The Girl and the Secret Society (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 9)

by A J Rivers

  Sam glances over at me. I can see the look out of the corner of my eye.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  I glance over at him. “Do I look like something really tiny is pissing me off?”

  He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, rethinks it, and closes his mouth, then shakes his head. “No.”

  "Okay, good. So, it's just Dean who thinks that about me, then," I say.

  "I thought that was an oddly specific self-evaluation," he chuckles.

  "I think I want to go talk to Xavier. Detective White might be able to get me in there. I want to hear for myself why this man is so elusive to people, and what he had to do with Lakyn." I pause for a second. "What do you think? I mean, I know I said I was focusing on Dean's case and that the local law enforcement can handle it…"

  "You had no intention of pursuing her disappearance, yet found it dropping in your lap. Remember, there are no coincidences. It doesn't matter how you ended up where you are. What matters is that you're there. You have to decide what you're going to do about it," he says.

  "What do you think I should do?" I ask.

  Sam turns to me, reaching for my hands and pulling me up against him so our fingers intertwine and our chests touch. "I can't tell you that. You're going to have to figure it out for yourself."

  "I still think she orchestrated this," I say.

  "And yet," Sam says.

  I nod. "Exactly. And yet."

  He smiles and leans down for a kiss. "You're going to have to follow your heart on this one, Griffin."

  "It's done me pretty well so far," I say.

  He shrugs. "It's done alright."

  He grins at me and I shake my head as we continue our walk back toward my house.

  A long day at work makes Sam fall asleep early, leaving me wide awake. But it's not just the hour that's keeping me from sleeping. I can't stop thinking about the picture I saw in the detective's war room. I didn't mention it to Dean, and I haven't mentioned it to Sam. Now doesn't feel like the time to talk about it. There are other things that need to be dealt with first, and there are things I need to figure out about the picture before I push it into everyone else's thoughts.

  The other investigators seem ready to put the situation behind them. Not that they want to forget. Not that they are trying to pretend it never happened, or that it doesn't matter. Just that they're willing to accept what they haven't been able to figure out. They're willing to move forward and not constantly think about what's behind them.

  I've tried. In so many ways, I'm much better than I used to be about obsessing. Cases don’t haunt me the way they used to. But in this situation, it doesn't mean all those questions didn't come right back into my mind when I looked at the picture of Lakyn Monroe and saw a blonde woman behind her. The same blonde whose face I last saw in a video walking beside Greg, just before his death.

  The instant I saw the picture, I recognized her. There's no way I could forget her face. In the image, she's standing behind the celebrity, watching her as Lakyn talks to another woman. The expression on the blonde woman's face says she's waiting for Lakyn’s attention. Not in the way of a fan who is hoping for just a tiny taste of connection with the celebrity she idolizes. Instead, it's the kind of impatient, anticipating look of a person waiting for someone fairly familiar to her.

  She knows Lakyn. Or had at least interacted with her before. She didn't look at all uncomfortable or nervous. She was just waiting.

  There was nothing on the picture or written on the board near it to indicate who the woman might be. I don't want to distract the investigation by dragging it back to Greg, but I can't help but make the connection. Sam says there are no coincidences. So, why does this woman keep showing up?

  I need to see the picture again. I need to figure out who she is and what she knows.

  Sitting up in bed, Sam snoring softly beside me, I prop my computer on my bent knees and stare into the glow of the screen. Just searching for Lakyn Monroe's name is futile. It brings up millions of search results and countless pictures. I work through them, narrowing down my search, and trying to pinpoint exactly when the image was taken.

  A slight gasp jumps in my throat when the image finally shows up. I expand it, but the momentary optimism disappears. It's not the same image as the one on the board. At least, it's not in the same condition. Whereas the one in the police department was crisp and clearly showed all the people around Lakyn, including the blond woman, this one is in a forced focus perspective.

  Lakyn is in clear focus, but everything around her is blurred. The pool of pale color behind her is the blonde woman, but I can't see any of her features.

  I keep scrolling through the image results, trying to find another copy of the picture. When one doesn't show up, I click on the image again and follow through to the article it's attached to. The brief piece outlines Lakyn’s speech at the victims' rights convention, highlighting the importance of ensuring the right people are held accountable for crimes. She describes those wrongfully convicted and imprisoned as further victims of those crimes, exerting her belief that those actually responsible should serve harsher sentences if someone else has already been jailed for something they did.

  It's an impressive stance and one I can stand behind. The thought of people getting away with heinous crimes makes me feel sick to my stomach. It’s the reason I went into the Bureau in the first place. The only way to assuage the fury I feel toward those who commit crimes, and especially those who avoid accountability for them, is to be the one to hunt them down.

  But right now, I'm not interested in playing a game of getting to know you with Lakyn Monroe. Commendable ethics and determination aside, I was only interested in finding out who the blonde woman was and what she had to do with Greg, and now with Lakyn.

  Unfortunately, nothing in the article gives any clue about who the woman might be. There is no caption to the picture and no comments in the conversation feature. It was probably a bit too much of wishful thinking on my part to hope the woman would have just popped into the comments with an, "I remember talking to you! Here's my name and contact information!"

  This means I'll have to take a different route.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I was beginning to think you forgot my name,” Eric says in greeting.

  “Go ahead, have your pity party,” I tell him. “But when you're done, I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Why is it that you only call me now if you want me to do something?” he asks.

  “I deserve that,” I sigh. “I'm sorry I've been MIA for the last couple of months.”

  “It's alright,” he says. “I understand. I just miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. Hopefully, we'll all be able to get together soon,” I tell him.

  “Why do I have a feeling that depends on how an investigation turns out?” he asks.

  “Because you know me extremely well,” I say. “I'm dealing with a missing person. Actually, it's a couple of missing people. But, for the purposes of this specific conversation, it's just one.”

  “Who is that?” he asks.

  “Lakyn Monroe,” I tell him.

  “Lakyn Monroe? That internet celebrity from around your neck of the woods? I had no idea the Bureau had gotten involved in that.”

  "The Bureau isn't involved as far as I know. It's just me looking into it because a detective following up on a lead asked me to. And it's not exactly my neck of the woods. The news has said she's 'local', but that can mean she's from anywhere in the surrounding few states if it has to do with a celebrity. The detective I'm helping is from Harlan. More than an hour from Sherwood,” I say.

  “Why would a detective from Harlan get in touch with you?” he asks. “Did he seek you out?”

  “No, I was in Harlan and happened to be around when he was questioning somebody,” I explain. “I was helping Dean on his own case. Which is where all the other missing people come in, but again, we're focusing right now. T
echnically, I'm not actually asking you to help me find Lakyn Monroe.”

  “So, did you just use that as a conversation piece?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “She does have to do with this, but only indirectly. I was at the police station in Harlan and looking over the materials this detective has gathered. One of the things he had posted was a picture of Lakyn when she was doing a talk at a conference. I couldn’t take it with me, and the only copy I've been able to find had the entire background blurred out. Now, the one I saw originally wasn't blurred. So, what I'm hoping is you'll be able to unblur the blur.”

  “Well, that was my specialty when I was at the Academy. Unblurring blurs. Go ahead and send it to me. I'll see what I can do. What am I looking for in it?” he asks.

  “People behind her,” I say, not wanting to give everything away quite yet. I've moved into the living room, so my conversation doesn't wake up Sam, and set the computer down on the table while I attach the picture to an email to Eric. "There you go. I just sent it."

  “Okay,” he says. “I'll have a look at it and see what I can do.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “How have you been? I feel like I haven't talked to you since the last case I consulted on.”

  "It's been a while. I've been doing well. We're working on a case right now with a thief who steals construction equipment from massive industrial sites across several states, so that's an interesting one," he says.

  "How many bodies have you found?" I ask.

  "Is that always the first thing you think of?" he asks.

  "Dean asked me that, too."

  "Maybe you should ponder that one for a bit."

  "My point is, this man is stealing construction equipment. I'm assuming by that you mean things like backhoes, tractors, steamrollers. Right?"

  "Yeah," Eric says. "And I get it; people think everybody hides bodies in construction sites, but isn't that a little bit of a mob movie cliche?"

  "Not in the construction sites. I mean near where you found the missing equipment. He has to be stealing them for something. I highly doubt he's in the process of constructing his dream home in several locations and just needs to borrow a couple of tools to help him through. This is a signature. Look for reports of missing people in the area who have links to anything having to do with construction. Then start looking for the bodies," I say.

  There's a long pause on the other end of the line.

  "Sometimes I hate you," Eric says.

  "Maybe I'm wrong," I say. "Hopefully, I am."

  "You know you aren't." He sighs. "Alright. I'm going to see what I can figure out about this picture. Do you want to talk to Bellamy?"

  "Of course."

  "See you soon?"

  "Definitely. I'm going to come up there for a little bit to hang out with the two of you and Dad."

  "Sounds good."

  Behind him, I can already hear Bellamy asking if I'm on the phone and demanding he hand it over to me. Part of me thinks he's just continuing the conversation with me to aggravate her. They are nothing short of adorable together. Now that they've finally given in, they're happily settled into a bickering, teasing, poking relationship neither will ever be able to be without again.

  "Emma?" Bellamy says after finally managing to get the phone from Eric.

  Whether he handed it to her or she just snatched it out of his hand is yet to be determined.

  "Hey, B."

  "It's so good to hear from you! I miss you."

  "I miss you, too. But it's not all on me. You and Eric have been busy with work."

  "We have. And we need to fix that. Not the being busy with work part, because I'd like to stay employed. But the not-seeing-you-often-enough thing."

  "Definitely. Right after I finish the cases I'm working on. Which actually brings me to a good segue. I need your help with something," I say.

  "Shoot."

  "What can you tell me about Lakyn Monroe?" I ask.

  "Lakyn Monroe? Are you investigating her disappearance?" she asks.

  "Not officially. Not even really unofficially. I ran into a detective who is, and he asked for me to kind of be on call as a consultant. I'm just checking over a few things," I say. "I have a theory, and I'm seeing if I'm right."

  "Okay. Well, she grew up in Richmond," Bellamy says.

  "Seriously? I didn't know that."

  "Yeah. That's where she started posting on the internet and building up followers. Honestly, Mary Preston might have been influenced by her."

  Hearing her name brings another cold chill to the back of my neck. "She reminded me of Mary as soon as I heard about her."

  "She left Richmond a few years back to go to school, but not a whole lot came of that. She was still getting too many job offers and things, so she dropped out. Of course, she says she'll go back one day. She obviously doesn't advertise her address or anything, but the last anybody knew, she was spending the time she wasn't filming in LA or New York in a town in the mountains. Not too far from Sherwood, actually."

  "Harlan?" I ask.

  "No," she says. "Something with two words. Has to do with the mountains."

  My heart beats slightly faster in my chest. "Salt Valley?"

  "That's it. Is that significant?"

  I think about that question for only half a second, not wanting to get her too deeply involved. I don't want to jump to any conclusions.

  "It just came up when I was talking with the detective," I say. "Anyway, what else? You're into these internet personality people. What makes her different from the rest of them?"

  I listen to Bellamy describe Lakyn's personality and the career she built from nothing. This was a woman who started out as a bored young teenager with a webcam and fascination with herself and managed to develop that into a following that spawned a career. It was impressive. When I asked about her involvement with the wrongfully imprisoned, Bellamy perked up even more.

  "It's really interesting, isn't it? I mean, obviously, she's not the only celebrity who has ever gotten involved with trying to get people out of prison. But there's something about the way she talks about it that seems different. I don't really know how to describe it. She's really passionate about it. She's never explained why she got into it, or what made her suddenly want to withdraw from her career and focus on it so much. She's done a lot of good, though."

  "Do you think it could have anything to do with her disappearance?" I ask.

  "It might. I don't want to think that, but there's always that possibility. Why? What do you think happened to her?"

  "Honestly? I think there's a strong chance she isn't really missing at all. I think she might have just gotten fed up with everything and decided she wanted her own life. The way she left doesn't make much sense, and the evidence that's been found is unusual."

  "No," Bellamy says.

  "No?" I ask.

  "She wouldn't do that. As I said, helping the people in prison is so important to her. She is really dedicated to it and to them. She wouldn't just drop the people she's helping and wander away without saying anything because she felt like it."

  "People she's helping, like Xavier Renton?" I ask.

  "Yes. She only made one video about that particular case, and she ended up deleting it. Nobody knows why. But even in it, she didn't get into a lot of detail about him or why she wants to help him or anything like that. She just said it was a situation close to her heart, and she needed to help him."

  I pull up a picture of Xavier. He fascinates me. Something about him told Lakyn he needed help. Maybe he still does.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "So, you still didn't get a chance to talk to Eleanor Goldman?" I ask.

  I'm outside in shorts that barely qualify for the name or for admission into public spaces, braving the stifling heat to try to battle back the weeds taking over the garden behind my house. I briefly toyed with the idea of having a vegetable garden this year, romanticizing the joy of watching the plants grow and making a salad out of my bounty.r />
  Then the heat hit, and I've settled for an indoor fern and the flowers left over from last year. Maybe the vegetables will come next season.

  "No," Dean sighs. "I just keep getting the runaround. It seems as if everybody else is, too. So at least that makes me feel a bit better. But that might be changing soon. I did manage to track down the owner of the house Mason and Eleanor rented. Her name is Lilith Duprey. She's owned it for years, but it's been used as a rental for a few different families for the last ten years. It's listed as having been taken off the market about four months before Mason and Eleanor got married. I'm assuming that's when they rented it."

  "Have you talked to Lilith?" I ask, rocking back onto my heels and using the back of my arm to wipe sweat away from my forehead.

  "Not yet. But we're tracking her down. She only has a P.O. box. There would need to be a warrant to get more information about the registration for that box, but I don't think it's important enough to find her that anybody is actually going to go to that extent. Besides, if I don't miss my guess, that box was registered to her when she still lived in the Salt Valley house, so that would be the address on it, anyway."

  "Babe?"

  I hear Sam calling to me from inside the house, and I climb to my feet.

  "Sam just got home. I'll give you a call later," I tell Dean.

  "Yep. I'll keep you updated."

  We hang up, and I head inside through the smaller back door that leads into the mudroom just outside the laundry room.

  "Sam? I'm in here, honey," I call out when I get inside.

  He walks through the laundry room door, and his eyes grow wide.

  "You're not wearing that, are you?" he asks.

  I look down at the cutoffs and tank top, both streaked with dirt that matches very well to the dirt streaks down both of my legs. I'm sure there are a couple of accent patches on my face, too.

  "I mean, yes. I am currently, at the moment, wearing this," I frown.

  "To the reception," he clarifies.

  I kick off my shoes and nudge them across the sealed cement floor to the small pile of outdoor shoes. There are different pairs for different seasons, so I can toss a pair on no matter what time of year it is. Those off, I step into the laundry room and peel off my tank top.