Buried Secrets, page 10
She turned over and patted his head. “Good thing you-know-who can’t see you up here all lazy, shedding, and hogging the bed. You know her motto. No dogs on the furniture.” She smiled, her hand resting on his exposed belly, warm and comforting. His tail thumped again.
After Addie left, the night had turned ugly in a way only her mother could manufacture. Nothing new there either. Story of her childhood. Her mother’s dark side could be contained for only so long before it spilled out like toxic waste. It had been bad early on, and it had gotten worse after Dad left. He’d been the buffer, the mediator, the comfort in her world by providing the light and laughter that had never been in her mother’s nature. He’d been the light to her mother’s darkness. An odd couple she’d never really understood.
Dad might have been the glass-half-full man of the family, but he hadn’t been oblivious or unrealistic about human nature. He also saw the edge in October. He’d loved his son despite his flaws, though nobody loved him as much as Mother did. No matter what he did, no matter how awful he could be, she would smooth things over. Make a million excuses and run interference a hundred times or more. The glint in October’s eyes told the tale over and over, and he played it up to perfection.
Silly to lie here and dwell on the past. So what if her mother hated her and her father abandoned her? So what if her only sibling, an entitled spoiled brat, had been, and still was, a jerk? It could have been worse, and over the course of her career, she’d seen first-hand the fallout from the worst. Soon enough she’d be free of her mother’s disdain, and her relationship with October would return to its pattern of little to no contact.
Here in the early morning hours, not quite night and not quite day, she still couldn’t turn off her brain even as she pushed aside family troubles. She’d closed her eyes and could see Addie’s face. The intriguing woman she’d found unconscious on the ground filled her with a kind of interest she hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever, and her story about looking for a missing brother was the brand of mystery she could get behind. If she’d let her, Tuesday could certainly use her skills as a law-enforcement officer to help. She’d had her time as a pre-sentence officer, digging into histories, tracking down backgrounds, asking the hard questions. A little charge of energy filled her.
If not for her mother, it would all feel good. She couldn’t get past the drug-fueled tirade she’d encountered after Addie left. The conversation rolled over and over in her head.
“I never should have brought you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He made me bring you home. I said no, but he thought it would be better for you here.”
“Mother, what are you talking about?”
“You’re nothing like my beautiful boy. He’s a genius and you—”
“What do you mean you shouldn’t have brought me home?”
“He made me.” She slapped a hand on the bed. “The bastard made me.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Took care of him though, didn’t we?” Her eyes closed, an ugly smile pulled up the corners of her thin lips.
“You took care of who?”
Her eyes snapped open, the pupils big and dark. “Your damn father. Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?”
“What did you do to Dad?”
Her laughter chilled. “God, I love him. Brilliant. Always has been.”
The confusing tirade had faded first into unintelligible mumbles and then into silence as she’d drifted off to sleep, thanks to the medication cocktail running through her veins. Tuesday hadn’t gotten any more out of her. When she’d finally turned in for the night, she spent hours tossing and turning while rerunning the disjointed conversation in her head. What exactly did it all mean? Not so much the part about bringing her home. She didn’t doubt for a second that if her mother could have left her at the hospital, she would have done so without a backward glance. She had room in her heart for one person, and one person only, October, and even though Tuesday had been born first, the hope for a son likely drove her mother. If at first you don’t succeed.
The part about her father bothered her the most, even as she tried to pass it off as the effects of illness and drugs. A kid knew when their parents didn’t get along, and she’d been no exception. Honestly, she’d only wondered how they got together in the first place. They were polar opposites. She supposed that had a lot to do with her uneasy acceptance of her father’s escape to destinations unknown. He’d obviously had enough of her mother’s toxic personality, or at least that’s what she’d told herself since that long-ago day. The hurt that he’d left her behind never healed and never would. Abandonment left damage the size of the San Francisco earthquake. The most puzzling part of the earlier exchange with her mother? What in the world had she meant by “we took care of him”?
“Buddy, what do you think?” Non-dog people probably thought it weird the way she talked to Tripper. Lots of side-eye glances through the years. Not strange at all to her. He might not talk to her, but just the fact she could talk to him made a huge difference. She never felt alone, and most of all, his unconditional love was priceless. In typical dog style, he rolled over, his long legs still sticking straight out, only now they smacked her. “Really, dude? I ask for help and you hit me? Why kind of assistance dog are you?” She chuckled and then finally drifted back into slumber.
* * *
Addie’s phone rang, and she rolled over to grab it from the nightstand. Her smartwatch went tumbling to the floor. Phone in hand, it took her a second to focus her sleep-addled eyes on the display. Conchita . “You do know it’s only six here, right? Geez, woman. Can’t you call at a decent hour?”
“Sorry. Forgot about the time difference.” Not much apology in her voice. Wouldn’t be Conchita’s way. When things were important, she rolled with them. “Besides, you haven’t been there long enough to adjust to the time difference. Your butt should have been out of bed at least an hour ago.”
“I was up late.” Not really that late but Conchita didn’t need all the details.
“Whatever. I still stand by my comment.”
“What’s going on?” She pushed up to a sitting position, squinting against the light filling the room. Out here in the middle of nowhere, she hadn’t closed the blinds all the way, and morning sunlight spilled in. “Not like you to be bright and cheery this early.”
True story too. Conchita tended to be a night person. She would work until the wee hours, but ask her to show up at the office at breakfast time? Didn’t happen. That she called her now caused Addie a fair level of concern. Only eight their time, which would be sinfully early for Conchita.
“It’s Hinchcliff.”
She relaxed. “I’m okay here. She can’t get to me, if she even knew my location. I’m so far off the beaten path, she’d have to have some excellent skills to track me down, and judging by what I saw from that bimbo, she would be hard-pressed to come up with something even close to mediocre. Seriously, why would she even bother coming this far?”
“Normally, I’d agree with you, except this bitch is out of her damn mind. She’s freaking lost it. Got served papers by her old man, and he’s out for blood. Your thorough reports were the final nail in the coffin, and that little princess will end up getting squat. Their prenup is ironclad, given certain conditions, and you handed it to him. She’s got a few million reasons to hate your guts.”
That didn’t wind her up much. “That’s nothing new. We’ve done a fair number like it, so what’s different now?” True too. She could count off half a dozen cases where their work supported some seriously solid prenups. Ex-spouses all over the Midwest hated her. Not that she minded. People should reap what they sowed. The responsibility for their situations landed in their own laps. Don’t shoot the messenger.
“Nobody can find her.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s on my trail. I mean, really, who would guess I’m out here in an unknown place? Had you ever heard of Hunters, Washington before this?” The threat wasn’t her first one, and given she had quite a few career years ahead of her, it wouldn’t be the last. Hazards of the trade that she’d been aware of going in. Otis did a good job of making sure she understood the good, the bad, and the ugly of the profession. The risks had been worth the reward.
“This bitch is a whole different level of crazy. I’ve got a file that makes me wonder how she’s avoided jail and a husband who’s out for blood. I’m not even sure that’s speaking figuratively. I’m shooting the file to you, and sister, you need to read it and pay attention. This woman is different in a real scary way.”
Okay, now, she paid attention. Conchita wasn’t the kind to frighten easily, and she sounded off-kilter. Didn’t like that one iota. “Send it to me and I’ll read it.”
“Any way you can get your hands on a gun?”
She tightened her grip on the phone. “Oh, come on. I’m here looking for facts on a twenty-year-old disappearance, and I have a hard time believing she’s going to come all the way out to Hunters. A gun would be a bit much.” It couldn’t be that bad, could it?
“You need something. I’m telling you, Addie. I don’t trust this bitch. I’ve got super-bad vibes when it comes to her. Grab some pepper spray, anything, to be ready for her.”
Unease rippled down her spine. She’d never heard this level of concern in Conchita’s voice before. Made her wonder if maybe a gun might be a good thing. Her mind raced, landing on one perhaps shaky possibility. “Could be I have a way to borrow a gun.”
“If you do, use it. I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew you had some kind of protection against Queen Nutbag. Either that or I’m going to have to fly out there myself to watch your back.”
“You stay put. I’ll see what I can come up with. I promise I’ll stay on high alert.” She ended the call and sat up straighter. “Well,” she said to the empty room. “Nothing too crappy about that.” Tension rippled through her shoulders. At least she’d gotten a fair amount of decent sleep. Easier to be on alert with some rest, and with what she knew of the woman, she wouldn’t be the kind to pull off stealth. If she did come for Addie, she’d most likely march up to the front door wearing designer threads, her hair perfect, and her manicure fresh. Her Jimmy Choo heels click, click, clicking across the porch. One must look good when coming to kill. Yeah, she’d watch for her, and she’d put her in her place, no designer threads or four-inch stilettos required.
The shower helped ease the initial surge of tension, and as the warm water flowed over her, she considered how best to approach Tuesday about borrowing a gun. That was her best chance. No way with a history as long as her family’s in this area that they wouldn’t be a gun-friendly group. She might be over-generalizing, but a fair-enough bet just the same. The only glitch came with Tuesday’s chosen profession. A federal probation officer might have some serious reservations about loaning a gun to someone she’d just met, even if she could produce a concealed-weapon permit, albeit from another state.
Except Tuesday wasn’t a federal probation officer anymore. That should shift the odds in Addie’s favor, right? She dried off and swiped away the steam from the mirror. “Right?” she said to her reflection. “She’ll see the logic and loan me the gun.”
The little voice in the back of her mind whispered, “When hell freezes over.”
* * *
A civilized man, October pulled in at the first off-ramp that showed a nearby Starbucks. Might be stereotypical yuppie coffee, but he mentally defended it as having standards, and the chain consistently met those standards no matter where he happened to be. They didn’t disappoint this morning either. He pulled to the edge of the parking lot and sipped his hot grande latte, no flavor. It warmed and energized him after the burnt-flavored coffee in the hotel and the watered-down version in the breakfast restaurant. A stop for something decent had been a critical need.
The smaller of his three cell phones rang, and he glanced down. His agent. “What’s up, Bo?” Kind of early for the guy who did his best deals between eleven p.m. and three a.m. He kind of admired the way the Bo worked. He did some of his own best work in the wee hours, although he never shared that fact with Bo, or anyone else for that matter.
“Tobe, my man. Where are you?” Cheerful and upbeat. The always-on salesman who never missed an opportunity to make a sale. He’d rarely talked to Bo when he didn’t sound like he’d happily downed a case of Red Bull.
“On the road. A little unavoidable road trip. I’ll be back home in a couple days.” Might be a lie, though one that would pacify Bo. He pulled out of the parking lot and took the first left onto the freeway.
“Unfortunate, man.”
“Look, Bo. I’m entitled to time away.” If Bo had his way, he’d have him painting twenty-four seven. To a certain extent, his artwork had become a fulfilling part of his multifaceted life. But Bo could never understand that it filled only a small piece of his heart, and twenty-four seven wasn’t in the cards now or ever.
“There’s a problem with your latest sale.” An odd note filled Bo’s voice.
He set his coffee in the console holder as he narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” He’d left specific instructions for the work to be picked up and delivered to the gallery. He’d done this dozens of times and never run into an issue. The delivery company he utilized always followed directions to the letter, and he paid them well for that service.
Bo cleared his throat before he said, “The Seattle PD is looking for you.”
His knuckles turned white as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What in the fuck are you talking about?” That absolutely could not be right.
“The painting, man. The painting.” Now Bo talked machine-gun fast.
“Bo, seriously, what the fuck are you getting at?” Good grief, could the man possibly explain the situation without having to go all the way around the block to get to the point?
“Freaky thing, dude. Freaky.”
If he repeated everything, he’d be here for hours before he wrestled the important details out of him. “How many energy drinks have you had this morning? I’ll make a solid bet you’ve been up all night too.”
“Not all night, man. I slept for like two or three hours.”
Lack of sleep had him confusing things. Only explanation. No way the police would come looking for him. He’d been too careful. He loosened his grip on the wheel. “You need some sleep.”
His words didn’t slow down. “I could be up for days, and it wouldn’t change this.”
His patience hit an end, and he snapped, “Spit it out and explain what this is all about.”
“It’s not me, dude. You have got to explain what the hell you’ve done.” A note of panic sounded in his voice, replacing the sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated rush. Or was it fear he heard all of a sudden? Either way, Bo had his attention now.
“I haven’t done anything.” Denial. Denial. Denial.
“Then why did they find human blood in your painting?” Now his voice cracked. Definite fear.
He grimaced and pounded his steering wheel. Damn it. Took the fuckers long enough to catch on to the special ingredient that set his work apart from every other artist’s. “Gotta go.” He ended the call, lowered the window, and threw the cell phone out, watching it in the rearview mirror as pieces of it flew across the highway. No more Tobe Roc. Pissed him off that his hand had been forced. He’d be lying to say he didn’t feel the end approaching, just that he wanted to be the one to call it, and not because the police came looking for him. His eyes now on the road ahead, he whispered, “And so it ends.”
Chapter Twelve
Daylight streamed through the window, bright and warm, when Tuesday finally rolled out of bed. She looked in on her mother before running downstairs to let Tripper out again. Once he trotted outside, she raced back upstairs to hit the shower and get dressed before the morning screaming started. Twice during the night she’d been dragged out of sleep by the demands for her presence. Once to adjust pillows that her mother could have done herself, and second for a drink of water because she’d knocked the glass off the nightstand. That one required a new glass of water and a towel to blot up the spill, all while being loudly supervised. She suspected it would be months before she got a good night’s sleep.
Unless, of course, she could convince October to take over the primary duties, and she could make a screaming trip back to her lovely little house with the big backyard in Spokane. She laughed at the thought. Cold day in hell floated through her mind. At least the water flowed hot and steamy, and she’d brought along her favorite shampoo, its sweet scent filling the air. She’d be miserable, but she’d smell good. Small victories were worth taking.
Back here on the ranch, she opted for boots instead of her usual kicks, and her best pair sat on the mat by the door until she was ready to head outside again. Her impressive selection of Chucks wasn’t going to cut it here. They might look good and feel good, but not so practical in the pastures or in the woods. To survive this ordeal, she’d need a fair amount of both.
Not to mention, she’d need to do something to keep Tripper happy. She’d taken his job away from him when she’d run away, and while she might classify her actions differently out loud, she’d flat-out run away. Not fair to her big boy. He deserved quality time to enjoy the back-to-nature part of this duty, and the ranch boasted the biggest backyard he could ever hope for.
By the time the coffee finished brewing, he’d had time to run and do a bit of doggy business. She opened the back door to let him in, and all guilt slid away. Joy radiated from him, the free run of all the ranch’s acreage making him more than content. No fences or neighbors to worry about. Just wide-open spaces and a million things to smell. That it made Tripper this happy took a lot of the sting from being here. “You had a good time?” She rubbed the top of his head.
