Kiss of Fate

by Deirdre Dore

  It seemed to him that Abraham had been a fan of nonfiction. Most of the books were historical: autobiographies of dead presidents, books on American wars. Others were topical: cabinetmaking, weaponry, argumentation, psychology, ancient tales and mythology, and herb lore. There was a small fiction section, just one shelf, with an eclectic assortment of titles.

  “What was the name of the book that they found with Summer’s name in it?” he asked.

  When they’d searched the old paper mill where Joe Sherman, the “string-killer,” had kept Chris and the Triplets, they’d found a book with Summer’s name written on the inside cover. They’d figured out that Abraham had probably given it to her, that she had sometimes visited him, and he would read to her.

  “I know it was by Tim O’Brien.” Raquel looked for the author’s name on the spines but didn’t see it. “There might be a copy behind some of these other books.”

  Brent shrugged. “It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  They searched for about half an hour, but the books were just books. There was no underlining, no inserted photographs, no secret compartments.

  “Well, so much for that idea. What nonfiction should we look at first?” Brent stood back to look at the shelves again. He closed his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Raquel asked.

  “Tell me something. Was Abraham in a wheelchair?”

  “I think so. Near the end.”

  “So, I’m just going with this. Maybe we should start by looking at places someone could reach without standing up.”

  Brent opened his eyes. Raquel was studying him, an inscrutable expression on her face.

  “You think that if it was something that would be important to us, it would be something he’d keep close.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

  Raquel shrugged. “I don’t have a better idea.”

  Another hour went by. They didn’t have any luck, but Brent enjoyed working side by side with Raquel among the dusty books. The dim lights of Abraham’s living room made her eyes seem fathomless.

  Tavey came into the living room, pulling off her own gloves. “Dakota found some prescriptions and some residue, but it looked old, like it had been some time.” She patted the dog’s neck approvingly and gave him a liver treat along with, “You’re a good boy.” She straightened. “I’m going to head back and check on Tyler. Chris and Ryan are going to stay a little longer. You two?”

  “Yeah, we’ll stay awhile,” Raquel agreed.

  Tavey nodded. “I’ll leave the key on the kitchen counter. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Okay.”

  Chris came into the room. “Tavey, before you leave, I want to get the cooler with the drinks out of the car. Raquel, you want to help me?”

  “I’ll help,” Brent volunteered, but Raquel stalled him with a hand on his arm. “I’ve got it.”

  He looked from Tavey to Raquel to Chris. Secret girl stuff was his conclusion. “Okay.” He nodded and went back to the books.

  RAQUEL FOLLOWED CHRIS and Tavey out to the Range Rover. Tavey let the dog in the passenger seat first, then popped the back hatch and removed the cooler without assistance, but she was eyeing Raquel and Chris suspiciously.

  “What are you two hiding?” she asked, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Raquel winced but didn’t bother dissembling. “I asked Chris to somewhat illegally find out information about a house in Atlanta. I suspect that it was used to hold Gloria Belle.”

  Tavey’s mouth opened, just a little. “You did what?”

  Raquel clenched her jaw and nodded. “It’s a hunch. But since Ryan doesn’t care for Chris’s illegal activities, I didn’t mention it.”

  Tavey scowled. “Raquel, you shouldn’t.”

  Chris scowled and interjected, “I can handle my own relationship.”

  Tavey huffed, “But why didn’t you just report your suspicions to the detectives on the case? Why do this?”

  Raquel thought about explaining that she and Brent had broken in, they’d taken the wig, and she’d wanted the information as quickly as possible, but she didn’t want to explain, wasn’t even sure she could make them understand.

  “We’re running out of time.” Raquel looked out at the woods, dark, impenetrable, and strange in the night. The warm, damp air smelled of earth and growing things, and the cicadas, loud moments before, suddenly stopped completely.

  Raquel looked at her friends. “It’s just a gut feeling. I think they’re covering their tracks.”

  Chris and Tavey looked at each other. After a moment, Chris shrugged, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “Works for me. Besides, Ryan knows exactly what I’m like. He’s not dumb. And it was a good idea. I found something.” She didn’t start explaining, though. She looked both confused and frustrated.

  Tavey sighed. “Well, what did you find out?”

  Chris’s face grew solemn, and she started stretching, as she did when her thoughts, whatever they were, disturbed her profoundly. “It’s weird. Finding this wasn’t even difficult, but I just don’t see how unless . . . maybe Jane . . . but anyway, the house was owned by Summer Haven.”

  “What?” Raquel and Tavey said in unison.

  “Yeah.” Chris nodded. “And get this. When I saw that, I checked for a Social Security number. Back then, the Havens didn’t apply for Social Security because they distrusted the government—I checked with Ninny—but Jane did when she opened her shop, and a few years later, a Social Security card was requested for Summer Breen Haven.”

  “I don’t want to know how you got this information.”

  Raquel ignored Tavey’s comment. “What else? Any credit cards, charges that we could track?”

  “Nope.” Chris shook her head. “Just that house.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Raquel cursed. “Who would steal Summer’s identity? And why?”

  “I don’t know,” Chris said, “but I think you’re right. We need to talk to Jane, and we should really tell the boys.”

  20

  GEORGE HADN’T BEEN able to get rid of Bob. He’d told him that his nephew wouldn’t be home until the next night, so Bob had invited himself to stay in the guest room.

  “This is a real nice place, George.” Bob had waved a hand at the office. “I bet you have a few rooms here. Enough to spare one.”

  George had agreed. He wasn’t actually being asked, but he’d agreed anyway.

  Bob had laughed. “I bet I’m messing with some big plans you had, George, big plans to hunt down some little witch girl. I’ve told Jessop for years that you’re a crazy fuck.”

  George scowled and struggled with his temper. “There’s a story about her; the boys at the site will tell you.” George nodded to the map on the wall. “They’ve seen her, every one of them has seen the blond woman in the woods. She’s all different ages when they see her, but she’s wild, with different colors braided into her hair and around her wrists. They say she hunts down men who hurt women and stabs them in the heart with a long black knife.”

  Bob shifted in his seat, his eyes on George’s face. “Bullshit.”

  George lowered himself in his seat and glared. “It’s not. I’ve found references to her in every legend of Fate. Even the Cherokees have a story about the girl in the woods, a white-haired witch that can see the future. That’s her. That’s this girl.”

  “You are a fucking psycho,” Bob concluded.

  “Yeah?” George countered. “Then where’s José? Martin? Cruz? Joe? They disappeared, didn’t they? You never found the bodies.”

  “That doesn’t mean shit. Those assholes coulda left or gotten themselves killed. Give it up, George, before I shoot your ass and tell Jessop you pulled a knife on me.”

  George sank into his chair, but he didn’t relax.

  Bob stood. “I’m
hungry. Why don’t you come on in the kitchen and you can make me a sandwich.”

  It wasn’t a request, so George did as he was told, standing abruptly and stomping down the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen.

  Bob took a seat at the dining room table, propping his boots up on it while he lounged back on two legs.

  “Ham and Swiss, George, if you’ve got it.”

  George did. Along with kaiser rolls and Dijon mustard. It was going on seven in the evening and George was starving, so he made four sandwiches, meticulously applying the mustard and cheese, and then toasting both before cutting them into triangles. Bob appeared to be watching with derisive interest, but George ignored him and continued to make the sandwiches until he’d created two perfect plates.

  He set one down in front of Bob and then took a seat opposite and started to eat his own.

  “Like I said,” Bob said, “weird motherfucker.”

  George ate his sandwich, enjoying the complex taste of the melted Swiss and the sweet ham, the delicate crunch of the bread. With every bite, he relaxed more, and a plan started to unfurl in his mind. If the nurse Bob had hired to capture or kill Jane was successful this evening, his plan to get Jane’s help to find Summer was obviously useless. He would have to think of a new plan. There were other Havens with magic. He could get old Ninny or, he thought, chewing absently, the three identical girls, the ones who had been taken by Sherman. They were rumored to have strange talents. He was betting that if he led the girls to the spot he’d chosen to search, they would be able to find Summer.

  He had to find Summer. She might kill him. She might. But he was her family, and she knew the secret of the woods. She knew how to disappear and live forever. He had to find her.

  He looked at Bob over his sandwich, chewing loudly enough to hide his thoughts, if Bob had been able to read them, but Bob was looking at him in disgust. It’s all right, George told himself, Bob will be dead soon.

  21

  BRENT DIDN’T KNOW what the women had discussed in their little powwow, but when Raquel returned, she was in a horrible mood, her movements were stiff and jerky, and there was a line between her brows.

  He considered asking her, but ultimately didn’t have to.

  “I asked Chris to look into that house where we found the wig that could be Gloria Belle’s.”

  Brent paused in his perusal of the book he was holding and looked at her, waiting.

  “And she found out that it was owned by someone using Summer’s identity.”

  Brent frowned. “Was there any other—?”

  “No, there wasn’t any other activity as far as we could tell, at least not any credit activity. It could be that there’s other property owned outside Cherokee County. I don’t think Chris had time to look that far afield.”

  “Hmm. Someone stole her identity and was using the house to distribute drugs. Whoever’s running current operations must have some connection to what happened back then. You were right. Did you call in the anonymous tip about the house?”

  “Chris did. I checked. It’s being handled by Major Crimes in Atlanta.”

  “Isn’t that your department?”

  “Yeah.” Raquel hesitated. She hadn’t told this next part to anyone else. “And I talked to the detective from the Cherokee County Sheriff’s Office today about Gloria Belle.”

  “Was there any news?” he prompted.

  “Yes.” Raquel shifted the book in her hands, looking at it while she spoke. “She said that they didn’t have much, but there are no obvious wounds on the body. Track marks on the arms—to be expected in a junkie—but no evidence that she was hurt.”

  “I’m surprised she told you that much.”

  Raquel shrugged. “She probably shouldn’t have, not until the coroner released the information, but she’s a friend of Tyler’s.”

  “So, does that change your thinking at all, that she died that way?”

  “No, actually.” Raquel replaced the book on the shelf and picked up another. “To me it makes it even more obvious that she knew her killer. There were no signs of struggle; she wasn’t harmed in any other way. Whoever held her didn’t feel the need to torture her. She was wrapped in a sheet and left at the riverbank. I would say that it’s even someone who cared for her, at least somewhat.”

  “So not just someone who knew her.”

  “Yep.”

  “And has a connection to the drugs and to Summer.”

  “Yes.”

  “So we just need to find out the connection. Maybe it’ll help when I look through my uncle’s records tomorrow. He said he’d get out all the boxes he has in storage today.”

  “I’m still hoping we find something here.” Raquel looked at the row after row of books. “Though we may not have time to go through everything tonight.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, it was close to midnight and their search hadn’t yielded any results. Chris and Ryan came out of the storeroom, a little dusty, and Ryan was clearly irritated. When he met Raquel’s eyes, he glared at her.

  “I’m trying to get her to stop circumventing the law, and you ask her to break it. You’re a cop, Raquel.”

  Raquel tightened her jaw and didn’t say anything. She knew she was wrong. But she’d do it again.

  Brent stood. “It would’ve taken weeks to find that out going through proper channels, and you know it.”

  At the same time Chris argued heatedly, “I would have done the same thing if I’d stumbled on that house. I would have wanted to know.”

  Ryan shook his head. “That doesn’t mean you just break into a house. If there was evidence of sex trafficking, those girls are at risk because you didn’t call it in and describe the circumstances. Even if you broke in, you should have called and reported it, Raquel.”

  “Stop ignoring me!” Chris yelled. “We did call it in. I made sure it was taken seriously.”

  Ryan’s jaw throbbed.

  Raquel held up a hand for all of them to stop. “You’re right. I risked an investigation of possible sex trafficking, of a conviction for the possible kidnapping of Gloria Belle, but I don’t think I’m further risking the lives of anyone who might have been kept there. If they are alive, we will find them faster by finding this connection. I know it. That house was abandoned.”

  “You aren’t acting like a cop,” Ryan snapped. “You’re acting like Chris, who I love”—he glared at Chris—“but who should also know better.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t need to be a cop anymore,” Raquel retorted, and then snapped her mouth shut.

  Everyone stared at her. Chris with wide eyes. “Quelly?”

  Raquel swallowed. “Sorry. That was dramatic.”

  Ryan still looked pissed, but he was concerned as well. “I know what it’s like to want a case solved. I’ve messed up myself trying to catch someone I knew was the killer. You need to make it right, Raquel, not quit.”

  Raquel nodded to indicate she understood. “I hear you, Ryan, but the truth is I’ll likely get fired for this anyway. And you know what, if I find out what happened to Summer, if we can locate the connection to the group that’s operating now, then I will consider it worth it.”

  “And if we don’t?” Ryan retorted with brisk finality.

  “Then it won’t matter anyway, because she will never be found.”

  “You don’t know that,” Ryan argued.

  “Yeah”—Raquel met Chris’s eyes—“I do. Losing Summer changed my life, but I remember how it felt when she was around. Everything in me is telling me to find her now, before it’s too late and all the threads that connected her to this place are gone.”

  Ryan turned away. “Come on, Chris. We’ll come back and look some more tomorrow evening. We all have to go to work in the morning.”

  Chris looked for a moment like she might protest, but spoke gently instead, putting a
hand on his arm. “Ryan, you know weird stuff happens here. Look at the Triplets. Raquel might be wrong, but I think we should trust her.”

  Ryan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, but he didn’t turn around. “You’ll call and report what you did if we don’t find the connection, and you can’t get Jane to talk?”

  Raquel spoke to his back. “I promise. Just give me a few days. We’ll get the DNA results tomorrow from the blood on the ribbons, the information about Abraham’s service records, and I’ll talk to Jane. Even if we don’t find anything here, we will find the connection.”

  Ryan turned to Raquel. “You know, you might be right. But you weren’t thinking of Chris when you asked her to do this. She opens herself up to danger when she sleuths around illegally. You weren’t thinking about her.”

  “No,” Raquel agreed. “But I’ve known Chris longer. And, like me, she’s willing to do just about anything to find out what happened to Summer. Tavey as well.”

  “Well, I would do just about anything for Chris, and I don’t want her in danger, not even to find out what happened to your friend, not even to stop a bunch of drug dealers from taking anyone else.”

  Raquel, even in her guilt and frustration, couldn’t stand against a declaration like that. It only reinforced her decision not to involve anyone but herself. She was willing to risk everything for this, including her life, but she didn’t want anyone else to suffer.

  Raquel smiled at him even as she blinked back tears. “That’s why I’m glad she found you. Someone should think of her first.”

  Chris wasn’t bothering to hide that she was crying. “Ryan, you are such an asshole.”

  Ryan stared at her. “Me? Why?”

  “ ’Cause I can’t be mad at you when you say things like that.”

  BRENT WAS QUIET after Chris and Ryan left, a line drawn between his brows. He was still looking through the books, but his attention seemed to be elsewhere.

  “What?” Raquel said finally.

  “It worries me.”