Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls)

by Leigh, Melinda

  “I have no reason to think Mac is in trouble.” Grant shook his head. “But I’ll feel better if we find him.”

  “Me, too.” Hannah nodded. “Let’s go then.”

  Mac hadn’t relapsed in the ten years since he’d gotten out of rehab, but if he’d found out about the murders . . .

  “You want the baby or the box of files?” Grant nodded toward Lee’s office.

  “I’ll get the box,” Hannah said.

  Not surprised, Grant took Carson out front and opened the back door of the rental car.

  Carson shook his head. “I hafta be in a booster seat.”

  Shoot. Of course both kids needed safety seats. “Where’s your booster seat?”

  “In Mommy’s van.” Carson trotted back into the house and emerged with a set of keys. They trooped around the house to the detached garage. Kate’s silver minivan was outfitted for kids. Toys, bottled water, snacks, and little nets to stow everything. Carson climbed into his booster seat and fastened his seat belt. Grant snapped Faith’s seat into its base unit. He leaned on the carpet. Crumbs embedded his palm. His knee squashed an empty juice box.

  Hannah came out of the house with AnnaBelle on her leash. “She was whining. I didn’t see why she couldn’t ride along.”

  Grant opened the rear door for the dog. Hannah put the box of files in the cargo area. AnnaBelle jumped in. The insides of the van windows were already smeared with dog slobber. Not the dog’s first car ride. Hannah rode shotgun.

  He started the engine. “When was the last time you talked to Mac?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t talked to Mac or Lee in over a month.”

  “Me either,” Grant said. “Were we always like this? I seemed to remember we were closer as kids.”

  Hannah sighed. “When Mom died, everything changed.”

  “True.” Grant backed out of the driveway.

  Mom had been the backbone of the family. She’d handled four young kids with a husband who was away most of the time, and when he finally came home, he was paralyzed.

  “Lee used to call me every Sunday.” Hannah shook a piece of hair out of her eyes. “But the last couple of years, I got the impression he was swamped and stressed at work. We talked less and less. I was all over the world. The time differences were a pain.” She sighed. “None of my excuses will change the fact that he’s gone. I should have called him more, and now I can’t.”

  Nothing altered reality and instilled regret with the same permanence as death.

  Julia stepped off the bus and shrugged into her backpack, the weight of the straps digging into her shoulders. She fished her phone out of her pocket. Three text messages displayed on the screen. All of her friends were already home. None of them took the bus. They all drove to and from school. She was going to be sixteen in a couple of months. She’d get her own driver’s license. But she doubted it would matter. They couldn’t afford another car, and none of her friends lived close enough to give her a ride.

  She scrolled past the first two messages to the one from Taylor, another thing that didn’t make her mom’s short approved list. But at some point, a girl had do what a girl had to do, and Julia was sick of being left out of all the fun. She didn’t drink or do drugs. Her grades were straight As. Instead of being rewarded, her mom practically kept her prisoner with a bunch of ridiculous rules. She wasn’t allowed to date older boys. Taylor was eighteen, and the only boy she was interested in. Julia’s fun was limited to skating, and now even that would suck without Mrs. Barrett as her coach. She flicked a tear from her cheek.

  A funny sensation tickled the back of her neck, like someone was watching her. She glanced around, but there was no one in sight. She looked ahead. Her house was two blocks from the bus stop. One block left.

  She went back to her message from Taylor.

  Can u get out tonight?

  Omigod. He wanted to go out with her.

  Don’t act too excited. She texted back: maybe.

  That prickly feeling itched her neck again. She glanced behind her. A white van with a ladder on the roof sat at the curb in the middle of the block. A man in green coveralls was leaning into the back. Just a workman. Her phone vibrated. She opened another text message.

  Taylor: Maybe?

  Julia: u kno, crazy mom

  Taylor: I can come get u

  Julia hesitated, thumbs hovering above her phone. Guilt passed over her, but excitement crowded it out of her mind. If her mom was reasonable, she wouldn’t have to sneak around. She typed k and sent the message.

  Taylor: What time?

  Julia considered. Mom usually worked on the house renovations until around eleven o’clock. It would have to be late, after Mom settled into a deep sleep. At least AnnaBelle was back at the Barretts’ house. There was no way she would have been able to sneak past the ever-alert golden retriever.

  12, she texted.

  Taylor: K.

  Goose bumps raised on her arms. Suddenly anxious, Julia zipped her jacket higher and glanced around. The white van sat empty. The man was gone. Everything was normal. Her sudden attack of nerves must be from the decision she’d just made. She didn’t care. She’d never disobeyed her mom before. OK, she had, but not like this. Sneaking out was a whole new level of deception. If she got caught, she’d be in big trouble. But she was going out tonight. Seeing Taylor would be worth the risk.

  Chapter Ten

  “The turnoff is coming up.”

  “I see it.” Grant slowed and steered onto the dirt road that led up to Mac’s cabin. The minivan bumped along the frozen ruts.

  Hannah glanced in the back. “Hope this doesn’t wake them.”

  Both kids slept, heads lolling against the sides of their car seats. Grant parked in a cleared area in front of the cabin. Mac’s beat-up Jeep sat in front of the house. Mud splattered the fenders and windshield.

  “Wait here with the kids,” he said. “I’ll see if he’s inside.”

  He closed the door softly, went up onto the porch, and knocked. No answer. Cupping his hand over his eyes, he looked through the window but didn’t see anyone. He tried another window. Mac’s car keys were on the kitchen table next to a backpack. He must be inside. Why wasn’t he answering? Anxiety welled in Grant’s chest. He pounded on the front door with a fist.

  “Hold on,” someone shouted within. A minute later the door opened, and a rumpled Mac stood in the doorway. Sporting a scraggly two-week beard and bloodshot eyes, he was barefoot, dressed only in a pair of unbuttoned jeans. He dragged a hand through his bushy blond bedhead. “Grant?”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Grant shouldered his way into the cabin. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  “I got home about four this morning.”

  Grant scanned his brother’s bedraggled appearance. Please. Please, let Mac not be using again. He needed his brother’s help. “Where were you?”

  “Not doing anything bad. I swear.” Mac held up a hand. “I was finishing up my study on a family of river otters on the Scarlet River. Been camping for almost a week. My phone battery died last Friday. Not that it matters. No cell reception out there anyway.”

  Grant exhaled the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. “You can’t do that to me, Mac.”

  “You need to have a little faith, Grant,” Mac shot back. “I know I fucked up big-time, but that was a long time ago.” He blinked a couple of times, then his gaze sharpened. “Wait a minute. You’re not due home from Afghanistan for two more months.” Apprehension dawned in his bleary eyes. “Who died? Dad?”

  Shaking his head, Grant guided his youngest brother into a chair. His relief that Mac was all right shifted to dread at having to break the news. Mac’s butt went down hard, his eyes hardening, preparing for the worst.

  “Lee and Kate,” Grant said softly.

  Mac’s face
went blank for a few seconds, as if he couldn’t comprehend the words. He stared back at Grant, the shock and horror gradually sliding over his expression. “No.”

  Grant closed his eyes. Mac’s disbelief brought back his own reaction to receiving the news a few days before. Pain burst fresh in his chest like a flashbang. He turned toward the kitchenette. Giving his brother a minute to absorb the news, he went through the motions of making coffee, though probably neither of them wanted it.

  “Car accident?” Mac’s train of thought echoed Grant’s original assumption when he’d gotten the call in Afghanistan.

  The coffee pot hissed as Grant dropped into the chair across from Mac. There was no way to smooth the news over. “No. They were murdered. Not sure why. Robbery maybe.”

  Mac’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “I know.” Grant rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I can’t wrap my head around it either.”

  “That can’t be right. Not Lee and Kate—” Mac’s voice cracked. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

  Grant got up, filled a glass with water, and set it on the table in front of his brother. Mac stared at the water. His spine snapped rigid. “Where are the kids?”

  “They fell asleep in the car. Hannah’s outside with them.” Grant summed up his last twenty-four hours. “Child services delivered them yesterday. Last night was rough. Faith screamed. Carson cried. No one slept.”

  “I can’t believe they spent three days in foster care. How do they seem? Are they OK?”

  “I don’t know what’s normal for them. The baby pukes a lot.”

  “I think that’s pretty normal for her. How about Carson?”

  “Quiet. Exhausted. Terrified,” Grant said. “You’ll probably be a better judge than me.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You see him more than I do.”

  “Not really. I’m not here much. I was in South America most of the winter. I’m supposed to go back next month.”

  The coffee pot beeped. Grant got up and poured two cups of coffee. “South America?”

  “Giant river otters.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Only if I want to keep my job, my grant, and continue the research I’ve been working on for the past three years,” Mac said. “Why?”

  “The kids. Someone has to raise them.” Grant set the mugs on the table and sat down.

  Mac scrubbed his face with both hands, then flattened his hair. “Yeah, I guess it’s you, me, or Hannah.”

  They exchanged a look.

  “Right. You or me,” Mac qualified. He lifted a fist over his shoulder. “You want to shoot for it?”

  “Rock paper scissors isn’t going to cut it.” Grant snorted. “They aren’t the last piece of pie.”

  “No, they’re not.” Mac sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to give me a little time to take this all in. I still can’t believe . . .”

  “I know.”

  “The police are sure it’s them?”

  Grant wished with all his heart he could say no, that the police could be mistaken about Lee and Kate’s identities, but he couldn’t do that. “Yeah, they’re sure.”

  Mac slammed a fist on the table. “How the hell does a suburban lawyer get killed in a robbery?”

  Donnie scanned the residential street. Daylight wasn’t the best time for a break-in, but the house was empty. The big guy staying at the Barretts’ house had even taken the dog with him. Donnie got out of the white van. The rear windows were heavily tinted to block prying eyes. He’d put a few tools and a big metal box with a handle in the back in case anyone looked. The ladder he’d secured to the roof rack solidified his cover and had come in handy a few times.

  He got out and grabbed a clipboard. His dark green coveralls, emblazoned with Robinson’s Gutters & Siding on the back, gave him a great excuse to circle the yard and study the exterior of the house.

  At the back door, he glanced around. No one in sight. He pulled the key ring from his pocket. None of the four keys fit. Damn. Either the Barretts hadn’t carried a key to their own house or someone had changed the locks.

  Donnie walked back to the van. Opening the rear door, he slid a glass cutter into his pocket and picked up a measuring wheel. Rolling the wheel in front of him, he measured his way around to the rear of the house. A large bush in the flower bed concealed the air conditioning unit. Allowed to grow untrimmed, the shrub also shielded the laundry room window. Behind the cover of the evergreen, he climbed onto the AC box and cut the window glass. A flip of the lock gave him access. He paused for a full minute. No beeping. No alarm. No security system. Sweet. He lifted the sash and pulled his body through the opening. Inside, a few tugs straightened his coveralls.

  He started his search upstairs. An hour passed. Then two. Frustration built as he moved to the first floor. He’d had two objectives. Two. And he couldn’t deliver. The killing had gone off without a hitch, but the recovery was fucked. If he were playing baseball, a batting average of five hundred would command respect. But in his world, anything less than a perfect score was failure. The agreement was all or nothing. He wouldn’t get paid half for completing 50 percent of his objectives, and leaving a job unfinished wouldn’t help his future employment opportunities.

  Another hour later, he rifled through the last kitchen drawer. Damn it. Not here.

  His gaze fell on a few kid’s drawings on the fridge. He stiffened. Blue shamrocks. Wait. It was almost St. Patrick’s day. Maybe the picture was just a coincidence. The kid could be color blind or plain weird. He walked closer and peered at another drawing of a man. Right under the crayon man’s eye sat a hollow teardrop.

  Mother. Fucker.

  He pulled up his sleeve and inspected the ink blue shamrock on the inside of his wrist. A glance in the chrome toaster mirror showed him the empty teardrop tattooed below his right eye.

  The teardrop had been the mark of humiliation, drawn on his face while he’d been pinned to the concrete by four prisoners. The Aryan shamrock represented his revenge. They’d helped him kill the BFG gang member who’d raped and marked him. Killing the rival gang member had gotten him into the AB. He hadn’t had much choice, but “blood in, blood out” meant that the Brotherhood now owned him for life. He was not fucking going back to prison. He was done with that shit.

  He must have fucked up during one of his visits to the house. That kid had gotten a good look at him. He now had a new objective.

  The kid had to be eliminated.

  The cabin door opened, and Hannah carried a squalling Faith inside. A bleary-eyed Carson trailed behind her, followed by the prancing dog.

  “I think she’s hungry.” Hannah handed Faith to Grant as if the baby were a live grenade, but then considering the projectile vomiting, the analogy was fair.

  Mac rubbed behind AnnaBelle’s ears. “How’s the happiest dog on earth?”

  Grant mixed formula, and Faith sucked greedily.

  “Maybe you should think about eating slower,” he said to her.

  She batted her eyes and ignored him.

  Carson wandered aimlessly around Mac’s cramped quarters. He stopped in front of a fishbowl on the sofa table. “Uncle Mac, your fish is dead. Again.” He fixed Mac with an accusing stare.

  “Oh, yeah.” Mac walked over to stand beside Carson. “I meant to drop him off at my neighbor’s house. I knew there was something I was supposed to do before I left.” He gave Carson a hug. “How are you, buddy?”

  “I’m OK,” the boy said in a small voice. He looped an arm over AnnaBelle’s neck.

  Mac picked up the fishbowl and headed for the hallway that led to the back of the cabin. A toilet flushed. He came back out into the main room and washed his hands. “Are you hungry?”

  Shaking his head, Carson crossed the room and climbed up onto the chair ne
xt to Grant. Carson knelt and peered over Grant’s shoulder at the baby. “Is she done?”

  “Almost. You want to go home?”

  Carson nodded, then rested his forehead against Grant’s shoulder.

  “OK. We found Uncle Mac, who promised not to turn his phone off again. We can go as soon as your sister is done eating.”

  “Is she gonna puke?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Faith did not barf, which Grant considered progress. He loaded the kids into the van, then turned to Mac, who’d followed them outside. “We need to make some plans.”

  Mac nodded. “I need some time to get myself together.”

  Grant opened the car door. “OK. Don’t take too long. And I meant what I said about your phone. Keep it on and charged. I really need your help, Mac.”

  “I got it.” Hopefully, Mac would remember his phone better than his fish. For a smart guy, he could be spacey. “I’ll be over first thing in the morning.”

  Grant got into the car.

  “Any ideas for dinner?” he asked Hannah.

  “It’s not even close to dinnertime.” She shook her head and turned her face to stare out the passenger window. Like him, she’d learned about the murders from half a world away, with no family member to soften the shocking blow, and she didn’t look like she was handling Lee and Kate’s deaths well.

  At least she probably wasn’t seeing a guy’s face repeatedly blown to bits in her sleep.

  “Our mealtimes are a little messed up today.” Grant looked in the rearview mirror. The kid had refused to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Grant had made him for lunch. “Carson? Any requests for dinner. How about chicken nuggets?” To get a meal into the kid, Grant would even resort to fast food.

  Carson just shook his head. Grant drove the remaining twenty minutes in worried silence. At the house, he pulled around back and put the van into the garage. When he opened the rear door, he saw the box of files that he’d forgotten to drop off at the law firm.