by Jesse Joren
"Are you sure you're not just soothing me?"
"I can't always give you details, but I promise I'll tell you when a job is risky. I'd rather not because I know you'll worry, but you're going to worry anyway."
He gave me a wry smile. "You might feel like a little break from me anyway."
Both of us knew that wasn't true.
You could surprise him when he gets back. Something from The Book of Eva, maybe.
"I can tell you're up to no good again," he said. "What are you plotting?"
"You don't always get to have all the secrets," I told him smugly.
--
Roxy was nowhere to be seen when I came home, but eventually I found her sleeping on a dresser in my closet.
"I can tell you missed the hell out of me," I grumbled, picking her up and rubbing my face into her fur.
She returned my greeting with lukewarm enthusiasm before returning to the dresser and going back to sleep. The pet-sitting service at the Ritz must have taken great care of her.
In my bathroom, cool and quiet, I took a long look at myself in the mirror. I expected to look tired after the long trip, but my face was glowing in a way I'd never seen before.
A weekend under Paris can have that effect.
My phone rang. Natalie had a sixth sense in her timing.
"You're uncanny," I said as I picked up. "I literally just walked back in the door. How was Thanksgiving with the St. Clairs?"
"They're really nice. Stella was there, but since their house is practically a hotel, I barely saw her. How was Paris?"
"Amazing. How much detail can you stand?"
"I want a lot of details, but it might need to wait." Her voice became very casual. "It Stephen still there with you?"
"No, he had to head back to the airport. He's going to be out of town for a couple of days. Why?"
"Because I have something to tell you, privately."
"Did something happen with you and Phillip?
"Nothing like that. You know those searches I've been running on Stephen?"
My heart sank. I'd been trying to forget about those.
"Uh-huh."
"We finally got a hit," she said. "I know what Strathshade is."
Chapter Forty-Five
Chattanooga was less than two hours north of Atlanta. It was a good place to visit the Tennessee Aquarium, stroll the riverside shops, and have lunch near the river.
Today I wasn't interested in any of those things. Natalie's search on Strathshade came back as the former name of a boat, listed for sale just outside of Chattanooga.
She had wanted to come with me, but there was no need for both of us to take vacation on this Monday morning. Plus, if I found out something bad, I wanted to hear it first.
My stomach was uneasy as I drove the Cayenne along the interstate. I felt like a spy, and my only defense was that I had asked Natalie to investigate that strange, delirious word before Hex had become so willing to share information.
Now I wished I hadn't. The past might not be something I wanted to dig up, but here it was anyway, leaving me with no choice but to see it through.
My cell phone was my only connection to Hex today. I'd told him that Carerra needed me to go out of town for the day, and after a brief silence, he just told me to be careful and have fun.
He was trying to give me space, and I knew how hard that was for him. So here I was driving for an appointment with a raspy-voiced guy named Roy McLeod who thought I was checking out a used boat for my dad.
You don’t have to do this. Go back to Atlanta.
Easier said than done. Now I would always wonder if I didn't follow up on this lead. I tried to tell myself that Hex had snooped so much in my life that doing this was only balancing the karmic scale.
Even so, my breakfast of pineapple smoothie churned uneasily inside of me. Like the ghost of Elvis Presley, my guilt simply wouldn't leave the building.
--
It was late morning when I pulled up at Erwin Marina. A cold wind was scooting dead leaves across the mostly deserted parking lot. I parked beside the gate that went to Dock D, crowded with boats of every size.
Strathshade. What an odd name for a boat. Natalie had mentioned that if the boat hadn't gone up for sale recently, her search might never have found it. It wasn't even the current name, but papers showed Strathshade as the original name of transfer.
The docks were as deserted as the parking lot, but there was movement down at the end. A thick-bodied man in heavy clothes was moving around a large sailboat.
"Mr. McLeod?" I called, pulling my coat closer around me.
"Yep, that's me," he said, coming toward me. It was the same voice, raspy and very Southern. "You the one looking for a boat for your dad?"
"Guilty," I said with a forced smile. "I'm Eva."
He stopped at another boat a few slips away. His pronounced limp made me wish I wasn't troubling him on a cold day.
His knock on the boat brought a young couple to the door of the cabin. The girl was holding a baby, and there were sounds of a TV somewhere inside.
"Hey there, this young lady is coming on my boat to see about buying it," he told her. "Not asking you to chaperone, but she'll check in with you on the way out, if you don't mind."
"Sure," the guy said, looking amused. "We'll be here."
"You can't be too careful these days," McLeod said to me as we went toward his boat. "I didn't know you'd be alone, or my wife would have come. The weather is a bitch for her arthritis."
He shot me an apologetic look. "Sorry about the language."
His faded blue sweater was ragged, the gray sweatpants shapeless. His hair and beard seemed to be one continuous curly gray mass, but his eyes twinkled with dark brown good humor inside a web of smile lines.
A gust of wind blew across the water, making me shiver. It was obviously difficult for him to scramble back onto the boat, but he gallantly helped me aboard.
"Let’s get you out of the wind," he said, extending his hand. "Sorry about the gloves. Can't work without 'em in weather like this. Cold gets me right in the joints."
He gestured to the cabin. "Warmer in there," he said. "Don’t want you to freeze while we talk."
In my purse was a bottle of bear mace with a range of thirty feet. If this kind old man made one false move, I'd baste him in pepper like an Asian stir-fry. Hex's paranoia was starting to rub off on me.
We stepped down into a living room with a small kitchen area to one side. The view of the water was pretty from the high front windows. Clearly the boat wasn't new, but someone had taken pains to keep it in good condition.
"I can make some coffee," Roy said, "but it's just gonna be plain Folgers, none of that fancy coffee store stuff."
He cast a doubtful glance at my high-heeled boots and sparkly jeans. Probably I didn't look like someone who could give an informed opinion on a boat.
Probably because you aren't.
"That's okay," I said. "My dad asked me to come check it out, since he's out of state. He loved the name."
Roy laughed.
"She Got the House? Yeah, and pretty much the truth with my first wife. Hate to see it go, but I can't take care of her anymore."
"Actually Mr. McLeod," I said carefully, "I meant the previous name. Strathshade. Are you the original owner?"
"Nope, but they was nice people," he said. "I feel kind of guilty still about getting her so cheap."
"What kind of people were they?" I asked.
His look became wary.
"They was alright. So what can I tell you about the boat? I've got all the maintenance records, and paperwork to show she's never been in salt water."
"That's great," I said. "So do the previous owners have any documentation to go with that too? My dad is pretty thorough."
Now he was scowling at me.
"You ain't here to buy this boat," he said. "You're one of them reporters. I thought I was done with you people."
"I'm not a reporter," I said.
>
"But you know something about this boat."
I was already lying my ass off. Why not go full-throttle?
"I'm on a private job," I said. "Anything I learn won't ever be published."
"Private job? For who?"
"Uh…some members of the family."
McLeod snorted. "Seems to me the Dantes would already know all the details about their own boat."
Hearing that name fall from his lips made my heart go cold. "I'd appreciate anything you can tell me."
He sighed, putting water to boil. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything you're willing to share."
He was silent as he fumbled with the coffee, his gloves making him clumsy with the spoon.
"It never made the papers," he said at last. "Them people had enough problems. Missy, you're hurting a family that's seen enough grief."
"I'm not publishing anything," I promised, but an icy fear was starting to grip me.
"They sold me this boat cheap," he said, "and I promised to rename it. The dad was tight-lipped, but the mom told me the story. Seemed like she needed to talk after what happened."
"What do you mean?"
He looked confused. "Ain't that why you're here? That business about them girls?"
"That's right," I said, trying to hide the quiver in my voice. "The girls. That's why I'm here."
He leaned against the counter, looking embarrassed and angry.
"It was that younger son of theirs," he growled. "Rotten little bastard, if you'll pardon my French."
His raspy voice became a wet cough. It didn't stop him from lighting a cigarette, and I longed to be outside, cold wind or not.
"What did he do?" I asked.
"He was taking girls out on the boat, down on Lake Jocassee. then drugging and raping them. Sounds like he had a thing for his brother's girlfriend, then he disappeared. He was supposed to be some sort of whiz kid, but sounds like it didn't do him no good. The brother died on a boat not long after."
He dragged on the cigarette and gave a shaky laugh. "I don't believe in curses, but them people had some shitty luck. Excuse my language."
Desperately I clung to one thought: Natalie was thorough. If something like this had happened, she would have found it.
"Did this ever make the news?" I asked.
"Folks in a small town are close-mouthed. Stuff gets covered up, plus it sounded like no one wanted them girls having to testify."
"Are you sure it was the younger brother?" I asked. "Some people I've interviewed said –"
"Positive. It was the one named Stephen. Killen was the older one who died. I'll never forget that mama, crying over both of them."
He gave me another resentful look. "Don't you dare print none of this. Leave 'em the hell alone."
"Don't worry," I said. "No one will hear it from me."
Chapter Forty-Six
"Say something," Natalie ordered in my ear as I was taking the twisty roads out of Chattanooga at death-defying speed.
"What do you want me to say?" I asked.
"Slow the fuck down. I can hear how fast you're driving all the way through the phone. Are you listening to me?"
"Yes."
"Words from a gossipy old man trying to sell a boat isn't state's evidence," she said. "Let me check this before you start freaking out."
"What's to freak about? Hex may just be a serial rapist." I gave a strangled laugh. "Why is that any reason to be upset?"
"Let me run the checks," she insisted. "Don't panic. This old coot may have gotten it all wrong."
Roy McLeod had seemed all too sane to me. He'd looked angry and disappointed as I left in a hurry. Maybe next time he'd stick to details about the boat and not its cargo of bad memories.
"His real name is Stephen Dante," I said abruptly. "So I guess Killen Dante is the brother. You might check those too."
Natalie paused. "How do you know that?"
"He told me on Halloween night. He said he was from around Sapphire. I think that's in the Carolinas. Of course, it could be another alias," I said with a bitter laugh.
"One way to find out," she agreed. "I'll get them checked too."
Part of me was horrified that I'd just given away Hex's secret so easily. Another part of me said that after what Roy McLeod had told me, I couldn't afford not to check.
"He could have hurt me a thousand times already," I said, as much to myself as her. "This doesn't make sense."
Natalie sounded exasperated. "That's exactly why I need to check this out before —"
My phone rang. It was Hex.
"Let me call you back, Natalie." I switched the calls, trying to calm my voice. "Hello?"
"Hey, gorgeous," Hex said. "I'll be back tomorrow night for sure. How about I swoop you up for a night at my place?"
"Sure, it sounds great."
There was a long pause. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Damn him and his intuition. No way I could hide how today had affected me. The best chance was to disguise it.
"Natalie and Phillip had a fight," I lied, "so we're doing female over-analysis while I drive home. What is it with you guys?"
"Tell her not to be too hard on him," Hex said. "He checks out as being one of the genuine good ones."
But are you, Hex? You don't even have to be good. Just not the guy who belongs to the story I heard half an hour ago.
"I'll let her know," I said.
"You still sound strange. That must have been some fight."
"Natalie can tell you about it."
"Let me know if she wants to hear what he tells his friends about his side of the fight," Hex laughed.
In spite of everything, that made me smile. His low, comforting voice sounded wonderful in my ear.
There had to be more to that story. Hex couldn't make me feel this way if that story was true. Some part of me would know.
Even my love couldn't be that blind.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Natalie called late on Tuesday morning.
"I've had three different research firms working on this," she began. "Nothing on Stephen and Killen Dante yet, but they did find a Rosine Bambi Rogers in a county that borders Lake Jocassee. Rosine isn't a common name."
"Did you say Bambi?" I asked.
"Yep. Talk about a name that comes with its own stripper pole. Nothing else is showing up, and nothing in the archives about a serial rapist. My working theory is that the old dude was high on Folgers."
"Do you really think he could be that wrong?" I asked hopefully.
"I think he's got his stories crossed," Natalie said. "Anything this lurid would have showed up somewhere, small town or not. Especially if it involved a Bambi."
That made me laugh. Natalie was one of the most suspicious people I knew. If she thought the stories were crossed, they almost certainly were.
"By the way," she said, obviously trying to change the subject, "we're having a little engagement party next weekend. Phillip's mom is kind of insisting on dress-up."
Worried or not, I loved to hear Natalie talk about Phillip. Her voice took on a tender note that she probably didn't even notice, telling me that she'd found her Prince Charming.
"I'll be there," I said. "Where is 'there,' by the way?"
"The presidential suite at the St. Regis."
I whistled. "You're moving in the big leagues. Is Stella coming?"
"I'm afraid so, but there's got to be a balcony with the suite. We can lock her outside if she gets too bad."
"Or give her a push."
"Just raid your designer closet. It will save us a murder charge if Stella throws herself off the building with envy."
"I have a better idea," I said. "I'm going shopping for a new dress."
"Right. With all those gorgeous designer clothes?"
"I want something bought with my own money," I said. "First time since April. I might even play hooky and go this afternoon. My ability to concentrate on work is gone."
There was a long pause on
Natalie's end.
"I have an idea," she said after a minute. "How about I come with you? For once, I don't have any meetings. We'll have the stores to ourselves."
"The shining star of St. Clair and Associates without meetings? Say it ain't so."
"There have to be benefits for sleeping with my boss," she said.
--
Lenox Square wasn't exactly deserted, but it was far better than trying to get near it on a weekend. Our parking spot was right in front of Macy's. That seemed like it would do less damage than some of the other options Natalie suggested.
"I still think this is silly," she said as we climbed out. "You're going in here to drop money on a dress that won't be as nice as what you already have."
"I'm a girl with principles."
"What you are," she said as we went inside, "is pig-headed. Let's find you a dress."
Her phone rang.
"Work," she mouthed. "I'll see you upstairs. Gotta take this."
As I went up the escalator, it occurred to me that this was unlike any other shopping trip in my life. In the past, it was all about finding anything that would fit. Finding something I actually liked was as good as a lottery win.
A saleslady was smiling at me. "Can I help you find something?" she asked.
"Just here to try on some dresses," I said.
"Take your time. Let me know when you need a dressing room."
Rack after rack of beautiful dresses wafted the thrilling perfume of new clothes. I made my way through the sizes, a little buzz of happiness growing inside of me in spite of my worries.
There they were, my new friends in the single digits. Each dress was begging to go home with me. A quick glance at the price tags said that most of these lovely dresses were going to be wallflowers.
It didn't take long to have an armload of possibilities. They were all pretty, but there was one deep-blue, one-shouldered style that felt like it might be The One.
"I see you didn't have any trouble finding something you like," the sales lady laughed, steering me to a dressing room. "We have a six-item limit, but don't worry about it. Enjoy."
I had trouble fitting all the dresses onto the hooks in my rose-and-gold dressing room. Eva Bright was on a shopping spree.
Guess that cracking sound was Hell freezing over.
