Dead Little Darlings

by Herron, Rita

  She inhaled sharply, then took his hand and led him to her bedroom. He’d been in this room a dozen times, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the room being trashed. Just as she said, bits of torn paper and ripped photographs littered her desk and floor.

  She shuddered then pointed toward her bathroom. “Whoever broke in left me a message on the mirror.”

  Careful not to touch anything, Ryker clenched his jaw as he stepped to the door of the bathroom. The red lipsticked writing made his blood run cold.

  Stop asking questions, or you’ll die just like the Darlings.

  He glanced at Marilyn. Her face was ashen, the violation of her home and the attempt on her life the day before taking their toll.

  “I’m going to call a crime team to process your place,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find some prints.”

  “I’ll need a new security system, too,” Marilyn said. “Somehow the intruder hacked my code and got in without breaking a door.”

  He slipped his arm around her and rubbed her back again. “We’ll find out who did this, Marilyn. I swear we will.”

  “I know,” she said with a tilt of her chin. “You’re good at your job.”

  “You’re more than a job,” he said in a husky whisper.

  Her eyes glittered with emotions as she looked up at him. She parted her lips as if she was going to say something, then her breath caught, and she glanced at the shredded articles and pictures in her room. “I must be onto something,” she said. “Someone knows I’m investigating the Darlings’ and Eaton’s death.”

  “We can set you up in a safe house until this is over,” he suggested. God, he wished she’d take him up on the offer.

  She shook her head no. “I’m not running from this story, Ryker. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to expose the truth.”

  He’d expected no less.

  Still, he was worried about her.

  He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her again just because he needed to feel her lips against his.

  He’d do anything necessary to keep her safe.

  While Marilyn watched the ERT search her condo for prints and collect forensics, she drew on her anger to replace her fear. Someone had invaded her private sanctuary. Someone who wanted to scare her.

  She refused to give in to scare tactics and let them win.

  Ryker made some phone calls, one to his mother. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she heard him promising to come by for dinner the next week.

  “I’ll try to bring my friend,” he murmured. “But she’s a busy lady and works a lot.”

  Marilyn’s pulse jumped. Was he planning to invite her to his family dinner? To meet his mother?

  Was she ready for that?

  One of the investigators paused by the table where she’d set her laptop after they’d dusted the table for prints.

  “The lipstick—”

  “It was mine,” Marilyn said. “Take it. Maybe you’ll get DNA off of it.”

  The young man bagged it just as Ryker returned to her side.

  His phone buzzed again. He checked the number, then murmured it was Agent Manson and stepped into the kitchen to take the call.

  She booted up her computer then ran a search for abandoned babies during a three-week time frame before and after the week she’d seen Deborah murdered.

  She found one article about a kidnapping, but the infant had been found with its father in Tennessee. She phoned her friend Piper from the SPD and asked her to dig deeper into the adoptions and reports of missing/found babies.

  Piper was the daughter of William Flagler, the detective who’d originally investigated the Darling case. When she and Piper first met, Piper confided that her father had been haunted by the case ever since he’d been forced to retire. Piper felt guilty herself for that decision because she and her father had fought before his accident.

  Piper wanted to give him closure.

  She was also intrigued by the Keepers and offered to help Marilyn in any way she could, as long as Marilyn kept their relationship confidential.

  Ryker’s comments about the teens who attended school with the Darlings replayed in her head. When she hung up with Piper, she decided she’d talk to Jeremy Linchfield today. She googled his name and learned he was a computer programmer who worked from home.

  Just as she closed her computer, the crime team finished and left. Ryker returned with a puckered frown. “We have a warrant for the Darling house. I’m meeting Agent Manson there in a few.” He glanced at her computer. “I can send a uniform over to guard you until we tie up this case.”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard,” Marilyn said. “I have work to do.”

  Ryker’s eyes darkened, and he paused beside her and traced his thumb over her arm. “I don’t want you going around alone asking questions, Marilyn. You saw that message.”

  She forced herself not to shudder. “If it were you, you wouldn’t let someone terrorize you into hiding out.” She placed her hand on his jaw. “I’m not going to do that either, Ryker.” She gestured toward the locked kitchen drawer. “I have a pistol. I’ll take it with me and I’ll be fine.”

  His jaw tightened. “I don’t like it,” he said, his voice thick with worry.

  “I know, but I’m going to finish my story.” It was too important to abandon.

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “I promise I’ll be careful. You need to be careful, too.”

  Their gazes locked. His breath rattled out. Finally he sighed as if he knew he had no chance of convincing her to stay put. “When this is over, we have things to discuss.”

  Her breath stalled in her chest. But she nodded. She owed Ryker a conversation.

  “I’ll call your security company while you shower,” he offered. “I want to find out how someone got your code.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hurried to take a quick shower. By the time she emerged from the shower and was dressed, he’d questioned the people at her security company, fired them and arranged for a different company to install a new system.

  “They have no idea how someone got your code,” Ryker told her. “But they’re going to question their staff. It’s also possible that someone hacked into their system.”

  “Thanks for doing that.”

  He squeezed her arm. “I’d do anything for you, Marilyn. You know that by now.”

  And she’d do anything for him. Except confess about what she’d seen. She wasn’t ready yet. Maybe she never would be.

  His phone buzzed again. “It’s Agent Manson. I have to go.”

  They kissed again, and he left, but made her promise to check in regularly.

  She retrieved her gun from the drawer and ran her fingers over the smooth metal.

  If someone came after her, this time she’d be ready.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marilyn headed out to her car, anxious to talk to Jeremy. As she drove, she scanned the road and side streets for the vehicle that had tried to hit her yesterday.

  When she arrived at Jeremy’s, she pasted on a smile as she knocked on his door. A noise sounded inside, then locks turned and the door opened.

  Jeremy frowned at her from his wheelchair. “I figured you’d show up sometime.”

  So he knew who she was. “Why is that?” Marilyn asked.

  “Cause the cops stopped by yesterday.”

  She softened her tone. “I’d like to talk to you about the Darling girls.”

  “I already told that detective I don’t know anything,” Jeremy said bluntly.

  “Maybe so. But I have reason to believe those girls weren’t so sweet, that they were bullies and that they might even be responsible for your accident.”

  He made a low sound in his throat. “You’re a reporter. Don’t you read the news?” He barked. “I was drunk.”

/>   “Were you?” Marilyn asked.

  Jeremy’s look flattened as if he hadn’t expected her to challenge him.

  “That’s what the tox screen said.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m interested in your side of the story.” She offered him a smile. “If you were wronged, it’s time you spoke up.”

  “It won’t make any difference.” Jeremy gripped the arms of his wheelchair.

  “You’re right, it won’t change your condition, but justice needs to be served. For you . . . and if the Darling girls hurt your friend, Preston, he deserves it, too.” She inched closer, wedging one foot inside the door. “Tell me what happened the night of the accident,” she said. “They say telling the truth will set you free.”

  Jeremy glowered at her. “Some secrets aren’t ours to tell.”

  “And some destroy you if you keep them bottled up inside.” She should know. Sometimes she felt as if she was going to explode.

  “I’m not going to talk about Preston,” Jeremy said. “All I can say is that you’re right about justice. Sometimes that means stepping outside the law like the Keepers.”

  Marilyn’s heart hammered. Was he implying the Keepers had taken care of the Darling girls?

  How could that be true? They’d only formed their group recently . . .

  Unless the man they called the Punisher had been a Keeper and the Keepers had been exacting their own brand of justice for years without being discovered.

  Or . . . another possibility: Jeremy and Preston had conspired to make the Darling girls pay.

  Ryker’s nerves were on edge. Damn, he wanted Marilyn with him. Wanted to protect her.

  But he understood her tenacity. Hell, he admired her for it. But he wished he could keep an eye on her all the time.

  Not going to happen. Smothering Marilyn would only make her run.

  He swung by the station to pick up the warrant for the Darling house, then called the ME.

  “Dr. Patton, it’s Detective Brockett. I have a question about the bodies of Candace and Deborah Darling.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did either one of the girls give birth?”

  A heartbeat passed. “As a matter of fact, yes. With bones this old, I had to consult the forensic anthropologist for verification. Dr. Lofton confirmed that Deborah Darling had given birth. She’s still working on Candace’s remains.”

  A chill engulfed Ryker. If Mr. Darling had known his daughter or daughters were pregnant, that provided motive.

  On the other hand, they didn’t have definitive time of death, so the girls could have run away because of the pregnancies, stayed with someone else, then been murdered later.

  Questions assailed him. What happened to the baby? And where had Deborah been during the months she carried the child?

  He pressed the accelerator and sped toward the Darling house, his mind racing with more questions. How had Marilyn known about the pregnancy?

  More dark clouds rolled in over Seahawk Island, the winter wind beating at the marsh grass. He slowed as he passed the Village, and glanced at the lighthouse where Marilyn said Eaton might have seen the girls.

  If the sisters had been at the pier, they could have taken a boat over to one of the smaller islands a few miles out to sea. But if so, where had they stayed? Had someone given them housing until Deborah delivered?

  Then what? Sometime later she’d fallen prey to the man who’d killed her? Or her father had found her?

  The pieces were still scattered.

  Agent Manson’s car was waiting on the side street in front of Darling’s house when he arrived. She followed him to the drive and parked behind him.

  Warrant in hand, they walked up to the door together.

  “Any updates on the Eaton case?” she asked.

  Marilyn’s state of emotional upheaval came to mind. But a fierce wave of protectiveness swelled up inside of him. He didn’t want to discuss Marilyn with Caroline. “It’s possible there’s a connection with Eaton to the Darling case, but it’s too soon to tell.”

  She rang the doorbell. “Why do you think they’re connected?”

  The door opened, saving him from having to respond. “Mr. Darling, we have a warrant to search your house and property.”

  The older man’s face paled, but he stepped aside as if he’d been expecting them.

  Marilyn needed Jeremy to open up. “Just because you weren’t friendly to a girl doesn’t mean you deserved to be handicapped for life.”

  He wheeled himself across the room and gazed out the window into the back yard. The wind shook the trees, rattling the windowpanes.

  “I appreciate the way you handled the Keeper stories,” he finally murmured. “Most people see the law as black and white. You found a way to show both sides.”

  “Sometimes the law protects the accused more than the victims,” Marilyn agreed.

  Jeremy rubbed a hand through his thick brown hair. He was a handsome guy, but pain lined his face. “You’re right. The Keepers, they’re just victims trying to take back their lives.”

  “You seem to have done that yourself,” Marilyn said.

  He made a sarcastic sound. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I understand what it’s like now to have people judge you from what they see on the surface.”

  “You were only teenagers,” she uttered softly.

  “We should have at least been kind,” he said. “Tried to understand where those girls came from. But we were jocks and into being popular and had big plans for college.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I’d just been offered a scholarship,” Jeremy added. “Preston threw a party for me at his mother’s beach house. We snuck in beer and cheap wine, and all our friends showed up.”

  “You were all drinking,” Marilyn said, urging him to continue.

  Jeremy murmured that they were. “But I hadn’t told my folks about the scholarship offer yet, and wanted to surprise them that night. So I only had a beer. Preston had a few and passed out in the back room before I left.”

  Marilyn studied him. “Earlier, you said you were drunk when you had the accident?”

  Bitterness edged his tone, “I said the tox screen showed that. I think someone drugged my water bottle,” he admitted. “I remember chugging it before I started home. Then on the way, I got dizzy and . . . started swerving. That’s all I remember. I woke up in the hospital a week later and couldn’t move my legs.”

  Marilyn contemplated his statement. “Was your water bottle in your car?”

  Jeremy nodded.

  “Was the car locked?”

  He shook his head no. “It was an old clunker. I never locked it.”

  “So someone could easily have put something in your water bottle?”

  “Yeah.” He heaved a breath. “But everyone saw me with a beer at the party, and assumed I was drinking and driving.”

  Marilyn squared her shoulders. “Did you have an altercation with anyone that night? Was someone there jealous of your scholarship, maybe another player?”

  “No. Preston was excited for me, and Cade, my other friend, had an offer from another college so he was celebrating, too.”

  “Did you see anyone outside?” Marilyn asked. “Maybe near your car?”

  He shook his head no again.

  “Jeremy, were Candace and Deborah Darling at the party?”

  “I didn’t see them, but . . . later, Preston said they showed up with a couple of their friends.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What friends?”

  “Mellie Thacker and Aretha Franton.”

  “I thought Preston passed out.”

  “He did.” A dark look crossed Jeremy’s face. “He didn’t tell me till weeks later that they were there. That’s when he admitted what they did to him.”

  Marilyn’s heart stuttered. “What h
appened?”

  His jaw tightened. “You’ll have to hear that from Preston. It’s not my story to tell.”

  Ryker instructed Mr. Darling to remain in the den while he and Agent Manson searched the house. He didn’t know what he expected to find after all this time, but if they located Candace’s diary, it might hold valuable details as to the teenager’s plans, possibly even the name of the father of Deborah’s baby.

  Odds were though that if the girls had run away, Deborah had taken the diary with them. Unless Mr. Darling or his wife had confiscated it.

  Ryker searched the kitchen while Caroline began in the girls’ bedroom. For the next hour he examined the drawers and cabinets, the desk, pantry, and closets. He ran his fingers along every nook and cranny searching for loose boards that could have been pried far enough apart to hide evidence, and did the same with the wood flooring.

  The laundry room held towels, cleaning supplies, household items, shoe polish, cleaning rags, and a couple of duffel bags that smelled like fish and mildew.

  He shined a penlight along the wall in search of a hiding spot, but found nothing helpful.

  Ryker moved to the man’s bedroom and searched his drawers and closet. Nothing inside but clothing and personal items that had seen their better days. Either the wife had taken her belongings with her, or he’d disposed of them.

  He checked inside the closet and felt along the top shelf. His hand brushed a picture frame, and he pulled it down. It was an eight-by-ten of the Darling family, all three girls and their mother, standing beneath a live oak tree, shrouded by dripping Spanish moss. The branches of the tree were thick and curved inward as if they were arms wrapping themselves around the family.

  Polly was nestled next to her mother, but Candace and Deborah stood far away, as if they didn’t want to be close to her. Typical teenage rebellion, or was the other daughters’ relationship with their mother strained?

  Ryker thoroughly searched the rest of the closet, and found a box holding mementos of Darling’s daughters when they were little. Tucked inside were a stuffed bunny rabbit with worn ragged ears, a crocheted baby cap, a baby blanket imprinted with teddy bears, and three bronzed baby shoes.