Daddy Soda (A New Hampshire Mystery Book 1)

by Mira Gibson

  As she began reading, he was already writing more.

  “It says,” she swallowed hard to steady her voice. “My name is Blake Abbott. He still has my cousin Travis Danbury. Kendra Cole is alive. He took her.”

  “Who?” Cody demanded. “Who is he?”

  Hannah retrieved the second page, which she first skimmed to see if he’d revealed the man.

  “Was it Dale Cole?” he shouted.

  The kid stopped writing, stilled, looked up at him then returned to writing, big blocky letters across the page. He held it up.

  I DON’T KNOW WHO HE IS.

  “Fuck,” Cody said, spitting through his teeth. He wanted to kill him right then and there, but by the looks of it he was already dead.

  Hannah turned back to the next page, read it out loud for him.

  “He dresses in black, has a voice distortion box over his mouth, part of his mask. He didn’t see me take it.”

  She froze, staring at the kid with wide eyes.

  Cody asked, “Take what?”

  The kid shoved his bloody hand into the front pocket of his jeans and extracted a key chain. It had no keys on it, but a flat, plastic square hung down. Hannah took it and turned it over in her hands, as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she referenced the page, read on.

  “He says,” she began, “the man had it on his work table. It seemed important to him. It was the only human thing he seemed to have.”

  She stared at it again until Cody held his hand out for it.

  Encased in the plastic was a black and white photo, the kind a photo booth at a carnival would spit out. In it was Mary, pursing her lips for the camera, eyes two slits of mock seduction, hands cupping her breasts up high beneath her thin shirt.

  Lastly, the kid wrote one more note, tore the page out. This time Cody grabbed it.

  His blood ran cold as his gaze traveled across the words:

  Ask Mary.

  “Kendra didn’t write that in the dirt,” he said. “Who did?”

  But the kid didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Cody already knew. The kids had written it. They’d wanted out from the start.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mary examined her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, though it was fogged up good with steam. She looked like an apparition, floating in purgatory between life and death. Ghostlike - her blond hair slick to her scalp, her pale skin washed out from lack of makeup, it was as though she didn’t fully exist. Not on her own, only when she breathed life into those around her.

  She wiped at the glass, in the back of her mind wondering if it’d lacerate her palm, slice across her fingers maybe, streak her blood atop its cracked surface. It didn’t.

  Her towel was resting on the toilet lid, but she didn’t reach for it. She breathed in the leftover steam from her shower, smelled its warm moisture that carried hints of her flowery shampoo, and then pulled the window open wide.

  The air felt freezing on her wet skin, as it traded places with the built up fog, hot mist escaping into the crisp afternoon, dissipating into the stark orange light that cut through the trees just to touch her.

  Hannah hadn’t come home all last night, all day today, which pleased Dale enough. He’d been getting antsy having her here. He was getting harder to control.

  She smirked at the notion he probably thought the same of her. That was the trick of it all, making him believe he was still in charge.

  Flipping her head upside down to shake off the excess water, Mary grabbed for her comb on the sink and yanked through the tangles. When she righted herself her spiky hair pointed at strange angles so she lathered a dollop of gel between her palms and massaged it in. Never mind a blow dry. This would do.

  She didn’t dawdle about the rest. She dragged eyeliner across her upper lashes then the lower and followed up with a few strokes of black shadow. While pinching her face into a sour smile meant to pop the apples of her cheeks, she brushed on rose blush in circles then dabbed some gloss on her lips.

  No sense in getting too dolled up. It’d be wasted.

  She fastened her bra around her waist and slid it up, got it situated just right, black lace over the second most precious part of her. Her panties would cover the first so she stepped into those next. Then she threw on her jeans and a thin tee shirt, too old and too tight to leave much to the imagination.

  By now the brownies would be done.

  On her way to the kitchen, she peered in on Candice. The girl was splayed out on her bed, flipping a magazine Mary had provided. Being the smartest person in the house was often a lonely position to hold, but she kept everyone safe and happy so it was worth it.

  “Keep your door locked for the next hour or so.”

  Candice looked up, as she turned a page. That was enough. She didn’t have to wait and watch her, listen for the lock to turn overhead. Candice was a good girl and would obey.

  When she rounded the kitchen she grabbed the paper towel roll and a plastic container, made sure she found it’s matching top, and set those on the counter. Then opened the oven. Her timing was impeccable.

  It didn’t take more than a minute to cut up the squares and stack them neatly in the container. She kept the lid off so they wouldn’t sweat and spoil the texture.

  “You’re not going far are you?” she heard Dale call from his bedroom.

  “No, Daddy. Coming right back.”

  “I had a hell of a night and a worse day,” he went on. “Need you.”

  Christ, he was weak.

  It was something of a balancing act to prop the brownie container on her hip, while wriggling her feet into her sneakers, but she managed then used a similar method to pull her jacket on, anything to keep the dessert off the floor.

  Then she was out the door, crossing over the porch, down its two steps, over grass then gravel and dirt.

  They were so damned conspicuous it was embarrassing.

  The trees flanking the drive were naked as sin, branches cracking and moaning in the wind. They thickened up some where the line of them spanned the road, but not enough to conceal the squad car.

  Poor bastards, she thought. They didn’t even know what they were looking for.

  She kept a sizable sway to her stride as she rounded through, holding the container snug under her rack so they’d have to think twice about the goodies she’d be offering.

  As luck would have it, she saw only her reflection in their windshield and didn’t veer to the passenger’s side until she’d reached the bumper.

  The cop behind glass was quick to roll down his window. She leaned over slow, took note his eyes traveled the length of her, lingering in the right places too long. He looked giddy, but nervous.

  She was sure to make eye contact with both of them, glanced fast at the surnames above their badges, making mental notes - Calhoon and Sanders. They looked like the forty-five year old bloated version of every jock she wished she hadn’t fucked.

  “Hey guys,” she smiled wide, making sure to sparkle for them, inner light of God and shit. “Thought you might like a snack.”

  The nearest one chuckled anxiously, as she put the brownies in his lap, adding a little friendly pressure, back of her hand to his crotch, before she slowly drew away her hands.

  “They’re brownies,” she said as though it wasn’t abundantly obvious. “Made them just for you. Really appreciate you guys being out here. Your job seems so interesting.” Big smile.

  Of course they lit up like fireworks.

  “On a good day,” one of them chuckled, shot a nervous or perverted smirk at his partner. Either would do. “Today’s shaping up.”

  “I bet,” she cooed. “Well, there a lot more where that came from. I can give you any sweet thing you like in fact.”

  The driver’s expression flatted out and his brows floated up to his hairline.

  The other tasted a corner of a brownie.

  “This is delicious.”

  “Made with love.” She leaned into the car shifting her
weight and snugging her tee down so that she nearly spilled out of it, and broke off a corner as well. She made slow work of placing it on her tongue, being sure to keep her grin going, then chewed a bit, sucking on her finger so as not to leave a crumb. After she swallowed it down, she said, “You guys have a great night.”

  As she walked across the dirt road and rounded a tree, heading into her driveway she thought to herself, men were so fucking easy.

  Well, not all of them.

  She found Dale seated on his bed with the bible, of all things, in his lap.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  It made slightly more sense when she realized the room was too dim for him to actually read. It looked as though he was attempting to absorb its teachings, keeping it resting on top of him and all.

  “Those assholes still out there?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “But they’re about to get some serious diarrhea so they’ll be off soon.”

  It took him a beat to find it hilarious, but when he did he went off laughing and laughing. She disappeared to grab some beers. He’d had a head start and Lord knew it was best to be tanked during these dark exchanges.

  She returned with a six-pack and plopped down on the bed, broke him off a beer then one for herself.

  Maybe things wouldn't head in that direction tonight. He’d been better. He needed her less, or couldn’t get her thanks to Hannah.

  Damned if getting her sister back hadn’t been the best thing that ever happened to her.

  In case the early evening took a turn for the worse, she eyed him as he drank. He was talking about some bible verse, which didn’t matter so she tuned him out, found something interesting about his facial features. She’d stuck with his nose last time so she decided on his stature.

  Who’d he look like?

  Nothing like Ryan Gosling, so she ruled him out.

  Not much like Channing Tatum, which was a damned shame, because that would make the lot of this tolerable.

  Dale had those steel blue eyes and hard jawline so maybe he resembled Brad Pitt? She didn’t think he deserved the flattery.

  She decided on Hugh Jackman and estimated she’d need to get seven beers deep to really see it. Fuck if it wasn’t shaping up to be a long night.

  Bottoms up.

  She tuned back in when Dale started spouting something perverse about Mary Magdalene and the legalization of prostitution. Yeah, as if he really wanted anything other than his own flesh and blood.

  “The cutest thing you ever did,” he said, shifting gears randomly, “was when you started referring to these as daddy soda.”

  She had to laugh and beer shot straight out her nose. It stung her brain something fierce, but she kept right on laughing.

  “I remember that,” she said finally when she could talk. “Stupid kid that I was.”

  Again, he went from second gear to fifth, engine squealing, “You torn up about your mother?”

  Kendra hadn’t listened. Her ears had done her no good. She’d been deaf to Mary, deaf to her daughter’s pleas that Dale had turned on her, had been angling in on her, trapping her like a mouse, coming to her in the night. Kendra had refused to hear her. All she’d cared about was her own salvation and when she couldn’t find it in the church she sought it out in the trailer parks, in the woods, with strangers who smoked her out.

  Mary looked him dead in the eye and said, “I don’t miss her at all.”

  Dale grinned, pulled at her sneaker until she had the good sense to work her way over to him.

  He had a slimy way of wrapping his hands around her she’d never get used to.

  But suddenly, Hannah filled the doorway, backlit by the hall light so bad Mary couldn’t read her expression or guess at what she might make of this.

  “Oh, you’re back now?” Dale barked, angry as ever.

  “I am,” she told him.

  Mary was off the bed, padding over, then doubled back for her beers, which Dale tried to snatch, but he’d only grasped one. They tugged at it in silent understanding he’d get one and the rest would be hers.

  “What’s going on?” Hannah asked even enough in her tone.

  Dale said, “Just passing the time,” before Mary angled out through the doorway and her sister had no choice but to step back, let her into the hall.

  “I’ll close this for you, Daddy so you can nap,” she said, doing just that. He grumbled something neither of them could hear.

  Hannah looked weird, spooked maybe, like she’d seen a ghost, but she started down the hall for the living room.

  Ever sensitive to Candice, Mary gave a gentle knock on her door, their sign she was allowed to unlock it if she liked, then joined Hannah in the living room.

  “So how’d it go last night with the hunk?” she asked, keeping it casual.

  “Fine.” Hannah looked out of sorts, which Mary found highly curious.

  “Care to give me the blow-by-blow?”

  Hannah turned white. A certain sickness filtered through her face that Mary couldn’t entirely place. Then she locked eyes with her and something dark came through.

  Mary tried to laugh it off, “What?” but hated the sound she was making.

  “Why’d you ask me to come here?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The fact that Dale and Candice were in the house were good enough excuses for Hannah to make the argument they should talk outside beyond earshot, but really she just needed insurance she could hunt around without Mary barging in on her.

  She did not like how Mary was looking at her. Her tense brow and narrowing glare screamed skepticism when Hannah said she’d be right out, needed to use the bathroom. Truth be told, she was a terrible liar and it didn’t help that her heart was racing so badly it affected her tone, made her sound anxious and breathy, scared.

  “What do you need to talk to me about that we can’t talk in here?” she challenged.

  “The case,” she lied. Then when Mary brightened, dropping apprehension in exchange for keen interest, an air of self-importance shining through those clear blue eyes, Hannah took a quick mental inventory of what she might be able to tell the girl to barter information out of her. “I’ll be right out.”

  Suddenly eager to be a confidant, Mary bundled up and headed out, asserting in a whisper, “I’ll be on the dock.”

  The second she shut the door Hannah was on it, locked it, and rushed up the hall, stepping soundlessly. Her heart was in her throat when she entered Mary’s room, her mind reeling when she shut the door quietly and realized she had no way to lock it.

  She leaned against the door taking a moment to steady her breathing, calm her heart, but she had no sense of whether or not it was easing up. The image of Dale and Mary on his bed was burned into the forefront of her mind - Dale spread-eagle and loose against the head-board, Mary curled up against the length of him, a dark, sexual energy between them.

  Hannah wrestled with it, kept trying to latch onto explanations, but they wouldn’t take hold. No excuse could make it right. No explanation except the glaring reality.

  Dale was abusing Mary.

  Her stomach lurched, compelling her to get moving. She took to rummaging through the lap drawer on Mary’s desk first. Hannah wasn’t clear on what she was looking for, anything. Somehow Mary was at the center of all this. She’d find something. She had to.

  As she moved from the lap drawer to the side ones, anguish clawed at her. Dale was like that. He’d always been like that, scheming, suggestive, manipulative. He’d crossed a few lines with Hannah when she’d grown up here. The beer for one was far from appropriate, the lingering hugs, his roaming hands, always angling to see what he could get away with - “accidentally” walking in on her in the bathroom and her bedroom, at times giving her gifts which made no sense, a bathing suit, a bra. Classic dirty stepdad. Sneaky and too clever for bad timing. Kendra had been blind to it not that he’d pulled his tactics with her in the room.

  But he’d never gone there with Hannah. He’d never tried to
close the gap. Hannah had taken to glaring at him if she looked at him at all. She’d thrown a nasty attitude around. The consequence had been sudden bursts of violence on Dale’s part, which was preferable.

  Mary handled Dale so well, how could this have happened?

  Then Hannah realized this happening was how she handled Dale so well.

  She reached the stack of bins serving as Mary’s nightstand and opened the top one, but she couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t get focused. Her eyes glistened watery with guilt-ridden tears. She never would have left if she’d ever thought, even for one flashing moment, Dale would be capable of turning on his own flesh and blood like that.

  All of a sudden, Cody’s theory added up. If Dale was sick enough to manipulate Mary, he’d be sick enough to mutilate his own wife.

  In the bottom bin, under a disorganized heap of old make-up she spied a strip of photos, black and white, her sister in every one. She stared at it, turning queasy. She’d hoped some pervert had been stalking her or something. Maybe had snatched the strip before Mary left the booth. But there it was in her hand - Mary looking up at the camera, surprised, a lock of hair in her face like she hadn’t realized the first shot would click off so soon. Next photo - Mary grinning wide, tongue out, palms up, silly. Next photo - this one sexy, lips mid-pucker, shoulders rounded, but she hadn’t been ready.

  The bottom edge was frayed, the last photo torn off, given to whoever was behind this? It had to be Dale.

  A moment of clarity washed over her when she spotted a set of keys.

  She took them.

  Hannah was on her feet in an instant, tucking the strip in her jeans and tearing through the house. She had her wits about her enough to shut the front door then started for the dock.

  The sun had fallen beneath the tree line across the lake, as dusk settled in all around her.

  Standing at the edge of the dock and looking out at the sunset was Mary holding a beer in her hand, the others at her feet.

  As soon as Hannah set foot on the dock, it bobbed, alerting her sister she’d arrived. She glanced over her shoulder, her expression flat, her eyes dark and discerning. It gave Hannah pause and her heart went racing all over again.