by T. R. Ragan
“How can I help you?”
“I have some questions about Gretchen Myles, a young woman you hired eighteen months ago. Apparently there was an unfortunate event concerning a man who came in for a haircut.”
Sandra’s face paled. “Is he suing?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
Her hand came to rest on her chest over her heart. “Thank goodness.” She glanced at the receptionist before ushering Dani and Quinn over to the waiting area, where they could speak in semiprivacy.
“By any chance,” Dani asked, “do you take down the names and numbers of clients who make an appointment?”
“Absolutely.”
Dani leaned in. “And how long do you keep those records?”
“Forever,” Sandra said. “I’m sort of anal that way.”
Dani looked at Quinn and gave her a thumbs-up.
“I don’t want to jump the gun,” Dani told Sandra, “but this guy could be bad news, and it’s important we find him sooner rather than later.”
“We get all kinds of customers, but there was something very off about that guy.”
“How so?”
Sandra looked heavenward as if trying to figure out the best way to explain the guy without being offensive. Finally she met Dani’s gaze and said, “He lacked social skills. Lonely, maybe stressed, the guy couldn’t open his mouth without inserting his foot. I felt sort of bad for him because it seemed like he was trying so hard to be a regular guy. I hate to admit it, but nobody wanted to cut his hair so I gave him to the new girl.”
“Gretchen Myles.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think we could take a look at your records from eighteen months ago when Gretchen was working here?” If Sandra refused, it was back to square one.
“If you swear this has nothing to do with his ear getting chopped off, I’ll take you back to my office right now and let you go to town.”
“Cross my heart,” Dani said, leaving out the “hope to die” part.
Exactly thirty-six minutes later, Dani and Quinn left the establishment with a name and a number. The heat didn’t stop them from fast-walking the entire two blocks to Dani’s car. Once the engine was humming, she blasted the air-conditioning.
Neither of them said a word as Quinn pulled her laptop from the bag she carried around, flipped it open, and hit the power button. The oxygen inside the car thrummed with hope and possibilities as she used her phone as a hot spot so that she could use Google to do a search on Carlin Reed. The first link on the list was for CSR LOCKSMITH: FAST RESPONSE.
“Click on the link,” Dani said, feeling the spike of adrenaline Quinn had talked about earlier.
The website that popped up on the screen was impressive.
Have an emergency? Call us. 24-7.
There were pictures and customer testimonials. A virtual gold mine of information.
Quinn clicked on an image. “That must be him.”
Dani let out a whoop of joy. “Look at the van. It’s nearly the exact logo that Ethan drew.”
“CSR Locksmith,” Quinn said under her breath.
“Go back to the home page,” Dani said. “I didn’t see an address.”
Quinn clicked back and scrolled through. No address. “I’ll put his name into the database.”
The tension was thick, the only sound the clicking of keys as Quinn pulled up a pay database and typed Carlin Reed’s name into the space provided.
They both read the address out loud at the same time. “Twelve eighteen Riverside Boulevard.”
Dani typed the address into her navigation system and hit “Go.” “It should take us fifteen minutes from here, give or take.”
“The house belongs to Marjorie Reed,” Quinn said. “The satellite feature on Google Maps shows the house sitting in an unfinished development.” Quinn’s foot was bouncing. “Is it time to call Whitton?”
“There’s nothing he can do.”
“But it’s him,” Quinn said. “It has to be.”
“All conjecture at this point. Unless Carlin Reed will give the police permission to search his property, or we can prove there’s imminent danger to someone’s life, police will need a warrant to search his house.”
“What about Ethan?”
Dani merged into traffic. “We might not be able to get inside Carlin Reed’s house, but we can do a drive-by.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ali Cross opened her eyes and saw nothing but blackness. She tried to move her arm, surprised to discover she wasn’t constrained. She was lying on a cot, flat on her back. She reached out her arms to see if there was anything in front of her or to either side, but there was nothing but air.
Pain sizzled and popped throughout her body. She didn’t think anything could hurt more than her foot, but she was wrong. She pushed herself upward until she was sitting, her legs straight out.
Her jaw hung open, saliva dripping down her chin. She put a hand to her face and gingerly felt around. Her cheeks and mouth were so swollen it was hard to tell what the freak had done to her. Recalling the drill, she inserted her index finger into her mouth.
Her heart sank.
She had gaping holes in two of her molars and spaces where at least three teeth used to be. Her tongue had been jabbed and cut, making it impossible to close her mouth. Tears slid down her face as she reached down to feel her legs. He hadn’t broken anything else. Her bad foot was still wrapped in bandages.
Thinking maybe he’d thrown her back in the shed, she climbed off the cot gingerly and positioned herself onto all fours. She dragged her bad foot along as she made her way across the room, heading for the door, where she hoped to find water.
The top of her head bumped into something hard, making her wince. She reached for the object and clasped her hand around what felt like the leg of a chair or table. Slowly, using all her strength, every muscle in her body straining, she worked her way upward until she was standing on her good foot. Taking tiny hops, she followed the smooth edge of what had to be a table. It was oval-shaped. Her knee bumped into something. After pulling away, she held still, wondering if someone was in the room with her. When nothing happened, she blindly reached out, surprised when the tips of her fingers brushed against something that felt like a bird’s nest, a collection of wiry and brittle—
She gasped.
The object fell toward her. She hopped backward, her eyes wide, her heart hammering wildly inside her chest. What was it? Had she felt a skull? Oh, God. It was too horrible to imagine. She began frantically hopping away, dragging her fingers across rough, jagged walls as she went, hoping to find a light switch.
A door opened. A light came on. Footfalls sounded on the stairs.
Carlin stood there, a freakish man. “I see you met my mother.”
What? She looked to the area where she’d stood seconds ago and saw an old woman, skin and bones, leaning to one side. Her hair was like a cocoon around her head. Pearls hung around her neck. Her shriveled eyes bulged from dark sockets.
Ali’s hands flew to her mouth as she let out a strangled cry, watching him warily as he walked across the room and propped up the thing he called his mother before kissing the top of the woman’s head.
They weren’t in the shed. The walls were brick and there were no windows. Ali held back a cry when he came for her, grabbed her arm, and tugged hard, making her stumble and take awkward hops back to the table, then forced her into the chair across from his mother.
Had the woman been stuffed like hunter’s prey?
“Despite how it might look,” Carlin said, “I loved my mother. I loved her so much I couldn’t bear to live without her. She’s the one who told me I needed to go out and find someone to love and cherish and grow old with.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her words slightly garbled.
He looked at her quizzically, as if he couldn’t believe she was asking such a question. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
He was crazy. Wha
t did he want her to say? Yes, it was wonderful. You grabbed me, put a dirty rag to my mouth, and tossed me in your van. While these thoughts ran through her mind, she caught a glimpse of the stairs leading up to the main part of the house. No point in hobbling that way. She would never make it.
“Your mom hired me to change the locks at the house.”
Her mind raced. He was lying. She’d never seen him before . . . but that wasn’t true. When she’d first seen him, there was the tiniest hint of familiarity.
“I was stunned when she said she was running off to pick up her daughter from school. She left me inside the house, all alone!”
His wide grin made her shiver.
“Of course I had to take a look around. Fate brought me to your room, Ali. I even took a pair of your lacy underwear. I sleep with them under my pillow. I knew you were a snooty thing when you walked right past me without saying hello.” He smiled. “You were so beautiful, though, so sure of yourself. I made an extra key, but I never used it because I was too busy following you, watching you, hanging on every comment you made on social media.”
He sat quietly for a moment, one of his fingers tapping away on the tabletop.
“Sadly I don’t think it’s going to work out between us, Ali.” He looked across the table at his mom. “Don’t worry, Mother. I have another girl in mind. She’s young, but she’ll grow quickly. You’re going to love her. Gracie is such a pretty thing. Just ask Ali.”
All Ali could hear was a pounding inside her head. The room and everything in it blurred as she lunged for the monster, bringing him to the ground, her body landing on top of his. They rolled around, but she only managed to jab his side with her elbow before he had full control again.
Straddling her, holding her arms above her head and pinned against the floor, he looked into her eyes. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You are a fiery one. If you had cooperated, I never would have needed to think about going after your sister. I was going to let Mother decide, but I’ve changed my mind. Although you’d definitely keep things interesting around here, I would prefer someone more docile. I’ve been making plans for her arrival. No shed for Gracie. She’s too perfect. You’ll be glad to know that I plan to treat her like royalty.”
She shook her head. No. “I made a mistake.” Her chest tightened. “I can learn to obey. I swear I can. Leave my sister alone. Please.”
“Too late for that,” he said. “And if you’re worried about your mother being alone, don’t be. I’ll kill her so she won’t have to spend the rest of her life looking for her girls and making my life difficult. Maybe I’ll bring her down here to keep Mother company.”
There was no use trying to get away. He was too strong, and exhaustion was setting in from trying to wriggle free. “You won’t get away with this. They’re going to catch you.”
He shook his head. “It’s over, Ali. Nobody is going to save you. I found your witness—the boy on the bike.”
No.
“He’s in your favorite chair as we speak, strapped in tight.”
Carlin pushed to his feet, brushed himself off, and walked to the door. “I’m not sure how long it takes to starve to death.” He frowned. “A week or two? I think it’s the dehydration that will kill you first. If I remember correctly, based on what I’ve read, your skin turns a bluish gray as your organs begin to shut down, especially the brain. You could end up having a stroke, which would be crazy, considering your age. But there you have it. I’m just giving it to you straight.”
Sighing, he looked at his mom. “I love you, Mother. Don’t take any sass from this one. I know. I know,” he said to no one. “It couldn’t be helped. I tried. Yes. Okay. Stop nagging. I’ll bring you a change of clothes and a hairbrush. Maybe Ali can give you a makeover. I’ll be back soon, but only this one time.”
He flicked the light off, then on. “I think I’ll leave it on for now. Mother gets lonely down here, and I’m sure she would enjoy your company while you’re around.”
After he shut the door and she heard the familiar click of a lock being engaged, Ali crawled to the table and pulled herself to her feet again.
Think, Ali. Think. It was impossible to do with his mother looking at her. She let out a growl and pushed the table toward the woman. Her chair toppled. What sounded like a bowling ball rolled across the floor and came to a stop at Ali’s feet.
She looked down, took a hop backward, and slapped a hand over her mouth to cover a scream. Mother’s head had broken loose.
Ali could hardly breathe. She needed to get out of here. She got down on all fours and crawled to where the woman’s body lay in a heap on the floor. An arm bone had broken loose. Cotton spilled out of the crevices of what looked like distressed leathery skin. The tips of her bony fingers protruded from her hands.
Grabbing hold of the hem of the woman’s dress, she slipped it up to her thighbones, where the flesh he’d tried to preserve had fallen off like the skin of an overcooked turkey.
She’d read in one of her schoolbooks that ancient civilizations had used bones as weapons. Daggers made from femurs were found at an archeological site and tested by scientists, who claimed they were durable and deadly. If using bones for weapons had worked for her ancestors, it could work for her too.
Unsure as to when Carlin would be back, she worked fast, positioning the skeleton just so. She then got to her feet, held on to the table, and stomped her good foot down hard on the hipbone.
The thighbone broke free.
Giddy with hope, she stomped on the kneecap next with the same results. She then stooped and picked up the femur, made her way to the brick wall, and began sanding the smaller end against the brick, back and forth. White dust sprinkled to the ground as she kept at it. If she could sand it down to a sharp point, it might just work. All she had to do was catch him off guard, then plunge his mother’s bone into his heart. She was strong. She could do this.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dani kept her eyes on the road while Quinn put away her laptop and then pulled a Taser and a high-voltage stun gun from her bag.
“Where did you get those?” Dani asked.
“Online. I’ve had them for years.”
“Well, you won’t be needing them. We’re just taking a look around. We have to be patient.”
“He’s dangerous. He killed a man.”
“We don’t know that.”
The ride was fairly quick and deathly quiet.
As Dani drove slowly past the house, she could hardly believe what she was seeing. Despite having one of the few finished homes on what looked like a twenty-acre development, Carlin Reed had gone to a lot of bother to make sure nobody came onto his property. “Iron bars on every window and a chain-link fence covered in—what is that?”
“It looks like poison ivy,” Quinn said. Dani pulled into a driveway two doors down. The house had been framed, but other than that, the lot was a simple square of dirt.
Quinn pocketed her weapons and climbed out of the car. “I’m going to hop the fence and knock on his door.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
“If Ethan is in there and something happens to him, I’ll never be able to live with myself.”
“Get back in the car,” Dani said, desperate to stop Quinn before she did something rash.
“I don’t have a PI license. I have nothing to lose.” Quinn shut the door and jogged, hunched over, toward Carlin Reed’s house.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Dani shut off the engine and jumped out of the car. As she ran after Quinn, she saw her launch onto the chain-link fence and begin climbing it as if it were something she’d practiced every day of her life. She planted her right foot and then pushed off until she was able to swing her other foot upward and hook her heel over the top of the fence.
Dani tried to open the gate like a normal person, but it was locked. Quinn jumped to the ground, landing on both feet. She then ran toward the house, her body half-hidden behind the thick boxwood that lined the front of the house as she inched her way
toward the front entry.
The landscaping and the house appeared to be well kept. Fresh paint. All the greenery nicely trimmed. How did a locksmith afford a house like this? she wondered.
“Hello!” Dani shouted. “Is anyone there?”
Quinn finally stopped moving.
Dani wanted to wring her neck, but there was no sense in returning to the car because nothing would stop Quinn now. Maybe if she could get Carlin Reed to come out of the house—
The door opened. “No solicitors,” he said, pointing at the sign wired to the fence. It was him. The same person they had seen on the CSR Locksmith website. Just a regular-looking young man. Clean-cut. Average height.
“I need to talk to Marjorie Reed,” Dani said, loud enough for him to hear.
“What for?”
“She has money coming to her, but I need to talk to her in person. There are papers to sign.”
He took a step forward. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re that private investigator whose daughter was taken. What do you want?”
Quinn figured it was now or never. If she didn’t do something, Ali could die. Ethan could die. She had grabbed her Taser the moment she’d heard the door open. If she could get within fifteen feet, she could immobilize him and give herself enough time to get inside the house.
With her back against the stucco wall, she waited to make her move. The second he stepped into view, she recognized him from his website and went for it, aiming the Taser and pressing the button.
He went down, his legs stiff and straight as he grimaced and then writhed in pain.
Without hesitating, she entered the house and looked from left to right before making her way farther inside. Nobody was in the kitchen or the living room. Quickening her pace, she stopped when she found stairs leading upstairs and a door leading downstairs. She went up and found herself in an attic. There was a bed and a bathroom. Nothing out of order. The room was empty.
She ran down the stairs, tried to open the door leading to a pantry or a basement. It was locked. She knocked hard. “Is there anyone in there?”
