Nick tried to help. “And you’re a very lucky little girl, Keri, because you have two mommies who love you very much.”
This was all wrong. Keri was only two. How could she possibly understand this? Eve wanted to roll back the clock to last week, to before she realized Keri hadn’t been carried in her womb. “Yes, you’re our own little girl forever. But you have another mommy too. She wants to come see you.”
Keri’s blue eyes mirrored confusion as she stared from Eve to Nick and back again. “Mommy?” Her eyelids drooped, and she put her thumb in her mouth.
Nick’s gaze met Eve’s in a helpless plea. “She’s sleepy,” he whispered.
“Maybe we shouldn’t try to explain,” she whispered. “She’s really too young to get it.”
“I know your sister. She’s going to come in here being melodramatic and telling Keri she’s her real mommy.”
“Maybe we can ask her not to do that.”
“You might not remember her, but you saw how determined she was.”
Eve bit her lip. “Should we prevent her from coming here?”
“She’ll just go to the court and get it ordered.”
“Surely a judge will see the confusion is harmful to Keri.” What a mess she was making of this. She knew Keri would never understand. “Time for bed, sweetie,” she said, giving up the struggle.
“Dance?” Keri suggested. She scrambled down to the floor and circled her arms over her head, then went demi-pointe.
Eve smiled. “Good form, Keri. Arch your neck a little.” She ran her palms over Keri’s neck.
“You remember all that?” Nick asked.
Eve arched her brows. “Crazy, isn’t it? I can’t remember anything important, but I can remember the dance.”
“Your ballet has always been important to you.”
His tone indicated that maybe her talent had cost him. Eve looked away, knowing there was nothing she could say to that. She didn’t remember. Had she put her dance before Nick just as he had put his work first?
She shied away from the thought of bringing up Will.
They watched Keri dance around the room for a few minutes, then Nick insisted she go to bed. Though Keri protested, Nick scooped her up and carried her to Davy’s bedroom.
The two children had grown so close that Keri insisted on staying in Davy’s room. Eve turned out the lights and followed.
“Bed,” Keri said, pointing to the bottom bunk. Davy was a small hump on the top bunk.
Nick slipped her between the covers and planted a kiss on her forehead. “’Night, baby.”
“Night-night, Daddy.” Keri’s lids fluttered, and her voice was soft.
Eve watched the two of them together. Guilt crept up behind her and toppled her hopes for ever reclaiming what this small family unit once had. Like Humpty Dumpty, the pieces of their previous lives would never be mended.
17
Sinners gathered at The Fisheries every night to give in to their flesh. Its blinking neon sign attracted them like bugs. Gideon’s gaze swept the revelers. It wouldn’t be hard to find one deserving of death. He should wait, but something drove him on.
Tonight he was Shiva, the Destroyer.
A group of men and women came reeling from the bar, spilling cigarette smoke and the yeasty odor of beer into the clear air. Their laughter rang into the night. He watched as their little group finally broke apart, each one scurrying to individual cars.
Except for one.
She stood under the watery wash of lamplight looking uncertainly into the darkness. Maybe she felt him hiding there, an avenging puma waiting to rip out her throat. He knew she would come to him though. They always did. Most people tended to ignore that still, small voice inside, dismissed it as superstition.
He knew better.
Dressed in a red dress that barely covered her shapely derriere, and teetering on heels too flimsy to walk in, the woman started toward his hiding place. The silk scarf in his right hand, he waited, his breath catching in his chest.
Fashioning the scarf into a garrote, he was behind her in one movement. Then he had the scarf around her neck, twisting so tightly she couldn’t scream. He dragged her back into the welcoming darkness of the trees.
EVE HADN’T SLEPT A WINK. THE THOUGHT OF losing Keri kept her tossing and turning most of the night. She needed help. Sitting on the edge of her bed beside a napping Keri, she looked from the phone to the number in her hand. What would she say? And why hadn’t her parents called her? Nick told her he’d spoken with them, given Bree’s number in case they wanted to talk to her.
She called up the number, then waited . . . while she waited for someone to pick up. Did she look like her mother? Her father? Were she and her brothers close? It was already obvious there was no love lost between her and Patti. While it was ringing, she tended to the plants in her room.
“Ya.” The voice on the other end had a gruff tone as though the woman smoked three packs of cigarettes a day.
“H-hello, this is Eve.” The silence seemed long, but Eve knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds. She longed to hear her mother’s concern and love.
“Eve,” the gruff voice snapped. “About time, it is! You disappear without a word, to death you worry me and your Fa.” The Swedish accent thickened as she talked.
It took Eve a moment to form a response. Nick said he told them she’d lost her memory. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I don’t remember anything.”
“Ya, your Nick, he tell us.”
The silence between them fell heavy and thick. Too thick to saw through with the sharpest blade. Eve didn’t know what questions to ask, how to visualize the woman who raised her.
“I’m afraid,” Eve whispered. “I don’t know anyone. A man wants to kill me.”
“You come home, ya?” The words were said grudgingly.
Eve winced. Her mother obviously didn’t really care. “It’s okay. I have police protection, but it’s frightening not to even know my family. Could you send me some pictures of you and my father? My brothers?”
“We do not take pictures. Is silly,” her mother said. “You want to see us, you come home.”
“When was I home last?”
“Last Christmas, it was.”
Six months ago. There was a world of information in those three words.
“We live not so far you cannot come to see your Fa and Mor more often. Too busy, always too busy.”
“Do . . . do you know what happened between me and Nick? Why we divorced? Did I ever talk to you about . . . about another man?”
“You never tell your Mor anything.” Her tone changed. “Your Fa, he has doctor bill due. A thousand dollars. I tell Nick, and he says he send it. Make sure, okay? The money, we need.”
Was that the guarded tone she’d sensed from Nick whenever she asked about her family? Were they only interested in money? Maybe that was why she never went to visit. “I don’t have any money. Nick and I are divorced. I can’t let him give you any money.”
“Bad daughter, you. Always you think of yourself.” The words were delivered in a harsh growl.
The next thing Eve knew, the dial tone was ringing in her ear. Her mother had hung up on her? She got to her feet and went out the door. She had to talk to Nick.
She found him on the back porch. The fog had rolled in off the lake, and though she could see the sun would soon burn it off, right now she couldn’t make out the buoy offshore, though she could hear its gong and the sound of the foghorn.
Nick glanced up as she settled into the chair beside him. “You okay?”
“I just talked to my mother. Or rather tried to. What’s this about her asking you for money?”
He shrugged. “They’re always asking for money. I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask when she knew what you’d been through.”
“But why? Doesn’t my dad work?”
“Yeah, in a bar. He and your mom are both alcoholics. Meth smokers too.”
She saw him glance at
her out of the corner of his eye as if to gauge her reaction. The information didn’t surprise her, in light of her mother’s aloofness and accusations.
“Were they like this when I was growing up?”
“You lived with the alcohol. And heroin. They found meth just before we were married.”
“How did I ever become a dancer?”
“You called it your escape. Elena Cox, the teacher who gave you the necklace, bonded with you when you were in grade school. She gave you free lessons for years.”
“My brothers? Are they like . . . her?”
“Great guys, both younger than you and both unmarried. I think they’re jaded.”
“Have you talked to them—since you found me?”
He shook his head. “I thought your parents would tell them. I guess I should call them.”
“And my maiden name?”
“Ostergard.” His hand slipped over and took hers.
The warmth of his hand and the interlacing of their fingers brought a level of calm. “Have you always been able to do this?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Make it all better.”
His lips turned down. “Not everything. If I could, we’d still be married.”
A chill wind blew in from the lake as if summoned by his words. Just about the time she moved closer to him, she was reminded of how little she knew about anything—their pasts, their arguments. Their dreams, their failures. She stood and went to the porch railing.
Her affair.
He joined her. “Can we pretend we have no past?” he whispered. “We have just this minute. We can learn about each other as if we’ve just met. In a way, we have.”
He turned her around to face him, cupped her cheek in his hand, and rubbed her lower lip with his thumb. Eve closed her eyes and inhaled the minty scent of his breath. His lips brushed hers, and she fought the desire to pull him closer.
She turned her head, sliding her lips away. “A new beginning sounds tempting, Nick, but how can we find it until we put the past in its place?”
He stepped back with exasperation in the stiff line of his shoulders. “The past is over, Eve. You don’t even remember it.”
“What about Will Donaldson?”
He stiffened even more. “You remember him?”
“No, but he’s here.”
“Son of a—” Nick clamped his mouth shut. His hands curled into fists. “When did you see him?”
Had it just been a few days ago? So much had happened. “He says we were lovers,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me it was my fault we divorced?”
He stared at her. “Is it true? You said—”
“I said what?” His gaze wouldn’t meet hers, and she braced herself for the news.
“That you never slept with him.”
A flame of hope began to burn. “Did you believe me?”
His gaze locked with hers. “Yeah, I did. What’s he doing here? You told me you weren’t going to see him anymore.”
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “Why would he lie?”
“I’m sure he knows you don’t remember, and it’s a way to hang on. I think he and I should have a talk.”
She grabbed his arm. “No!”
“What did you feel when you saw him?” He took her in his arms again, and his lips brushed hers. “I can see you feel something for me, Eve.” His fingers pressed against her wrist. “Your pulse is racing.”
“I didn’t feel anything for him,” she admitted. She swallowed the dryness in her throat. “But would he lie to me?”
Nick said nothing. His disappointment and her regret mingled into something as thick as the fog rolling in across the bay.
JASON’S BUST OF THE SKULL FOUND IN THE grave was shown on TV all over the state by noon Sunday. Nick knew they’d get no hits on it. The guy had rushed through the thing in three days, and it resembled no person he’d ever seen. The lips were too thick for the rest of the bone structure; the nose didn’t fit either.
The Marquette officer only wanted the publicity.
Kade talked to Fraser, who arrived in Rock Harbor Sunday afternoon. Nick’s partner had arranged to get the skull released and delivered to Oliver. Kade offered the basement of his lighthouse as a workspace.
“I gave Oliver a key so he can come in and out as he likes. He’s going to stay at the hotel,” Bree said, flipping on an overhead light to show Nick down. “Sorry it’s such a mess down here.”
“I’m sure Oliver has only made it worse,” Nick said. “He didn’t want to work in his van in case Jason got wind of it and came in to commandeer the project again.” An odor like a damp cave rushed out the open door.
The bare bulb dribbled weak light into the stairwell, but a bright glare from halogen lights illuminated the basement. Over a century of use had packed the dirt floor hard. Stacks of boxes lined the walls, but Oliver’s table and supplies took up the center of the room.
Oliver bent over his work. “Hey, Nick, get me that clay, would you?” He gestured to a tub sitting on boxes about six feet away.
Nick obliged, hefting the heavy tub to his friend. Oliver began to work on the model he’d made of the skull. He had drilled small holes in the cast and inserted vinyl pegs in them to gauge how thick he needed to build up the clay.
“How long is this going to take?” Nick asked. He never tired of watching Oliver at work.
“Another four or five days. Then I’m taking a break and going fishing. Don’t call me for a new case for at least a week.”
“My dad loves fishing,” Bree said.
“I’ll take him out one afternoon.”
“How’d you get into this line of work?” Bree asked.
Oliver’s smile flashed through his neatly trimmed beard. “Indecision,” he joked. “First I thought I might be a doctor, but I kept getting distracted. Then I wanted to be a sculptor, but when was the last time you bought a bust?”
“Um, never,” Bree said.
“Exactly.” He straightened his back, and his grin widened. “Actually, I didn’t care about the money. My brother went missing when I was in my twenties. A year later some bones were found. The police couldn’t identify them—this was back before DNA typing was around. I had to know if they were my brother’s, so I asked the police if I could try to make a cast of the skull.”
“You never told me that,” Nick said.
“You never asked.” Oliver held up a laminated chart. “It helped that I had studied anatomy and art in my academic wanderings. I spent two weeks studying journals until I found a method like this to guide me.”
“What’s that?” Nick peered closer at the chart but couldn’t figure it out.
“It tells me how thick the layers of muscles and skin should be in different areas on the face. This is the most painstaking part of the process. And the most crucial. If you don’t get this right, the face won’t look like the victim at all.” Oliver’s voice was muffled as he bent over the skull.
“So was it your brother?” Bree asked in a soft voice.
“It was. But at least I knew and had closure. We buried him and mourned. It helped. There are so many lost souls out there. It’s a small thing I do.”
“Not so small,” Nick said. “You sure you need four or five days?”
“Rushing it at this stage will most assuredly give us the results of our young friend Jason.”
Nick knew he had to cool his jets and not push if he wanted to track down this woman—and let them lead her to Gideon. Pulling up a folding wooden chair, he settled down to watch the forensic sculptor.
Layer by layer, Oliver built the cast up, pausing often to gauge the thickness of the clay in different areas.
“How long before we see some results?” Nick asked.
“I’ll rush and try to get through in a week or ten days.”
“Jason didn’t take that long,” Bree said.
“Of course not. The young man was inept.” He paused. “I think she’s blonde too.”
<
br /> “How could you tell? I mean, there was no hair in the grave,” Bree said.
Oliver looked up briefly. “There was one strand of blonde inside the skull the first time I looked it over. I didn’t tell Jason. I wanted to see which direction he went.”
“It was obviously the wrong direction,” Nick agreed. “The face he came up with looked out of balance.”
“Not surprising,” Oliver said, scrutinizing the cheekbones.
Nick watched Oliver smooth the clay along the cheekbones and reach for more.
“Once I get the clay totally smooth and skinlike, I shall let it dry, then paint it. It will take many layers.”
Nick walked over to look at the bust from a different angle. “You know Jason’s going to scream foul.”
“It won’t do him any good. We will have her identified within twenty-four hours of completion.” Oliver’s gaze stayed on the cast.
“So long as it’s before Gideon makes his next move, that will make me very happy.”
“I’m going to go meet Eve and your parents at the park,” Bree said, heading toward the stairs.
Nick nodded and continued to watch Oliver work. The sculptor’s long fingers moved quickly along the face, honing and smoothing. The man really was a master.
Nick’s cell phone rang. He had only one bar, so he bounded up the steps to the kitchen. “Andreakos here,” he said.
“Captain, this is Grant Campbell with Internal Affairs. I expected you to contact us when you heard of your suspension.” The man’s voice was heavy with disapproval.
“We’ve got a situation here,” Nick said.
“Well, we’ve got a situation here,” the man snapped. “If you want to be a police officer again, there are some questions that need answering. I expect you in my office tomorrow morning at nine.”
“I’m in Rock Harbor, in the UP,” Nick said. “It’s an eight-hour drive.”
“Then I suggest you get started.”
“Look, can’t you send someone up here? I’m not leaving. A serial killer is after my wife.”
Haven of Swans Page 18
