Cry in the Night

by Colleen Coble

  “What about him buying baby stuff? And Ellie’s mother said he’d been in contact with her.”

  “I thought you believed in his innocence.”

  “I do. But I thought maybe you could explain what he was doing.”

  Mason shook his head. “Not that. But whatever Victor’s done, it’s not murder. I suspect he’s been used by Florence.”

  Bree nodded. “I’d like to talk to Palmer Chambers.” She’d been thinking about it ever since she realized Rob was alive. Palmer had been convicted of Rob’s murder by tampering with the plane. “He should know who was in the plane when it left.”

  “I’ll put in a request for an interview. He has the right to turn you down though.”

  “I don’t think he will.” She and Rob had been best friends with the Chambers family once upon a time.

  Mason left the room. Olivia spit the nipple out, and a dribble of formula trickled from her rosebud mouth. A wave of love swept over Bree. She didn’t understand how the baby’s mother had been willing to sell her. There were so many tentacles in this situation, and she had no idea how they all connected.

  She burped Olivia and laid her back down in her lap, inhaling the baby’s milky aroma. The baby’s delicate blue-tinted eyelids fluttered, then opened. Her lips lifted, and Bree realized she was smiling.

  “Oh, such a sweet girl,” she cooed. The baby’s head turned at the sound of her voice, and Bree was rewarded with a smile focused in her direction.

  Tears flooded her eyes. Was she going to have to give up this precious little one? She brushed her lips across Olivia’s soft head and cuddled her close. She and Kade hadn’t talked about it since discovering Rob was alive.

  The door opened and Victor shuffled into the room with his wrists and ankles in cuffs. “Does he have to wear those?” she asked Mason.

  He shrugged. “I’ll take them off. I started the release proceedings.” He unfastened the cuffs. “I’m going to release you, Victor. You can go home in a little while.”

  Bree stood and approached Victor, who stood with his gaze focused on the ground. “Victor, it’s Bree. Look, I brought the baby to see you.” Victor still didn’t raise his gaze. She exchanged a helpless glance with Mason. “Did you see a man bury a baby?” she asked softly. “Did Florence see it too?’

  Victor rubbed his wrists. He glanced at the baby, then ducked his head. “Miss Florence was sad when the baby died,” he croaked. “The man took it away.”

  Bree exchanged a glance with Mason. “What baby, Victor?”

  Victor rocked back and forth and began to sing in a rusty voice, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s going to buy you a mockingbird, and if that mockingbird don’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

  No matter how much she tried to get him to say more, he continued to sing the same stanza over and over. Bree sighed and let Mason lead him away before she hurried to the Jeep.

  Bree got back in the Jeep and drove toward home. As she passed Naomi’s house, Bree noticed Sheila MacDonald’s blue Escort in the drive. The older woman was Naomi’s mother’s best friend and had her fingers in every pie. If there had been any rumors going around about Rob, Sheila would know, though she wouldn’t have told anyone since it affected Naomi’s best friend. Bree parked behind the small car and retrieved Olivia. Charley barked from inside the house as they approached. She rapped on the door, then walked in. Charley’s tail drooped when he saw no sign of Samson.

  “Naomi, got a cup of coffee for me?” she called. She unsnapped the baby’s carrier cover and lifted Olivia out. The baby looked around with wide eyes as Bree walked to the kitchen.

  “Hey, girlfriend, glad you could stop by,” Naomi said. She held out her hands. “Come see Auntie Naomi, sweetheart,” she cooed. She lifted the baby from Bree’s arms and tucked her into the crook of her arm.

  Bree poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Sheila at the table. “Sheila, I stopped when I saw you were here.”

  The older woman raised her brows. “You were looking for me?”

  There was no way she was going to find out what she wanted without revealing the truth. What possible reason could she have for asking questions about Rob four years after his disappearance?

  Bree glanced at Naomi. “Something has happened. I need you both to promise not to repeat it.”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” Naomi said, her tone a reproof.

  “If you ask me not to speak of it, rest assured I won’t, Bree,” Sheila said.

  Bree’s pulse hammered in her throat. It was still so hard to talk about, to even believe. “Rob isn’t dead,” she said.

  Naomi gasped, and the baby gave a start, her face puckering. Naomi jiggled her. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “Rob didn’t die in the plane crash. He walked away and left town. I thought I saw someone who reminded me of him the weekend of the winter festival and a few other times. Then I actually talked to him. It’s Rob, no doubt about it.” She turned to Sheila. “Something made him walk away that night. He says he thought Davy was dead, but if that were the truth, I believe he would have come home to comfort me. It’s more than that, and I have to know the reason. Did you hear any rumors about Rob before he disappeared or right afterward?”

  Sheila reached over and took Bree’s hand. “You sure you want to hear this? I never wanted you to know. I never even told Martha.”

  Bree gripped Sheila’s warm fingers. “I have to know.”

  Sheila held her gaze. “His secretary was my cousin. She turned him in when she discovered he was embezzling money from the city. He was about to be brought in by the state police and questioned.”

  Bree shook her head, unable to take it in. “If that’s true, why wouldn’t Mason have known about it—and told me?”

  “Maybe the state cops didn’t tell Mason,” Naomi suggested, jiggling Olivia.

  “I don’t think they did,” Sheila said. “I’ve never heard a mention of it from anyone but my cousin. It all ended with the plane crash.”

  “Embezzlement,” Bree said. The word sounded foreign on her lips. It didn’t fit the Rob she knew. “We were having some financial problems, but I can’t see him resorting to that to fix them.”

  “I watched a show on TV a few months ago,” Sheila said. “I thought of Rob when I saw it. According to the show, most people caught up in embezzlement have every intention of paying the money back—they think of it as a temporary loan. Then it gets out of hand and they’re in too far before they know it.”

  “This will kill Anu,” Naomi said softly.

  Bree nodded. “Hilary too.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to have to tell them.” It wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to.

  She’d just finished her second carrot muffin when her cell phone rang, and she saw Mason’s name on the caller ID. “Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

  “Palmer has agreed to talk to you. Since he’s so far away, I’ve arranged for a phone conversation. Hang on, and I’ll patch you through.”

  Bree held up a finger to Naomi, then moved to the living room where it was quiet, leaving Olivia in the kitchen with the women. She heard a click, then distant voices. “Hello? Palmer?”

  “Hang on,” a gruff voice said.

  The next moment Palmer was on the other end. “That you, Bree?”

  It had been two years since she’d seen him or heard his voice. The last time had been at his trial. How did she talk to an old friend who’d tried to kill her and her son? “Yes, I’m here. I-I have something I need to ask you.”

  “Ask away. You got me out of a nasty work detail.” He laughed and his voice held a forced cheerfulness.

  “Rob isn’t dead, Palmer. He walked away from the plane and never came back.” She told him what Rob had told her.

  “You mean I’m sitting in this stinking prison and he’s not even dead?” Palmer’s voice rose.

  “You killed Faye Asters,” she reminded him. “You tried to kill me and
Davy.”

  “All to cover up Rob’s death.” He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

  “Look, I need to know who else was on the plane when it took off. Someone else died in that crash. Whoever it was wore Rob’s jacket, and that’s how he was misidentified.”

  “I wondered where that other body went,” Palmer muttered. “I figured animals got it.”

  “Did you kill him too? Who was it?” she demanded.

  “No, I didn’t kill him, at least not on purpose. Rob agreed to let him catch a ride home at the last minute.”

  “Who?”

  “Cop by the name of Henry Boxer. He showed up to talk to Rob but fell in the river on the way there. Looked like a drowned rat. Rob loaned him his jacket. I guess that’s how he came to be wearing it.”

  Bree closed her eyes. She didn’t know Henry, but his family would be able to get closure. She knew well the agony of wondering what happened to a loved one. Sometimes it wasn’t what you thought.

  23

  LOW-HANGING CLOUDS ACCUMULATED IN THE WEST, AND the breeze freshened where Quinn stood in the drift-covered meadow. A snowstorm was coming. Maybe it would help him. He’d pray if he thought it would do any good, but he’d long ago turned his back on what little faith his mother had instilled in him.

  He glanced at his watch. Nearly three. Jenna should be here with Davy any minute. How would he tell the boy who he was? In his heart of hearts, the man who used to be Rob Nicholls hoped his son would recognize him. That a sliver of love still existed.

  A bark drifted toward him. It sounded like Samson. Surely Jenna hadn’t brought the dog. The bark came again, then Samson bounded into the meadow. The snow came to his chest and he was relishing the contact. His destination seemed to be Quinn’s side. Dogs never forgot and still loved after many years. Especially one with a heart as big as Sam’s.

  “Here, boy,” Quinn said, whistling. He could properly greet the dog, something he hadn’t been able to do the other times they’d come in contact with one another.

  Samson leaped through the snow with his tail swishing furiously. He reached Quinn and leaped up, putting his paws on Quinn’s chest. His excited barking was a shot of adrenaline. At least someone was glad to see him. He seized Samson’s head in his hands and roughed it up in their long-ago pattern of greeting. Bending down, he let the dog lick his cheek.

  He heard the sound of voices and glanced up to see Jenna and a young boy skiing toward him. His heart squeezed at the realization he was about to come face-to-face with the son he’d thought was dead. With the earflaps down on his hat, and the collar of his coat pulled high, not much of his face was exposed to the cutting wind. Would Davy recognize the little he could see?

  The last time Quinn had seen him, Davy was three. This young boy resembled the toddler he remembered, but he was taller, stronger. The shape of his face was more boyish and less babyish. But the eager grin was still all Davy.

  The child stopped in front of him. Jenna remained a few feet away. Her eyes held a sharp gleam, and a smug smile pulled at her mouth. He wished she weren’t watching. Things were going to be hard enough without her butting in.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling down at his son. The boy was his, not Kade Matthews’s.

  “Hi,” Davy said. “Sam acts like he knows you.” His gaze traveled back to Quinn’s face, and his eyes held a question.

  Should he tell Davy now? Or wait until he had him to safety? Quinn glanced at the clouds that were dragging lower. The snow would begin any time. There wasn’t time to get into a long discussion.

  “You’re Davy Nicholls,” he said. “I . . . I know your mother.”

  “It’s Dave Matthews,” the boy corrected with his chin tipped up. “Davy is a baby name. You can call me Dave if you want though.”

  Quinn wanted to laugh at the solemn assertion. It stung a little that Dave was so adamant about his last name now. He could tell from the way the boy studied his face that there was a memory trying to surface. Better not let it just yet.

  He held out his hand. “Come with me, Dave. We’re going to go on a little trip.”

  His son drew back. “I’m not allowed to go with strangers.”

  At the sound of the edge in his voice, Samson’s tail stopped wagging. The dog sidled closer to the boy and planted his front paws as if to block access to Dave.

  Maybe he’d have to reveal everything to avoid a struggle. Quinn didn’t want to have to fight Dave and Sam too.

  “Son,” he said. “I’m not a stranger.” He squatted to put himself at eye level with Dave. Ripping the hat from his head, he asked, “Do you remember where you’ve seen me before?”

  Dave chewed on his lip. “You look a little bit like pictures of my first dad. He died in a plane crash though. Are you related to him?”

  Maybe that was the easiest explanation. “Kind of related, yes,” he said.

  “Why haven’t I seen you at Grammy’s then?” the boy went on, his voice doubtful.

  “Look at me, Dav—Dave,” he said, catching himself before the old nickname could slip out. “You know who I am if you let yourself.”

  “You’re a windigo,” Davy whispered. “You’ve taken over my daddy’s body. That’s it, isn’t it?” His voice grew louder, more fearful.

  The fur on Samson’s back raised, and a rumble started in his chest. Recognition or no, the dog would protect the boy against anyone. “Easy, Sam,” he said.

  “You call him Sam,” Davy said. “No one calls him Sam but me and my daddy. You are a windigo!” He backed up a step. The dog kept pace with him and kept his body between Quinn and the boy.

  “There’s no such thing as a windigo,” Quinn said. “I am your dad, son.”

  “No, he’s dead!” Davy backed up several more feet. His lips moved, and the words God and help came through in whispered gasps.

  “Davy, it’s all right. I’m really your dad. I didn’t die in the plane crash.”

  Davy’s brow furrowed, and his gaze locked with Quinn’s. “What’s my favorite book? The one you used to read me?”

  “Green Eggs and Ham,” Quinn said without hesitation. “You liked it because of Sam.”

  Davy’s eyes grew wider, and panic flared in them. “Only a win-digo could know that.”

  “Or your real dad,” Quinn said. “Your mom knows I’m alive. I saw her too. And Grammy.”

  Davy shook his head. “They would have told me.”

  “I’m sure they were going to.”

  The boy chewed on his lip as the first fat snowflakes began to fall. “What song is Mom’s favorite?”

  “‘Hound Dog,’” Quinn said. “She’s a big Elvis fan. And she loves pistachios. You like peanut butter and thimbleberry jam. Your aunt Hilary is my sister and she cans jelly every year and saves some just for you. Your Grammy makes the best pulla in the world, and she still sings you ‘Suomalainen kehtolaulu’ just like she did me when I was growing up.” He hadn’t thought of some of these memories in years.

  All this reminiscence was making him crazy. The old life was no more. He could never go back. But he could go forward with what belonged to him—his boy.

  Dave took a step nearer. “You really are my daddy?”

  “Yes. I really am.”

  The boy moved past Samson until he was close enough to reach up and touch Quinn’s face with gloved hands. “You left me,” he said.

  “I thought you died in the crash,” Quinn said. “I was wrong.”

  Doubt still darkened the boy’s eyes. He dropped his hand. “I want to see my mom.”

  How would he tell Davy that he’d never see his mother again? It would be best not to go there. “Let’s go. I have so much to tell you and show you.” He held out his hand to his son. After a brief hesitation, Davy took it with no more questions.

  Quinn glanced over to see Jenna staring at him. He held out his other hand to her. He needed to make sure she didn’t desert him now. If she ran off and told Bree, his plans would come crashing down. “Come with
us?”

  She frowned but took his hand. He squeezed her fingers. They turned back toward the road where he’d parked his truck. This storm would sweep in fast and furious. And hopefully cover their tracks.

  “Where are we going?” Jenna asked when they reached the truck and Davy and the dog had gotten inside. She stood by the hood as he slammed the back door and came toward her.

  “They want to kill him,” he said.

  “Who is they?” she asked.

  “It’s better if you don’t know. We’ve got to disappear. Besides, a boy belongs with his father.” He forced a coaxing smile. “I want you with me, Jenna. We can be married and raise Davy.” He thought that would placate her worry, but the doubt remained in her eyes.

  “Won’t they find us?”

  “Not if they think we’re dead.” The daring plan he had in mind was dangerous. And he still had to figure out how to get his share of the money.

  “What about Vic? I can’t leave him behind.”

  “We’ll send for him,” he lied. He guided her toward the truck. She got in on the driver’s side and slid across to the passenger seat.

  Davy leaned forward. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Quinn twisted around to stare at the boy. “When?”

  “The man I saw putting the baby in the snow. Did you kill it?” The accusation in Davy’s eyes matched his voice.

  Quinn winced. He’d hoped the boy hadn’t seen anything. The danger to Davy just escalated. “No. It wasn’t me.”

  “Was she your baby?”

  There was no way to explain he’d stolen the baby from a poor Native American woman so he could sell her, and then something had gone terribly wrong.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said again, the lie slipping easily off his tongue.

  “What about Miss Florence? Did you hurt her? She yelled at you.”

  Quinn set his jaw. “No more questions. We’ve got to get out of here before we can’t get through the drifts.” He started the truck and pulled out onto the road.