by L E Fraser
“You’re interrupting. Again.” My father crossed his arms against his chest.
An odour of damp wool drifted up from my furry coat. I crinkled my nose, clamped my lips together, and waited for permission to speak.
My fourteen-year-old sister got up from the chair with a grimace of annoyance. “May as well listen to whatever tall tale she’s got this time.”
Mama entered the living room, wiping her hands on a tattered dishtowel tucked into the waistband of her jeans. “No one wants to listen to one of your wild stories,” she said. “If you can’t tell us about school without making up lies, no one’s interested.”
I wanted to tell them how I’d won the role of lead angel in the pageant. I wanted to tell them about the white costume and the wire wings strung with gossamer threads of silk netting and soft feathers. I wanted to make them proud.
I wanted to describe a sky that resembled a king’s lavender robe studded with twinkling diamonds. I wanted to share how I had twirled like a prima ballerina with my hands above my head and my face lifted to the heavens.
Instead, I told a tale of escaping ogres that hid in the woods. I told them how the sky had changed from soothing purple velvet to wicked darkness, and how the wind had screamed with glee as it massacred the winter nests hidden among the barren tree boughs. I told them how I’d cringed in fear as demons tore the birds’ frail bodies to shreds while the tiny creatures howled in the throes of death.
Mama clouted me across the ear. Without a word, she returned to the kitchen.
Blood pounded in my swollen ear. I stood in my wet, smelly coat with my head hung in shame, and hot tears poured down my plump cheeks.
“Liars don’t take meals with the family.” Father took my sister’s hand and led her to the kitchen.
When my grade two class performed, the seats for my family were vacant. My older sister was singing in the church choir that night. My parents couldn’t be in two places at once.
When adults don’t hear children, either they stop talking or they talk incessantly. They tell stories. They lie. Either way, they grow to learn that the people they love despise them. They understand that everyone will abandon them, leaving them alone with a monster that lives in their heads. And one day, they embrace the monster as their only friend.
He’s crying now and calling for his mother. But she is gone and this is all that remains. Misery will bind us together for as long as we live.
CHAPTER THREE
Reece
REECE UPLOADED HIS completed paper to his law professor’s site and stared out the window. The snow had stopped but the view was gloomy. Thick grey clouds pressed down on the city, promising more snow. He offered silent thanks to Eli for fixing his laptop. At least he hadn’t had to drive to the university library. Libraries reminded Reece of Sarah and he avoided them.
At thirty-eight, Reece had had plenty of casual relationships and more than a few one-night stands, but Sarah had been his only serious girlfriend until he’d met Sam. It was funny how a man’s taste changed between his twenties and thirties. Sarah had been gorgeous on the outside, but ugly on the inside. He would never again excuse immorality. Love shouldn’t require you to compromise your core values. That was a lesson Sam had taught him, and Reece knew how lucky they were to have found each other.
“Give a girl a ride home?”
He turned to find the woman of his thoughts in the office doorway.
“Everyone’s trying to beat the storm home,” she said. “Let’s have a drink before we tackle the traffic.” She shrugged off her coat and flopped onto a chair. “Did you get your paper done?”
He opened the mini-fridge on top of a decrepit wicker table and poured her a glass of Chablis, which he handed her before grabbing a beer. “Paper’s done, background checks are done. I was about to call Eli’s references. How was the seminar?”
She leaned back for a kiss. “I found a subtle way to mention to the hosting psychiatrist that I applied for a clinical practicum. We’ll see if she remembers me when it comes time to set up interviews.”
Reece stifled laughter. Sam didn’t do subtle. His fiancée had probably accosted the unsuspecting doctor and badgered her into submission. It was doubtful that the psychiatrist would forget meeting Sam McNamara.
“So, I have parking,” he said. “The tenant down the hall left and we were next in line for the spot.”
“You mean where the dumpster used to be?” She frowned. “It’s dark as Hades. You’ll need a flashlight to get to your car.”
Her negativity didn’t dampen his good mood. Hunting for parking near their office was frustrating and he hated public transportation.
“Let’s see what Wayne Kalstein has to say about Eli.” Reece looked up the number and put his cell on speaker.
“Wayne, Reece Hash. How are you?”
“There’s a voice from the past. Got your email last week. Sorry I didn’t call, but I made some queries.”
“One of your old students contacted us. Elijah Watson.”
There was a long pause. “Say the name again?”
Sam raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine.
“Elijah Watson. Caucasian, twenty-four, five-seven, one-thirty-five, brown hair, hazel eyes.”
Sam was motioning at him, drawing a finger across her cheek.
“Six-centimetre scar across the right side of his face and a two-centimetre scar on his left eyebrow.”
“Sure, I remember him,” Wayne said. “We’re getting old, my friend. Eli reached out?”
“He did, and he fixed my computer on the spot.”
Wayne laughed. “That sounds like Eli. I told him he’d be an asset to the Canadian Cyber Incident Response Centre. But he wasn’t interested in following college with computer engineering. He’s smart enough to have made it.”
That was positive. “So what’s your overall opinion of him?” Reece asked.
“You’d be lucky to have him. What’s he doing in Toronto? Last I heard he went to your old stomping grounds at Western for criminology.”
“Well, he’s here now with a shiny new private investigator licence. What were his marks like?”
“Good, or he wouldn’t be on my referral list. He had good attendance, lots of initiative, no discipline issues, and no bullshit drama. Truth is, Reece, you wanted someone older, and over half of my referral list works in law enforcement now. I doubt you’ll find anyone else chomping at the bit to take the job.”
Reece trusted his own instincts but it was nice to have confirmation from someone he respected.
“I’d give him a chance, but that’s just my opinion,” Wayne continued. “Let’s grab a beer next time you’re in London.”
Reece agreed, put down the phone, and turned to Sam. “Thoughts?”
“Undecided.”
He took a swig of beer to hide his aggravation. They weren’t investigating a CEO candidate for a billion-dollar corporation. “I did a background check. No priors. He’s clean.”
She was tapping her foot. “Eli doesn’t use social media. That’s strange for a Millennial. So I called Behoo and asked him to dig. His report was scant. That’s so unlike Behoo.”
Reece could not believe that she’d paid a hacker they kept on retainer to run a deep web check. He threw his beer can into the recycling bin harder than he’d intended.
Sam stared pointedly at the bin.
“What did you expect a hacker to uncover?” Reece asked. “A false identity?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” She sighed. “King’s didn’t kick him out. He did well and dropped out after his second year. If he ran out of money, why didn’t he apply for student loans?” She chewed her lip. “And I got the impression that Behoo was hiding something.”
A headache was starting to throb at Reece’s temples. “Are you suggesting a white-hat hacker we’ve used for years—a man who protected us from a vicious cyberattack, no less—is suddenly lying to you?”
She was studying him with a frown. “Why are you so gru
mpy?”
“What do you want to do about Eli?”
“I’m not convinced, but I trust your instincts.” She stood and balanced on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Let’s go home, grumpy.” She ran her hands down his chest. “Maybe you need some help to reduce the day’s stress.”
He grinned. “Well, if you insist.”
As Sam gathered her things, Reece called an elated Eli with the news. After he arranged to meet their new intern in the morning, he packed up his laptop and picked up his coat.
At the top of the stairs leading to the street, they bumped into a young woman. Reece narrowly avoided shoving her down the steep staircase. He grabbed her upper arm and stared in shock at his best friend’s daughter.
Margaret Walsh’s eyes were red and swollen. She’d tucked her long chestnut hair under a red toque. She was cold, miserable, and frightened.
“I need help. I don’t want to tell my parents.” She swiped a tissue across her eyes and a smear of black mascara marked her pale cheek.
When a third-year university student refused to tell her parents something that upset her this much, it wasn’t good. Betty and Harry were close friends of his from Uthisca, the town where he’d run the OPP detachment before joining Sam’s PI firm. Withholding information about a daughter from her father was the fastest way Reece knew of to destroy a friendship.
Sam ushered the sobbing young woman into the office. “What’s wrong?”
“My brother’s gone.” Margaret wiped the heel of her hand across her running nose. “Angel was so rude at Christmas, but I shouldn’t have said anything. Bart got mad. And now he’s disappeared. He’s missed ten days of classes,” she said with a sob. “My brother’s going to flunk out and lose his scholarship.”
Reece sat beside her and took her hand. “What do you mean he disappeared?”
She swallowed a few times, struggling to contain her tears. “We have lunch on campus once a week. He never showed. I figured he was mad because of the things I said about Angel. He hasn’t answered my calls or my text messages. His roommate said Bart told him a week ago that he and Angel were going away for the weekend, but he never came back.”
“Who’s Angel?” Sam asked patiently.
“His girlfriend. He met her on Bumble.” Margaret practically spit when she said it. “It’s a dating app. Both sexes can like profiles, but only females can reach out for a chat. It’s all about hooking up based on pictures.” She snorted and held a tattered tissue to her nose. “My brother isn’t photogenic. I have no idea why someone who looks like Angel would go for him. But she did, and not even four months later, Bart is in love? Can you believe that?”
Reece could believe that. He’d met Sarah after dropping out of law school and joining the OPP. She was younger and in her first year of library science. After a month, he was sure it was love.
Sam handed Margaret a fresh tissue. “What happened over Christmas?”
“Bart invited Angel to dinner and she arrived two hours late. Strutted in like a diva, interrogated us about you two, and hung all over Bart.” Her nose crinkled. “It was like watching an audition for a porn movie. She wouldn’t eat Mom’s roast, didn’t say anything nice about the Christmas decorations, ordered Bart around, and now my brother is gone.” Her voice caught and she pressed the fresh tissue against her nose and snuffled.
Reece considered what she had said. In summary, the family disliked their nineteen-year-old’s new girlfriend. Bart and Angel were retaliating by giving everyone the cold shoulder. They were probably having a lovers’ tryst to commiserate over how unfair it was that Bart’s family didn’t approve.
“Why was Angel asking about me and Reece?” Sam asked coldly.
Confused by her tone, Reece glanced over at her. Her face had hardened to a stone mask and her green eyes had darkened to a cold emerald.
“Morbid curiosity,” Margaret answered. “She’s obsessed with that serial killer.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. “Incubus.”
Margaret nodded. “Mom asked her to stop talking about it. But she wouldn’t. Angel was graphic, going on about how the women weren’t drugged when he tore out their wombs. How he tattooed a white lily on their ankles and kept them alive until the skin healed.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Angel even speculated over how scared they must have been and how much pain they suffered. My little sister cried. It was awful.”
The colour had leached from Sam’s face. Her freckles were brash spots against her pale skin.
“Angel thought it was cool that all the victims were holding a flower.” Margaret shuddered. “Can you believe that? She wanted us to guess why the psychopath picked a white lily.”
“No one knows what it meant to him.” Sam’s voice was ragged with emotion.
Incubus had killed her older sister, Joyce Russo. Few people knew this, and Sam protected her pain, refusing to discuss it. Reece suspected it was a self-inflected penance because she hadn’t found Joyce in time.
Eager to get off the subject, Reece asked, “Anything else happen at Christmas?”
“Dad argued with Bart in the barn, but I wasn’t there. When they went outside, Angel told Mom that if she didn’t welcome her to the family, we’d never see Bart again. ”
Betty was mild-mannered with a kind disposition, but steel ran through her veins. Reece had no doubt that Betty would take care of Angel in short order, but he understood why Margaret didn’t want to tell her parents that Bart was missing. A few years ago, their youngest daughter, Hope, had disappeared in the middle of the night. Authorities had found her close to death. If Reece could avoid it, he’d protect his friends from going through the hell of a missing child again.
“You said Bart met Angel on Bumble, What other social media apps does he use?” Reece opened his laptop to take notes.
“No idea. I’m not on social media.”
Reece tried another tack. “Did Bart bring his car to the city?” Prior to relocating to Toronto, he’d spent many Saturday afternoons helping Harry and Bart fix up the old Buick.
“I checked and it’s gone.”
“Have you tried to reach Angel?” Sam asked.
“I don’t have a number. She said her cell wasn’t working and she had to get a new one.” Margaret hung her head. “I’ve tried all Bart’s friends. No one has heard from him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please find him before he ruins his life and loses his scholarship.”
Sam turned to Reece. “I can call in a favour and have a BOLO issued for the car.”
Reece wasn’t keen on asking for an official favour. But Sam had been a police officer and her father had been a respected homicide detective until his death nine years ago. There were cops on the force who owed Colin McNamara a favour and would pay it forward to his daughter. Asking for a be on the lookout for the Buick didn’t cross many protocol lines.
He nodded. “I’ll reach out to the provincial police, too.”
“He lets me drive the car sometimes.” Margaret opened her wallet and removed a photocopy of the ownership.
“Do you have a recent picture of Bart?” Sam asked.
Margaret scrolled through her cell and passed the device to Sam. “This was a month ago at a sorority party. I’m with Alpha Gamma Delta.” Her lower lip trembled. “Bart had such a good time.”
Sam tapped on the keys of the phone and handed it back. “Did Angel go? Do you have a picture of her?”
“Bart didn’t tell her about the party,” Margaret said. “At Christmas, she wouldn’t let us take her picture.”
“We need to get into Bart’s social media,” Sam said. “There should be pictures he posted of his girlfriend. What’s she studying?”
“Angel wanted Bart to switch to business so they would have classes together. But three of my sorority sisters are in business and they swear Angel isn’t in their classes.” She frowned. “When Mom asked about her family, Angel wouldn’t answer. Wouldn’t even tell us where she grew up.”
There was a low-
frequency hum inside Reece’s head. This girl claimed she didn’t have a phone, refused to have her picture taken, wouldn’t share her background, and had possibly lied about attending the university.
“Okay,” Sam was saying. “We just hired an intern with an IT background. Maybe he can track Bart’s social media and check if your brother’s been online. What cellphone plan is Bart on?”
“Rogers, same as I am.” Margaret snagged a pad from the desk and wrote down a number.
“We have a contact,” Reece said. “I’ll ask her to ping the cell and get a location. I want a list of your brother’s friends and professors. Does Bart have a credit card?”
“Dad gave us one for emergencies. It’s the same number.” She took her card from her wallet and Reece wrote down the details.
“The key is his girlfriend,” Sam said. “What’s her full name?”
“Angelina Stuart.”
All the air disappeared from the room. Reece sat rigid in the chair, struggling to keep his features impassive. Sam was speaking, but the humming inside his head had increased to deafening white noise and it drowned out her words. His mouth was dry and his heart thundered inside his chest. Now he knew why Bart’s girlfriend had interrogated the Walsh family.
Angelina Stuart’s interest wasn’t Sam. It was Reece.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sam
HER SISTER IS naked, holding a white lily with an icy green throat. Blood blossoms across the tips of the snowy white flower. It drips in a steady stream from the petals and flows down the emerald stem, turning from crimson to black as it cascades across her dead hands. Joyce’s eyes are beseeching. Her lips part and blood pours from her mouth, filling the throat of the lily and crushing the delicate stamens. It’s his lily now, she whispers.
Sam jerked awake from the nightmare and reached for Reece. His side of the bed was empty. Had he even come home? After their meeting with Margaret, he’d mumbled something about study group and disappeared. She’d waited up until after midnight but he hadn’t even called.
She crossed the bedroom to the barn doors that hid the large closet and ensuite bathroom. Wet shower walls and a whiff of aftershave proved that Reece had come home at some point. Below her, the loft was silent. They always ate breakfast together. Not today, apparently. Her stomach growled with disappointment. Reece was an amazing chef. His Belgian waffles would stand up to the Chopped judges. Confused, she sent him a quick text.
