Daddy Soda (A New Hampshire Mystery Book 1)

by Mira Gibson

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  As soon as Mary let herself in and Hannah heard the door close, she angled in on Bobby. “I want all your information. Full name, address, employer, brother’s name, this rehab center, all of it.”

  “Ah, sure.”

  Hannah waited while he rummaged through his wallet for his card after which he went into his Saab to find a pen and something to write on. He returned a moment later and handed it over.

  After briefly eyeing it, she asked, “Did anything happen between you two?”

  He seemed to freeze up.

  With brows raised, she reiterated, “She’s fifteen.” He stammered, denying it and suggesting she’d gotten the wrong impression. “Just stay away from her.”

  Bobby slunk behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway. She watched the Saab until it disappeared into the bends. At least some semblance of order had been restored with Mary’s return.

  As Hannah set off along the winding back roads that would take her to Sanbornton Mercy, anxiety crept into her gut like a shadow then abruptly crystallized into a stark pang. She had one day and very little sway over an investigation that hinged on drug addicts and a woman, who might have been so badly tortured that she would refuse to talk.

  By the time her Taurus was rolling over the faded and cracked asphalt in front of the hospital, the pressure had gotten to her and Hannah felt suffocated. The walls were closing in and she couldn’t feel the air in her lungs. She told herself to focus on putting her GLOCK in the glove compartment. Guns weren’t allowed in the hospital. So she found it in her bag, opened the glove box, and tossed it in, jostling her flask into view like God’s answer to her anxious prayers.

  Or was it the devil?

  She took it out, staring at it, consumed by its allure.

  Why had Candice’s statement sounded so familiar?

  She’d said she wasn’t born with the devil in her and she never let him in.

  Hannah had been to two sermons and everyone around Sanbornton seemed to talk with God on their tongues. She couldn’t place it.

  Whether it was God's mercy or the devil’s lure, Hannah drained the flask. Whiskey burned its way down her esophagus and lit her stomach on fire, a proverbial sting soon to be followed by the much sought after calming glow that would smooth the hard edges of her nerves.

  “Sorry, Candice,” she said under her breath before tucking the empty flask deep into the pocket behind the passenger’s seat.

  Then she stepped into the cold conditions, wind stripping leaves off their treetops and carrying them sideways at her. She kept her pace brisk, heels clicking over asphalt, as she hugged a line of parked cars, making her way to the entrance.

  The lobby looked less dismal than the last time she’d been there when Mary had shot herself. Hannah shook off the grimace that had formed across her face remembering, and took a gander at the Thanksgiving decorations that lined the walls. They looked homemade and she wondered if the hospital was quiet enough that the receptionists had put in the effort.

  She noted a police officer standing to the side of the receptionist's counter then announced herself to a young woman with a bird face whose hair was slicked back into a bun as though styling it that way would prevent anyone from realizing it was days past a good wash.

  “Here to see Cody McAlister,” she discretely mentioned. “I understand he’s tending to... Jane Doe.”

  Bird-face, who’s name was Tenley according to the plastic name tag which dangled at an awkward angle on her chest, waved the officer over then rose to meet him at the side of the counter. A brief and quiet conversation ensued.

  “He’s going to radio Detective McAlister out for you,” she said when she returned. “You can have a seat if you like.”

  Hannah stepped back, but didn’t feel calm enough to sit. She hovered near a set of swinging double-doors that said Authorized Personnel Only figuring Cody would come out of there soon enough.

  Feeling eyes on her as she waited, she looked around and registered that the officer had been staring. Good, she thought. She hoped she got strip searched and interrogated. No one should get through those doors otherwise. Cody could place a small army in front of Kendra’s room, as far as she was concerned.

  Cody burst through the double doors, eyes blazing until they landed on Hannah. He looked exhausted, gray circles under his eyes, pale lips and matted hair, one sleeve rolled up, a pant leg bunched up in his boot.

  “Hey,” he breathed.

  Hannah kept her voice low. “Has she said anything?”

  “A lot,” he offered. “But no smoking gun. And the nurses keep knocking her out so she can rest. I’ve only had a few moments when she’s eating.”

  “Are you staying in her room?”

  “Yeah. Me and Alvarez. He’s an officer.”

  “Is she stable? I mean, is she out of the woods?”

  “It appears that way, but she’s fighting off some nasty infections. Her wrist was cauterized just fine and she had a set of stitches that held up, but her ear cavities... There have been complications, but I’m being assured as long as she rests she’ll come through.”

  “Good, that’s good.” Hannah took a moment to process the update, testing whether or not it'd be safe to trust a positive prognosis.

  “You want to see her?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes. Can I?”

  “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem.” Cody got the lobby officer’s attention and jutted his chin at the door, indicating he'd bring Hannah through, then escorted her over. The officer met them at the door. “I’m going to take her back.”

  Knitting his brow, he pointed out, “Thought all orders were to keep this wing secured.”

  “Order come from the top down,” he reminded him, asserting he held a much higher position on the totem pole. As Cody pushed the door open for her, he asked, “You’ve kept this to yourself, right?”

  “Ah, yeah.” She reasoned that telling a nearly mute twelve year old didn’t violate the agreement. “How does she look?”

  “Decent,” he said, as they traversed the long, dismal hallway towards the ICU. “Nothing that’ll break your heart. Her head’s wrapped up to protect her ear cavities. Her wrist is wrapped. She has a few bruises on her face, but nothing alarming.”

  Hannah realized she’d slowed her pace when the ICU windows came into view and Cody shifted towards her.

  “Hey, look,” he said gently. “She’s going to be okay. Before we know it she’ll be happy at home with her girls, cooking and glaring those piercing blue eyes and making everyone nervous.”

  “Yeah.” Hannah felt a sting of tears.

  He led her onward and soon Kendra came into view, nothing but clouded glass between her and her mother.

  Alvarez was quick to slip out of the room when he spotted them in the hall and Cody took a moment to smooth things over with him, as she stared at her mother, who seemed peacefully at rest in her bed, though tubes and wires anchored her to a wealth of machines.

  Then Cody placed his hand on her arm, indicating they could go in. They passed Alvarez, who now stood post in the hall. Hannah didn’t hear Cody close the door behind her, as she slowly paced towards Kendra, the woman who raised her, the mother she’d turned her back on, and hadn’t seen for eight years.

  Overcome with emotion, Hannah felt suddenly an island, a million miles away from Kendra, from Cody who now held her hand. Tears filled her ears, blurring her vision, and she gasped into her hand, a tidal wave of emotions spilling out of her.

  The next thing she knew, Cody had his arms around her, holding her tightly as she quaked, sobbing.

  Soon her emotions subsided and she urged him back.

  “I need to ask her about something.”

  He furrowed his brow, questioningly.

  “It’s about my father.”

  “She’s knocked out pretty good. What about your father?”

  “I just had this feeling he had something to do with this so I tracked him down. He lives
right here in Sanbornton on the lake. Walter Warfield.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her as though he wasn’t following.

  “I went there last night and he had this bandage on his neck.” She indicated her shoulder above her collarbone. “If Kendra, I don’t know, got a good hit in or stabbed him or something and she can tell us that, then you can get a search warrant for Warfield’s house. We can get him, Cody.”

  Out of urgency, Hannah had stepped in close so he took a step backwards, studying her for a moment then said, “Why do you think he had something to do with this?”

  “The bandage,” she stated emphatically. “And he said some things.”

  “He admitted it?”

  “He alluded to it and seemed smug. And he acted like she needed to die.”

  “Hannah-”

  “You got to listen to me. I know he did this.”

  She did not like the look on Cody’s face.

  “I’ve got a team on Dale. With all the pieces we’ve gathered, he’s our most likely suspect.”

  “No, no. It’s Warfield.”

  “Hannah, it sounds like you’ve jumped to a conclusion-”

  “Listen to me-”

  “This is coming straight out of left field.”

  “Cody, please. Please. Just trust me. Please get a warrant.”

  “Hannah,” he sighed in a way she didn’t find encouraging. “We both know how it works. I’d need probable cause to get a warrant.”

  “He said things to me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Ah,” she stammered, wracking her brain. “He said being a mother is a very important job. Ah... he said the world needs to expel devils... um-”

  “That’s not probable cause, Hannah.”

  “He implied he had something to do with her disappearance, Cody!”

  “Keep your voice down,” he reminded her.

  She felt like she’d burst before she'd make sense and it sent a hot rush of frustration through her.

  “Fuck the search warrant,” she blurted out. “Just go there. Talk to him. Poke around, rustle up some probable cause.”

  “Okay, look Hannah," he sighed again, but this time as though he was already regretting what he needed to say. "When I look at you I see a person who’s so desperate for her family be innocent she’s blind.”

  Taken aback by his impression of her, she gaped.

  “I know what I’m talking about, Cody.”

  “No, I’m sorry. You don’t. You’ve gone off the deep end and I can’t indulge this.”

  “Cody!”

  “Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” he said through his teeth.

  Hannah had to dig deep to reel it in.

  Then he stepped in close, inhaling. “Have you been drinking?”

  She held his gaze, caught in a position she didn’t want to be in or have to admit. “I had to tell my sisters our mother was dead.”

  He shook his head. “It’s barely nine in the morning.”

  “What happened to no judgment?” she challenged, though it was halfhearted.

  “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

  Hearing him, she was suddenly offended to the point of exploding. “My mother was nearly massacred! My long lost biological father is behind it!”

  He stared at her, astounded. “Do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?"

  "Why aren't you listening?!"

  “Just stop. I’ve heard enough.”

  “You have to trust me on this. I’m begging you.”

  “For the sake of your mother, for the sake of this case, no, Hannah, I don’t.” He drew in a deep breath as if desperate to find balance in a room spinning with chaos. “I appreciate your help and your concern and your passion, but... Ah, damn it. You’re too close to this. I shouldn’t have included you.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s tormenting you, Hannah. It’s clouding your judgment.”

  “No, it isn't.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, but, Christ I hate to say this.” His face drew long. “You can stay at my house with the girls as long as you like, but as far as you and me...” he trailed off, checked the gate. “We have to put things on hold until I close this case.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her stomach dropped through the floor and her heart followed. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “Not breaking up, just a break. Just until this case is closed.”

  He’d gutted her, knocked the wind out of her, as well as whatever hope she’d held to have him fighting by her side. When she spoke, her voice was as small as she felt. “Fine.” It was hard to look at him, but she made herself, reciting, “Walter Warfield. 74 Center Point Road. On the lake.” She forced a deep breath and asserted, “It wasn’t Mary. It wasn’t Dale. It was Walter Warfield.”

  “I’m sorry, Hannah.”

  “Yeah,” she said, stoic and still absorbing his decision. “One last thing.” When he tipped his chin, she asked, “Did the police release the information about what happened to her? Her hand, the ears?”

  “No. And let’s keep it that way.”

  Knowing she'd just unearthed a smoking gun but couldn't mention it since he'd already shut her down and then some, Hannah gave her mother a sustained glance and left the room.

  It was a very long walk to the parking lot.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The mid-morning sun, stark orange and blazing, cut through the trees and caused a terrible glare in Hannah’s eyes, as she dashed from one tree trunk to the next, clenching her GLOCK in both fists and aiming at the forest floor. With her back to the tree, she peered around, stealing a quick glimpse of Warfield’s house before shifting out of sight to consider what she’d seen. It looked quiet. The garage door was down as it had been last night. There was no way to tell, as of yet, whether or not he was home.

  Hannah locked her gaze on a thick tree. If she could reach it without being detected, it’d put her a good ten yards closer. She scanned the forest then, shifting position, scanned his small corner of the lake. All was still. She heard only the hollow hoot of a loon down by the water and blanket rustling, but it was only chipmunks scavenging, sounding ten times their size.

  She ran, boots crunching over pinecones and needles, then slammed into the next tree trunk, peering around as she caught her breath. From her new vantage point, she could see into a window at the side of the house - bookshelves, a domed ceiling fixture, a doorframe, door ajar. No movement.

  If there were windows on the garage door, she’d risk exposure to check for his vehicle. Barring that, her best bets for breaking in amounted to the sliding glass door at his back porch, or the window to the room she was now studying. Or maybe she wouldn't need to break in. Sanbornton was virtually crime free. Maybe he’d left a window unlocked and she could get charged with entering sans the breaking part. Then again, if she could find a shred of proof, Cody probably wouldn’t charge her at all.

  Her heart sank remembering the break he’d declared and Hannah couldn't help but ride the swell of her loss and listen to the dread in the pit of her stomach that told her a woman like her coming from a family like hers would never receive true love from a man like Cody.

  When her heartache subsided she dug deep, pulling herself together, and spotted a tree beside the edge of his back porch.

  Moving fast, she ran sideways, strides long, weapon held outward incase she spied movement within the house. Walter had an affliction for blades. That much was clear when she considered his survivors, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have an arsenal of firearms. This was New Hampshire, after all.

  Live Free or Die.

  When she reached her destination she scanned her gaze across the porch, the abrupt slope of grass that fell into the shore, and the windows lining the back of the house. The glare from the sun was working against her, but she saw no movement inside.

  She strategized she’d run up the porch, test the sliding glass door in cas
e it was her lucky day, and ultimately shatter a pane with the butt of her GLOCK.

  She sucked in a lung full of oxygen then took off running. She kept her strides short, firm, and deliberate as she rounded the incline, eyes darting between the stairs and the row of windows so she wouldn’t get surprised should her assessment have been wrong.

  Quickly, she cleared the steps then the width of the porch and yanked on the door.

  Locked.

  Damn.

  Her face to the glass, hand shielding off sunlight, she peered into the living room.

  It was empty.

  Heaving, she cracked the butt of her GLOCK against the glass, but it only bounced off. She tried again, slamming hard, and managed a radial spider web of cracks. Three times the charm, she told herself, having at it again. The glass shattered next to the handle and Hannah reached in, unlatched the inner lock then eased the door aside.

  Her heel crunched over glass, grinding shards into the wood floor, as she entered. She listened, every fiber of her being on high alert for any sound. It was quiet but for a grandfather clock that ticked on the wall.

  She looked around for a moment, getting her bearings as to which direction would lead her deeper into the house. She’d already made a running tally of rooms to check. If he had an office, it could prove fruitful. She wanted to investigate the basement as well. Surely, he had one and if Kendra had been moved anywhere that would be the place. Also his bedroom could be useful.

  Edging through the living room, she kept her gaze locked on a hall that seemed to lead deeper into the house. Her gun felt cold and solid in her hands, and she kept her finger on the trigger. If Walter Warfield was who she thought he was, she would not hesitate to shoot if he came at her.

  When she neared the end of the hall she noticed his office to the right and to the left was a closed door. A basement?

  With her gun raised she quickly glanced over her shoulder to double check she was alone then ventured to ease the door open as soundlessly as possible.

  Stairs.

  Darkness.

  She stepped softly down, closing the door as she went. She had to pause to let her eyes adjust to the darkness before descending any further so she used the moment to listen out. She only heard the quiet hum of a boiler somewhere below.