Nowhere to Hide (32 page)

“I think we’ve all talked long enough,” he said.

They all started moving away from the table except for Rosamund who seemed frozen in place. As if realizing they were all standing, she lumbered to her feet. Some of the punch had gone out of her, and September stared at her and with dawning comprehension said, “You moved the boxes.”

“What?” Rosamund didn’t meet September’s eyes.

“You moved the boxes. You knew it when I came here the first time and when I came back with Jake on Monday.”

She thought for a long moment, and September could see she was trying to come up with an excuse. Eventually, she said with a hike of her shoulders, “I didn’t know it was so important. You were just looking for some old stuff. You didn’t say why you wanted it.”

“Where is it?” September demanded.

Her eyes moved past her to Braden, whose own expression was hard to read. “Well, I didn’t know!” she told him, as if he’d accused her.

“Where is it?” Braden repeated September’s question.

“You know! I told you I was getting that storage unit at that public storage place off Western.” She couldn’t hold his gaze, and September suspected that she might just have purposely forgotten to mention that plan. “I had Suma’s husband, Jorah, take some stuff over there. Just—junk.” Feeling cornered, she added, “I can give you the key.”

“Do it,” September told her, and she started to move toward the stairs that led to the master suite set of rooms.

“Were you ever going to tell Nine?” Auggie asked Rosamund as she moved past him.

“I didn’t know it was such a big deal!” She looked about ready to cry and Braden said roughly, “That’s enough.” As she headed for the stairs, Braden said pointedly to Verna and Stefan, “I think we’ve all had enough for tonight.”

Verna made the mistake of putting a hand on his arm. In a voice only September could hear, as she was closest, she whispered to Braden, “I don’t believe he’s a Rafferty.”

Braden put a hand in the small of her back and guided Verna and Stefan outside. September made a point of not meeting his eyes as he returned; she knew, as he did, that Verna’s comment had everything to do with Rafferty money and that’s why she was picking sides.

Rosamund was back in a few minutes with a folded piece of paper and a key on a ring with the unit number: C14. “This is the code to get into the place,” she said, handing the piece of paper along with the key to September.

“Thank you,” September said coldly.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to help you,” she declared, fighting tears.

“For God’s sake, Rosamund. What were you thinking ?” July said with a roll of her eyes.

“She gave you the key,” Evie reminded September with a touch of urgency, her blue eyes clouded with concern. “She just made a mistake.”

“That was good,” September agreed woodenly for Evie’s sake. “We all make mistakes.”

Dash took the following lull to say to Braden, “I’d like to meet with you at some future time.”

Braden’s nostrils flared. “You come into my house under false pretenses and expect me to accept you with open arms. . . .” He shook his head, as if he were beyond words.

“Hey, any pretenses, false or otherwise, are all my fault,” July said airily.

March steered Evie away from the confrontation and toward the front door. “School tomorrow,” he said vaguely as an explanation.

“Is Dash going to change his name to a month, too?” Evie asked just before the door closed behind her.

Auggie snorted. “That’s a good point. What month were you born?” he asked Dash.

Braden suddenly moved up to Auggie, looking for all the world like he was going to hit his son. Auggie raised his brows and met his father’s gaze deliberately, goading him with one arched brow.

September said, “Whoa, whoa. Let’s all take a step back.”

“No need,” Auggie said. “If this is what he wants, I’m ready. Take your best shot,” he challenged his father.

July said quickly, “Okay, I’m sorry. I should have handled this differently. Nobody’s hitting anyone.”

“It’s your fault!” Rosamund stated to her with a bit of triumph, glad the focus was off her.

“That’s enough.” Braden was curt. His gaze bored into Auggie, who stared back, calm and cool and ready. After several tense moments, Braden said again, “I think we’ve all had enough for tonight.”

Dash put in casually, “It’s December, actually. The month I was born.”

July looked at him. “Well, it starts with a ‘D,’ so I guess that counts.”

“Next time you want to have a party at my house, think again,” Rosamund sniffed at July. “Goodnight everyone.”

At Rosamund’s dismissal, September hurried Auggie outside. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

He turned to her. “Hey, you want to be mad at someone, be mad at July. She’s the one who cooked this whole thing up after Dash told her the truth. I wonder how many more ‘Dashiells’ there are out there. Think how many Raffertys there could be.”

“I gotta get outta here,” September said.

They were walking toward her Pilot and his Jeep. It was dark by now and Auggie stopped and said, “Okay, maybe it’s low of me, but I’m kinda glad to have it all out there. This is who we are. The real Raffertys.”

“What’s July thinking?” September muttered. “I mean, my God. Talk about burning bridges. She practically said she was going to lose her job. And she can’t stay at the house anymore.”

Auggie hiked his shoulders. “She just couldn’t stand the bullshit anymore. And I think she likes Dash.”

“What’s the story there?” September asked, thinking how July had been considering having a baby. Now she knew why she hadn’t considered Dash in her plans.

“He came to The Willows and introduced himself. He didn’t say who he was at first and it kinda went from there, and then he told her, and she sat on it a while, I guess, but after your run-in with dear old Dad, she was pissed. I don’t know what the hell’s going on with her, really, but she convinced me to come.” He half-laughed. “Glad I didn’t miss it.”

“What do you think Dash’s agenda is?”

“Rafferty money?” He shrugged uncaringly.

“Yeah, well, just wait till Dash tries to take a slice of the Rafferty pie. Verna and Rosamund will be all over it, among others.”

“He can have my slice,” Auggie said. “Or, maybe he’s just looking to connect with his family.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

They both laughed. Then September glanced back at the house. “I don’t really care about any of this. It’s crazy drama stuff, but I’d like to kill Rosamund. She knew why I was here before. She just didn’t want to admit she moved my stuff out.”

“Dear old Dad will never let her get away with that.” Auggie grinned. “He may treat us all like shit, but he won’t allow anyone else to.”

“True,” September said.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you on the Do Unto Others case anymore.” As the smile fell from her face, he added, “That said, I know it’s a bitch to be taken off a case. I’m sorry about that. But this one’s too personal. You know that.” When September didn’t say anything, he said, “I suppose you’re going to look in the storage unit.”

“Tonight, hopefully. I may be off the case, but I’m still going to find my own schoolwork,” she said with a bit of heat. “
Our
schoolwork, since yours is missing, too.”

“Okay.” He shook his head. “Boy, did Rosamund miscalculate on this one. You can’t get rid of us Raffertys that way.”

“And now there’s one more of us.”

“At least,” Auggie said.

The front door opened and Dash and July walked through. July wished him goodnight with a quick hug, then went back inside the house. Dash came toward them and stopped by a dark blue Nissan Pathfinder. The three of them stared at each other a moment, then Auggie said, “I’m so glad you met us on our best behavior.”

That broke both Dash and September up, and then Dash shook Auggie’s hand again. He looked at September and held out his arms, asking her silently if she wanted a hug.

September, who usually abhorred that kind of thing, walked into his arms and hugged him back. She didn’t care what his agenda was; he was a Rafferty and an outsider, and that put him on Auggie’s and her side of the ongoing family war.

Slightly embarrassed, she pulled back and exchanged phone numbers with Dash, who then did the same with Auggie. She then climbed back in her car and grabbed up her cell phone which she’d purposely left in the car, sensing earlier that whatever July had in store for her, she was better off not being distracted by phone calls from work or Jake or anything else.

There was one voice mail and two texts. The first text was from Sandler, asking her to call. She knew what that one was about; she wanted September’s take on the interview with Hague Dugan. The second text was from Jake.

Meet at your apt. Be there by 9.

She didn’t recognize the number for the phone message and debated on waiting to take it. She wanted to get to her apartment and maybe talk Jake into joining her on a hunt in the storage unit.

Sticking her earbud in, she listened to the message while she put the car into gear. She had to punch in her code, but then she was driving and the message came on.

“Hi, this is Della Larson. Hague’s caretaker. I got your number from the card you gave Hague. I worked for a very short time at Grandview Hospital myself. Hague was a patient there and that’s how I first met him. Before you get any ideas, he was young and I barely noticed him. We met years later again, and I was looking for in-home work and well . . . everything just came together.

“I know you’re looking for the person who murdered Glenda Navarone,” her voice went on, “and you think it may have something to do with whomever she allegedly had sex with on her uncle’s examining table. I should tell you that’s an urban legend. If it happened, it was before either Hague or I were there. Here’s my phone number if you want to talk more, but I think you’re following a dead end.” She then left the number.

September thought a moment, then decided to let it go. She could call her back later, but for now she wanted to meet Jake and have him go with her to the storage unit. She could call Della tomorrow, maybe. What she should do was talk to Gretchen about Hague and his caretaker, but then that aspect of the case would definitely be out of her hands, too. She wasn’t going to let that happen yet.

As she drove into her carport, she saw Jake’s Tahoe parked in a visitor’s slot. He climbed out of the car and came her way as she stepped out and hit the remote lock. Her heart fluttered a bit and she muttered, “Down girl,” to herself before he reached her.

“Hey,” he said with a smile.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I made some plans for us tonight. Pack a bag and let’s have another overnight.”

“At your place?”

“I’ve got somewhere else in mind.”

“I have work in the morning,” she said, though it made her chest feel heavy just thinking about showing up and not being a part of Do Unto Others.

“I’ll get you there on time.” He came up to her and put his arms around her, giving her a fierce hug. “This feels so good,” he said on a heavy sigh.

She smiled against his shoulder. “If you want to compete for the bad day award, you’re going to lose.”

“Once this guy’s in custody, it’ll be okay,” he said.

“Yeah . . . well . . .” She eased out of his embrace and headed for the stairs. “Okay, I’m ready to go wherever, but I need to make one stop first. Rosamund gave me the keys to a storage unit where she shipped all the Rafferty childhood stuff. She finally saw fit to tell me about that tonight.”

“Huh. Was that why you had dinner with your family tonight?”

“Not really. That just sort of came out. I’ve got a lot to tell you,” she said, threading the key in her lock and pushing open the door. “Come in while I pack, and I’ll bring you up to date. . . .”

Thirty minutes later they were pulling into U-Store and More and September read the code to Jake and he punched it in on the keypad. The gate slowly lumbered inward, protesting with a whine of metal hinges, and then they were driving through, looking for C14.

They found the unit at the end of a long row where each unit was faced with an orange metal garage door. Jake parked in a nearby designated spot and they both walked toward Building C which was lit by a series of sodium vapor lights set on the walls between the garage doors.

Pulling out the keys, September grabbed the lock, intending to put the key in the keyhole but the lock unsnapped in her hand. It was just set to look as if it were locked. When she tried to snap it together, it wouldn’t hold.

“Wonder how long it’s been that way,” Jake said, glancing around.

“Wonder if Rosamund even knows.” She unhooked the lock and then Jake grabbed the rope that was tied to the door handle, yanking upward. The door clattered onto its rails and they were left staring into a dark, rectangular ten-by-ten box. “Have you got a flashlight?” she asked Jake.

For an answer he held up his cell phone, pressing a couple of buttons to engage its light function. A thin stream of illumination fell over stacks of boxes. Without further ado, September started combing through the boxes. Jake bent down to help her. It didn’t take long to realize they were full of all the old Rafferty memorabilia. Six boxes in, September murmured, “She really cleaned the place out of all things Rafferty.”

“Who’s that?” Jake asked, pointing.

It was the portrait of Stefan Harmak that had hung over the fireplace prior to Rosamund’s.

“My stepbrother,” September said. “Rosamund got rid of Verna’s things here, too, apparently.”

They opened box upon box, and discovered March, July, Auggie, and May’s pictures and schoolwork and other flotsam and jetsam from their youth, but there was nothing of September’s. There was also more of Kathryn’s things. Boxed up and labeled by Verna, September saw from the handwriting, and then shuffled out of the attic by Rosamund, who’d missed the box of books that September and Jake had found earlier. Probably thought it was Braden’s, she surmised.

“So, this explains it,” Jake said.

“I think so,” she said, a chill feathering her skin. The killer had her belongings from the storage unit, which was disturbing, but he hadn’t taken them from her classroom when she was a second grader, which made her feel slightly better. Maybe he hadn’t targeted her from her youth. Maybe it was, as she’d first thought, more recent. That seemed—less invasive—somehow.