Catch the Girl

by Melinda Woodhall

  Smiling despite herself, Eden stood and let Nathan escort her and Duke down to the garage. He’d come straight from the airport to her office in an Uber, so they climbed in Eden’s SUV. Before she could back out of the parking space, Nathan’s phone buzzed

  His eyes scanned the message, then turned to Eden.

  “The number’s listed for a business off Highway 42 called Little Gator Diner. Diner’s owned by a man named Chester Gosbey.”

  “Well, call the number. See who answers.”

  Nathan tapped in the number and waited, but no one answered. After a dozen rings, he ended the call.

  “What now, Watson?”

  Eden scowled at Nathan, frustration making her voice sharp.

  “Please don’t tell me you think you’re Sherlock Holmes just because you found one phone number.”

  “Talk about lack of gratitude,” Nathan teased, staring into the shadows of the parking garage. “I thought you were friends with that police detective. The one that got shot. Can’t you call her?”

  Eden rolled her eyes, then pulled out her phone and called Nessa’s number. She wasn’t surprised when it went to voicemail. She considered calling Leo, then remembered he’d be in court. Oscar Hernandez had a bail hearing. A spark of resentment stirred inside her, but when she glanced over at Nathan, the feeling flickered and faded.

  Something about being with Nathan again was helping her see everything more clearly. Nathan was kind and funny and helpful, but he wasn’t Leo. And while she was grateful for Nathan’s friendship, she knew that Leo was the one she wanted by her side, especially at a time like this.

  But Leo isn’t here, and there’s a girl out there in danger.

  Turning the key in the ignition, she looked at Nathan.

  “You up for a ride in the country, Sherlock?”

  Eyebrows raised, Nathan grinned and buckled his seatbelt.

  “I sure am, Watson. And once our mission’s complete, you and I are going to have that talk.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The winter sun set early in December, casting gloomy shadows over the overgrown marshland where Angel searched for the devil's weed. The supply she had in the potting shed was almost gone, and she needed to be sure there would be enough of the poisonous plant to finish what she’d started.

  Her mother had warned her about the plant from the time she could walk, teaching her the proper name, Datura Stramonium, and warning that even a modest amount could cause violent illness, terrifying hallucinations and, ultimately, death. Angel had been fascinated by the purple blossoms, intrigued by the idea that something so lovely could be deadly.

  After her mother had died, a new family adopted Angel, changing her name, pretending that her previous life, and her real mother, had never existed. But Angel remembered. And eventually she’d been old enough to go out and find the devil’s weed on her own. Her new family had proven her mother right. The weed did cause violent illness and death.

  The next family that adopted her was less bothersome and more useful. She’d been spoiled and pampered and had decided they were more valuable alive than dead. At least, they had been up until a point. It seemed everyone reached the end of their usefulness to Angel at some point.

  Spying the tell-tale flash of deep purple she’d been looking for, Angel crouched in the long grass to harvest the toxic plants. Wearing protective gloves, she withdrew a four-inch, fixed-blade knife, using it to deftly cut down each plant before shoving it into the big burlap sack she’d brought with her.

  She liked the feel of the heavy knife in her hand, liked remembering how she’d used both the knife and the plant at different times to take revenge on those that had crossed her. She couldn’t decide which she liked best really.

  There’s a sentimental value to using devil’s weed, but the knife is more efficient if time’s a factor. Nothing quicker than a sharp, well-placed blade.

  The face of the old biddy that she’d killed in Pensacola floated through her mind, bringing a malicious smile to her face.

  Angel had wanted to be close to the prison but lacked a place to stay, so when Ursula Mueller had offered room and board in exchange for light chores and help with her medications, Angel had been more than happy to oblige the elderly widow.

  But once she no longer had a reason to stay in Pensacola, a few satisfying slashes with the knife had ended the old woman’s chronic complaints and incessant whining forever.

  Thinking it would have been a shameful waste to leave perfectly good jewelry and cash behind, Angel had helped herself to whatever old lady Mueller had laying around.

  A girl needs nice things sometimes, and poor old Ursula certainly didn’t have use for them anymore.

  Angel hadn’t counted on the old woman’s interfering neighbor making an unexpected appearance. Initially she’d ignored the pounding on the door, but then had been forced to slip out the back when the neighbor dragged up the apartment manager, screeching that something must be wrong.

  With no time to clean up the mess, Angel suspected she’d left incriminating evidence behind, and in her rush she’d forgotten about the security cameras in the parking lot.

  Luckily the walls of the congregation have provided refuge, and surely the police have given up looking for me by now, if they’d even bothered.

  She shook her head at the memory. It was a shame she hadn’t had Eli to act as her little helper that day. Maybe if she’d had his help then she wouldn’t have ended up on the state’s most wanted list.

  But now she had to decide what to do about Eli. She could never tell him who she really was and what she’d done. That would be pushing him too far. The bits of devil’s weed she’d been adding to his tobacco pouch had kept him confused and hallucinating, but he was still lucid enough to ask questions, and to have doubts.

  If he learned the truth, if he found out everything, even the devil’s weed wouldn’t be enough to keep him quiet and cooperative.

  Angel knew she’d have to accept that Eli was a liability. He knew too much and had seen too much. He would have to be disposed of soon. It was sad but necessary. She’d never meant to keep him around so long, but he’d proven to be an unexpectedly valuable and obedient partner in crime. Without him she’d never have been able to take care of Candace and Ruth.

  But poor Eli will have to take the fall. It’s his destiny after all.

  Eli would be the sacrificial lamb taking the responsibility for her sins. His diminished mental state would make it easy to blame him. She’d made sure of that. Everyone knew that Eli was losing his grip on reality. It wouldn’t surprise anyone to find out he’d finally lost control and ended up killing two innocent girls.

  Although, after we take care of Marie, I guess that’ll make three girls.

  She knew she should feel guilty, or at least a little sad, but then, she never had been the sensitive type. If she was to get what she wanted, there was no other way.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Angel kept herself hidden behind the dense trees and soggy underbrush as she passed behind the Little Gator Diner.

  No sense in making old Chester curious about what I’m up to.

  A faint, high-pitched sound in the still air made Angel stop and cock her head. She could hear a woman’s low, urgent voice. The voice sounded familiar.

  Creeping to the edge of the clearing, Angel pushed aside a tree limb and peered toward the old diner. Chester Gosbey leaned on his cane beside his blue El Camino. Marie stood in front of him, her face anxious and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  “I’m just telling you what the woman on the phone told me, Mr. Gosbey.” Marie glanced around the yard as if she sensed that she was being watched. “She said Ruth and Candy are dead.”

  Shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, the old man leaned more heavily on his cane.

  “Who is this woman, anyway?” Chester asked, his gravelly voice skeptical. “And why were you callin’ her?”

  “She helps people
.” Marie sounded reluctant to tell Chester more. “I gave Ruth her address because Candy was in…in trouble. They wanted to run away. I thought I was helping.”

  Chester reached into his front pocket and pulled out an old handkerchief. He wiped his forehead with it nervously and stuck it back in his pocket.

  “Why didn’t Candy come to me? I’m her grandfather for goodness sake. Why’d she run to strangers?”

  Marie dropped her eyes.

  “She was embarrassed. I guess she thought you’d be mad since you’d told her not to get involved with Jacob Albright.”

  Chester sighed, his big shoulders dropping.

  “So, what are you plannin’ to do now? You wanna’ call the cops?”

  Marie shook her head and backed away.

  “No…I mean, I don’t know. I saw that article in the paper a while back about the Willow Bay police chief killing girls, and Jacob keeps telling us that the police are trying to close the commune, so I don’t know if I can trust them. But I think I know where I want to go.”

  Angel leaned closer, straining to hear Marie’s words. A branch cracked underneath her shoe, and both Chester and Marie looked around. Angel froze, her heart hammering in her chest, but then Chester broke the silence.

  “You go on back to the commune, young lady. Give me time to check out this story and see if it’s true. If something’s happened to my granddaughter, I need to know about it.”

  Marie wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she listened.

  “Collect your things, then meet me back here after dark. We can decide what to do once I know more. Go on now, hurry!”

  Watching with angry eyes as Marie slipped into the trees, heading toward the compound, Angel let the tree limb drop back into place. Frozen in mute fury, she contemplated her options. She had to find a way to stop Chester and Marie before they ruined everything.

  The sound of tires crunching over rocks and gravel made her push back the limb and peek out again.

  A big black Dodge pickup rumbled toward the back of the diner. Chester propped his cane against the El Camino and folded his arms over his skinny chest.

  “We got us a problem,” Chester called out as Buck Henry climbed down from the truck. “Jake’s fucked up again.”

  Swiping an orange Gator’s cap off his head, Buck raked a big hand through his close-cropped curls.

  “What’d that little fucker do now?”

  He stomped to the truck bed and began pulling on a plastic tarp he had tucked around something in the back.

  “This time it’s serious, Buck,” Chester said, limping over to the truck and peering in. “He’s messed around with some young girls again. May even have killed ‘em. Police are bound to come poking around that compound.”

  Angel strained to see what was in the back of the truck, but the men blocked her view.

  “It’s a big’un,” Buck said, letting the tarp fall back into place. “Twelve-footer at least.”

  “And the guns?”

  Buck nodded to a wooden crate in the corner of the truck bed.

  “Yeah, a hundred of those little Walthers we got in last time. That’s all I could fit in with the gator.”

  “You better take those somewhere to offload. And get rid of anything that links you to Jake Albright. He’s goin’ down, and he’ll take us with him if we let him.”

  Snorting with disgust, Buck stuck his cap back on his head and jerked open the truck door.

  “Let me get rid of this load and alert my boys to clean the shop. I’ll circle back later. We need to decide what we’re going to tell the cops if Jake starts talking. Make sure we’ve got our stories straight.”

  “That boy’s going to have bigger problems than our little operation to deal with if what that girl told me is true.”

  Chester picked up his cane and limped toward the diner.

  “If I find out Candy really is dead, I’ll put that boy down myself. Shoot him with a crossbow just like that gator you got in your truck.”

  Angel waited for the Dodge to speed away and for Chester to disappear into the diner before she stepped out into the clearing. She’d have to take care of the old man now and see to it that Eli dispatched Marie later tonight. Neither the old man nor the tattle-telling girl would live long enough to tell the cops anything.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Iris Nguyen kept her head down as she entered the Willow Bay police station. She passed the front desk with a quick wave to Officer Andy Ford, not meeting his eyes or stopping to chat. The rumors about the homicides had begun to circulate already, and she wanted to avoid uncomfortable questions that she couldn’t answer.

  Any evidence or information about the cases had to be kept strictly confidential as she worked with the WBPD to identify next of kin and evaluate the autopsy findings.

  Not really my place to give out gory details in any case.

  It was inevitable that news of the vicious murders would be sensationalized in the media for weeks and months to come, but Iris suspected specific details of the crime scene and the mutilation of the bodies would be held back by the police as part of their investigative strategy.

  Approaching the door to Nessa’s office, she could hear Jankowski on the phone, the frustration in his voice palpable.

  “When we’re ready to make a statement, Gabby, you’ll be the first person I call. Right now, we’re knee-deep in a shitstorm. No way I can take time to pull together talking points for the fucking mayor.”

  Iris froze, unsure if she should risk sticking her head into the office. Maybe it would be best if she came back another time. Perhaps when Jankowski wasn’t cursing at his ex-wife, who just happened to be Willow Bay’s media relations officer.

  “Iris? Why are you standing out in the hall?”

  Jankowski stood in the doorway wearing a puzzled frown.

  “Um, I just came to give you and Nessa an update and I heard…well, I realized you were on the phone.”

  Wincing at her words, Jankowski waved her inside.

  “Sorry you had to hear that. It’s just…these homicides have really gotten under my skin.”

  Iris smiled, but she didn’t reply, reminding herself that whatever was bothering the brawny detective wasn’t any of her business.

  Although it sounds like his ex-wife is the one getting under his skin.

  Averting her eyes from Jankowski’s empty wedding ring finger, she forced her thoughts back to the reason she’d stopped by, crossing to stand by Nessa’s empty desk.

  “I take it your partner is out at one of the scenes?”

  Jankowski rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “She’s running the bridge scene. I’m handling the scene at the gas station. So, I’d say she’s probably gone back out to the river.”

  “Okay, well, I wanted to let her know that Alma has what she needs from me to run the DNA test on Candace Newbury’s fetus.”

  Dropping her eyes to hide sudden tears, Iris pretended to study the pile of files Nessa had on her desk, mortified by the show of weakness.

  “Must be pretty rough on you when a little one is involved.”

  Jankowski’s deep voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and Iris felt a soft flutter in her stomach. A warm rush of blood tinged her cheeks pink.

  I need to get a social life before I end up embarrassing myself.

  Raising her eyes to meet his, Iris nodded.

  “Yes, it is,” she said simply, her voice small.

  She knew she should add something about just doing her job, but it wasn’t true, and she didn’t think Jankowski would buy it anyway. She felt better as they stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, both seemingly lost in their thoughts. Finally, she sighed and stepped toward the door.

  “Well, if you see Nessa, let her know I stopped by. If the father of Candace’s baby has been arrested for a felony recently, his DNA should be in the database.”

  Jankowski’s face hardened.

  “Yeah, and maybe if we find the father,
we’ll find the killer.”

  Recoiling at the icy resolve in his voice, Iris felt a shiver of fear for anyone unlucky enough to be deemed a suspect by the intimidating detective. Wesley’s face sprang to mind.

  “You’ve spoken to Wesley, haven’t you? He’s in the clear, right?”

  Jankowski shook his head, but his voice softened as he saw the distress on Iris’ face.

  “We haven’t cleared anyone yet, but maybe the DNA results will help us eliminate Wesley from the suspect pool. He’s provided a DNA sample, so it’ll just be a matter of time.”

  Jankowski’s phone buzzed as Iris considered his words. She watched as he picked up his phone, holding it against his ear with one big hand while he flexed the other hand into a fist. After a terse conversation, he dropped the phone back on his desk.

  “That was one of the crime scene techs. They’ve widened the perimeter around the bridge. Even brought in dogs who've followed a scent into the woods.”

  Iris waited with wide eyes, hoping for more information. Maybe even some good news.

  “But they’ve lost the trail in the wetlands. Said we need to bring in a search team familiar with swampy terrain.”

  “So, what are you going to do?

  Jankowski shook his head in defeat, banging his fist on the table. Iris jumped, instinctively taking a step back, unsettled by the sheer physical force of his frustration.

  “Can you call in a favor from the state or the feds?” Iris asked in a reasonable voice. “Surely they’d want to help.”

  “I guess, but I doubt they’ll be able to get a search team here and ready to go today, and who knows how far the perp will have run by tomorrow. In the meantime, the tracks will be a lot harder to follow.

  “What about local search and rescue options?” Iris suggested, not used to giving up on a problem before she’d found a solution. “There’s gotta be someone the WBPD can call on if a child goes missing in the woods or there’s some kind of natural disaster around here.”

  Jankowski’s eyes lit up, and he reached for his phone.