Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake Book 3)

by Rachel Caine

  His voice drops. “She came after me. Helped me get away. Kept me safe.”

  “She fought for you, baby. She’s your big sister, and she’ll always protect you. And you should protect her too. Even from yourself when you’re not happy with her.”

  “She started it.”

  “And she’s the one hurting right now. So let it go, okay?”

  He nods and crosses his arms. Defensive, but I know my kid; I can see he’s thinking. And regretting. I give him a hug, a big one, and whisper “Thank you” to him.

  “She’s still being stupid,” he grumbles.

  “She’s entitled to be stupid sometimes. So are you, but right now I need you to support her, okay? Thank you for looking this up. It’s going to help.” I have no idea how it will help, but having more background information about Wolfhunter can’t possibly hurt. If Marlene actually saw something—something real—then it gives us something to look into. “Listen, I’m going to go see if I can talk to her. Okay?”

  He nods. I look up at Sam beseechingly, and he says, “Tell you what, Connor, I could use an extra pair of hands to help me get lunch. Come on. Let’s take a ride.”

  “Okay.” Connor slides off the bed and follows. Sam gives me a look as he closes the door. I mouth Thank you, and he nods. We have a lot to discuss, but his love for my kids is beyond priceless to me.

  I tap on the connecting door. When there’s no answer, I go around through the door of room six and use my own key to open the door to room five.

  Lanny makes a frustrated sound and throws herself on her side to put her back to me as I close the door. “Do you want to tell me about it?” I ask her.

  “Why? You don’t care.”

  “You know that isn’t true, honey.”

  She’s sobbing quietly, and I pretend that I can’t tell. My heart does ache for her, but at the same time I know she has to get past this. Grow the armor she needs to protect herself for the next heartbreak, and the next.

  When I lie down on the bed next to her, she turns and rolls into my embrace, and I stroke her hair and tell her it’ll be all right, and she cries like a wounded child. Finally, she hiccups back a sob, and I say, “Did you talk to Dahlia today?”

  “No,” she says. “Not really. She just did a voice call, not Skype, like she promised, and now . . . now she won’t even text me back. Her mom—her mom doesn’t want me around anymore.” She swallows hard. “Is it because she doesn’t want Dahlia to be gay?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “Maybe. But also maybe it has nothing to do with you. Maybe it’s about me, and this documentary thing. If it is, I’m really, really sorry, Lanny. And I’ll do what I can to make that better, okay?”

  She gulps back more tears, nods, and after a moment mumbles something I don’t catch. I ask her what it was.

  She says, “How could I have ever loved my dad? What’s wrong with me? How could I do that?”

  I feel the freezing anguish in my chest tighten. I know these questions. I’ve asked them of myself every day.

  I hug her closer. “He was your father,” I say. “We all loved him, at least for a while. The darkness inside him belonged only to him, and we couldn’t know it was there. Nothing’s wrong with you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She gets up and goes into the bathroom. I hear her blowing her nose, washing her face, and then when she comes back, she looks steadier. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I’m sorry things aren’t good right now. I wish I knew how to make it better.”

  She lets out a long, shaking sigh. “I need to do something and get my mind off it. Can I go with you? I don’t want to stay here.”

  “No, Lanny. I’m going to the jail.”

  She perks up. “You mean, to see Vera Crockett?”

  I wish I hadn’t said anything at all. “Yes. But—”

  “I can help!”

  “No, honey, I’m sorry. I don’t think that would be allowed.”

  “But I could be your assistant! I could take notes and everything.”

  “No,” I tell her. And I mean it.

  “Really? Really? Now you’re going to tell me to sit here and wait around like some . . . some child? Like Connor? Vee is my age, Mom! And she needs help! I want to help!”

  “And you can,” I tell her. “I promise you. But not—”

  “I’m going with,” Lanny interrupts me. “And I’m not going to argue about it.”

  I know that tone, I realize with chagrin. It’s the same one I use to end an argument. Lanny gets up from the bed, walks into the bathroom, and shuts the door. I hear water running. She’s going to take a shower.

  There’s a knock on the closed connecting door. I open it to find it’s Sam and Connor, loaded down with food. Fast food, of course; there’s nothing else in town except one small diner that looks like it caters exclusively to locals.

  I don’t intend to take my daughter with me to do this. No way in hell.

  Until my phone rings, halfway through my hamburger, and I step away to answer Hector Sparks’s call. “I’ve set up the interview,” he tells me. “Detective Fairweather isn’t very pleased, but I think this is a good idea. She’s more likely to give us better information if she feels comfortable, and obviously she feels more comfortable with you.”

  I take in a breath, and before I let myself think about it too much—and talk myself out of it—I say, “My daughter’s coming with me.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Atlanta. She’s fifteen, around Vera’s age. I think having her in the room might be useful and put Vee more at ease.”

  “You’re not, ah, concerned about exposing your child to what Vera might say?”

  “She’s heard worse,” I tell him. “Trust me.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want my daughter to be involved. But . . . this is a child’s life we’re talking about. They’ll almost certainly decide to try Vee as an adult. And Tennessee has a death penalty.”

  “We’ll be there. Just to be clear: My daughter won’t be talking. I will. She’s my—assistant.”

  “Understood,” he says. “Thank you, Ms. Proctor. This is a great relief. They’ll expect us at the county lockup at three p.m. It’s about a half-hour drive. I will meet you there.”

  I check the time. It’s one o’clock. I turn and look at my family: at Sam, smiling at something Connor’s saying, watching my son with real love. At Lanny, picking fussily at the amount of lettuce on her burger, her hair still dripping from the ends. At Connor, with that light in his eyes that tells me he’s talking about something he cares about, passionately.

  “Meet you there,” I tell Mr. Sparks. I hope I’m doing the right thing. At this point, all I can do is pray I haven’t made a serious, maybe fatal, mistake.

  10

  GWEN

  Sam readily agrees that we should all take the trip together, and check out of the room while we’re at it; he seems a little too eager, to be honest, but like him, I find the motel oppressive. Connor’s found a place called Wolfhunter River Lodge that’s closer to the forest; it sounds nice, and looks comfortable.

  The pictures don’t lie. It sits about five miles outside of Wolfhunter, and it’s a modest-size rustic place with big rooms, a breathtaking view of the forest from the windows, and a cheerful proprietor who seems happy to have us. Once we get to our adjoining rooms, Sam pulls me aside for a quick conversation.

  “I’m taking Lanny with me to this interview,” I tell him, first thing. “Trust me. I think it’s important, or I wouldn’t do it. Right now, Lanny needs to feel useful.”

  Sam doesn’t like it, I can tell, but he lets that go in favor of something else. “Give me your phone.”

  I do, baffled, and he hands me a brand-new one. I look at it with a frown. Another disposable cell. “What’s this?”

  “Time to change out,” he says. “I might be a little paranoid about the documentary crew, but we haven’t changed numbers in a while. Trust me?”

  “Of course. The
kids too?”

  “Yeah, I already swapped theirs. I preprogrammed in the numbers they might want to call, plus both of these numbers. You’ve got mine, Connor, Lanny, Kez, Prester, Javier, Mike, and your mom already in there.”

  “I should probably put in Sparks and Fairweather,” I tell him. “Just in case.”

  He hands my phone back, and I add them into my contacts list. Then I hand the old one back. “You’ll get rid of them?” I say. He nods. “Sam . . . what’s wrong?”

  “Not now,” he says. He glances down at the phone he’s holding. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

  I check the time. He’s right; I need to grab Lanny and get moving if we’re going to get to the jail on time. Assuming Sparks’s directions are accurate. I knock on the connecting door, and Lanny opens it. She’s reapplied her makeup, and she looks much more together than before. “Time to go?”

  “If you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.” She glances backward and drops her volume. “Connor apologized, by the way.”

  “He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Not that badly, anyway.”

  “I know.” She sighs. “He’s like hugging a tumbleweed, Mom.”

  “So are you.”

  She grins, and I can’t help but smile back. “It’s a family trait,” she says. “You’re more barbed wire though.”

  “Damn right,” I say, and hold up a fist for a bump. She rolls her eyes. “Not cool anymore?”

  “Let’s just go,” she says. “Connor says Sam’s taking him for a walk in the woods.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to go with them instead . . . ?”

  “Duh. I put on makeup, didn’t I?”

  She’s right, half a mile in this heat would melt that carefully applied shadow and eyeliner into a streaky, sweaty mess. “Then let’s go.”

  I second-guess myself through the entire drive to the county lockup. Strong and capable as she is, my daughter isn’t an adult. If the last year and our brushes with Absalom and the father of my children have taught me anything, it’s that my kids are brave, and smart, but they don’t always do the wise thing. The safe thing.

  And they probably get that from me.

  The county lockup is more secure than the Wolfhunter PD office, and I have to present identification at a guard gate before I’m given a parking permit and waved into the lot. There are at least thirty other vehicles in the parking lot; most seem to have gotten rough usage. I pull in as close as I can to the front row and turn to my daughter. “Okay,” I say. “Now you have to get very serious, do you understand me? This is not a game. And this is not a safe thing to we’re about to do.”

  She nods slowly. “I know.”

  “Do you?” I search her expression. “I’m not joking around with you, Lanny. You need to do what I tell you, the guards tell you, the lawyer tells you. No arguments and no hesitation. If there is any trouble, you get down and stay safe, and do not stop for me. Understand?”

  I’m scaring her, I can see that. Good. She needs to be scared right now. She doesn’t say anything, but she nods again.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go. Don’t make me sorry I agreed to this, okay?”

  We make the short, hot walk from the parking lot to the heavy doors of the county jail. Once inside, we find a well-lit reception area with a massive, intimidating counter that runs the entire length of the room. It’s old wood, with a more recent addition of bullet-resistant glass stretching from the counter up to the ceiling. There’s just one window open, and a line of four people ahead of us. It takes a while. I don’t see Hector Sparks anywhere, and there’s no sign of Detective Fairweather. We get credentials—though the woman behind the counter gives my daughter a long, judging stare—and go sit on one of the benches. It doesn’t take long before our badge numbers are called, and we’re directed to a door at the end of the counter that buzzes. A sign says PULL ONLY WHEN BUZZING OR ALARM WILL SOUND. I wonder how often they have to deal with that? Often enough to put up a sign.

  Detective Fairweather is waiting in the hall. He does not look pleased, and when he sees that Lanny is with me, for a moment he looks downright pissed off. It doesn’t last long, and then he nods to both of us. “Ms. Proctor. And who’s this?”

  “Lanny,” I say.

  “Her assistant,” Lanny says, and dares him to deny it. He gives her a long stare, then transfers it back to me. Placing the blame where it belongs.

  “This is no place for a kid,” he says.

  “Odd, because you’re keeping a girl the same age here,” I reply. “My daughter may be valuable if we need Vee to really open up about what happened inside that house.”

  “And you think your daughter should hear that?”

  I don’t even blink. “I guarantee you, Detective, she’ll be fine.”

  At least he doesn’t bother to argue, not that he could block her if he wanted to, because just at that moment I see Hector Sparks coming down the hall behind him. The lawyer is in his shirtsleeves, no coat, and he looks a little overheated. “There you are,” he says, and pauses. I see him take in my daughter standing behind me. It’s only a second, and then his attention returns. “Come this way. Our visiting time is limited.”

  “By what?” Lanny asks before I can.

  “My appointments,” Sparks says, which is an odd thing to say; surely the rest of the cases he’s handling can’t be as urgent as a fifteen-year-old girl with her life at risk. But he turns and walks away before I can ask, and we follow. Detective Fairweather doesn’t.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” he calls after me, and I hold up my hand to acknowledge that I’ve heard him. If he tries my cell phone, he’ll get nothing; I’ll have to call him instead. I prefer that, really.

  As we go down the long, straight hallway toward the locked gate, offices open up on the left—bare, windowless rooms with desks and filing cabinets and virtually nothing that allows any humanity. Not a single Beanie Baby or fluffy unicorn calendar. No pictures of families. I suppose it’s smart; it keeps everything strictly businesslike and deters any kind of personal ties that employees might be tempted to form, especially with inmates.

  But it’s depressing.

  At the gate, the three of us are buzzed through by a guard on the other side; it’s air-lock protocols, with another gate beyond, and the guard inside protected by a bulletproof office. The county might be small and poor, but the cops here aren’t taking chances. Once we’re through that, there’s just a row of cells to our right. The first one contains an older woman in a neon-yellow jumpsuit who’s apparently asleep on her bunk, face to the wall.

  Vee Crockett is in the second cell.

  She’s sitting on the small, thin bed, but she slowly gets up when she sees us. Her gaze fixes on Hector Sparks, but then moves to me. Then to Lanny, who’s standing a foot farther back than I am from the bars. Not going to lie; the girl looks broken. I know that stare, equal parts dumb confusion and numbness. She has a shock of messy dark hair, and her eyes are the clearest green I’ve ever seen. Clear of everything. I don’t know exactly what I’m getting us into, and right now, I can’t even hazard a guess.

  A guard has accompanied us this far. “All right,” he says. “Step back, all three of you, against the far wall. Stay there.”

  I’m pleased to see that Lanny immediately obeys, and I’m half a step behind her. It’s Hector Sparks who seems to not understand the instructions. The guard advances on Vee’s cell, ready to unlock it, but he pauses to repeat what he said to the lawyer. Sparks joins us against the wall.

  I get the feeling this might be the first time he’s ever been told what to do.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” the guard says to us as he stands next to Vee’s cell. “I’m going to unlock her cell, shackle her, and we will go ahead of you to the interview room. You stay ten feet behind me at all times; you’re being watched on video camera. Violate the rules and you’ll be immediately escorted out.”

  “We understand,” I say.
/>
  “She’ll be shackled to the table in the interview room. You will not be permitted to go to her side of the table, pass her any items, or touch her in any way. Do you understand my instructions?”

  “Yes,” I say, and my daughter echoes me. Sparks takes his time, but finally agrees.

  We do it by the book. I take the lead; I don’t want Lanny getting overexcited, or Sparks arrogantly assuming that his legal status means he’s exempt. So they follow behind me, and I make damn sure that there is more than ten feet of hallway between the guard’s heels and my toes the whole way. That’s easy enough to track, as there are markings on the floor every ten feet anyway. He stops at another gate, and I freeze immediately; I feel Lanny almost run into me.

  “Hey, sweetie,” says a voice from the cells to our right, “ain’t you a little peach?”

  Lanny edges closer to me. The woman’s soft southern drawl has an edge to it, and I have no doubt the comment’s aimed at my child.

  “You look like you like a good time.”

  Without looking at the prisoner, I say, “Shut up or I’ll pull your tongue out through your ass.”

  “Jesus, bitch, calm the fuck down,” the woman says sulkily. I look over at her. She’s a bleached-blonde white woman, ragged and unkempt, thin as a medical skeleton. It doesn’t take much imagination to guess she’s in for a drug offense.

  “Sit down,” I tell her. There must be something in my tone, or my eyes, because she holds up her hands and backs away from the bars. I’ve been in prison. I understand how this works.

  The gate at the end opens. The guard ushers Vee into the air-lock chamber, and we have to wait on the other side.

  Nobody else catcalls my kid.

  By the time we’re through the double gates, we’re in an area with small rooms. Vee’s in the first one we come to, already shackled down with ankle chains to the floor, and her wrist shackles run through a thick metal hasp on her side of the table.

  The guard runs through the rules again, sounding blank and bored, and then he leaves and locks the door. There are three chairs on our side of the table. I take the one on the far end from the door, and put Lanny in the middle. Vee just stares at me, then at Lanny; she ignores Sparks as if he doesn’t even exist. Under it I see a hint of something stirring. Anger, maybe. Hope. Something deep and visceral.