Even in Darkness, page 10
“Lame, lame, lame,” Jelly said. “What else do you boys have?”
“Fudge?” Parker raised his eyebrows, hoping to see a little affirmation from the others.
“The chocolate theme works,” Jelly said, “but Fudge has been used before—in one of my favorite books, as a matter of fact.”
Ella walked right up to Harley and rested her fingertips on his temples. “Close your eyes. Concentrate. Her name is in your head, but it’s having a hard time finding its way out.”
Harley looked at her like she was crazy.
“I said close your eyes, Mr. Lotitto.”
Harley obeyed, a slight smile on his face like he’d forgotten all about his uncle and the evidence he needed to find.
“Think of a name you liked as a kid. Maybe a friend. Or a character in a book.” She rubbed his temples in a slow, lazy circle. The dog leaned in, like she hoped to be next.
Harley’s smile stretched just a bit.
“There. What name just streaked through your brain?”
“Zippy.”
“What?” Ella stopped the temple treatment.
Jelly didn’t look thrilled. “Not exactly a girl’s name, though, is it?”
Ella took a seat and patted her thighs. The dog trotted over. “How about Precious? Would you like that for a name, girl?”
Finn hunched over, trying to imitate Gollum from Lord of the Rings. “My Precious.”
“Ah, no.” Harley shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Princess.”
Harley covered his ears.
“Or maybe the name of a princess.” Ella angled her head, like she was watching the dog for a reaction. “Aurora? Belle? Jasmine?”
“You’re killing me,” Harley said.
“Ariel,” Jelly said. “Our doggy came from the sea . . . and wanted to be part of your world, right?”
“Oh, my goodness.” Ella looked way too excited. “I think I love that!”
Harley crossed his eyes. “Guys, help me out here.”
“I say we go back to something chocolate,” Parker said. “A favorite candy?”
“I love Tootsie Rolls,” Finn said.
“Tootsie.” El raised her eyebrows. “That’s got potential, right?”
“Here, Tootsie. Sit, Toots.” Harley shook his head. “What else?”
“Snickers. Baby Ruth. Reese’s. Oh Henry.” Finn looked at Harley. “One of them work for you?”
Harley looked more confused than ever.
“Three Musketeers? Twix?” Finn looked determined. “Clark. Goobers.”
“Finn,” Jelly said. “We’re not naming this girl Clark, Henry, Goobers—or any of your other ridiculous suggestions.”
“I got it,” Finn did a drumroll on the gunwale. “Hershey. King of chocolate—and a hundred-percent girly. Her. She.”
“I love it!” Ella clapped. “Harley and Hershey. Cute, right?”
“Cute?” Harley groaned. “Okay, her name is not Hershey.”
“Milky Way,” Finn said. “KitKat.”
“KitKat.” Harley stared at him. “That was my dad’s favorite.” He motioned for the dog. “Hey, KitKat. Come, KitKat.”
The dog bounded over and sat next to him. Harley grinned. “Okay, everybody, I’d like you to meet my dog, KitKat.” He lifted KitKat’s front paw and waved to the group.
“I actually like that.” El raised her eyebrows like she was surprised.
Nobody looked happier than Finn. He passed the bag of Oreos around the boat to celebrate.
“Okay, everybody. I need help with something else.” Harley looked at Parker like he suddenly wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. “I’m looking for something hidden near a bell in the area. I have no idea what bell.”
All eyes were on Harley.
“That’s it?” Finn shrugged. “You want us to list every kind of bell we can think of?”
Harley nodded.
“Maybe if you told us what you’re looking for,” Ella said, “that’d help.”
Harley glanced at Parker, and he took that as his cue to join in. “Let’s just say Harley is on a scavenger hunt—and he’s already told you all he can. Bells . . . bells. Let’s make a list.”
Over the next five minutes they got plenty of ideas for bells. Nothing that jumped out at Parker—but he jotted down every suggestion, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. Church bells. Sleigh bells. Bicycle bells. The bell at Rockport High School. Alarm clock bells. Barbells. Parker felt Jelly watching him.
“What about those bells mounted on shop doors in town,” Finn said. “You know, the ones that ring when customers come in—like at BayView Brew?”
Harley’s eyebrows rose slightly. “We had one at the dive shop. That’s good.”
“Wind chimes.” Ella pointed toward Bearskin Neck. “Some would call them bells—and they’re all over the Neck.”
Harley checked to make sure Parker wrote it down. “Circle that one. Anything else?”
The bell brainstorming stalled out, and the boat got quiet.
KitKat did more exploring and sniffed at the bag of Oreos in Finn’s hand.
“Smart doggy.” Finn moved the bag from left to right, watching KitKat follow with her nose. “So the cop is just letting you keep the dog? That’s great—but seems weird, right?”
“Exactly my thoughts,” Jelly said.
“I found her in the water. Call it salvage rights.”
“Right.” Jelly angled her head slightly. “I see you’ve removed the Harley-Davidson tag. So you’re just going to stop trying to find the real owner?”
“I’m the owner now,” Harley said. “Kit is mine.”
“That feels dishonest, Mr. Lotitto.” Ella shook her head. “Which doesn’t sound like you—or Detective Greenwood.”
Harley hesitated. “Greenwood said the owner is in no position to care for a dog anymore.” He nodded his head toward Flight Risk, the sailboat where Parker had found the body.
There was a moment where the only sound was seagulls screeching overhead. Ella’s eyes grew wide. “The dog belonged to . . . him?”
Jelly gasped. “KitKat . . . come.” The dog trotted right to her. She held Kit’s face between her hands. “You poor orphan doggy. Your daddy drowned and left you all alone!”
For an instant Harley looked stunned, like he hadn’t thought of it quite that way. “Guess we’ve got that in common, Kit.” The dog ran to him, like she knew who she belonged to now. “He couldn’t help it. He didn’t leave you. Somebody hurt him.”
Parker wasn’t sure if he was still talking about Mike Ironwing—or his own dad.
“I am soooo sorry,” Jelly said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Harley waved her off. “Forget it. That was a long time ago.”
Almost four years now . . . when he was twelve.
Kit nuzzled Harley’s hand, like she understood what they’d been talking about. The bond forming between her and Harley seemed to vulcanize at that moment.
“So the guy who drowned didn’t go in the water alone,” Finn said. “Kit was there when he died. Creepy, right?”
Ella seemed to be thinking that through. “Parker finds a body, and Harley rescues the dead guy’s dog? That must mean something. I’ve got to ask Grams about that.”
“Here we go,” Harley said. “All it means is they both ended up in the water, and only Kit made it. Maybe the guy tipped in one of those two-seater kayaks. With her fur, Kit would survive a lot longer than a human.”
Ella shook her head. “I feel like this whole thing is some kind of omen.”
“This wasn’t just a drowning,” Jelly said. “And every one of us knows that. Too much police attention for that. And Bryce Scorza pretty well confirmed that.” She quickly relayed what they’d learned while Parker and Harley were talking to the lawyer.
“How would Scorza know?” Parker couldn’t believe she’d buy anything Scorza said. “The guy wears his football jersey all year round. Scorza doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Says the one who doesn’t talk about what he knows.” Jelly locked eyes with him. “Scorza said the man you two were talking to is a criminal lawyer. Is that right?”
Parker didn’t answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes. And Mr. Scorza said his name is Sebastian something. Kimbro?”
“Kilbro.”
“So, he was right again.” Jelly sighed. “Maybe he’s right about the rumors, too. What if we’re dealing with more than the Bearskin Neck Bogeyman? What if there really is a Bearskin Neck Strangler . . . and Mr. Ironwing ran into him?”
Actually, the theory made sense.
“Strange things have been happening here for weeks and weeks now,” Ella said. “Burglaries like crazy all around this harbor . . . and now a man ends up dead in it? It’s a sign.”
“Of what?” Finn popped an Oreo in his mouth and worked it to one cheek. “People shouldn’t swim in nasty-cold water?”
“Look,” Jelly said, “arguing about this doesn’t change the facts. Mike Ironwing owned KitKat. Now he’s dead. Whatever happened to him . . . KitKat knows.”
Finn raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “Better get that doggy in the witness protection program.”
“Do not make fun of me, Mr. Bilba. Something big is happening here. And in a way, we’re connected.”
Harley gave Jelly a questioning look.
“Kit and the dead man were connected . . . and now she’s connected to you . . . to all of us.”
Parker had to dial this back a bit. “Look . . . Jelly makes a good point. That drowning may not have been accidental. We shouldn’t overreact, but it won’t hurt if we all are more careful—especially at night.”
Jelly gave him a little bow. “Thank you. At least one of you understands.”
“And I’m still talking to Grams about all this,” Ella said. “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t think I should keep Kit?”
Ella shook her head. “That’s not it. KitKat is yours now. I just have this sense it means something.”
“The important thing? Kit is mine—and nobody can take her away.”
“Just watch yourself. Okay, Harley?” Ella looked serious. “The last person who owned KitKat ended up dead.”
CHAPTER 24
VINNY TORINO PARKED HIS RAM 1500 LARAMIE PICKUP on the strip of Beach Street that separated Front Beach from the Old Parish Burial Ground. It’d been a favorite spot for as long as he could remember. Sandy Bay . . . teeming with life. The cemetery . . . filled with the dead. It was how he lived life—parked somewhere between life and death.
He arrived early for the meeting. He’d done his prep work. After his little speech, shop owners would line up to give him their money.
Advertising people often created ads that promised happiness. They hired perfect models for photo shoots who’d laugh and smile like life was good—just because they were using whatever gimmick the ad designers were selling.
But there was another motivator that worked soooo much better than the promise of a better life. Fear. Most people hated feeling afraid—unless they were watching a movie. Promise people a way to save them from their darkest fears, and sales go through the roof. Insurance companies made ridiculous profits by preying on the fears of decent people—and Vinny would do the same.
Vinny knew a thing or two about including raw fear in his marketing plan. He’d been careful to spread a growing uneasiness on the Neck for weeks now. Nobody wanted to pay for extra security. Vinny got that. But the shopkeepers would throw their money at him if they were scared enough. The Bearskin Neck Bogeyman continued to strike—and hadn’t been close to getting caught . . . not once. Now he’d start phase two of his business plan. This was where things really got fun.
Vinny was the ringmaster, controlling a two-ring circus. One ring was the new business he’d introduce tonight: Cape Ann Angels Security. That’s where he’d keep the spotlight: his angels of light. But there was one other team of angels he employed: his angels of darkness. This team was all about the burglaries and extractions, getting the team safely out before the cops arrived. Vinny’s business plan was simple. Slick. And if anyone got in his way . . . deadly.
He grabbed his over-the-shoulder bag and slid out of the truck. He straightened the new magnetic sign on the door. Cape Ann Angels Security in a Harley-Davidson-type shield logo. He especially liked the slogan printed directly below it: Little Wings. Big Guns. The graphic of an angel packing a Glock in a shoulder holster set things off just right.
Vinny had finished a light workout at the gym before coming. His new Cape Ann Angels T-shirt bulged in all the right places. It would send a message. If Vinny couldn’t keep their businesses safe, nobody could.
He’d always liked wearing short sleeves—to show off his tattoos. It added to his intimidation factor as a bouncer, which gave him an edge when things got dicey. He’d always paid top dollar for his tats. Nothing that looked like he’d spent time in prison with a wannabe tattoo artist. His tats would work their magic on the business owners tonight too.
People entered BayView Brew like the place was giving out free bagels. A couple of girls wearing coffee shop aprons stood outside the door, smiling and greeting them. A redhead and a black girl. Both likely in high school. He’d seen them around the boys who’d found poor Mikey . . . the park ranger’s son and Ray Lotitto’s nephew, Harley, who was now Victoria Lopez’s charity project.
Speak of the devils. The boys rounded the corner of the building—with a dog on a leash. The dog. That might make things interesting.
He sized up the boys quick. Harley wore a coffee shop apron and looked like a football player, but without the swagger. Vinny respected that. But he needed to watch the dog right now.
Suddenly the dog’s ears pricked up—and the thing looked right at him. Here we go. It had Vinny’s scent. The animal strained at the leash, barking its fool head off. Vinny didn’t slow his pace.
The dog pulled Mr. Football until the kid put some muscle into the job. “Whoa, Kit. What’s the matter?” Even the ranger’s kid took a grip on the leash.
Vinny had given the dog a chance to swim to shore when he’d dumped Ironwing. And this was the way the animal repaid him?
The thing tugged hard—its collar digging deep, making every bark and breath raspy. Rabid-sounding. The girls left their post at the door and got their hands on the leash. It was a regular tug-of-war. Mr. Football, the ranger’s kid, and two girls against the dog, but somehow the thing held its ground—even on the sidewalk.
Never appear afraid. Not of anyone—or anything. Vinny dropped onto one knee and held his hand out toward the dog. “Sign this pup up for that big dog-sled race. The Iditarod. Quite a puller you’ve got here.”
“Sorry.” The football guy choked way up on the leash—keeping the dog just out of reach. Its fur stood up like it had some massive static charge going. “I just got the dog. I don’t know what’s eating her.”
“Looks like she wants to eat me.” Vinny smiled. “Hey, pup. Do you smell my cat or something?” Okay, he was fibbing a little. The only cat he owned was his 9mm Springfield Hellcat—neatly concealed in the holster above his back hip pocket.
“Hey, KitKat.” The black girl was on her knees, smoothing down the animal’s fur. “It’s okay. Nothing to be scared about.”
That made Vinny smile. If dogs could talk, this one would have a story to tell that’d scare the cowgirl boots off the girl.
The girl had a calming effect on the dog, but there was something about the uneasy glance she gave Vinny that was disturbing. Almost as if she understood something of what the dog was trying to tell her—and wondered if it were true.
Vinny introduced himself and didn’t let on that he knew who Harley was. He got their names in return. Parker. Ella. Angelica—who the others called Jelly. He instantly wrote their names on the walls of his memory. The boys backed the dog around the corner of the building, even though the thing put up an impressive fight. With fresh apologies, Ella and Angelica got the door for Vinny, and he stepped inside.
The coffee shop was packed tighter than the donut racks in the morning. Small business owners—and most looking spooked. Others had the tough talk going. Mostly about what they’d do if the Bogeyman broke into their place. But they’d be singing a different tune when they were all alone—and the Bogeyman came calling.
He could smell the fear in this place. The whole thing gave Vinny a sense that he was truly invincible. A rush like he’d get when passing a car on a two-lane country road. A windows-down, ninety-miles-an-hour-in-the-oncoming-lane kind of exhilaration.
Victoria Lopez had been decent enough to give him a spot on the program to pitch the new business. While he waited, he gave the place a quick once-over. Front door. Back. Doorway into the kitchen. Stairs leading up to what? Likely living quarters. A replica skeleton sat at a table set up with a checkers game. Its hand was on a checker, like it was ready to make its move. Somebody was creative.
He sat in the back and watched Lopez corral the crowd. She announced that she’d like to open the meeting by praying to “Almighty God” for help. She was going straight to the top—which proved just how scared they really were, right?
He expected some desperate, pleading kind of prayer. Something weak and pathetic:
Mighty God, we hope you can
save us from the Bogeyman.
But if you can’t, then be our guide,
and help us find a place to hide.
Instead, the woman prayed with confidence. Like God had come through for her before. She almost sounded excited to see what he’d do this time. It was bunk. It had to be.
But it felt . . . powerful.
Vinny scanned the room as she prayed. Shop owners seemed totally dialed in. Clearly this woman was not someone to underestimate. He sensed that she could prove dangerous if she put her mind to working against him. So he wouldn’t let that happen.
Victoria Lopez followed with a rousing “rally the troops” speech. She was good, he had to hand it to her. Miss Lopez had a way of uniting and calming the crowd. Clearly, she had too much influence over them. He’d have to do something about that.
