by S W Vaughn
“Oh, my God,” she half-whispered. “It really is you.”
“Yeah. Welcome home, right?” He watched the first of two sheriff’s cars haul ass into the parking lot and head straight for them.
So much for going to bed early tonight.
Chapter 2
The Providence Forge sheriff’s office hadn’t changed, and neither had the sheriff. The former still looked like a set from a Wild West movie — one room with two desks and four cells. And the latter still wouldn’t be hurried along if there was a red-hot poker up his grizzled old ass.
Jude sat handcuffed on a bunk, in the nearest cell to the desk where Sheriff Andy Singer asked the standard report questions and entered the answers one-finger hunt-and-peck style on a typewriter from the ’70s.
So far, the sheriff had gotten through “what’s your name.”
He’d been right about the way things shook out on the scene. The sheriff and two deputies barely asked any questions, despite Danica trying to explain that Dylan McCabe and friends had started the fight. They saw three local boys on the ground and one stranger with bloody knuckles. That was enough evidence to cuff him and shove him in a squad car.
He had noticed the newer building next to the original sheriff’s office when they pulled up, a place that looked more like a modern law enforcement structure. The deputies had gone into the new place while Sheriff Singer brought him in here. Apparently, they’d expanded the police force somewhat around here — but they still brought prisoners to the old hoosegow.
The sheriff jammed a typewriter key hard enough to produce a musical ring, and then manually moved the paper in the roller to the next line. “All right, then,” he said. “Address?”
Jude sighed. “Sheriff, no disrespect intended, but if you’d let me make a phone call—”
“To the CIA?” Sheriff Singer arched an eyebrow. “I’m aware of your employment record, Mr. Wyland,” he said, gesturing at the bulky desktop on the far side of the desk. “We’ve got these newfangled things called computers. I may not like ’em, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use ’em.”
He held back a retort, which probably would’ve been something along the lines of no, I was going to call the Tooth Fairy. “I understand,” he said. “How about that phone call?”
“The newfangled computer also tells me that you resigned from the CIA six months ago.” The sheriff leaned forward slightly. “So no, I’m not giving you a phone call right now. I don’t give a damn what some old CIA buddy of yours has to say about clearance and national security and jurisdiction. You’re a civilian, and I’m going to process you like one. Now, what is your address?”
“Look, those assholes came at me—”
“Your address.”
Jude’s jaw clenched, but he made himself relax. “P.O. Box 552,” he said. “I’ll wait while you type that out, and then give you the rest.”
Sheriff Singer gave him a dry look. “Son, do you live at the post office?”
“No. Those boxes they rent out are a little snug.”
“Your address,” the sheriff repeated. “Where you live.”
He stared back. “I’m between residences right now.”
“So you’re a drifter. With a P.O. box.”
“Seems that way.”
The sheriff shook his head, and then started typing again. Even slower than before.
Jude slid back on the bunk a little and leaned his head against the bars. The plain truth was, he didn’t want the CIA to be able to locate him. It was just damned hard to set things up so they couldn’t. They wanted him back. And they’d offered plenty of enticements trying to change his mind about leaving.
But all the promotions, raises, bonuses and perks in the world wouldn’t un-murder his partner.
Sheriff Singer was still laboriously pecking away when a door banged open, and a familiar female voice said, “Sheriff, you have to let him go. They’re not pressing charges.”
Danica. Jude managed a slight smile as he opened his eyes and saw her standing in the entryway looking just as pretty as she had in high school — and just as stubborn. She’d always been a mule when she got hold of something. Wouldn’t let a thing go until it’d been resolved to her personal satisfaction, and her standards were damned high.
He’d admired that about her.
“Miss Murray,” the sheriff said, barely glancing in her direction. “I don’t recall deputizing you.”
Danica chuffed in annoyance and moved further into the room. “Sheriff, you know Dylan,” she said. “He was drunk, he was harassing me, and he started all this.”
“And?” The sheriff frowned. “Those boys were the ones bleeding on the ground,” he said. “Until we get a formal statement that no one is pressing charges—”
“Mike and Teddy already sent them home. They’re not pressing.”
Sheriff Singer grunted. “I’m sorely tempted to hold him anyway,” he said. “I don’t like people coming into my town, causing trouble.”
Danica planted a hand on her hip. “He grew up around here,” she said. “That’s—”
“I know who he is. Thinks he can waltz back in here and do whatever he wants, just because he was in the CIA.” The sheriff pushed back from the desk and stood, reaching for the thick ring of keys on his belt. “He’d better remember how much of a damn I don’t give about that.”
“The CIA?” Danica looked from the sheriff to Jude. “Do you really work for them?”
“Miss Murray. Don’t you go gettin’ any ideas, now.” The sheriff’s tone gentled slightly as he said it. “You need to let that be.”
Whatever he was talking about, the rigid set of her jaw said she absolutely wasn’t going to let it be. But she didn’t argue further.
Sheriff Singer opened the cell and motioned for Jude to get up. As he unlocked the handcuffs, he said, “I hope you’re not planning to stay in Providence Forge long, Mr. Wyland. Surely a man with your … history has better things to do with his time than rough up a few harmless small-town drunks.”
Jude lowered his arms slowly and turned to face the man. “Message received,” he said. “And I’d hope a man with your responsibilities might tell those harmless drunks to keep their hands off the places they’re not invited to put them.”
“Duly noted,” the sheriff said stiffly. “Now get out of my station.”
Jude was happy to oblige.
Chapter 3
When Danica offered him a lift, Jude had every intention of making small talk until they got back to the motel, where he planned to pack up and leave. He didn’t want to reminisce, and he sure as hell didn’t want to know any more about that cryptic little exchange between her and the sheriff when she found out about his CIA connection.
Yet here he was, at a truck stop diner on 95 halfway to Victory Falls. Having coffee. Reminiscing with Danica Murray.
And he had a feeling that an explanation was forthcoming, whether he wanted one or not.
She’d been one of his few actual friends in high school, which of course meant he’d crushed on her at some point. Most teenage boys were made out of hormones and awkwardness, and he’d been no exception. But they’d survived the awkward stage and come out all right in the end.
Even now she was good enough not to bring up what happened to his little sister, and then his parents. Or the fact that his brother had vanished just as completely as he had himself when the dust settled. He did know where Jeremy was, more or less — and his brother was even less likely to ever come back here.
“You’re so different now.” Danica smiled over her coffee at him. They’d been keeping the conversation light so far, talking about school. Who had the better tenth grade science teacher, whether old Mrs. Williams had retired from the front office where she’d worked since forever — she finally had, five years ago — and how Dylan was still an asshole. Now he sensed the tone shifting, and he wasn’t sure he wanted the questions. “I just can’t believe you work for the CIA,” she said.
“I
don’t.” It came out sharper than he intended, and he dialed back the hostility. “I did, but I’m retired now,” he said.
Her brow went up. “You’re what, thirty-three? That’s a hell of an early retirement.”
“Yeah. Please don’t ask why.”
“I won’t.” There was sympathetic curiosity in her eyes, but she didn’t press the issue. “But you still have connections, don’t you?” she said. “I mean, the CIA … that’s huge. You could find things out, if there was something people didn’t want found.”
He sighed and pushed his half-finished coffee aside. “Why don’t you tell me where you’re going with this?”
“Um. Well, I…” She wrapped both hands around her mug, as if she needed support to go on. “You remember my Aunt Sherry?”
“The crazy one.” He smiled as he said it so she’d know he was joking. Sherry Price was an eccentric woman, crazy in a fun way. She worked for the county Department of Building Development as an inspector, but the county wasn’t exactly a bustling hub of real estate, so the job was part time. Which left Sherry’s late afternoons free to teach an after-school art program. Every kid at VF had been in Crazy Sherry’s class a time or two.
He remembered something else about her, too. “She has that huge, weird basement in her house, right?” he said. “The one she always set up a Halloween maze in, but half the kids weren’t allowed to go there because the place scared the parents.”
Danica nodded. “That’s her,” she said. “The house was built over an abandoned train station and a bunch of old steam tunnels that were never finished. She told me about that more than a few times, how she’d fallen in love with the history of the place. How she adored the house.”
“The basement is pretty amazing,” Jude said. “Jeremy and I went for Halloween every year, after we took Amy home from trick or treating.”
The words were out before he thought about what he was saying, and the old pain surged with them. His little sister, five years old when he was a senior and Jer had started college, was taken from her bedroom one night. No note, no explanations, no suspects.
And not two weeks later came the accident that ended everything else.
“Jude … I never got to tell you,” Danica said. “I’m so sorry about Amy.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” he managed, forcibly pushing the thoughts away. Time to change the subject. “So what about Sherry?”
Danica hesitated, and finally said, “She’s missing.”
So that was what the strange little aside at the police station had been. With a missing adult, local law enforcement didn’t usually put much effort into finding them unless there was a compelling reason. “I take it the sheriff gave up on looking for her?” he said.
“He never even started.” Danica squeezed her coffee mug hard enough to whiten her knuckles. “I’m the only one who thinks she’s missing.”
“What, they think she just ran off?”
“No. They think she came back.” Her eyes glittered with frustration. “There’s a woman at the county office who claims to be Sherry Price. Looks like her, sounds like her. But she’s not my aunt,” she said. “Someone … replaced her.”
Damn. He knew there was a reason he didn’t want to hear an explanation. It was starting to sound like crazy ran in the family. “Danica—”
“I know it sounds insane.” She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply through her nostrils. “Sometimes I think I’m going crazy, too. But it’s just not her. I know it.”
He frowned. “How do you know?”
“A lot of things,” she said. “It started five months ago, when she supposedly went to some intensive class on building safety and code enforcement. For two months.”
Okay, that did sound a little strange. “Must’ve been really intensive,” he said.
“Come on. Two months of building safety? And she didn’t tell me or anyone else in the family she’d be gone that long, or at all. She just left.” Danica shook her head. “She would’ve told me, at least. Asked me to water her plants or something. But she didn’t.”
“Maybe she didn’t really love her plants.”
“Maybe. But she loved her house.” Danica relaxed her hands from the mug and toyed with an empty sugar packet on the table. “So why would she move to an apartment in Victory Falls the second she got back from this class, also without telling anyone? And then refuse to see or speak to her family?”
“I have no idea,” Jude said slowly. He hadn’t known Sherry that well. But he had to admit, this behavior was strange enough to worry a loving relative — and he knew Danica had been close to her aunt.
Still, there had to be an explanation that wasn’t someone going to elaborate lengths to impersonate a county building inspector.
“She claims it’s because of her job, the few times I’ve been able to communicate with her. I tricked her into answering her work phone once, and another time I cornered her at the grocery store,” Danica said. “A few weeks after this woman showed up pretending to be Sherry, the building chief died of a heart attack and she got promoted to head of the department. Says she’s too busy for socializing now. But she’s not my aunt.” A single tear pooled and dripped from one eye, and she swiped it away furiously. “Something terrible happened to her,” she whispered. “I know it.”
Jude remained silent for a moment, trying to process what she’d said. Mostly he was searching for a way to gently suggest that Danica was wrong. Her aunt had thrown herself into her work, for whatever reason, and she’d been hurt by the abandonment. That had to be it — because the idea that someone would impersonate a harmless nobody like Sherry Price for months was ridiculous.
At last he said, “Why would anyone do this? I mean, do you have some kind of motive in mind?”
“I don’t know.” She sniffled once and let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Jude,” she said. “I know what it sounds like, but … she’s just so wrong. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m crazy.”
He tried for an encouraging smile. “People really do change sometimes,” he said. “And not always for the better. I know you love your aunt, so that would make this hard on you. Of course you’re going to look for a reason. It’s just … there might not be one.”
“Yeah. I guess.” She looked off into the distance for a moment, and then pulled herself together. “There has to be something less depressing we can talk about,” she said.
He smirked. “You mean like high school?”
“Exactly.”
He could probably handle that. At least back then, his ghosts had been few and far between.
Chapter 4
It was a little after one in the morning when Danica dropped him off at the motel. Jude showered, washed down a couple of Advil with one of the beers he’d stashed earlier in the mini-fridge, and sat on the bed flipping the television aimlessly through late-night infomercials, bad movies and pay-per-view soft porn previews.
He’d probably been drinking too much since he left the CIA, but what the hell. There was no one left to care.
Did he really think he’d find some sort of closure here? This town held nothing for him. It was the place where his little sister had vanished without a trace, where a horrific car crash had killed his mother and left his father a breathing shell, where his brother had checked out of the real world and found something else to dull the pain. Something he couldn’t exactly condone — but he’d already decided to leave Jeremy alone.
After all, he was only returning the favor.
There was no possibility of closure for him, whatever that was supposed to mean. Not here, not anywhere. But maybe he could get some closure for Danica. Not by finding out what really happened to Sherry Price, because the answer was nothing. It was insane to believe otherwise.
Still, he could probably prove the woman was herself and put Danica’s mind at ease.
He got his laptop out from the closet where he’d stashed it, sat on the bed and powered it on. The motel WiFi took a few minutes to connect,
and he hit Google with Sherry’s name, expecting to find not much. Maybe a Facebook page and a link to the Department of Building Development website.
What he didn’t expect was a handful of articles about a massive, deadly apartment building fire in Victory Falls.
He clicked on the first link, an article from the New Kent County Star news website titled Sixteen Dead, Twenty-two Injured in Tragic Victory Falls Blaze. The piece was dated a little over five months ago — right around the time Danica claimed that her aunt left for a code enforcement class and never came back.
The details were horrific. The fire started in the basement of Magnolia Estates, a thirty-unit building recently constructed for low-middle income families on the east side of Victory Falls, an area the newspaper called a ‘rapidly developing, up-and-coming suburb community.’ The blaze had spread quickly in the middle of the night, when most of the occupants were asleep. Nine of the deaths had been children under twelve. Many of the injuries and a few of the deaths had occurred when people jumped out of third- and fourth-story windows trying to escape the fire. The building had been completely destroyed.
The only mention of Sherry came near the end, in a single paragraph:
The immediate report filed by county building inspector Sherry Price found that the cause of the deadly fire was ‘inconclusive.’ Victory Falls Fire Department investigator Malcolm Gardner is expected to conduct a more extensive search in the coming days, as the community attempts to come to grips with this devastating tragedy.
He frowned over that for a minute. Back in high school, the boring-ass jobs of adults hadn’t exactly been a topic of interest, but Danica had talked about her aunt’s job on several occasions. It was the only reason he knew where she worked. She’d thought it was a cool job, that Sherry was kind of like a detective — she used clues to figure out why things happened and who was responsible. And she always figured it out. She swore up and down that her aunt was as smart as Sherlock Holmes.
