I make a small sound that might pass for a laugh instead, “Tell you what, I’ll try calling Lucas again.”
Haley sounds relieved. “Be careful and I’ll see you tonight right?”
My focus has shifted from our conversation to the section of Paula’s front room I can see through her window. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I end the call with Haley and dial Lucas as I promised. I get his voice mail. “Crap on a cracker, Lucas,” I snap into the phone walking up Paula’s driveway. “I realize you’re busy, but I sent you a message with Patterson over an hour ago and now I’m alone and freezing.” Still on the phone, I get a better look into the front room. The tree is lit and presents fill the space underneath. On a wall nearby, three stockings are stuffed with goodies. Oliver, Ian and Cora written in golden glitter on the fuzzy cuffs.
The huge eyes of a small stuffed pink giraffe look at me from the stocking. The same type of huge eyes that looked at me from the floorboard of the smashed car.
“I think I found the kids,” I finish the call and hang up.
I promised Haley I’d call, but I didn’t promise to wait.
My tattoo pulses in a pleasant staccato of sensation. I turn my face to the cold lake breeze and hold my eyes open until they tear up.
Then I pound on the front door of Paula Whitlow’s lake house with panicked blows on the cold metal door. My knocks match the beat of my tattoo. I work my face up into a fearful expression and let the wind cause tears to flow down my cheeks.
“Is anyone home?” I shout in desperation. “Please, help me.”
Chapter 13
LUCAS
By the time we confront Jared Whitlow in the interview room, he’s shrunk to a shadow of himself. I know from my experience with mine and Amber’s divorce a few years ago that the first Christmas is the hardest. This poor man struggled with that earlier this evening and he took the route many have taken before. Looking for release in a bottle.
The added losses of his soon to be ex-wife’s death and the kidnapping of his children has nearly ruined him. The buttons of his shirt seem to be the only thing holding him upright.
As gently as possible, Dustin and I push him for information. Between blank stares and short, mumbled responses, we don’t get very far. He has no idea who would want to hurt Lauren and Eric or take his children.
Frustrated with the lack of progress, we finally call for a break. The poor man isn’t going to be able to help us and further questioning feels like unnecessary torture.
I follow Dustin to the coffee corner and fill a cup. Long nights and endless hours are part of our jobs, but my eyes are beginning to burn with exhaustion. Dustin fills a cup for me and adds way too much sugar and cream. He likes it that way, I like mine a little more bitter. At least it’s full of caffeine and still passably hot.
“Think we’re going to get anything useful?” Dustin asks in the hallway.
I rub the stubble growth on my cheek and shake my head. “I think he’s as shocked as we are.”
We sip our coffee, both of us trying to find another angle to tackle. My stomach rumbles loudly, needing more than coffee to fill it.
Dustin hears the noise and doesn’t miss the chance to tease me. “Too bad you dropped that cookie, maybe your stomach wouldn’t be so loud.”
The delicious looking cookie is no doubt a soggy pile in Teresa’s driveway now. I need something to put in my belly and head down the hall to our office to search for some snacks in my desk, maybe some jerky.
Officer Patterson intercepts me on the way.
“How’s the interview going?” he asks.
I make a sound and shrug. Patterson follows me to my office. I pull open a drawer and start rummaging around. The only thing I find that passes for food is an old stick of gum.
“Have you heard from Gabby?” he asks.
I stop rummaging, and turn my full attention to him. A shiver of warning climbs up my back. “Why would I have heard from Gabby? She’s in bed asleep.” I give myself a mental slap. She never said she was going to bed. I never saw her in bed. Did I really think my text about nothing she could do tonight would deter her?
Patterson links his thumbs in his belt, then pulls them out again, obviously uncomfortable.
I pull myself up to my full height although I’m maybe half an inch taller than Patterson. “Spill it.”
Dustin appears in the doorway to our office, his phone in his hand. He’s about to say something, but sensing the thick tension in the room, he just watches.
Patterson stumbles through his story about Gabby and Grandma Dot and even Emily at the Gottlieb estate. As he speaks, he seems to grow shorter, deflated. My concern and anger fills me, swells me up with indignation.
Patterson ends his little story with letting Gabby drive away. “You didn’t stop her?” I bellow.
To his credit, he squares his shoulders against me. “From the stories I’ve heard around here, you two can’t stop her when she gets a mind to do something. You’re her brother and you’re her boyfriend, I barely know her.”
I force my shoulders to relax. He’s right. Trying to control Gabby is like trying to stop the snow. Better to just let it fall and shovel the mess up later.
“We have a bigger problem,” Dustin says quietly. “The preliminary tox screen just came back on Lauren Whitlow. She was poisoned.”
Our office is filled with a heavy sadness. A tiny surge of vindication fills my heart. It wasn’t my fault Lauren Whitlow died. I didn’t do anything wrong at the scene.
I suddenly feel guilty. The woman is dead. The children lost their mother, Teresa lost her daughter.
“What about Eric, was he poisoned too?”
Dustin shakes his head. “Just Lauren. The coroner checked her stomach and the only thing in there was the remains of flour and sugar.”
My knees suddenly grow weak and I sink into my office chair. “Like a cookie? A poisoned cookie?”
Dustin nods gravely. “Thank God, Gabby texted you right then.”
Patterson looks from me to Dustin, confused about the importance of the cookie.
I snap out of my shock. “Teresa said Paula Whitlow gave those cookies to Lauren. Gabby and Grandma Dot think Paula is at Barr Harbor Beach Club.”
I shove away from my desk and storm down the hall to the interview room where Jared Whitlow lays with his head on his crossed arms on the table. I kick the table to wake him up.
“Your mom like to make cookies?” I bark.
He jumps awake and blinks several times. “Cookies?”
“Your mother, does she like making cookies, maybe sharing a tray of them with Lauren?”
“She bakes all the time. Why?”
“Tonight she gave Lauren a plate of poisoned cookies.” I pause letting the fact sink into the mush of his mind. “She murdered her, not just forced her off the road.”
“Mom, wouldn’t do that,” he protests without conviction.
Dustin asks, “Does your mother own property at Barr Harbor Beach Club in Vinton?”
Jared nods.
“Does she drive a four door light colored sedan?”
A spark of hope ignites in the broken man. “No, she drives an SUV. What’s this all about? You think my mom did this?”
I lean so close to the man, I can smell the remains of alcohol and stress sweat on him. I lock eyes with his watery gray ones. “Do you think she has something to do with this?”
A slight tightening of his eyes gives him away. “I never thought she’d do this,” he opens his arms wide, “but she was angry about the divorce, angry about me having to share the kids.”
He crumbles as the truth crushes. “She killed Lauren and Eric. Lauren is precious, and Eric wasn’t really that bad.” He crosses his arms on the table and lowers his head again, sobbing.
A surge of pity for the man is replaced with worry for Gabby. She’s driving north right now to confront a woman who’d use a cookie as a weapon. I bark orders at Patterson as I storm into my o
ffice again, “Go to Lauren Whitlow’s home and find her mother, Teresa. Warn her about the cookies and collect them all for evidence. Hopefully she hasn’t eaten one, too.”
I pull my coat from the back of my office chair. “There’s one in the driveway, too. Make sure you get that picked up before the little dog gets to it.”
Dustin has followed into the office and pulls on his own coat. “To Barr Harbor?” he asks.
“How long ago did she leave?” I ask Patterson. He looks at the clock on the wall, the red second hand ticking away the precious moments I need to get to Gabby. “It’s been nearly an hour now,” he says apologetically. “I got to you as soon as I could.”
“Crap, she’s probably already there now. At least she doesn’t know which house is Paula’s that should buy us some time.”
I dig my phone out of my pocket, ready to call her and warn her. The screen is dead and no amount of stabbing at the buttons will resurrect it. I make a strangled sound of frustration. “Mine’s dead,” I tell Dustin. “You’ll have to call her.”
He tries, but gets no answer. Sends a text just in case.
Bustled in our coats we hurry down the hall of the precinct towards the parking garage and a cruiser that will take us north. Dustin is a few steps ahead of me, his empty sleeve, the one where his slinged arm should be, billows behind him. I watch as he fishes another pill out of his pocket and dry swallows it.
“I’ll drive,” I say, pushing the concern about his pill intake to the back of my mind.
He doesn’t argue, which bothers me more than the pills. He shouldn’t be on this case at all. He should be home recovering.
We should all be home.
But we need to find the kids and Gabby.
I say a prayer for a hedge of protection around us all.
With lights and sirens on, we speed out of River Bend and onto the Interstate.
I plug my phone in to the car charger and see the missed call and voicemail from Gabby. Listening to her message only makes my fear grow.
I call back, but it goes directly to voicemail the same it did for Dustin.
“Don’t do anything stupid before we get there,” I say to Gabby’s voicemail. “We’re coming.”
I follow up with a similar text.
Then I repeat my prayer of protection and fly down the interstate.
Chapter 14
GABBY
My frantic pounding eventually draws Paula Whitlow to the door. As the door opens a crack, I start my show.
“Oh my gosh, thank you for answering,” I blubber. “Have you seen my Grandma’s dog? I was supposed to be house sitting, and I let him out and he took off. I can’t find him anywhere.”
Paula rubs her tired, red bloodshot eyes in exasperation, not pleased with my intrusion before the sun is even up. “I haven’t seen a dog.”
She tries to close the door, but I’ve slid my boot into the gap. “I know he’s close by, can you please help me find him. Grandma just adores the little guy and I should have taken better care of him. I got home late from a party and he needed to go out so bad, I just opened the door and he disappeared.” I babble on and on, barely stopping to take a breath. “Frodo,” I yell loudly into the night for the imaginary dog, “Frodo are you out here?”
My raised voice is irritating her now. “I already told you, there is no dog here.” Distracted by my hysterics, Paula hasn’t noticed my boot pushing the gap in the door wider. I look towards the tree and the stockings. The wide eyed pink giraffe smiles at me, cheering me on.
“I’m sorry to bother but I’m so desperate. Grandma will be home in the morning and if Frodo isn’t here, she’ll be heart-broken with it being Christmas and everything. She loves that dog like a child.” I motion my head to the presents and stockings, “Maybe your kids have seen him?”
Paula is losing her patience and I’m not actually getting anywhere. It is possible that the kids are not in this house. She is the missing children’s grandma, but she might not be involved. The gifts could be waiting for tomorrow innocently.
I take off my left glove and wipe the fake tears off my face with it. I cover my face with the glove and begin to sob. Paula softens a bit at my obvious distress and pats my shoulder.
Taking advantage, I grasp her bare hand with my bare left hand.
The swirl of darkness and evil intentions nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
Hatred claws at my chest, jealousy, longing, a need to control. A shout of triumph as the red car careens off the road, down the ditch and into the trees. What do you mean she has the kids?! Frantic searching. There they are. Mine, mine, mine, mine…..
Paula pries my hand off of hers one finger at a time. “Listen, lady, I don’t know who you are or where your damn dog is, but you need to get off my property right now.”
I’m so shaken by the vision I stumble backwards off her porch. “I’m sorry I bothered you,” I say quietly, the imaginary Frodo forgotten and the need for me to escape strong.
“Which house did you say you are staying at?” she calls after me. “I know everyone who lives here during the winter and I’ve never seen you.”
I return my hand to the safety of my glove and hurry down her driveway. My Charger is parked at the end of the lane, I turn in the opposite direction, not wanting to give her any clues. A few feet before I reach the road, I begin to run. I feel dirty and violated from the darkness I felt in the woman.
My feet pound the icy asphalt and my lungs burn from the cold air against the heat inside my chest. Growing warm from the jog, I let down the hood of my coat, and untie the hoodie from under my chin. My brown curls blow free in the wind coming from the lake. I lift my feet and slam them onto the asphalt, driving myself hard. During good weather, I run nearly every day, but I’m a bit out of shape now. It doesn’t take long until I’m gasping for air and my legs are aching. I slow my desperate run to a sustainable jog.
By the time I reach the entrance gates of the neighborhood, I am true and surely tired. I lean against the wrought iron, gasping for air in the pre-dawn silence. Behind me, down the lane, I hear an engine, the only other car I’ve heard or seen since I drove through this gate earlier. I expect the car to be leaving, to pass me at the gate, the only entrance or exit from the Barr Harbor.
The motor sound grows dimmer, driving in the opposite direction.
I chase the sound, running as hard as I can. Through the dark, I see red taillights ahead. Low to the ground and close together, a car. No matter how hard I pump my legs, I can’t catch up. The car disappears around the curves in the lane, headed towards the park and beach end of the neighborhood.
Unable to keep up the sprint, I slow again to what can only technically be called a jog it’s so slow. As I pass Paula’s house, I’m surprised to see that the only marks in the snowy driveway are my footprints from earlier. No car tracks.
The house next door is dark. The sidewalk hasn’t been shoveled. All the curtains are pulled shut, and only a small light is on towards the back of the house. I sense no one is living there at the moment.
The snow in the driveway hasn’t been plowed all season, judging by the evenness of the snow and the lack of piles at the edges.
The sets of tire tracks leading to and from the closed garage door don’t make sense for a house that’s not currently being lived in.
I slow my jog and look at the tracks. If I touched them, I’m sure I’d get a glimpse of the same car I saw hours ago picking up the kids.
Now that I’m not running, I notice the buzz in my pocket. Messages from both Lucas and Dustin fill my screen. I don’t listen to the voicemails, the texts say enough.
The same thing they always tell me.
Sit still and wait for the men to handle things.
Irritated, I don’t respond, leave the ringer off and shove the phone back in my pocket. Paula’s driven to the frozen beach with the kids. Judging by the horrible things I sensed inside her, there’s no telling what her plans are.
Mine, m
ine, mine….
The memory of her thought makes bile rise to the back of my throat. The woman is disturbed, and she has three defenseless children with her.
Sweat is clinging to my back as I make the last turn in the lane leading to the beach club area. I unzip my coat and shake the red I don’t care what Santa thinks, I’d rather be naughty than nice hoodie from Grandma Dot. A shower of glitter falls from the sweater.
Sticking to the shadows at the side of the road, I slink along. My Charger is parked where I left it. I’d half-expected the tires to have been slashed or some other awful thing to have happened to it, but other than a light dusting of snow, the car is the same as I left it.
The light colored four door I’d seen earlier is parked at the other side of the lot, nearest the beach. I was right, the sticker in the back window is for Barr Harbor Beach Club, the mis-matched rim of the front tire is the same as in my memory. Paula had used her neighbor’s car, smart move.
The car is here, but I see no sign of Paula or the kids. An eerie quiet fills the park and beach and marina. The red swing begins moving back and forth, the squeak of the chain unnerving. I turn my back on the odd swing and not knowing what else to do, I go to my car. I lean against the cold metal of the passenger side, putting the Charger between me and the white sedan. I’m not sure what my next move should be.
The cry of a young child tears through the park, carried on the wind from the direction of the marina.
My blood goes cold. The toddler boy. It has to be him.
The kids are here.
With shaking fingers, I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Lucas. I tell him where I’m at, and where the kids are.
He texts directly back telling me they aren’t far away, to wait, to not do anything stupid.
The toddler, Ian, wails louder. Cora, the little girl cries out in one sharp exclamation of pain.
I text back, “She’s hurting the kids. Not waiting.”
A wave of indecision holds my feet to the ground. From the direction of the crying, and the footprints in the snow, I’m sure she’s hiding them in the snack shack I noticed earlier. What I don’t understand is why she moved the kids. At her house, they were at least under the impression that they were safe and cared for. Now they are scared and crying.
Message of Murder 04-Message in the Snow Page 10