by Dan Padavona
“I notice a pattern with your children. Trouble follows them, or perhaps they follow trouble. A few months after Detective Ames charged your son with murder, your daughter escaped a serial killer in Georgia. Is that correct?”
Darcy groans an acknowledgment. She’s close to hanging up on the pushy reporter. Why is she bringing up the Georgia kidnappings and murders?
“But Sandy Young wasn’t so lucky. According to the sheriff’s office, Jennifer watched the killer murder Sandy and never intervened.”
“Don’t blame my daughter. She’s a victim.”
“She escaped, didn’t she? If she freed herself, she could have helped Sandy.”
Drumming her fingers on the desk, Darcy closes her eyes and tilts her head back.
“My daughter was chained to a wall and tortured. Jennifer escaped after Sandy Young’s murder, not during.”
“That’s not the information I received. Since there’s no one to verify Jennifer’s side of the story—”
“I’m hanging up. This conversation flew off the tracks.”
Darcy slams the phone down, stopping Shipley mid-question. Burying her face in her hands, she breathes until her pulse slows. Down the hall, a recruit pushes a cart past the room and stops outside Ketchum’s office. Their muttered voices carry back to Darcy as a phone rings somewhere in the building.
As Darcy rises from her chair, her cell rings. An unknown number. Worried Shipley got her private number, she answers with a grunt.
Silence greets her on the other end of the phone.
CHAPTER THREE
Thursday, September 10th
5:45 p.m.
Ghosts from Darcy’s past haunt her during the drive back to Genoa Cove: a young girl’s body buried in the sand on Seagull Island, Darcy’s friend, Amy Yang, murdered by the psychopath who captured Jennifer and Hunter. Traffic thins once she enters North Carolina, and as she angles toward the coast, she wonders why she agreed to return to the FBI. Remembering Julian’s stab wound, Darcy concedes they didn’t have a choice. He missed too many paychecks, the higher-ups unwilling to grant him sick leave since his injuries occurred off the job.
“That’s what you get for saving a teenager’s life,” she mutters to herself as she swings the Prius onto the coast road.
Switching from the interstate to the coastal route will cost her an extra fifteen minutes, but she needs the ocean. Watching the waves swell and crash against the shore is potent therapy. But it can’t drown out the memories of the Darkwater Cove murders, or the night Detective Ames arrested Hunter. Now Gail Shipley wants to dredge up the past.
Variegated reds and oranges color the hour before sunset. Under different circumstances, she might have pulled to the side of the road and clicked a photo of the sky. Now she only wants to swing into her own driveway before the last light fades.
Julian pushes a wheelbarrow through the front yard when Darcy arrives. She toots the horn, but he doesn’t react. Sighing, she watches him round the house. He wears headphones, lost in his music while he works. Nobody greets her in the driveway. The curtains part as someone peeks a head out the window. Jennifer. As Darcy lugs her bag onto her shoulder, her daughter appears in the doorway.
“I’m going to Kaitlyn’s,” she says, bounding down the driveway to help Darcy with her travel suitcase.
“I just pulled in. Don’t leave already.”
“Come on, Mom. It’s not like you’ve been gone a month. You left three days ago.”
“I know, but give your mom a break and stick around another hour. I miss my family.”
Jennifer concedes with a peck on Darcy’s cheek, complete with her trademark eye roll. The deck door slides open as Darcy fishes a soda out of the refrigerator. Julian peels off his gloves and smiles.
“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.” He plants a kiss on her lips and brushes the hair off her cheek. “What’s wrong? Something happen at work?”
Darcy takes a swig from the Coke bottle.
“Gail Shipley happened.”
The wheels turn inside Julian’s head before he gives her a questioning glance.
“Isn’t that the reporter who won a national news job a year ago?”
“The hag who harassed us during the Darkwater Cove murders. In the flesh.”
“Why on earth is she contacting you now?”
Darcy recounts her conversation with the pushy reporter, glossing over the accusatory questions. Julian reads between the lines.
“Don’t give her an interview,” he warns. “If she wants a story, she can call our office.”
“Oh, I won’t give her the time of day. But she has it in her head that we’re hiding something, that Hunter killed Amy Yang and—”
“She said that?” Jennifer asks from the entryway.
Darcy hadn’t heard her daughter approach from behind and didn’t want Jennifer to know about the accusations. Darcy raises a calming hand as Jennifer’s cheeks color, an outburst surging into her chest. She can’t blame Jennifer for getting upset. Shipley put Hunter in the cross-hairs.
“I defended your brother. Don’t worry about Gail Shipley. She’s the same snake she always was, trying to make a name for herself at the expense of others.”
“We should sue,” Jennifer says, setting her hands on her hips. “That would force her to leave Hunter alone.”
“Nobody’s suing anyone,” Julian says, draping an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder. “And we’re not telling Hunter. He doesn’t need the stress while he’s away at college.”
Darcy takes another sip and screws the cap on the soda, placing it inside the refrigerator.
“I’m just glad to be home. I missed my family. Hey, why don’t we pile into the car and grab ice cream in the village?”
Darcy expects her daughter to protest. Five minutes ago, she lobbied to snatch the car keys so she could visit her friend on the far end of Genoa Cove. Jennifer glances at Julian, who answers with a shrug.
“If Mom’s paying, I could go for a sundae,” Julian grins.
The ride into the village seems foreign to Darcy, the sunset somehow different. It occurs to her how little time she’s spent at home the last three weeks. The BAU keeps stealing days off the calendar.
At their favorite ice cream stand, Jennifer orders a vegan flavor while Julian grabs a mammoth banana split with strawberry sauce and whipped cream. Needing comfort food, Darcy sips from an extra large strawberry milkshake, the sweet drink chilling her brain and lifting her spirit. As they sit at one of five picnic tables on the lawn beside the ice cream stand, Darcy observes the easy banter between Julian and Jennifer, the way her daughter looks at him when she tells a joke or has something to say. Julian is the father Jennifer never had growing up. Tyler died when she wasn’t old enough to remember him.
While Jennifer stands in line for a gift card—she’s already planning the ice cream splurge when Hunter returns from college at Thanksgiving—Darcy tilts her head at Julian.
“You two are getting along, I see.”
Grinning, he wipes his mouth on a napkin and scoops another spoonful into his mouth.
“She misses you,” he says, pointing his spoon at Jennifer.
“I’m glad she has you, Julian. She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s at ease when you’re around. All I ever do is upset her.”
“That’s not true. She wears her hair like her mom, and she has many of your mannerisms.”
“Only the good ones, I hope.”
His eyes play over the line of customers, searching for Jennifer, who talks on her cell phone.
“And I think she has a boyfriend.”
Darcy sets the milkshake down. She wants her daughter to date. After the abduction in Georgia, Jennifer’s trust in males fell to a new low.
“How do you know?”
“Lots of secret conversations on the phone. Like if I’m around and her phone rings, she steps outside. I see her giggling a lot when she talks. Want me to check the guy out?”
“Let�
�s figure out if she’s seeing someone before we put surveillance on every teenage boy at Genoa Cove High.”
“Just an offer.”
Darcy glances over her shoulder. Jennifer is still on the phone.
“So this call with Gail Shipley.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about her anymore.”
“I don’t. But she mentioned things she shouldn’t have known. Like who was at the scene when Michael Rivers murdered Faust outside the cabin.”
Julian sets his spoon down and rubs his chin.
“She must have a source inside the department. I wouldn’t worry about it. The GCPD put the case to bed after the FBI discovered Faust worked for Rivers.” He grimaces. “We put our trust in Faust. She was my partner for over a year. Which reminds me. I have a new partner. Officer Harpur transferred in from Raleigh.”
“Oh? You should bring him over for dinner tomorrow. We have enough chicken to feed an army.”
“It’s a she, actually.”
Darcy cocks her head at him.
“What’s her name?”
“Cynthia. She’s a few years younger than me and shooting up the career ladder fast. I might have competition for the chief position when it opens. You don’t mind if I invite her over for a barbecue?”
“I’d mind if you didn’t. Besides, I want to know who’s keeping you in line.”
As Darcy finishes the milkshake, Jennifer returns and scoots beside Julian. She can’t stop grinning, and Darcy wonders if Julian’s theory about Jennifer having a boyfriend is correct. Never argue with a detective’s instincts.
While Jennifer lobbies Julian for a phone upgrade, Darcy tosses her cup in the trash. All around her, families enjoy the perfect evening inside the bustling village. A man ruffles his son’s hair and points toward the sunset, now a deep red on the horizon. A breeze touches Darcy’s neck. It carries the aroma of the Atlantic and warns of stormy days ahead.
Darcy rubs the goosebumps off her arm. Though the breeze should remind her of lazy days at the cove, she pictures dead girls deposited on the coast during the Darkwater Cove murders. She hurries back to her family as darkness crawls up from the sea.
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday, September 11th
4:30 p.m.
Flames leap through the grates and sear the chicken breasts as Darcy brushes on a red sauce. She steps back from the heat and wipes her brow, one ear tuned to the vehicles driving past the house. Julian sent a text an hour ago, warning her he and his new partner might be late. Something about a training exercise taking longer than expected.
Grabbing the tongs, Darcy flips the chicken and applies another layer of barbecue sauce as Julian’s car turns into the driveway.
“They’re here,” Jennifer says, poking her head out of the kitchen.
“Perfect timing. Can you bring out the plates? It’s cool enough to eat on the deck, don’t you think?”
“I’m on it.”
While Darcy flips the chicken, she hears the cupboards opening and closing inside the kitchen, the clink of glass and silverware. A moment later, Jennifer slides the deck door open with an impish grin.
“What?”
“Wait until you see her, Mom. She’s pretty.”
Darcy pauses. The door closes as voices rise in the kitchen. Julian is making introductions.
When Jennifer brings out the plates, an auburn-haired woman with high cheekbones, a button nose, and a flawless complexion follows Julian onto the deck. Julian is all smiles.
“Darcy, this is Detective Cynthia Harpur. Cynthia, my wife, Darcy.”
Wearing a skirt that shows off strong and shapely legs, Cynthia extends her hand.
“Hello. Julian talks about you so much. It’s great to meet the family.”
“Welcome to Genoa Cove,” Darcy says, motioning with her eyes for Jennifer to set the plates and silverware down. “I hope you like grilled chicken.”
“The only way to cook chicken is to grill it over hot coals.” Cynthia leans over the fire. “Smells amazing. This is a beautiful place you have. Great location, living so close to the cove.”
“We love the water, and the neighbors are nice. Well, most of them are.”
Cynthia glances at Julian in question. He clears his throat.
“Cynthia, tell Jennifer whose concert you watched last weekend.”
The female detective pats Jennifer’s arm and says, “I had second row tickets to see The Weeknd.”
Jennifer’s eyes widen.
“You’re kidding? That’s so cool. I’ve wanted to see him for two years.”
Darcy bites her lip and concentrates on the chicken. She has no idea who The Weeknd is.
“I know the promoter who booked the show, so if he comes around again, let me know and I’ll grab us tickets.”
A light breeze might knock Jennifer off her feet. Her mouth hangs open.
“Did you hear that, Mom? Cynthia can get us tickets.” Smirking, Jennifer sets one hand on her hip. “You don’t even know who we’re talking about, do you?”
Darcy attends to the grill and pretends not to notice.
“What did you say, honey?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Shifting his feet, Julian says, “The chicken is almost finished. I’ll grab the salad out of the fridge.”
Jennifer pulls Cynthia aside. They discuss more musicians Darcy has never heard of. Whatever happened to The Cure and Gene Loves Jezebel? Pop culture moved on without her. Realizing she’ll burn the chicken if she doesn’t remove the food from the direct heat, she uses the tongs to slide the breasts toward the outside of the grill. A black shape pulls her head to the yard. Something moves through the grass, much too large to be a mouse. She sets the tongs down and walks to the end of the deck. Peers into the grass and makes a mental note to mow the lawn before it rains again.
Hmm. Whatever caught her eye, it’s gone now.
As she returns to the grill, Jennifer screams. The shock causes Darcy to drop a chicken breast on the deck. Swirling to see what caused the commotion, Darcy follows Jennifer’s finger toward the deck stairs. A spider the size of a small rat crawls across the deck, angling toward Darcy’s feet. The disgusting arachnid looks like a tarantula minus the hairy bristles. Which makes little sense. Tarantulas aren’t indigenous to the Carolinas.
“Get away from it, Mom!”
The spider picks up speed and lurches at Darcy’s exposed feet. Without thinking, she stomps a sandaled foot on the creature. It twitches beneath the sandal. The damned thing won’t die.
Darcy crushes the spider again. Its eight legs wiggle as pus oozes from the flattened abdomen.
“What the hell was that thing?” Cynthia asks, covering her mouth with her hand.
Jennifer’s eyes are full moons.
“Is it dead? Did you kill it?”
“The show’s over,” Darcy says, lifting her sandal and grimacing at the remains plastered to the bottom. “Ugh. I’ll have to hose off my sandals. Jennifer, run inside and get the broom and dust pan.”
“I’m not sweeping that thing up.”
“Your mother will take care of it. Just do what I ask.”
As Jennifer rushes inside, Julian dodges her on the way out, raising the salad bowl over his head so the girl doesn’t knock it out of his hands.
“What did I miss?”
Darcy swipes the hair away from her eyes.
“Call Derek next door. I think I killed one of his pets.”
Kneeling beside the flattened arachnid, Julian uses a fork to prod the legs. The spider doesn’t respond. He shoots Darcy a doubtful stare.
“You think this thing belonged to Derek and Janelle?”
“He owns exotics. Tell him one of his tarantulas escaped, and I…just tell him.”
Julian examines the mangled form.
“That doesn’t look like any tarantula I’ve seen.”
Cynthia helps Darcy plate the chicken, both women giving the dead thing a wide berth. Where the heck is Je
nnifer with the broom?
“Found it,” Jennifer says, sliding the deck door open. “You didn’t tell me you hid it behind the washer.”
As Jennifer watches from a safe distance, Darcy sweeps the spider into the pan. Closing the dust pan, she swears the thing skitters around inside. But that’s her imagination going haywire. The spider couldn’t be more dead. That doesn’t prevent her from wincing every time the dead husk slides around inside the pan as she walks it toward the meadow. Standing back, she presses the switch and slides the corpse into the tall grass. She releases a held breath when the thing doesn’t spring to life and leap at her shin. Hopefully an animal or bird will make a quick meal of the beast. She doesn’t want to stare at it when she pushes the lawn mower through the grass.
Derek’s voice pulls her around. He crosses the lawn with Julian by his side. Darcy loves Derek and Janelle Ramirez. They’re good with her kids, and both love to garden, though Derek’s pet interests border on eccentric. During the Darkwater Cove murders and the year Michael Rivers escaped from prison, the Ramirez house sat vacant next door, vines and weeds snaking up the siding, the lawn taller than Darcy’s knees. Rivers watched Darcy from the master bedroom without her knowledge. She’s thankful a young married couple purchased the home. The day Derek and Janelle moved in, it felt as though Darcy jammed a stake through Dracula’s heart.
“Whatever you killed, it wasn’t one of my babies,” Derek laughs. He’s copper-skinned and wears an orange t-shirt with a v-neck, Bermuda shorts, and running sneakers. “Where is it?”
Darcy touches the broom bristles to the black spider as flies swarm the carcass.
“Damn,” Derek says, crouching down. He glances back at Darcy and Julian. “I don’t keep spiders and never had an interest in arachnids. If I owned a tarantula and it escaped, Janelle would build me a doghouse, and I’d have my own apartment for the first time since I finished grad school.”
“So this…whatever it is…isn’t yours?” Darcy asks.
“No way. My set up is basic these days. I own two bearded dragons. Lizards,” Derek adds when he spots Darcy’s confusion. “They’re friendlier than dogs. I also keep a Russian tortoise. She’s yea large.”
