Dark Storm

by Karen Harper

  “Lexi, too,” Claire whispered.

  Steve said, “Let’s go there right now, Nick. I think the guy’s on our side, but maybe he liked her too damn much!”

  “On our way, but you need to keep calm,” Nick told him as he sped faster down the endless dirt road toward town.

  * * *

  The headquarters of the Collier County Library always reminded Claire of a huge hacienda or Spanish mission with its white columned portico entry, brown tiles and rimmed fountain. A few people sat in the metal chairs in the shade, chatting or reading. The spacious interior was a far cry from the small library in central Naples she recalled when she and Darcy were growing up and had gone to Will Warren’s story times.

  Nick and Steve waited just inside the door while Claire headed for the main desk to ask for Will, but then she noticed him walking toward her.

  “I saw you come in,” he said, looking concerned—and as nattily dressed as usual with his striped bow tie. “Any news? Nothing bad, I pray!”

  Again, she was startled at this man’s intensity. She judged it to be real and heartfelt, and she came to like him even more, hoping Steve would learn to also. Will was probably just proud of Darcy as one of his “story students” from years ago, just the way Tara was proud of Lexi.

  “Nothing new—still nothing,” she told him.

  “I wish there was more than the media’s news,” he rushed on. “We have to get Darcy back!”

  She saw him make an obvious effort to calm himself. He’d even spoken loudly in a library. He took her elbow. “I was going to go out for an early lunch. I know we both have more to say. We must put our heads together and do whatever we can.”

  “I’m with Nick and Darcy’s husband, Steve,” she said, pointing toward them. “Could we all talk somewhere? Things were so rushed with the media when you were at our house.”

  “Tell me before we join the men, how are they—you, too, and little Jilly—doing?”

  “Holding up somehow. The police and highway patrol are watching for her car. But nothing, that is, so far.”

  They walked toward Nick and Steve as Will shook his head. “Except in children’s fantasy books, people don’t just vanish. We will find her and someone will pay the price.”

  His voice had suddenly become so ominous that she startled. One of his pretend people voices when he read children’s books aloud? Or a sincere swell of anger and passion that someone had taken—maybe hurt—Darcy?

  The men shook hands all around, and Will expressed his sympathy and concern to Steve. “I understand there is a reward for information,” Will went on. “I’d like to add my own ten thousand dollars to that, if you will accept.”

  Steve’s eyes widened, and Nick’s eyebrows rose. “That’s really...v-very generous,” Steve almost stammered.

  “Anything to help. You see, I have no real family of my own, so I’ve become especially fond of Darcy and Jilly—and as you may know, the butterfly farm is very special to me. I’m a great supporter of Tara and her work staff of one—Darcy.”

  He indicated they should go outside and led the three of them to a wrought-iron table and chairs in the shade away from other people. The splashing of the fountain and the lovely, calm setting seemed too pretty and gentle to Claire. So, so wrong.

  “How else can I help?” he asked as they sat close together.

  Steve said, “With your interest in butterflies and Tara’s farm, you have probably been out there a lot. Can you think of anyone who might drop in, anyone except the so-called Fly Safe group that might have a beef with Tara and netting the butterflies or selling and taking them away for events?”

  “So you’ve looked into the Fly Safe group. I can’t imagine they’d stoop to kidnapping. Picketing, protesting, pressure, verbal threats, sure, but not that. Still, they have sent more than one letter to Tara strongly objecting to her keeping butterflies ‘cooped up’ and especially to her distant releases where the butterflies are cooled, put in glassine envelopes and sent through the mail. Actually, they don’t like the nearby releases, either, and have shown up at a couple of funerals to harass me—though they have been smart enough not to make fools of themselves in front of the bereaved families.”

  “Darcy’s done some wedding ones,” Steve said. “Could she have been harassed, too?”

  “She never told me so, and weddings aren’t always announced ahead in the paper the way funerals and burials are. Tara hasn’t said anything about problems at weddings, either. As for me, despite that group, I still try to do as many at funerals as I can,” Will said, leaning toward them across the small table.

  “So,” Steve said as Claire noted Nick was evidently content to let him lead the way here, “this Fly Safe bunch could want to create havoc because of sending the butterflies into foreign territory?”

  “Exactly. Certain of the 18,000 butterfly breeds in this country are indigenous to particular areas and so some are released far from home. The Fly Safe people insist that’s cruel, though the butterflies simply—mostly—adapt. These ceremonial releases actually keep Tara’s breeding operations afloat, though. That and an occasional paying customer who buys pretty ones for their own area or backyard.”

  Nick’s gaze slammed into Claire’s. Someone local was a paying customer, paying to have the orangetips bred here.

  “We heard,” Claire said, “that a lot of orangetips escaped the day Darcy disappeared. Darcy was evidently reading up on them, because she had a page about them bookmarked.”

  “In my book I gave her?”

  “No. I’m thinking that disappeared with her. It was another one.”

  He heaved a huge sigh, which seemed to deflate him. He looked into the distance, across the patio, as if he were seeing someone or something there. “Tara told me quite a few of that breed went missing when Darcy did,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now. “But I wonder if they are the missing link to finding Darcy, so to speak, because they were taken, too.”

  Claire said, “What missing link? How?”

  “Their secret,” Will said, frowning, “their very valuable secret. You see, orangetips have the unusual gift of being able to suspend themselves in cocoon stage for years, then, apparently when their environment is suitable to them, they emerge beautiful, alert and alive. In other words, they can exist in self-suspended animation. So far, I don’t think many scientists are paying attention to that, though I’ve been contacted for information about them by a local guy who’s working on a master’s degree in biology.”

  Nick’s gaze slammed into hers once more. Lincoln Yost again.

  “But I believe,” Will went on, “if mankind could find out how the orangetips suspend themselves and then reanimate, it would make a hibernating bear’s short winter nap or the way dolphins can sleep with half their brains still alert mere ABCs. Frankly, I fear there are some people—entire nations—who would do anything to have the priceless, powerful secrets behind self-suspended animation in their control.”

  Claire didn’t bring it up then, but there was a possible dolphin-butterfly link. The dolphins had some sort of control over suspending half their brains, and the orangetips could suspend their entire existence at will. But all that sounded like something from a National Geographic TV special or a sci-fi movie miles and millennia away from finding Darcy.

  10

  When they got back to their house, Heck’s car was parked in front, as well as Nita’s. “Good,” Nick said as he pulled into the garage. “I asked Heck to do some business research for me.”

  He wanted to talk to Heck before he got Steve hyped about possible new information or leads—namely, that all roads led to Lincoln Yost’s research about the orangetips right now. At least Steve had decided it would be good to try to do something “normal” with Jilly, so he was taking her to walk the beach. And Claire was ready to spend some time with Lexi.

  “But shouldn’t we tell Steve about Lincoln Yost?” Claire whispered.

  “I want to finesse that, and I still thin
k Steve’s ready to strike out at someone. Not now, okay?”

  “I don’t want to hold things back from him, but let’s go see Yost, then tell Steve,” she said. “And maybe tell Ken, too. He’ll also have a fit if he thinks we’re going behind his back.”

  “We’ll tell both of them when we have something beyond the fact that orangetips know how to sleep and then wake up.”

  “It does sound so far out, but then Darcy had that page bookmarked.”

  “Maybe just because there were so many of them in that butterfly house. You said she tried to read up on different breeds. But we’re on it, we’ll pursue it, then inform the others—or not.”

  They hugged quickly and went into the house. Claire sniffed hard, and he saw her blink back tears despite her decisive nod. He thought she finally might be out of tears, but he hoped to God she wasn’t out of hope.

  * * *

  Nick could tell Nita was excited but holding something back, perhaps waiting until Steve and Jilly were out the door. Jilly waved madly to Lexi as they pulled away. His pulse kicked up. Heck, too, seemed on edge, so he must have found something they could use, but if it was really key, why had he let Steve and Jilly leave? Unless it was bad news—and they were all trying to protect Darcy’s family from more agonizing pain, if that was possible.

  “Okay, you two, what’s up?” Nick asked before Claire could chime in. She was hugging Lexi to her despite that wretched doll pinned between them, but then Lexi pulled away and walked back to the front screen door to look out.

  Heck said, “I have the intel you asked for, but Nita just told me she’s got exciting news, too.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Nick said as Claire glanced at Lexi, then left her to stare out the front screen door as if Jilly—or her aunt Darcy—would magically reappear.

  “Okay,” Nita whispered, so excited she was shaking. She glanced over at Lexi to be sure she couldn’t hear. “You won’t believe this. I didn’t have time to tell you this morning, but I won a walking-talking doll from the store where I ordered some baby furniture. It’s a gift from God—for Lexi. It’s a real pretty one called Smart Dolly. You been so good to Bronco and me, helping us through our finding that body and giving him such a good job working security at the law firm.”

  She lowered her voice. “Even if Bronco and me are having a girl, I want Lexi to have the doll, ’cause she’s slipping back so bad, and our baby wouldn’t want it for a long time. I hid it in the library. Come and see.”

  Heck followed, too. “It really is a smart doll,” she went on. “She can respond like a person, even programmed to answer questions, chatter about horses, so won’t Lexi love that? Bronco and me thought,” she said as she bent to reach behind a big armchair and brought out a blonde, pretty, little-girl doll. “Lexi might go for it and ditch Princess. Since this doll talks for itself, maybe Lexi will stop that awful voice and the things it says.”

  Nick saw tears in Claire’s eyes. “It is lovely,” she said. “What a blessing, what timing, that you won this. Thank you so much!”

  “It all happened real fast. I got a phone call from a man at the baby store that I won just from being a random customer there. It was delivered by UPS, free shipping, too,” Nita said, beaming.

  Claire hugged her. “It’s worth a try until I or someone else can get through to Lexi with counseling—or when we get Darcy back. I’ll call Lexi in.”

  “Maybe you women better handle this,” Nick said. “But we should buy the doll. It’s obviously an expensive one.”

  “A free one,” Nita insisted. “You two been so good to Bronco and me that we’re excited to give back some. When that woman was found all laid out in our freezer—couldn’t have gotten through that without both of you. Let’s hope little Lexi and little Smart Dolly get on real good.”

  * * *

  Claire was trembling as she called Lexi to the doorway of the library where Nita waited with the doll behind a pillow on the couch. How to handle this? How to keep from setting Lexi off? She’d love to grab that ugly doll and trash her, but that would just make things worse.

  “Lexi,” Claire said, still standing in the doorway with her, “Nita and I realized that Princess is very tired and kind of—well, injured—and that she would like you to have a new doll while she just sleeps and gets better.”

  “Princess would be better if Aunt Darcy came back, and I wasn’t lost once, too,” the child insisted.

  “Yes, I know. Of course. But Princess wants a new doll to talk to you, just like she did, only with her own voice, not yours.”

  Lexi squinted up at her. Claire could see the wheels turning in that little mind. “Where is she—the new Princess?” She loosened her hold ever so slightly on the old doll. Could Lexi’s fierce protection of that battered body and face be her way of protecting herself? Claire prayed that the pretty, confident image of the new doll would help.

  “Here she is,” Nita said from across the room, and pulled the doll out to stand on her knees. “Smart Dolly,” Nita said to the doll, “say hello to your new friend Lexi.”

  “Hello, my new friend Lexi,” the doll said in a sweet voice. “I am so happy we can play together, and I will be friends with your family, too.”

  “Ohh!” Lexi gasped, and set Princess on a chair as she rushed toward Nita.

  “I’m a smart little girl, just like you,” the doll said. “What will you name me?”

  “Mommy, she’s a real princess!” Lexi said, still staring only at the doll. “She looks like Cinderella with her yellow hair even though she has a short skirt and sneakers. I will name her that, but we won’t call her Cinderella, but Cindy for short.”

  Claire was so grateful that she was almost tongue-tied for a moment. How had that so-called “smart doll” picked up on Lexi’s name so fast?

  “That’s a lovely name for her,” she said, and knelt to hug Lexi and the doll—Cindy. Claire thought of the dead woman in the freezer, who’s name had been Cyndi. But she shoved away the idea that was a bad omen, because this was like a gift from heaven.

  “I like all of you. I want to stay with you,” Cindy said.

  “Wait till Jilly sees my—our—new friend,” Lexi said, hugging Claire back, then Nita, too. “Wait till we find Aunt Darcy, because she’ll be happy, too!”

  * * *

  “So let me know what’s what,” Nick said after he poured coffee for Heck and himself and they carried their mugs out to the patio.

  “I’ll start with Tara Gerald first, boss. Her paternal grandparents were early Irish settlers on that same piece of land. Her parents inherited, both died in the last couple of years, then left the place to Tara. Her father worked at the South Naples Citrus Grove down the road, driving equipment, working in the orange orchard store in season. Tara had no siblings. Never married. Guess her teaching—and then butterflies—were her life. No legal problems I turned up. Probably just making ends meet with her retirement and some sales from the Flutterby Farm. Has a real close lady friend.”

  “Meaning?” Nick said, putting his mug down on the patio table.

  “Meaning nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Another retired teacher who lives in East Naples.”

  “But she doesn’t help with the farm, evidently.”

  “She may be an investor. Anyway, she would, no doubt, drop by now and then. Found a picture of her. Looks like she walks with a cane so I can’t see her as a kidnapping suspect. Okay, on to William Spencer Warren. I have his address if you want it. Like you said, wrote a book on butterflies. Library degree. Botany degree. Married briefly in his twenties, divorced, no children.”

  “Botany, not biology? No kidding.”

  “I don’t make this stuff up. Besides, botanists are valuable to lepidopterists. You impressed with what I picked up so far? See, certain butterflies like and need certain plants to flourish, to feed and breed. Anyway, for years, Warren worked at the library here, which you knew, but then took a five-year sabbatic—what’s that word?”

  “Sabbatic
al?”

  “Right. To Japan, no less. And as far as I can figure out, because I obviously couldn’t read the online ads in Japanese, he sold butterflies.”

  Nick sat farther forward. “Ones he got or caught there in the US?”

  “Don’t know, but some damned pricey ones. I could at least read the prices from the yen, then convert that to dollars. Big bucks. Thousands for one sale sometimes.”

  “I wonder if they were exotics.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, butterfly expert. Anything on Larry Ralston, deep-sea fishing guide, who may be my new client?”

  “You were right that the name of his boat is Down Under. Nick, it’s a big one. A fifty-four-foot sport fishing vessel, with several ads for taking out fishing charters online. It’s at the dock at Crayton Cove, you know, near that restaurant you like called The Dock? And yeah, he’s under investigation for netting a dolphin and killing it. He says it died while he was trying to free it, but no one buys that with the video evidence.”

  “That’s one thing I researched myself,” Nick told him with a sigh. “It was a bottlenose dolphin he might have accidentally netted but then not released. Witnesses were in another boat. It’s a twenty-thousand-dollar fine for that and up to one year in federal prison, though someone in Texas recently had a good lawyer who got that reduced to one year of probation and a ban on fishing with fifty hours of community service. But for a professional fisherman, that year ban on fishing could ruin him. I think I’ll be meeting Ralston Monday morning at the office, so I’ll psych him out there, as Claire would say.”

  “He’s well-connected. His father owns funeral homes up and down the Florida west coast, two here in town, and has contributed lots of dough to political campaigns. Larry Ralston also got a brother who lives in Collier County, not sure what he does yet, but I’ll keep looking—ah, father’s name is Aaron, brother’s name is Clinton. Couldn’t find a picture of the brother, though I looked.”