Gingerbread Man

by Maggie Shayne

  "I'm going to survive this."

  "I know you are, Red. Most people would be in a rubber room, drooling, at this point. But you're out here in the sunshine, sewing Halloween costumes for a little girl." He ran a hand through her hair. “You're incredibly strong. And I know it. Now, can we go check on your mother?"

  She nodded. "All right"

  He opened the glass doors, stepped through them. Doc looked at him, and his face was stern. "What did you give her, Holly?"

  She sighed, turned, walked down the hall, vanishing into her bedroom. A few moments later she came out with a pill bottle, and put it on the coffee table. "One of these," she said. "She slept for maybe an hour."

  Graycloud looked at the label, then his brows raised in question, he looked at Holly again.

  "No, I didn't take any. You can take it—and the rest of them—away with you. I don't need them anymore."

  He smiled just a little, nodded once. "And about time. Good girl."

  "What about Mom?"

  Graycloud stepped away from the sofa, and Holly's aunt Jen took his place there, leaning over, holding Doris's hand, speaking softly to her. Doc huddled with Vince and Holly on the far side of the living room. "Her blood pressure is up, and her heartbeats are irregular. I don't like it. I could probably stabilize her here at home, but I think it's a bad idea. She's around all these things, and if anything more happens, I'm just not sure how she might react."

  Holly bit her lip. "Are you saying you want to put her in the hospital?"

  “Yeah. Just for a day or two. Let me get her on some meds, get her stable, monitor her heart."

  "She'll be out of harm's way, Holly," Vince said. "We can have a police guard on her door." He didn't say it aloud, but he thought it was the best answer for Holly as well. She wouldn't need to be in constant fear for her mother's safety, much less subjected to this kind of morbid behavior. "I think it's for the best, really."

  "I'll go too," Jen offered. "I'll stay with her the whole time."

  "Oh, Aunt Jen, that's too much to ask."

  "I don't mind. Marty's away; what else do I have to do?" She smiled, patted Doris's hand. "I'll bring my knitting, some books. We'll spend some quality time. We're past due, you know."

  Sighing, Holly went to her mother, looked at her, and knew she was not really there. She was lost in a sea of emotions she didn't know how to deal with. Holly knew because she'd spent a lot of time in the same place. "Mom, you're gonna go with Dr. Graycloud now, okay?"

  Her mother smiled, and nodded.

  "And I'm coming, too," Jen told her. "I'll be along just a few minutes behind you." She glanced over her shoulder at Holly. "I'll pick up this mess, and throw a few things in a bag for her before I go."

  "Aunt Jen, I can—"

  "You shouldn't even be here, Holly. This is ..." She looked around, shook her head sadly. She was battling tears herself, Holly realized. She had loved Ivy, too. They all had. "This is too much," Jen said softly. "Go, go with Vince."

  Doc was easing Doris to her feet, leading her to the door.

  "Have Bill go with you, Dr. Graycloud. He can watch Doris's room until we get him a replacement," Vince said.

  "All right. I'll speak to him before we leave." The doctor led Doris to the door, opened it, and they walked together out to his car.

  "Go on, Holly. Go with Vince," Jen ordered. "I've got no problem taking care of things here." Aunt Jen moved closer, ran a hand through Holly's hair. "Besides, it gives me a chance to take care of somebody. I haven't been able to do that since—well, since Kelly and Tara moved to San Francisco."

  Holly hugged the woman. "Okay. Thank you, Aunt Jen."

  "You're a good girl, Holly. Don't you worry about anything."

  "If you need me for anything—" Holly began.

  Aunt Jen held up a hand, stopping her, and dipped into her purse to pull out her cell phone. Then she frowned at it. "Oh, damn. I left it in the car overnight and the battery's down again. I am always doing that!" She sighed. "No matter, I'll plug it in and charge it up at the hospital, so I won't be out of touch at all. Okay?"

  "You need a car adapter for that thing," Holly muttered. She kissed her aunt warmly. "Thank you. You don't know how much you're helping me right now, just by being here."

  "That's what family's for, hon."

  Vince took Holly's arm. "Lock up behind us, Mrs. Cantrell."

  She nodded, tucked her cell phone into her purse, and waved them off.

  FIFTEEN

  HOLLY KEPT HER spine very rigid and her chin very level on the ride back to Vince's rented cabin. She wasn't going to cry, not in front of him. She had to clench her hands into fists in her lap to keep them from trembling, and she couldn't really speak because her throat was too tight and that would give her away.

  He pulled into the drive, got out, took a pile of stuff from the back seat. She opened her door the minute the Jeep stopped, and she got out, too, walked around the car, and nearly collided with him at the bottom of the steps.

  "Your mother's going to be fine," he said.

  "Of course she is."

  "And so are you."

  She forced her eyes to meet his. "I already am."

  He sighed, but at least didn't argue the point. Instead, he took her arm with his free hand, led her up the steps, over the porch, then unlocked and opened the front door.

  She looked around the cabin. It was no neater than it had been the last time she'd been here. Messier, maybe. Stacks of folders, with sheets of paper sticking from them. A pile of slick-surfaced faxes laid on the floor in front of the fax machine, their ends curling upward. Glitzy magazines were scattered everywhere. Movie magazines. She wondered about that.

  "Weren't you concerned about another possible intruder?" she asked, looking at the mess.

  "Anything vital, I took with me." As he said it, he set the stuff he was carrying on the table. More file folders, and a flash drive from his shirt pocket. He walked to the fax, picked up the sheets, flipped through them. "Well, at least I don't see any notification that I've been fired. Not yet, anyway."

  "I take it you finally told your chief what you were doing down here?"

  "Yeah. I didn't have a choice. He notified the Feds, and passed along their orders."

  "Which are?"

  "That I"—he glanced at the papers in his hands, read from one of them—" 'cease and desist any and all unofficial investigation of this case until further notice.' Pretty clear and to the point."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to make some popcorn and watch old movies. Pop one into the DVD player will you?" He nodded toward the floor in front of the TV set, where a stack of DVDs stood like a tower. Then he walked into the kitchenette and opened cupboards.

  She went to the pile of movies, knelt, and perused the titles, thinking he'd lost his mind. Then she got it. "These are all Reginald D'Voe horror films."

  "Well, you know, 'tis the season. I've watched all the ones in the tall pile. Take one of those others."

  She opened a case, took out the DVD, and slid it into the player. Then she flicked on the television and watched as the opening credits of 1945's Haunted began to roll. "These are so old they don't even have previews," she said.

  "The newer editions do," he said. "They're re-releasing these all the time. Remastered, digitized, colorized... These were what they had at the rental place in town, though."

  "Thank God for small favors." She heard a series of beeps as he pressed buttons on the microwave, then he was standing beside her.

  “They probably won't tell us much, but I'm damned if I know who else to check out. I've been running background checks on every male over thirty in this town, and so far the only person who stands out is D'Voe."

  "Why? What did you find on him?" The smell of popcorn accompanied the sound of its popping.

  "He was abused as a child."

  "Oh, my God. I didn't know."

  "I don't think many people do. I found an article about
it in some fan magazine's archives on the Net. Thing was at least twenty years old. It said D'Voe ran away from his home outside London when he was twelve years old, after his father beat him bloody over a bad school report. The piece quotes D'Voe as saying that he was sure his father would have killed him, had he stayed. When he left, he said his face was purple with bruises, he had a broken arm, and a few broken ribs as well. It was the worst beating ever, though he claimed he'd had plenty."

  Holly lowered her head, closed her eyes. "Poor Reggie.”

  Vince sighed.

  Her head came up again. "What?"

  He turned, walked into the kitchen, and took the popcorn out of the microwave. Opening the hot bag with two fingers, he poured it into a big bowl, brought it back with him, and sat down beside her. "I don't have to tell you that survivors of that kind of abuse often grow up to be abusers themselves."

  "Not always, though. Surely not in Reggie's case."

  He shrugged. "I hope not. But I've checked out practically everyone in town, and this is the first red flag to go up. If it doesn't lead us to something, I don't know where else to start digging."

  Holly shook her head, but leaned back on the sofa, took a handful of popcorn, and watched the film begin to unfold. "What do you hope to find in the movies?"

  "I don't know. A clue. A pattern. Maybe something similar to one of the crimes. I don't know."

  "How much time do you figure we have?"

  "Ah, the Feds won't get around to coming out here before nightfall."

  "Well, that gives us time, then."

  "Yeah."

  ***

  VlNCE WATCHED HER watching the TV screen. He couldn't have told anyone much about the plots of any of the movies if he hadn't already seen most of them, but he would pick up on anything interesting. He had that extra sense on alert. That cop sense an officer developed over time. The ear that isn't listening, but hears every word when it's important. The eye that can filter all but vital images. The mind that can seem to zone out, but turns razor sharp when it needs to. He trusted his cop senses. They hadn't let him down yet.

  At least, not until the Prague kids. He thought again that if he'd only found the book the first time he'd been in that house ...

  He shook the thought away, focused again on Holly. She pretended to watch the movies, and maybe she was, a little bit. But mostly she was distracted. Worried for her mother, wondering about her sister's last hours—thoughts on that subject had to be nightmarish at best. And she was scared. She would be foolish not to be.

  But there was, overlying all of that, something else. A mask. She was deliberately, stubbornly trying to hide everything else behind it. And since he was the only other person in sight, he could only deduce that she was trying to hide it from him.

  What he couldn't figure out was why.

  As the ending credits rolled, she got to her feet, rubbed her arms as if they were chilled. "This stuff still holds up," she commented.

  "They knew how to make movies back then. Now all they seem able to come up with is gore. Pour a pail of blood on a barely dressed actress and rev up a chainsaw. That's not horror."

  She sent him a smile of agreement. It was an utterly false smile. "What's next?"

  “I've watched all but a few of them now. There was nothing there." He nodded at the much smaller pile of DVDs yet to be viewed.

  "So what do you want to do?"

  He didn't want to have this conversation. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and give her a shake, make her tell him what the hell was wrong with her. But he wasn't going to do that because he wasn't supposed to care that much. And he'd best remember that. "Damned if I know."

  She went to the phone on the counter, picked it up, and dialed. While she waited for an answer she put a hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm calling the hospital."

  He nodded. He'd expected to hear from either Doc or Jim Mallory by now, but no calls had come in. He worried about that for a minute. Then Holly was speaking to someone, asking about her mother, nodding as if reassured. He was entirely too jumpy over things, he realized. His objectivity was shot to hell.

  Then again, it had been shaky for a while. Ever since those kids...

  "So are you really going to go to Reggie's Halloween party?"

  She asked the question out of the blue, without warning. He shot her a look, almost begged off, then kicked himself. "He's my only suspect. I don't have much choice but to go—if for no other reason than to keep an eye on all the kids he'll have running around over there."

  She paced away and popped the movie out, sliding another into the machine, thumbing the play button. "You know this party of his was an annual event years ago. This will be the first one since they moved back home, but before he and Amanda left town he held it every single year."

  "Yeah, so you've told me."

  "And so far as I know, nothing of note has happened at any of them."

  "You weren't here back then, were you?"

  "No. But if there had been anything dramatic, people would still be talking about it. It's a small town, Vince. Stuff like that becomes local legend in a hurry."

  He sighed. "It's not like I want it to be Reggie, you know."

  "I know." The film cued up, credits rolling. She walked to the sofa and sat down. "You know, you can't get into the party without a costume."

  "Huh?" He glanced up at her, and his surprise probably showed.

  "Reg won't allow it. Costumes are the price of admission. It's all over town."

  "Can I go dressed as a cop from Syracuse?"

  She smiled, and for once it was genuine. He could tell the difference without much effort. It reached her eyes when it was real. And this one did.

  "Only if you wear a uniform."

  "I'm a detective. This is my uniform." He looked her up and down. "What are you going as?"

  "I have no idea."

  She leaned back, grabbed popcorn, signaling an end to the conversation. The nineteen-inch screen darkened, then was filled by Reginald D'Voe's face, younger, less lined, more made up, but otherwise just the same. Brows angled to a point, eyes gleaming with evil intent. And that trademark maniacal laughter of his rolled from the speaker.

  They watched films all afternoon.

  Midway through the fourth one, the only one remaining that Vince hadn't already viewed, the phone rang. Vince picked it up, and Jerry's voice came through. He said three words. "They're not coming."

  "What do you mean they're not... ?" It took Vince a minute to process the statement. "They're not coming?”

  Jerry's frustration was clear. "The Fed in charge of the Prague kids' case is an asshole, Vince. Name's Selkirk—"

  "Frank Selkirk?"

  "You know him?"

  "Yeah."

  "Anyway, this Selkirk feels the book you found at the crime scene isn't strong enough evidence to warrant pulling his team all the way down there. Says they're following up far stronger leads up here, and you're wasting your time."

  Vince cursed. "It's not the evidence. It's me he has a problem with."

  "You've had run-ins with him before, then?"

  "We've butted heads. It wasn't friendly."

  "Still, Vince, you think he'd rather louse up a murder investigation than admit you might be a step or two ahead of him on this?"

  "I think he'd rather be right than wrong."

  Jerry sighed. "How sure are you that you're right, Vince?"

  "I've had a break-in and an attempt on my life. How sure would that make you?"

  "Pretty damn sure. Can you tell Selkirk any of this?"

  Vince swore again. "The problem is, there's not much to tell. There was no physical sign of a break-in. No footprints or anything. But Holly says—that is, I have an eyewitness who saw someone moving around inside the cabin."

  "Uh-huh. That's pretty flimsy evidence, pal. How about this attempt on your life?"

  "Well... all they really did was break a lightbulb."

  "And you ... what? Tripped in the dark a
nd bumped your head?"

  "Got lost on a thirty-five-mile-long lake, in the dark, in the fog, in a storm. We damn near drowned."

  "I see," Jerry said. "We?"

  "Holly and me."

  "Holly again?"

  "Don't even go there, Jare." Vince found Holly's eyes on him. They locked with his and held.

  "I'm coming down there," Jerry announced.

  "Don't bother. There's no sense in your coming down here and both of us getting written up or worse."

  "I have leave time coming. I'm taking it. E-mail me some directions, or I'll muddle through on my own. Either way, I'll see you tomorrow morning, pal."

  There was a click. Jerry knew better than to give Vince time to argue. "Damn stubborn son of a—"

  "Sounds like a good friend," Holly said.

  Vince nodded. "The best."

  "Then I'm glad he's coming. We need all the help we can get on this."

  He knew that, but he was worried. He didn't want his partner getting hurt, and this thing was looking risky. At least he'd have more help protecting Holly—he needed that, because he didn't want her getting hurt, either.

  She sighed, glanced at her watch, at the movie, which she'd paused for the phone call. "It's getting late. I should probably—"

  "Don't say it," he said, glancing her way.

  "Don't say what?"

  "You're staying here. Or I can go to your place, it's up to you. But if you think you're staying alone tonight, you're dead wrong."

  She held his gaze for a long stretch—he sensed she was thinking about arguing, but knowing better. Hell, she didn't want to be alone with a killer on the loose any more than he wanted her to be. And she knew that he knew it.

  "My place," she said. "All my stuff's there." Not just her stuff, but her routine. She needed it, and now wasn't the time to try to shake the habit.

  "Okay," he agreed. "Your place."

  "You can have Mom's room. I mean, if you're sure you don't want mine." Her eyes were intense, and he got her meaning clearly.

  “I'll take the couch. It's a better spot." She cocked her head.