by Webb, Debra
Addy stood on the sidewalk, the unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.
He moved up beside her and offered the lighter. “Womack said you might need this.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to smoke it. I just want to feel it in my mouth.”
Nine years ago Addy had smoked. He’d been surprised that she didn’t now, but asking about her decision to quit was out of the question. She’d made it loud and clear that she didn’t want to talk about the past or her current personal life. He seriously doubted this morning had changed her mind.
He tucked the lighter into the pocket of his jeans. “You okay?”
She cut him with a dagger-sharp glare. “Are you crazy?” She snatched the cigarette out of her mouth and waved it in the air. “Some asshole is abducting women without leaving the first clue. He could be anybody. Anywhere!” Her arms went up then dropped to her sides in a gesture of resignation. “We don’t know the first fucking thing about him. The links between the victims are anorexic at best. The perp’s evidently getting off on playing this princess game. And he claims I’m next. Hell no, I’m not okay, Wyatt. That’s the dumbest fucking question I’ve ever been asked.”
He tried another tactic. “So you’re scared.”
She sent another of those cutting looks. “I’m not scared!” She pawed at his pocket. “Gimme that goddamned lighter.”
Sliding two fingers into his pocket, he fished out the lighter and handed it to her.
She lit the tip of the cigarette, sucked in a long, deep drag of smoke. “I am not afraid.” Her voice croaked with the harsh chemicals filtering through her lungs. “I’m just frustrated that I can’t catch this bastard and bring those women home before he kills them.” She turned her face up to Wyatt’s. “Honestly”—she searched his eyes—“I wish he would make a play for me. At least then I could do something besides nothing.”
“That’s it.” Fury mushroomed in his chest. “You should not be working this case.” He moved his head firmly side to side. “I must’ve been out of my mind to let you in this deep in the first place.”
“Like you could’ve stopped me.” She tossed the cigarette to the pavement. “Those women will be dead very soon if they’re not already.”
One dead princess . . .
“I’m aware of that.” The rage drained away, leaving a sense of helplessness that no lawman ever wanted to feel.
“I’m the only connection, remember?” she said, reminding him of his own words. “Letting him take me may be the only way we can break this case.”
“No way.”
She went toe to toe with him. “See.” Accusation flared in her eyes. “This isn’t supposed to be personal, Wyatt. This is an official investigation. I’m not a civilian. Going undercover to nail a perp is a routine operation.”
“There’s a hell of a difference between going undercover and being nabbed by a man who in all likelihood is some sort of psycho. We have absolutely no reason to believe the vics are still alive. No way of knowing if either of them lived past the moment of attack. What the hell good could you do for the case if you’re dead?”
“You need to watch more TV.” She pushed past him, then paused at the door. “I’m putting you on notice.” Her determined gaze backed up her words. “We had sex this morning. It changes nothing about the dynamics of this investigation. Don’t even think about going there.” She jerked the door open and went inside.
What the hell was he going to do with her?
Adeline squared her shoulders and reentered the conference room. She moved to the seat she’d vacated but didn’t sit down. Instead, she surveyed the law enforcement personnel around the table. Wyatt waltzed in and Sullenger’s face beamed. Adeline resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Here’s the deal,” Adeline began. “I don’t swim. I don’t do water sports of any kind. No boats. No nothing. I have nightmares about drowning.” She fixed her attention on Ferguson. “Cherry Prescott had recently started having nightmares about drowning her daughter.” Before the man could rationalize or dismiss that fact, Adeline pushed on. “She was so terrified of what she might do to her daughter that she refused to bathe her. I don’t know what this means.” Adeline turned her palms up. “I don’t believe in psychic connections or any of that shit. But this is real.” Her gaze bored into Ferguson’s. “Trust me, the fear Cherry felt—if it was anything like mine—is damned real.”
Adeline shifted her gaze to Cummings. “Call the husband. Call her friends. Whoever you have to. Find out if Penny was afraid of the water. In the past or now. Whether we understand how it relates to this case or not, we need to know.”
Silence thickened in the air for three seconds.
Womack shuffled his papers, cleared his throat. “We’ve had a few crank calls related to the disappearances.”
Adeline’s attention flew to him. “Explain.”
“As you all know, we’ve taken hundreds of calls,” Womack went on. “In the beginning some were useful. A couple of locals who saw Prescott in town the day she went missing. But, for the most part, they’ve been a waste of time. A blond woman might have been spotted but it wasn’t Prescott. It happens anytime you have a high profile case like this.”
Making a rolling motion with her hand, Adeline urged him to get to the point. Since he’d brought the subject up, he must have a point.
“But late yesterday I got a weird one.”
“Weird how?” Wyatt asked.
Adeline kept her gaze away from him. Each time she looked him in the eyes she understood one very important fact. She was a liar. This morning had changed . . . everything. He’d gotten all the way inside her . . . physically, mentally. She had to focus on this case. If there was any chance Prescott and Arnold were still alive, Adeline had to do all within her power to find them. And to stop this psycho bastard.
“Well,” Womack said, “we’ve had a few. Aliens took her. That sort of thing. But this one was different.” The older detective’s gaze settled on Adeline’s. “This one claimed to be one of those psychics you don’t believe in.”
Anticipation and fear pounded from Adeline’s every pore. He wouldn’t have brought this up if there wasn’t something bigger coming . . . something relevant. “What’d she have to say?” The tiny hairs on her body lifted as if on some level she sensed this was immensely important.
“The caller claimed the women were close to the water”—Womack shook his head—“and that if we didn’t find them soon they would be under the water.”
Chills spilled across Adeline’s skin. Her core temperature dropped significantly. “I want to talk to her. Bring her in.” Adeline tapped the back of her chair. “Today. Now.”
Womack looked from her to Wyatt, who gave him a nod. “I’ll get right on it.”
A cell phone buzzed.
Half the people at the table checked their screens.
Detective Cummings stepped away from the group and took the call. The others gathered around the table resumed the discussion. Sullenger recited the steps that had been taken and the ongoing theme of finding nothing.
Adeline told herself to pay attention, but she couldn’t shake Womack’s words. Her phone vibrated against her waist. She ignored it. Probably her mom. Or worse, the chief.
. . . under the water.
She had to talk to this woman. As crazy as it sounded, her words were too eerily pertinent to ignore.
Psychic connection or no.
Cummings returned to the table. “That was one of Stone County’s deputies.” He settled into his chair, his face pale with whatever news he had learned. “You were right.” He glanced at Adeline. “Her husband confirmed that Penny Arnold was terrified of water. She wouldn’t even go with the family on outings if water was involved.”
Fuck. Adeline schooled her expression, beating down that uncharacteristic fear that kept gnawing at her. She didn’t want the others to see the impact his words carried. The idea that both Prescott and Adeline had fears related to wa
ter could be chalked up to coincidence. But having yet another victim share that same trait . . . that was no coincidence.
This, as vague as it was, could be their first step toward a tangible link.
“There’s more,” Cummings related. “The reason the deputy called wasn’t because of Arnold’s fear of the water. I asked him that question only just now. He advised that the husband had mentioned her fear of water but the deputy hadn’t considered it to be relevant to the investigation, which is why that detail wasn’t in his report.” Cummings looked around the table, the gravity of what he had to say in his eyes. “We may actually have just gotten our first break. One of Arnold’s colleagues remembered that she had been visited just over a week ago—right before she left for Phoenix—by Cherry Prescott.”
Shock punched Adeline in the gut. Every face in the room wore that same reaction. “What was the purpose of the visit? Was Prescott interested in some real estate listing that Arnold represented?”
“The woman has no idea.” Cummings collapsed against the back of his chair. “Prescott and Arnold met in her office, door closed. But,” he added, “whatever they discussed, Arnold was visibly upset when the other woman left.”
“There has to be something between these women that we’re missing,” Ferguson proclaimed. He turned to Adeline. “If you’re the next victim . . . the answer lies with you.”
His words bumped against Adeline’s sternum. Her phone vibrated insistently. She grabbed it from its holster and popped it open primarily so she could ignore Ferguson’s scrutiny.
A multimedia message.
Sender unknown.
Adeline tapped the key to download the message.
An image filled the screen.
Penny Arnold. Face all made up with too much makeup. Tiara perched on her head in exactly the same manner as the one Prescott had worn.
Two dead princesses, one to go.
Chapter Twenty-four
2:00 P.M.
Tawanda Faye Nichols was seventy-seven years old with the gray hair and gnarled hands to prove it. She sat in the interview room, her hands clasped on the table and her head bowed over them. Her lips moved frantically in noiseless supplication of some sort.
“What the hell’s she doing?” Adeline peered through the two-way mirror, her instincts on point.
“Praying, I imagine,” Womack suggested. “She started doing that as soon as I picked her up.” He sent Adeline a knowing look. “Lives on Pickler, the worst of the shitholes over in Moss Point.” He shook his head. “I know most of the cops over there and even I think they look the other way more often than not. I don’t know how those folks survive.”
Adeline chewed her lip. “By their wits. They got nothing else.”
“You ready?”
“Yeah.” Adeline headed for the door. “Might as well see what the lady has to say.”
Wyatt was mad as hell that he couldn’t be in on this, but Hattiesburg’s mayor as well as the brass here in Pascagoula had demanded a private conference with the man in charge. And that was the sheriff.
Womack held the door for Adeline to enter the interview room ahead of him. He’d spent a lot of time the year her father died trying to fill the void in Adeline’s life. She hadn’t appreciated his intent at the time. And she’d told him so. Part of her regretted that now. Besides Wyatt, he was the one person here who still appeared to care about her on some level. Or, at least, who respected her ability as a cop.
The caring-about-her part was not necessarily a good thing . . . where Wyatt was concerned. She’d let this lingering thing between them get way out of control way too fast. She should have kept her distance.
Too late now.
“Afternoon, Ms. Nichols.” Adeline pulled out a chair across the table from the elderly woman. “I’m Detective Cooper. I believe you’ve already met Deputy Womack.”
Nichols’s eyes opened and her lips stopped moving. She lifted her gaze to Adeline’s and went wide-eyed as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Okay.” Adeline placed the folder she’d brought into the room on the table and opened it. She positioned the two photos inside in front of Nichols. “Do you know either of these women, ma’am?”
Nichols picked up first one photo, then the other, examining each one at length. She placed the photos back on the table, one by one, and clasped her hands once more. “Only in my dreams.”
Womack scooted his chair forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Ms. Nichols, when you called the hotline related to the abductions, you mentioned that you believed these women were being held near the water.”
Fact was, Adeline didn’t bother mentioning, most anywhere in the area was near water.
Nichols nodded emphatically. “That’s right.” She set her gaze on Adeline. “They gonna be under the water soon. You need to find them quick or it’ll be too late.”
Adeline cleared her throat, searched for the right way to go about this. As nonbelievers went, she was a total skeptic. “You had a dream, you say? That’s how you know where the women are being held.”
More of that ardent nodding. “But it don’t happen when I’m asleep. Most of the time I’m awake. I guess it’s more a vision than a dream.”
Getting better all the time. “Can you describe, in detail, what you saw related to Cherry Prescott and Penny Arnold in your vision?”
“I was watching the news yesterday.” She looked from Adeline to Womack and back. “Sitting in my chair minding my own business like I do most days. Don’t pay to get in nobody else’s business, if you know what I mean.” She heaved a big breath. “Anyways, the news broke in to tell about the Arnold woman going missing.”
She pursed her lips, appeared to carefully search her memory banks. “I was thinking what an awful thing this was. Poor woman. Her husband gave that heartfelt plea to whoever took her.” Her pale blue eyes filmed over with emotion. “I wondered what the law was doing about this bad, bad thing. I know if she went missing in Moss Point nothing might get done. It’s a pure shame.” She eyed Adeline then Womack. “What y’all doing about this?”
“We’re doing all we can, ma’am,” Womack assured her. “That’s why we’re talking to you. We’re following all leads.”
“That’s when,” Nichols went on, “the vision came. I could see them two. Them ladies that’s missing. They was all tied up and crying. But their crying sounded funny, like their mouths was full.”
“So they were alive,” Adeline clarified. Yeah, right. Like they could depend on this woman’s vision to confirm the status of the victims.
Nichols looked to Adeline. “Oh, yes, ma’am. They still alive. But they won’t be for long. I had a bad feeling about that part.”
Adeline got that part. Beneath the table her foot wouldn’t be still. Every time she halted its movement, it started right back up with that anxious bouncing. “Can you see anyone else? Or hear anyone speaking, besides the women crying?”
Nichols gave an eager nod. “A man. I can’t see his face, though. Only his back. He don’t have no hair.” She narrowed her gaze. “I can see that real plain.”
“The man who is holding the women is bald,” Womack restated so there was no misunderstanding.
“Yes, sir. Bald as a baby’s behind.”
“Did you hear him speak or hear either one of the women speak?” Adeline didn’t know why she bothered to ask the question. This was clearly bullshit. The longer she listened the more convinced she was that sheer desperation had driven her to have Womack haul this lady in for questioning.
You’ve discovered an all-time low, Adeline. As long as the boys back home don’t hear about this . . . you might just live it down.
“Well, it’s not exactly clear to me who’s saying what,” Nichols admitted. “The sobbing I know’s coming from the women.” She shook her head, her face pained. “Lots of sobbing. They’re scared. Someone keeps saying something, but I can’t tell if it’s a woman or man.” Her face pinched with fierce concentration as if she was
trying to make sure she got this part right. “The voice keeps saying that the princesses have to die.”
Adeline’s spine stiffened. “What else did you see or hear?” That her voice quavered pissed her off. That all-time low had just dropped a few more pegs.
“At first,” Nichols went on with her bizarre story, “I didn’t understand what the voice meant. But then I remembered that they was wearing crowns. You know”—she urged Adeline with her eyes—“like a princess would wear. Them Miss America types. Both the women had crowns on their heads.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “What about their faces?” she prodded, her instincts screaming at her that this could be real. As damned crazy as that sounded.
This could be real.
“Pale . . . eyes were red and swollen from crying.” Nichols paused, cocked her head. “No . . . their faces wasn’t all pale. They was big”—she rubbed at her cheekbones—“red smudges on their cheeks. And black stuff, like mascara, smeared . . . maybe”—she trailed her fingers down her cheeks—“from all that crying, I guess.”
No way she could know this. Details of the photos Adeline had received had not been released to the public. But then, that information could have been leaked the same as the details about the letters had been.
Damn it all to hell.
“Ms. Nichols, do you or any of your family have any friends here at the sheriff’s department? Or with the Moss Point police?”
Womack glared at Adeline. He understood where she was going with this question.
Nichols shook her head. “No. We don’t get into town much. About once a month for supplies. And them Moss Point police ain’t no friend to nobody.”
“So no one shared this information with you,” Adeline ventured. “You didn’t hear about the makeup and crowns from someone who perhaps had heard this from someone in the department?”
Nichols’s brow scrunched as her head wagged side to side. “No, ma’am. I told you, I dreamed this.” She shrugged. “Saw it in a vision. Nobody didn’t tell me nothing.”
