Don't Cry (25 page)

“It's not always the same dream,” she told him. “And I don't always wake up screaming. Just sometimes. And yes, I've been through counseling.”

“Ever wonder if you might have seen the person who took your little brother, that you actually witnessed what happened and your conscious mind blocked it out?”

She stared at him as if an extra head had suddenly sprouted from his shoulder. “That's not possible. Afterward, yes, my memory was fuzzy, but later on, it all came back. Now I remember that day in detail. So does Hart. Neither of us saw who took Blake. We had no idea he was even gone until Hart went to check on him and found him missing.”

“It was just a thought. Sorry I mentioned it.”

“Don't you think I wish I had seen her, that I could have given the police a description of her? If I could have, then maybe Blake would have been the toddler the FBI rescued and Jeremy Arden would never have been kidnapped.”

“Look, how about I get you that stiff drink and—”

“No, thanks. I'm okay now. Really. Just take Zoe's notebook and go.”

“If you're sure.”

“I'm sure.”

When he turned and opened the front door, she called to him, “J.D.?”

“Yeah?” He glanced back at her.

She looked as if she wanted to tell him something, but thought better of it and simply said, “Good night.”

“Good night, Audrey.”

If she'd been any other woman on earth, he wouldn't have left. He would have reached out, grabbed her, and kissed her. God knew he wanted to, and only God knew why.

But he didn't kiss her. He didn't stay. Common sense kicked in just in the nick of time, reminding him that he and Audrey didn't even like each other.

J.D. had kept tabs on Jeremy Arden and Hart Roberts for the past few days. Not that he could tail them 24/7 or that he'd been able to persuade his boss or Chief Mullins to assign officers for surveillance. But the deeper he had dug into Arden's and Roberts's pasts, the more dirt he had dug up on each man. Both were addicts, supposedly recovering addicts. Neither had held a steady job for more than six months at a time. Neither had been married or involved in a long-term relationship. Roberts had been in trouble with the law most of his life, even as a teenager, but had been rescued by his uncle Garth again and again. Apparently Roberts wouldn't have survived without the support of his uncle and his stepsister. If not for them, he would have been one of the unfortunate misfits who slipped through the cracks of society and wound up dead in an alley somewhere. Jeremy Arden had somehow managed to survive on his own since he was eighteen, moving from one town to another, one job to another, one woman to another. And it had been that series of women who had provided him with temporary love and support.

Both men were takers, users, never seeing beyond their own needs.

If either had been his brother or nephew, J.D. would have cut him off years ago and allowed him to sink or swim on his own. Tough love, that's what J.D. believed in. Nobody deserved an endless supply of second chances. There was only so much you could do for somebody who wouldn't help himself.

Sure, he could understand how you'd want to stand by a family member, especially one who had emotional or mental problems. But good God, there was a limit, wasn't there? Apparently, Garth and Audrey didn't think so, because they hadn't given up on Hart, or if they had, they chose to continue being caretakers of a man not worth the lead to shoot him.

J.D. didn't have much sympathy for either Arden or Roberts. Correction, make that no sympathy. But he figured Arden had more reason to be unbalanced than Roberts did. After all, Jeremy Arden had been one of the Baby Blue toddlers, the last one, the only one rescued from certain death. Who knew what that experience had done to him? But Hart Roberts hadn't been a victim. His younger brother Blake had been. So what excuse did he have for his behavior? Unless you considered the possible hereditary instability that his mother could have passed on to him. From what little he'd been able to find out about Wayne Sherrod's second wife, J.D. surmised that the lady had suffered from mental problems all her life.

All the digging into the past coupled with gut instinct brought J.D. full circle, back to his original conclusions. Unless there was some unseen wild card in the mix, the Rocking Chair Killer was more than likely one of the Baby Blue toddlers or a family member of one of the kidnap victims or someone closely related to Regina Bennett. He had all but eliminated the victims' family members except for Hart Roberts. But there was absolutely no evidence linking Roberts to Regina Bennett or to the three recent murders. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't guilty. As for surviving Baby Blue toddlers—as far as anyone knew, Jeremy Arden was the only one. And there
was
evidence linking Arden to Regina Bennett. He had visited her in the mental hospital more than once. As a little boy, he had lived with the woman for months and perhaps had formed an attachment to her.

But neither Arden nor Roberts was the most likely suspect. That dubious honor went to the mysterious Corey Bennett. The name might be fake, but the man was real. The only question: Who was he? Was he really Jeremy Arden or possibly Hart Roberts? His general description fit both men, since they were similar in height, build, and coloring. Or was he someone else entirely, a third man, a third person of interest? And was he actually related to Regina Bennett? Could he be her nephew? If so, why was there no record of him, just as there had been no record of Cody Bennett except for his hospital records? The only people who would have known of another child's existence—a nephew, a younger brother, or even another child—were all dead. Regina Bennett and her aunt Dora and uncle Luther.

J.D. had begun searching for anyone who would admit to having belonged to the now-defunct Holy Brethren Church in Sale Creek and the surrounding area. If another Bennett child existed, there was a possibility that someone in the fundamentalist church would have seen the boy.

When he had searched the records on Dora Chaney's life after she'd left Sale Creek more than two decades ago, he had discovered her second husband was Frank Elmore, a widower with two daughters, both grown and no longer living at home when he married Dora. J.D. had seen Frank's obituary and a copy of his death certificate. He'd passed away last year. Neither of his daughters lived in Bristol, but J.D. was searching for both women on the off chance either would know something about Luther Chaney's old Lincoln or about a man named Corey Bennett.

J.D.'s conversation with the Bristol, Tennessee, police department hadn't borne fruit, not yet, but Chief Tully had been cooperative and promised he'd make some discreet inquiries about Frank Elmore's second wife.

J.D.'s phone rang. He eyed the caller ID. Even though Cara hadn't called again since Wednesday and this was Friday, he wanted to make sure before he answered.

“Yeah, hi, Phil. What's up?” J.D. didn't think his boss would be calling him while he was en route to pick up Zoe for their family-counseling session unless it was something important.

“I just got off the phone with Chief Mullins,” Phil Hayes said. “The DNA test results on the toddler skeleton found with Whitney Poole identified the child as Devin Kelly.”

“Which means that the third toddler Regina Bennett kidnapped was found with the Rocking Chair Killer's third victim.”

“Not a coincidence.”

“Damn straight. No way was it a coincidence. This guy is putting the two sets of victims together in chronological order. He's returning the Baby Blue toddlers in the exact order in which they were abducted.”

“It would seem so,” Phil agreed. “That's an odd choice of words—returning the toddlers in the exact order in which they were abducted.”

“But that's what he's doing, isn't it? Whether it's his intention or not, he's giving those little boys back to their families.”

“Son of a bitch. You're right.”

 

Audrey sat alone in the dark. Only the faint glimmer of moonlight mingling with the streetlight's glow allowed her to see shapes and shadows in her living room. Tam had stopped by earlier to tell her the news. The toddler found with Whitney Poole was Devin Kelly, the third little boy Regina Bennett had kidnapped.

“Marcus and I are going to Mom and Dad's for dinner tonight,” Tam had said. “Come with us, please. You don't need to be alone.”

She had begged off, telling her best friend a little white lie. “I'm expecting Hart and Uncle Garth later.”

Neither Garth nor Hart had called her. She hadn't expected them to call. Her uncle knew that Tam would bring her the news in person. Besides, she was not his first priority. He would have to tell Hart about the DNA results and then deal with whatever fallout resulted. Hart would probably get drunk again or possibly get high. After all these years, she knew her stepbrother well enough to know that he would use any excuse to justify doing exactly what he wanted to do. It wasn't that she didn't understand the reasons that drove Hart on a path of self-destruction. She was plagued by those same demons, and yet she had managed to live a reasonably normal life.

Hart's emotional fragility combined with his mental instability created a man who lived on the edge, always a hairsbreadth from falling into the abyss. If his life had been different from childhood to the present day, he would be a different person. If not completely normal, at least normal enough to function in the real world without relying on alcohol and drugs to dull the pain inside him. If Blake hadn't been abducted…If Enid hadn't committed suicide…If, if, if…if only.

Damn the if onlys. Damn the wishing and hoping and praying that things could have been different for both of them.

She should have gone with Tam tonight. Should have spent the evening with friends, with people who cared about her. But as she so often did, Audrey chose to be alone, chose to shut herself off from everyone else.

There were times when, even in the presence of others, she felt alone. Isolated. On the outside looking in to a life that could never be hers.

Oh, that's the way to handle things. Feel sorry for yourself. Sit here in the dark, crying and wallowing in self-pity.

She needed to get up, go to the kitchen, and find a bite to eat. She had skipped dinner and her stomach was now growling to remind her.
Eat first, then a long, hot soak in the tub, read a paperback novel, and go to bed early.

Audrey didn't need someone else to console her, someone to pet and pamper her, someone to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. She was entirely self-sufficient and had been since childhood. Early on, she had learned not to rely on others because they would let you down again and again.

Lost in thought, she didn't hear the doorbell at first, but as the ring repeated several times, she realized that someone was at her front door. Who on earth? She wasn't expecting anybody. Dear God, she hoped it wasn't Porter. She had not seen or heard from him since he'd left the bouquet on her porch.

Forcing her legs into motion, she got up and went into the foyer. After peering through the peephole and recognizing her guests, she unlocked and opened the door.

Zoe Davidson breezed in, holding two pizza boxes in front of her. Her father followed, a six-pack of Cokes in one hand and a brown paper sack in the other.

“I hope you haven't eaten,” Zoe said. “We'd have been here earlier, but we ran a little late with Dr. Woodruff and then we had to order the pizza and stop by the mini-mart to get the Cokes and candy.”

What were they doing there? Had she forgotten that J.D. was dropping off Zoe tonight? She glanced from a chattering Zoe, who headed straight toward the kitchen, to a silent J.D.

He lifted his shoulders in a don't-ask-me shrug, then said, “This was all Zoe's idea. She overheard me on the phone talking to my boss about the DNA tests results on toddler number three, and she immediately decided that you'd need us…need her tonight.”

Before Audrey could reply, Zoe paused in the kitchen doorway, glanced back, and barked orders. “Come on, you two. I'm starving. I haven't had anything to eat since lunch today.”

“Madam Bossy Butt is in charge,” J.D. said. “We'd better do as she says or it'll be off with our heads.”

When J.D. smiled, Audrey returned the smile instantly. Not a forced smile, but one that had formed with absolutely no effort whatsoever. She really didn't understand her reaction.

J.D. motioned for her to go first and when they reached the kitchen, he held the door open for her. Zoe had placed the pizza boxes on the counter and was filling three tall glasses with ice cubes. J.D. set the six-pack beside the glasses and tossed the brown sack on the table.

“The plates are in the upper right-hand cabinet,” Zoe told J.D. and he immediately reached up and opened the cupboard.

Audrey finally managed to speak. “I can get the plates.”

“You sit down,” Zoe told her. “Dad and I are here to take care of you tonight. We'll do everything. You relax and enjoy being waited on hand and foot.”

Audrey stared at Zoe, not quite believing what was happening. When she glanced at J.D., he pulled out a chair for her and indicated for her to sit. Slightly dazed, she did as she'd been told. J.D. eased her chair forward. His fingertips lightly brushed her shoulders. A shiver of awareness shot through her and her body instantly stiffened in response.

Zoe set the filled glasses on the table, one by one. “We've got Meat-Supreme and chicken spinach. Which do you prefer?”

“Oh, chicken spinach, definitely,” Audrey said.

Zoe grinned from ear to ear as she looked triumphantly at her father. “See, I told you she'd like my favorite pizza.”

J.D. shrugged good-naturedly. “You girls are welcome to it. That means the entire Meat-Supreme is mine.”

They all three laughed.

Within minutes, Audrey was sharing dinner with Zoe and J.D. as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if it were an everyday occurrence. The topics of DNA testing, Baby Blue toddlers, and the Rocking Chair Killer weren't even mentioned, as if by telepathic agreement the three of them had made a pact. Instead Zoe told them about her school day, no doubt embellishing certain details purely for entertainment value. Oddly enough, Zoe made everything sound amusing, everything from a description of several funny-looking students and a couple of weird teachers to a tale about two guys almost coming to blows over a certain girl in the dining hall. By the time they finished eating, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, and took the candy bag and their refilled glasses of Coke into the living room, Audrey had temporarily forgotten why she'd been so down in the dumps earlier.

“
Ghost Whisperer
is on tonight.” Zoe picked up the remote as she sat on the floor and placed her glass and the candy bag between her spread legs. “It's only five after eight, so we won't have missed much.” She clicked on the TV, laid the remote aside, and pulled a candy bar from the sack.

Audrey and J.D. sat on the sofa, one of them on each end. They placed their glasses on coasters atop the coffee table.

“We've got Hershey's bars with and without almonds, Mars bars, Three Musketeers, Mounds, Reese's cups, and Snickers,” Zoe said. “What'll it be?”

“Snickers,” J.D. replied.

Zoe tossed her dad a candy bar. “You, Audrey?”

“Oh, I don't know. A plain old Hershey's bar, I guess.”

Zoe handed the candy bar to Audrey. “I like mine with almonds.” She held up her candy bar and smiled.