The Injustice of Valor, page 18
The top of another man’s head came into view, one with shorter, lighter-colored hair. The second man wrapped his arms around his dark-haired friend. Val couldn’t see the second man’s face, but otherwise he bore a striking resemblance to the men of the Cox family. Whether Ambrose or Theo, she couldn’t tell.
The dark-haired man pulled the second man down, and they disappeared from view.
Her phone rang, its chimes sounding louder than a church bell’s, and Val nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed it out of her jacket pocket and muted it—too late. Alarmed voices inside the cottage told her they’d heard it, too.
She turned and ran back up the path toward the mansion.
Connor double-jumped Sammy’s last remaining checkers, his piece landing on his friend’s home row, and he raised his hands in victory. “I win! That’s two out of three. I’m the champion.”
“We said the first one to win three is champion.” Sammy crossed his arms over his chest. “Nobody’s champion yet.”
Connor heaved a deep breath. He liked Sammy and was glad they’d made up after their fight, but he could be so stupid sometimes. They’d clearly agreed best-out-of-three before they started playing. Sammy was just a sore loser.
But if they fought again, he’d be back to having no friends his age nearby.
“Okay,” Connor said. “Let’s have a snack before we play again, okay?”
“Cool! Do you have root beer?”
Connor grinned. “The best. A&W!”
“Yay! Yeah, let’s have that,” Sammy said. “And cheesy crackers!”
Connor stood and ran to the intercom by the door and pressed the red “Talk” button. “Can we have some crackers and root beer, please?”
“It’ll be right down,” Miss Embley responded. “Go ahead and play while you wait.”
They set up the checkerboard again and each took a few turns, then Sammy sat back, scratching his head. “Can we play outside after our snack?” he said. “I like it by the creek.”
“Sure,” Connor said. “If my mom or Miss Embley say it’s okay.”
Miss Embley brought the snacks a few moments later, and after setting them up at a small table in the corner of the room, she said, “I’ll be leaving soon. If you need anything else, ask your mother. She’s in her studio.”
“We’re fine,” Connor said. “Thanks.” He nibbled at the cheese crackers and sipped his soda.
Sammy glared at him, mid-cracker-chew. Connor knew what he wanted—to ask permission to go outside. Which might get a “no.”
He had a better idea. He waited until Miss Embley left, then whispered, “Once she leaves, we can go outside all we want. My mom never comes out of her study unless there’s an earthquake or something.”
Sammy’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
Connor nodded. “Besides, I want to show you something.”
Sammy’s mouth popped open for a sec. “Like, a secret?”
Connor grinned. “Yup. But only if you pass the test.”
Sammy’s expression grew guarded. “Like, what kind of test? A school test, or like doing twenty pushups, or eating something gross, or what?”
Connor shook his head. “A loyalty test.”
“What’s a loyalty test?”
Connor thought for a moment. “It’s when you prove to your friend that you’ll never rat him out, no matter what. Even if grown-ups say you’ll get in trouble unless you confess.”
“Confess what?” Sammy asked.
“The secret, dummy.”
Sammy ate a few more crackers and drank more soda. “What do I gotta do to pass the test?”
Connor thought and thought. He wanted to come up with something cool, and he should’ve done that before challenging Sammy. Then he remembered something he’d seen on TV once, where two friends poked their fingers until they bled and mushed them together.
“We should be blood brothers,” he said.
Sammy frowned. “Like, bleed on each other? My mom says that’s a stupid idea. You can give each other diseases and stuff.”
Connor scoffed. “Grown-ups always say stuff like that to scare you. I doubt it’s even true.”
Sammy still looked troubled, though. “How about,” he said, “instead of blood brothers, we become spit brothers?” He hocked up some saliva and spat it into his glass of root beer, then pushed it toward Connor. “You spit in yours. Then we trade.”
Connor laughed. “That’s gross. We should do it!” He spat into his glass and they traded. Each boy held his glass up to his lips, then stopped.
“On three,” Sammy said. “Drink it all. One…two…three!” He gulped down Connor’s drink.
Connor hesitated a moment, then realized he had no choice. Sammy had drunk all of his root beer. If he wanted any, he’d have to drink Sammy’s spit. “Here goes nothing!” he said, and chugged it down.
“Now,” Sammy said, finishing off the last of his crackers, “What’s this secret you’re gonna tell me?”
“Get your coat on,” Connor said. “We’re going exploring.”
Val ran until she reached the cover of the thick canopy of trees mid-property. Then she glanced back, confirming the cottage was out of view, and nobody had followed her. She leaned over, taking deep breaths, and collected her emotions.
First, guilt. Although she’d come upon the scene by accident, she’d stared transfixed for several seconds, and she felt downright voyeuristic, having invaded their privacy like that.
Second, a bit of shock. Val had seen one naked man in the past year—Gil—and very few before that. Never two together, having sex. It was the last thing she expected to see on a stroll of The Grounds.
Third, a little queasiness from an unexpected source. She’d gotten a good enough view of the dark-haired man to realize he was hairless from the neck down. All the way down. The Ken-doll look turned her off. She couldn’t help but compare him to Gil, who had a similar body type, yet presented a more traditional masculinity. A few tufts of chest hair, a thin, dark stripe from his sternum to his waistline, more fur down below…
Thinking about a naked Gil wasn’t helping. In fact, it only made her miss him even more.
Val needed to distract herself, then remembered the phone call that interrupted the scene. She checked the number, and didn’t recognize it. A 314 area code.
Shit! Austin! The one person who might have a clue as to Shelby’s whereabouts. And she’d missed his damned call!
He’d left voicemail, though. She listened.
“Ms. Dawes, this is Austin Clearwater.” His flat, Midwestern accent on top of the deep baritone sounded ominous, and it chilled her, as did his next sentence: “I need to see you right away. Call me back at this number.”
Austin needed to see her? Why?
Because he had Shelby?
Val had no choice. She called back.
No answer.
Tried again. Straight to voicemail. Almost unable to breathe, her voice a tight, nearly inaudible whisper, she kept it to the point: “This is Valorie Dawes returning your call. Call me as soon as you get this message.” She repeated her phone number even though he clearly had it.
Val retraced her steps toward the mansion, checking her phone every few moments to no avail. Still, she noticed a few features of the property she’d missed on the way out: an old well, with no rope or bucket for lifting out water. Concrete steps led down to a metal door, probably an old storm cellar. A small pond down the hill fed a stream that bled under the stone wall that marked the property’s edge. A few birdhouses sat empty, and a manmade beehive appeared to be no longer in use. She wondered which members of the Cox family were so interested in nature. Theo didn’t strike her as the type. Maybe Kayleigh, or previous generations of Coxes. They probably hired people to do it.
She reached the front door of the house and rang the bell. Waiting, she heard loud voices. Theo’s and Kayleigh’s argument spilled out of an open window overhead.
“I’ve told you a thousand times not to let the kid roam around unsupervised!” Theo’s voice rose from tense and strained to uncontrolled fury.
“I didn’t let him do anything,” Kayleigh shot back. “Your little whore did. Then she abandons them! I tell you, Theo, I’m firing that bitch the moment—”
“No, you’re not,” Theo yelled. “She doesn’t work for you. She works for me. I’ll decide—”
“Works? Hah! On her back, you mean. Or are you into kinkier positions now?”
The sound of a slap, followed by a woman’s scream, punctuated Kayleigh’s retort. The slap jolted Val as if she’d received the blow herself. Out of instinct, Val reached for her sidearm and badge—not there. Still, she felt the urge to knock down the door and rush upstairs to intervene. Theo could crush Kayleigh’s tiny body without even trying.
The shouting continued. Theo: “Don’t you dare ever imply—”
“Don’t touch me!”
“Touch you? I wouldn’t lay another finger on your disgusting so-called body if you begged me.”
“Don’t worry. I will never beg you. I doubt she needs to, though.”
Val fretted on the front steps, not knowing what to do. She imagined the trouble she’d invite if she shifted into cop mode—outside her service area, suspended, no gun or badge or authorization of any kind. Regardless, she needed to get Sammy out of there before the violence escalated. She reached out to knock on the door—
“Get out of this house, you cheating cuck!” Kayleigh shouted.
“Oh, that’s rich,” Theo said, cynical laughter on the edge of his steely voice. “Throw me out of my house, would you?”
“Your daddy’s house, you mean!”
“Oh, look who’s talking, you little brat. Hey, what the fuck are you—”
A parade of fabric fluttered out the window. Val recognized some items: dress shirts, ties, and men’s boxer shorts. A roll of socks landed with a thump on the grass. Theo’s face poked out a moment later, flushed red.
“Oh. Hi there.” His voice calmed and his face grew an even deeper shade of crimson. “Excuse us…a little husband-wife chat.” He flashed a sheepish grin. “We’ll be right down.”
“Who is it?” Kayleigh’s face replaced Theo’s in the window. “Oh… Ms. Dawes. The boys went out exploring, apparently. I’m sure they’ll return soon.” She ducked back inside and shut the window.
Val heaved a sigh of relief. At least Sammy hadn’t suffered through hearing all that. How horrific. He’d witnessed more than his share of violence and trauma in his short life, courtesy of his criminal parents.
But now, where the hell was he?
The door opened, and Theo shuffled outside, closing the door behind him. He spoke to Val in a low voice. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. One of our nastier arguments, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry to intrude,” Val said. “I was hoping to check in on Sammy.”
“My wife and my assistant conspired to allow them to roam with the freedom of adults to God-knows-where,” Theo said. “I’m sure they’re fine—they can’t get into too much trouble here on The Grounds.”
Alarmed by the revelation, still Val edged away from him, keeping an eye on his right hand—presumably the one that had struck his wife. “Still, I’d, uh, feel better if we knew where they were,” she said.
“As would I. Perhaps together we can team up to find them?”
Val cleared her throat. “Uh, sure. If we each searched a separate part of The Grounds—divide and conquer—”
“An excellent idea.” Theo showed none of the anger or aggressiveness that he’d unleashed on his wife moments before. “Let me make sure I have your correct number, and you mine, so we can share any discoveries we make.” He showed Val his phone, which already displayed her name and number.
“That’s right,” Val said.
Theo tapped the “Call” button, and it rang on Val’s phone once before he tapped “End Call.” He smiled, a flirty grin. “And now you have mine. Go on ahead. I, ah, need to pick up a few things on the lawn.” He shuffled away onto the grass and gathered up the belongings Kayleigh tossed outside.
Val hustled off, back up the path she’d just taken from the stables and tennis courts. She had no idea where to look. But she needed to find Sammy. And the sooner she put distance between herself and Theo, the better.
Val called the boys’ names at the top of her lungs as soon as she reached the backyard, though she doubted she’d find them that close. She cursed herself for leaving Sammy in Cedar Embley’s care, or anyone’s outside of her own, for that matter. So stupid. Far too trusting. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
She guessed the boys took refuge in the wooded area nearest to the creek. Both loved the forest and “exploring,” and she’d avoided that detour on her hurried escape from the cottage. She headed straight to that area.
Thinking of the cottage triggered another realization: since Theo was in the house upon her return, the light-haired man in the cottage must have been Ambrose. As for the other man, she had no idea.
A new thought stopped her in her tracks. Might Ambrose be the one behind Shelby’s disappearance? Might Shelby have discovered him in flagrante delicto, as Val had, and panicked Ambrose into a rash act to protect his reputation?
Then: Could Ambrose have killed Larkin and Dinker as well? Larkin had been spotted weeks before in the same gay bar where she’d first encountered Ambrose. Maybe they met there, he’d brought him home, and killed him after his conquest.
It fit, kind of. She’d studied cases in criminal psychology at UConn where men, ashamed of their own sexual appetites, targeted others they labeled “perverts” to assuage their guilty consciences. Was Shelby, a transitional woman, his latest target?
Or was she jumping to conclusions? Val always considered herself an ally of the LGBTQ community, but she couldn’t rule out subconscious bias.
On the other hand, the Greenville police and Ambrose’s own brother had made pointed references to his suspicious history…and hinted that it might not all be in his past.
She paused on the trail. Speaking of his brother… Theo always seemed to be trying to hide something. A guy with a violent mean streak, who intimidated and even struck his tiny, frail wife. She didn’t trust him out of her sight…or even within it.
Val trudged on, thinking about the couple’s fight—a brawl, really. A human hurricane, with fists and clothes flying. So foreign to her experience. The tension between her and Gil felt tame by comparison, and they’d never actually quarreled. Growing up, she witnessed few fights between her parents, and never anything so extreme. Instead, her parents’ disputes resembled something closer to an Arctic blast across the tundra: cold, distant, and lonely. For days after, they lived with a punishing silence so forced and heavy, she and her older brother Chad dared not speak—out of fear they, too, might get sucked into the icy, loveless void.
Val shook off that memory and delved deeper into the woods. The boys might have gotten lost in there—by accident or on purpose, knowing Sammy. The land sloped downhill, toward the creek, and she followed the trail down until she encountered the stone wall encircling the Cox property. From there she angled away from the wall until the trees thinned into a clearing and small outbuildings came into view—tiny rectangles of various ages and construction that smelled of fresh-cut wood and something more dank, like fertilizer.
Coming over the crest of a small hill, she spotted the glare reflecting off a glass roof. The greenhouse. Could they be in there? Noticing movement inside, she found the entrance and paused, recalling Cedar Embley’s warning about the gardener’s ill temper.
She couldn’t let that stop her. She swallowed her trepidations and knocked on the door.
No answer.
Val knocked again, waited a moment, then pulled the door open and stepped inside.
“Close the damned door!”
A stooped, slender man with deep wrinkles, a long white beard, and dark age spots on his face yanked an unlit, half-smoked stogie out of his gritted brown teeth. His long gray hair was pulled back into an unruly ponytail, its fringes forming a hazy halo around his leathery face. He wiped dirt from his free hand on black-stained rust-colored overalls and gestured at the door. “I said close it, goddamm it! You’re letting all the warm air out! Not to mention the moisture.”
Val unfroze and yanked the door shut. “S-sorry. I’m looking for a boy—my little brother. He and Connor—”
“Ain’t here. Ain’t seen ’em. Hope to fuck I don’t, either. Last kid that wandered in here ruined an entire bed of camas lilies.” He shook his head and clenched his teeth around the stogie again. “Who the hell are you?”
Val took a step toward him. The room grew warmer and more humid with every inch of ground she covered. “I’m Valorie Dawes. My brother Sammy had a playdate with Connor—”
“Not here, they didn’t. This is a workplace, not a fucking playground.” The gardener scowled, shoved his hands into a bucket of black soil on his workbench, and tossed some into a large, teal-colored clay planter on the floor.
“So you haven’t seen them—”
“No, I ain’t fucking seen them, and if they know what’s good for ’em, I won’t. Now get the hell out of here.” He threw another clump of black soil into the pot, then sprinkled some fertilizer from a box into the planter.
Val edged closer. Something told her this guy might be the only person on The Grounds without an agenda—someone she could get answers from. “May I ask you another question? A friend—”
“You just did.” The old man laughed, a thin, wheezy sound that devolved into a coughing fit, and he held himself upright with both hands on the workbench. The aroma of sweet liquor and stale tobacco wafted over to her. “Go ahead, then, ask. Last one, though, so make it good.”
