by Deirdre Dore
Yarrow shrugged. “Aunt Circe might be home or she might be at the store. Mom went to church this morning.”
Their mother was the mayor of Fate. Tyler saw more of her than he liked as a result of her position, but he didn’t think the Triplets could claim the same—she’d deeply loved their father, John Haven, and had never been quite the same since he died.
“I’ll drive you over there,” he informed them, which made Yarrow roll her eyes, but they agreed easily enough, heading outside.
“I’ll be right back.” He touched his uncle’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” His uncle waved him off. “You tell those girls to stay away from me, ’specially that blond one.”
Tyler frowned—all the Triplets were blond. “Which one?”
His uncle shook his head like he was confused. “The blind one. The witch girl. I don’t like it when she comes around.”
Tyler felt hollowed out, like he had as a kid when his mom had told him, “Your father didn’t mean to—he’s working on it. He promises he won’t do it again.” Only this time his dread came from the loss of the strong protector he’d once known, the uncle who had saved him over and over again.
“It’s all right, Uncle. I’ll make sure she doesn’t come around.”
Abraham nodded, but his eyes never left the ground.
12
TAVEY HAD CALMED DOWN by the time Raquel arrived on her motorcycle. Her three beagles sat at her feet, wagging their tails at Raquel as she steered her bike into the drive. Tavey met her by the porte cochere and handed her a cup of coffee.
“Sorry. I should have just gone to church.”
Raquel removed her helmet and shook out her thick dark hair. She accepted the mug, tucking her helmet under one arm. “Tavey, you’re the only one who expects you to be perfect. Your grandmother is long gone.”
Tavey nodded. She’d discussed the topic with her therapist. Yes, she’d felt like she’d needed to make up for her parents’ shortcomings. Yes, she’d felt that her grandparents expected her to be perfect. Yes, she tried too hard to be perfect for everyone. But did acknowledging it change her behavior in any significant way? No.
Raquel seemed to understand, her dark eyes kind. “You are pretty damn close to perfect. Closer than anybody I know. We all count on it. It’s nice when you count on us. Let’s get some breakfast and we’ll take a look at what you found.”
Tavey led the way down the path back to the house, the beagles quickly catching up and scampering ahead. “The beagles found the ribbon, actually. Who knows how long it’s been in the woods.”
“If it’s Summer’s, then quite some time.”
Tavey nodded. “I know it’s Summer’s.”
Raquel considered that. “First Summer’s name in the book that was found at the old mill. Now this? Suddenly it seems like Summer is everywhere. . . . I mean, this has to mean something, right?”
Unlike Tavey and even Chris, Raquel had always been open-minded about the idea of magic, of fate.
Tavey glanced back, shaking her head. “Oh, Quelly.”
Raquel paused, raising her coffee cup as if to point it at Tavey’s face. “Okay, crazy. You call me all upset ’cause you’re sure you found Summer’s hair ribbon, but I can’t think it means something?”
Tavey grinned. “Yes. I can be crazy. You’re a cop. You’re supposed to be reasonable and scientific.”
Snorting, Raquel continued to sip her coffee as they walked down the path. “I don’t know what cops you’ve been working with, but some of them are the most superstitious people I’ve ever met.”
“Not the ones I know,” Tavey muttered, thinking of Tyler.
“Well, some people are stubborn. Couldn’t see the truth if it was staring them right in the face.”
Tavey narrowed her eyes as she opened the sliding door off the kitchen. “Are you talking about Tyler or me?” she questioned as she gestured for Raquel to precede her through the door.
Raquel gave her a wide-eyed innocent look that would have fit perfectly on the face of a Disney princess. “You’re the one who mentioned him.”
“Breakfast.” Tavey pointed to the kitchen, where the quiches, and Thomas, were waiting. The young man had just pulled another batch of quiches from the oven. Raquel’s grandmother, who tended the laundry and the mending, had come down from her rooms and was sitting at the center island eating a quiche.
“Thomas! Grandma!” Raquel smiled slowly and set her helmet on the countertop. She sat down next to her grandmother and gave her a one-armed hug. “Good morning.” Her grandmother was dressed for church in a floral dress and a small hat. They were both tiny, with slight frames, but Mrs. Weaver’s—Bessie’s—hair had turned solid white some time ago. Raquel’s mother, Gloria Belle Weaver, or Gloria Belle as she called herself, had possessed the same small stature if not the moral rectitude.
“Good morning.” Thomas set aside the pan of quiches and drew off his oven mitts. “Have a seat. Breakfast is ready.”
Tavey followed Raquel and removed the helmet from the counter, putting it away on a shelf in the closet down the hall before continuing to her bedroom to retrieve the ribbon, which she’d placed in a ziplock bag and labeled with masking tape and a Sharpie with the date.
When she returned to the kitchen, she set the bag on the counter and bent to kiss Raquel’s grandmother on the cheek. “Good morning, Bessie.”
As always, the old woman smelled like gardenias, laundry soap, and coffee, a combination that never failed to make Tavey think of her childhood. There really wasn’t much laundry or mending to do anymore, certainly not enough for a dedicated servant, but Bessie Weaver was getting old, and Tavey considered her family. Tavey had suggested that she make dog clothes and beds to sell in the boutique, Dog with Two Bones, and she’d said she’d consider it.
“You girls should be going to church,” the old woman chided them, but her eyes twinkled. “But I can’t say I’m sorry to have breakfast here with my granddaughter.”
“Are you still going to church this morning?” Bessie attended the Baptist church down the road, as did Atohi. Tavey poured herself another cup of coffee, wondering idly if Atohi was going to join them for breakfast. The two of them—Bessie and Atohi—had barely spoken to each other in two decades. Tavey had never figured out what the rift was about. Neither of them would talk about it.
The sound of a car coming up the drive drowned out the old woman’s response.
Tavey walked through the kitchen to the main room and twitched the curtain aside to see out the window. She expected it to be Chris’s car or Ryan’s truck, but instead it was Tyler’s.
Her heart took off in her chest and her lips parted on a soft gasp.
“Damn it,” she muttered. She’d told them not to call him. She whirled around and marched to the tall double doors in the main entryway to the house. She unlocked them with efficient twists of her wrists and yanked them open wide.
The porch, shaded from the morning sun, smelled of roses from the garden, but Tavey paid little attention. She was down the steps and turning left toward the drive with no memory of the journey.
Dust from Tyler’s truck coated her as she approached him. She saw his boots descend first and then his long legs and tight butt encased in his usual Levi’s.
“Tyler—” She stopped when the second cab door opened and a thick-bodied girl wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt got out, her blond hair caught back in a kerchief. A moment later, she turned and Tavey recognized her. “Yarrow? What’s—”
“Hey, Ms. Collins,” Yarrow greeted her, waving tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure of her welcome.
The other two sisters, who’d exited the opposite side of the truck, came around the bed and stood next to their sister. Tyler stood behind them, the driver’s-side door to his truck still open as if he hoped to hop in and leave as soon as the co
ast was clear. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
“Hello, Yarrow, Datura, Schisandra.” Tavey greeted each girl in turn before directing her attention to Tyler. “What’s this about?” Tavey inquired carefully, not sure now if Raquel had called him or not.
Tyler nodded to the girls without uncrossing his arms. “They were at my uncle’s house. They wanted to talk to you.”
Tavey glanced at the girls in alarm. What on earth had they been doing at that man’s house?
Yarrow was already shaking her head. “It’s okay, Ms. Collins. We know Abraham.”
Tavey was well aware of the girls’ reputation for strange behavior, which was even more obvious since they’d been kidnapped along with Chris last fall—apparently they’d stopped bothering to pretend they were normal, at least around people they knew. Tavey knew them fairly well. They often stopped by Dog with Two Bones on their way to Chris’s yoga class, though they didn’t own any pets. Tavey had never seen any evidence that they had special talents; she believed they were just extremely good at reading people.
“How do you know Abraham?” Tavey questioned, and crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously mimicking Tyler.
“We go to visit,” Yarrow explained. “He’s our neighbor.”
“You walk through the woods?” Tavey clarified, her voice low even though her heart was racing. She rarely raised her voice when she was scared or worried—a holdover from training the dogs. They never reacted well to histrionics.
Yarrow almost—almost—rolled her eyes, but she seemed to catch herself under the steady weight of Tavey’s stare.
“Yeah.” The girl glanced back at Tyler. “Investigator Downs already told us we shouldn’t walk through the woods.” Her voice sounded genial enough, as if she was happy to obey, but a stubborn quirk pulled up one side of her mouth. Tavey recognized stubbornness—she had a fair share of it herself.
“He’s right,” Tavey agreed, looking up at him, thinking briefly of her own recent walk through the woods.
Raquel appeared in the driveway near the porte cochere at the back of the house and walked toward Tyler. He dropped his arms and turned to look behind him when he heard her footsteps. The girls moved out of his way, closer to Tavey, and Tyler shut the door to his truck.
“Raquel,” he greeted her, and nodded.
“Tyler. I thought you weren’t coming by.” She approached until all six of them were standing in a rough half circle next to Tyler’s truck. Raquel sent a wary glance in Tavey’s direction.
So she had called him. Tavey grimaced and dropped her own arms to her sides.
“The girls needed a ride over here,” Tyler explained, not bothering to look in Tavey’s direction. “They have a question for Tavey.”
Tavey struggled with the urge to demand some answers of her own. “Well, let’s get some breakfast, shall we? Then we can all ask questions.” She gestured back the way Raquel had come.
Raquel nodded, taking in the Triplets with the curious but slightly detached look that she wore when she was investigating something. Even as a kid, Raquel had been meticulous in her inquiry. She never rushed, always examined a topic of interest thoroughly. Tavey wondered what she found so intriguing about the three girls.
The girls followed Raquel to the house, casting glances back to Tyler and Tavey, who hadn’t moved. However, as soon as the girls were out of sight, she stepped closer to him, touching his forearm when he didn’t look at her.
“What were they doing there, Tyler?”
He turned his head just enough for her to know he was listening, the sun shining on the shaggy blond strands that covered his head. She wanted to run her fingers through them, smooth the bunched muscles in his jaw with her hands.
“Cleaning,” he muttered. “Don’t ask me why.”
“Did you get a chance to talk to him about—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll head back over there now unless you need me to take the girls home.”
“I can take them.” She hesitated. “But stay. Join us for breakfast. I’d like you to see what I’ve found.”
He studied her, his eyes dropping to her mouth. “All right.”
She waved a hand toward the back entrance, and they’d both taken a step when she heard another car in the driveway.
An older-model Jeep, covered in mud, rust, and dents, clambered cheerfully over the ruts, bouncing on what must have been impressively bad shocks before coming to an abrupt halt just short of the house.
Tavey waited, arms crossed over her chest, to see her visitor, but after about thirty seconds, the car still hadn’t moved. She dropped her arms and marched over, but the car rolled forward as soon as she took a step. She paused, a small tingle of fear running down her spine.
The Jeep halted a few feet away from her this time, and she made out a large shadow moving behind the dirty window. The door opened with a sudden crack and a squeal of hinges, and a tall, muscular man unfolded himself and stepped out. The car seemed to rise several inches once he’d relieved it of his weight.
He had an appealingly rough, worn-looking face, with a bold nose, laugh lines around eyes the color of melted chocolate. His brown hair was thinning a little on top and the sunglasses he’d pushed up onto his forehead made it more apparent. He grinned, a broad, pleased-with-the-world smile that he’d no doubt worn since he was a toddler.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Brent Burns. It’s a pleasure.”
Tavey automatically shook the massive paw he held out, noticing that he held a digital recorder in his other hand.
“Mr. Burns.” The recorder in his hand made her wary enough that her voice was cool and formally polite. She liked his grin and his face, but she didn’t trust him immediately, and a digital recorder was reason enough to be careful.
She waited without saying anything more, knowing that most people would start babbling nervously.
Mr. Burns apparently didn’t fall into the category of most people. He looked around with the curiosity of a little kid, seeming to take in the house, the rose garden, the sound of dogs barking, and file it away somewhere in his head.
Tavey couldn’t help but appreciate the aura of genial goodwill that surrounded him, but she was no one’s fool, and she imagined he was quite good at convincing people he was harmless.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Burns, but what are you doing here?”
His grin grew even wider as he rocked back on his heels a little. “You don’t mean to be rude?”
Tavey heard the sound of boots on gravel and looked over her shoulder to see Tyler approaching with the focused intensity he’d shown as a high school quarterback. He reached Tavey and placed himself slightly between her and Mr. Burns, who watched Tyler approach with the same easygoing interest he’d displayed so far. Tavey didn’t like being put in the role of “woman in need of protecting,” but it gave her a chance to appreciate the differences between the two men, noting that Burns topped Tyler by several inches and seemed disheveled in comparison to Tyler’s sharp beauty and dangerous grace.
“I mean to be,” Tyler responded to Burns, his arms loosely at his side. “You want to tell us what you’re doing here?”
Burns looked even more amused, if that was possible.
Raquel, strolling from the back of the house with her hands in the pocket of her cargo pants, called out, “I’m betting Mr. Burns is here because he’s working on a new documentary. That right, Mr. Burns?”
Burns looked over at the sound of her voice, and the grin he’d been wearing froze on his face. He looked stiff, like he’d just had a heart attack.
Tavey checked to see if Raquel had noticed his reaction. She had, pausing a few feet away, her hands coming out of her pockets to hang loosely at her sides. Tavey sighed. Tyler and Raquel were armed. Marvelous.
Raquel checked behind her, her ha
nd going to her lower back as she looked for a threat, but no one else had come out of the house. She turned back to Burns, dropping her arms to her sides again.
“What?” she muttered shortly as he continued to stare at her, her dark eyes narrowed.
Tavey watched Burns’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He exhaled on a chuckle and scratched the side of his head.
“Ahh, you recognize me. I was just surprised. It’s been a long time.”
Raquel shot Tavey a skeptical glance. Tavey returned it with interest, wondering what he meant by saying it’s been a long time.
“What documentary?” Tavey started there, stepping forward until she was aligned with Tyler, close enough that the sleeve of his shirt brushed her arm.
Brent Burns dragged his attention away from Raquel and met Tavey’s gaze, his easy grin returning in slow stages.
“Yes, Ms. Collins. I was wondering if I could talk to you about your family.”
“Talk to me?”
“He’ll do more than talk.” Raquel strolled over until she was standing on Tavey’s right. “He films everything.” She nodded to the car.
Tavey looked at the Jeep but didn’t see anything.
Tavey turned her head toward Raquel without removing her eyes from Burns.
“How do you know him?”
Raquel grimaced and waved a hand in his direction. “He’s famous. I’ve seen his work. You’ve seen some, too. We watched the one about the restoration of all those old movie houses in Georgia.”
Tavey thought for a moment, then made the connection. “Oh, he’s the one that made the documentary about . . .”
“My mother,” Raquel finished flatly. “Yes, he is.”
13
BACK AT TAVEY’S HOUSE, Tyler studied Brent Burns, wondering why the guy was interested in Tavey’s family. It wasn’t like they were famous anywhere except Fate, and maybe most of north Georgia. He didn’t see what was so special about them that they would warrant a documentary.
Tyler didn’t give two shits about documentaries. He’d watched only two in his life. One about the hunt for Ted Bundy and one on a date in college—he couldn’t remember what that one had been about to save his life.
