“Well,” he says, running a hand over his short-cropped cop hair. “I wasn’t around in 1983, but from what I’ve heard, people thought Scarlet’s death wasn’t an accident. Back then the county was hunting demons. You know, satanic child abusers, Freddy Kruegers, that sort of crap.”
“The Kern County child abuse cases?”
“Yep, the infamous twentieth-century witch hunt. Goes without saying what people thought when John disappeared after Scarlet’s body was found floating in the lake. Everyone, including Walter, was convinced he had killed her to cover up his doings.”
This is starting to get interesting. “What about this Walter guy? Wasn’t he a suspect?” If there’s one thing I’ve learned watching all those true crime stories, it’s that the ones closest to the victim are always on top of the suspect list.
Lowering his voice, he shakes his head. “Walter is a good friend of Detective Titcher. He was the one who told Titcher he had caught John,” he struggles with the next words, “doing some sick stuff to the girl.”
You gotta be kiddin’ me! Didn’t these guys ever read the “How-to-solve-a-crime” handbook? Damn, they’re cops. They should know blaming others to get their necks out of the noose is second nature with criminals. “Does he still live in Bakersfield?”
“Walter Griffin?” he asks with a genuine smile.
I nod.
Getting to his feet, he points to the roses scattered all over the floor. “He owns a flower shop nearby.”
I think of the list I’d made for Carter. Florist. Check. Knows Scarlet, aka the girl with the raven hair. Check. Local. Check. This Walter dude fits the profile perfectly. He has to be Clown Man.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t know. My head pounds, and my ass is vibrating.
“Miss Bishop?” Concern fills his voice.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I murmur as I pull my phone out of my back pocket. Bonnie. Great. Now she’s calling?
“It’s okay,” the detective assures me. “You can take the call, just,” his gaze drifts to the door where Alex and d-bag cop are having a heated discussion, “don’t go too far. We need to take your prints.”
Prints?
As if he’d heard my thoughts, he bends his head to the side and smiles. “Don’t worry. It’s a common process. We need to eliminate yours to get the un-sub’s.”
Un-sub…Jesse…shit! What if he had killed Hedwig? Would Alex be able to cover this up? Having buddies at the FBI might help, but what if they refuse to cover up a murder? Would Jesse end up in jail for a crime he committed as a brainless zombie?
“Miss Bishop.” Detective Good-looking’s gaze roams my face. “Are you sure you’re all right? Maybe the paramedics should have a look at you.”
I force a smile. “I’m good. Just have a real bad headache.” Or in other words, a real fucked up day. “Excuse me,” I say, holding up my vibrating phone. When he nods, I head straight to the kitchen.
Leaning against the marble countertop, I push the green button and press the phone against my ear. “I reckon you got my message.”
“Yes.” She sighs. “And before you go all witch-bitch on my ass, you should know your sister was less than helpful. She, and I quote, ‘Refuses to be a part of your self-destructive, selfish, suicide mission.’ Took me ages to talk some sense into her. Stubborn runs in the DNA, I guess.”
“Just tell me if you found—” I cut myself off and scan the room to make sure no one is nearby. “A cure.”
“I did,” she says, voice low. “But you should know there’s a catch. Your grandmother never tried the recipe.”
Peeking through the kitchen door, I see two coroners carry Hedwig out of the basement in a body bag. “Spill it, B. What do I need?”
“Whoa, what’s with you? Did Alex rub you the wrong way?”
I clench my jaw. “Bonnie.” There’s an unspoken threat in my tone, and she hears it.
“Physostigmine,” she eventually says. “You need to inject the zombie with it.”
“And that’s it?” My doubt is loud and clear.
“Yeah, according to your gram’s grimoire, bocors use devil’s breath to make their victims compliant. The physostigmine should reverse the effect of the drug. But as I said, it’s just a theory.”
Chipping the remaining nail polish off my nail, I draw a deep breath. “Guess it’s time to put her theory to the test, hm?”
“Amanda.” Bonnie’s voice changes into a tired mumble. “I hate to say this, but I think Melinda has a point. What if the cure doesn’t work? What if something happens to you? Think about L—”
“Leave him out of this.”
“But—”
“I gotta go,” I snap as the wooden floorboards creak under Alex and Titcher’s weight. Ending the call, I rest my hip against the cool marble and wait for them with a fake smile on my lips.
“Important call?” the douchebag asks.
Facing him, I shrug. “Just my roommate,” I answer honestly, figuring fewer lies are better with Titcher.
“I see,” he grumbles. “Well, your friend will take you to the station. As soon as we get your official statement and your prints, you’re free to go.”
Awesome. The translation of that is an eternity of questions and disgusting police coffee. Exactly how I want to spend the rest of the day.
“C’mon.” Alex puts an arm around my shoulders, directing me out of the room. “The sooner we get there, the faster we’re done.”
We’re almost out of the house when Titcher’s raspy voice stops us. “Miss Bishop?”
I spin around, ready to scratch his eyes out. There’s something about this guy that turns my stomach upside down. “Yes?”
“You can’t leave Bakersfield. Understood?”
I understand I want to stick your head in your ass, douchebag. “Stay in Bakersfield. Don’t go to the university. Fuck up your life. Got it, Detective Witcher.”
“It’s Titcher,” he corrects me.
I smite my forehead. “Sorry, Detective Bitcher.”
Alex pulls me out of the house. “Are you crazy? He already thinks you’ve got something to do with Hedwig’s death.”
Yanking my arm out of his grip, I straighten. “Seriously, do I wear an invisible assassin tattoo on my forehead?”
“Must be your charm, Manda.”
“Jerk,” I snap, heading toward the gate.
“Wait.” He wraps his fingers around my wrist. “Put this on.” Taking off his jacket, he points to my blood-soaked clothes. “Because right now you look like a serial killer.”
I’m not the kinda chick that digs gentleman-like behavior, but walking through a crowd of curious bystanders with Hedwig’s blood all over me isn’t exactly on my bucket list. Choking out a lame, “Thanks,” I hug the fabric against my shivering skin and hurry to the car.
I use the ride to the police station to fill Alex in on what I’ve learned so far: the cure, Scarlet, and Walter Griffin, and Hedwig’s connection to them. I tell him everything, and he listens patiently.
Everything?
Okay, maybe I forgot to mention a tiny detail, but Alex is worried enough as it is. Telling him the cure isn’t a sure thing wouldn’t do him any good. So, yeah, I tell him everything he needs to know.
Chapter 20
Fingerprinted, interrogated by a guy who could easily reprise Bruce Willis’s Die Hard role, and on the brink of a mental breakdown, I’m more than happy when we finally pull into the parking lot at the motel. I would have totally put a hex on Titcher’s ass, but spending time in this hellhole, aka interrogation room, gave me enough time to come up with a plan. Get the physostigmine. Torture good old Walter into telling the truth. Kill the bocor, and save Jesse and the kids. Easy peasy.
“I’ve got Walter Griffin’s address,” I say, eyes glued to the iPad in my lap.
Alex doesn’t even look at me. Jerk-face hasn’t said a word since we got out of the station, and his self-blame is starting to mess with me.
“Ea
rth to Mister I-Suffer-in-Silence.”
No response.
“Hey!” I face him. “Did you hear me?”
“What?” He’s annoyed.
“Walter Griffin. I have his address.”
“Okay,” he says.
Worried, I study him for a moment. “I’ll take a shower, get rid of the blood, and then we need to,” raising my voice, I highlight the next words, “break into a pharmacy.”
Killing the engine, he looks out of the window to the fading sun. “Okay.”
“Alex.” I put a finger under his chin, turning his face toward me. “I just told you we have to break into a pharmacy. Commit a felony. And all you have to say is ‘okay’? What’s going on?”
A weak smile on his lips, he averts his gaze. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”
Depressed? Yeah. Frustrated? Definitely. Guilt-ridden? Absolutely. Tired? Not so much. “We have the cure, Alex. We can fix Jesse.”
Yanking the door open, he nods. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Awesome. I don’t know what’s worse, going against a bocor who killed two people and threatened to whack me next, or having to deal with a hopeless Alex.
He’ll come around.
Hell, I hope so.
Staggering into my room, I strip down and step under the comforting, hot water. Rubbing the blood off my skin should feel good, but I can’t seem to enjoy it. A few things just don’t make sense. For starters, Hedwig’s aura was brilliant purple. Nothing about her said she was part of a child pornography ring. Plus, if Walter really is Clown Man, and my gut says he is, then why would Hedwig divorce him if she had been a part of that shit? On the contrary, Hedwig lied to us. She could have ended this horror, prevented Isobelle’s death. But she didn’t. The woman also tried to keep spirits out of her house. Spirits like the one of Scarlet. Why would she do that unless she feared vengeance? Damn, what am I missing here?
Once the water runs clear, I wrap a towel around my exhausted body and step out of the shower. Glass cracks under my foot, and a sharp pain shoots through my leg. I look down. Blood drips on the broken picture frame lying on top of Alex’s jacket, which I forgot to return.
What the fuck? I slide down the wall and take a seat on the floor. Pulling the glass out of my foot, I realize it’s the photo from Hedwig’s house. How the hell had that gotten here? Alex must have had it in his jacket. Pressing the towel on the bleeding cut, I pick it up.
Head pounds.
Heart races.
Hands shake.
And the bathroom fades into blankness.
****
“Scarlet?” John’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Baby, where are you?” His throat was sore from calling her name, and he couldn’t understand why she didn’t reply. He also couldn’t understand why his father had taken her to the lake house that late. If it weren’t for Hedwig, he wouldn’t even know where his little girl was.
Opening the door to his old room, he almost expected to find her asleep in the bed, but there was no sign of her. Where were they? He was grateful his father took care of her, especially since he worked long hours, and his boss didn’t have a heart for single fathers. But he would have to talk to him about taking her on late-night trips.
“Dad?” He went to his parent’s old bedroom. “Scarlet?” he called, bursting through the door.
The blood froze in his veins as the horror unfolded in front of his eyes. His little girl, his princess, lay on his father’s bed, naked and bruised.
He rushed toward her and dropped down on his knees. Her raven hair barely covered her chest. “Scarlet, what…what happened?” he stammered, already knowing the answer.
She remained quiet.
“Scarlet, look at me,” he begged.
But she couldn’t. “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she whispered, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
Seeing her like this killed him. How had this happened? And why had he not seen the terror in his angel’s eyes? God, what kind of a father was he?
John brushed the hair out of her face and gently moved her head toward him. “Listen to me, baby girl. This is over. No one is ever going to hurt you again, I promise.”
John’s blue eyes were reassuring, but promises were meant to be broken. Hope was meant to be shattered. And when the baseball bat cracked her father’s skull, she knew no one could save her. “Sorry you had to see this,” her grandfather said, beating the last breath out of her father.
****
The lake house. That must be it. That’s where they keep the kids.
Hobbling to the bed, I step into a pair of boyfriend jeans, pull an old T-shirt over my head, and rush to Alex’s room.
I bang against the door like a crazy person, but it stays locked. “Alex!”
He doesn’t answer. What the hell, dude?
Dialing his phone, I’m about to leave a nasty message on his voicemail when the hotel clerk’s distant shout catches my attention. “Try the bar!”
I spin around and face the man whose office overlooks the entire motel. “What?” My hearing must be off.
“The bar,” he repeats. “He was headed there.”
I’m going to fuckin’ kill him!
Chapter 21
The clerk is either blind or drunk because there’s no way Mr. Righteous and Responsible is hitting a bar while his brother goes all zombie assassin and a bunch of kids fear for their lives. Right? Wrong.
Bursting through the solid door of The Reckless Heart, I find him next to a brunette bombshell with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Son of a bitch! What the hell is he thinking? Judging by the way he pulls the chick toward him, I’d say he isn’t thinking at all. I cuss under my breath, ignore the pulsating pain that torments my foot, and push through the crowd, using elbows when necessary. One thing’s for sure: I’m going to beat the fucking crap out of him. I mean, I get it. He had a rough day. But what about me? I almost died a couple of hours ago, was treated like a freaking murderer, and to cap it off, I’m stuck in this godforsaken town. So, if anyone has a reason to get drunk and screw around, it would be me.
“Manda,” he says when he spots me, that cocky as hell grin on his stupid face. “So good to see ya, baby.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ baby me,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “What the hell are you doin’, Alex?” I look from him to Miss I-love-to-nibble-on-your-ears.
“What’s it look like?”
“Like you’re getting your fuckin’ ears pierced by that slut,” I say.
“Hey,” the future porn star shouts. “You can’t let her talk to me like that.”
I make a face unable to disguise the disgust washing over me. That’s the kinda girl he digs when he’s wasted? The sort who has a guy fight her battles for her?
Alex pats her back, but his eyes are on me. “Ah, don’t mind her, honey. Manda is juuust…” His stupid grin intensifies. “Jealoussss.”
I curl my hands into fists. Relax, you can’t kill him here. Too many witnesses. I take a step toward the chick, because the next words are only meant for her. “He’s right,” I whisper. “I am a very, very jealous person.” A psychotic smile on my lips that would send Michael Myers running, I step back.
“Oh my gosh!” Her gaze drifts to my bare feet. “Don’t tell me you dated a freak like her.”
Alex shrugs. “What can I say? I was young and needed sex.”
I’m standing in the middle of a bar without shoes, but that doesn’t give her permission to call me a freak. Done playing nice, I get into the chick’s face. “You look like a smart girl. How about you go and lick someone else’s ear before I show you what a freak I really am?”
Her jaw drops. “You’re crazy.” She faces Alex, eyes clouded with fear. “She’s fricking crazy.”
Alex sips his whiskey and laughs. “Relax, she ain’t gonna hurt you.”
I smile. “Sure ’bout that?”
She grabs her bag from the table, throws her hair over her shoulder, and shakes her head. “Wha
tever. I’m out.”
Watching her stomp out of the bar, Alex raises a brow. “So.” He takes another sip straight from the bottle. “Since you scared the shit outta my one-night stand, you could at least have the decency to have a drink with me.”
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I already miss the old Alex. Taking a seat next to him, I rest my elbows on my knees. “All right, spill it. What’s the matter with you?”
He waves the question off. “Nothing. I’m just having a lil’ fun. Aren’t you always telling me I should loosen up?”
I might have said something like that, but I hadn’t meant for him to drown his last brain cells in whiskey while the lives of innocent people are at stake. “Look, I know you’re upset, but I think I found Jesse.”
“So?” He gulps down the booze as if it’s water.
So? Jesus fucking Christ, when did I become the responsible party in our screwed up partnership? Jumping up, I grab his shirt. “Let’s get the hell outta here, Alex. We have a zombie to cure and kids to save.”
Fire ignites in his eyes. “You can stop pretending, Manda.” He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer. “You don’t care about Jesse, these kids, or me. And you know what?” He grins. “It’s all right. You don’t have to. God.” He looks me over. “I wish I could be a little more like you. Reckless. Selfish. Careless. Life must be so much easier for you.” It’s a miracle he doesn’t fall from his chair, trembling and all that.
“You’re right, Alex. Life is easier that way, but it’s also lonelier.” I tug at his shirt. “Now, are we done with your self-pity? ’Cause last time I checked, you had a brother to save.”
He rests his forehead against my belly and sighs. “I hate you, Amanda. I hate everything about you, but,” his warm fingers burn through my tank top, “I also miss you.” He looks up. “I miss us.” His aura shows a hundred shades of truth, and my heart jumps a little.
It’s kind of hard not to believe him when he looks at me like I’m the only girl in the world. But he’s in a hopeless place, looking for distraction, and I’m not willing to be that. I draw in a deep breath. “You’re wasted, man.” I try to pull him to his feet, but the son of a bitch is heavy. “C’mon, I’ll take you to my room, and we’ll sober you up.”
Karma Page 16
