by Sheila Lowe
He grinned. “Not a cop, but I was a sworn officer of the law, got a shiny badge, the works. The part I hated was having to wear a uniform. You may have noticed I’m kinda on the casual side. I retired so I wouldn’t have to shave. Anyway, I liked to think of myself as a babysitter.”
“And you met Sage while he was in juvie?”
Jay nodded. “I worked graveyard, so the kids were asleep while I was on duty.” He stopped himself. “Look, I’m sure you realize this is confidential information that I shouldn’t be blabbing. But it was a long time ago and I have a good feeling about you, so I’m going to trust you. Anyhow, what are they gonna do, fire me?”
Jessica gave him a solemn look and raised three fingers. “I won’t tell. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you a Girl Scout?”
“No, but I know how to promise not to repeat anything you tell me.”
Jay looked straight into her eyes, taking her measure. He nodded again. “I know you won’t. So, here we go. Sage had a hard time sleeping and I’d find him sneaking out of his dorm, walking around. Sometimes I’d let him come to the employee break room and we’d sit there and talk for a couple hours.” He stopped for a self-deprecating chuckle. “Well, he’d sit there, anyway. I preferred to stretch out on the countertop. I’ll tell you, Jessica, I love work. I could watch it all day.” His eyes were twinkling. “Who’m I kidding? I’m basically a lazy sumbitch.”
She wanted more information about Sage. “How old was he?” she pressed. “Why was he sent to juvie?”
Jay mused on her questions. “I’ve been retired for fifteen years, so, it was before that. Sage was around thirteen, fourteen; a super-bright, talented kid with some major problems. I think it was when he was around four years old, he went through some kind of terrible trauma. It fucked up—sorry, messed with his head.”
Four years old. Like Ethan. Was this why he had used his aunt’s money to establish the Center for Traumatized Children in his mother’s name?
“What happened to him?”
“Dunno. I dealt with a shitload of kids going through CYA, but Sage was special. He stood out. We got pretty close, but he’s never told me what happened to him. He might not even remember. Sometimes when there’s something majorly traumatic, the kid can block it out. So, anyway, I heard that after he went to live with Mrs. Boles—”
“Wait, she wasn’t his real mom?”
“No, he was adopted. It was long before we got him. I was never privy to the ins and outs of that, but I was told he didn’t speak for the first year or so.”
“Didn’t speak?”
“As in totally silent. Whatever happened, they think he witnessed something so horrible, he couldn’t verbalize it. He’s a terrifically talented artist. That was how he expressed his emotions, through his drawings. Some of them were—I guess I’d have to say pretty bizarre.”
“Bizarre how?”
“Gruesome. Violent. Trust me, young lady, you don’t want the details.”
Gruesome and violent. Jessica’s hopes took a sudden nosedive. She had survived one violent relationship and vowed never to repeat that mistake. Even though she was already telling herself it was a lost cause, she had to ask, “What did he do to get put in juvie?”
“He cut a kid up pretty bad. According to Sage, several kids jumped him—a racial thing—obviously he’s mixed race—his father was African American, his mother is Caucasian. Sage’s excuse was that he was defending himself, and I don’t doubt it was true. But this wasn’t the first time or even the second that he’d been in trouble for fighting. He got into fights at CYA, too.” Jay quirked a brow. “That boy had a lot of aggression built up. Kinda like a pressure cooker. It had to come out somewhere.”
Jessica looked him in the eye so she might gauge his honesty when he answered her question. “Could he have killed his mother?”
Jay answered without hesitation. “He was totally devoted to her. Even as a young kid, he felt bad about getting himself locked up because he knew how much it hurt her. He’s doing a lot of good things these days with the child abuse center and the other center back east.”
“I know about the one in Ojai. There’s another one?”
He nodded. “He spent a big chunk of his inheritance on them.”
“You stay in touch with him?”
“We get together for a beer once in a while. Truth is, I love the kid.”
“That’s a pretty good recommendation. So, down to my original question. If I decide to see him again, should I tell him I Googled him?”
Jay sighed. “Honesty is not always the best policy, Missy. You asked for my advice. Here it is: give yourself a chance to get better acquainted before you make any big decisions about dumping him.”
“Wow. You weren’t kidding about no coincidences. I’m kind of overwhelmed right now.”
“Anytime you need an opinion, remember, I got plenty of ‘em and they’re all free.”
SEVENTEEN
Driving home, Jessica reached the conclusion that before returning Sage’s calls, she needed more information and she knew where to get it. Claudia Rose.
“Are you free for lunch?” Jessica asked. “I need to see you. I’ll treat.”
“Is something wrong, Jess?”
“I’ll figure that out after we talk.”
“Okay, sure. Come on down. No need for us to go out, though. I made a big pot of vegetable barley mushroom soup last night, and Joel brought some fresh rolls from that bakery I love.”
“I can be there by twelve-thirty.”
“Okay, kiddo. See you then. Take care on the road.”
Rather than battle the freeway, Jessica took the more scenic Pacific Coast Highway to Playa de la Reina. She was driving the same route that Annabelle took to the Regina Boles Center in Ojai, in reverse. If Annabelle’s tire had blown on the two-lane winding roads, with nothing more than a low rail between the road and the water just a few feet below, she might have been badly injured or worse.
Jessica liked knowing that the girl’s mother was watching over her. Her insistence on getting the message through might have saved Annabelle’s life. Gratitude flowed through her, honored to be the one chosen to deliver it.
The voices had quieted down now that she had set up her working hours for the spirits. Following Bella’s advice, she had set a neatly printing a card to set beside her bed, stating that she was not to be disturbed after midnight or before eight in the morning. Doing it had felt a bit silly until the spirits honored her request and no longer disturbed her sleep.
Besides, Ethan took up so much space in her thoughts that there was little room left for any others.
“I’m shamefully empty-handed,” Jessica said, returning her friend’s warm hug.
Claudia led her inside. “There’s nothing I need. Except to see you, of course. Damn, Jess, it’s been way too long.”
“I know. I’ve been out of pocket for a couple of months.”
They went straight through to the kitchen, where a big white stockpot bubbled on the stove. From the oven came an aroma that made Jessica’s stomach rumble. Bowls and silverware were already laid out in the old-fashioned breakfast nook.
Claudia got a potholder and bent to slide a tray of hot rolls from the oven.
“It’s about time you brought me up to date on what’s been happening,” she said. “And that includes how you knew Annabelle had a problem with her tire. First, get the butter out of the fridge please. Then, sit down, and start talking.”
Half an hour later, they had finished their lunch and Claudia was up to speed. She had listened in silence, her eyebrows lifting a couple of times, but she said nothing until Jessica had finished telling her about the voices, including the dead women, Hailey Martin and Finley Hunter, and little Ethan Starkey.
“And you’ve been experiencing this all the time I’ve known you?” Claudia asked curiously, not judgy, like Jenna.
“Well, yeah. But that’s not why I wanted to see you.”
Up went
Claudia’s brows again. “Oh? You’ve just told me an amazing story. There’s more?”
Jessica frowned at her, determined to be stern. “Don’t give me that innocent look, Claudia Rose. I know what you’re up to, and that’s what we need to talk about.”
“You’re not going to tell me you aren’t attracted to Sage?”
“No, I’m definitely not going to tell you that. But thanks for acknowledging your little matchmaking scheme.”
Claudia grinned widely. “I was afraid I’d lost my skills. So, what’s the problem?”
“You knew he was arrested in his mom’s death, right?”
“Ah. The internet.” She made a face. “Uncle Google knows all. Or thinks he does.”
Jessica pinned her with a glare. “Well, duh. You think I would get with a guy, not knowing anything about him?”
“I was kinda hoping you would take my word for it. You know, good references.”
“So you did know.”
“Yes, I knew. Put it together, Jess. If I thought there would be a problem, I would never have tried to get you two to hook up. I know him pretty well and I don’t have any doubts.”
“Get into the twenty-first century, Claudia. ‘Hooking up’ means casual sex these days.”
“And that’s not what this is…”
“No way!”
“Sometimes you remind me of Annabelle. No. I don’t see either of you as the type to be into casual sex. But I do see you together. And I’ve seen both of your handwritings, so I know you’re compatible. Not that compatibility is enough on its own. There has to be a spark, too.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a spark. But why didn’t you tell me about his mother?”
“What about her?”
“Starting with she’s dead and he got arrested for it?”
“Oh. That.”
“Is he violent?”
Claudia hesitated.
“What do you know?” Jessica pressed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I have seen him get angry enough to be violent, but it wasn’t against a woman.”
“Oh, that’s great; violence against a guy.”
“Believe me when I say, the guy deserved it. Anyway, besides his handwriting—and you know I rely on what handwriting says about people to get to the truth—all I know is what he told me and I believe him. He and his mom had a big argument and he left. Next thing, the cops are coming to pick him up for questioning. I’m sure you know it didn’t stick, that the judge—”
“Yeah, I read the stories,” Jessica interrupted. “But there’s a big difference between not enough evidence to go to trial, and being innocent.”
“That’s so. Remember, though, handwriting always tells the truth, and I didn’t see any major red flags in his.”
“What about minor ones?”
“No more than in yours.” Claudia leveled a serious look at her. “You’ve both seen some serious shit; the kinds of things that are bound to leave baggage. And remember, the man Sage has grown into is based on what was done to him, not things he did to anyone else. Sure, he has some residual anger, but so do you. It comes from loss and the feeling of being helpless. That doesn’t mean he’s going to turn it against you or anyone else.”
“Fair enough,” Jessica conceded with relief. No one had ever accused her of being undamaged or lacking her own anger, not the least when it came to her ex-husband.
“When his Aunt Maddy appeared to me at Dr. Gold’s, she did say she was proud of him.”
“Well, duh, Jess. What does that tell you?”
“Okay, I get it. What happened to his birth mother?”
The abrupt way Claudia got up from the table and started clearing the dishes telegraphed that this was an uncomfortable topic for discussion. “If you have questions about his birth mother, you need to ask Sage,” she said. “He might not want to go there. In fact, I’d be surprised if he did.”
Jessica rose and tried to help, but Claudia raised a hand to stop her. “You relax, I’ll get it.”
“It feels like you’re holding out on me, Claudia. What’s the big secret?”
Like a mother admonishing a child behaving badly, Claudia threw a frown over her shoulder. “Read my lips. Talk. To. Sage.”
Jessica drove down the hill from Claudia’s house, listening to a traffic alert on the radio. An accident had clogged Pacific Coast Highway in the Pacific Palisades area. She would have to take the 405 north instead of PCH. The 405 was always a parking lot. A few choice swear words colored the air blue as she turned right onto Culver Boulevard.
A mile outside of Playa de la Reina, she was thinking over her conversation with Claudia and what had been left unspoken about Sage. Too late, she remembered the fork in the road coming up. The freeway entrance was accessed from the left fork. She was in the right lane with vehicles racing past on her left, leaving no way to change over.
Veering onto Jefferson, she parked at the curb. She had driven this road countless times. She knew better. That’s what she got for driving distracted.
Then she heard a whisper.
Ballona Wetlands.
It was so obvious, she could have palm-slapped her forehead. She was sitting right next to the wilderness habitat. Ballona Wetlands sprawled across the landscape on both sides of the highway in the center of the city, while a mere hundred yards ahead of her on Lincoln Boulevard, cross-traffic flew past like the Autobahn. There were ponds and reeds and cattails just like those she had seen in that weird episode in Ethan’s bedroom. She had been pulled here.
In its long and varied history, the Ballona Wetlands was once owned by Howard Hughes, whose heirs had intentions of developing the bulk of the original 1,187 acres. A protracted battle early in the twenty-first century had ended with the State acquiring and protecting more than 600 acres, including the tidal Ballona Creek and the marshy area surrounding it.
With Playa Vista, a planned community of multi-story luxury condos and manicured parks dominating the intersection of the two main roads to the east, and homes on stilts clinging to the hillside on the south, the wetlands stood as an outright contradiction to the urban neighborhood.
Had Trey Starkey brought his son here on the way back from Disneyland?
Back to where, though? Not home.
What has he done with Ethan?
The Wetlands was nowhere close to the places to Disneyland, where the missing pair were known to have visited. It made no sense, but an urge was growing in Jessica to get out and look for Ethan there. The urge swelled, pushing her the way an addict is driven to find a fix.
She sat in the car, checking out the area. Across the sidewalk was a split rail fence that surrounded the wetlands, protecting the wildlife from human invaders. There had been a split rail fence in her vision in Ethan’s bedroom.
Jessica drove the few yards to where public access to the wetlands began and parked the car. At the entrance of the hiking trail, signposts stated that the area around the marshland was the only part open to foot traffic. She gazed across the distance, where the trail looped around the mile-long perimeter of the marsh. Too much walking for little feet.
Why would Trey have brought his child here? Or was she just inventing a story because if he had, it might provide a clue to his current whereabouts?
He might have been taunting Abby after learning somehow that she had intended to take Ethan and leave. Maybe he would show up tonight or tomorrow and pretend to carry on as usual, as if nothing had happened. He might just be showing her how easily he could take Ethan from her.
Jessica sighed. With Hailey Martin, she had felt quite sure of herself when describing to Zach what the dead woman showed her. It was different with Ethan. Everything around him was hazy and uncertain.
She called to mind the photo Abby had shown her: Trey, holding his boy in his arms like any good dad might, showing him the animals in the zoo cages. But she had seen a glint of evil in the expression he had turned to the camera. It was easy to imagine him making some smug
remark. An “I know something you don’t know, and it’s going to hurt you” taunt.
Trey would not be bringing Ethan home. Jessica knew it as well as she knew anything.
Sauntering along the dirt trail, she opened herself to the energy of the wetlands. At mid-afternoon, midweek, the place was largely deserted. The trees and bushes on the street side muted traffic sounds. Far away on the other side, a jogger ran along the trail. The occasional bird whistle came to her on the soft breeze. It would be easy to lose herself in the wild beauty of the natural landscape.
Ethan, are you here?
A slight stirring? Maybe.
Ethan. Talk to me.
“Sleepy.”
Was the thought coming from the boy or was she making it up? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Jessica inhaled three deep breaths through her nose and let them out through her mouth, focusing on the missing child.
Ethan, I’ll take you home.
“Momma?”
I’ll take you to your mom. Where are you?
“Papa said I have to take a nap.”
Wait, Ethan…
The brief connection had broken.
She continued on the footpath until she came to a chain link barricade on the inside of the split rail fence. It formed a three-sided border around a concrete culvert where clear water flowed, merging with a fuzzy green blanket of algae. She had never visited the place before but she knew it as if she had.
A deja vu experience.
Cattails, reeds.
In the section of fencing past the culvert, two of the crossbars were missing from the fence, leaving a four-foot wide gap. Enough space for an adult to climb through. More than enough for a child. The same as she had seen in her vision.
Following her gut, Jessica made a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was watching, then scrambled under the top railing. On the other side, a wide mat of flattened straw made a pathway down to the marsh.
On any other day she would have stopped to appreciate the winter wild flowers. On any other day, she would not have ignored the No Trespassing signs the way she was now, following the deja vu down the slight slope about twenty feet to the lip of the marsh.