A Spooky Legacy, page 12
Caleb’s phone vibrated on the table, and he gave it a quick glance. When he reached for it, I shook my head. “We’ll only be a few more minutes.”
“It’s work.”
I figured if I kept talking, he’d realize I didn’t give a damn. “I’m going to level with you, Caleb. I’m running a little short on suspects here. So if you didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance of the Parkers, who did?”
“How would I know?”
His mouth was saying one thing, but his flustered face was saying something else entirely. I waited quietly, long enough that he started to fidget. And only when his eyes got a little watery did I speak.
“This doesn’t have to go beyond this room,” I said quietly. “Unless there’s a reason that it needs to.”
“I don’t want you to think badly of her,” he blurted. “You’re the guy looking for her and I don’t want to make the same mistake this time around.”
I tried my very best not to look lost, but I wasn’t sure I pulled it off. “I’m not here to judge your sister. I want to know what happened to her, and I can’t do that without your help.”
It was another few moments of silence before he spoke. “She was cheating on Nate,” he finally burst out.
Hell, at this rate, I was going to need a ratchet to get my eyebrows back to their proper level. “Why do you say that?”
“She had this friend that she was a little too close with, if you know what I mean.”
“Spell it out for me,” I said impatiently. “Who was this guy?”
“Woman,” he corrected. “And her name was Raven Lee. Quinn said they met at the gym, but I think they actually met at the Hope House.”
I chewed over that for a few moments before I finally asked, “What did they do that was suspicious?”
“I came over one night and Regan let me in, telling me that her mom and her mom’s friend were on the back porch. I didn’t think much of it, but as I approached, I smelled smoke. Quinn was very sensitive to smells, and she didn’t allow any smoking around her.” He gave me a meaningful look. “Except apparently, Raven.”
Sometimes people had different rules for different people in their lives. If we didn’t, a few days ago I wouldn’t have been forced to wear a smelly poultice and sit next to an equally smelly healing candle. “That doesn’t mean—”
“They were talking,” he said quickly. “Almost arguing. I heard my sister tell her that they were in too deep. That Raven couldn’t leave her now.”
Well, damn. When I asked for something suspicious, I really didn’t expect him to actually produce the goods. I pulled out my phone and pecked in a few notes. I knew it wasn’t productive, but I found myself demanding, “Why didn’t you say something before? This could be important.”
“I told the detective,” he shot back. “He said he’d look into it.”
I furrowed my brow. “Detective Owens?”
“I guess. Yeah, that sounds about right.”
I kept my poker face as I kept making notes. I knew Danny was fond of the guy and all, but he’d left more than a few stones unturned. Maybe this Raven lead was nothing. Maybe it was everything. Either way, I’d seen no mention of any of it in the case file, and there should’ve been.
Caleb’s phone vibrated on the table again and he let out a long sigh before grabbing it. He gave me an apologetic look. “I’ve got to get this. It’s my assistant.”
I waved him off. “Go ahead.”
He stood, swiping his finger across the screen. “Yeah? The Peterson wedding again?” He sighed. “No, only basic edits are available for the package the bride chose. No, I won’t. Because I can’t. Vivian Peterson is a pain in the ass, that’s why….”
He made his way down the hallway, his voice fading to a murmur as he closed a door behind him. I certainly didn’t mind the break—it gave me time to organize my thoughts and finish making notes. I glanced up at the sound of a soft shuffle of feet, but Caleb hadn’t returned.
I waited for a few seconds, listening, but all I could hear was ambient noises from the house—the hum of the air conditioner and the whirring of the fan. And the murmur of Caleb’s voice as he continued disparaging Vivian Peterson. To be fair, she really did sound like a pain in the ass.
I shrugged off the strange noise and finished making my notes. Then I stood, indulging in a long stretch before I moseyed on over to the bay window. The yard was pretty much immaculate, and I smiled at the sunflowers blooming in the flower beds. They were Quinn’s favorite, and it was nice to see her remembered in that manner. I had the feeling she’d approve.
I spotted Danny still talking to Opal next door. A white Volvo SUV was now in the driveway and a gray-haired man in golfer plaid had joined them. The husband, maybe? I could only assume from his “stab me now” expression that he found Opal’s gossip as trying as I did.
And then I heard that shuffle again.
I turned slowly, frowning as I surveyed the room. Thanks to Caleb’s strange decorating choices, I had a clear view of the entire space. No places to hide. Except…my gaze landed on the short door built into the wall of the stairs. I went over to the door cautiously, pressed my ear to the wood, and…there! There it was again. The softest shuffle of feet. Living person? Or other? At this point, I wasn’t sure which one I preferred.
I drew my weapon even as I took a few steps back. “Whoever is in there, it’s time to come out. Now,” I said firmly. “You’re not in trouble, but we need to talk.”
I could’ve sworn that I heard a little eep.
Quinn, maybe? I had a feeling she hadn’t been completely honest with me from the beginning, and every interview I had with her friends and family only increased that feeling. She wasn’t interested in solving her murder. She just wanted her girls and once she had them, I had the feeling I wouldn’t be seeing her again. That made me wonder who, or what, she was so afraid of.
“Show yourself,” I commanded firmly. “I’m not going to ask you again.”
The door cracked open, and a little face appeared…right before it slammed shut again.
My heart sank to my toes even as I holstered my weapon. In my line of work, you had to get used to seeing dead people. Yes, it still knocked me for a loop to see someone, once alive and vibrant, as just a husk on the coroner’s table. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t developed a bit of a shell. Cold, maybe, but the distance between me and the victim was critical. It helped keep me sane enough to get them the justice they deserved. It was the reason I could still laugh and joke and make lunch plans right next to someone whose entire existence had just ended.
The kids, though…it never got any easier. And to be perfectly honest, I’d be worried about my humanity if it did.
I knocked on the door gently and tried the knob. It didn’t open. Didn’t even turn. Which let me know that if she didn’t want me in there, I wasn’t going in there.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I thought you were a bad guy. But it turns out that you’re not, and I’d really like to talk. Would you like to talk to me?”
I didn’t receive a response.
“I’m a police officer.” I felt like an absolute idiot cajoling a door, but I kept the same steady tone. “Do you know what we do?”
Silence.
“We find bad guys who hurt people and we put them away so they can’t ever do it again.” I paused, waiting. “You know what? You don’t have to come out. Maybe it would be better if I came in. Could we do that?”
The door opened a bit. Just an inch. “Are you really a police officer?”
My heart squeezed again as I held my badge up to the crack. “You see this? You can only have one of these if you’re one of the good guys.”
Small fingers grazed mine as she traced my badge with her fingers. Then her hand disappeared back into the shadows. A moment later, the door opened a little wider. “Can I sit with you?” I asked, clipping it back to my belt.
“I guess,” came a small, reluctant voice.
I grimaced as I really looked at the small door and realized just how I was going to have to contort my body. But if she was too scared to come out, then that’s just what the hell I’d do. I stooped and tried to enter, hitting my head neatly on the door frame. I held in a curse even as I rubbed my head. I had a feeling yelling out fuck was a good way to get that door slammed in my face permanently.
Eventually, I decided crawling was the way to go. There was a soft rug under my knees as I inched along, which was strange for a storage space. I got no other sensory input other than dark. Oh, and there was a stack of something soft in the corner. I reached out my hand to make sure the lump wasn’t living, then gave it a squeeze. Pillows, maybe?
The little girl was tense and still beside me, clearly unsure of how she felt about having me in her space. I wanted to get some information before that feeling leaned too far into negative territory.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“You’re a stranger,” she whispered. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“Well, that’s true. But maybe if I tell you my name and you tell me yours, then we won’t be strangers anymore.” I waited, listening to her hushed breathing. “What do you think?”
She didn’t seem convinced, and I was strangely proud of her. “You first.”
“My name is Rain.”
She scoffed. “I’m Ryan. And rain is a thing, not a name.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Well, you’re going to have to take that up with my mother, Ryan.” I paused, thinking. “And while you’re at it, tell her that Moonbeam is not a good middle name. Maybe she’ll listen to you, because she sure as fu—heck isn’t listening to me.”
“Moonbeam,” she squealed and giggled. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth, as if she’d forgotten not to make noise.
It was a struggle not to react to that realization. “How long have you been here, Ryan?”
“I dunno.”
“Can you tell me who put you here? Was it your mom?”
“No, I put myself here,” she said indignantly. “This is Ryan’s corner, only for Ryan.”
I rubbed my chest again. Good Lord, she was going to kill me, one miserable tidbit at a time. “Please tell me it’s not for when you’re bad.”
She giggled again. I was going to have to make her tell my friends and family that I was, in fact, hilarious. At least to the under eight set. “No, it’s my reading corner, dummy.”
Well, that certainly made the pillows and rug make sense. Now that my eyes were adjusting a bit, I could see shadow-shapes and what looked to be some letters on the wall. I was sure if I could see them, they’d spell out her name. I reached out and traced one of the letters, my fingers finally telling me it was a curlicued Y.
I hated to change the mood, but I had to get information from her before she disappeared. “Tell me something, Ryan. Were you reading in here…that day?” I asked quietly.
She sucked in a breath. I heard movement and it seemed like her shape changed a bit, like she turned away from me.
“I’m sorry to ask. I just…it’s really important, okay?”
She remained stubbornly silent.
“You can tell me, and you won’t get in trouble,” I cajoled, making sure to keep my voice soft and easy. “Did you sneak down here to read after your mom put you to bed?”
She did something with her head that I couldn’t really discern. A shake? A nod? “I need the words, sweetheart,” I said softly.
“I came down to tell Mommy that my throat was scratchy. I think I was getting her cold. But she was crying and holding Regan. And Regan wasn’t moving.” Her words came so quickly that they started to jumble. “Nate was saying that it must’ve been the cake.”
My mind raced as I realized that Quinn had lied to me from the very beginning. “What cake were they talking about?”
“It was on the counter,” she said miserably. “Just an itty-bitty piece. We asked for some, but Mommy said we’d had enough sweets for the day and maybe she’d share it tomorrow. She promised.”
“But Regan snuck some anyway?” There was more movement from her corner, and I reminded her, “Words, Ryan. Use your words for me, okay?”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m tired,” she announced. “Your questions are stupid and so are you.”
“Ryan—”
“I want to read,” she said loudly. “By myself.”
I held in a sigh. Danny actually wanted one of these little tyrants? “In a minute. Can you tell me what this cake looked like? The one your mom made?”
“I’m done talking,” she said sullenly.
“Okay,” I said slowly. And then another idea hit me. It wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but now that I had the protection tattoo, I felt safe enough to try it. “Maybe…maybe you could show me.”
“Show you?” she asked hesitantly. “How?”
I held out my hand and she shied away. I put it out there again, slower this time, and waited. Quiet and still, there in the dark. “At your pace.”
She never touched my hand. I felt a light touch on my thigh instead.
I wasn’t sure how I knew things had changed on the outside of that door. It was still pitch black, and there was still a sliver of light coming from under the door. But things just felt…different. Maybe it was Ryan beside me, breathing shallowly, her fear an almost palpable thing. What we lacked in vision, we made up for in sound.
I could hear doors open and shut. A thump, thump, thump. And then something moving across the floor slowly. Something heavy. Someone was breathing hard and exerting himself, and I couldn’t help but wonder if someone was dragging a body across the floor. No…those were wheels. Like luggage?
I opened my mouth to speak, and Ryan shushed me urgently. “But I—”
“Shhh,” she said anxiously. “They’re not in a good mood. They said lots of bad words.”
“What kind of—”
“Shhh!”
I huffed.
The footsteps went back and forth past our little hideout—sometimes fast, sometimes slow. It was practically killing me not to know what the hell was going on out there. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. This was Ryan’s memory, her vision, and I wasn’t able to do anything she hadn’t done.
A ghost had once forced me to play about in a memory and to do that, I’d had to lose my corporeal form for a bit. It wasn’t something I liked to even remember. And even if I’d known how she made that possible, it wasn’t something I wanted to do ever again. So I listened, feeling all kinds of helpless, straining to hear any identifying factors.
Eventually, I heard a door slam. Then a car started up in the garage. Moments later, Ryan got up slowly and crept toward the door. I was relieved when the suffocating darkness gave way to light and suddenly, we were in the living room. Everything looked different than it did now—brighter, lighter, messier, homier. Toys littered the carpet, and a cup of cooling dark liquid was overturned on the table.
I drifted closer, feeling the strain of the connection between Ryan and me. It was like an invisible bungee cord tethering us together. There was only so far I could go, only so much I could do in her vision. The dark liquid on the table was now soaking and staining a folder and I tried to read the name on top. It looked like…Moira. Moira McDaniels. There was a Stacy Pittman, too. I strained to see more until my eyeballs actually ached. I only caught the words Project Halo before I had to give up.
Ryan was already pulling me away. I noted the luggage by the wall—two duffle bags and five suitcases. Two of them were child-sized, and one of them was open. I caught a glimpse of some neatly folded clothing and toys. Favorite toys? I wondered grimly as I strained to see. Favorite things to keep a child placated while driving through the night to get out of town?
We made our way through the kitchen, which was clean and tidy. And there was a four-inch cake, tiny and heart-shaped, and frosted with white, pillowy-looking frosting. The perimeter of the heart was neatly defined with thinly sliced strawberries and there was a plump strawberry cut in the shape of a rose sitting in the middle. A small corner of the cake was missing. Regan’s doing?
I stared at the still dripping dishes and a pink-lidded Tupperware container, draining on the dishrack. A pair of bear-paw potholders hung neatly by the stove. It was hard to imagine what had happened here this night. There had to be more disarray from killing four people than an overturned cup of coffee. How had they incapacitated Nate and Quinn so easily?
The door that led to the garage flew open and I blinked in surprise to see Quinn rush through the door. “Ryan, honey, there you are. I was looking everywhere for you.” Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed as she lunged forward and grabbed Ryan’s hand. “We have to go now.”
Ryan pulled away and demanded, “Where’s Regan?”
“She’s…she’s already in the car,” Quinn said. “Remember I said there might be a time when we needed to leave immediately?”
Ryan frowned mulishly. “I don’t want to go. I have soccer tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t matter!” Quinn took a deep breath and started again, calmer this time. “We always have fun at grandma and grandpa’s, don’t we? Now, come on, it’s time. Be a good girl and—”
“What is taking so long?” Nate appeared in the doorway, looking frazzled. “We should’ve been on the road by now.”
“She’s a little girl,” Quinn snapped. “She doesn’t understand—”
“We’ll explain on the way,” he grated out before disappearing back in the garage.
But none of the promised explaining happened.
There was fast driving though, and tense silence. It was dark and rainy, the road was deserted. The windshield wipers kept a steady beat, fending off sheets of rain as best they could. At one point, Quinn reached over and switched on the radio. She was trying to be positive, but there was no hiding the tears tracking down her cheeks that she dashed every so often. When I caught a glimpse of Nate’s face in the rearview mirror, it was tight and tense. Regan was beside me in her car seat, a blanket tucked snugly around her. Her serene face looked like she was sleeping, but her stiff body told a different tale.
