Something Wicked (29 page)

Savvy shook her head. She wasn't going to go there. “I understand, but I need something more than . . . conjecture,” she said, for lack of a better word, “to launch an investigation. The knife is a good place to start.”

“How would you feel, Detective, if the great-grandfather of the son you just bore was suddenly attacked, possibly killed, and you'd done nothing about it?”

“That's really a leap, Catherine.”

“You'd feel terrible. Responsible. Sick at heart. You'd want to find him at all costs. Your sister's married to Declan's grandson. See, I do know a thing or two.” She smiled but then saw something in Savvy's face and asked sharply, “What? What do you know?”

“My sister was also in an accident.”

“Oh, no . . .”

“She died early this morning.”

“How? How did she die?” Catherine sat up in bed, her eyes filled with horror.

“A beam fell on her at a construction site.”

“
Fell
on her?”

“There's speculation that it was something more. The Seaside police are investigating, but it could just be an accident.”

“You're trying to tell yourself that because you don't want it to be murder. Because you, an officer of the law, couldn't save your sister.”

“That's not how it is,” Savannah said sharply.

“Don't you see? It's him! It's
him.
Was your sister sexually involved with him? That was Mary's downfall, and in her son it could be worse. It
would
be worse. I've had feelings about it. He casts a spell, just like Mary did, only it's a thousand times worse!”

Savannah felt a pounding in her head. Like hoofbeats clattering across her brain. “I've got to go, Catherine. I've got a baby to take care of,” she murmured. She suddenly wanted to scoop up that little boy and hold him close.

“Running away won't stop him,” Catherine said, the words singeing Savvy's ears as she stumbled blindly out of the room. “When you want to do something, come to Siren Song. I'll be there. I'll help you. . . .”

 

 

He was escalating. He got that. The thrills weren't as high, and he didn't want to wait as long between kills. In the back of his head he knew he was really in trouble, because his kills had been working out to more than one a day, what with Garth and Tammie, and then Kristina, and now DeWitt, and hopefully, tonight that bastard at Bancroft Bluff who'd talked to him about the detective with such interest, kept bringing her up almost like he'd been digging at Charlie. Almost like he
knew.

He was going to have to take care of that fucker tonight, kill ratio or no.

He drew down his ski mask until his eyes were all that was visible. The weather was complying. Goddamn terrible storm made it okay to bundle up like a robber. Ha.

He looked around the tiny studio apartment that he'd called home since he left the coast. Squalor. Damn near a cell. But he never cared. Sleep, rest, a warm and
happy
home . . . no, that wasn't Charlie's fate or future. He was destined to roam the world, to keep moving or die, like a shark.

He knew where the asshole was. Like Dimwit, he habituated the same kind of tired dives, rarely moving outside a range of three or four. There was no work on Sundays, as a rule, but that wouldn't keep his prey from hitting his favorite happy hours.

Charlie spotted him at the second place he stopped in: Bernadette's. Just Bernie's if you were one of the regulars. Big fuckin' deal. Sometimes it almost hurt that there were such losers in this world.

He pulled up his ski mask when he walked in. Otherwise he'd be too memorable later, after the fucker was a corpse and the stupid police started sniffing at his trail. Still, his hair was covered and ski masks were the attire du jour in this dead-end place. Yep, it was all good, so he sidled right up to his prey and sat down on a nearby bar stool.

“Hey,” the man said, looking up from a game of pool. Charlie took note of the cue still in the asshole's hand and threw on a full-wattage smile.

“Man, this weather, huh? I wasn't gonna stay inside like those pussies who won't drive in this shit,” Charlie said.

“You got that right.” The man sounded kinda relieved as he leaned over the cue ball and took aim.

Did he scare people that much? Charlie wondered. Was he changing somehow? In some indefinable way? He'd always been able to pull off the Good Time Charlie persona, but something was different here somehow. . . .

“So, what are you doing here?” the man asked casually, sighting down the cue.

Was that a flutter of fear Charlie was sensing? His grin widened as he answered, “Oh, just thought you might be here on a Sunday night. Maybe there'll be another storm and there won't be work tomorrow.”

“Supposed to be clear.” He pushed the cue hard and smacked the cue ball into the fifteen, which careened off the eight, sending the solid black ball into the pocket.

“Too bad,” Charlie observed.

“Yeah.” He dropped the cue stick on the table with more force than necessary, disgusted.

“Let me buy ya a beer.”

He glared at Charlie belligerently. “Yeah? What the fuck are you doing? Huh? This ain't no casual drop-in, buddy. I'm not buying it for a minute. I got a woman waiting for me. I don't need this shit. I don't know what your deal is, but I'm out.”

“Whoa.” Charlie lifted his hands in surrender. Inside he was grinning and grinning. Couldn't stop himself.

With that, his target grabbed up his ski jacket, shrugged into it, and stomped toward the door.

The man he'd been playing against observed, “Poor loser.”

Charlie didn't engage with him. Didn't want to be remembered that well. He followed his prey leisurely toward the door and watched him get into his truck, spin out in the slushy snow of the parking lot, then
chink, chink, chink
away, his chains biting down to the pavement.

Pulling down his ski mask, Charlie got in his own vehicle and followed. He knew where the guy was going. He would just have to lie in wait . . . and maybe he'd get a twofer. The asshole and his woman.

His cock stirred, and he thought of the detective. She was climbing up Charlie's top ten hit list. Actually, she'd just leapt over Pops.

He was going to get them both soon.
Top ten? Top one hundred
, he thought with a laugh. He had a long way to go. Yessirree. No one was going to stop him.

“You feel me, bitch,” he whispered, sending the detective his sexual desire in a hot, snaking wave.

Then he sent another message to his father, too, reaching in his pocket to slide his thumb along the edge of the knife tucked inside.
It's long past time for a family reunion, Pops. I'm coming for you. Soon.

L
ate Monday morning Savannah stood with Hale outside the Hertz rental agency in Seaside in a blowing wind mixed with a slap of rain, the keys to a blue Ford Escape in her gloved hands. The temperature was above freezing and rising, and the snow was off the main roads, but it felt cold as the Arctic.

Hale had come to her room this morning, early, and had caught her breast-feeding his son. She'd looked up at him, worried about his reaction, but he'd swallowed once, hard, and said, “I'm so glad he has you,” and that had sent Savannah's hormones into overdrive and she'd felt the sting of tears once again.

He'd offered to take her home, but she'd asked for a ride to Hertz. Her own Escape was in the process of being picked up by Isaac's Towing and taken to a repair shop in Seaside. Baby Declan was still at the hospital; Hale was planning to pick up the car seat he and Kristina had purchased and fit it into his car this afternoon. The new nanny was meeting him at the hospital, as well.

Now, as they stood together under the meager protection of the front awning, Hale asked, “You sure you're up for this?”

Savvy was standing a little hunched over, the way she had ever since she'd gotten on her feet. The tender areas were becoming less tender, but she was still definitely sore. “I can't wait to get home and take a shower in my own shower.”

He half laughed in agreement. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

He nodded, then asked cautiously, “Do you know what your long-term plan for Declan is?”

“You mean the breast-feeding?” Savvy asked.

“That . . . and you are his aunt, among other things. . . .” He flicked her a look, his gray eyes sober. “I always figured you'd be a big part of his life, but now . . . maybe even bigger.”

“I want to be,” Savvy responded. “Absolutely.”

“But your job . . . it has a lot of hours, and you're with the Tillamook County Sheriff's Department.... It's not right around the corner.”

She wanted to argue with him about everything, when in fact he was right on all counts. “I'll figure out how to pump,” she said. “But I guess you'll have to use formula, too.”

“I think Kristina bought some. I'd better head home and do some inventory before I meet Victoria at the hospital.”

“Okay.”

He bent his head to the rain and walked quickly to his TrailBlazer. She did the same, sliding into the Escape and familiarizing herself with everything inside as the vehicle was a few years newer than hers.

She didn't need chains on the main road, so she made good time down Highway 101 to Deception Bay. She'd been on the road forty minutes when she drove past the turnoff to Siren Song, and she looked up as she passed. The top floors of the lodge were visible from the road above the Douglas firs, and the place looked forbidding and cold. Or maybe that was just her imagination.

She couldn't get caught up in Catherine's craziness. And yet . . .

It's him! It's
him.
Was your sister sexually involved with him?

“Stop it,” Savvy snapped at herself. Maybe there was someone out there named Declan who thought Declan Sr. was his father. Maybe he
was
his father. Catherine liked to spin tales, but maybe Hale's grandfather had been involved with Mary, too. Why not? If she was as sexually luring as Catherine made out, anything could have happened.

Or maybe it was true that Declan Sr. had had a love affair with Catherine Rutledge.

“Or maybe it's all fantasy,” Savvy said aloud.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

When Savvy drove up the small hill to her house, the snow was still deep and undisturbed, but the Escape's four-wheel drive made it easy. She pulled into the garage, and before she hit the button to send the garage door back down, she looked at her tire tracks. The snow was already melting around them.
Good.

Gathering up Kristina's clothes, her messenger bag, and other personal items she'd taken from the hospital, she headed up the back steps. She was sick of this weather. Sick of herself. Sick of everything. Except little Declan . . . and maybe Hale . . .

She grimaced, remembering the sexual thrill that had shot through her last night, just after she'd finished breast-feeding the baby. Shaking her head, she aimed straight for the shower. Embarrassing, that was what it was. And weird. This wasn't normal. It wasn't . . .
her.

An hour and a half later she was through with the shower and was blow-drying her hair. Combing it into a ponytail, she gave her body a hard look in the mirror, turning sideways. Yes, there was some pooching out. No denying that. But with exercise and a decent diet, she believed she would be back to her old self soon enough.

Feeling better, she opened her closet doors, pulling out black slacks, a dark gray shirt, and a long overcoat. She gathered up the clothes she'd brought in from her car and took them to the alcove off the kitchen, which served as her laundry room. She threw her ski jacket in the washer along with some detergent, then piled Kristina's clothes into the laundry bin that sat on top of the dryer.

So, now what?
she thought. Baby Declan was being taken care of by his father and the nanny, who evoked feelings of jealousy in Savvy, which made her groan aloud at herself. “Get a grip,” she told herself in disgust.

A little over a half hour later she put the wet laundry in the dryer, threw a look at the clock. Two p.m. She needed to buy a breast pump tout de suite, so she drove into Tillamook and purchased one, trying it out in the front seat of her rental, beneath the overcoat, which she'd taken off and laid over her body. Twenty minutes later she thought,
What a pain in the ass
, when it was a total trial and nothing much came out.

After that, she sat staring through the windshield for another ten minutes. Then she drove to the station.

O'Halloran had told her they would talk about whether she would be chained to desk duty on Monday. Might as well find out if that decree still stood.

Catherine refused to head upstairs to her room, partly because she wanted to put off going up those steep steps when she still felt somewhat shaky, partly because she was waiting for Earl, who was on a second trip to the hospital to pick up Ravinia and Ophelia.

Isadora said to her, “Let me get you something to eat.”

“No, I'm not hungry. I just need a little time.”

“I'll just get some tea and crackers.” Isadora hurried off, clearly needing to do something. Catherine inwardly sighed. Everyone's solicitousness was about to kill her.

Lillibeth had parked her wheelchair directly in front of Catherine. “What happened? You don't have to go back, do you?”

“I'm fine,” Catherine assured her.

“You're sure?” Cassandra asked. “It was just an accident? Just a fall?”

“Yes,” Catherine said firmly. “I have a concussion. I slipped, and my head hit one of the flagstones.”

“Don't do that again,” Lillibeth begged.

“I don't intend to,” Catherine answered with asperity.

As much as she loved her nieces, she really needed them to give her some space. There were things that needed to be done, problems that needed to be addressed, and she needed Earl's help to accomplish them.

Like exchanging the bones in the grave marked as Mary's with those in the unmarked grave, where Mary's bones actually lay.

But how to accomplish that, with all the girls—women—so attentive and aware of Catherine's every movement now?

She was pretty sure she was going to have to confide in one of them, and with God as her witness, she thought it might have to be Ravinia.

Cassandra was sitting in one of the chairs across from the couch, the side of her face fanned with jeweled light from the Tiffany lamp, which was cutting into the afternoon's gloom. The prism of colors against her cheek gave her an otherworldly look. Like Lillibeth, she questioned, “It was just an accident?”

“I'm sorry I had to leave,” Catherine said, trying to assure them. “Sometimes things just happen.”

“There's always a reason,” Cassandra argued.

“No, there isn't.” Catherine would've gotten to her feet and stalked away from them, but she was blocked by Lillibeth, and honestly, she wasn't 100 percent yet.

Isadora returned with a tray of tea and crackers and several tiny ceramic pots of strawberry and apricot jams. Nobody touched it, however, and Catherine swallowed her frustration, picked up a waferlike cracker, and spread it with apricot jam. Isadora poured her a cup of tea, and once she was eating, everyone else finally stopped staring at her and joined in.

Ravinia had the journal, and with her nosiness, it would only be a matter of time before she started asking about the man in the grave. Maybe Catherine could head her off at the pass, but there were other issues pressing upon her.

She needed Earl to go to Echo Island and find out who was there. As far as she could tell when Isadora and Cassandra helped her into the lodge, there was no fire visible any longer; hopefully it had burned out. If at all possible, she would like to meet Earl outside the gate, where they could both see across to Echo and mark out a plan.

An hour later Earl's truck could be heard approaching, and Catherine got to her feet with relief. Lillibeth reluctantly moved her chair away, and Catherine went to the door.

“You sure you feel steady enough?” Isadora asked. Normally, she was the rock-solid lieutenant Catherine could rely on, but even she'd been rattled by Catherine's injury and trip to the hospital.

“Why did Ravinia get to go?” Lillibeth asked, a question she'd asked before.

“She came on her own,” Catherine answered her, again.

Cassandra said, “I don't want you to go outside.”

“Cassandra!” Catherine was at her wit's end.

“Maggie. And there's something out there. You know it, too, but you're ignoring it.”

“I'm not ignoring it.” Catherine was brusque. “I have things I need to do, and I appreciate your concern, all of you, but I need some space. Some time to make plans for us.”

“He's coming,” Cassandra said, and Lillibeth squeaked with fear and stared at her sister.

“Right now Earl's here,” Catherine said. “I'm going to meet with him outside. Just . . . let me,” she said in a rush of frustration.

Isadora opened the door to Ravinia and Ophelia, who entered in a blast of cold air. Immediately, Ophelia said, “Where are you going?”

“Just to talk to Earl. I'll be right back,” Catherine told her.

She brushed past them, choosing her steps carefully, still faintly dizzy. She felt someone take her arm and guide her and realized Ravinia was beside her, leading her up the flagstone path to the gate.

“I'm not going to have you fall again,” Ravinia said.

“You just want to know what I'm going to talk to Earl about,” Catherine accused.

“That too. But you're not steady enough to walk by yourself.”

Catherine pressed her lips together, conceding the point. Time was racing by, and she didn't have the luxury of arguing with her, a losing game with Ravinia in the best of circumstances.

Earl was waiting patiently outside the gates, though they were unlocked and Catherine passed through to meet him. He had a key of his own, which he used only when he came to do yard work or repairs. With Ravinia beside her, Catherine felt oddly unsure of what to say. Earl frowned upon seeing the girl, but there was nothing to do.

“I need someone to go to Echo and find out who's there,” Catherine said. She glanced toward the island, which was a dark mound.

Earl's frown deepened, but he nodded slowly. “I will see if I can.”

“But then there's that other matter,” Catherine said. The one she'd told him about when he drove her from the hospital: switching the bodies in the graves.

“When can that be done?” Earl asked her. Like Lillibeth, he'd asked that question before, several times, and Catherine had never had an answer.

“What other matter?” Ravinia asked.

Catherine felt a faint stirring inside herself, the harbinger of precognition. She waited, and thought,
He's coming. . . .

It might be dangerous to go to Echo Island, and not just because of the weather and the approach
, she thought with an inward shudder.