Glancing over at him, I found that he looked as if he would be sick. This was what I’d been afraid of.
“How long have you been seeing them?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Just since I took the job at Baldwin House,” I said. “It didn’t take me long to do some research and find out that if a ghost is haunting a space, they have unfinished business. Tate seems to think it has to do with him—specifically, that the ghosts are what caused him to get sick.”
“They can do that?” Dad asked, his tone incredulous. “How?”
Backtracking a bit, I told him Tate’s story from the beginning, leaving out the details concerning Lindsay. I didn’t think it was important for him to know. Besides, Tate had told me that story in confidence, and I wouldn’t betray him that way. Dad was already going to have a hard time trusting Tate after this incident, and I didn’t want to give him any more ammunition.
Then, I told him about Camila and Isabella, and how our investigation had lead us to Fayehill—again leaving out things he didn’t need to know, like how I’d given Tate my virginity in a hotel room off the interstate. I did, however, mention that the accident had been caused by someone who had been following me. By the time I’d finished, his face had cycled from shock and concern to worry and fear.
“Tate’s right,” he said. “You don’t have a choice anymore; your life is in danger. The police need to handle things from here.”
“But there’s still so much we don’t know yet,” I argued.
“The less you know, the better,” he reasoned. “If the person who murdered these women is on to you, then you need to back off. I can admire that you and Tate were able to get so far on this by yourselves, but you’re still just kids. It isn’t your place to go around investigating and snooping around in matters that are over your head. You’re not a cop or a detective, and neither is Tate.”
He had been for about an hour, but I didn’t think it was appropriate to joke about right now.
“Monday evening, I’m going to pick you up from work, and me, you, and Tate are going to go talk to the sheriff. You’ll turn over anything you found and let the proper authorities handle things.”
I raised my eyebrows. “After work? You’re not going to make me quit?”
Dad shook his head. “You made a commitment to the Baldwins, and you’re going to uphold it. But after what you’ve done, you are going to have to regain my trust, Bellamy. The car is off-limits. I’ll be driving you to and from Baldwin House for work every day. Also, dates with Tate, or any other social outings, are a no until further notice. When I feel like I can trust you out of my sight again, we’ll discuss restoring your privileges. The only exception is the Founder’s Day ball. Regina already ordered your gown, and it’s on the way from Atlanta. You can be my date.”
I couldn’t fight back a grin. “Auntie Gina got me a gown?”
He nodded. “She knew I couldn’t afford to get you one, and she wanted you to look your best. From what I understand, it’s perfect for this year’s theme.”
I didn’t doubt it. My mom’s sister, Regina, had good taste. The fact that Tate wouldn’t go with me to the ball still bothered me, but seeing as how I was about to be on lockdown, I’d jump at the chance to go with Dad.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “What about Tate? You mentioned I couldn’t go out with him while I’m grounded, but beyond that…”
He sighed, running a hand over his mussed hair. “Look, Tate’s a nice kid. He seems to care a lot about you, and I know you care about him. I’m not going to tell you not to date him anymore, because that’ll just lead to more lies and sneaking around. Just promise me it won’t happen again, and I won’t try to come between you.”
“That’s a promise I can make and keep,” I replied.
“Good,” he said. “Also… you know… if you’re going to… just remember protection. You know what to do.”
I pinched my lips together, stifling a laugh. Apparently, this was just as uncomfortable for him as it was for me. He and Mom had always advocated for abstinence above all else, but they were smart enough to at least remind me to be safe if I wasn’t going to wait. The last thing I wanted was to become someone’s mother at seventeen. Not that I planned for what had happened last night to become a constant thing. Tate and I were barely on speaking terms right now, anyway.
“Yes, I do,” I said.
He relaxed a bit, seemingly content to have that out of the way. Turning the radio on, he let me pick a station, and we turned to small talk the rest of the way home. It was comforting to know that I hadn’t completely destroyed his trust in me. For him to be angry was the last thing I wanted, and while he certainly seemed disappointed, I didn’t sense that he’d hold this against me for long. He, at least, understood my reasoning, if not my actions.
The first thing I did the following morning was check my phone for messages from Tate. My heart sank to find no notifications. I hoped it was simply because he’d been tired after arriving home yesterday, and hadn’t had the energy to call or text. Since it was Sunday, the bookstore would be closed, and I could spend a relaxing day at home. Except, I couldn’t relax—not when I remembered the phone stashed in my purse. Reaching for the bag, I dug around until I found Camila’s phone, pulling it out and running my thumb over the spidery cracks splitting the screen into prisms.
This phone might have everything that would be needed to nail Isabella’s killer. Just because my dad had decided we needed to hand everything over tomorrow didn’t mean I couldn’t take a peek and see for myself what was there. Noticing that the phone was the same brand as mine, I tried my charger on it and found that it fit. The light at the top glowed red, indicating that it wasn’t completely destroyed and was charging. The smell of bacon drew me to the kitchen, where I joined Dad for breakfast and tried not to think too much about the phone. I wanted it to get a good charge before I tried looking through it.
We didn’t talk much during the meal, but once we’d finished and I stood to help Dad wash the dishes, he broke the silence.
“The people from my wall… the ghosts whose deaths you said seemed suspicious… I think that might be why they were haunting me,” he murmured. “Only certain people seem to be able to see them, and maybe all they want is for us to pay attention. I can’t believe all this time I never thought that their modes of death might be the reason they stuck around. Like Camila and Isabella, they all just want justice.”
Placing a hand-dried glass back in the cabinet, I turned and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then we’ll give it to them. Once the police look into everything, maybe they’ll discover the whole truth and those ghosts can finally be at peace… and then, so can you.”
“Maybe,” he said, sounding doubtful. He’d seen so many ghosts that they couldn’t all possibly be connected to Isabella and Camila.
Finishing up with the dishes, I took my time sweeping the floor and putting things away, even vacuuming the living room and starting a load of laundry before finally returning to my room for the phone.
The screen had lit up, and the phone now had a sixty percent charge. Swiping my finger carefully across the screen, I found it required a password to get into. Frowning, I tried to remember what I knew about Camilla. The article I’d read about her said she’d been born October twelfth. I tried the four numbers—1012—without success. I tried her birth month and year next—1081. Nothing. Sighing, I tried to remember Isabella’s obituary. I had to go back to my little folder full of articles and clippings to find it. February seventeenth. Yet, the numbers 0217 didn’t work. Neither did trying her birth month and year—0284. Frowning, I tried to think harder. What kind of person had Camila been? A straight arrow, her mother had said. Smart, dedicated… even photos of her portrayed a no-nonsense person. Being a female agent in what must be a male-dominated profession meant she had to be tough.
However, she’d had a weak spot, and that spot’s name was Isabella. A big sister who’d loved her sibling more than
anything, Camila had no husband or kids… her work and sister made up her world. Isabella had been the most important person in the world to her—so much so that she’d died trying to catch her murderer.
Glancing down at the screen and the four empty slots for Camila’s passcode, I tried to think of shortened nicknames for Isabella. ‘Bella’ was obvious, but one letter too long. I tried ‘Ella’ without success. Then, it hit me. One of my favorite shows was Grey’s Anatomy, and in the earlier season, Dr. Isobel Stevens was known to her friends as ‘Izzy’. Rosita had referred to her daughter as Izzy during our conversation.
Holding my breath, I tried again, hoping this one worked, because I was out of ideas. I grinned when the screen unlocked, showing me all of Camila’s apps lined up in front of a photo of her and Isabella.
The phone had been dormant for so long, there wasn’t anything recent on it. Scrolling through her old texts, I found conversations between her and someone named Jones.
Let me know if you have a hard time downloading that file with the DNA results, Jones had said. Good luck with the D.A.
There had been no response from Camila, and I realized it was timestamped on the evening she’d died. Scrolling up, I found many messages between them that indicated he’d helped her in her investigation. Perhaps they’d been friends, and he’d wanted to help. From their conversations, it looked as if Canton Haines had been the center of their investigation.
He murdered her. I know he did, Camilla had said in one of her earlier messages to Jones.
I know you believe that, he’d replied. But you have to prove it.
Canton Haines, a murderer?
I placed a hand over my mouth, choking back bile at the realization that I’d all but confronted him about it. If the money that had changed hands had something to with Isabella’s death, then it was no wonder I was being followed. The man was covering his tracks.
But what kind of juice could the mayor of a small town have with the sort of thugs who would follow, stalk, and attempt to kill a seventeen-year-old? I had a hard time believing that Haines had done the dirty work himself. Remembering the info Tate dug up about charity funds being misappropriated, I began to realize that this was bigger than Isabella.
The man’s corruption goes back two decades, Camila said in one of her messages to Jones. I’ve dug up enough evidence against him to put him away for years. The only thing left to do is prove he murdered Izzy, and he’ll go away for life.
The papers from her car! Tate had them in a box at home, and if he hadn’t already started sifting through them, he needed to get a move on. If Camila’s texts could be believed, she’d put together quite a case against Canton Haines.
Suddenly, I remembered the first text I’d read from Jones about a DNA test. Because she’d been dead for so long, there was no actual service—but I was hoping all I’d need was Wi-Fi to get into her email inbox.
The phone began to ding and chime, vibrating in my hand with dozens of email notifications once I was connected. Finding her inbox flooded with emails, I did a search for ‘Jones’ and pulled up a string of correspondence between them. Finding the one with the subject line ‘DNA results’, I opened it.
If this won’t nail that bastard to the wall, nothing will, Jones had written.
Opening the file, I found the DNA test, which had compared skin cells found beneath Isabella’s fingernails against saliva recovered from a coffee cup. The DNA was a match. Reading back a few more emails, I found some emails forwarded from Jones concerning the findings of a medical examiner who had handled Isabella’s corpse—which Camila had insisted on, not trusting the word of the Young County sheriff/coroner. The skin cells beneath her nails and defensive wounds on her hands indicated that she’d been in a fight. When Camila had tried to get Jones to help her convince her superiors that the defensive wounds were proof she’d been murdered, he’d reminded her of Isabella’s rough background and profession. They would simply say the wounds and skin cells came from a fight with a john or drug dealer. The way she’d been found indicated that she’d hung herself.
“I believe you, Camila,” I whispered with a sigh.
Isabella had been strangled, and then her body was staged to make it look like a suicide. Still, without any witnesses to prove it, Canton could easily get away with it. He could claim she’d attacked him, and that was how his skin cells got under her nails. And who would accuse him of lying? It was his word against those of a dead woman—and a hooker with a history of drug abuse. Add to that the fact that Canton Haines was considered a hero in the state of Georgia, and there was no case.
Standing, I reached for my own phone. We needed more, and I could only hope Tate had the missing pieces at his house. Dialing him, I began to pace, hoping he wasn’t still too mad at me to answer.
He picked up on the third ring. “Hey.”
His voice sounded strong—a good sign.
“Hi,” I replied. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “A little headache, but it’s not a migraine. No seizures. I’m seeing the doctor tomorrow, but… Bell, we need to talk. In person. I’ve been looking through Camila’s files, and I found something.”
“Can you come over?” I asked. “I’m grounded, so I can’t drive. You aren’t the only who found something. Camila’s phone was a gold mine.”
“I was wondering what happened to it,” he said. “Give me twenty minutes to shower and get dressed, and I’ll be there. Unless… is your dad going to point his gun at me through the door before I can step foot on the porch?”
I laughed. “Actually, he’s being really cool about the whole thing. I told him the truth, Tate—about the ghosts, Canton Haines… all of it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It was time. He wants us to go with him tomorrow to turn this stuff over to the local police. He actually agrees with you.”
Tate chuckled. “That’s because he’s smart. We can definitely do that tomorrow, but you have to see this first. Camila was building a case against Canton Haines that could put him away for a long time. I’m talking life behind bars here.”
I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I know. I got into her text messages and email. Hurry up and get dressed so we can put these pieces together. And don’t worry about Dad. He is madder at me for lying to him than anything else.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Be there soon.”
Hanging up, I quickly went about choosing something to wear. Despite the worry in my gut over the things I’d found, I couldn’t help smiling. Tate didn’t sound as if he was angry with me anymore, which I took as a good sign. The things that had happened between us in that hotel room—the things that had been said—reminded me that we couldn’t be so easily broken. Tate was proving his words and reminding me that being angry for a short time didn’t spell the end for us. It gave me hope that when this had all ended, we really could carry on together. Even though I was grounded and possibly still being stalked by a murderous psychopath, I found myself feeling unbelievably happy.
I didn’t get to talk to Tate for the first ten minutes after he’d arrived at our house—because Dad had insisted they have a private conversation before he could see me. Pacing in the living room, I kept glancing through the open blinds, chewing my lower lip. They sat out under the tree, at the same table where I’d had coffee with Ezra. That seemed like so long ago, and a lot had happened since the day he’d convinced me to come back to work at Baldwin House. It seemed like forever, but it had really only been about a month.
There was no yelling, or even angry faces, so I took that as a good sign. Both talked to each other, with Dad going first and Tate listening quietly, then taking his turn. I wondered what they were saying to each other and how it might affect our relationship. One thing I did know was that Camila’s phone was burning a hole in the pocket of my shorts, reminding me that we had some important business to get down to.
Finally, they stood and shook hands before Dad
left him standing beneath the tree, coming back into the house. When he found me in the living room, eyeing him nervously, he laughed.
“Relax,” he murmured. “You can have your boyfriend back.”
“What did you say to him?” I asked, trailing him to the kitchen.
“That’s between me and him,” he replied, opening the refrigerator and pulling out two bottles of water. “Take these out there; it’s hot today.”
“You’re going to let me see him?” I asked, accepting the water.
He shrugged. “You’re still barred from going anywhere with him until I feel I can trust you both again. Until then, I’ve told him he is free to come visit you whenever he wants… as long as I’m home.”
Smiling, I threw my arms around him, still clutching my water bottles. “You’re the best.”
Patting my back, he laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know. Go on, he’s waiting.”
Kissing his cheek, I made a beeline for the front door, quickly hopping down the stairs and tracking a straight path to Tate. He gave me a small smile as I approached, his mouth curving in that boyish way that made my stomach quiver. I sat the water down on the wrought-iron table beside his box of files, and then faced him with my hands shoved in my pockets.
I didn’t know how to act with him after a fight.
“Why are you looking at me like I’m a snake about to bite?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Fiddling with the hem of my shirt, I shrugged. “I thought you might still be mad at me.”
He laughed, coming forward to reach for me. He grasped my waist and lifted me until I was eye level with him. I gripped his shoulders, but didn’t have to hold tight, since his hold on me was so secure.
“I wasn’t mad. I was scared. You could have died yesterday, and I would have been helpless to stop it. You should have told me about being followed, but we can’t change that.”
I gazed down at him and smiled. “Okay, then. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m glad you’re not mad at me.”
Bellamy and the Brute Page 25
