Blood Trails

by Sharon Sala

  After she ordered her food, she took her journal out of her purse. Like her sisters, she’d read it from front to back a dozen times already, and the more she read, the more memories she resurrected. She flipped past the journal entries regarding her first years with Andrew to an entry regarding her first date.

  The day you came in and told me Joe Don Rooney had asked you out was a real shock for me. I’d always thought of the three of you as my little girls. That really made me adjust my thinking. You were excited and, at the same time, oddly apprehensive. You kept asking me what you should do if something happened and you weren’t comfortable with Joe Don. You said over and over that it wasn’t ever safe for a girl to be alone on the street, that bad things—really bad things—could happen. It made me wonder if you’d known about your mother’s suspicions regarding your father, or if it had to do with just knowing about the murdered women who’d been the Hunter’s victims. When I pressed you for a reason as to why you were so sure something bad would happen, all you could say was that you “just knew.”

  Of course, the date with Joe Don turned out fine, and when I asked you later if you were nervous when you were with him, you rolled your eyes and gave me one of those looks for which women are famous. It made me laugh, but at the same time, it set a fear in my heart that you were suppressing memories far darker than I’d realized you might have. I don’t know how to explain it, but, my darling Holly, I fear for you most of all. Be careful. Be aware. I fear you have seen terrible things—so terrible that it was worth forgetting the first five years of your life.

  Holly shuddered as she leaned back and looked up. The dining area was buzzing with hungry customers. She wondered how many of them were living with secrets—secrets that could be as deadly as the most fatal of diseases.

  Three

  When she got back to her room, the message light on her phone was blinking. It was from the front desk telling her she had a delivery. Surprised, she told them to bring it up, then spent the wait time wondering what it was and whom it was from.

  Although she’d been listening for it, when the knock finally sounded at the door, Holly jumped. After a quick look through the security view, she opened the door to find a bellman with a vase of red roses.

  “Oh, my!” she said, as the bellman set the flowers on the table. She handed him a tip, closed and locked the door behind him, then dashed back to see who the roses were from.

  She pulled out the card, quickly scanning the few words of text.

  Remember, you’re not alone. I’m only a phone call away. Bud.

  Bud—ever faithful Bud. She burst into tears.

  She crawled onto the bed with the card still clutched in her hand and curled into the fetal position. Sobs bubbled up her throat as the past two weeks of shock and fear overwhelmed her. If Bud had been standing in the room beside her bed, she would have begged him to take her home and abandoned this search. Something bad had happened to her here. She couldn’t remember what, but she could feel it. Bud was the one sure thing still left in her life, but he was halfway across the country, and she was here alone.

  She cried herself to sleep.

  Sunlight spilled through a pair of kitchen windows into the room. An half-eaten bowl of cereal was still on the table beside a box of Cheerios that had tipped over, spilling part of the contents. Water was running from the tap at the kitchen sink, only no one was there.

  A shadow suddenly cut across the path of sun light. Something dripped onto the floor. The shadow moved, then disappeared, leaving behind a trail of bright red droplets.

  “Clean it up!” he yelled. “And don’t tell your mother or I’ll make you sorry.”

  Holly woke abruptly, then sat up in bed, her heart pounding wildly against her rib cage as she swept the room with a frantic gaze, making sure she was still alone. A glance at the clock told her it was still hours before dawn. Even worse, she’d fallen asleep in her traveling clothes. With a groan, she rolled out of bed, then headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later she came out, stripped off her clothes, then crawled between the sheets and once again closed her eyes.

  “Please, God, take away all the bad thoughts and just let me rest.”

  It was a simple prayer. She wasn’t asking too much and hoped it was heard. Within minutes she was asleep, and when she woke again, sunlight was coming through a gap in the curtains. She rolled over onto her back, saw the bouquet of red roses and smiled.

  “Only a phone call away,” she said, then threw back the covers and headed for the shower.

  Within the hour she had dressed, gathered up her journal and maps, and headed for the elevator. As soon as she got herself some breakfast, she would be ready to face the day.

  A return trip to Annie’s Kitchen, and an order of coffee and waffles later, Holly read as she ate, scanning her journal for clues as to where to go first.

  She had the old home address and phone number that her mother had given Andrew. Out of curiosity, she’d tried the phone number almost immediately from back at the ranch and gotten a “not in service” message, which hadn’t been a surprise. She’d checked the St. Louis phone book for a listing for Harold Mackey and come up short. She’d also researched the city of St. Louis and learned that the address of her childhood home was in a part of St. Louis known as The Hill, mostly populated by a large contingent of people who were of Italian descent.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if that meant she was also of Italian descent, or if it were simply coincidence that they’d lived in the area. She was anxious to find the address, and even more anxious to know if she would recognize it. It was on her list as the first place to visit today.

  After talking to the concierge, she had a general idea of how to get where she wanted to go. It wasn’t until she went outside to retrieve her car that she realized it looked like it was going to rain. That wasn’t good news, but it didn’t deter her. She’d been wet before.

  She retrieved her car, and then, armed with her map, drove away from the hotel. She had a brief moment of panic as she pulled out into traffic, as if by leaving the hotel she had willingly crossed over into the danger zone, but the notion soon passed.

  When the first drops of rain began to hit the windshield she turned on the wipers, then tapped the brakes, slowing down enough to compensate for slippery streets. She was headed for the high ground south of Forest Park. According to Wikipedia, the official boundaries of The Hill were Manchester Avenue on the north, Columbia and Southwest Avenues on the south, South Kingshighway Boulevard on the east, and Hampton Avenue on the west. It wasn’t until she crossed the boulevard that she felt as if she were finally making progress. When she stopped for a red light, she checked her map again just to make sure she was going in the right direction.

  A loud clap of thunder sounded just as the light turned green. Hoping it wasn’t a portent of things to come, she took a deep breath and accelerated through the intersection. The car behind her wasn’t as fortunate. Halfway through the light it was suddenly T-boned by a pickup truck. Even though she was out of danger, she screamed. The shock of seeing the car spinning out of control, then being hit again by a second car, sent her into a panic. She pulled into a parking lot and stopped. Shaking too hard to drive, she said a quick prayer of thanksgiving that she was still in one piece as the sirens of the approaching rescue vehicles grew louder.

  She turned off the engine. The rain was loud inside the car as it peppered the roof. And since she wasn’t moving until the downpour subsided, she dug the journal out of her bag and flipped through the pages, seeking solace in the sight of Andrew’s handwriting. It was as close as she would ever get to talking to him again, and she desperately needed to get a grip on her emotions. She found a passage dated less than four years ago and marveled at the secrets Andrew Slade had been able to hide.

  Your real mother, Twila, wasn’t very tall. Not nearly as tall as you are, but you have the same color hair—that dark auburn—and the same green eyes. When you were younger, you insisted on
sprinkling cinnamon in your hot chocolate. I always assumed it was the way your mother had served it to you, because it wasn’t something we did. Of course, once Maria and Savannah saw you having cinnamon, they had to have it, too. After that, it became the norm. That was something you brought with you that you hadn’t forgotten, which leads me to believe there’s more—much more. I want you to know that I have faith in your ability to get through this. You were a quiet but strong-willed child. As you got older, you have become less strong-willed and more willing to abdicate leadership to others. Go back to your roots, my daughter. Resurrect that strong-willed child in you, because I fear you’re going to need her.

  The warning made Holly shudder. “Oh, Dad…what I need is you.”

  When a burst of police sirens sounded from the street behind her, she glanced up in her rearview mirror to see the arrival of an ambulance. Police cars had cordoned off the scene, while a policeman in regulation rain gear was directing traffic away from the area to a temporary detour. He stood firmly in the midst of the rainstorm as if it were of no consequence, waving cars right and left.

  Holly reached for her phone. It was a little after ten in the morning here, but just after nine back home. Bud would have been up for at least an hour, maybe more.

  Bud was cursing his injured hand and his pickup in one steady breath while trying to drive out of a snowdrift. Montana’s weather patterns were oblivious to the seasons, and the unexpected snowstorm that had blown in late last night was no exception.

  He’d sent two separate crews in different directions to feed cattle that would be in dire need of food, while he took care of the animals penned up in the corrals at the ranch. He was almost finished before he realized Andrew’s old gelding, Jim Beam, was missing. The horse hadn’t been ridden since Andrew’s death and wasn’t accustomed to so much downtime. It didn’t take long to see the unlatched gate and the tracks leading out through the snow to the back pasture, where the herd mares were kept. Andrew had been amused that the horse he’d named after his favorite brand of whiskey could undo pretty much any latch on the place, but right now Bud wasn’t laughing.

  He’d already called his crew and had no choice now but to sit and wait for them to get back. One man was bringing a tractor to pull him out while the others went after Jim Beam. Those herd mares didn’t take kindly to abrupt appearances of males in their midst, even if they were no longer stallions. The last thing he needed was for them to get in a fight and someone to get hurt. He’d just settled back in his seat when his cell phone began to ring. When he saw it was Holly, the bad day suddenly took a positive turn.

  “Hey, sugar! How’s it going?”

  Holly shivered. Even the sound of his voice made her ache.

  “Oh, pretty good…considering,” she said. “It’s pouring rain, and I just missed being in the middle of a bad wreck. I got through an intersection just fine, but the car behind me was T-boned by one car and rear-ended by another. I pulled over into a shopping area to wait for the rain to subside. What about you?”

  Bud blinked. He was still trying to get past the “I just missed being in the middle of a bad wreck” comment.

  “Oh…my morning’s not a lot better than yours, I guess. We had a freak snowstorm blow in last night. Got about eighteen inches, with some pretty good drifts, one of which I happen to be stuck in right now.”

  “Oh, no! Poor Bud!” Immediately she thought of him trying to dig out. “How’s your hand? You’re not trying to dig out by yourself, are you?”

  “Sore, but fine otherwise, and no, I’m not doing any digging. The crew is on the way with a tractor. Where were you headed when the wreck occurred?”

  “I was on my way to the part of the city where I used to live. I’m curious to see if I recognize the house, or if it’s even still there. Twenty years is a long time. Plenty of time for things to change.”

  “You’re being careful, right?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m parked instead of still driving in this mess.”

  “Well, I’m parked, too, although not by choice. It appears we’re quite a pair.”

  “Looks like,” Holly said, although she was slightly taken aback by where her mind went. There were all kinds of ways for a couple to pair.

  “Oh, hey, the guys just drove up,” Bud said. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I promise,” Holly said. “You be careful, too. When I come home, I expect you to be there waiting and still in one piece.”

  There was a long moment of silence before Bud answered. “I’ll always be here for you, Holly. Love you, honey, and stay in touch.”

  “Love you, too,” Holly said. The sound of the disconnect was too sudden for her peace of mind, but at least she wasn’t cold and stuck in the snow.

  She glanced up in the rearview mirror again. The ambulance was gone. Wreckers were in the act of towing away the damaged vehicles, and most of the police cars were gone. An accident had happened, and just like that, lives were forever changed. Hopefully they would live to see another day.

  Happily, the rain was beginning to subside. Talking to Bud had been what she needed to regain her confidence. After a quick glance at the city map, she pulled back into traffic and continued to weave her way through the streets.

  As she drove, an odd thing began to happen. Instead of constantly referring to the map, she realized she was making turns instinctively. And when she found herself on the same street where she used to live, she was stunned. She pulled to a stop at the curb only two houses down from the address she’d been looking for and then killed the engine. Her hands were shaking, and she wanted to throw up.

  “God help me,” she whispered, as she gazed through the windshield to the craftsman-style dwelling with a porch spanning the front of the house. The longer she sat staring at the house, the sicker she felt.

  Disgusted with herself, she either had to get out or drive away, and she had not come all this way to quit. She opened the door to get out, but her legs were shaking too hard for her to stand up. Then she thought of the guts it had taken for her mother to do what she had done. One way or another, she had to do this, so she got out of the car and started walking.

  The rain-washed air had a cool, clean scent, and her own footsteps sounded loud in the quiet neighborhood as she moved ever closer to her past. Just as she started up the walk toward the house, the front door suddenly opened. She stopped.

  A woman came out and started down the steps toward her car when she saw Holly standing at the end of the walk.

  Not wanting to appear threatening, Holly lifted her hand and smiled as the woman came nearer.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just revisiting my childhood. I used to live here when I was a little girl.”

  The woman’s expression shifted from guarded to friendly.

  “I’m Holly Slade,” Holly added. “I live in Montana now, but I wanted to check out the place since I was passing through. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

  “I’m Loretta Fairfield.”

  Holly nodded, but her focus was on the house. “How long have you lived here?”

  “We bought the house a little over eighteen years ago.”

  “Who did you buy it from?” Holly asked.

  “I don’t remember the name,” Loretta said, then pointed across the street. “The lady who lives in that blue house has lived here for years. She might be able to help you.”

  Holly turned to look. “What’s her name?”

  “Mrs. Pacino. She’s older…probably in her late sixties, maybe early seventies.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell, but Holly was hoping she might recognize the woman when she saw her.

  “Thanks again,” Holly said.

  “Sure,” Loretta said, and got in her car and drove away.

  Holly stood on the sidewalk, looking at the big blue house and trying to remember if she’d ever seen it before. Nothing about the property seemed familiar, but then again, twenty
years was a long time, and she’d only been five. Not really old enough to retain a lot of memories.

  It was time to see if Mrs. Pacino could help her. She crossed the street and rang the doorbell without hesitation.

  A moment later she heard a small dog begin to yap, then a woman’s voice scolding. The dog quieted, and seconds later the front door opened.

  “Yes? May I help you?”

  Within seconds Holly had taken in the woman’s diminutive size, her white curly hair and a face wrinkled with lines that only a lifetime of laughter could create.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Holly said. “But I lived in that house across the street about twenty years ago, and I was wondering if you could answer some—”

  Mrs. Pacino gasped. “Oh, dear Lord! You’re Twila’s girl, aren’t you?”

  Holly tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. She managed a nod.

  “I’m Ida Pacino. I used to babysit you years ago. Back then you called me Nonna. Come in! Come in!”

  Holly felt weird that she had no memory of this woman. But Ida Pacino wasn’t shy. The moment they were seated, she began to chatter.

  “Oh, my goodness, honey, I can’t tell you what a wonderful surprise this is for me. How’s your mother? Where do you live now? Are you married?”

  “Uh…”

  Ida burst into laughter. “Isn’t that just like me? I ask all these questions without waiting for an answer. So, Harriet my dear, what brings you back to the old neighborhood?”

  Holly was going to have to guard her answers. There was no way she could announce the complete truth of what had happened to her when she had yet to go to the police.

  “I go by Holly now, and I have to admit, I don’t remember much about my life when I was here. Twenty years is a long time to be away. And that’s part of the problem I brought with me. I have very little memory of my past. Twenty years ago my mother sent me away with some friends, with the promise that she would follow soon. Only she never came.”