by Deirdre Dore
He had a strong jaw, a bold nose, and a swaggering walk. He’d been in the military at some point, and he spoke several languages. She had no doubt that he could disappear if he wanted to, if he made the attempt, but he wasn’t bothering right now.
“Maybe they saw you?” she suggested. You don’t believe that, the voice said flatly.
He gave her a suspicious glance, then looked back out the window, his face in profile.
“We’ll have to deal with that, I suppose. Will they say anything?”
She wondered what he meant by “deal with that.”
There weren’t many Havens left. Most had died or moved deeper into the forest, living off the land. Of the ones who remained, few concerned themselves much with her business. Her second cousin Keenan and his mother, Beatrix, lived in the house that looked like a Victorian cottage in Wonderland. Beatrix didn’t like to leave the house if she could help it, and Keenan was obsessed with his paintings. Keenan was dangerous, though, when he stepped out into the world. Ninny lived with her two German shepherds in the cabin next to Circe’s house. The only person Ninny might tell was Raquel, Gloria Belle’s daughter, the cop from Atlanta.
The voice didn’t think it was smart to tell him that.
“They might. By accident,” she explained, referring to the Triplets. “They go to town. They’re young.”
He looked unhappy. Circe didn’t like it when he was unhappy. She wanted to please him; she wanted him to stay. It had been so long since anyone worthy of her was nearby, so long since she’d been loved by him.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She went to stand behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
He caught her wrist, tugging her forward.
“Oh, we’ll make sure of it, Jane. We’re going to make sure it’s all right,” he murmured against her wrist, brushing his lips back and forth over the sensitive white skin.
“Okay,” Circe agreed. It would be all right. He would take her away from this and she would live like a queen.
He smiled at her, tugging her forward until she was leaning against him while he rested against the sink. “Why don’t I show you how much I missed you?”
Circe flushed, enthralled by the heat in his eyes. It had been so, so long.
“That sounds perfect,” she agreed, sliding forward, smiling at him.
He pinched her chin gently between his fingers. “You are so beautiful, Jane.”
Circe smiled and took his hand away from her face. “Come with me.” She tugged him toward the bedroom. “It’s been a long time.”
He followed her, his eyes on her swaying hips.
Circe knew he watched her. Jane didn’t like the way he’d spoken about the Triplets, or think it was a good idea to blow off opening the store, but Jane was an idiot. Circe knew what her husband needed, what she needed as well, as she intended to give it to him.
8
TAVEY’S WEEK PASSED in a blur of activity. She managed to find homes for two of the rescue dogs, review the books for Dog with Two Bones and Once Was Lost with her bookkeeper, and finalize the arrangements for the search-and-rescue class she had coming up. She’d also managed, with no small amount of effort, to get hold of the original design and layout of the old Cherokee Paper Mill, built in 1832. It hadn’t been online, but she’d found an archive near Alpharetta. The only thing she didn’t do was speak to Tyler or Abraham.
She’d thought about it. If the old man was dying, she was running out of time to find out what he knew about Summer, but none of her previous efforts had been successful. She thought maybe she should try to get Tyler to help her talk to Abraham. If she could convince him to talk to his uncle about that day in the woods, maybe he would find out something new.
So she’d called him on Wednesday night, after three days of replaying that kiss in her head.
She chewed on her lower lip, thinking through that conversation. It hadn’t exactly been one for the record books, but he’d been at least a little receptive. He was supposed to talk to his uncle this morning, try to find out more about Abraham’s connection to the book they’d found.
“Okay, guys,” she addressed the beagles, who lounged at the end of her bed. “Time to go outside.” She padded over to the French doors, opening them wide. The back lawn stretched for several hundred yards, its smooth rolling landscape a carpet of green velvet broken by the occasional oak tree. She’d worked with them again this week on not jumping over the fence, but she wasn’t sure how long the training would hold before something irresistible would catch Boomer’s attention. The beagles raced out, eager to discover what had changed since their last visit the night before. Tavey, watching them, wished that she had time to just play with them for a morning, maybe take them for a run along the paths she’d created over several acres of the surrounding property, but there were tasks to be done. She had to get dressed for church, meet her friends for their weekly Sunday lunch date, check on the grooming salon, and hopefully hear from Tyler about his uncle. She chewed on her lip. Only part of her excitement was the hope that she would find out something about Summer, the rest simply had to do with getting to interact with Tyler, maybe meet him for coffee. Could it be that after all these years they could work out their differences?
She shook off her agitation and left her bedroom through another set of French doors; these opened to a long hallway with the original farmhouse wood floor and a long Persian runner that had been around since she was a girl.
At the end of the long hallway and around the corner, the entry opened into an enormous open-plan kitchen. It was Tavey’s favorite room in the house even though she didn’t cook. She’d had it renovated a few years back. The floor was the same original hardwood, expertly restored in places to look like the original. The slate countertops and warm reddish-brown paint on the walls made it seem very welcoming. The French press full of hot coffee made it even more so.
She looked around but didn’t see Thomas. Something in the oven smelled wonderful, though. Feeling like she was being nosy—which was ridiculous—she opened the door to the top oven and peered inside. Mini-quiches—they smelled heavenly.
“Good morning, Miss Tavey,” a voice said from behind her.
Tavey turned, closing the oven door with one hand. Sylvia Pascal had been the Collins family housekeeper since Tavey was little, but more important, she was Chris’s mother, and she prided herself on being very professional. Tavey wished she’d relax a bit; after all, it had been several decades since she’d had an affair with Chris’s worthless father, Robert Carlson, who’d been her employer at the time.
“Good morning, Sylvia.” Tavey made herself busy getting down mugs for coffee. Sylvia was wearing a pink suit with low tan heels and pearls—all ready for church, while Tavey was still wearing her silk pajamas and slippers.
“I’ll get that.” Sylvia moved to take over.
“I’ve got it.” Tavey smiled at her, but she didn’t let the woman take over. “It’s your day off. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Sylvia said, but her voice was stiff.
Tavey poured coffee into her own cup and fetched the cream from the fridge, telling herself the whole time that this awkwardness was not her problem and she didn’t need to fix it. Nevertheless, as soon as she swallowed her first sip of coffee, she blurted, “Sylvia, why don’t you just talk to her?”
Sylvia straightened the lapels of her suit jacket and sniffed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Tavey leaned against the counter and gave her a level look. “Come on, people don’t change churches after twenty years on a whim. You don’t have to do this—just call her.”
Sylvia’s mouth pruned up. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Tavey, I have a few errands before church. I think I’ll drive myself this morning.”
Tavey sighed and took another sip. So much for trying to meddle in someone else’s business.
She assumed Sylvia was upset because her daughter had brought scandal on her once again—after all, it was her online profiles that lured the serial killer to Fate last fall. Sylvia had maintained a low profile since her scandalous affair with Chris’s father over thirty years ago, and all the media attention resulting from the psychopath’s killing spree had brought the old stories to the surface once again. Tavey had heard the whispers and seen the sidelong glances at Sylvia in church. Bad blood will out, they said, which was nonsense, but it seemed neither Chris nor her mother appreciated her efforts to repair the rift between them. “Of course, Sylvia. Enjoy your day.”
Sylvia left, but Tavey had barely taken another sip of her coffee when Thomas popped his head into the kitchen.
“Is she gone?”
“Yes,” Tavey assured him.
“This is good.” He grabbed an oven mitt. “She is very grim. Is she always like this?”
Tavey thought about it, but she didn’t believe in gossiping about one member of her staff to another, especially her friend’s mother. “She’s had a difficult life, Thomas. Try to be kind.”
He waved that off, examining his quiches with the intensity of an artist. “Of course I don’t care. Are you hungry?”
Tavey’s normal response would have been no—she usually drank a protein shake for breakfast, but the quiches smelled wonderful.
She nodded. “Yes, I’ll have breakfast. Just let me get dressed and take care of the dogs. Fifteen minutes.”
“Oui,” he agreed, waving her off.
Amused, Tavey carried her coffee back into the bedroom, whistling for her beagles to come. They ran back inside, their tails wagging in anticipation of breakfast.
She set her coffee on her dresser and led them back down the hall to what she called the dog room. It had been a pantry, but she’d put in a doggie shower, several dog beds, and a feeding area. A small door controlled by their collars had also been installed to allow them outside into a small enclosure when necessary.
“Okay, babies.” She glanced down and noticed that Boomer was chewing enthusiastically on something.
When she bent down and got a closer look, she paused, her hand beginning to tremble. It was a hair ribbon, so stained with dirt that it was nearly brown, but the original colors showed through in places, red with a white stripe down the center. Though covered in a healthy amount of dog slobber, she recognized the pattern. The last time she’d seen a ribbon like this one, Summer had been wearing it tied to one of her braids.
Tavey felt horror rise from deep within her, her fist clenching around a wad of paper towels. The beagles, sensing her disquiet, shifted restlessly. Lizzie whined.
“It’s okay,” Tavey murmured automatically, but without conviction. The beagles hadn’t been off the property since last Sunday, when they’d ventured into the woods near Abraham’s house, but she thought she would have noticed if Boomer had been holding something in his mouth.
She hesitated to touch it, thinking about evidence collection, but she doubted there was much harm in picking it up at this point. She wanted to snatch it and go straight to Abraham’s house and ask him if he recognized it, if he’d seen anything like it. Part of her wanted to demand he tell her where her friend was buried.
A lifetime of working with the police stopped her, however. Instead, she urged her beagles from the room and ran down the hall to get her phone.
She snatched it off her dresser and dialed Raquel, who just happened to be a cop with the Atlanta Police Department.
“Raquel, forget about church, you have to come here,” she ordered when her friend drawled a hello.
“All right,” Raquel agreed immediately. “What’s up? Is someone hurt?”
Tavey shook her head, pacing the room in her agitation. Her beagles, uncertain why they weren’t being fed, followed her, their brown eyes concerned.
“No one’s hurt. I’ve found something.”
“Okay.” Raquel’s smooth voice was calm and businesslike. “I’m calling Chris. Should I call Tyler as well?”
“No, not yet.” Tavey sighed. “I want to know what you think first. Maybe I’m crazy.”
Raquel didn’t argue, but she didn’t agree either. “Okay, honey, we’ll be right there.”
“Good. Sorry. I’m a little rattled.” Tavey realized she sounded out of control. “I think I’ve found something of Summer’s.”
“What?”
“One of her hair ribbons, the red one with the white stripe.”
“Well—”
“She was wearing it when she went missing.”
Raquel paused, her voice calm and steady. “We’ll be there soon, Tavey, but let’s not spiral out of control here. . . . I don’t think we can be sure it’s the same ribbon she was wearing. . . .”
Tavey was emphatic. “It is. She was wearing it. I remember.”
“Okay, we’ll take a look. We’ll be there soon, just remember that it was a long time ago.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“None of us have forgotten Summer.”
“But I could be wrong. That’s what you’re saying.”
When Raquel grew passionate about something, her voice took on the deep rolling tones of her grandmother, whose daddy had been a preacher. “Octavia Collins, you know as well as I do that what we remember is rarely the truth. It’s like a whisper told across a crowded room. The truth changes from one ear to the other.”
“I swear it’s hers.”
“You might be right,” Raquel temporized. “You usually are.”
“This is crazy, but . . . I feel like she’s sending me a message. Telling me not to give up.”
Raquel had always been the most comfortable with the idea that Summer and her family practiced witchcraft. “Well, if anyone could do that, our Summer would,” Raquel allowed.
“She would,” Tavey agreed and let out a long sigh. “It’s been a long time since we missed church.”
“I imagine God will understand.”
“Thomas made quiches.”
“This morning is getting better by the minute.”
Tavey knew she should chuckle, but she couldn’t quite manage it. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Tavey?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve never given up on anything.”
“Thanks, love you.”
“Love you, too,” her friend replied, and hung up.
Tavey sighed and dropped the phone into her lap. She thought maybe that was part of her problem, the not giving up. She clung to so many things: her pain over Summer’s disappearance, her convictions about Abraham, Tyler. None of them had helped find out what had happened to her friend. Maybe it was time she started to think a little differently.
9
RAQUEL HUNG UP and called Chris, putting the phone on speaker and tossing it on the bed while she changed out of her church dress and heels. If she knew Tavey, and she did, at some point today they were going to be tromping through the woods behind a dog. Raquel had never been a big fan of the woods. She pulled out a pair of lightweight cargo pants, an APD T-shirt, socks, and her hiking boots.
“What’s up?” Chris answered, sounding distracted. Chris was always distracted. Six months ago, Raquel would have explained away Chris’s tone with the assumption that she’d once again gotten wrapped up in an Internet search for another missing kid, but these days she could just as easily be wrapping herself around her handsome FBI agent boyfriend.
“Tavey wants us to come over to the house. She’s found something—she swears it’s the ribbon Summer was wearing the day she went missing.”
“Really? The blue one with the stars?”
Raquel paused as she pulled the T-shirt over her head. “No, red with a white stripe.”
“Oh.”
“You sure about that? The blue one with the star
s?”
“No, it’s what I see when I dream about that night.”
“You were the last one to see her.”
“I know,” Chris replied flatly.
Raquel winced. Yeah, she was pretty sure Chris knew that well enough. The problem was that she didn’t remember what happened.
“Sorry, honey.” Raquel held the phone to her ear while she put on crisp white athletic socks, enjoying the clean bleached smell of them as she drew them over her narrow brown feet.
“No problem.” Chris sighed. “I wish I could tell you for sure what Summer had been wearing, but what I see in my head is a blue ribbon with yellow stars.”
“Okay, well, Tav is pretty upset.”
“Hang on.” There was a shuffle and a man’s muffled voice. “It’s Raquel. We’re going to Tavey’s instead of to church . . . Yes, you have to come . . . because you love me.”
The phone crackled as Chris brought it back to her ear. “Okay, we’ll be on our way soon.”
“That’s good.” Raquel slid on her shoes, bending to tie them in neat bows. “I’m thinking we should call Tyler. It’s officially his case, his jurisdiction.”
“Ah.” There was a long pause as Chris digested that tidbit of information. “Well, it’s a good thing Ryan will be there—an armed neutral party is always a good idea.”
Raquel touched the weapon carefully concealed beneath her T-shirt. “I’m armed.”
“Yeah, but who would you shoot? Tyler or Tavey?”
“Probably one of those damn dogs.”
“You like the dogs.”
“You and Tavey keep telling yourselves that.”
Chris chuckled. “Okay, it’ll take us twenty minutes to get there. I have to get dressed.”
“Oh, really?”
Chris chuckled again. “Not what you’re thinking.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause Ryan wanted to go for a run. The man doesn’t think yoga is a workout.”
“Because it’s not.”
