The Girl and the Unlucky 13 (Emma Griffin™ FBI Mystery)

by A J Rivers

  “No,” Dad says. “None of them has ever heard his name. At least, that’s what they say.”

  “Do you trust them?” I ask.

  “I do,” Dad says. “The men I interacted with in those chapters were straightforward. They had nothing to hide. As soon as I confirmed my membership, they brought me in, and nothing was held back. It wasn’t as though they made me aware of rituals or special meetings that I wasn’t allowed access to or anything. And from what you told me about that chapter in Harlan, they wanted people to participate in the killings. They wanted the power. At some point during my time with the other chapters, if they had connections, I would have been made aware of this other side. And for the most part, I had no indication something like that was going on.”

  “What do you mean, ‘for the most part?’” I ask.

  “It’s not that there was anything specifically said or done. There were just a couple of men in one particular chapter who weren’t as forthcoming as everybody else. They were a little more standoffish and seemed very entitled. They felt more important than the other people who were there. That seems more like a character flaw than an indication that they might have been a part of something else,” he explains.

  “But you aren’t completely convinced of that,” I say. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “It might have been something else. I can’t say for certain it’s not. I’m still working on them. I focused on gaining their trust and getting closer to them. It didn’t open them up completely, but that was actually my point. I wanted to see if they would pursue me. So, as soon as it felt as if I was starting to crack the surface and make headway with them, I left the chapter. I made sure they knew how to get in touch with me and suggested I might not be finding everything I wanted in that particular chapter. I didn’t come right out and say I wanted something else, but I left the breadcrumbs.”

  “Have you heard from them?” I ask.

  “I didn’t for the first couple of weeks after I left, but one of them actually reached out to me earlier today. It was nothing of note, just saying it was good to meet me and they were checking in. But that’s a stab. Putting out feelers. So, I’m going to continue down that path and see if it comes up with anything,” he tells me.

  I’m doing my best not to be frustrated. I know how difficult undercover work can be. It’s not so easy as just walking into a situation and thinking everything’s going to fall at your feet. My father has been doing everything he can to help. I just hate that I haven’t found the answers yet. I feel that by now, I should have been able to connect the dots. I should have been able to hunt these men down. But I haven’t.

  “I guess I can’t hope that they’ll send you a postcard inviting you to a party to meet their friend the Dragon,” I crack.

  Dad lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I just don’t understand how they’re linked. That’s what brings Greg into it. He was so invested in not letting Lydia investigate the Dragon further. He knew how dangerous that man was. And he thought just as I did that the Dragon was dead. He believed Darren Blackwell died while serving his prison term. If he needed something else, why didn’t he tell me where to find Darren? Or what Darren has been doing over the last several years?

  ”And where do the paths of The Order and The Dragon intersect? When Dean and I were standing there in that temple and they were three seconds from killing me, Dean pulled out the name “Dragon” from information Lydia sent to us. I didn’t even know what was going on.”

  “And they clearly knew who he was talking about,” Dad says.

  I nod. “They were terrified. None of them said anything specific, but it was obvious they were very afraid and weren’t going to do anything that could possibly cross him. But why? Why would they make that association? What do they owe him? And they disappeared at right about the same time. I can’t help but think that’s related.”

  “We are getting there,” Dad says. “You’re chipping away at it. You’ll find your way.”

  Before I can answer, my phone rings on the table in front of me. I pick it up, expecting it to be Sam. Instead, it’s Dean.

  “Hey,” I say, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can keep eating. “What’s up?”

  “How did everything go?” he asks.

  “Fine,” I say, not wanting to talk about the new agent anymore. “I’m glad that case is finally done. Or at least it’s close. There’s still the trial to be had, but after investigation and take down, that should be a cakewalk. We found so much evidence, there’s no way they’re going to be able to talk their way out of it.”

  “That’s great,” my cousin says. “Does that mean you’re at your dad’s house?”

  “Yep,” I say. “Still on official baby watch. I have Arrow Lake in a couple of days, but other than that, I’m here.”

  “Do you mind if we come up there tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “It’ll be good to see you. I know Dad would like to see you guys, too. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” Dean says. “There’s just something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Around lunchtime?”

  “Sounds good. See you then,” Dean says.

  “Tell Ian not to forget about the bag ties or the meat cooler,” Xavier calls from somewhere in the background.

  “Did you hear that?” Dean asks.

  “I did.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  I hang up and look over at my father. “It truly scares the living hell out of me to relay this to you, but Xavier says not to forget about the bag ties or the meat cooler.”

  Dad gives me a look that tells me Xavier’s comment sparked something. His eyes widen and he nods as he finishes a bite of sandwich and puts his plate on the table in front of him. Standing, he goes to the shelves on the other side of the room and picks up a notebook and pen. I watch him scribble what I’m assuming is the note from Xavier before he comes back and sits back down.

  I stare at him for a few more seconds, waiting for him to give me some sort of explanation, but he doesn’t.

  It’s finally happened. Xavier has officially gotten to my father.

  Six

  The next day, food from my favorite Thai restaurant, one of the couple things I long for now that I live in Sherwood, arrives just before Dean and Xavier. When they get there, I open the door and give each a hug before Xavier makes a beeline across the living room toward my father.

  “Do different brands count as the same item?” he starts. “And what about those little signs sticking out from different shelves saying items are on sale? Are they actually on sale? If somebody picked those up would they be worth less than if somebody picked a different brand? Even if its original brand was worth more originally? Or is it all a ruse?”

  I look over at Dean. “Do you know what that’s all about?”

  Dean shakes his head. “Xavier says it has something to do with a game and investigative journalism. A book that’s going to blow the lid off nineties culture.”

  I glance across the room toward the shelves to find the two men in deep conversation over the notebook my father wrote in yesterday. As he flips through the book, I can see many pages full of notes and diagrams. I look back at Dean.

  “Is this something that’s real or that Xavier made up and my father is just going along with because he loves a good delusion?” I ask.

  “I wish I had an answer to that.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out eventually. Food’s here. Want to grab some, then we’ll talk?” I ask.

  Dean nods and we go over to the dining room table, where I’ve spread out all the containers of takeout food so they’re easy to access. We each get a plate and start scooping out bits of everything. Dad and Xavier have taken their conversation into my father’s office by the time Dean and I get back into the living room. Eventually, they’ll come up for air and get something to eat, but if they’ve adjourn
ed there, we might be in for the long haul with whatever has wrapped them up.

  I drop down into my favorite corner of the couch and settle my plate on my folded legs. This has always been my favorite corner of the couch for no particular reason. I’m sure the other corner is perfectly comfortable. I’ve had my toes wedged in it plenty of times when stretched out sleeping right here during nights I couldn’t bear to go into my bedroom.

  There were more of those than I cared to count in the weeks and months after my father disappeared. And then again when my uncle was stalking me.

  But this has always been the corner I’ve gone to. Reading, homework, pizza night, TV. I know it well. It’s another of the things I sometimes miss when I’m at home in Sherwood. But amazing Thai food and a well-worn couch corner aren’t enough to lure me back.

  “How are you doing?” I ask after my first bite.

  It’s one of those questions that doesn’t always mean anything. People ask it and don’t expect a response. They’ll throw it out when walking past somebody they vaguely recognize on the sidewalk, or when they’re starting a conversation with somebody they don’t necessarily want to be in a conversation with over the phone but have to be.

  This is the opposite. This time I actually want a response, but the question is heavily loaded and layered. I’m not just asking how he’s feeling or what’s going through his mind. The last few weeks haven’t been easy for Dean. In truth, things haven’t been easy for him at any point in his life. I’m still learning about my cousin and the lives we lived in so many ways side by side and yet completely unaware of each other. And through that, I’m learning about everything he experienced and how it made him into the man he is today.

  But I didn’t learn about one of the biggest factors that influenced his life until we were drawn into a years-old mystery that brought us to an abandoned campground and face-to-face with his past. It gave me significant insight into him, but also made me worry about him more than I ever had.

  “I’m doing okay,” he tells me.

  “Really?”

  He meets my eyes and holds them. “I’ll get there.”

  “That’s good enough,” I say.

  We go back to eating for a few seconds before he speaks again.

  “That’s actually what I want to talk to you about,” he says.

  “What is?” I ask.

  “I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened at the campground,” he says.

  “I know,” I nod. “It was a lot and it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  “It wasn’t,” he says. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through. But I can’t get it out of my mind. All those people. Ones we still don’t know. And they’re just the beginning.”

  “I know,” I nod again. “The investigation is still going. That’s why I’m going up there in a couple of days. The Bureau sent in a task force I’m heading up. We’re working to piece together who the unidentified victims are, where they came from and when they died. We’re also focusing our efforts on trying to locate the remains of the ones we know were victims but haven’t been found yet.”

  Dean nods. “I know. And I am totally available to be as big of a part of that investigation as you want me to be. But that’s actually not what I was thinking about.”

  “Oh? What is it, then?”

  “We know there are still victims who are out there. Ones whose names we know, and we know when they were probably killed. And others whose bodies we have but who we are still trying to connect with missing persons cases. Bodies that don’t have anything to do with Aaron or his family,” he says.

  “There are,” I acknowledge. “Unfortunately, there’s never a shortage of missing persons cases.”

  “One of them is really sticking with me, though,” Dean says.

  “Which one?” I ask, leaning over sideways to pick up my drink and take a sip so I don’t have to look away from Dean.

  “Ashley Stevenson.”

  “The girl whose family came forward when the media started talking about the additional victims,” I say.

  “Yes,” Dean confirms. “The details of her disappearance seemed to line up with what we knew about the murders in and around the campground at the time. Her last-known location was in the park near that campground. She hasn’t been seen or heard from in five years. But then we figured out she couldn’t have been a victim.”

  “Her age ruled her out. She was only thirteen when she disappeared five years ago, which was too young for Laura or Rodney Mitchell to have gone after her. Which means if that area really was the last place she was alive, something else happened to her there,” I say. “Yeah. She’s been on my mind, too. She was so young. I hate to think what might have happened to her, but her family deserves to know.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m here. I’ve been thinking maybe we should look into it together. Not as part of the FBI investigation, but in a private investigation capacity,” he offers.

  “Are you going to let me call myself a private investigator?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Do you have a license?”

  “No.”

  “Then you know the answer,” he says.

  “Alright.”

  “Alright, you’ll stop trying to call yourself a PI,’ or alright you’re in for the investigation?” he asks.

  “I’m in. The Bureau is focusing specifically on Laura’s and Rodney’s victims, so no attention is being given to Ashley or the other missing persons who don’t align with the methodology of those murders. Doing a private investigation is probably the family’s best bet at getting any answers,” I say.

  “That’s what I was thinking, too. Which is why I’ve been in contact with the family,” Dean says.

  “You have?” I ask.

  “Yes. After not being able to stop thinking about it for more than a week, I decided I needed to know as much as I could. She was thirteen, Emma. It sounds so young, but it’s also the age I was when I was starting to get into trouble and was then accused of murder. I got wrapped up in finding out about her and her case, so I started doing some research.”

  “What did you find out?” I ask.

  “Not much. There isn’t much media coverage of it. A few brief articles from when she first went missing. They all give basically the same information. She went out with friends and didn’t come back. There are a couple of interviews with her mother. I was able to find her last yearbook and a couple of mentions of her in school publications. But it didn’t seem as if there was a lot of attention given to it. The general consensus was that she must have been a runaway,” Dean tells me.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  “That a thirteen-year-old runaway isn’t going to get very far in the days of ID verification for everything, social media, and security everywhere. There would be no way for her to start a life of her own. Whatever happened after she was last seen, there was someone else involved,” Dean says.

  “I agree. So, what’s next? How does the family feel about our investigating?” I ask.

  “They want to meet with us,” he says. “They’re ready to talk and actually have people listen.”

  Seven

  Dean and Xavier stay the night, as they usually do when visiting either my father’s house or Sherwood. The next morning, as Dean gets in touch with Ashley’s family to arrange our meeting, I check in on Bellamy and Eric.

  As much as I’ve wanted to visit with her and do everything I can to help in these last couple of weeks of her pregnancy, I’ve been trying to step back a bit. In a lot of ways, I’m still used to its being Bellamy and me, and Eric and me.

  My friendships with both of them developed separately, and I always considered them my best friends, even when they didn’t particularly get along with each other. Which was a considerable portion of my twenties. They clashed over just about everything. Sometimes it was hard to even be in the room with them. Which was fine, since I had different bonds with each of them.


  It wasn’t until everything happened with Greg that the two of them really started getting along. I didn’t even realize it was happening at first. Then when I was sent on my first undercover assignment after being taken off desk duty, I found out that not only were they communicating, but they seemed to be forming a new closeness.

  The rest, as the old folks say, is history. I feel a lot more comfortable saying that. Which might be giving me a clue as to why I’m suddenly being called up into the FBI Big Brothers/Big Sisters program.

  Things weren’t smooth and easy between Eric and Bellamy right off the bat. There was a lot of back-and-forth and pretending they weren’t feeling what they so obviously were. I can’t necessarily say it felt right for the two of them to end up together, but it was so obvious when they interacted, I couldn’t deny it. It took a brutal case for them to finally realize what they could have with each other was worth so much more than the fear of ruining a friendship.

  Now they’re expecting their first child any day, and I’m having to remind myself that the baby is theirs. They are there for each other and should be experiencing this together. Not that I shouldn’t be a part of it at all, but I also don’t want to encroach on them as they’re nesting and enjoying the anticipation of becoming a family of three.

  Both of them know I’m here. At any given second, they could call and I would drop everything to do whatever they need. It’s hard not to see Bellamy all the time or spend hours talking over cases with Eric. This is the new place our life has found us. We really are grown up.

  We are family and nothing is going to change that. It’s just that a new chapter has begun and we have to figure out what that means for all of us. Right now, that means everyone is eagerly waiting for the first sign that the baby, the first in a new generation, is coming.

  “How’s everything going?” I ask.

  We are almost at the point in Bellamy’s pregnancy where she could say the baby could be here literally at any moment. It’s been interesting to watch her go through each of the stages of her pregnancy and see how she’s handled it. As graceful, beautiful, and generally peaceful as Bellamy has always been, I wouldn’t go so far as to say those qualities have translated all the way over into her pregnancy. There have been times when she’s been downright cranky. Which is putting it kindly, but I don’t want to speak ill of the procreating. The woman is growing another human being. She gets a lot of leeway. I copped an attitude with my garden when I was just trying to grow some begonias.