Something Wicked (37 page)

Savannah focused on his lips. A thrill shot through her at the thought of them crushing down on hers. Good God, but she needed to get a grip.

Victoria came out to the porch, wearing a jacket, her purse over her shoulder, heading for her blue Toyota, taking a break from nanny duty. “Your mom left? It wasn't because of me, was it?” she asked anxiously.

“No,” Hale told her and then indicated that Savvy should enter the house ahead of him. She stepped inside, both gladdened and a little disappointed by the nanny's appearance. She'd thought for just a moment that he was going to kiss her.

 

 

The light flashed quickly. A small jet of illumination into the black night and rain. Ravinia almost missed it, it was so brief, but she was already dressed in her darkest pair of pants and a blue shirt. Her boots and cloak were hanging in the storeroom, and she crept down the stairs and through the kitchen, banging her shin in her haste, enough that she had to bite back a cry of pain.
Damn.
How many times had she sneaked away with no problem at all? She had to relax. Stop hurrying.

The wind had turned into a rustle when Ravinia stepped outside, sliding a little in slippery mud that had mired onto the flagstone path that ran around the east side of the lodge. She hurried as fast as she dared toward the graveyard, then picked her way carefully through the headstones to where she could see a faint glow. Earl had turned the flashlight beam toward the ground and behind a boulder and a rhododendron toward the back of the plot where he had already been digging.

“What's this?” she whispered when she reached him.

He pointed downward, his finger barely visible. “Mary.”

“Oh.”

When she saw the pine box that held her mother, she felt a strange guilt. Like she was betraying this woman that she didn't even know. But then Earl needed her help to carry the box toward the lodge. Ravinia strained with all her might. She was barely up to the task and just managed to hang on to the slippery wood, her arms aching from the effort. They worked their way slowly to where her mother's real grave lay and set the box down.

The rain had finally abated to a soft drizzle. Earl looked at the ground in front of Mary's headstone and laid a hand on the wet earth.

“What?” Ravinia whispered.

“It was dug up recently.”

“No. It's just messed up because of this damn rain.”

“We needed the rain to explain why the earth will be disturbed,” he muttered.

She gazed down at his damp blue baseball cap and the slick black jacket he wore. She needed better clothes for the weather. Something more weatherproof than this wool.

“Someone's been here,” he said, his words so quiet, she had to strain to hear. Then he went back to the first grave, smoothed it over, then returned with his shovel.

“No one's been here,” she told him, certain he was imagining it.

Earl bent down and began shoveling the dirt. He placed careful shovelfuls on the ground beside the grave while Ravinia watched and shivered. It felt like forever before Earl slowed down and finally stopped. Ravinia looked into a deep hole.

“Shouldn't there be a casket by now?” she asked.

“There never was a casket.”

“So . . . where are the bones?”

Earl looked toward the west, and Ravinia followed his gaze, getting a bad feeling.

“Earl?” she asked, her shiver turning into a deep body shudder.

“He's gone,” was all he said.

 

 

Ravinia was still shaking by the time she entered Catherine's room. Though she had shed her cloak and boots, the hems of her pant legs were soaking wet and left a damp trail up the stairs and into her aunt's bedroom.

“Well?” Catherine asked tautly.

“We moved Mary's casket into the grave with the headstone. Earl says, with all this rain, the police won't notice that it's been recently dug. Although, he sure seems to be able to tell those kinds of things. He says they won't be looking, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Catherine struggled out of bed and lit the lamp again. “Close the door,” she ordered in a harsh whisper.

Ravinia did as she asked, then turned back to her, her whole body feeling like it was clenched. “The bones were gone.”

“What?”

“They weren't in the grave.” Catherine stared at her hard, and Ravinia added, “Even before we started digging, Earl noticed something. He said someone had been there.”

Catherine got to her feet, steadying herself for a moment. When Ravinia stepped forward, she snapped, “No, no. I'm fine. Just got up too fast. I hate being so feeble.”

“But you're getting better.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Don't worry. What else did Earl say?”

“Nothing. He just said, ‘He's gone,' and then we put Mary's casket in the grave and covered it up.”

“This wasn't Declan Jr.,” Catherine said, her expression hard to read. “This isn't right.”

“Who's Declan Jr.?”

“The son of the man who tried to rape me.”

“The one whose bones should have been in the grave? If it's his father, maybe he did take them. I mean, who else would want them?” Ravinia demanded.

“He doesn't know. He thinks someone else is his father.” Catherine waved her to silence, her face a study in concentration.

After a few minutes of complying, Ravinia had had enough. “What do you want me to do?”

“I'm still thinking.”

“Stop keeping me in the dark. Give me a clue. Something.”

“I've been wrong about the fire on Echo. I thought it was Declan Jr.'s doing. It's got to be . . . someone else.”

“Why?” When she didn't answer, Ravinia asked, “Okay, then, who?” When Catherine still failed to engage with her, Ravinia said, “You said you needed me to do something for you. What?”

“When are you leaving?” Catherine asked her.

“Leaving . . . what? For good? I'm not sure I am. What are you saying?”

“Cassandra's seen you on the road with a friend. I'm asking you, when are you planning to go?”

Ravinia stared at her aunt. She realized she'd been entertaining ideas of staying ever since Catherine's accident, like she could change things for the better at the lodge. But Ophelia was already making plans to do just that, and Ravinia's reason to stick around had become no reason at all. It would take a long time to really change the atmosphere around Siren Song, to really instigate changes. And Ravinia couldn't wait that long.

“Tomorrow,” she heard herself say, and Catherine nodded once and said, “Then you'll need some money.”

S
avvy awoke to unfamiliar surroundings and the distinct smell of leather. She sat bolt upright, and her memory flooded back. She'd taken Hale up on his invitation to spend the night, but she'd refused his bedroom. That was just . . . not a good idea, and instead she'd insisted on the couch.

And her sleep had been interrupted by the baby enough times to make Savvy feel tired, yet happy. Victoria had managed to stumble awake once, but seeing Savvy, she'd turned back to her bed with a desultory wave.

Now she heard someone in the kitchen. She'd slept in her shirt and pants, which was all she had, and she ran a hand through her tousled hair as she walked out barefoot to meet them. But it wasn't Hale; it was Declan. He was in a robe over pajamas, and he, too, ran a hand through his white hair upon seeing her.

“Going to the office today,” he announced. “Time to get back to work.” He eyed her keenly. “But you, now. You're not going to want”—he turned around and motioned down the hallway—“that girl taking care of the boy.” He harrumphed. “She doesn't have the good sense that God gave her.”

“Hale's working on it and the memorial service,” Savvy said diffidently. If Hale hadn't told Declan what his plans were, there was probably a good reason. And she was telling the truth. Hale had told Savvy that he had a call into the nanny service that had supplied them with Victoria and arrangements were being made. They'd also talked over the memorial service. He was thinking of having something at the house, although it would be tight if they got a crowd. Ian and Astrid Carmichael, who had found Kristina unconscious in the living room of their home, had suggested a hotel in Seaside that had meeting rooms. Astrid, though pregnant, seemed to want to take over all the planning for the service. She was, in fact, a little manic about it. Survivor's guilt again, Savvy felt. They were all suffering from it.

But she said none of that to Declan, whose voice was rising as he warmed to his theme of Victoria's shortcomings. “Witless, that girl is. Nice enough, sure, but you could fill a continent with nice people, and if they don't have it up here . . .” He tapped his skull with his finger. “It doesn't count.”

“I'd better get home and take a shower,” Savvy said before he could go on.

“You can use mine,” Hale's voice said casually. She looked over as he appeared from the hallway. His hair was still damp from the shower and curled dark and wet at his neck.

“Thanks, but I don't have any fresh clothes.” She slipped away from him and into the den and gathered up her things. It was downright annoying, the way she noticed everything about him.

Had it really been less than a week since she'd thought him cold and uncommunicative?

“What are you going to do about that girl?” Declan was complaining when Savvy returned a few minutes later, back in her shoes and socks and with her coat slung over her arm.

“Leave it alone,” Hale told him. “Declan's safe with her for now.”

“You sure?” He squinted up at Hale as he leaned on his cane.

“I heard you say you're going to the office,” Hale said, changing the subject.

“Well, I can't sit around here all day, now, can I?” he demanded querulously.

There was just no way to win with Declan, so Hale gave up and turned to Savvy. “Call me later, and let's get this memorial service nailed down.”

“You got it,” Savvy said and let herself out into a crisp, cool morning, for once without a hint of rain.

 

 

Ravinia crawled over the wall, her hand slipping a little on the railing. But it was dew, not rain, and she caught herself and dropped lightly to her feet. She probably could have asked someone to open the gate, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, for some reason. It felt too much like begging, and, anyway, this was nearly the last, if not the last, time she would sneak away.

Money. Catherine had given her a stash that had made her eyes widen. The speed at which things were going, now that Catherine had accepted she was leaving and was okay with it, boggled Ravinia's mind. Her aunt hadn't once decreed that Ravinia could never come back since they'd made a tacit pact to work together. It was just a fact that Ravinia would go and Catherine would remain with the others, and they would work together to keep Siren Song's secrets safe.

She'd told Aunt Catherine she was leaving today, and she found the idea kind of scary. Where would she go? What would she do? She was taking a trek out this morning to Deception Bay, and with the money she now had, she was going to buy herself a few things. Some new clothes. Some of those energy bars. A knife—you never knew when a weapon might come in handy. A new pair of hiking boots. A disposable cell phone.

She'd left early, because it would take some time to get to town on foot and she really wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Inside, she was brimming with a kind of repressed excitement she was afraid to let out. She was free! It was what she'd wanted for too long to remember. It was . . .

She walked around a corner and saw the figure of a man at the next rise, right in the middle of the road. There was something familiar about him, and she realized it was her friend, the man she'd dreamed of running away with. Briefly, she thought of Rand and wondered if she should make a point of saying good-bye. Why, she wasn't sure. She barely knew him. But seeing her friend again made it just all the more clear that she was going to go away, and if she ever did come back, it wasn't going to be for a long time.

She hurried toward him, vaguely aware that something about him seemed different.

She was puffing by the time she reached him, little poofs of her breath visible in the cold air. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Waiting for you.”

“Like you knew I'd be here,” she said dryly.

He smiled as they walked to the side of the road together. He wore a dark blue Gore-Tex jacket, and his hair was covered by a hood. But she could see his blue eyes. Crystalline. Almost silvery. She realized that it was a week's growth of beard that darkened his jaw that made him seem different. Older. More sexy in some way that reached right down to Ravinia's toes.

“I have something for you,” he said.

“Yeah? What?”

He slid the pack from his back. She had a sense it was all he owned, that he was a vagabond of sorts. Well, so would she be by the end of the day.

To her confusion and disappointment, it was a sheaf of papers, rolled up and rubber banded together. “Take these to your aunt.”

Ravinia shot him a startled glance. She'd never told him her name, and he'd never told her his. They'd just run into each other a few times, and though she thought she could follow him anywhere, she knew next to nothing about him. “How do you know who my aunt is?”

“The middle-aged woman who wears long dresses and puts her hair in a bun and runs the cult in that lodge where you live? Catherine Rutledge. She's more well known than the mayor in Deception Bay.”

“What is this?” Ravinia asked, looking down at the papers.

“Something she's been looking for.”

“It's you,” she said, realization dawning. She looked toward the outlines of the island far out in the water. “You were on Echo. You set the fire. Why?”

“Sometimes you have to burn things,” was his unsatisfying answer.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I'm a friend, Ravinia. Take Catherine the papers. She'll know.”

“Can I read them?”

“If I said no, would it do any good?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

He smiled again, his teeth very white. “Just make sure Catherine gets them.”

“Where are you going?” she asked when he turned away as if their meeting was over.

“I've got some things to do, but I'll be around.”

“Will I see you again?” she blurted out as he headed in the opposite direction from Deception Bay.

“You never know,” he called over his shoulder. “Maybe it's our destiny.”

She watched him for a long time, torn between wanting to chase after him and the equally strong desire to go into town and prepare for her own adventure. She looked down at the sheaf of papers, then shoved them inside her coat. Maybe she would wait and read them after she'd shown them to Aunt Catherine.

 

 

It had taken Charlie all night to come up with a foolproof plan, but by the time he did, he was grinning to himself. He knew how to get to the luscious detective, Savannah Dunbar. He knew what to do. And now the plan was in place, and he just had to wait.

Thinking of her made him horny. Her lovely milk-engorged breasts. Her cool, efficient demeanor. Her belief that he was the hunted and she was the hunter.
Ha!

He closed his eyes, dreamed of sliding himself all over her. There were others to take care of, too, but he wanted her first. Now. Today. In his mind's eye he saw himself riding her hard, and his cock jumped to life so fast, he could almost hear the cartoon
boing
sound.

But it was the thought of the killing afterward that really got him cranked up.

And now everything was in place. He literally rubbed his hands together and laughed aloud when he realized it. He couldn't wait for the lovely Detective Dunbar. He envisioned her lying on her back, tied down, writhing for him, while he stood by and watched her.

An unwanted thought sizzled across his brain, shattering his delicious fantasy, infuriating him. It was his secret lover calling.
I know what you're thinking.

Charlie's teeth ground together. Bullshit. No one knew what he was thinking. His thoughts were his own. He was getting tired of her and her game playing. She was just toying with him, not letting him see her. To hell with her. He was going to play the game on his terms, not hers.

He could feel his carefully constructed Charlie mask start to crack and split on his face.

You getting wet, bitch?
he asked her.
Getting ready for me?

Name the place
, was the answer that came back to him, faintly haunting, carried on the wind.

He clamped his mind shut. No! Not yet. He wasn't going to let her see his perfect plan. First, he was going to have his time with the hot detective; she could just goddamn wait.

He hated her, this sneaky secret lover. He didn't like being watched from the shadows.

After the detective, she was next. He would lure her out, and then they would see who the master game player was.

 

 

Savannah phoned Lang as soon as she got to work. When he didn't answer, she called him every hour on the hour, knowing she was being flat-out annoying, uncaring that she was. She wanted answers from him. She'd sent him the report; the least he could do was get back to her about
something.

Detective Hamett had phoned again, and this time she'd taken the call. He'd asked her a number of roundabout questions that all had to do with Hale, which ratcheted up her anxiety, even though she knew the routine. She told him that she felt Kristina's killer could be the mysterious lover her sister had met at the Carmichael house. She was debating about telling him about Kristina's liaisons at the Donatella house, but he was called away before she could go into the story, so she settled on writing down the information instead.

Finally, Lang called back in the late afternoon. “Looks like Woodworth isn't the only missing employee. Jacob Balboa's been gone since Saturday.”

“Balboa,” she repeated. The next name on the list. “But he did work Saturday?” Savvy asked, thinking of the cold eyes that she'd felt staring at her from afar at the RiverEast Apartments construction zone.

“Yeah, he was there. Apparently, he even talked to Woodworth about you. One of the other guys thought he overheard them mention a female detective.”

“I noticed one of the workers staring at me from a distance.”

“Bet it's the same guy.”

“Where does he live?” Savvy asked.

“Some place south of Oregon City, more rural country. I'm heading there with Curtis now, and we've contacted the sheriff. I don't know. . . .” He sounded uncertain.

“What?”

“I don't like thinking they had a conversation about you and now they're both missing.”

Savvy felt a flutter of fear travel up her spine but said, “I'm fine. Maybe Balboa's worried that I'm on his trail.”

“Stay close to the phone,” he said.

“Hey, I'm like a teenager in love, waiting all day for you to call.”

She scared a chuckle out of him, which had been her intention. “Okay. I'll let you know what we find at Balboa's.”

She hung up slowly, feeling like they were getting close. Was Balboa Charlie? Had he killed DeWitt and possibly Henry . . . ? She thought of Nadine, how she'd sounded on the edge of panic that Henry was missing. Did she maybe suspect something? She'd still been filling in at Bancroft Development. Maybe she knew Jacob Balboa and sensed he was dangerous.

Maybe he was Kristina's lover . . . Mary's son, Declan Jr.?

She jumped when her desk phone suddenly rang, another call through the switchboard. She picked up the receiver. “A Victoria Phelan wants to speak to Detective Savvy somebody or other,” Cho told her.

Victoria?
“Put her through,” she said, immediately worried about the baby. As soon as she heard the click that confirmed they were connected, she said, “Victoria? This is Savannah Dunbar. Is there something wrong?”