Past Abandon

by Alice Ayden

  “Samuel.” Grand Maeve held out her hand. “It’s been too long.” She slyly smiled.

  “Maeve.” Maines kissed Grand Maeve’s delicate hand. “Beautiful as always. Isn’t it too cool out here?” He stopped. He remembered Maeve preferred cool weather to hot. He sat down at the table and looked up at the waitress ready to take his order. “Just ice tea. No sugar.”

  “You gotta have pie,” the waitress said. “We got the apple. Your favorite.” She grinned at Grand Maeve as if to ask, ‘Can’t you leave anyone for the rest of us?’

  Grand Maeve grinned back with a look that hinted all attractive men were her right.

  “Pie it is.” Maines looked at Grand Maeve. “Does everyone know my apple preference?”

  “People notice the preferences of the attractive.”

  The waitress nodded. “Can’t get over his eyes,” she muttered as she left.

  Maines didn’t think about his eyes, but someone did compare them to espresso with flecks of golden foam. That put a smile on his face, and he had to be reasonably good looking to attract Maeve. She didn’t collect ugly men. He shook his head. Why did Maeve reduce him to an unsure twelve year old? “Appreciate the invite, but we both know I’m long past your preferred age of confidants and companions. What do you need?”

  Grand Maeve smiled. “I love a handsome man who is unafraid of being direct. I’ve missed how clever you are, Samuel. And, while it is true I normally ceiling the age at thirty-six, I do make exceptions. From the memories of our time together, I would gladly break my own rule.”

  That statement lingered in the air like a small feather floating softly this way and that before landing quietly without fuss.

  “But...” Grand Maeve broke the silence. “I am here on behalf of my beloved granddaughter.”

  Maines’ stomach churned.

  Grand Maeve cleared her throat. “If Cora only realized the strength she possessed. With confidence, she could have my spunk.” She hesitated. “Cora’s mother…My daughter had a troubled soul as you well know. Not even your relationship with her helped.”

  Maines shifted in his chair. Even after more than twenty years, his memories of Emily Austen still gutted. “Speaking of...” Maines pulled out a picture of Jessica Suthers and placed it side by side on the table with one of Emily.

  Maeve looked at the two pictures. “My goodness, they could be twins.”

  Maines secretly wished that Maeve would have told her she didn’t see any resemblance. Maybe it was all in his head. Why else would a killer lead him back to Emily? “Anything you want to tell me about Emily’s death?”

  She pushed Jessica’s picture back toward Maines. “I refuse to relive that. Not even for you, Samuel. I couldn’t save my Emily, but I will not lose my granddaughter.” She sipped her water and dabbed at her face with a tissue. “I believe that odious neighbor of ours has been stalking, harassing, and god knows what else to Cora.”

  “Neighbor?” Maines thought of Ausmor and the neighbors. “The Bashleys to the west. Farmland to the north. The Stonstons? That would be V Morgan’s—”

  Grand Maeve threw up her hands as if she found the truth too hideous to hear. “We all pay because that man had to diddle unstable maids. What am I complaining about? Just because I took a chance with some nice handyman decades back, I’m saddled with something called a Bitty who resembles more an abandoned outhouse than me.” She sighed. “Cora has unexplained bruises and cuts. Many going back years.”

  “Years?” Maines leaned back in his chair. “And why is this the first I’m hearing of it? I swear, Maeve, I’m a detective. I could have done something. If people would just tell me what’s going on. But, no, it’s all hush this and don’t say that. God forbid some secret get out.” He stopped to draw breath knowing it was his own fault why he wasn't more involved. He'd decided that long ago. He thought he was doing the right thing for Cora. Now he wonders what his inaction has caused.

  Maeve waited. “All finished with the tizzy?”

  He nodded. “And what does Cora say about...” He stopped himself when he remembered Cora’s history and amnesia.

  Grand Maeve smiled. “I do like your fatherly concern.”

  Maines sighed and looked down. Once he looked up, his eyes betrayed his anger. “You didn’t bring me here for that. We don’t know for sure.”

  “I do.” She smiled. “My daughter might have suffered many things, but you were her first and only. Trust me, Samuel, it was most difficult to part with you. But once I introduced you to my daughter…I knew the way you looked at each other that it was meant to be.”

  Maines set his jaw and stared at Maeve.

  “Okay. Message received.” Maeve took out a folder and placed it on the table. “One of my...” she hesitated with the correct word.

  “Lovers?”

  Maeve’s eyes twinkled. “One can never have too many. One of them has done some. Oh, what do you call it in your business?” She sorted through various words. “Shoveling? But they have...what did he say? Hit a boulder?”

  “They’ve done some digging and hit a road block.” Maines corrected.

  Maeve flashed a look to tell Maines she cared little about the correct terminology. “That odious Johnston’s mother—”

  “Mags.” Maines sighed. “Everyone knows Mags.”

  Grand Maeve rolled her eyes and then placed her hand to her heart to calm herself. “As one of my men has informed me, Mags paid off a different family once or twice a year for years.”

  Maines didn’t know the significance. “And?”

  “She paid $100,000 to dozens of different families in addition to their pay and relocation expenses.” Maeve pointed to the folder. “There’s something with squiggly lines in there to explain.”

  Maines opened the folder and found a spreadsheet. He studied the numbers and graphs and read the notes. “The families left town and never returned?” He still didn’t see the problem. “Helping her employees relocate?”

  “That woman wouldn’t help a nun out of a ditch.” Maeve rolled her eyes. “Each family worked at Mags’ house, and each had a young daughter. I knew some of their staff. There were rumors of what Johnston did to those young girls.” She paused to allow the information to sink in. “Dozens of different families.”

  Maines grimaced then leaned back as the waitress brought the ice tea and apple pie. “Thanks.”

  “No problem, handsome.”

  Maines dug into the pie and mentally went through a list of people with unlimited resources and a fuzzy concept of legality. “And you’re not telling me the name of the guy who got this for you?”

  Maeve leaned forward. “But that would force you to talk with him when I am much better company.” Her normal seductive smile gave way to something else. “They all told him without fail...” She glanced around the café. They were alone since the cool windy day had forced the other customers indoors. “This isn’t the easiest thing to say or even contemplate. When that horrible creature, Johnston, assaulted them - he called them Cora.”

  Maines held onto the table. “And no one came forward?”

  She shook her head. “The demented halfwit is clearly obsessed. And when I get proof, no court will—”

  Maines held up his hand. “I’ll stop the prick.”

  Grand Maeve settled back in her chair and breathed deeply. “That is all I needed to hear.”

  Maines smiled. “And you would have done anything, wouldn’t you?” He didn’t wait for Maeve to answer him. “You have a picture of this Johnston? Can’t place him.”

  “Lucky you.” Grand Maeve made a face that could only be described as how an orange peel looked turned inside out. “He’s easily forgettable. Always smells of vinegar. Has an abnormally large forehead for having so little hair to cover it, and, no, I am fortunate enough to not possess a picture of him. Why would anyone have a memento of someone so dreadfully repellant?”

  Maines read through more of the file. Something caught his eye. “They found one who
moved back?”

  “Alison Quins.” Grand Maeve shuddered. “Another odious creature. Mags had been paying her $150,000 every three months.”

  Maines raised his eyebrows. “Pricey. Wait a minute. Had been? Why her and not the others? What did Johnston do to her? And why is she back? Why now?” He stopped himself. Weever had been his partner for too long. His thinking resembled hers.

  “We think she was being paid for her silence and to spy on Ausmor.”

  Maines leaned back in his chair. “You lost me.”

  “Alison Anne Quins.” Grand Maeve spit out the name. “Disturbing personality. She dropped her first name. Would only use Anne. Never used her last name. Became a tour guide at Ausmor. Despised Cora. And she would fashion her hair into a misshapen monstrosity that was just...” Grand Maeve couldn’t describe it. “Unflattering.”

  Maines frowned. “Now why would someone getting $600,000 a year need to work as a tour guide to a place they hated for people they despised?”

  “Who’s working as a tour guide?” Mags asked.

  Maines jumped. He hadn’t seen her approach.

  “Silent but deadly.” Grand Maeve sipped her water.

  “Hello, Maeve. Have you been doing something naughty?” Mags asked with a throaty laugh. “Isn’t it wonderful to do naughty things?”

  Luckily Maines had finished with his pie, but he shoved the plate away for the disgust gesture.

  Grand Maeve curled her lip. “Why are you so drunkenly giddy? Did one of your staff expire?”

  Mags produced her throaty laugh; Maines surveyed the café for a wounded animal.

  “Do you know Samuel Maines? He works as a detective for the homicide unit.” Grand Maeve smiled at Maines. “He and I used to be very close.”

  Maines had to look down. He couldn’t believe she could still make him blush.

  “I know many people.” Mags’ glance hovered near Maines. She smiled politely but coldly.

  Maines shivered a bit as Grand Maeve smiled. He knew about Mags and the Stonston clan. She refused to allow any person of even the slightest color, no matter the fusion, past her threshold.

  “I was discussing your son with Detective Maines.”

  Mags’ eyes widened. “Why on earth? Surely things have not descended to involving authorities? I do not appreciate your constant innuendo that Johnston would ever be disrespectful to Cora.” Mags’ eyes narrowed. Her pleasantries lasted about as long as a sweaty ice cube in August. “Johnston would not hurt Cora. Not. Ever. My son’s not like that. He’s always had a crush on Cora. That’s all. A harmless crush.” Mags’ focus slithered around the café as if searching for the correct words. “Innocent. He wouldn’t force the issue. Now, excuse me. I have someplace else to be.” She gathered her designer shopping bags together and left.

  “She’s prickly. How many times have you accused her son?”

  Grand Maeve shrugged. “She just has a guilty conscience.” She watched Mags leave then leaned in to Maines. “Never trust liars, especially if they are not adept at it. Did I mention that Tour Guide Anne’s cousin was married to the fortunate Daniel?”

  “Fortunate Daniel?”

  “Johnston’s older brother. The Morgan Stonston who died.”

  Maines nodded. “Her name is…”

  “Iphigenia,” Grand Maeve answered before rolling her eyes. “Old money likes to remind everyone just how truly out of touch they are. Starting with their tragic use of naming conventions.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Maines took a deep breath. “This Iphigenia’s cousin was attacked by Johnston, and she retaliated by marrying into the family?”

  “Sounds like she may know more about that, doesn’t it? Perhaps someone should talk with her but not at Stone Hill.”

  Maines laughed. “For obvious reasons. The sensors would know my...” He leaned in close and whispered, “Grandmother was black.”

  Grand Maeve mock gasped and grabbed her heart. She gave another sly glance in Mags’ direction. “Did I also mention Mags stopped her last check to Anne? After it had been dispersed? Did I mention no one’s seen Anne since several people at Ausmor witnessed her arguing with Johnston?”

  “She’s missing?”

  “I apologize for not telling you absolutely every detail concerning Cora. As you know it was what you had decided years ago.”

  Maines held up his hand to stop her. He already felt guilty about it. He didn’t need to be reminded.

  “Now that you know some of the specifics, what are you to do about it? I forget. Did I mention the knife?” Grand Maeve timed all information for optimum effect.

  Maines’ heart raced. “What knife?”

  Grand Maeve grinned. “I read about your dreadful case in the newspapers. The purple traitor used a knife?”

  “The perpetrator. Yes.”

  “It might not be relevant, but Mags gave Johnston a knife when he was just a little boy. Wasn’t that a thoughtful gift from one of hell’s favorites to another?”

  Maines couldn’t hide his curiosity. He impatiently tapped the table as he thought of the carvings on the bodies with the C, O, R, A letters. “Can you describe the knife?”

  Grand Maeve ran her fingers down her neck. “I haven’t seen the knife in years. It was small and curved with more handle than knife. I believe there was a chip out of the middle from when that idiot Johnston tried to slice a rock in two. Is that helpful?”

  Maines’ eyes narrowed as he mentally catalogued the evidence and knew he’d need more for a warrant. “But we’re close.”

  Chapter 22: Resolve

  Cora ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. She resisted the rising nausea and pulse spike. “Johnston. Why can I remember that I saw him in town but not exactly what he said?”

  Mrs. Kiness gingerly placed a napkin, a glass of milk, and a delicate rose plate just large enough for three cookies on the countertop in front of Cora. “My sister baked your favorite. Chocolate chip and caramel.”

  “My brain’s all kaflooyed.”

  “What’s that, dear?” Mrs. Kiness stared at the TV in the corner.

  “I saw that…” Cora hesitated to find just the right adjective to describe Johnston since Mrs. Kiness did not appreciate the delicacies of profanity. “I saw that asshat Johnston. Sorry, Mrs. Kiness, but there is no other way to describe him.”

  Mrs. Kiness started to say something but ended up nodding.

  Cora studied the cookies in front of her. She wanted to crawl inside the intoxicating sweet scent and wrap herself in the warmth of the chew.

  “Those’ll put brisket up your sunshine.” Father Brude, Mrs. Kiness’ oldest friend, said in his thick Irish accent as he propelled a few more cookies in his mouth.

  “Father Bruiser…” Cora stopped. “Sorry, Father Brude.”

  Father Bruiser laughed. “It’s alright, dear lass. I nursed that nickname back in the land of Eire decades before you were even a glint.” He proudly smiled as if recalling treasured moments. “That reputation is Dublin earned and one I wouldn’t part with for all the tumbleweeds in creation.”

  Cora grabbed a cookie and tore into it; the chocolate and caramel mixture melted before she inhaled. “At least, there’s a perk to my madness.”

  Mrs. Kiness lunged at Cora and placed her hand across her forehead. Her cinnamon and dried apple tinged spirit brew battled with the cookies for aroma prominence. “You do feel a wee bit warm. Was it another headache? Those dreaded things.” She clutched her cross.

  Jane touched her red bracelet. “Why can’t I remember this? Do you know about it?”

  Mrs. Kiness shook her head. “Only that it seems very important to you.”

  She took out a rag and anxiously started to dust the shiny granite. She glanced back at the television.

  Cora jumped up and pushed the bar stool back. She cringed at the screech the metal made against the shiny cement floor. “Sorry. You know for months now, I didn’t want to remember anything.”

  Mrs. Kiness studie
d Cora with wide eyes. “But you were doing so much to remember. Therapy and your journal and…”

  Cora shook her head. “I haven’t been to therapy, and that journal wasn’t for me.” She hinted she only wrote what she thought others wanted to know. She knew Mrs. Kiness would grasp her meaning.

  Mrs. Kiness sighed. “Oh, dear.”

  “Okay, so I didn’t want to remember because I thought it was easier. I mean why would someone want to remember something that was so…whatever it was that made me forget?”

  “I can understand your hesitations.”

  “But then Johnston…” Cora couldn’t help but cringe. “I saw him in town, and…”

  “And what?”

  Cora tried to remember. She could see herself standing in front of Johnston, but it was like a muted program. She had no idea what he was saying. “I can’t…”

  Mrs. Kiness let go of her rag and went to Cora. She held onto her arms. “Think, child. If you cannot remember what was said. Perhaps you can remember how you felt.”

  Cora thought about it. She closed her eyes and then opened them quickly. “Queasy.”

  “That’s understandable,” Father Brude said. “Known the Stonston clan all their lives.” He shivered.

  Cora snatched a few more cookies and gobbled to counteract the nausea. She zombie reached for more sustenance, but Mrs. Kiness snatched the plate out of Cora’s reach and swiftly handed her an apple instead.

  Cora recoiled from the fruit. “I’m not that hungry.”

  “I’m with you on that, dear lass,” Father Bruiser said, wrestling more cookies from Mrs. Kiness. “Fruit’s too beautiful to eat. God’s watercolors against the greenness of the trees. It’d be Satan’s shame to devour ‘em.”

  Cora paced. “But the way he looks at me…gives me the creeps.” She had to steady herself. “Makes me wonder what I can’t remember. How many times do you think I’ve lost my memories?”

  Mrs. Kiness shook her head. “Oh, dear, I really cannot say. Sometimes like around Christmas when you fell down the stairs, it was understandable that you lost memories because of the trauma. But there have been other times…” Mrs. Kiness paused as if thinking. “It does seem that sometimes you could not remember a few hours at a time. Like you left your room, and I found you later in the gardens looking as if you were lost.”