Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) (14 page)

While she understood Chas’s sudden change of attitude toward her, it still ticked her off. He’d
obviously panicked after waking up with her that morning. Hell, she’d panicked too. But she hadn’t planned on taking things out on him. After all, she figured they hadn’t done anything wrong. They hadn’t had sex. So they’d cuddled a little in their sleep. Was it really that big of a deal?

She guessed from his perspective it was. He was a policeman. He had a job to do and she was part of that job, plain and simple.

She scowled as she recalled the cold tone to his voice when he’d cut her loose that morning. His eyes had been completely void of any emotion. From what she’d seen of Chas the past few days, this was very unusual. He was rarely in a bad mood and she hadn’t seen him be nasty with anyone other than Woody McClean since she’d met him.

Apparently she brought those feelings out in him.

Glancing at her phone, she saw a strange number pop up on the screen. She answered the call quickly.

“Ms. Tavish? This is Scott Briggs. Sorry I missed your call. I was in court this morning.”

“It’s not a problem, Mr. Briggs. I just wanted to discuss my brother’s case with you. While I know he fired you yesterday, I’m hoping you’ll accept my apology and reconsider taking his case.”

Dead silence followed her statement.

She rolled her eyes, figuring the guy probably wasn’t ecstatic to hear this news. “I can’t afford another attorney, Mr. Briggs. I know Devon can be difficult, but under the circumstances I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Ms. Tavish, do you believe that your brother killed your aunt?”

The question caught her off guard. She didn’t hesitate with her answer, though she wasn’t sure why not. Devon’s current behavior was questionable at best. “No. I don’t.”

“I’ll meet with him again today. That being said, I’m going to be honest with you. Your brother is a very troubled kid. I’ve seen his type time and time again in my line of work over the years. Rarely do these kids straighten themselves out without a lot of help.” He paused. “I’m only telling you this because you seem like a nice person. I think you should be
aware of what you’re getting yourself into. Even if I manage to prove his innocence and get him acquitted, this won’t be over. Not for you.”

She shivered as the impact of his words hit her. Forcing herself to toughen up, she cleared her throat. “You just worry about your end of things and let me worry about mine.”

“Fair enough,” Briggs had the decency to agree. “It goes without saying that locating Dylan is a must here. I’ll need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“I’m working on that. I’ll be in touch.” The call ended. Immediately the phone rang again. Thinking it was Myles calling her back, she answered quickly.

“Roxy Tavish?”

Roxy stiffened. The voice was male and not one she recognized. “Yes?” she finally said, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention for some reason.

“Listen carefully and don’t ask questions. I can help you find your brother. I need you to meet me. Go to the junkyard. There’s an abandoned Cadillac
back behind the old workshop. Meet me there in an hour. And don’t bring the cops.”

“Who is this?”

“I know where your brother is and he’s in danger. If you want information, you’d better show up. I won’t wait long.” The line went dead.

Roxy’s heartbeat shot into overdrive. She immediately tried to scroll through her call list for the phone number of the person who had called. Naturally, it was blocked.

She looked around herself, still on edge. There were people milling about, probably on their way to work or stepping out for a coffee break. Nobody appeared to be paying her much attention.

Turning back to her phone, she contemplated calling Chas. She stopped in mid-dial. She’d been warned. No cops.

She shivered nervously, immediately thinking about what had happened to her the night before at the motel. Someone had tried to kill her. Maybe the same person was trying to lure her into a trap to finish the job. She shivered at the idea, her palms growing sweaty.

Her brother was in danger, she reminded herself. He was only twelve years old and most likely scared to death. She couldn’t just ignore that fact. She had to help him. Besides, it was broad daylight. There were people around—even at the junkyard. There were probably kids crawling all over the place by this time of morning. Chances were, the person who had called her was one of those kids. Who else would have any knowledge of Dylan’s whereabouts?

Calming down a bit, she stood up. She knew what she had to do, risky or not. Her brothers needed her help.

Chas stared down at the report that lay in front of him on his desk. Dinah and Rachel Tavish’s murders had been big news twenty years earlier. The file was several inches thick. Some of the papers had yellowed over the years. The crime scene photos were well preserved and explicit.

He stared at photograph after photograph, his stomach turning. The ones of Dinah Tavish were
gruesome, as one could imagine. She’d been found on a bed in the children’s room, multiple gunshot wounds to her head and chest. She’d suffered before her death. There were various broken items in the room that had obviously been used as means of self-defense, though all of the items had failed to be helpful.

The pictures that disturbed him the most were of Rachel Tavish. She’d been six years old at the time of the murder. She’d been found on the floor, a mere foot from her mother, also shot to death. The eerie thing was the illusion of Roxy’s face in those pictures. The resemblance between Roxy and her sister had been uncanny, even in death.

“I don’t remember much about the Tavish murders. Only how sad the whole thing was,” Trace said, sitting down on a corner of Chas’s desk.

“I don’t either. We were what, twelve at the time?”

“That’s about right,” Trace agreed. “You see anything else in there that might help us out?”

Chas skimmed through the file, reading page after page of gruesome detail. He looked up at his
brother suddenly. “Roxy was shot in the stomach and she played dead. Then she crawled into the closet and hid until the cops found her. She nearly bled out.”

Trace cursed, shaking his head. “That explains last night at the motel. It’s a wonder she made it out of that house alive. She obviously wasn’t able to tell the police anything about the killer.”

Chas leaned back in his chair. “Not a thing. This is a cold case. I’m wondering if it just got a little warmer.”

“Like you think the murders are connected to Myra’s? It’s been twenty years, Chas. That’s an awfully long time.”

“Maybe. I have no real connection besides what Roxy told me last night. The Rose thing has me stumped. I know she could have imagined it. I mean it’s natural that after coming back here, and after all this time, memories would resurface. I saw the look in her eyes when she told me though. It was real to her. She swears it was real.”

“Her father’s dead. Who else would call her mother Rose?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.”

“This is a stretch,” Trace finally said. “Have you called her again? Maybe you should just go out and talk to her.”

Chas checked his watch. It had been several hours since Roxy had gone outside to make her phone calls. He’d had Josh check on her periodically. She’d ended up on a bench in the park. She’d made good on her intention to call Briggs and ask him to represent her brother. Chas had talked to Scott, who had told him that they had agreed on a meeting with Devon that afternoon. When he’d tried calling Roxy, she hadn’t answered. He knew she was angry with him. He’d been waiting for her to cool down, figuring she would call him for a ride to Spokane for her meeting with Briggs, but so far he hadn’t heard from her.

His phone rang and he grabbed it quickly. “McCall.”

“It’s Starks. Junkyard is empty. There’s nobody there.” Mitch Starks was a patrolman with the department. He’d been sent out to the junkyard in search of Tabitha Kennings earlier that morning.

“Not even Woody McClean?” Chas asked.

“Nope. I did a pretty thorough walkthrough. I was going to call you earlier but I had another situation to deal with. I was there around ten-thirty this morning. Place was quiet as a tomb. You want me to go back out there now and take another look around?”

“No, just head back in.” Chas hung up and glanced at Trace. “That was Starks. Junkyard’s empty. No Tabitha.”

Trace frowned. “So where is the kid?”

Before Chas could answer, his phone rang again. He answered curtly.

“Roxy Tavish is not at the park anymore. I thought you should know.”

Chas grimaced at the sound of Josh’s voice. “What do you mean she’s not at the park? Where is she?”

“I don’t know, man. I had to go out on a call. When I got back, she was gone.”

Irritated, Chas swore and hung up the phone.

“You have a way with women, little brother.”

Chas ignored Trace’s sarcasm and tried Roxy’s
number again. It went into her voicemail. Annoyed, he left her a message this time. “You need to call me. I know you’re pissed—” He paused for a moment. “I asked you to stay near here. Where the hell are you? We need to talk. Just call me.”

“Smooth,” Trace said, when Chas had disconnected the call. He scowled and picked up the phone again. This time he dialed Scott Briggs’s number. It went to voicemail too. He supposed it was possible that they were in a meeting together with Devon, but something bothered him about that idea. “She could be with Briggs. But how would she have gotten to the city without a car and no money for a cab?”

“A face like that can swindle all sorts of things,” Trace pointed out, grinning.

Chas glared at him. “She was attacked last night. I hardly think she was stupid enough to hitch a ride from a stranger today.”

Trace shrugged. “So maybe she didn’t. Maybe Briggs helped her out. He knows she has no money. That’s the type of thing he’d do if he knew he had no choice.”

Chas supposed that was true enough. “I can’t believe she just didn’t call me.”

“You were being a dick. Why would she?”

Chas glowered up at him. “You know there are days when I wonder how in the hell I survived in a small womb with you for nine months.”

Trace grinned widely. “Right back atcha, bro. Right back atcha.”

FOURTEEN

Roxy found herself rethinking the wisdom of coming to the junkyard alone almost the moment her feet hit the property. The walk from town had taken nearly forty minutes, which was more than long enough for her to have second and third thoughts about not calling Chas.

The place seemed larger and lonelier than it had the day before. The sun was sweltering and it was bringing out one interesting scent after another, none of which smelled pleasant. She wrinkled her nose as she looked around the environment. The place looked completely deserted.

She reached down into her purse and checked her phone to make sure that the mysterious caller hadn’t tried to contact her again. That was when she noticed her phone had died. With all the chaos that had occurred the night before, she’d forgotten to charge it.

Feeling even more alone, she shoved the device back into her purse and reached for the container of mace that she’d unsuccessfully tried to get her hands on during the attack.

Clutching the container in her fingers, she started walking toward the old shack that barely continued to stand, not far from the dirt road that led to the entrance of the junkyard. She felt a little queasy as she walked beyond the dilapidated building. With every minute that went by and every step she took, she grew more uneasy.

There was tall grass, miscellaneous garbage and shrubbery as far as the eye could see. When she finally neared the workshop she and Chas had visited the day before, she was sweating profusely. She glanced around the area and she didn’t see anything outright. No abandoned Cadillac.

Her skin began to crawl and she felt herself suddenly shivering, even in the unbearable heat. She clutched the mace tighter, her imagination getting the better of her. And then she heard it—a strange buzzing sound. She walked farther into the tall grass, her hands swiping at it as she went.

Lifting her hand up to block her gaze from the sun, she finally saw it off in the distance. There was a green, broken down Cadillac about ten yards away from her, buried in the tall grass. She would have missed it had she not basically stumbled upon it.

Cautiously, she headed toward it, her nerves even more on edge. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her brother—for both of her brothers. They needed her help and for once in her life, she was going to be brave and do what she had to do. She refused to run and hide again.

A few feet from the car, she found her heartbeat pounding nearly out of control. There was no sign of any person—teenager or otherwise. The place seemed abandoned, just as the caller had warned her it would be.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she stepped toward the old vehicle, her eyes squinting against the late afternoon sunshine. She swatted at a bug as it landed on her arm. Another one quickly assaulted her. Annoyed, she swatted at that one too. At the same time, her gaze landed on the broken out
driver’s side window of the car. She peered inside—and into the obviously lifeless gray eyes of what looked like an overweight man, covered with flies.

Chas heard the call come in. He and Trace jumped into a cruiser and made the drive to the junkyard in record time. When they arrived, they were surprised to find Roxy—a sweaty mess, no less—hunkered over on the side of the road, just outside the entrance. She was obviously sick to her stomach. Even more surprising was that Woody McClean was standing awkwardly next to her, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“What the hell is going on?” Chas was out of the car in seconds. He glowered at Woody, and then his eyes landed on Roxy. She was clearly avoiding his question.

“Roxy? What are you doing here?”

She just shook her head, obviously unable to speak.

“There’s a fresh one back there. It’s in the
Cadillac. You want me to show you?” Woody asked, not looking overly concerned about the situation.