by Adrianne Lee
Beau hurried to the wall safe and did something he hadn’t done since he’d been shot by Mann: strapped on a gun.
“I’m going with you,” Deedra said, racing to the closet for shoes and a coat.
He lifted his Stetson. “No, Dee. There’s only one way to get there quickly.”
She stiffened. The shortcut. It would mean they’d be passing the site of her accident with Callie. “Through the woods.”
“Yes.”
She crammed her arms into her jacket. Yes, she’d fallen apart today, but somehow tonight she felt something like steel in her very core. Maybe revisiting the accident site, even briefly, was the final step in accepting her daughter’s death. Once she saw that it was nothing more monstrous than a dirt road, a passage that led travelers from one place to another, it would no longer haunt her nightmares. She grabbed her purse. “If you can take it, so can I.”
“Are you sure?”
She knew he couldn’t deal with two distressed females at the same time; Freddie’s mother would be enough. “Nell knows me. She trusts me. She may open up easier for you if I’m there.”
“I think we should bring her back here for protection, Dee. She can stay in one of the guest rooms.”
The offer was so generous and so much like the Beau she’d fallen in love with, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek and preceded him down the stairs.
Minutes later the car tore through the woods. It was still daylight, but here the trees grew so close together it was necessary to turn on the headlights. The beams bounced off the pines, which jumped at them in startling flashes like dancing goblins. Deedra gripped the edge of the seat, grappling with her shaky nerves. The car careened along, faster and faster. The tires hitting the dirt road like a chant, Callie! Callie! Callie!
“Are you okay?” Beau asked.
She heard the husky note in his voice, knew this drive was no easier for him than it was for her. She embraced that inner steel rod, clinging to it like a support post on a subway train roaring toward hell. “I’m fine.”
But even as she said it, she saw the start of the S curve ahead. The car slowed to a safer speed, but to Deedra it crawled, moving in slow motion, every rotation of the wheel spiraling her backward to the day of her accident. It had been a warm afternoon. Branches occasionally brushed the Jeep’s roll bars. Callie sat beside her, strapped into her protective seat, the soles of her Mary Janes smeared with the red barn paint she’d stepped in two days earlier.
A favorite Faith Hill song blasted out of the speakers. From the time she could walk, Callie had expressed an enjoyment of music, her feet keeping beat. That day she was even singing along. Not the actual words or tune, but her own rendition full of the few words she spoke and a jumble of baby talk.
As the memory resurfaced, Deedra smiled, welcoming it. To better hear her little girl, she’d reached over to turn down the CD player and at the same time tapped the brakes. It took a moment for her to realize she had no brakes. The panic she’d felt then hit her now, stripping her smile.
Then the screen in her mind went black, all memory of the accident cut off like a snapped piece of film. She couldn’t recall anything beyond the fear of realizing the brakes didn’t work. She’d thought coming to the site would bring it back. It hadn’t. It didn’t.
Her doctor had warned she might never remember.
All she knew was what she’d been told once she was recovering. The Jeep had no air bags. On impact with the felled tree, the vehicle had flipped, driver’s side down. Her head had slammed into the tree trunk so hard she’d been knocked out immediately. A sharp branch had stabbed her chest, missing her heart by inches. She’d remained unconscious until after she’d come out of surgery.
She blinked and looked at the woods that had swallowed all trace of her daughter with the finality of a depraved deity receiving a sacrificial virgin. Deedra felt no sign of her, no sense that Callie lived. She’d thought if Callie had survived, was out there waiting to be found, Deedra would feel it here more than anywhere else. But she felt only grief and loss, and in that instant she finally accepted that Callie was gone.
Forever.
Tears filled her eyes and her heart and crowded into her very soul. She covered her mouth, holding in a sob. They’d been given a precious gift, not for as long as they’d have chosen, but for as long as God had allotted. Instead of moping around, thinking she saw Callie in every black-haired little girl she encountered, she had to let her go. Let her find eternal peace.
She sniffed, sucking back the sorrow. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart now. Callie was beyond her help, but Nell knew who was responsible for her loss. With that knowledge, they could end this nightmare. Could finally lay Callie to rest. She focused on that.
“Are you all right?” Beau asked again, concern defining his tone.
“I will be.” But would she? In one evening she’d had to accept the death of her daughter and the inevitable split from this man she loved. Sorrow settled in her chest like a block of ice.
He caught her hand, then hit the gas harder as the road straightened. For a long moment she held on to him, sensing that he was also remembering the little girl who had sealed their love, who’d filled their lives with such joy, who would be forever missed. As the wooded area thinned and began to fall away, Deedra felt herself letting go, of Callie and of Beau’s hand.
She wasn’t ready to release him completely. Couldn’t deal with that loss tonight. She forced her mind elsewhere, to Nell, and her heart filled with a different kind of chill. Nell was in danger because of her. Because I came to Freddie for help, because I trusted him one time too many.
On the main route to Butte, Beau employed the tools of his trade; red and blue lights strobed against the darkening sky and the siren bleated with the sense of urgency coursing through Deedra’s veins.
Please, don’t let anything happen to Nell… Please. But even as she prayed, she knew this heartless killer didn’t operate under God’s will. Not the person who’d run down Freddie, who’d coldly switched the blood in that Washington hospital and caused the death of that innocent surgery patient. Not the person who’d left an eighteen-month-old to crawl into a wilderness full of natural predators. Prayers couldn’t touch that kind of evil.
The sudden silence snapped Deedra out of her dark reverie. Beau had shut off the siren and doused the overhead lights. They were entering Nell’s neighborhood. Her muscles tightened.
Beau slowed the car to a crawl. “If the driver of that pickup is still parked down the street, I don’t want to warn her of our presence.”
He drove the length of Nell’s street and back, but the only pickup on the whole block belonged to Nora Lee Anderson. Parked in front of the day care, it was one of those three-door trucks with a bench seat behind the front two buckets. In the glow cast by the street light, Deedra couldn’t make out the color. Something light. White or beige or maybe yellow. “Did Nell tell you the color of the pickup?”
“No, dammit. She hung up before I could get it out of her. But don’t go thinking it’s one of my deputies.” He nodded toward Nora Lee’s truck. “She was having dinner at her mother’s when I called her.”
Nora Lee sat behind the wheel, but opened her door the moment they pulled to a stop. She stepped out, raising a hand to shield her pale blue eyes against the glare of Beau’s headlights. She wore white jeans and a white T-shirt rolled up her muscular arms. A Nordic hellcat. A poster girl for white supremacist recruiting.
She carried a case that Deedra assumed held her sketch pad and charcoal pencils. “I didn’t approach the house, Sheriff. Figured I’d better wait for you since the subject wouldn’t be expecting me.”
“Good thinking, Nora Lee. Did you happen to see a pickup truck parked a couple of houses down when you arrived?”
“No. And I perused the street the way you did when I got here.”
“Okay.” Beau closed his door as quietly as possible.
“You hear anything from the for
ensics lab yet?”
“It’s too soon. The tech told me that it would be a few days even with a rush on it. They’re pretty slammed. But I dusted both rooms and the rental car and didn’t find any strange prints, just yours, Ms. Shanahan’s and Pilar’s. So it’s likely the unsub wore gloves.”
Even though this was what they’d expected, Deedra felt a touch of disappointment. Maybe the lab would have better luck. Beau went through the gate first, its eerie squeak like a finger on a blackboard. Deedra trailed behind Nora Lee. In the moonless night, the sunny yellow trilevel loomed large and murky. The toys littering the yard seemed as if they’d gone undisturbed since they’d been here earlier in the week. She started up the walk and bumped against the wagon. It lay on its side, the bunny sprawled beside it the same way Callie’s bunny had appeared in the police photos. Her gaze locked on the floppy-eared toy. What had happened to Callie’s bunny? Had Beau brought it home? Stored it in the shed with the rest of her things? Or had the toy, the last thing his daughter had held, been too painful for him to handle?
She started to dip down to pick up this bunny, but Beau caught her elbow. “It’s not hers, Dee.”
She blanched and straightened, allowing him to escort her past the offensive toys to the porch. She stumbled along beside him, noticing how dark and still the house appeared. The drapes drawn. No light peeking from within. “You’d think she’d be on the lookout for us, would have seen us arrive and been here to greet us.”
Beau didn’t answer, but tension limned off him like a luminous shadow. His big fist struck the door. “Mrs. Carter, it’s Beau Shanahan.”
When she didn’t answer, he repeated himself, hollered this time. His shout echoed off the porch, startlingly loud on the subdued street.
Deedra felt her worse fears coming true. “Oh, God.” She moved past Beau and tried the knob. “It’s locked. But I know where she hides a key in back. Come on.”
Fear hurried her down the steps, but moving through the minefield of fallen toys wasted precious minutes. The backyard had a swing set and a play house. A flower bed circled the toy home. A cluster of ceramic frogs of varying sizes and colors nestled to one side of it. “The key is under the biggest frog. The fat red one.”
Beau steadied his flashlight beam on the garden frog, lifted it, and searched the flower bed where it had sat. “There’s no key here.”
Deedra’s heart pumped so hard it started to ache. “Maybe it’s under one of the other frogs.”
Beau turned over the cluster one by one. “Nope.”
“God, Beau, what if the sniper found it and…” She choked on the horror of her own imagination.
“Stay here, Dee. Out of sight.” He handed her the flashlight, shutting off the beam. “Keep it turned off. Hide in the darkness.”
He withdrew the gun from his holster and clicked off the safety. “You got your weapon, Nora Lee?”
“Right here.” She pulled it from the leather art bag, dropped the bag to the grass and followed Beau.
He told her, “Keep my back.”
The two police officers raced to the kitchen door, disappearing from Deedra’s sight. A second later Beau shouted, “Nell! Police! Coming in!”
In the next instant came a dark and ominous quiet. Nothing stirred. Except the hair on Deedra’s nape. She’d never felt so vulnerable as she did at that moment, alone in the backyard all but invisible under cover of the moonless night.
But was she alone?
She had the sudden sense of someone’s unseen gaze boring into her. She scanned the shadows but saw nothing. Maybe she should search with the flashlight. Fear licked along her spine at what or who she might discover looking back at her. She ran to the back porch and into the house. Her heart thumped, and her scalp crawled. There was no light on in the kitchen, but a soft yellow glow spilled through the hall from the foyer.
She heard Beau call, “It’s all clear up here, Nora Lee.”
“Down here, too, Sheriff.” They seemed to meet on the stairs, and their voices came now in subdued tones.
Deedra forced herself to move toward them, wrinkling her nose at the unfamiliar stench in the air. Nell had told Beau she’d been too afraid to go outside. Maybe the garbage needed taking out. The acrid stench grew stronger with every step and she wondered for a fleeting second what garbage would be doing in this part of the house.
The sight in the foyer froze her.
A woman’s thin body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Her gunmetal gray hair undone from its bun, her wire-rimmed glasses askew on her narrow nose, and a damp patch of red spread across her blouse and pooled on the hardwood floor.
Deedra didn’t have to ask.
She knew Nell was dead.
“Oh, God, Beau. No. No.” She spun away, rushing back to the kitchen. She heaved in the sink until her stomach was empty. Using a paper towel, she swiped her mouth with cool water. Beau was on his cell phone speaking with the Butte 911 dispatcher. She switched on the overhead light, needing the shadows and the monsters exposed.
As she spun back to inspect the kitchen, a patch of mint green caught her eye. Identifying the object, she recoiled. Her thundering heart staggered. “Beau!”
Her scream brought him running into the kitchen, gun poised. “What is it?”
She couldn’t speak, just point. Spread on the countertop near the stove was a little girl’s dress. “It’s the same dress I found at Dupont’s today.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Don’t.” He scowled and stepped closer to the dress, his movements careful, protective of the crime scene. “Are you sure it’s the same dress?”
“No.” She was trembling, but something clicked inside her head. “If it is the one, it’ll smell like baby powder.”
Gingerly, he leaned over and sniffed. “Maybe it’s the dead body, but I can’t smell anything else. Certainly not baby powder.”
Deedra moved to his side and studied the dress, the smocking at the top, the ribbons at the neck, the tag inside the collar. Her heart slammed into her throat. “Oh, my God, it’s not the dress from Dupont’s. It’s the dress Callie was wearing when she disappeared.”
“No.” He shook his head. Terror filled his green eyes, terror that she had gone completely insane. But she wasn’t crazy. It was the dress. She had to make him see it.
“Look, Beau.” She pointed. “Look at the tag. Remember, I had her initials embroidered in all of her dresses. In this same gold thread. There they are. C.C.S. Callie Cathleen Shanahan.”
His face went as white as the ribbons streaming across the mint fabric. The arm holding his gun fell to his side.
“Don’t touch it, Beau.” Deedra caught his free hand as it reached for this tangible proof that their daughter had survived the accident. Proof that Callie might be alive. “It has to be processed by the lab. That could be our only hope of finding out what happened to her. Of finding her.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nora Lee eased around the wall of the archway that led to the foyer. Her gun barrel pointed to the ceiling. Her body was tensed to full alert. “Sheriff?”
“It’s okay.” Beau jerked free of Deedra’s grip, stepped back from the stove and holstered his pistol.
“What’s that?” she asked, nodding at Callie’s dress. Beau said nothing. She glanced at Deedra who stood to one side, hugging herself.
Beau yanked his Stetson down a notch lower on his forehead, hiding his face. “Our perp has a cruel sense of humor. Go turn on the front porch light. The homicide team will be here momentarily. I want you out there to greet them. Bring them in through the back.”
Nora Lee disappeared into the foyer long enough to switch on the light, then passed through the kitchen without a word, respecting that whatever was going on between Beau and Deedra was none of her business.
Once they were alone, Beau slumped against the counter near the sink. There was such agony on his face, Deedra couldn’t swallow.
“Callie’s dr
ess. Her actual dress.” His words held pain and sorrow wrenched from deep inside him; he understood now the agony Deedra had felt this afternoon. But this was ten times worse. Her actual dress. “And we can’t touch it. Oh, God, Dee.”
She pressed her fist to her mouth, holding back the tears, seeing in his eyes a feral hope that neither of them dared embrace for fear that this wasn’t what it appeared to be.
And yet, how could they not wonder?
Not hope?
She’d struggled so long to accept Callie’s death, and now that she had, finally had… The thought that Callie might be alive, might be waiting to be found, that someone had taken care of her these past six months… Someone gentle and kind? Someone cruel and hateful? Oh, baby mine.
She began to shake, the tremors deep and as merciless as a riptide tearing at the shores of her sanity. “Is…is it possible? Is Callie…?”
“No.” His gaze narrowed on Callie’s dress, and he shook his head hard, as if trying to deny the evidence before him. As if he felt the basic beliefs of his life crumbling, all of his truths dissolving into lies. “No. Oh, God, I don’t know. If we allow ourselves to believe she is, then discover this is a heartless hoax—could you survive losing her again? I don’t think I could.”
She swallowed, shoving down the knot that seemed lodged in her throat. The desperation on his handsome face reached out to her, stanching the flood of emotion that threatened to carry her away to the land of the lost—a cruel, pitiless place she wanted never to visit again.
Beau needed her now as he’d never needed her at the beginning of this, after the accident. Once he’d known she would live, he’d chosen to deal with Callie’s loss on his own. Alone. Suffering in silence. Adding to the guilt she already couldn’t bear.
He’d put his every emotion into his obsession with bringing down Floyd Mann. But Mann was in custody and his capture had resolved nothing for either of them. Had not answered their questions, had not eased their hearts, had not given them any idea as to Callie’s fate.
