by Deirdre Dore
“Let me go first, then, Tavey. Let me have the flashlight. I don’t want you hurt.”
She considered him, then turned away, keeping the flashlight pointed at the ground as she walked with deliberate, ground-eating strides.
Tyler followed her, keeping his weapon up, knowing they were exposed, but he couldn’t hear anything other than normal forest sounds. There were no engines, no voices.
He covered Tavey as best he could while they walked. She seemed to be following something, tracks of some kind.
He caught up to her, continuing to look around, keeping his weapon out and up, and trying to watch his feet at the same time. He managed to glance down at one point and saw the motorcycle tire tracks. Tavey was following them. The crazy woman didn’t have the brains God gave a damn possum.
“Tavey—”
“Shut up,” she muttered, pointing ahead, where the tracks they were following disappeared into the brush.
“There’s an old caretaker’s house back there,” she whispered. “I saw it on the survey from the purchase documents.”
Tyler didn’t remember anything about a caretaker’s house from the FBI investigation. “Are you sure?”
“No.” She shrugged. “It may not still be there.”
Tyler had a bad feeling that it was. He moved in front of her and took the flashlight. “I’m going first,” he ordered, and left her to follow as she would. “Try not to shoot me.”
“I’d like to shoot you,” Tavey said under her breath.
They pushed their way slowly through the trees, Tyler using them as cover as often as possible. He wanted to turn off the flashlight but didn’t know how they would get through the trees without it.
He didn’t see the house at first, just an enormous mound of vines. The glint of the flashlight on a piece of broken glass clued him in, however, and he realized that the house had been entirely overwhelmed by the forest.
Tyler walked to the building and shoved aside a section of the vines, making his way under them. He held them up for Tavey; they fell like a curtain behind her. They were enclosed in the sharp-smelling leafy dark. He played the flashlight over the building, revealing the frame of a window, its panes long since broken. He leaned inside. Tavey did the same next to him. There was a large room with an enormous hole where the fireplace had caved in and crashed through the floorboards.
“I’m going in,” Tavey said in a low voice and handed him the revolver as she bent and lifted one leg over the bottom of the frame. She ducked under and followed with her other leg, staying close to the wall since the floor was clearly unstable. She held out her hand for the revolver. Tyler gave it back to her against his better judgment and followed her inside, praying that the floor would hold him.
Once they were both inside, Tavey nodded to the flashlight and the gun in his hand. “The floor isn’t going to hold you if you walk any closer to the edge, and you can’t crawl easily with a gun. Give me the flashlight.” She held out the revolver for him to take.
Tyler handed over the flashlight, but he held on to her wrist when she handed him the gun. “Be careful,” he ordered, his blue eyes seeming gray in the glare of the flashlight.
Tavey’s hostility faded as she realized that he was in danger, that they were both in danger of falling through the floor.
“I will,” she whispered, and lowered herself to her knees, crawling to the edge of the hole and carefully shining the light downward. The sound of angry chittering made her freeze. She pointed the light in the direction of the sound and gasped when she saw a man’s body, his white face marked by gaping holes. She felt bile rising in her throat when she realized that something had been eating him. She swallowed and forced herself to play the flashlight over every corner of what looked like a basement. It had been systematically dug up, leaving piles of dirt and bricks that had clearly been shifted and tossed in a desperate effort to locate something that had long ago gone missing.
Were they looking for a body? Tavey wondered.
Once she felt like she’d seen everything, she backed up until she felt the steady, reassuring presence of Tyler against her hip.
She eased into a squat. “There’s a body. A man. He hasn’t been here that long.”
“Do you recognize him?”
“No,” Tavey said quietly in return, “but that doesn’t mean anything. There are animals. Maybe raccoons.”
“Perfect,” Tyler muttered. “Let’s go. I don’t think Bessie’s here.”
“No,” Tavey agreed. “Atohi was going to my grandfather’s cabin. We should get over there.”
“All right. You go first.”
Tavey stepped back out of the window and accepted the guns when he held them out to her. Tyler followed and they made their way back to the cars.
“How long will it take us to get there?” Tyler asked, opening the driver’s door to his truck.
Tavey was looking at her cell phone. No signal. Of course.
“It would be faster if we went through the woods,” she said simply, pointing in the general direction of the cabin. She had a good memory for maps, and Abraham’s car had one of those old dash compasses. They could make it if they were careful. “It’s only a mile and a half that way.”
Tyler was incredulous. “No fucking way, Tavey. That’s insane.”
“Stop,” she hushed him. “Either way we’re going through the woods. You remember the cabin. That murdering rapist was holed up there last year. This way we won’t have to drive all the way back around to my house and then up. We’ll cross down.”
“It’s pitch-black.”
“We have the lights.”
“You are crazy,” he said, but he didn’t look like he was refusing. “There’re some water bottles in the back of the truck,” he said, “and a backpack and some blankets behind the seat. They were my dogs’. They’re probably covered in hair.”
“Only way I like ’em.” Tavey was already moving.
IT TOOK AN hour to make their slow way through the woods in the direction of the cabin. Occasionally the signal in Tavey’s phone would blink on, and she’d check their position on the GPS against the cabin, redirecting their course.
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever agreed to,” Tyler muttered repeatedly. Tavey ignored him. The closer they got to the cabin, the closer they were to finding Bessie—and the truth about her father, maybe even about Summer.
They hadn’t even seen the cabin when the loud, rapid-fire bark of an angry dog echoed through the trees. Tyler moved faster, keeping the flashlight low, not wanting anyone to see their approach.
The dog continued to bark, leading them even more effectively than the GPS.
They saw the lights first, shining through the curtained windows, but the sound of a gunshot made them both freeze and drop to the forest floor. It smelled of pine needles and overturned dirt. Tyler stopped Tavey from standing with a hand on her arm.
“Stay here,” he ordered and turned off the flashlight. Tavey heard him as he scrambled up, sneaking through the barely moonlit dark to the wood-framed walls of the cabin. She chewed on her lip and followed slowly after him. She was angry with him. So angry with him. But not angry enough to want him dead.
There were two more shots in rapid succession and a woman screamed. Jane? Bessie?
Tavey worked her way around the house, trying to move quietly so that Tyler wouldn’t notice her behind him.
She heard a loud crash, like a door being kicked open, and hurried to the front of the cabin.
“Cherokee County Sheriff,” Tyler boomed. “Put your hands up.”
Tavey crept up the two short steps onto the porch and moved to the broken door, her revolver in hand. She was breathing deeply through her nose, her heartbeat loud and thunderous in her ears, making it difficult to hear.
Tyler’s back was to her. He had a gun pointed at
a handsome man with dark hair. She vaguely recognized him as Mark Arrowdale.
There were two people on the floor in the living room, their bodies fallen over each other like they’d been executed.
Mark was holding Jane securely in front of him, a gun pointed at her head.
Atohi’s rescued shepherd was standing a few feet away to her right, favoring his right leg. Blood matted the fur and she thought he might have been shot. He was growling, his eyes trained on Mark.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Mark said, his face sweating profusely. It was clear he’d had training, though. The gun in his hand didn’t shake or waver. “I’m going to move toward the door. Let me pass and I’ll release Jane. Get in my way and I’ll blow her brains out and then yours.”
“You’d be dead right afterward,” Tyler replied. “Let me take you in and we’ll work this out.”
“No, we won’t work this out,” Mark disagreed, making his way toward the door, toward Tavey.
The dog growled. Mark kicked at it, never removing the barrel of the gun from Jane’s head. The dog, his reflexes slowed by blood loss, tried to bite at his leg, but missed, and Mark’s kick hit him hard in the head. He went down.
Tavey was furious, and when his back was to her, she shot him in the leg. Bastard.
Mark cried out, dropping Jane, and aimed at the only target immediately in his line of vision—Tyler. He fired and Tyler fell backward, crashing into a rocking chair.
Tavey watched in mute horror as Tyler went down, her gun still aimed at Mark Arrowdale. “No,” she shouted, and fired twice, center-mass, as she’d been trained long ago by her grandfather.
Mark Arrowdale’s body fell onto his wife, who screamed and jolted away, talking to herself in the corner.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she kept repeating, her eyes far away and glazed, her hands covered in blood.
Tavey ignored her, running over to Tyler. He was cursing, holding a hand to his chest; his shirt was soaked red.
Tavey felt light-headed, but she ignored it and ran, trying not to look at the bodies of Atohi and Bessie as she passed them on the way to the bathroom. She grabbed three towels and ran back to Tyler’s side, pressing the thick cotton to the wound.
“Hold this,” she ordered him, and grabbed her cell phone. No signal.
“Shit,” she cursed, and threw it at the wall, where it shattered. “Okay.” She went to her knees beside Tyler. “I’m going to get Circe to hold this and then I’m going for help. Okay? Okay, Tyler?” He’d passed out.
“Please be okay,” she begged, and stood, ready to run back to the house if necessary, but knowing he wouldn’t make it that long. The sound of a siren made her turn and the sound of boots on the stairs preceded the tall, lean form of Ryan in his FBI tactical gear and vest. Several officers from the sheriff’s department filed in behind him.
“Ryan,” Tavey cried in relief, “Tyler’s been shot.”
Ryan hurried over to Tyler, pressing the towels down. “Come hold this,” he told Tavey.
“Go tell them that we need a stretcher, officer down,” he ordered one of the officers, though he didn’t have any jurisdiction.
He turned back to Tavey. “I have a medical helicopter on the way. The Triplets called us. We were already on our way up here when we heard the shots.”
“How did you know to bring a helicopter?” Tavey asked, though she didn’t care, she just wanted to talk so she wouldn’t cry.
“The Triplets suggested it,” he said, his worried eyes on Tyler’s pale face.
“How’d you let this happen, old man?” Ryan shook Tyler awake. “Come on, stay with us.”
Tyler whispered something. Ryan bent forward to hear and then leaned back with a soft chuckle.
He pushed up his glasses with his free hand and looked at Tavey. “He says it’s all your fault.”
39
FOUR DAYS LATER, Tavey stood in her family cemetery, her black dress pressed against her legs by the breeze. She wasn’t alone. Raquel, Chris, and a bandaged German shepherd stood at her side. Ryan, Brent, and Thomas stood a few feet back. They’d mourned Bessie and Atohi, laying them to rest side by side in a place of honor in the Collins family plot, and placing roses from the garden on the freshly turned earth. Tavey had also made sure that Chris’s father was included, though he’d never been a part of her life, but he was buried a little farther out, away from the beloveds.
They’d gotten the full story out of Jane—more or less. Talking with Jane had been even stranger than it ever had before.
Jane had explained in a halting, confused narrative what had happened all those years ago, sometimes talking to herself, sometimes arguing. Tavey had watched the interview through the one-way mirror in the interrogation room. Slowly, over the course of several hours, they managed to fit most of it together, all but the most important piece: what had happened to Summer.
“Mark came to the door and said I was the most beautiful woman in the world,” Jane had said, looking around the interview room at the sheriff’s office before dropping her gaze to her bandaged hands.
“He’s right. I was.” She frowned at the bandages before she continued.
“We would go out to the cabin and Charlie would be there with Gloria Belle.” She’d blinked up at the officer interviewing her and swallowed. “He was alive. I think Bessie and Atohi knew. I think they brought him food and stuff.”
She’d frowned. “I don’t deserve this. It wasn’t my fault. He made me.”
The investigator had calmed her down, assuring her that no one was blaming her. They’d been wrong about that. Tavey was blaming her.
“Charlie liked to gamble. Belle liked drugs. They always needed money. Mark had an idea for a real estate deal to get money, and he got Robbie to help, but Charlie had something better. Charlie had met some people who could bring us lots of money. Lots and lots of it.”
The investigator had asked what that was.
“Drugs,” she said succinctly. “He helped some bikers with their drugs.”
She’d shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “I didn’t do that part. I just did what Mark told me to do.”
She’d gone on to explain that Charlie had killed two bikers and stolen some money, planning to run away with Gloria. When the leader of the gang showed up to get his money, Mark had lied, saying that the couriers had never arrived, but that Charlie had disappeared.
“Charlie had disappeared before. The leader of the biker gang knew that, I think. Mark was clever to tell him that we’d never seen the couriers,” she’d reported with a smile that had chilled Tavey. “They believed us.”
She’d stopped smiling when the investigator pointed out that it was a crime to know about a murder and not report it. “I know,” she’d whispered in a small voice, “but I was afraid. Mark promised they would never be found.” She’d sounded annoyed.
She frowned and tossed her hair with one bandaged hand. “I know I should have reported it, but I was afraid they would kill me. I didn’t even see it happen.”
The officer asked her where she’d been, and Jane had frowned, confused. “I was at home. Where else would I be?”
Tavey didn’t know what to make of the backstory, but she had even more trouble with Jane’s version of recent events. She’d claimed that Mark had told her Charlie had died. That they needed to find his body so they could take the money. She said Mark had made her and Rob look, that he’d forced them to dig in the basement. She was sure he’d gone crazy.
Her bandaged hands and bruised face, not to mention Robert Carlson’s dead body, had seemed to support her story, but since Jane was more than half crazy herself, Tavey had a hard time believing it.
She’d said that when Mark couldn’t find the money, he was sure that Belle had moved it, and he’d kidnapped Belle’s momma so she would tell him Belle’s address. Jane
hadn’t known Belle had been kidnapped. Tavey actually believed the genuine surprise she’d seen on her face.
“He hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” she’d explained. “Her momma wouldn’t tell him.”
Bessie, I’ll miss you, Tavey had thought then, letting a tear fall unheeded down her cheek. Bessie had been tortured. Had died—likely an accident—in the middle of the beating Mark had been giving her. Mark had shot Atohi when he’d come to rescue her.
Tavey hoped they were together and at peace. If they had known that her father lived, and it seemed they had, then she was sure they’d protected him out of love—for the boy he’d been if not the man he’d become.
When asked about Summer’s disappearance, Jane had looked blank, as if the question confused her more than any of the others.
“Summer went missing the day after Charlie did. Maybe he took her,” she’d suggested, and Tavey’s hope that some information would come out about Summer died like a spark as it lifts from a campfire. Still, she’d learned that Summer had been following people in the woods, that Abraham, though aware that something had been going on, probably hadn’t been involved in her disappearance. The book that they’d found could have been dropped, maybe by Summer herself, when she’d followed her aunt and the others through the woods. Tavey wasn’t sure. She couldn’t help but feel that the book was a clue somehow, that Summer was trying to tell her something.
40
TAVEY SAT IN the parking lot of the hospital that bore her family’s name and wondered when she had turned into such a coward. Tyler had been there for four days and she hadn’t gone to visit. She’d spoken to him on the phone briefly about his uncle and how he wanted to handle any funeral services, but they hadn’t talked long. She’d already been chastised by Chris, Raquel, Ryan, and even the Triplets, who’d been spending more time with them while Jane was in protective custody. The FBI believed that if her story about the bikers was true, then she was in danger, but Jane just insisted that she needed to get back to her store to prepare for the solstice celebration.
