Whispers of Fate: The Mistresses of Fate, Book Two

by Deirdre Dore

  He thought of the determined glint in her eyes, her frustration at hearing his uncle was dying. She might be in church, he amended, and shoved her out of his head so he could look at the file with fresh eyes.

  6

  TAVEY COLLINS WAS of the firm opinion that some mornings required more coffee than others, but it didn’t look like she was going to get any before she had to leave for church. Her three idiot beagles, who had moments of insanity where they forgot their training, had hurled themselves over the back fence . . . again, and seemed to be headed east, onto Abraham’s property. Abraham who knew something about Summer. Abraham who was dying.

  “Damn it,” she cursed, her hair falling loosely into her face as she tugged on a disreputable pair of rain boots that had belonged to her grandmother. She hadn’t bothered dressing and still wore the red silk pajamas she’d slept in the night before.

  “Stupid dogs. Think with their damn noses. Next time it’s all females,” she muttered darkly, knowing it was Boomer who’d led the charge. She grabbed their leashes and a treat bag before heading out the French doors in her room. They opened to the back garden, which was fenced, but not high enough to block her view of the mountains to the north or to keep her dumb dogs from leaping over it.

  She turned right, toward the driveway, and jogged past her car, through the carefully manicured garden on the other side, and into the woods.

  The air was cool and damp, a typical spring morning, and it was early enough that dew still lingered, especially in the woods. Tavey hurried, following the path she’d taken through the woods since she was a child, listening to the sound of the beagles as they bayed. They were northeast of her, on the trail of something, probably a rabbit or a skunk. God help her if it was a skunk again, she’d had to throw away their collars last time and buy them new dog beds.

  She moved a little faster, listening to the air moving in and out of her lungs and the crunch of twigs beneath her feet. Stray sunbeams landed like liquid gold on the young leaves of the trees and caught dewdrops suspended in thick spiderwebs. Tavey was careful to duck under them when she could. Summer had called breaking them a “Kiss of Fate,” but the feeling had always given Tavey the creeps.

  Tavey’s eyes stung, and she blinked the emotion away quickly. The beagles were getting too far ahead. They would be on Abraham’s property soon, and if she didn’t stop them, they’d cross over onto the Havens’ land. She had to get dressed for church—she didn’t have time to chase them all over hell’s creation.

  She stopped and whistled for them but couldn’t detect any discernible change in the baying; whatever they were after, it was interesting. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, “Boomer! Here, boy! Lizzie, girl! Jack. Come.”

  Silence. Tavey walked a little farther forward—the trees had thinned out some—and was approaching Abraham’s clearing.

  “Boomer, Jack, Lizzie,” she shouted again, and heard one of them bark.

  The sound of a twig snapping had her turning abruptly to her right. A tall man was standing in the trees, the sun behind him, casting him in shadow. She didn’t have to see his face, though, she’d know those broad shoulders anywhere.

  “Tyler.” She sighed. He would yell at her now; he’d think she was coming over to interrogate his uncle.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He sounded dumbfounded but not angry.

  Tavey realized she was standing braless in her pajamas and rain boots, all on full, bright display since the sun was shining directly on her. Unconsciously, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You’re up early,” she said when nothing more appropriate came to mind.

  “I’m up—what’re you wearing?” He sounded a little strange.

  He walked forward a few paces, stepping into the shade offered by the trees overhead. His eyes, bright and piercing blue, were staring at her as if they could physically hold her still.

  He stepped closer, and closer still, until he was barely a foot away. Reaching out slowly, as if afraid she would bolt, or disappear, he caught the short sleeve of her red silk pajamas with two fingers and rubbed the fabric between them.

  Tavey felt her breath sigh out of her and dropped her arms. Nothing in her life seemed quite as intimate as standing here with him, in the quiet stillness of the trees.

  His gaze drifted over her face, over the tumble of her long dark hair and down to her chest. Her nipples tightened, and she knew they were visible beneath the fabric of her top.

  He stepped a little closer so that his chest brushed hers. She gasped, feeling the heat of him, feeling her nipples tighten even more. It had always been this way, always. Only Tyler could make her feel like she was melting from the inside out. The one time he’d kissed her had been hard and fast. This was a slow, inevitable fall, the anger they felt losing its grip in the overwhelming pull of desire.

  His lips were inches away now, parting as his descending head blocked the sun. He brushed his lips against hers slowly, teasing her, and Tavey parted her lips eagerly, wanting him to kiss her deeply. Kiss her and lay her down on the soft moss and take her.

  Alas, the idiot dog Boomer had other plans. He ran up barking, Lizzie and Jack joining in when they saw her. Tyler broke away when the dogs jumped up at his jeans-covered legs. It wasn’t long before both of them were covered in muddy paw prints, breathing hard and staring at each other as if verifying that the kiss had really happened, that they weren’t dreaming.

  “Sorry,” Tyler muttered after a second, running a hand through his hair and looking away from her.

  Tavey frowned and crossed her hands over her chest again. She didn’t want him to be sorry.

  “I’m not.” She shrugged. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me.”

  He was staring again, his mouth was even open a little, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

  Tavey was actually a little surprised at herself—she wasn’t usually this honest, at least not about her feelings, not with Tyler, not when he hated her. Still, it was true, and she felt better about it the longer she looked at his gaping expression.

  “Come on, guys.” She herded the dogs with her body, still watching his face, a tiny smile tugging one corner of her mouth. “Let’s go home.”

  She wasn’t sure how long he watched her walk away; she’d put a little sway in her usually forthright stride, hoping that the sight of her ass in supple red silk was burned into his brain, but she didn’t look back as she stepped into the trees, her dogs at her heels.

  CHRIS SPAT THE sip of coffee she’d just taken back into her cup. “You did what?”

  Tavey shrugged. “I told him I wanted him to kiss me.”

  It had been almost five hours since she’d run into Tyler in the woods. She, Chris, and Raquel were sitting at their usual table in the Alcove. They’d gone to church, and then to the cemetery to pray for Summer under the oak tree they’d played beneath as children. Their Sunday meetings as board members of Once Was Lost were held in the Alcove, in the booth the owner reserved at Tavey’s request.

  Chris looked even more astonished than Tyler had, her pretty gold eyes wide in an angular face.

  Raquel was giving her a pleased look, as if she’d done something too cool for words.

  “He arrested you three weeks ago,” Chris pointed out.

  Tavey narrowed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about that, or about how much she’d liked the feel of him standing behind her while he’d cuffed her. Cuffed her. Her! No one cuffed Tavey Collins.

  “I don’t know if you can call it an arrest,” Raquel argued, “since she was released the second she arrived at the station.”

  “Well, Sheriff Davies isn’t an idiot. He knows who butters the bread in this county.” Chris leaned back against the booth, coffee cup in hand.

  “What on earth does that mean?” Tavey sniffed.

  Chris waved a hand in Tavey’s direction.
“You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, actually. It sounds disgusting.”

  “Enough.” Raquel sighed, exasperated, holding up one long caramel-colored finger with a precisely painted deep blue polish. “Let’s get down to business.”

  “I wanna talk about this kiss some more.” Chris leaned forward again over the table. “Were you really wearing your pajamas? Tell me it wasn’t those man-jamas with the stripes.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” Tavey felt herself blushing a little, but then she relented. “They were red silk, but pajamas, not a negligee or anything.”

  “Too bad.” Chris frowned. “You’ve been lusting after him since high school. You should’ve brought out the big guns.”

  “I didn’t plan it,” Tavey protested. “And I haven’t been lusting after him.”

  “Okay, crushing on him.”

  “I—”

  “—probably don’t want this discussed in public.” Raquel finished Tavey’s sentence, putting her hand on Tavey’s shoulder.

  Tavey snapped her mouth shut, looking briefly around the restaurant. She straightened, and smoothed the napkin in her lap.

  “Okay, enough about Tyler. What have you heard about the mill? Any updates?”

  Chris nodded, but her expression was grim. “They’ve identified several bodies, all girls who went missing in the early nineties up until last fall.” She paused, breathing slowly. Tavey didn’t press—she was well aware that the time Chris had spent as the captive of a psychopath had been far from pleasant.

  “So far there are two bodies that remain unidentified, a man and a woman. Still no sign other than the book that Summer was ever there. There is something new, though.”

  Tavey and Raquel perked up, eyeing Chris with interest.

  “Ryan found out on Friday that some of the glass and other fragments they found had traces of meth.”

  “A meth lab?” Tavey wondered why Tyler hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the report yet.

  “Yeah. Everything they found was pretty degraded after decades of exposure, but they’re fairly certain someone was using it to cook meth around the time Summer disappeared.”

  “I’m surprised. Meth was just getting popular then. It’s not like it is now.” Raquel frowned, lost in thought. “You find anything online about it?”

  Chris grinned, she was proud of her online—sometimes less than legal—sleuthing. “I did. Nothing concrete, but apparently there was a gang that got its start after the Vietnam War, the Harpies, that started bringing meth down from Philly to Florida during that time. They’re a rough bunch, but I haven’t found any connection to Fate . . . yet.”

  “See what you can find out, but be careful.” Tavey pointed a finger at her friend. “If I find out that you’ve put yourself in danger again, I will lock you up in a kennel and keep you there.”

  “I don’t even rate a guest room? Tyler got a guest room that time and he was barely civilized,” Chris protested, referring to the time when they were children and Tyler had stayed at Tavey’s house recovering from a beating his father had given him.

  “He’s just civilized enough.” Raquel smirked. “Tavey likes that wild streak.”

  “Remind me again why I put up with you two?” Tavey arched both eyebrows.

  Chris and Raquel looked at each other and raised their own eyebrows, mocking her. “She puts up with us?” Chris shook her head. “Tavey, you wouldn’t know what to do without us. Everyone else kisses your ass. You’d be bored in a week.”

  “Tyler doesn’t kiss her ass,” Raquel pointed out.

  “But she wants him to,” Chris tossed in, roaring with laughter before she finished the last word. Raquel joined in, the two of them giggling hysterically while half of Fate looked on.

  Tavey tried to stay indifferent but lost the battle with her own grin. She didn’t know what she’d do without them, and hoped she never had to find out.

  7

  CIRCE WATCHED HER husband pace. Mark had changed very little in the years that he’d been gone. He was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, as handsome as she was beautiful, with thick dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He was tan, as if he’d been somewhere tropical. He’d said he was going abroad when he’d left almost thirty years ago. He’d said he’d return quickly.

  When she’d gotten home last night, after dropping Ninny off, she’d expected him to be waiting for her, but he’d been gone again.

  She didn’t remember sleeping, but at dawn he’d walked up to her where she was sitting in the kitchen. She’d been about to get dressed to open the store. Jane had insisted, even though Circe didn’t care about the store now that Mark was back. She watched his athletic body as he paced her room like a caged tiger. He was home.

  “What have they found, Jane?”

  She thought about mentioning that she was Circe now, but he looked upset, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “They haven’t found anything.”

  “They found the bodies.”

  Circe shrugged. After so long and in the noxious stew of the millpond, they were likely bones, and the missing persons records hadn’t been that detailed then, hadn’t been nationwide. “I don’t think it will matter.”

  “You told me that already,” he snapped. “I’m telling you it will. They sent me to Mexico, to Colombia. You think I went there by choice?”

  Circe hadn’t known. He hadn’t told her that part when he’d left.

  “Why’d they let you leave now?”

  He laughed harshly. “They didn’t let me do anything. I left. I’m sick of working for those assholes, helping them bring the shit in every day, risking my ass while they get rich. No, I’m taking what’s mine before the Feds or that asshole Robert digs it up.”

  “I don’t think the Feds will find it.” She hadn’t been able to find it, not since right after they’d buried it.

  He walked over to her and shoved a hand in her hair, tilting her head back. “Still pretty as ever.” He used his grip on her hair to tilt her head back even farther.

  Circe lifted her chin. She was still beautiful.

  “Guess they believed that bullshit story about Charlie, huh? Or they would have carved up this pretty face of yours looking for it.” He paused. “Killed me, too, I suppose, instead of just sending me to hell. Guess we’re lucky. Good old Charlie. He was finally good for something.”

  The voice laughed and mocked her, Sing it, Circe. Sing his name. Chaaarlie Collins.

  He squatted in front of her, releasing his hold on her hair and cupping her face. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said sincerely. “Like getting punched in the stomach. I forgot how beautiful you are.” He leaned closer, almost whispering, “I missed you, Janie. Do you believe that?”

  Circe eyed him, her gaze level. “Where did you go? Last night, where did you go?”

  He gripped the back of her arm and twisted, hard.

  Circe gasped at the startling pain. He was so handsome, staring at her, hurting her. Her eyes filled with tears and his face blurred, twisting and running.

  He released her and stepped back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. You shouldn’t question me.” He bent down again, lifting her chin. “Forgive me?”

  Circe shrugged, pushing Jane aside, burying her deep. Jane was afraid of him sometimes. “I might forgive you. Eventually. You shouldn’t treat me like that.”

  “You’re right. You deserve the world. Now tell me the truth.” He leaned a little closer. “Has anyone been asking about this? The old guy?”

  “No,” Circe whispered. “No one knows anything.”

  He sneered at her. “We both know that’s not true. There’s that stupid bitch Gloria Belle and Old Man Fucking Know-It-All.”

  Circe shook her head. “He’s crazy. The Triplets said h
e’s dying.”

  “Who the fuck are the Triplets?”

  “My nieces. John’s daughters.”

  “John. The one in the army?”

  “Yes,” Circe confirmed. She didn’t mention that her brother John had died in a training accident at Fort Benning right after the triplets were born. Mark had never met John. John had been stationed abroad then; he hadn’t been here when everything had happened. He hadn’t seen.

  John would’ve stopped it, the voice whispered. He would have known—he’d been like his daughters. Like Summer. He’d had intuition, been brave and true. Unlike you.

  Circe scowled. She couldn’t be expected to be like John. Her mother told her she was beautiful instead. Some were talented, some beautiful. John was talented. John knew things. John is dead.

  “Where’s he at?”

  “Dead.”

  Mark’s lip curled. “Guess he wasn’t that good a ‘witch.’” He sneered the last word. He’d never believed in the gift. He’d always thought they were all crazy.

  “What about these girls? They live here?”

  Jane nodded.

  “They can’t know I’m here.”

  A short sharp laugh escaped Circe. “They already do.”

  Circe’s husband stopped dead in midstep.

  “What do you mean ‘they already do’?”

  She tossed her hair and pouted a little, hoping to distract him. Mark’s voice had gone soft and dangerous. She didn’t like that voice.

  “I didn’t tell them. Any of them,” she explained. “They know things.”

  “Bullshit,” he cursed, straightening and going over to the window to look out. “There’s no privacy in this damn commune. I came up the back way, but one of you freaks must have seen my car. How do they know I’m your husband?”