Wren blinked, trying to parse this. “Oh, you were attracted to her?”
“Yeah, maybe it’s not obvious,” said Clover, gesturing to her body. “Maybe I have a distinct lack of flannel, but I do have a short hair cut and I don’t pluck my eyebrows.” She snorted. “I am of the Sapphic persuasion, but, um, back then I was just a kid, and so was Indigo, and I was just figuring shit out. I came out to her, and I told her I was in love with her, and she flipped out. I think it was…” Clover sighed, twisting her hands together. “I think she felt betrayed. Like, she’d never had any relationship that hadn’t somehow become sexualized. Even her mother had sort of become her pimp, whoring her out to her own boyfriend, so I was all she had, and I fucking betrayed her. I’ve felt like shit about that forever.” She picked up her pack of cigarettes and began to fiddle with it. “Maybe if I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation about her.”
“Maybe,” said Wren. “But the truth is that people who kill like this, usually need to have something psychologically wrong with them first, and then also be exposed to certain environmental factors. There are exceptions to every rule, of course, and there are certain people who have very loving, stable backgrounds and still do horrible things. In the end, you can’t be responsible for anyone’s actions except your own.”
“You know, she would talk about killing people,” said Clover. “I never took it very serious. I even joined in sometimes. We would plan out ways to kill Keith, her and me. Ways to kill her mom. I just…” She set the cigarettes down.
It was quiet.
“Did she ever talk to you about places that she wanted to go to?” said Wren. “Did she fantasize about setting up a life in some other place, about escaping here and going to a city or an island or anything like that?”
“Not really,” said Clover.
“And do you have any idea why she was drawn to the Brookton, New York area?”
“Besides the fact that there was a PLL group there?” said Clover. “She went there for about six months when she was thirteen-ish, I think.”
“She moved there? With her mother?”
“No, she got sent there,” said Clover.
“Was that common?”
Clover shrugged. “It could be. She told me that it was one of Keith’s orders. He might have done it to break her down or to show her that he was in charge of her, and that he could just send her wherever he wanted her to go. It’s hard to say.”
“What about New Mexico or Kansas?” said Wren.
Clover shook her head. “She never talked about any of that with me.”
“Do you know if she has family besides her mother?” said Wren. “What about her father, for instance?”
“I don’t think Marlena had any contact with the guy. I get the impression it was like a one-time thing and she didn’t know how to find him or she never tried,” said Clover.
“Brothers? Sisters?” said Reilly.
“No,” said Clover.
“So, you don’t have any idea where she might go if she wanted to hide?” said Wren.
“I really don’t,” said Clover.
AFTER leaving Clover’s trailer, Wren and Reilly walked down to their car, and Wren was going to suggest that they go and pay a visit to Marlena, Indigo’s mother, when she was suddenly hit with a wave of pain. It cut into her temples and then settled at the back of her skull.
It was blindingly painful.
She stumbled, losing her balance.
Reilly was right next to her. “What happened? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “My head…” She cringed. “It hurts really bad.”
Reilly put his arm around her. “Well, the doctor said that you could get bad headaches from hormonal changes. I remember hearing that.”
“This is bad,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Really bad.”
“Let’s get you back to the motel,” he said.
She slumped in the seat with her eyes closed for the drive back, moaning when they went over any bump in the road. She couldn’t take any of the good pain medication, of course, so she had to settle for acetaminophen, and then she decided to get in the shower and see if hot water helped.
Internally, she was panicking, but Reilly was doing research on his phone about migraines and pregnancy hormones and telling her how normal it was, and it was making her feel better.
The hot shower helped too.
By the time she was done, the pain pills had at least dulled the pain to a bit of a throb. She collapsed on the bed and yanked the covers over her head.
Reilly offered to rub her back, but she said she didn’t want to be touched.
And somehow, even through the pain, she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke up, she was no longer in pain.
She could hear voices, drifting through the door to the motel room, which was shut. One she recognized as Reilly’s, but the other was female and unfamiliar.
She had fallen asleep without anything on after getting out of the shower, so she threw on some clothes, tugging her messy hair into a ponytail, and went to the door.
“Wren!” said Reilly when she opened the door. “How are you feeling?”
The woman with him looked to be in her late forties. She was blond and was wearing heavy eye makeup. Wren looked her over.
“I’m Marlena Evans,” said the woman. “I saw you two earlier today, and I found out you’re looking for my Indigo, and I had to come and talk to you.”
Wren raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you’re her mother.” Her voice came out hard.
The woman heard it and stiffened. “I made mistakes with Indigo,” she said. “I was young, and I was an idiot, and Keith got in my head—”
“No excuses,” said Wren. “If you have a baby, it’s your job to protect her. You didn’t protect your daughter. You didn’t give a shit about her.”
“Now, that isn’t true,” said Marlena.
At the same time, Reilly said, “Wren,” in a low voice.
Marlena was still talking. “I loved her. I messed up, it’s true. I know I can never fix it, but he made me think that what he was doing with her was good and spiritual or something. It sounds stupid, but you never met him. He had this way about him. He could talk you into things.”
“You didn’t deserve to have a baby,” said Wren. “You were given a child, and you fucked it up.”
“Wren.” Reilly’s voice was sharp now. He turned to Marlena. “Sorry about that. I think we’re good here. I appreciate everything you told me, and I promise you, we don’t have any intention of hurting your daughter.”
“You hear a lot of stories about the police just shooting people,” said Marlena. “That’s all I’m saying. I know she’s got to pay for what she’s done, but let her live. Put her in jail, but don’t shoot her.”
“We’re not going to shoot your daughter,” said Reilly.
Wren swallowed.
“Just remember that she’s a person,” said Marlena. “Can you do that for me?”
“Trust me,” growled Wren, “we know that better than you seem to know.”
Marlena flinched.
“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” said Reilly.
Marlena drew in a trembling breath. “No. I’m all right.” She hung her head and turned away. She took a few steps and then turned back. “Even if she has a weapon or she’s doing something threatening, you can try and talk her down first. Will you promise me that you’ll try that first?”
“I can absolutely promise you that,” said Reilly. “And you don’t have to believe that the worst examples of people in our profession are representative of most of us. I’m not saying that to excuse anything, but I am saying that I promise you, we will do everything in our power not to hurt your daughter.”
Marlena sniffled. “Thank you.” Her voice was threaded with tears. Then she turned and ran to her car.
They watched her drive off.
Wren clenched her hands i
nto fists.
“I’m sorry,” said Reilly.
“For what?” she ground out.
“For snapping at you when you were talking to her,” he said. “I get it. I can absolutely understand why you’re angry with her.”
“She disgusts me,” said Wren.
“She’s not your mother,” said Reilly.
Wren turned him, nostrils flaring.
“I’m not saying that I would be behaving any differently if I had your past,” he said. “And I don’t condone anything she did either. But she’s not like Vivian. She’s a victim of Keith Hughes. She loves her daughter. She’s just… a mess of a person, I think.”
Wren clenched her hands into fists.
“And you…” Reilly looked at her. “The fact that you are angry right now, it only proves that you are nothing like Vivian Delacroix, okay? You’re going to be the best mother in the universe. You are already the best mother—”
Wren cut him off by launching herself at him. She pounded one of her fists into his chest.
“Ow,” he said, wincing.
“Oh!” She pulled back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just—”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his arms. “I can take it.”
She burrowed her face into his chest. “It’s just everything feels too much right now. Like it’s emotions having me, not me having emotions.”
“You’re growing a person, Wren.” He tightened his grip on her. “It’s okay if everything is too much.”
She sagged against him. “I keep feeling like she’s me.”
“Who?”
“Indigo.”
“She’s not you.”
She tilted her face back and looked up at him. “I know.”
“You’re not a killer, Wren. You said this to Clover back there, that there was something going on in Indigo’s own psyche, something beyond all this. You know you’re not like that. You know you have empathy, or you wouldn’t be able to do this job.”
“Sometimes I wonder…” Wren licked her lips. “Maybe it amounts to the same thing, having too much empathy. Because I can empathize with killers just as easily as victims, and when I do, I shove aside all the morality and all the concern over their pain, and then I become…”
“No,” he said.
She looked up at him. “If I ever hurt our baby—”
“You never would.”
“If I did, you would stop me,” she said.
“The fact you’re worrying about it means you wouldn’t.” He kissed her forehead.
“So, what did she say?” said Wren. “Did Marlena give us any good information?”
“She told me that she has a sister in New Mexico, and that she knows that Indigo went there after the thing with Travis.”
“Oh,” said Wren. “So, that’s the New Mexico connection.”
“Yes,” said Reilly.
“Do you think she could be there now?”
“Only way we’ll find out is if we go and look,” he said, grinning. “As long as you’re up for it, that is. How’s your head?”
“Much better,” she said. “And I am up for anything.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVELYN Anthony stood in the doorway to her home, arms folded over her chest. “Can we have this conversation at the door? Do I have to invite you in? You don’t have a warrant or something, do you?”
Wren and Reilly had come here straight from the airport. Their baggage was in the trunk of their rental car. Wren was drinking another McCafe latte, which she’d gotten in the airport on their way out.
“We don’t have a warrant,” said Reilly. “And if you’re more comfortable talking out here, that’s fine with us.”
“Is there a reason you don’t want us to come inside?” said Wren.
Evelyn gave them a stony look and didn’t answer the question.
“You’re Marlena Evans sister, is that right?” said Reilly.
“I knew this was about Indigo,” said Evelyn. “Listen, she isn’t here. I haven’t seen her in years. She ran off after her husband ended up dead on the night of her wedding, and we haven’t heard a thing from her since.”
“But she was here,” said Wren. “She stayed here, with you, for a time, maybe six years ago?”
“Yes,” said Evelyn. “What does that matter? Is there a law against taking in your sister’s child? I should have had her from the beginning, if you ask me. Marlena wasn’t a fit mother for that girl, and if Indigo got into trouble, it wasn’t because of my influence. We only ever did good for that girl. But I haven’t heard from her.”
“Well, we know that she left here for a while after that, because we know she was living in Brookton, New York,” said Wren.
“Okay. Why are you telling me this?”
“She came back here two years ago, when she married Adam Michaels. Did she stay with you then?”
“Maybe for a little bit until she got on her feet and got a job,” said Evelyn. “Is that a crime?”
“But she hasn’t contacted you recently?” said Reilly.
A voice came from within. “Mom, who’s at the door?”
“No one,” Evelyn called over her shoulder. She turned back to Wren and Reilly. “Are we done here?”
“You really haven’t heard from her?” said Reilly. “From Indigo?”
“No,” said Evelyn.
“Mom!” the voice was closer now. A woman in her mid-twenties pushed her way forward.
Evelyn glared at her. “Annie, you get out of here.”
“Are they door-to-door salesmen?” said Annie.
“They’re from the FBI,” said Evelyn. “They’re here about Indigo.”
“Oh,” said Annie. “Well, maybe if we talked to them—”
“No,” said Evelyn. “Nothing to say. And I think we’re done here.” She yanked on the door.
“If you do hear from Indigo—” began Wren.
“Move out of the way,” said Evelyn, pulling on the door.
Wren and Reilly were forced to step back.
The door slammed in their faces.
“Get in touch with us,” said Wren.
Reilly got out a card and left it on the porch right in front of the door.
“THANKS for meeting with us,” said Reilly. He and Wren were sitting outside a coffee shop, under the shade of an umbrella. Wren was drinking a double-shot latte with caramel and chocolate syrup, and he had a ginger latte. They were speaking with Stan Michaels, who was the brother of Poppy’s victim here in New Mexico.
“No problem at all,” said Stan.
“We realize this might be a tough subject for you,” said Wren, taking a drink of her coffee.
“It is,” said Stan, “but I want to help catch her, of course. What can I do for you?”
“We’re basically trying to find any information that will help us track her down,” said Reilly. “I’m guessing she hasn’t been in contact with you, though. I can’t imagine she’d do that.”
“No,” said Stan. “I never really knew her all that well. She and Adam got married kind of quick, and I remember it was weird, because Adam had been dating her cousin Annabelle before that, and then two seconds later, he’s marrying Indigo instead.”
“Oh, that’s kind of interesting,” said Wren.
“Yeah, I talked to him about it,” said Stan. “I asked him if Annabelle was really okay with it, and he said that she was, and that if she wasn’t, he would make sure she was.”
“Oh?” said Wren. “How would he have done that?”
Stan shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t think Indigo was really his type. Adam liked women who were kind of sweet and innocent and willing to let him take the lead. Indigo was just a hot mess. She was pretty or whatever, but…” Stan shook his head. “I never thought she was going to kill him, of course. To this day, I don’t know how she got the drop on my brother. Girl must be a buck twenty soaking wet, you know?” He shook his head. “But there it is. Kinda shameful way t
o die. I always been mad at her for that. For taking away his dignity.”
“You haven’t seen her, I assume?” said Reilly.
“If I did, I would call the police right away.”
“And you don’t have any reason to think she’s in the area?” said Wren.
“No,” said Stan. “Is that why you’re here? Are you chasing her? Do you think she will get in contact with me?”
“We’re just following the case where it leads us right now,” said Reilly. “We don’t have any indication necessarily to think that she’s here, but we are actively searching for her.”
“Well, I want her found,” said Stan. “I want her locked up. If there’s anything that I can do to help, anything at all, I’ll do it.”
“MY mother says not to talk to you,” said Annabelle Anthony. She was standing in the doorway to her house. It was late evening, and the sky was dark. A few stars were appearing in the night sky.
Wren thought the sky out here was so big and dark and beautiful, stretched out and bold. She hadn’t spent much time in this part of the country, and she liked it.
“Yeah,” Reilly was saying, “we figured that, but it also seemed as though you wanted to talk to us, or at least to convince your mother to talk to you.”
Annabelle sighed. “Look, I can’t tell you anything about Indigo. She’s family. I’m not going to betray her.”
“You know where she is, don’t you?” said Wren.
Annabelle hung her head. “I just got my kid to sleep, and I’m exhausted. My husband is going to be home from work any minute.”
“So, you have a new husband,” said Wren. “How close did you come to marrying Adam?”
At the mention of the name, Annabelle stiffened.
“He hurt you, didn’t he?” said Wren in a low voice.
Annabelle looked up at her.
“He hurt you, and when Indigo stepped in, she convinced him to look at her and not at you,” said Wren. “She rescued you. And then she got rid of him so that he couldn’t hurt anyone else.”
Annabelle swallowed. “How do you know all that?”
“She’s good at reading people,” said Reilly.
A Caress of Bones: a serial killer thriller (Wren Delacroix Book 9) Page 11
