Nowhere Safe (27 page)

She had several bags but she only hauled in the one that held most of her clothes and makeup, and the box Mr. Blue had given her, which she hid in the back of the motel room’s closet. Ugh’s partner was out of town and it was unlikely she would be back this evening, which meant he was footloose and fancy free. She’d bet her last dime that he would take advantage of the time alone and pick up a date for the evening. And she would be there to make sure the date was of legal age.

Beyond that, Lucky had a plan forming for Ulysses Graham Harding. With Mr. Blue’s help once again, she would neutralize him once and for all.

 

 

The pseudo Bavarian-style rambling mansion where September had grown up, Castle Rafferty lay under a slate gray sky looking blank and foreboding. As a result of the fire, the siding was still missing around newly installed garage doors, and September could hear hammering as she climbed from the Pilot, which she’d parked on the wide apron in front of the house next to Verna’s car.

She rang the bell and listened to it peal sonorously through the house at the same time she tried the door. Locked. A few minutes later it was opened by Rosamund, the lady of the house herself, looking ever more pregnant and a little flushed.

“September.” It wasn’t exactly a big welcome and September guessed her current stepmother blamed her, as well as Auggie, for foisting Verna on them.

“Is March here?” she asked.

“Oh, no. He and your father have some meeting in Portland. But Verna’s here,” she said with false gaiety. “Maybe you’d like to pay her a visit. Oh, and Evie’s here, too. But steer clear of her. She’s sick. She’s in the corner bedroom, vomiting, I believe. I told Braden that if I get that thing, I’m divorcing him. You’d think her mother could do something for her, but her days with Evie are set in stone, apparently. March has to take care of her on his days, whether she’s sick or not.” She smiled tightly. “That’s not the kind of mother I’m going to be.”

She’d stepped back from the door a little as she delivered this speech but still September had to practically bully her way inside. She hadn’t expected to see Evie herself and it was an opportunity she was going to take regardless of Rosamund, who, with her shining dark hair and imperious ways, looked surprisingly beautiful in her last trimester.

The hammering, which had briefly stopped, started up again, coming from the kitchen area. Rosamund threw a dark look at the closed door behind which work was clearly being done. “The cabinets. Finally. The noise is about to drive me insane!” She turned back to September, narrowing her eyes, as if recognizing she’d wormed her way inside. “What do you want with March?”

“Nothing that can’t wait. I think I’ll check on Evie and then I’ll go.”

“But I just warned you!”

“I know.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Then take her some dry toast. Suma was supposed to be here by now, but she’s late, and I’m not going near Evie.” She bypassed the kitchen and turned to the butler’s pantry where a toaster and microwave sat on a granite shelf. Two pieces of wheat toast were sitting in the toaster. Pulling out a plate from the overhead cabinet, Rosamund plucked out both pieces of toast, plopped them down, then thrust the plate at September.

Verna appeared at that moment, looking frail and beaten down. She placed a hand on the wall separating the living room from the dining room. “September,” she said in a dry whisper, as if all the energy had been drained out of her. “Will I see you at the memorial service tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there with July,” she said, feeling awkward. She had no idea how to deal with Stefan’s broken mother, especially with what she suspected about her son.

Verna nodded and Rosamund said to her stiffly, “Did you want something, Verna?”

As September carried the plate down the long hallway that led to the bedrooms, she heard Verna respond with a bit of her old spunk, “I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you, dear. Unless there was some coffee made . . . or maybe some of that toast . . . ?”

The room Evie was in lay at the farthest corner of the house. September hesitated outside the door, knowing she should really talk to her brother first, completely aware she wasn’t going to. March was difficult at the best of times. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. Her brother always said no first, no matter what the issue, and she didn’t think she could stand that right now.

Raising her hand, she knocked lightly on the solid core walnut door. “Evie? It’s September. I have some toast for you.”

“Come on in,” was the muffled reply.

Twisting the knob, she let herself into the darkened room, the only light coming from a small gap at the base of the blinds, though the gloom of the day didn’t penetrate much of the cavernous room. On the bed, Evie was working herself into a sitting position as September entered. A glass of water sat on the nightstand and she reached for it, allowing September to set down the plate of toast.

“I don’t feel hungry,” the girl admitted.

“Rosamund said you’ve been throwing up.”

“Only all the time.” She made room for the glass next to the plate, then sank back into the bed, her blond tresses fanning out on the pillow. “Rosamund doesn’t want to come in here because of the baby.”

“She’s not wrong. I just got over what you’ve got. It takes a few days.”

“It takes forever!”

“Feels like it . . .” She drew a breath. “Evie, I don’t really want to bother you when you’re sick. I came here today to talk to your dad, actually, but he’s not here and this has to do with you, too.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Uncle Stefan.”

She jerked with surprise and then her gaze dropped to the coverlet. “They said some lady killed him.”

“It looks that way,” September agreed, trying to think how to go on.

“Why?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

She looked up. “Was she mad at him?”

“Maybe. We don’t know her reasons yet. That’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you. You were around him a lot when he lived here, and I think maybe he took care of you once or twice?”

A long moment passed, and then she said, “You want to know if he was weird with me.”

“Umm . . . yes.”

“He took pictures of me in the bathtub,” she said. “He tried to act like he didn’t, but I saw him. And he was always trying to touch me. I mean, sort of. Like get up behind me when I went into a room, touch my arm and head. I told my dad about it, but he said I was just making things up.”

September fought back her own horror. “Did you tell your mom?”

She shook her head. “She might not have let me see my dad anymore, and then I couldn’t have come over here.”

“If that kind of thing happens, ever again, you need to tell someone.”

“I just wanted to stay out of his way,” she admitted.

“I understand. But you need to tell someone. That’s the thing. It needs to not be secret. You should tell your parents.”

“I can talk to my mom, I guess. . . .”

“Good. Do that.”

She chewed on her lip. “Will you tell me what really happened to him, when you find out? I want to know.”

“I will,” she promised.

“I hope he didn’t hurt any other girl.”

“Me, too,” September said grimly.

She purposely steered the conversation away from Stefan for a few minutes before she said good-bye. Whatever else Stefan had done, it appeared he hadn’t physically harmed Evie.

On her way out she avoided both Verna and Rosamund, and as she passed the hammering and pounding coming from the kitchen, she thought of the fire and the boxes in the garage that had belonged to both Verna and Stefan.

Maybe July was right all along,
she thought.
Maybe the arsonist was Stefan. Getting rid of evidence of his perversion that Rosamund had inadvertently sent to the storage unit. Pictures of Evie and God knew what else.

Shuddering, she plucked out her cell phone as she climbed into her SUV, hitting the button for Auggie.

He answered on the first ring, as if he’d been waiting for her. “I was just gonna call you,” he jumped in before she could say anything. “I talked to Bill Quade, brother of Dan, Carrie Lynne Carter’s ex-boyfriend. You and Wes musta put the fear of the law into him. He told me his brother’s not in California, if he ever was. I’ll bet that was a cover story they concocted between them. Anyway, Dan’s in the Seaside area.”

“That’s great, Auggie. Maybe you can tell Wes. I’ve got something else going, and—”

“Just let me finish. Because of Dan, Clatsop County Sheriff ’s Department’s on to some guy who sells and trades all kinds of herbs, drugs, whatever. And get this, he’s
blue.
His skin is apparently actually blue. He’s drunk some kind of silver shit for years and it permanently changed his skin color.”

“The alien drug dealer,” September said, drawn out of her thoughts in spite of herself.

“You got it. Clatsop County’s on their way, so my work here is done. Tell Weasel.”

“I will. And thanks.”

“What are you onto?” he asked as an afterthought.

“I’ll fill you in later.”

September stopped for a sandwich at Bean There, Done That. The coffee shop didn’t have much of a lunch menu and everything they did was heavy on vegetables and shy on meat, which was just what she wanted ever since her bout with the virus. On a whim she called Gretchen as she was walking into the place.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” her ex-partner told her.

She was already seated when Gretchen breezed in. With her untamed, tightly curled hair, swarthy skin, and catlike blue eyes, she turned heads even without the authoritative strut that was purely her. Slim and taut in a pair of tight jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket, she owned any room she walked into. She looked at the line of people waiting for coffee, said, “Fuck that,” then took the chair opposite September. “Couldn’t get a booth?” she asked.

“Not today.”

“How’s Westerly?” she asked, eyeing September’s sliced egg and tomato sandwich on wheat bread.

“You want half?” September asked.

“Looks too healthy.”

“It’s good. Here.” She slid her plate with her untouched half Gretchen’s way, holding on to the remains of her half. “I’m stopping by the hospital before I head back to the station. He hasn’t regained consciousness.”

Gretchen carefully bit into the sandwich, her gaze on September. “That doesn’t sound good.”

September had put the last bite in her mouth but suddenly found it hard to swallow. Reaching for her bottled water, she took a long drink, and said, “They expect him to at any time.”

Gretchen nodded. “I saw your interview with Kirby. You held your own.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, wrestling her fears about Jake down with an effort. “I’ve been working on becoming the bitch around the squad room.”

“I leave for a few weeks and this is what happens?”

“I kind of like it.”

Gretchen snorted, but smiled faintly. “So, who’s this woman who shot your stepbrother?”

“Ex-stepbrother. Don’t know her name, but she seems to be hunting down pedophiles.”

September’s cell phone rang and she pulled it from her messenger bag and looked down at the screen. Her chest tightened as she saw the name and number—
Jake’s brother.

“What?” Gretchen asked, but September waved her off as she said, “Hey, Colin,” in a tight voice.

“It’s good news, Nine,” he greeted her, his voice full of relief. “Jake’s awake.”

“Thank God!”

“He’s wondering what the hell happened to him. Kind of pissed about it.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’ll be right there.” She clicked off and nearly knocked over the table in her hurry to leave.

“Hey.” Gretchen stood up and blocked her way, shocking September when she placed both of her hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. She was a long way from the touchy-feely type. “Take a moment. You’re crying,” she said.

“Oh. Thanks.” September brushed off the unexpected tears, gave Gretchen a smile, then hurried out.

 

 

Lucky wasn’t much of a shopper. She’d been a fugitive most of her life, in one way or another, and clothes were merely a method of camouflage.

As she looked around the racks in a local Target she searched for something youthful and girly. She had a jog bra already, which would help strap her breasts down. Not that they were overly huge, but the less obvious the reminders were that she was a woman, not a girl, would be helpful when she was up close and personal with Ugh, which she hoped would be tonight.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe Ugh wouldn’t look at her no matter what. Stefan Harmak wouldn’t have; she’d sensed that in him.

But she’d also seen Ugh flirting with Molly’s mother, and he’d been kissing his girlfriend in front of the window not so long ago, so she suspected he might at least engage with her a little, if she played her cards right.

She picked up a light pink shirt and short black and pink plaid skirt. The skirt would barely cover her ass.

And shoes . . . ?

Wandering over to the shoe department, her eye fell on a pair of black flats until she spied a pair of pink-sequined ones. Checking the price, she quickly snatched them up, thinking of the roll of bills in her pocket.

 

 

The hospital parking lot was full of cars, and September chafed as she circled for a spot, finally finding one just as a spate of rain suddenly poured from the heavens. She didn’t give a damn and ran through the deluge bareheaded. She reached Jake’s room just as his mother, father, Colin, and Colin’s wife, Neela, were saying their good-byes to him, promising they’d be back soon.

She barely said hi to them, but it didn’t matter. His mother shooed her inside, a huge smile across her face. It was the best thing September could have seen and she slipped into the room, running a hand over her wet hair, her gaze pinned on the bed and Jake.

He smiled crookedly upon seeing her. “There you are.”

He was still bandaged and bruised but he looked wonderful. “Here I am,” she said. “Maybe I should stay on this side of the room. I just got over that damn virus that goes through places like this hospital like wildfire.”

“Get over here.”

She smiled and moved forward to stand by his bed. “I’ll stay right here.”

He wouldn’t listen to her and reached out and clasped her hand. She squeezed back, staring into his eyes, relieved to see the intelligence alive in their gray depths.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“You don’t remember?”

“No. And no one seems to want to remind me.” Lifting his right arm, he touched the bandage on his head. “The last thing I recall, Liv and I were moving your bed and you were at work.”

“Have you talked to the doctor? Maybe I shouldn’t say anything—”

“Tell me,” he ordered. “Please.”

“Okay.” She chose her words carefully. “Marilyn Cheever called you about Loni, apparently. Because Loni had left you a message.”

Jake stared into space for a few moments, clearly trying to dredge up the memory. “So, I went to find her . . . and there was an accident . . . ?”

“Yes . . .”

“Nine . . .” he said softly.

“Loni drove her car into the back wall at Sunset Valley. You were in the passenger seat.”

His eyes widened. “Oh . . .”

“You remember?”

“No . . . not really . . . but she’s been reminiscing about high school. What do you mean, drove her car into the back wall?”

“We don’t really know what happened yet.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, watching her.

“No.”

“Everyone’s tap dancing. Don’t do that to me.”

“It looks like . . . she may have hit the gas . . . on purpose.”

Jake closed his eyes, his mouth grim. “Okay.”

“Nothing’s certain yet.”

“Where is Loni? Is she okay?”

September didn’t respond and his eyes opened. He stared at her for long moments. “Oh, no . . . no . . .”

“She killed herself, Jake.”

“Oh, God.”

“Marilyn was here, in your room, last night. She wanted to be near you.”

“Oh, my God,” he murmured.

Dr. Denby and a nurse came into Jake’s room at that moment and September reluctantly released Jake’s hand.

“We have surgery planned for that arm tomorrow morning,” Denby told Jake, pointing to the one in the sling.

Jake’s eyes were reaching for September. “I’ll be back,” she told him. She hoped she hadn’t said too much.

Jake threw a look at the doctor while the nurse was checking the bandage on his head. “I’ll be right here,” he said with a faint return of humor. As she left, September touched her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss, her eyes extra bright.

She was more together by the time she reached the station, and when Lieutenant D’Annibal called her into his office, she was able to hide her feelings.

“Take some time off,” he told her. “I understand you were here even when you were sick. Don’t know how you did it.”

“I’m fine. Really. I want to stay and check out a lead on the Ballonni case with Wes.”

He looked like he was going to argue but let it go. She didn’t add that she wanted to keep working until Jake was out of the hospital. Then she’d take some down time.

“All right. But you’ve been working too many hours.”

“I’ll take some time at the end of the week.”

He waved her off and she returned to her desk, writing up reports on her interviews over the past few days, cleaning up the busy work.

At three-thirty she and Wes took off in his Range Rover.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked her.

“It’s been a pretty good day,” she said, then told him about Jake as they crossed the river to the east side.

The
TINY TOTS CARE
sign sat in the front yard of a two-bedroom house with a wide driveway and a large, fenced backyard. As September and Wes got out of his vehicle, they both looked over the top of the fence that surrounded the property to a group of about four kids playing in the muddy grass and the newer plastic play equipment that looked very much like the setup Mrs. Vasquez had left behind in Laurelton.

They were walking around to the front when a side door opened and a woman waved them toward the kitchen. “You’re the detectives, right?” September nodded, and Mrs. Vasquez asked for their identification before she allowed them inside.

She was a small woman with a round face, dark eyes, and hennaed hair. The kitchen was scrubbed and neat and there was a picnic table-cum-day-care dining table that was covered with a plastic tablecloth and laid out with paper cups of water, banana halves, a bowl of crackers, and a wedge of cheese.

“Just about snack time,” she said, eyeing her charges through the kitchen window. Three of them were climbing on the equipment and the fourth one was just standing and watching. “I’m on my way to bring them in, and we’re heading down to the basement with those muddy boots. Just sit yourself down. I’ll be right back.”

They chose to wait at the top of the stairs as she herded them inside, stripped them of their boots and jackets and had them wash up at a large downstairs basin before collectively tromping back upstairs in the shoes that had been waiting for them on the bottom step.

Once they were seated around the picnic table and munching away, she gave Wes and September her undivided attention. “I’m not sure I can help you, but I’ll try. What are you looking for?”

Since Wes had already talked to her about the Ballonni case, he looked to September, seeing if she had something specific she wanted to ask. Taking her cue, September said, “As my partner told you, we are investigating two separate incidents where the victim was drugged and tied up to a pole outside their place of work.”

“Chris Ballonni, my old mailman, and that new guy,” she said.

“Stefan Harmak. Yes. We think the two crimes were committed by a woman who may have thought her victims were pedophiles and decided to exact her own kind of vigilante justice.”

“I heard that you thought it was a woman.” She wagged her head slowly from side to side. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“You said your move to this side of the river had nothing to do with Christopher Ballonni.”

“We moved because we could afford this house,” she said, “but I can’t say I was sorry to leave. I didn’t like Ballonni around my kids. He asked a lot of questions about them. Too many, really. A couple of times, when Grace Vandehey’s mother picked her up early and he was delivering the mail, I just got a bad feeling about the way he looked at her.”

Wes had his notebook out and wrote down the name.

“Is Grace still one of your charges?” September asked.

She shook her head. “When I moved, my Laurelton clientele didn’t move with me. It’s too far.”

“What does Grace look like?”

“Long blond hair and a big smile. A sweet little girl. She was starting kindergarten the fall I left.” She glanced at the kids at the table and had to move forward and take the banana away from one of the boys who was aiming it at the others like a gun and making popping noises.

She added, “If you’re looking for hard evidence that he was a pedophile, I can’t help you, but I think you’re on the right track.”

“We’re trying to figure out who this woman is,” September said. “The one we think killed them both.”

“Could she be someone on Ballonni’s mail route?” she asked.

“Maybe, but Ballonni and Harmak worked and lived in different parts of the city,” September said.

“I was just wondering because there was a woman, a jogger, who stopped by my day care once. I’d seen her running by before, and she stopped to specifically ask me what I thought of the mailman. I wasn’t sure who she was, so I didn’t say anything at first, but she said she had a daughter and she thought he was overly friendly with her. I said he made me uncomfortable for the same reason. After that, I saw her run by a couple of times when he was delivering mail, and I thought, ‘she really watches him.’ It seemed kind of intense.”

“Did he notice?” September asked.

“I don’t know. I doubt it. I wouldn’t have if she hadn’t stopped by and talked to me about him.”

“What did she look like?”

“Mmm. Light brown hair in a ponytail. Baseball cap. Maybe around thirty? About five seven or eight. Nice looking. Sort of stiff-shouldered like she was tense, or something.”

One of the kids knocked over his cup of water and it ran in a line across the plastic table top where a little girl, the one who’d been hanging back on the playground, gasped and shouted, “Mrs. Vaz, Mrs. Vaz!”

“I’ll get it, Rachel.” She was already moving with a dish towel in hand to catch the errant water.

“So, you think she lives on the mail route?” Wes clarified.

“I never saw her other than jogging, so I don’t really know.”