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

by A J Rivers

  Two days later, I'm back in Harlan. Fortunately, in the time I've been gone, Dean found a better hotel with another room vacant, so he was able to reserve it for me before I got there. He meets me in the lobby and helps me carry my bags onto the elevator and up to the third floor. I'm not in the mood to have to go shopping for new clothes every couple of days, so considering I don't know how long I might be here, I brought along enough to carry me through at least a couple weeks. I've included a couple of business attire options. I’ve found that when I'm involved in investigations, dressing the part gets me better responses.

  "So, now that you're here, I can fill you in," Dean starts as he sets my bag on the bed.

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  "I finally got in touch with Lilith, the owner of that house," he says. My eyes widen, and he nods. "But it turns out things aren't as interesting in that area as we thought they might be. She's nice. Kind of dull. Nothing really particularly dynamic or charismatic about her.”

  “Sounds familiar,” I say. “Maybe that was a particular trait she looked for in a renter. A personality like hers.”

  Dean chuckles and nods. “Maybe. I asked about Eleanor Goldman. Told her I was just looking into some things and was having trouble getting in touch with her. She immediately told me Eleanor is in the hospital.”

  “Oh no,” I say. “What's wrong?”

  “It actually didn't sound like anything was wrong,” Dean says. “She didn't sound concerned, anyway. She just said Eleanor was in the hospital for some surgery and would be recovering for a few more days, then would be home.”

  “Did she ask about Mason?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “She seemed perfectly fine with just answering the questions I had for her, then ending the conversation.”

  “Do the police know you talked to her?”

  “They weren't with me, if that's what you're asking. But I highly doubt they're going to want to go to the hospital and notify a woman recovering from surgery that her husband was found burned beyond recognition on the side of the road,” he says.

  “Actually, they would. They're going to want to notify her as soon as possible. If she's conscious, they're going to want to talk to her about what's going on and see if she knows anything. The sooner they talk to her, the better.”

  He lets out a sigh. “Then I guess I'm going to have a chat with the detective.”

  “You can come with me,” I tell him.

  “You're already going up there?” he asks.

  “I'm not wasting any time. I need to find out who this woman is. For Greg and for Lakyn.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  "Emma, you're back," Noah says as he comes into the waiting area.

  "Yes. I was looking into everything while I was home in Sherwood, and there's something I wanted to ask you about,” I say.

  He steps back and gestures for me to go ahead of him. Dean falls into step behind us, and we head down the hall to the conference room. He closes the door and turns to me expectantly.

  “Go ahead,” he says.

  I walk across the room to the bulletin board of pictures.

  “When I was here the last time, I noticed this particular picture. I wasn't sure when I first saw it, but I did some research and got some help, and now I'm sure about it.” I take the picture off the wall and carry it over to the table where I set it down and point to the blonde woman. “Her.”

  “What do you mean?” he shrugs.

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and shrugs again.

  “I don't know.” He picks up the picture and flips it over, then puts it back. “There's no caption. It must just be somebody who was at that conference. “

  “You don't know who she is?”

  “No,” he frowns. “Should I?”

  “I don't know,” I say, letting out a breath. “But I think so. You probably remember the name, Greg Bailey.”

  “Yes,” he says. “Of course, I do. He disappeared for two years, then was found dead after reappearing.”

  “He was kidnapped and murdered,” I clarify. “And the only clue as to what happened to him is a video of him walking out of the hospital with a blonde woman.” I point my finger hard on the picture. “This blonde woman.”

  He looks at the picture incredulously. “It could have been anybody.”

  “No,” I say. “Trust me; I have seen her face more times than I can possibly tell you. I have watched that video over and over. I have scoured every single still. I know her face. I knew it when I saw the picture up on that bulletin board; I just didn't want to admit it. This is that woman who was with Greg when he left the hospital. And nobody knows who she is.”

  “I remember seeing the footage,” he says. “It was on the news.” He says it like it's a revelation, but I just nod. "She never surfaced? I just assumed she would have shown up eventually and explained why she was with him."

  "No," I say. "She didn't."

  "We've been trying to figure out who she is for the last year," Dean tells him.

  "She doesn't seem to be threatening Lakyn in any way, or concerned about being photographed," Noah notes, tilting his head to get a closer look at the picture.

  "Do people frequently act suspicious right before they commit a crime?" I ask.

  "So, now you think it's a crime? I thought your theory is that she just walked away," he says.

  "Right now, theories don't matter. What matters is what we know. And we know that Lakyn is, in its simplest definition, missing. And that this woman, whoever she is, was near both her and Greg very shortly before she disappeared, and he died. It's enough to create some questions."

  “We'll put out a call for her, ask her to voluntarily come forward to speak with us. That's the best we can do,” he offers.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Hopefully, we'll get something out of it,” he says. "So far, nothing is getting us anywhere."

  We stay at the police station long enough for Dean to tell Detective White about his conversation with Lilith Duprey, then get back in Dean's car to go to the hotel. As soon as we drive into the parking lot, I see my car and my hands clench.

  “You have to be kidding me,” I say.

  “What is it?” Dean asks.

  He parks next to my car, and I get out, staring incredulously at the flat tires on the passenger side.

  “Look at the tires,” I point.

  I run my fingers over them, finding a deep slit at the top. Walking around to the other side, I find both of them flat as well.

  “They were slashed,” Dean says. “Somebody did this on purpose.”

  “Give me your keys,” I tell him.

  “What?”

  “Your keys.”

  “Why do you want my keys?” he scrunches up his face but starts reaching in his pocket anyway.

  “Because I can't drive my car right now,” I say.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, finally tossing them over to me.

  “I have the urge to do some banking,” I tell him.

  “I'm coming with you,” he says. “Sam will kill me if you get arrested your first day here.”

  Millie Haynes sees me coming as soon as I step foot in the bank. She has no intention of letting me even get so far as the tellers and comes striding right toward us. Her jaw set, her eyes flashing, she has lost all pretense of caring how we feel.

  "I thought I told you to stop coming here and harassing my employees," she says.

  "Actually, you said you didn't have anything else to say to us, and that you didn't think your customers would feel very comfortable banking with the police and FBI around. You didn't mention anything about harassing your employees. You definitely didn't say anything about slashing my tires," I say.

  "Oh, lord," Dean mutters under his breath beside me.

  Millie scoffs. "You honestly think I have the time to go do something like that? And why would I slash your tires?"

  "Interesting order you chose for tho
se two questions," I fire back.

  "Look, I don't know what's wrong with you, but not only do I have no reason to slash your tires, I wouldn't even know what hotel you're staying in. Now, this is really enough. You need to go."

  She turns on her heel and walks away, her arms folded tightly over her chest. I watch her for a few seconds, then turn away and head back out of the bank. Dean stares at me as we climb back in the car.

  “What was all that about?” he sputters. “Don't you think you flew off the handle a little bit in there?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “That was the point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did she know I'm staying in a hotel?” I ask.

  “Well, I'm assuming she knows you're not from the area. It only makes sense you would be staying somewhere,” Dean says.

  “But she didn't even know I was here. She might have made that assumption. Or she might know more than she's letting on. Either way, why is she so angry to see us there? What is she so afraid of?"

  "You're baiting her."

  "Mason Goldman, Eleanor Goldman, Lakyn Monroe. Three people with a whole lot of question marks around them, one of whom has been murdered, and all with direct links to this bank. The bank she manages. Something's going on. Somebody slashed my tires. It might not have been her, but she knows who it was."

  "So, what do we do now?" Dean asks.

  "We wait."

  We sit in silence, but it only takes a few more minutes before the door to the bank opens, and Millie rushes out, adjusting the strap of a large bag over her shoulder. She lowers dark sunglasses over her eyes and scurries to a small blue compact on the other side of the parking lot.

  “There we go,” I note.

  “Are we following her?” he asks.

  I give him a look, and he smiles, cranking the ignition. We wait until Millie has left the parking lot before sliding into place after her. The road is only one way, so we have to hang back to avoid being noticed. We keep just enough distance to be able to see the outline of her car ahead of us.

  “Where is she going?” I wonder after we've been following her for fifteen minutes.

  “If she's taking her lunch break, she must have a very specific craving,” Dean says.

  “Somehow, I don't think there's a salad at the end of this,” I say.

  Just then, Millie's car turns down a narrow dirt road and stops.

  "Shit," Dean mutters, turning the wheel sharply, so we skid off the road into a field.

  "Way to go with the quick thinking," I remark.

  "She stopped. What was I supposed to do?" he asks.

  "Drive past her. She's pointed the other way," I say. The sound of another car catches my attention. "I think someone just met her."

  I unhook my seatbelt.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to try to see what's going on. We can't exactly drive past them now."

  I open the door carefully and softly push on it until it latches before turning to walk quietly into the tall crops. They look like wheat, but I can't be sure. Dean follows behind me, and I gesture for him to go slowly. I hear two car doors open and close, and voices not far ahead.

  "I'm doing everything I can," Millie says.

  "It's not enough. Didn't you learn anything last year?" a man asks.

  "Don't talk about that," she replies.

  I get closer and push aside some of the plants. My position puts me behind Millie's car, so I'm looking down the road toward her. She's standing with her back to me, and a heavyset man in a dark suit stands uncomfortably close to her.

  "We thought you understood why this is so important," he glowers.

  "I do understand. It'll get taken care of. It isn't always as easy as you want it to be."

  "That's why we have you do it, Millie. Figure it out."

  I step back, and my foot tangles in dried weeds and grass, making me stumble and drop to one knee.

  "What was that?" Millie asks in a lowered tone.

  "Did you bring someone here?"

  "No," she says quickly.

  "Did someone follow you?"

  "No," she repeats adamantly.

  Dean grabs me and pulls me to my feet.

  "Someone is here," the man says. His voice is louder as he comes down the road. I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

  "Go," I whisper harshly to Dean. "Go!"

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dean and I run deeper into the field in the opposite direction of the car. Our movements make the plants sway and bend, so when we've gotten a few yards away from the road, I grab onto Dean and yank him down to the dirt. I hold one finger over my mouth to quiet him.

  "You said no one followed you," the man growls angrily.

  “Nobody did,” Millie replies. “I walked out of the bank and drove here. Who's going to follow me?”

  “Then whose car is this?” he snaps.

  “I don't know. Obviously, it drove off the road. Whoever it is must have either called somebody to come get them or gotten out and walked away. Why would I have someone follow me out here?" Millie asks.

  She's obviously fighting for control of her voice, but it's staying surprisingly steady despite what I can only imagine is fear. This isn't a friendly meeting. I keep my right hand resting on my gun and the left pressed to the ground so I can get up quickly if I have to. There are a few seconds of silence. Everything seems to hang still, waiting for whatever is going to happen next.

  “Get it taken care of,” the man finally says. His footsteps are heavy as they walk away from the car.

  “I will,” Millie responds.

  A few seconds later, one car door closes, and an engine roars, then disappears into the distance. There's another stretch of silence before the second car drives away. Dean and I stand up and look at each other.

  “What do you think that was about?” he asks.

  “I have no idea. But it wasn't good, whatever it was. Come on, let's get out of here,” I say. I look around as we walk back to the car. “What is this place, anyway?”

  “I think it's part of the old fairgrounds,” he says. “It's not really used for much anymore, as far as I know. Last year there was a corn maze on the other side. I think there were some fall activities and things. But the rest of it's abandoned.”

  "If it's abandoned, who runs those activities?" I ask as we get back to the car.

  "I don't know," he says.

  "Let's find out."

  Dean looks at me strangely as we climb into the car. "Why does it matter?"

  "It's an interesting place to meet. Rather than going into town, they came all the way out here, and happened to stop right at this place."

  "Like you said, that meeting didn't exactly seem friendly. Maybe they came out here for the seclusion," Dean says.

  "Didn't you say the woman who owns Mason's house has a farm near the old fairgrounds?" I ask. "It's another connection. I don't know what it means. It might not mean anything. But it's a connection."

  I take out my phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Dean asks.

  “Detective White,” I tell him. “I want to see if he can get me a meeting with Xavier Renton.”

  Two days later, I walk into the police station and meet Detective White in the lobby.

  “You said I was going to be able to meet with Xavier Renton,” I say. “Why did you have me meet you here?”

  “There are some things I need to talk to you about,” he says. “Please come with me.”

  “Does this have to do with the blonde woman in the picture?” I ask as we walk down the hallway toward the conference room.

  “No,” he shakes his head. “We still haven't been able to locate her.”

  “I'm not surprised,” I say. “She didn't come forward for Greg's case. I can't imagine she would for this one, either. What is it?”

  We get into the conference room, and he closes the door behind us.

  “The medical examiner did an initial review of
the body found burned by the side of the road,” he says.

  “An initial review?” I raise an eyebrow. “What about the autopsy? This is a situation where consent isn't needed. The death is a result of a crime.”

  “I'm well aware of the laws regarding autopsies,” he says. “The issue isn't consent. The autopsy will be performed later this week. That's not why I called you here.”

  “Alright,” I say.

  “During the initial review of the body, the medical examiner uncovered some inconsistencies.”

  “Inconsistencies? What does that mean?” I ask.

  “There are some details about the body that aren't lining up precisely with what we would expect from Mason Goldman's body. Now, that could be simply because of the extent of damage from the fire. That is possible. But they were significant enough for the medical examiner to make notes about it. I thought I should tell you."

  "Does this mean you don't know if that body is actually Mason Goldman?" I ask.

  "It means there are inconsistencies," he repeats. He is trying to be careful what he says, so he can't be tied to it later, but the point is coming across clearly. "I can't stress enough that this information needs to be kept confidential. You can tell Dean, but no one else."

  "Have you spoken with his wife?"

  "Yes. The hospital won't discharge her back to her house because there isn't anyone there to help take care of her as she continues to recover. So, for now, she's still confined to the hospital. But we did get her notification that a body that was tentatively identified as her husband was found,” he says.

  “How did she react to that?”

  He stares at me. "About as well as you can imagine a wife who has just heard that her husband of one year was brutally murdered."

  “So, she didn't seem surprised?”

  "Of course, she was surprised," he says. "What are you getting at, Emma?"

  “I mean surprised like a wife whose husband has come to see her in the hospital in the time since his body was supposedly found,” I say. “Did you ask about the last time she’d heard from him?”

  “Mason was allegedly at the hospital the day she was admitted for her surgery. She didn't want him to see her in so much pain and going through all the issues with the anesthesia, so she asked him not to come again until it was time to pick her up. Newlywed self-consciousness and whatnot. She's been kept mostly sedated since the procedures, so she hasn't had her phone on.”