by Deirdre Dore
They were being chased by a group of older students, mostly girls with a few boys thrown in.
“Tavey,” Ro shouted. “Help!”
Tavey waited till the girls had passed her and stepped between them and the oncoming mob.
“You will stop,” she ordered the children as if they were a herd of recalcitrant puppies, bracing her legs a little and keeping her arms at her sides.
Several of the kids, recognizing her, immediately took off in the opposite direction, not wanting to get in trouble with their parents for messing with Tavey Collins. There was one girl, though, clearly the leader of this vicious little gang, who stayed where she was, glaring at a few of her friends to make sure they stayed as well. Tavey recognized most of the students and made a mental note to speak to their parents.
The only one Tavey didn’t recognize was their leader, a tall, broad-shouldered blond girl wearing a softball jersey. Tavey made the mental connection, remembering someone mentioning that a new family had moved to town and that they had a daughter, Chelsea, who would probably be pitcher on the high school team. Tavey had intended to stop by and greet the family but hadn’t had time yet. Now she wished she’d found some.
“Why should we listen to you?” the girl said nastily, moving a little closer, trying to make Tavey take a step back.
Tavey held her ground and raised an eyebrow. “Because I will make your life miserable if you don’t,” she said simply. It was the truth. Hurt people Tavey loved, and she had no compunction about seeing them suffer in equal measure. It wasn’t very Christian of her, but it was how she was made.
“Now,” Tavey continued before the girl could respond, “I’m Tavey Collins and there is a security camera”—Tavey pointed to her building, where, after last year’s kidnapping of the Triplets, she’d had multiple cameras installed, including one that covered the alley—“right there.”
The girl looked sullenly at the camera. “So? We didn’t do anything.”
Tavey smiled thinly. “You intended to. Why is that?”
Ro walked up to stand beside Tavey. “It’s our fault, Ms. Collins. She called us names, so we told her we put a curse on her, so she can’t throw any strikes.” Ro tried not to sound too pleased with herself, but a hint of it snuck through. “It worked,” Ro finished.
Tavey sighed. Ro had outpsyched the girl, which hadn’t been nice, but the Triplets didn’t deserve to get beaten for it.
“Why don’t you go home, Chelsea,” Tavey said, nodding back the way the children had come, “and I’ll stop by and have a chat with your parents tomorrow evening. Please let them know I’m coming.”
The girl was clearly startled by the use of her name; obviously she’d never enjoyed the culture of a small town and seemed even more unnerved that Tavey intended to talk to her parents.
“Whatever,” she sneered. “My father will handle you. Let’s go, girls.” She waved at the crowd of teenagers behind her.
“Incidentally,” Tavey called behind her, “if anything happens to the Triplets, I will come looking for you.”
The girl looked back over her shoulder briefly, catching Tavey’s eyes.
Tavey nodded. “And trust me, you won’t like it when I find you.”
THE TRIPLETS HELPED Tavey carry the fifty-pound bag of dog food back into the store.
Julie was waiting, the new food she wanted to try for Curtsy already on the counter.
“What took so long?” Betty asked, her white curls bouncing as she tried to locate the bar code on the enormous bag. They didn’t carry this particular food in small bags, but Tavey would take it back if Curtsy didn’t like it.
“Nothing important.” Tavey waved the question away. “Thank you, ladies,” she told the girls, directing them to set the bag of food down on the floor. “I’ll take it into my office in a bit.”
“We’re sorry about that, Ms. Collins.” Ro looked embarrassed, her face a little red. “We know better than to mess with girls like that.” Her two sisters nodded their agreement, Datura going so far as to give Ro an annoyed look. Tavey guessed at least one sister hadn’t thought messing with Chelsea was a good idea.
“You going to yoga class this evening?” she asked the Triplets, who usually stayed at the library till six, then went to yoga class with their mother.
Ro shrugged. “I don’t really feel like it,” she admitted.
Tavey thought about it. She didn’t really feel like staying until closing, as she normally did, not today, and she wanted to introduce the girls to their new dog, Penny, thinking it might cheer them up. If Tyler still planned on bringing Christie over, there was no reason the girls couldn’t get started on training as well. The only difficulty was Jane being gone. She’d wanted to make sure the girls had permission to get a dog before giving it to them.
“Want to come home with me? I have a surprise for you.”
The three girls looked at each other, their expressions lightening.
“Sure,” they agreed, all of them speaking at once.
Tavey closed her eyes. “Please. Don’t do that. It’s creepy.”
They giggled, reminding Tavey that for all their strange behavior, they were just girls.
“All right,” Tavey said. “Let me finish helping Julie and grab my things. Why don’t you go see if Chris is upstairs? You can tell her why you won’t make class tonight.”
“Okay,” the girls agreed cheerfully, and went back out the side door toward the interior staircase.
“What was that about?” Betty asked as she processed the exchange of the dog food.
“Some girls were bullying them. I took care of it.” Tavey hoped that there wasn’t a repeat of the situation. She’d have to make a note in her calendar to find out the contact information for Chelsea’s parents and speak with them.
Julie shook her head. “Bullying in schools has gotten so bad, hasn’t it?”
Tavey had no idea. She had personally never been bullied, and she’d made sure her friends weren’t bullied, either.
“You’ll have to let me know how Curtsy does with this food, all right, Julie?”
“I will.”
Tavey touched her arm in parting and went to her office to grab her purse and her laptop.
When she left the store, waving goodbye to Betty, the girls and Chris were waiting for her at the bottom of the switchback stairs.
Ro was talking to Chris. “Does it bother you?”
They were looking toward the ground, toward the place where Chris had found the body of a small dog a few months earlier. The girls had been kidnapped while the authorities were distracted by the dead animal. But in a weird way, the dog was the reason they’d all survived.
“No.” Chris shook her head. “Badger saved us. Ryan had the FBI release him to me, and I had him cremated. He’s in the jar in the yoga room with paw prints on it.”
“Cool,” Ro said.
Tavey interrupted. “Ready to go?”
“Yes.” All three girls nodded at the same time.
Tavey sighed and hugged Chris. “Hey, honey, I’m stealing these three for the rest of the afternoon.”
“They told me.” Chris hugged her back and then crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing a purple tank top and yoga pants. Paper-thin ballet flats covered her feet. Her curly brown hair hung loose past her shoulders.
“Just make sure you stretch tonight,” Chris told the girls sternly, but she wasn’t able to manage it for very long. She started grinning after a few seconds. “And try to keep Tavey out of trouble.”
The three girls turned to look at Tavey solemnly, their eyes suddenly grave.
“We’ll try,” Ro said seriously—too seriously for a fourteen-year-old, “but for the next little while, trouble is going to find her.”
31
“IT’S NOT HERE,” Rob yelled up at Mark after working mos
t of the day, throwing aside the shovel with a curse. It was almost five and Circe was tired, cold, and starving.
“Belle must have taken it,” Rob concluded.
They’d torn up the floor of the basement, but the suitcase full of money was nowhere to be found.
Mark looked livid. Circe moved a little away from Rob, hoping to keep herself out of the line of fire. The gun was still pointed at Rob’s head when Mark finally cursed and lowered the weapon.
“Fine. We’ll ask Belle where it might be.”
“What if she’s spent all of it on drugs?” Rob suggested. “Everyone in town has been whispering about the bodies the FBI found at the millpond. The Warlocks are bound to realize that something went down here once the bodies are identified. They’re going to come looking for us.”
Mark shot him neatly in the forehead.
Circe jumped, letting out a quick, surprised scream before clamping her mouth shut.
She looked up at her husband and waited silently. Even the other voice was silent, waiting to see what he would do.
He stared down at her, squatting at the edge of the hole in the ground.
“Jane, where is Gloria Belle?”
My hands hurt, Circe thought numbly, feeling the sharp pinch of the blisters. She wasn’t used to wielding a shovel, wasn’t used to the damp rot of the basement room or the hardness of the floor.
Circe couldn’t speak, but Jane could, and Jane wanted to survive above anything else. “I don’t know, but her mother might. Or Raquel.”
“Where’s Raquel?” He pointed the gun at her again.
“You think I know?” Jane laughed. “She’s a cop. She could be anywhere.”
Mark seemed to think about that for a moment. “All right, then, where’s her mother?”
Jane swallowed. “Let me out of this hole and I’ll show you.”
“Jane”—he shook his head—“I think you look beautiful in that hole. Just beautiful.”
Jane felt a tear slip down her cheek. “Mark, I don’t want to die here. I’ll help you find her, I promise. We can take Rob’s car.”
He regarded her coldly, a slight tic in his cheek the only sign that he was thinking about anything.
“Fine, Jane.” He straightened and threw her the rope. “You’re going to help me find her like a dutiful little wife, aren’t you?”
Jane nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“Then let’s go.”
THEY TREKKED DOWN the service road to Rob’s car. It was an old Toyota Corolla with rust spots. Circe briefly wondered where Rob had gotten the car, but such small thoughts couldn’t stay very long. She hoped she could find Bessie. Usually she and Sylvia came into town on Tuesday afternoons and got manicures before running errands and buying groceries.
She hoped they would still be in town.
Her hands were too sore to drive, so Mark took the wheel.
“She’s usually in town right now,” Circe said once they were inside. “She comes to my shop to buy dried herbs and essential oils.”
“I don’t care about your stupid shop, Jane. Tell me where to find Belle’s mom.”
“Head to town,” she said simply, not wanting to make him any angrier with her. “She’ll be there.” She hoped.
It took about thirty minutes to take the highway from the north down to the exit for Fate and another ten to get into town. Circe didn’t want anyone to see her dressed the way she was, certainly not Ninny, who would know something was wrong. Ninny wouldn’t obey Mark, either—Ninny wasn’t afraid of anyone.
She directed Mark to the salon where Bessie and Sylvia usually got manicures, looking for the black car that belonged to Tavey. She didn’t see it.
She swallowed. “She might already be grocery shopping.”
Mark sent her a sideways glance. “Where?”
“The Sun Fresh. It’s—”
He cursed and turned away from the circle, heading down Main. “I know where it is, Jane. This place hasn’t changed that fucking much. Duck your head. I don’t want anyone to see you.”
Circe did as she was told, ducking down in her seat, smelling the sweat and blood that covered her clothes. She’d cut her leg at some point, getting blood on her pants.
They drove to the market, slowly circling the parking lot. Circe lifted her head just enough to look out the window, but she didn’t see the car. She swallowed, about to suggest the bakery, when she suddenly spotted Bessie, driving by herself in the direction of the circle.
“There”—she pointed to the right—“she’s headed back to the circle. The black town car.”
Mark quickly turned around and followed the old woman. Circe couldn’t see from her slouched position. “Where’s she going?”
“Like I fucking know, Jane,” he snarled. Then, after a moment, “Behind your building.”
He looked over at her. “She might be coming to see you, Jane.”
“Or Tavey,” Circe murmured. “She might be going to see Tavey.”
“She isn’t going anywhere,” Mark argued firmly. “Stay here,” he ordered, taking the gun.
Circe stayed where she was, scrunched down so that her chin was pressed against her chest, her sweaty, matted hair hanging in her face.
She heard a thump and a short abbreviated cry. A few minutes later, the back door opened and Mark shoved the unconscious old woman awkwardly into the backseat.
Slamming the door, Mark sat in the driver’s seat again and left the alley, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed what he’d done.
“Where are we going now?” Circe whispered.
“Oh, I think we should go someplace warm and comfortable and very private, don’t you, Jane? Someplace familiar.”
Circe swallowed. “The cabin?”
“You’re smarter than I thought, Jane, my love . . . on occasion.”
32
TYLER FINISHED COURT and tried to call his uncle on the way back to the station. No answer. “Damn it, Uncle Abraham.”
He’d hoped his uncle would answer. He couldn’t go by there right after he finished his work at the station. He had to pick up Christie and Grumbles and bring them over to Tavey’s house for their lesson. He’d already told her about it, so he couldn’t cancel without a shitload of guilt dumped on him.
He pulled into the station in Canton, parking his car in the lot and ducking his head against the rain as he ran into the building. The officer behind the security desk in front of the building was a volunteer, one of Jimmy Daughtrey’s old friends.
“Hey, Doug,” Tyler greeted him. The older man was fit, with a full head of gray hair and an amiable smile.
“Hey, Tyler,” Doug greeted him, leaning back in his chair. “How’d court go today?”
“It sucked,” Tyler said simply. He’d gone to testify on one of his least favorite cases—a domestic violence charge against an asshole redneck named Luke Sanders whom everyone called Cheese. His wife, Lori, had changed her mind about pressing charges before walking into court today and had refused to testify.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Doug said seriously. “I know you were hoping this time he’d go to jail.”
Tyler had been, but he also wasn’t surprised that Lori had changed her mind. He’d seen the same behavior with his own mother.
“Well, you know how it is.” He shrugged, and Doug nodded. He did. All cops did.
Tyler made his way back to his desk, waving at a few of the other officers as he set down the documents he’d brought to court.
He turned on his computer and went to get a cup of coffee while it booted up.
Shari Coopershawk, a red-haired investigator with dark glasses and an even darker scowl, nodded to him as she stood over the coffeemaker.
“I cleaned it out with bleach, then rinsed it with hot water, and then vinegar and baking soda. If it tastes ba
d this time, I’m thinking it’s the water.”
Tyler nodded, well aware of Shari’s long-running battle with the coffee. He was game to try a cup. Court—and the marathon sex he’d had with Tavey this morning—had wiped him out.
The pot filled up slowly, black as night in the countryside.
Shari poured herself a cup and added sugar and a generous splash of milk.
Tyler waited for the verdict.
She took a sip and made a face, shaking her head. “No go,” she said, but didn’t put down the cup. She’d drink it, just like Tyler was going to drink it.
Tyler poured himself a cup with a sigh, and liberally dosed it with sugar and milk.
Back at his desk, he pulled up his emails, surprised when he saw two from Ryan and one from his contact at the GBI in regard to Summer’s ribbon.
He opened that one first, reading it quickly. The DNA results weren’t back, but there was definitely blood on the ribbon.
Tyler absorbed that bit of information, struggling to decide whether or not to tell Tavey or wait for the DNA to come back first.
He opened Ryan’s emails next, realizing he should probably check his voice mail. He’d had his phone off during court.
The first email contained the sketch they’d had made from one set of remains they’d found in the contaminated millpond last fall. Below the sketch was a photograph of a dark-haired girl sitting on the arm of a chair, smiling at the camera. The details of her identity: Jessica Burns, missing since 1986, the daughter of Sarah and Bryce Burns from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Ryan had written in the top of the email, “Interesting. And yes, Brent is her brother.”
“Goddamn,” Tyler muttered, leaning back in his chair.
He opened the second email. Ryan had written: “Very interesting.”
It was the coroner’s report. Jessica had been shot with a 35 mm handgun.
Only one other body, a young man who had yet to be identified, had been shot. The rest had been beaten to death, strangled, or died of unknown causes. The toxic, polluted water of the millpond had destroyed the soft tissues and contaminated the bones.
