheek and waved hello to some of the younger women who sat on the other side of the man. He pointed to the diamond, but Madigan couldn’t determine which child held their focus.
Is he pointing to their daughter? Is my sister playing t-ball down there?
The woman pointed and smiled, squeezing his arm.
She has a family. That’s why she didn’t try harder to get me back. She started a family of her own with children, or at least a child—one she decided to keep.
She took off her helmet and tucked it into her bag as the teams switched places and a young girl who couldn’t have been more than eight, ran off the field toward the man and woman in the bleachers. Her mousy brown hair, tied in pigtails at her neck, flowed behind her as she sprinted to them.
Is that my sister?
The man scooped her up, and she sat between them as the woman whispered something to her. Madigan’s stomach ached as she watched them, sitting, talking and laughing together as the teams played.
A woman in a baseball cap called all the girls in, and the little girl jumped up and off the bleachers, bounding into her team’s huddle as some of the parents dispersed. The man took the woman’s hand in his and whispered something to her, but the woman kept her eyes on the young girl as her team’s huddle broke up. The girls returned to their parents, parting in different directions, to different streets and parked cars.
The woman, the man, the young girl, and four other women, much older than Madigan, walked toward the parking lot.
I’m going to see them up close.
Madigan yanked out her helmet and shoved it on. Her pulse raced as they drew close enough to hear their words.
“What kind are you gonna get?” the man asked the little girl.
“Same as always,” she said in a sing-song voice and grabbed the woman’s hand as they crossed from the grass to the asphalt lot, several cars away. “Are you coming?”
“What do you mean?” the little girl asked. “You’re right here. You came!”
The woman laughed, a hearty laugh that reminded Madigan of her own. Tears, hidden by her helmet, pooled in her eyes as they passed by.
The man pressed a button on his keychain, and the woman opened the back door for the little girl. She climbed in, and they waved to some of the other women as they parted and got into another car. They pulled out of the spot, and like a magnet, she was drawn to them.
I’ll just torture myself. This is torture to watch. But I can’t just leave. I have to see where they go. Where she lives. Who they are.
Madigan followed them out of the lot and down the street.
If I can work up the courage, I could meet my mom and sister.
And maybe my dad.
Twenty-Nine
Grace aimed her gun at Charles Gaines as he turned around and held his hands up.
“Unlock the door,” she said.
How could I let him trap me like this?
“It’s not what you think it is.” He took a step toward her, and she aimed the gun at his head.
“Unlock the door, now.”
“I need to explain—before anyone else comes—I need to talk to you. You’ve looked into the case. I think you’ll understand. What I’ve done, it’s like what you do. I look for truth. I’ve done what it takes to get justice for my daughter—but I’m not finished yet.”
“Unlock the door. I won’t ask again.”
He reached back with one hand and unlocked the door.
“Now open it,” she said, “and walk outside slowly.”
“You need to understand, there’s a reason for all of it. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m so close.”
“So close to what?”
“Revealing the truth.”
“We can talk, but you have to exit through that door, and when you get outside, get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”
He shook his head. She grabbed her phone from her pocket, glancing from Charles to the screen, tapping Banning’s number.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “They weren’t doing anything. No one was doing anything to help me help Donnie.”
“Tell me you’ve got something,” Banning said.
“I need back up at the home of Charles Gaines.”
“What’s going on?” Banning asked as Charles slowly reached for the doorknob.
“Okay, okay,” Charles said, opening the door.
“Charles Gaines is attempting to confine me inside his home,” she said as Charles opened the door, shoving it open wide, and stepping out as it slammed back.
She dropped her phone and ran to the door as he bolted down the driveway to the street. She opened the door and followed as the next-door neighbour screamed at the sight of her gun.
“Get inside,” Grace shouted and sprinted after Charles.
His slight limp slowed him down, and as he reached the corner, he took a wide turn as Grace remained tight to the curb, removing her taser gun and aiming it at him.
Just a bit closer. There.
She squeezed the trigger, and it hit his back. He stopped, shaking, and fell to his knees, losing balance and falling onto his side. As he shook, Grace harnessed the taser and her gun, removing her cuffs as she knelt on him.
A siren squealed in the distance, and he groaned as the shaking subsided. She cuffed his hands behind him before standing back up.
“You’re…” he started, but she couldn’t make out any of his other words.
A squad car rounded the corner and stopped at the curb in front of his house. As officers got out of the car, she called them over, and one followed, picking Gaines up and setting him on the side of the road as he groaned.
“That was fast,” Grace said to an officer she’d seen before.
He nodded away from Gaines, and they stepped aside.
“I was questioning him as part of an ongoing investigation and he tried to lock me in the house,” she said.
“No weapons on him,” he said. “You’re Sheppard, right?”
“That’s me.” She wiped off the imbedded gravel from her pants.
“Officer Conroy. I work with Greer. He was your old partner, right?”
She nodded once.
“Another car’s on the way, and they’re sending a unit from Tall Pines, too.”
Mac. He’ll be worried.
“I have to make a phone call,” she said.
He stepped back beside Gaines.
“You’re just—” Gaines groaned, sneering up at Grace. “Just like the rest of ‘em! No justice here!”
Grace took her phone out and pressed Mac’s name. It rang once before he answered.
“Grace? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s going on?”
“I went to see if Gaines would talk, and I think I hit on something. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, what happened?”
“I promise I’ll fill you in. I have to call Banning. See you soon.”
She hung up and turned back to Conroy as he ended a call of his own. Another officer joined them and stood behind Gaines.
“Chief Banning says you’ll get your warrant,” Conroy said.
“Really?” Grace asked, squinting into the setting sun.
“Just says he’ll give you the go ahead when it’s time.”
“Thanks.” Grace nodded to him and stared down at Gaines.
We’ll see what you’ve got in there. Blood from the altercation with Tyler? Your DNA to match with the DNA found on Tyler’s buckle? Something about the bracelets?
Whatever it is, I’m going to find it.
Thirty
Madigan followed the car into the parking lot of an ice cream shop and rode into a space several cars away from the family she followed. The man and woman got out of the car, and the little girl skipped between them, up to the door and held it open for them. They each tapped the top of her head as they walked through and stood in line.
The patio buzzed with talk and laughter, everyone enjoying an ice cream treat as the orange sun touched the horizon. The woman pointed through the glass to the only empty picnic table available and pushed back through the door, leaving the man and child inside. She strode to the table, set her purse on the bench and plunked herself down, smiling at the pair inside, who gave her a thumbs up. The woman winked at the little girl, and Madigan saw the easy charm that everyone had spoken about for the second time.
She tucked her helmet into her bag, got off the bike and walked toward the patio.
I have this chance. She’s right here in front of me. Maybe I’m intruding, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ve waited too long. I’ve waited for the moment I’d get to sit beside her. That she’d pat my head and whisper to me. Hug me. Hold me.
Madigan passed by the tables, maneuvering her huge bag around the patrons as she approached the woman who scanned the crowd with a smile, settling on her for a moment.
She sees me.
Madigan smiled and slowed down, stopping in front of the picnic bench as the woman continued scanning the crowd and then staring back up at Madigan.
“There’s room for two,” the woman said, squinting up at her, a fine scar line above her brow. “I’ve got two coming soon, but there’s room for two at the end there.” She gestured to the other end of the picnic table.
The scar that Vic traced over his eye in the same spot when he told me about you.
Mom. It is you.
“Julia?”
The woman put her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the sun, and let it fall away again as Madigan took another step toward the bench beside her. The woman tilted her head to the si
de, keeping eye contact. The smile disappeared from her face.
“You’re Julia Morris.”
The woman’s jaw hung open as she stared at Madigan’s face.
She knows.
“I’m your daughter,” Madigan said at barely a whisper.
The woman gripped the edge of the wooden table and leaned back, looking at the people around them and back at her, shaking her head.
“Jules!” the man called, holding the door open for the little girl as she carried two ice creams cones through.
“I—” the woman stammered, “I don’t have a daughter.”
Madigan’s breath escaped her chest as if her lungs had been deflated. The woman turned to the man and the little girl and frowned at Madigan again.
Madigan stepped away, shaking her head.
Of course she’s denying it. She knows I know, but she doesn’t want to see me. She doesn’t want me.
Why would I think anything different?
The little girl climbed onto the bench beside the woman and handed her one of the cones. The woman smiled down at her, as bright and warm as she had when she first saw her.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she whispered to her, and the man sat across from them.
Madigan pushed through the crowds, back to the lot, taking her helmet out on the way. She reached her bike and turned over her shoulder, but the woman had all her attention on the little girl. As tears slid down her cheeks, Madigan raised the helmet above her head, and for a second, the woman turned and made eye contact with her.
Madigan pushed the helmet down all the way, and as she looked through the plastic visor, the woman’s attention was back on the man and girl.
That’s her family. That’s my mom, and that’s her family.
And she doesn’t have a daughter.
A lump in her throat threatened to suffocate her until she started the bike and rolled out of the lot, back onto the road.
She doesn’t want me. She never wanted me. She’ll never claim me as her own.
The grumble of the engine drowned out her thoughts until they weren’t as clear or painful.
As she turned onto the next street, out of view of the ice cream shop, she pulled over and parked on the side of the road, leaning against the handles and wailing into the privacy of her helmet. Her chest constricted and expanded, sucking everything she had left out with it as she cried.
The One Who Watches Page 16
