by Amy Vansant
Violet took a deep breath. “He’s dating my younger sister, Cari, and she’s gone missing.”
“How long since you last heard from her?”
“About a week.”
“That isn’t very long—”
The woman shook her head as if the motion could render Catriona’s words silent. “We talk on the phone every day. She’d never disappear like this without letting me know.”
“Could you have missed a message? Or—”
“No. I’ve thought of everything. Her roommate says she hasn’t been home for over a week. I was about to go to the police when I thought maybe Colin—since he’s famous—had taken her somewhere where he couldn’t be found, for privacy. Is that possible?”
“Very possible,” said Catriona, though she suspected it wasn’t. Colin was in the middle of a shoot, not tucked in a French love nest, avoiding paparazzi.
“Tell you what. Give me a day to talk to Colin and let me see if I can find your sister?”
Violet’s shoulders seemed to release. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I’m so worried.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll get it worked out.” Catriona stood to leave. “Do you have a picture of your sister I could borrow?” She also wanted to search the house for shrines dedicated to Colin Layne, but suspected that request wouldn’t go over as well.
Violet moved to a dark wood hutch and retrieved a photo from the drawer. “She had these done back when she first started trying to get famous herself.”
Violet handed Catriona a professional headshot of what looked like a smiling, younger version of herself.
“She looks a lot like you.”
Violet nodded. “We have two sisters in between who look like each other. Cari and I have always had a bond. We favor our mother.”
Catriona felt her cheek twitch. That’s what Fiona had said about her—that she favored her mother. Fiona was apparently a daddy’s girl.
Catriona took the photo.
“Thank you. We’ll get a hold of Colin and get right back to you.”
Catriona turned to leave, but Violet’s sad expression gave her pause. She took the woman’s hand in her own.
“I want you to know we take this very seriously. I will find out if Colin has any knowledge that could help you find Cari.”
Violet patted her hand.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Catriona said her goodbyes. As she walked through the courtyard, she glanced back to find Violet watching her with that same sad look. Feeling the urge to offer more hope, she called back. “I’ll find her. I promise.”
Violet smiled.
Catriona immediately regretted her statement.
I know better than to make promises.
She tried to shake away her self-reproach. Nothing to worry about. Why wouldn’t I find the girl? She was findable. Definitely. Colin was a self-centered heel. Cari was probably somewhere crying on a girlfriend’s shoulder.
She made her way back to her Jeep and called Sean.
“Hey, did you get ahold of Colin?” she asked at the sound of his voice.
“Yes. He said he didn’t know anything but he’d be happy to talk to us tomorrow at the studio. Ten o’clock, his trailer.”
“You or me?”
“You, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” The word sounded a little whinier than she meant it to sound.
“I’m on my way back to my house right now with Broch.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes. He’s fine. Just needs some rest.”
Catriona fell silent, mulling the pros and cons of driving to Sean’s herself. He lived far from the studio, but she couldn’t wait to talk to him about what Fiona had told her, and she wanted it to be somewhere she could read his expressions. She wasn’t entirely sure he was always honest with her when it came to their time-traveling past.
“I think I’m going to come out to your house too, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem. Plenty of room for everyone—as long as you get your butt back to the studio tomorrow by ten. Something up?”
“No. I mean, I’m not sure, to be honest. Fiona had a lot to share.”
“Like what?”
She sighed.
“I’ll talk to you about it when I get there.”
“Okay. See you then.”
Catriona disconnected and dropped her phone into the Jeep’s cup holder. She pulled from the curb and headed for Sean’s, wishing very much the old man didn’t love living out in the middle of the desert so much.
Chapter Four
One Week Ago
Cassidy hung in the shadows of the apartment building watching the corner where the girl would appear. She’d removed her spurs to keep from janglin’ because Cassidy always had spurs that jingle, jangled, jingled like Santa’s sleigh bells.
She kicked up a heel to show everyone, but of course there was no jangling. There was no audience, either.
This time she’d have a private audience. One girl.
What was her name?
Right. Cari.
What a stupid name.
She didn’t even spell it right. It looked as if someone started writing a name and then just gave up.
Pay attention. You’ll only get one chance to do it right.
Cari would park her car and lock it. The beep would be loud enough to hear.
Then like ol’ Cookie ringing the dinner bell, Cassidy would come a runnin’.
Bee-Beep!
There it was.
Cassidy crouched lower behind the trashcans, the ruffles of her skirt brushing the tops of her boots.
Cari Clark walked down the side alley towards her door, fiddling with her keys as she searched for the one to open her apartment door. The woman smiled to herself, as if she’d had a good night. Fury exploded in Cassidy’s chest. She clenched her fists to keep from lunging forward too soon.
We’ll see how good a night it is, partner.
Cari stopped in front of her steps. She’d noticed the doll, sitting on the corner of the stoop, farthest from the stairs. The bridge of her nose wrinkled.
Take it.
Cari hung her purse on her arm and walked around the stairs to pluck the doll from her perch. She turned it over and back again, studying its cowgirl outfit. The hair sprung from either side in braided pigtails. On the back of the doll’s little vest it said, Cassidy Cowgirl, written in pen.
Cassidy didn’t know how to sew well enough to stitch the lettering, so she’d penned it. She was much better at ropin’ and ridin’ than sewin’.
That’s for darn tootin’.
Cassidy stared at Cari as she turned the doll over in her hands.
The moment is passing. Do something.
Cari fumbled the doll and it dropped to the ground. She laughed at her own clumsiness, sounding a little drunk.
She bent over to retrieve the toy.
Cassidy jumped to her feet and lifted her miner’s pickaxe high in the air. As she did, the tip of her boot bumped the trashcan.
Cari gasped and straightened at the sound.
Both women froze, gazes locked in the light cast by Cari’s front door light. Cassidy could see the confusion clouding Cari’s eyes. Flooding them. Momentarily blinding her to the threat.
The pickaxe arced through the air and embedded in Cari’s skull.
Her eyes shut.
As Cari crumpled to the ground, the pick stuck in the bone, pulling Cassidy forward. The rattley sound of tumbling plastic trashcans echoed through the night as both women collapsed in a heap, one on top of the other.
Cassidy lifted herself from the ground and jerked on the pickaxe. It remained stuck. She found a better angle and tried again. The pickaxe popped free. Blood and brain matter spilled from the wound.
Cassidy dropped the axe and fumbled for the can of expanding sealant tucked in the inside pocket of her leather vest. From another pocket she pulled a crumpled pin
k paper and poked it into the hole in Cari’s skull with the tip of the sealant’s straw.
Read that. Think about what you did.
The sealant came next, pumping into the gap.
The leaking stopped.
Cassidy dragged Cari’s body to the bottom of the stairs and galloped to the hose hanging on the side of the building to spray away any remnant of the mess.
She retrieved the large sack tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Unfolded, it fit neatly over Cari’s body.
Head ’em up, move ’em out.
She grabbed the girl’s purse and threw it into the sack with her, before dragging the body down the alley to her car.
Time to set the trap.
Yee-ha!
Chapter Five
Broch watched Pete leave the men’s room. He allowed his uplifted gown to drop and cover him before exiting himself, wandering back towards the room where the doctor had stitched his gunshot wound.
The doctor looked up from his computer. “Ah, there you are Mr., uh...”
“Broch.”
“Right. Mr. Broch. You’re all good to go.”
Broch nodded.
The doctor stood and Broch stared at his extended hand, mulling over the conversation he’d had with Pete in the bathroom.
Shuid ah ask him aboot nipping aff mah—
The doctor’s hand bobbed ever so slightly, reminding him of its presence.
Broch shook it.
No. Ah cannae say it.
The doctor gathered up his things. “You can put your clothes back on. Be careful not to strain those stitches and...”
The doctor picked up the empty pill bottle sitting on the counter and scowled.
“Didn’t we fill this prescription for you?”
Broch blinked at the man. He wasn’t sure what prescription was. Usually he could piece together the meaning of modern words from context, but at that moment, the man might as well have been speaking Greek.
“Na?” he guessed.
The doctor’s frown intensified. “Hm. I’ll have them waiting for you downstairs when you check out. I’m not sure why they would bring us the bottle and not the pills.”
The doctor left the room and Broch eased back into his clothes, staring forlornly at his manhood as he tucked it into his fancy new underwear.
It was like staring at a friend who’d betrayed him.
He shuffled down the hall and rode the elevator to the waiting area, head hanging, replaying Pete’s words over and over in his head.
Sean glanced over as he entered the waiting room and perked at the sight of him.
Och. There was his answer.
Mah da. He wid ken.
“Ready to go?” asked Sean.
“Aye.”
Sean frowned. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
If ye only knew.
Broch couldn’t find the words to tell the man what weighed so heavily on his mind. “Where’s Catriona?”
Sean hooked a thumb towards the door. “She had to run out. I’ll take you to my house to recuperate, unless you’d rather go to your apartment?”
Broch sighed. His apartment sat beside Catriona’s. He couldn’t be together with her now. Not until—
He looked at Sean and his father put a hand on his good shoulder.
“What is it, boy?”
Broch gasped a mighty breath. “Ah don’t wantae cut aff mah wee man!”
The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.
Heads in the waiting room turned.
Sean froze, his jaw falling slack.
“Uh, we should go.”
His father looped an arm around his and walked him from the hospital to his truck. Broch was glad to see Sean had brought the truck. His other car—the Jag, as Sean called it—was too small.
Sean motioned to the passenger side door. “Get in.”
Broch did as he was told. He put an elbow on the armrest and sat with his chin in his palm, staring out the window, bouncing his bottom lip against his upper.
Mah face feels funny.
Sean hopped in the driver side and remained silent until they were on the road.
“What was that?” he asked as he pulled onto the highway.
As Broch turned to look at him, his neck collapsed like a noodle, failing to support the weight of his skull. His head swung to the left and bounced off the headrest before Broch found a way to balance his skull once more. He steadied just as Sean glanced at him, eyebrow cocked.
“Whit?” asked Broch, unsure what the question had been.
“What you screamed back in the hospital. Something about cutting off your wee—?” Sean snorted a laugh and shook his head. “I think I misheard you.”
Broch took a deep breath. “He said ah need tae cut it aff.”
“Cut what off?”
“My—” Broch gripped his crotch.
Sean scowled.
“Your doctor told you that? But you were shot in the arm—”
“Na. Nae mah doctor. Pete. Catriona’s friend.”
“No-see-um? The studio’s doctor?”
“Aye.”
“You saw Pete in the hospital, and he said you have to cut off your...thing?”
“Aye.”
“Were you shot there too?”
“Na.”
Broch’s head swung the other way and thunked against the side window. The cars outside whooshed by and he watched them go, the steady rhythm like the sound of the sea...
He made the noise with his rubbery lips. “Whoosh. Whoosh.”
“Broch.”
Broch snapped from his traffic-induced trance.
“Whit?”
“Can you hear me?”
“Aye.”
“You phased out there for a moment. Now tell me exactly what Pete said.”
“He said ah had tae cut it off.”
“Why?”
“He said ‘twas tae big. That it wid frighten Catriona—”
Sean exploded with laughter.
Broch scowled. “It’s nae funny.”
Sean covered his mouth as if he needed to physically stop his mirth. “Broch—first off, Pete’s an ass. He was kidding with you.”
“He wis?”
“Of course he was.”
“Bit his keeked different—”
“The man is a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. I would imagine it is different. Might be half the reason he mentioned it.”
“Bit he said Catriona wid be terrified—”
Sean shook his head. “Look, I don’t want to drag Catriona into this. But I’m telling you, I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“So ah dinnae hae tae cut it aff?”
“Absolutely not.”
Broch inhaled a great gulp of air and released.
“Pete,” he said at the end of his exhale. “Pound Pete.”
He liked the way the P noise felt.
His head lolled until his chin rest on his chest, his lips hanging from his face like two slabs of beef. He began to make a puh puh sound, enjoying the popping noise they made.
He titled his head, chin still pressed down, and spotted Sean squinting at him.
Broch squinted back. “Problem?” he asked with the same popping P.
“I’m thinking you might have bigger problems than Pete.”
“Pete said ‘twas a big problem, if ye ken whit ah mean.” Broch barked one loud laugh at his own joke, devolving into giggles he found difficult to control.
“Broch, pay attention.”
Broch pressed his lips together to stop laughing. At least he thought he did. They were too numb to know for sure. “Hmmm?”
“Did you take any pills? Your pupils are like pinholes.”
“Pinholes. Pinholes. Pinholes.” Broch repeated the word several more times. It never sounded quite right to his ear.
“Broch. Did you take any pills?”
“Aye. Pinholes. The doctor gave them tae me.” He fished i
n his pockets and produced the empty pill bottle, holding it aloft like a trophy. “They’re brilliant. Pinholes. Pinholes. Pills. Pills Pills. Pah..Paaaaaaaaah..”
“Is that bottle empty?”
Broch shook the bottle. Silence reigned.
“Aye.”
“How many were in there?”
He shrugged. “Four. Same as the first time.”
“The first time?”
Sean pulled off to the side of the road and snatched the bottle from Broch’s hand. “He gave you two bottles of these?”
“Aye.” Broch poked at his own face. It felt a little like his lips were sliding off and he wanted to make sure they’d stay put.
Sean read the label and his shoulder slumped. “You’re lucky, these aren’t a very high dosage, but you still shouldn’t have taken eight of them.”
Broch held up an indeterminate amount of fingers. “Nine. He gave me one tae start.”
Sean pointed to the door. “Get out.”
“Whit?”
“Get out of the truck and make yourself throw up.”
“Whit?” Broch started to laugh. He wasn’t sure why. Sean looked angry. It was hilarious.
Sean hopped out to walk around the truck and open Broch’s door. He pulled the Highlander from the cab. Broch stumbled and caught himself on the door.
“Och, yer manhandlin’ me—”
Sean pointed at the ground. “Throw up.”
“Howfur?”
“Put your fingers down your throat. You have to throw up those pills or you could overdose and die.”
Broch scowled. Dying didn’t seem like a good idea. Passed away. Passed. Pound Pete until he’s passed. Puh puh...
He stumbled away from Sean to lean against a great metal railing. Tickling the back of his throat with his middle and index fingers, it only took a moment before the meager contents of his stomach hit the pavement.
Sean looked at the mess.
“Good. Four of them were barely dissolved. Get back in the truck.”
Broch clambered into the cabin and Sean shut his door before returning to the opposite side to take his place in the driver’s seat.
Sean pulled back onto the highway and Broch shut his eyes. His brain wobbled in his skull, demanding he sleep.
“Ah willnae chop aff mah wee man,” he mumbled.
Sean patted his knee. “No. No chopping.”
Sean’s phone rang and he answered. Broch could tell it was Catriona on the opposite end of the line.
