by Regan Black
She rolled her ankle on a loose clump of dirt near the barn and turned back toward the house. A more serious walk should wait until she was dressed for it. As she approached the house, she stopped short, her breathing ragged as she came face to face with the stone fireplace and wide deck that spanned the back of the house.
Twelve days ago she and Zion had sat right up there while Chief McCabe and Deputy Holt delivered the news that her daughter was dead. She’d avoided the spot ever since.
Twelve days of a bleak hopelessness. It might as well be twelve years.
Denial had been brief and no protection at all against the grief that rolled over her in drowning waves. She could look at the calendar and know it was too soon to expect herself to move on and far too late to go back.
Dr. Perez had asked her how she was feeling today. She wasn’t feeling. Not today. Not in the days before. That was the problem. It was as if someone had dialed down the sun, muted the vibrant colors of autumn. There was a vast emptiness she couldn’t comprehend filling.
Motherhood had defined her more than she realized. But she was also a wife and her husband was grieving. Their marriage had always been strong one, their family of three a tightly-woven unit. She couldn’t forget that even as he propped her up, he needed support.
They’d both been a bit baffled when Sylvia rebelled against a traditional college path and leapt right into business ownership. As time moved on, they’d both been proud to see that business grow, to see their daughter’s vision and influence expand as she dedicated herself to improving the community as well as her bottom line.
These past twelve days the community was the only thing keeping Yolanda going. If the press conferences were a challenge, the troubling lack of progress in the investigation was worse. Lately though, when she had ventured into town, people would speak highly of her daughter. She soaked up those moments, hoarding them to get through the long, sleepless nights.
Right now, Renata and Lucy, Sylvia’s first two employees were cleaning the house from top to bottom for the gathering that would follow Sylvia’s funeral tomorrow. Yolanda should give them room to work, but she couldn’t bear to be out here a moment longer. She hurried across the deck and through the French doors into the house, not stopping until she reached the relative safety of the kitchen.
Her heart racing, she poured a glass of water and sipped it slowly.
On the refrigerator a magnet with Sylvia’s business card mocked her. Everywhere she looked she saw remnants of the daughter she’d never speak to again.
Sylvia had assembled a unique family of professionals at Sparkle. Yolanda knew they were all grieving, yet the office downtown was one place she couldn’t yet face. She’d been told Sylvia’s house was still protected as a crime scene.
Who would clean that out? Surely the police wouldn’t ask the girls from Sparkle to take care of it. No one would be that cruel. Zion likely had a realtor and a service lined up as soon as the police gave the all clear. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Of course they would need to sell the house across town. After they’d collected the last bits of Sylvia’s life and brought them here.
“Mrs. Cole?”
Yolanda jumped at the sound of Renata’s voice. Before she turned around, she swiped at her cheeks, a new habit since tears were frequent. “Yes. It’s good to see you.” She walked over and gave the girl a quick hug. It had to be quick so she wouldn’t cling. “Is everything set?”
“Almost.” Renata smiled as if she could see Yolanda’s struggle. “The office is locked. We can leave it again if you like.”
Again? “Oh, but the key should be in the door.” She started forward. Zion closed himself in when he was consulting or studying new investment opportunities. He was officially retired but his work ethic wasn’t easily ignored.
“Usually, yes. Not today or last week.”
Yolanda was ashamed to realize she had no recollection of Renata’s visit last week. “Did you ask me, then?” The younger woman nodded. “And I suppose I told you to leave it.”
“You did, yes, ma’am.” Renata smiled in understanding and sympathy. “This is a difficult time.”
“For all of us.” Her selfishness embarrassed her. “I apologize.”
“You’re hurting,” Renata replied.
“As are you.” Yolanda reached down and found a scrap of courage. “I know how Sylvia valued your friendship. You were the sister she never had. I remember when she was about nine years old…”
Renata’s deep brown eyes filled with patience and compassion and something snapped inside Yolanda. She couldn’t finish the story. Couldn’t force Sylvia’s dear friend to be her emotional crutch.
“Oh, forgive me,” she said instead. “You’ve heard all the stories. I’m sure Zion will want to keep the office closed tomorrow afternoon anyway.” She stared at the closed French doors. The classic skeleton key they kept in the lock was missing. “Two weeks in a row?” She tested the handle. It refused to turn.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How much dust and mess can one man generate in two weeks?”
Renata’s expression went carefully blank.
Yolanda laughed, the sound brittle in her ears. “We both know the answer to that.” She forced her lips into a smile, hoped it wasn’t a grimace. “The man often retreats into his work, as you know.”
“We all cope differently.”
Yolanda made a decision in that moment. “I’d like you girls to sit with us tomorrow at the service, as family.”
Renata’s eyes went wide. “Mrs. Cole.”
“Sylvia would want you all there as her sisters and it would mean a great deal to us.”
Renata sniffled and reached into her pocket for tissue. “I’ll tell the others.”
A few minutes later, Yolanda was alone in the house again. She wandered upstairs to Sylvia’s old room. The room no longer resembled anything of her daughter, arranged now as a guest suite. Sylvia had helped her make the transition, a memory that gave her comfort now. She stroked the velvet upholstery of the slipper chair, sinking down as her knees buckled.
“Oh, baby, I miss you so.” She hugged a pillow to her chest. “I wish you’d talked to me those last weeks when you were so angry. It wasn’t like you to keep secrets from us.”
She wondered if Sparkle had been in financial trouble. Unlikely, but every business went through ups and downs. Zion had drilled that into her head from the first days of their marriage. Yolanda would ask him about it when he got home. If financial trouble was the source of tension between her husband and daughter, he would know how best to protect the employees Sylvia cared for like family.
Dr. Perez had recommended she take a nap this afternoon but she was too restless for sleep, even after the short walk. She fluffed the pillow and put it back on the daybed, feeling as if someone flipped a switch and she suddenly had too much energy.
She wandered the house, wishing Zion would come home. Unless he was in the locked office, he was probably out driving. He’d gone out last night as well. No rhyme or reason to it. Driving soothed him in times of stress almost as much as business.
Early in their marriage, they would often take long drives along the Pacific Coast Highway or little-known backroads, exploring pockets of beauty and interest along the way. It’s how they’d discovered the area that would become Shutter Lake.
Yolanda found herself standing at the office door, wondering what Zion was working on that he felt the need to lock her out. She rattled the handle, more from worry than any real desire to get inside. The door swung open and she somewhat stumbled over the threshold.
When her husband looked up, the harsh expression on his face startled her. His blue eyes were like shards of ice and the malice she saw there frightened her. Then he blinked and once more, he was the caring man she’d loved for more than half her life. It occurred to her Sylvia would never know that kind of love and romance and a sob caught in her throat.
“Yolanda.” He stood and rounded his
desk. “Are you all right?”
He reached for her, but she stepped out of reach, flustered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was only looking for you.”
“Did you need something?”
“No. Not really. I was just lonely,” she admitted. “I thought you were out.”
He pointed to the door that allowed clients to come and go without walking through the house. “I came in through the back after another visit with McCabe.”
She could tell by his voice there hadn’t been any more news. No wonder he’d been angry moments ago. He guided her over to a low couch tucked under the window and sat down with her.
“What is it, love?” he asked, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs.
“The girls were cleaning for tomorrow. Except in here. The door was locked.”
“Does it need to be open to guests tomorrow?”
“Of course not.” She smiled weakly, her attention fixated on a bit of lint on her pants. “I told Renata the same thing.”
He cradled her hands in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll get through.”
“We will.” Tears threatened. She was so very tired of crying. “Maybe I need a nap after all.”
“Maybe so. I worry about you.”
His tenderness soothed her and she wanted to do more for him. “What do you need, Zion? We’re both grieving.”
“Tomorrow will help me,” he said immediately. “We might not have her killer in custody, but it will help to know our daughter is properly laid to rest.”
“I told Renata that the Sparkle girls should sit with us as part of the family.”
“That was thoughtful.” His hands stilled. “Sylvia would approve.”
She knew he’d understand. “Especially after the news about Josie,” Yolanda said. “I’m almost glad Sylvia didn’t live to deal with that.”
He gave her hands another gentle squeeze. Those hands had helped her through every facet of life. With her, he’d raised their little girl with compassion and courage. Taught her how to be strong and follow through with her convictions. Those were good hands holding her, supporting her now.
Suddenly the bruises ringing her daughter’s neck flashed into her mind. They’d warned her not to look at those pictures. Whose hands had left behind such brutal violence on her baby girl?
Zion tipped up her chin and wiped away the tear on her cheek. “We’ll get through, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Together.”
He pushed to his feet and she missed the warmth of his touch.
“Murder is beyond McCabe’s scope,” he said. “Twelve days and no valid leads.”
“The Bradshaw boy’s confession bogged things down,” she reminded him. “Deputy Chief Holt has the experience.”
Zion grumbled, staring out the window. “I’ve been researching private detectives,” he said suddenly. “Interviewed a few as well. An outsider looking at the case may be our only chance at justice for Sylvia.”
“That’s where you’ve been going?”
He nodded. “When I find the right one, you’ll know.”
“Find the right one soon,” she replied. “After what happened to Dr. Perez last night I don’t think the killer is done.”
Zion scowled down at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone fired a gun at Dr. Perez last night. A hunter, she said. She was working today of course. Nothing stops that woman.”
“We’re fortunate to have her.” He sounded unhappy, but his gaze was tender when he reached out and touched her cheek.
She should ask him about Sylvia’s business, if that’s what had come between them in what had been her final weeks. Surely he regretted that his daughter died before they’d talked things out.
Instead, she leaned in and gave him a long hug. He needed comfort too. Leaving him to his search for a private investigator, she headed upstairs, her mind a tangle of love and loss and more questions than ever.
Chapter Ten
Moving between exam rooms, Ana caught sight of Dana’s red cap of hair at the reception desk and walked out to greet her friend. “You’re well?”
“I’m great,” Dana said. “I was worried about you.” Her gaze unerringly inventoried Ana’s scrapes and bandages.
“It looks worse than it is,” Ana assured her, drawing her back toward her office. “Thank you so much for bringing me fresh clothes this morning.”
“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”
A way to repair the damage she’d done to her friendship with Laney, but she wouldn’t bring Dana into that. “Not right now.” Ana gave her a quick hug, just in case this was the last chance. “Thanks for being a good friend.”
Dana studied her a bit too closely for comfort. “Whatever is troubling you, Ana, you know you don’t have to cope with it alone.”
“I appreciate that.” She couldn’t accept it, but she appreciated it.
At the end of the day, she allowed one of the medical assistants to change the bandage on her hand just for practice. Then she went to her office under the guise of recording her patient notes and locked the door.
At her desk, she pulled out the center drawer and popped it out of the track. She removed the small plastic bag and tucked it into her purse. It was the first time in years that the short list of names and cell phone numbers was on her person. As prepared as she’d ever be she walked away from the clinic, hoping she’d be allowed to come back.
She could have driven from the clinic to the police station and might have done so if the weather hadn’t been so nice. Additionally, it set a good example for others to have the doctor demonstrating the habits she encouraged. Many a mentor through medical school had encouraged students looking toward general practice to lead by example. Staying fit and healthy not only made it easier to do the job, it lent credibility to the advice given in the exam room.
At the police station, Laney was waiting, her expression hovering closer to cynical than neutral. Ana was primed for an uphill battle. It certainly wouldn’t be her first.
“You look rested, Deputy Chief Holt.”
“You’re on my turf now.” Laney’s mouth thinned. “This way, Dr. Perez.”
Ana had expected the interrogation room. The audio and visual recording equipment was no surprise either. For several minutes Laney sat across from her in utter silence. The approach had surely intimidated many offenders when Laney worked as an LAPD detective.
The tactic posed no problem for Ana. She considered her ability to wait and watch an innate talent. Ana refused to ask if Griff had found any evidence of the shooter near her home. It might not be her home by the end of this interview.
Griff walked in and closed the door. Taking the seat next to Laney, he placed a slim manila folder on the table. Ana wondered who might be watching on the other side of the glass.
Laney turned on the recording equipment and stated the date, time and location. “State your name for the record.”
“Luciana Camille Perez.”
“You’re here as a person of interest regarding the murder of Sylvia Cole,” Laney said.
Ana couldn’t control her surprise and Laney’s carefully composed face made her palms sweat. They couldn’t possibly believe she’d killed her friend. She took a deep breath, recalling the coroner’s report. The killer was a tall man. “I’m here to cooperate to the best of my ability.”
Griff allowed Laney to take the lead. Through the course of several probing questions, she drew out a full statement about Ana’s whereabouts on the night of Sylvia’s murder.
“What knowledge did you have of Sylvia’s sexual relationships?”
“As her doctor, I was aware she had sexual relations.”
Griff reached over and stopped the recordings. Laney swore and started to argue. He ignored her, his gaze locked with Ana’s. “I have no intention of bringing charges of any type against you, Dr. Perez,” he stated. “Barring murder, of course.”
“I haven’t killed anyone and I h
ave not intentionally obstructed your investigation.”
“Then talk,” Laney demanded. “Help us find the killer.”
Ana took a deep breath. “Working in people’s homes, Sylvia learned things. She overheard conversations and noticed details. With her staff, she shared a close bond. Her employees would often speak with her quite candidly about anything.”
“And?” Laney prompted when Ana paused.
“When Josie started at Sparkle, somehow the discussion of human trafficking came up.” She thought back to how she’d explained the issue to Troy and laid out the information in a similar way. “A girl from her Josie’s school in Venezuela disappeared while a previous classmate was staying here with the Windermeres as an exchange student.
“Sylvia thought that was a weird coincidence,” Ana continued. “It’s a pervasive problem and she dug into the issue, searching news articles for missing teens from other schools that sent students here.”
Griff pinched the bridge of his nose. “She found more?”
“Yes,” Ana confirmed. “There was a disturbing correlation between exchange students here in Shutter Lake and other teens going missing in the areas they came from. Most of those who went missing simply disappeared, usually on their way to or from school.”
“You have any proof?”
“No. Sylvia kept the documentation to herself.” Ana bit back further explanation. Her father had used teams of kidnappers in similar ways. His lieutenants would find the type of girls in demand and, after learning their schedules and patterns, they plucked the girls like ripe fruit.
“How does her research tie to Josie’s disappearance?”
Ana laced her fingers in her lap, willing her voice to hold steady. “I am honestly not sure. I also know that none of the previous exchange students who came here were abducted once they went home. It was always someone else… until Josie. Sylvia never believed the family had called Josie back to Venezuela. When she didn’t check in, Sylvia got worried. If the girl on the porn website was Josie, then maybe the trafficker meant to silence her or somehow make Sylvia stop nosing around.”
