Haven

by Kay Hooper

  “I ask because the paranormal research team staying here at Rayburn House has at least one genuine medium among them. She saw a spirit a little while ago.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “How?”

  “I saw her too.”

  Bishop didn’t seem nearly as surprised by that information as Navarro had been.

  “Her?”

  “Young, blond, dressed for winter. So not likely to belong to the remains I found. I’m told the inn is very haunted, so it’s at least likely she’s one of the resident ghosts. The point is that this medium definitely saw her.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Bishop said thoughtfully, “You don’t see spirits.”

  “I never have before. But I saw her. And so did the medium, even if she pretended afterward that she hadn’t.” Navarro paused, then added, “I’d been trying out the spider sense just a minute or two before, trying to get a bead on this place; maybe this time I opened a door on a sense I didn’t realize I had.”

  “That,” Bishop said, “is more than possible. You can locate the dead and you’re clairvoyant; maybe it was only a matter of time before mediumistic abilities manifested. It’s the sort of thing that tends to happen during an investigation, when we’re all on…high psychic alert, as it were.”

  “That’s reasonable, I suppose.” Navarro pushed that possibility aside for the moment. “But, like I said, this paranormal researcher saw her too. She’s a genuine medium.”

  Again, the silence stretched for a long moment. Until Navarro broke it.

  “Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think many of these paranormal research outfits boast genuine psychics. Not of that caliber, at any rate. And I think that if any of them do, you know about it.”

  “There are a lot of paranormal research outfits,” Bishop said, his tone noncommittal. “Just check the Internet.”

  “Bishop, I just saw a spirit. And so did this medium. I’m asking you straight out if she’s one of yours, an SCU agent or investigator, or whatever it is you call auxiliary members of your unit.”

  “We haven’t been invited in,” Bishop said, calm.

  Navarro drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Look, all I want to know is who might get in my way in the likely event that things turn nasty. I prefer to work alone, I already have another Haven operative to worry about, and I don’t want to trip over one of your people while we’re both looking for the same thing.”

  “I don’t think you’ll do that.” Hardly pausing, he added, “You’ve found no further evidence of a serial operating in Baron Hollow?”

  “No, nothing solid.”

  “Well, if Jane Doe was murdered, that’s definitely a crime the local police know occurred.”

  “Yeah, but with no way to ID her, and no locals or transients reported missing within the right time frame, I doubt they’re doing much investigating. In fact, the chief as good as told me that much. The state ME won’t even be able to give them a decent basic description of Jane Doe for weeks, maybe months, if what the chief said about the backed-up lab is accurate.”

  “He’ll have the report sooner than he expects.”

  “How much sooner?”

  “By Monday.”

  Navarro was unwillingly impressed; it was hell to get anything official done over the Fourth of July weekend. But all he asked was, “Will it help me?”

  “You’ll have to let me know about that,” Bishop replied.

  “HIGH PSYCHIC ALERT?”

  “Don’t start with me, Tony. I’m not in the mood.” Despite his words, Bishop’s voice was almost absentminded.

  “One of these days,” Tony said in a musing tone, “somebody’s going to do you a mischief. Before now, my money would have been on Galen. Now I’m thinking Navarro.”

  Bishop sent him a look but didn’t respond.

  “Seriously, Boss, you do have a maddening way of putting things, especially to agents or operatives trying to investigate in the field.” Tony thought about it for a moment, adding, “Or not putting things, as the case may be.”

  “Navarro is a big boy,” his boss said calmly. “He’ll figure things out on his own.”

  “I’m not saying he won’t. I’m just saying he might come after you when it’s all over and done with.”

  “That,” Bishop said, “depends on how things turn out.”

  Tony cocked a curious eyebrow at him. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “I didn’t see the end of it.”

  Catching the faint emphasis on the pronoun, Tony said, “But somebody else did?”

  “Pass me that file, will you, please, Tony?”

  Sighing, Tony did so, but he couldn’t help adding, “At least tell me all the secrets down there aren’t going to get somebody else killed.”

  “I wish I could, Tony.” Bishop’s voice was sober. “I really wish I could.”

  IF EMMA HAD been given to outbursts due to frustration, she would have been ready to scream by the time the Arts Festival was in full swing. But it wasn’t her nature, so despite what had become increasing anxiety over Jessie, and frustration because her sister had been even more maddeningly elusive and enigmatic, she buried her own feelings and went about the business of being the Arts Festival Band Nazi.

  The festival really was a major event for Baron Hollow, and it drew quite a crowd to the downtown area, with people coming from miles away. Rayburn House was full, as were the half dozen smaller B and Bs and the larger chain motel out on the highway.

  Main Street was closed off at either end, the street lined with tents and booths and tables displaying the local artwork the town was famous for, and more tents and tables and trucks and carts provided every sort of food and (nonalcoholic) beverage possible. There were also both an ice cream truck and another selling flavored ices.

  Since it was the Fourth, there was always a patriotic element to the celebrations, taking the form of red, white, and blue bunting draped over anything stationary—and over a few people and dogs on leashes as well. (Emma’s Lizzie, who disliked loud noises, was back at the inn with Penny—who also preferred peace to the semiorganized chaos of the festival.) There were American flags flying proudly and displayed on hats and T-shirts and painted on skin, and rather amazingly varied interpretations of the national anthem were played at least once by every band.

  Small-town America, celebrating the Fourth of July.

  It was also clear, sunny, and about as hot as Baron Hollow ever got, which was pushing ninety-five. Which meant that tempers less even than Emma’s got more than a little frayed now and then.

  “Hey, Emma, did Three Pin say we could borrow their amp? Ours just blew, dammit.”

  “Emma, our drummer got sick; who can we use?”

  “Emma, you’ve got to tell Mayor Sharp that, no disrespect, but we can’t keep playing the national anthem! The audience gets tired of standing at attention, for one thing.”

  “Emma, some kid just threw up in Bo’s guitar case!”

  “Emma—”

  The Band Nazi. It was a fun gig. Most of the time.

  Experienced, Emma coped. She had to stay fairly close to the courthouse for the most part, but she did her best to keep an eye on what else of interest was going on during the festival.

  Such as her sister.

  Jessie had not offered to help with the festival and was most certainly avoiding her sister, but she was at least presenting a public display of interest and enjoyment as she wandered around Main Street all during the morning. Emma saw her once eating a hot dog, much later enjoying an ice cream cone, and at some point she had allowed one of the artists offering the service to paint a small flag on her cheek.

  Emma also saw her sister talking, with what looked like some intensity, to several people. Victor was one, and whatever was being said between them, neither looked happy about it. Later in the morning, Emma also saw her sister speaking to Nellie Holt, and then, some minutes later, to Nellie’s boss, Sam Co
nway.

  Since she kept losing sight of those…encounters…because of the shifting crowd, Emma had no idea how long each lasted or even whether Jessie and whomever she was speaking to parted amicably. But there was something about her sister’s posture that made Emma believe that the specific encounters were planned on her part, that this was Jessie seeking out the puzzle pieces of information she needed.

  For her missing memories?

  Or to help point her toward a killer?

  Emma didn’t know, and it was maddening not to know, to be always conscious of the uneasy feeling that there were undercurrents here she felt she should understand—no matter how much or little Jessie was willing to tell her. Busy as she was, she kept trying to figure that out, to understand why her fear for Jessie was coupled with an odd, cold, and nervous anxiety that was more about herself.

  At least, she thought it was. It felt like something at the extreme edge of her awareness was…settled there, waiting for her to look at the right person or thing or in the right direction in order to see and understand what she needed to.

  But whatever it was remained elusive.

  She didn’t see Navarro at all, which made her even more uneasy, because she had assumed he’d be looking for Jessie. And though she had a hunch he had a talent for blending in when he chose, she thought she should have caught at least a glimpse of him at some point.

  But she hadn’t.

  Just before noon, Emma saw her sister speaking to Dan Maitland, and a few minutes later to local bad-boy-grown-to-drunken-failure Peter Troy.

  She had no idea what any of the conversations were about, but none of them looked casual, and that was troubling to Emma. Especially since she lost Jessie in the crowd sometime just after noon.

  And as the festival wore on, hard as she looked, she could see no sign of her sister.

  SEVENTEEN

  Not long after noon, Jessie slipped away from the festival. Everyone in town was busy celebrating; she’d never have a better chance to return to the cabin.

  She was reasonably sure she had time for one last visit to the cabin undetected. It hadn’t been part of her original plan to go back there; the original plan was to leave Baron Hollow and get only far enough away to be clear before calling in the troops.

  Not that she didn’t want to be part of catching this monster; she most certainly did. But her concern was for Emma. Because monsters weren’t easily caught even when their lair was known, and just in case he escaped and had time to do more damage, Jessie didn’t want him to connect what was about to happen to him in any way to Jessie—and, by extension, to Emma.

  He’d been smart up to now, and careful, but once he knew someone had discovered his secret, he would probably stop being careful and just be enraged.

  Jessie didn’t want the target of his rage to be her sister.

  Hence the ruse she had concocted. She was leaving town, called back to work. Simple, reasonable, believable. She had slipped back to the inn to grab her already-packed bag, leaving a note for Emma to find later on. She had managed to move her car without, she believed, being noticed; there would be so many cars parked at either end of downtown for the festival, in every possible parking spot, that she doubted anyone would even notice hers missing.

  She even stopped by the pharmacy early to buy some cough drops for her “scratchy” throat, telling Patty the clerk—and the most notorious gossip in Baron Hollow—that she’d been called back to work and would be leaving town that afternoon, even before the fireworks.

  And, no, she didn’t know when or even if she’d return.

  Groundwork laid.

  All that had been according to plan.

  The plan made before she’d known about Nathan Navarro.

  Jessie had spent a sleepless night trying to decide what difference his presence made. She should have met with him, confided in him; she knew that.

  She knew it.

  All her training, all her experience, told her that. Logic and reason told her that. She argued inwardly with logic and reason that one thing she absolutely needed to do was return to the cabin just long enough to hide his trophy box, leaving it in the cabin as evidence, but making sure he wouldn’t have the chance to destroy it while she and Navarro were busy calling in the troops.

  That made sense. That was even, in its way, logical.

  But something else was nagging at her, an uneasy sense of something she still didn’t know or hadn’t realized or found. And whatever it was, it stopped her whenever she thought about meeting up with Navarro or confiding in him. Or in Emma.

  No, as careless and irresponsible, as dangerous as it seemed, Jessie’s deepest instincts urged her to do this on her own, and now. She had to.

  She had to…atone.

  That was what she felt, as baffling as she found it.

  Atone for what?

  Jessie didn’t know, but she did know her time was limited and that she had none to waste in going back over her decision one more time. It was made, and that was that. Now she had work to do.

  All she had to do was one final bit of verification—and leave at least one very subtle signpost for the right people to find. Navarro, probably. He’d know what to look for. They were taught that at Haven, to leave signs for other operatives. Because you never knew when someone might be right behind you and need the edge of information you hadn’t had time to share.

  She did have preliminary information for the troops when they were called in, a point of professional pride with her. On her tablet was a report that contained a list of the names on those driver’s licenses; using his “trophies” to compile evidence against him was something that gave her grim satisfaction. And she’d made a start, working long into the night searching missing-persons databases for names on the driver’s licenses and ID cards. On her tablet.

  And a backup on a thumb drive she’d left in Emma’s jewelry box.

  However, she couldn’t remove the trophies themselves from his cabin; the evidence needed to remain there. But she was also worried that he might—just—have time before the troops could catch or kill him to destroy it, or move it, and that was not a chance she was prepared to take.

  That was what she kept telling herself. It was logical and reasonable, after all. They didn’t know what he’d done with the bodies—though she had a hunch she almost wanted to be wrong about—and without the bodies or the trophies, they might well have no case.

  So she had to preserve the trophies. She had to.

  Besides, she really did want to take a look inside what she suspected was where he imprisoned his victims for a time.

  How often, after all, was an investigator given the chance to get a good look into a monster’s lair?

  “EMMA?”

  She turned with relief to find Navarro at her side. “Where have you been? It’s the first I’ve seen of you all day.”

  Rather grimly, he said, “Trying to connect with Jessie. I saw her half a dozen times during the morning, but she has an uncanny knack of slipping away into the crowd. Still not answering her cell phone, either; it’s going straight to voice mail.”

  They were both speaking a bit louder than normal, because a band was playing enthusiastically only a few yards away. With sizable amplifiers.

  “So you haven’t talked to her yet?”

  “No. Christ, I thought this was a small town; how many people can there be in an area like this?”

  “They come from nearby towns. The festival is one of the best in the Southeast,” Emma replied automatically. “I’m worried about Jessie. She wouldn’t say much last night, but there was something odd about her, something I couldn’t put my finger on.”

  “Probably pissed that I’m here.”

  “She didn’t seem angry. Just…set. Like she’d made up her mind and there was no turning back.”

  “Made up her mind about what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Confronting whoever hurt her in the past?”

  Emma was star
tled. “How did you—?”

  “It had to be a trauma of some kind, or it wouldn’t be interfering with her abilities, especially after so many years. Emma, you’ve got to tell me what happened to her.”

  Emma looked around, spotted a guitar player from the upcoming band heading toward her with panic on his face, and said quickly to Navarro, “We can’t talk here and now. Keep trying to find Jessie. I’ll find somebody to relieve me and catch up with you.”

  “Hurry,” he said. “I have a feeling I don’t much like.”

  SHE HAD EARLIER parked her car quite a distance from downtown, nearly halfway to the highway, discovering a handy dirt road she suspected was used by young lovers since it faded into nothing about a hundred yards from the main road. It was close to the shortcut she had been using to get to the cabin, but since she’d had to make an appearance at the festival, and talk to a few people, she still had quite a hike to get back to the car later.

  The information she had gathered had done little to solve the mystery that was her past, that summer party so long ago. If anything, the reactions she’d gotten had only confused things. Nellie had proven the most useful; Jessie hadn’t even remembered that the other woman, the same age as Emma, had been at the party briefly and had been able to offer up two names Jessie hadn’t even considered.

  And their reactions to her casual questions had been…odd. One had displayed a flash of panic and the urgent need to be somewhere else, and the other had coolly denied being there.

  At all.

  I don’t have time to think about that now. I’ll think about it after I’ve done what I have to and get out of here.

  It was an unsatisfactory realization, but one she had to accept.

  She hiked to where she’d left her car, reasonably sure no one had noticed her leaving the downtown area. She had locked up all her stuff in the car earlier, carrying only the car key and some cash in her pockets while she was at the festival. She hadn’t bothered to carry her cell. She had tried to charge it overnight, but apparently the battery had taken all it could of psychic energy or her own carelessness; it had remained dead despite being plugged in all night. And she hadn’t brought a spare.