by Rysa Walker
Yeah, I can imagine.
I relay Molly’s thoughts to Taylor and take a closer look at the rest of the drawing. The area around the house is heavily wooded, and beyond the first ring of trees, there’s a section that’s shaded in with the side of the pencil so that it looks smooth.
“What’s that?”
“Water,” Taylor says after chugging down the last of the flat orange soda. “I think the house has a swimming pool, too. That’s the smaller square near the second building. This is farther away, though. Maybe a quarter mile. Much bigger, too. Might be a lake, but I think it’s a river. Pretty sure that darker spot—kind of tear-shaped—is an island. And that thing?” She taps a section in the top left corner of the page. It’s shaped like a long-necked squash or maybe a pear tipped on its side, outlined with concentric ridges. “Don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely within a mile or two of the house.”
“And you’re sure the bag is still there?” Aaron asks.
“No. But if we can find this place and you can get me in closer, I’ll know for certain.”
“What . . . bag?”
She pushes the pencil bag toward me. Now I remember where I’ve seen it. “Molly had something like this. I saw a flash of it last night when you asked her about a . . . some-letter-I-can’t-remember purse. But it was square.”
“Because she kept it folded in her jeans pocket. And it wasn’t a letter . . . I asked if she was carrying her Elle purse. Like the character in Legally Blonde?”
That rings a distant bell. I’m guessing one of my tenants watched it at some point, and I’m pulling up blonde, chirpy, and pink all on my own, so I nod.
“Mom came in while we were watching this Disney Channel sequel a few weeks before Christmas when we were what? Nine? Ten, maybe? It was supposed to be about that Legally Blonde woman’s cousins or something. They had pink everything. And . . . well, I guess Mom thought we were finally getting into girly stuff. We got these matching sparkly pink purses from her as gifts. We didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so we both found a way to use them. Molly folded hers in half and used it as a wallet. I use mine to carry my pencils, even though I had to sharpen half an inch off each pencil to make the damn things fit. They didn’t find the purse on Molly’s body. So when she told me that she was carrying it that night, I thought I’d try to get a read on it.”
Taylor rips a page out of the sketch pad and leaves it on the table. “And now I’m going to do the same thing with Deo’s ear cuff. I can’t promise anything. I knew Molly her entire life and I just met Deo. I’ve done readings with total strangers before, but it seems to work best with people I know, so even with something as recent as the jewelry . . .”
The bag of Doritos goes with her when she heads upstairs, and she pokes a finger at Aaron as she passes. “Find my pizzas, mister.”
Between Taylor’s sketch and Molly’s information about the highway exit, Aaron and I pinpoint the location of the house before the pizzas arrive. The pear-shaped thing is a quarry. The island is in the Susquehanna River. Finding the specific house was a little tougher, because it’s at the end of a long private drive. We had to go with only the satellite images, rather than street view. But this one is in the right position in relation to the other things in Taylor’s sketch, the landscaping is right, and it’s the only one nearby with a smaller structure out back. No pool, though.
Another couple of minutes on the state property tax website, and we’ve learned the place is owned by HLMC Corp. Aaron runs some searches, but he can’t find anything about an HLMC Corporation, or anything close to it, that’s connected to the Creggs or to Decathlon Services Group.
I stack the last two pizza boxes on the counter. “You ordered enough to feed a football team.”
“Maybe a chess team.” He frowns at the slice I’m eating. “You took one with anchovies?”
I nod, tossing a few bits of sausage from my slice into the disposal. “Anchovies are good. I told you I was fine with anything. I just pick off the stuff I’d rather not eat . . . like sausage.”
“When people say that, they usually don’t mean anchovies. Go easy, okay? Taylor said pizzas . . . plural. Although to be fair, she picks half of the anchovies off herself. I think it’s less that she likes them and more that she’s marking that box so everyone will keep their paws off her slices.”
“Do you really think she’s going to eat two large pizzas? She’s barely five feet.”
“Most of the time she’d put away four slices tops. When she’s viewing, though . . . Mom joked about taking out a second mortgage to pay the food bill during the months Taylor was trying to find Molly.”
“And your mom is okay with her kids being in the middle of all of this?”
“Okay might be putting it too strongly. Mom’s finally gotten to the point where she accepts that Taylor won’t sit back and, as Molly’s grandmother would have said, ‘hide her light under a bushel.’ At least not until she sees some justice done where Molly’s concerned. And me? I guess I could hole up in some back room and crunch numbers or whatever, but Mom knows that would make me crazy. I need to do work where I can actually put this ability to use or my life doesn’t make sense. Unfortunately, her one normal offspring can’t seem to stay put—”
He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “And I’m ranting about Daniel again. Sorry. This whole thing just has me wound up. I mean, it’s nice seeing some sort of confirmation of what I’ve suspected, but an article on a conspiracy website wouldn’t hold up in court any more than . . .”
“The testimony of Molly’s ghost?”
“Exactly.” He finishes his slice of pizza and turns back to the computer. “So we’ll have to find out who Conspiracy Guy actually is, then track down his source. Must have been one of the people working at Meade with my dad.”
“Except Conspiracy Guy claims it was near Aberdeen. That’s only, what? Ten miles from the house where Molly was taken?”
“Yeah. Could be they moved the program at some point. Or maybe Meade was just where Dad told Sam and Mom he was working.”
“So . . . here’s what I don’t understand. Porter goes around spreading my claim that I’m channeling Molly, and suddenly, I’m on Cregg’s radar, even though no court in the land would accept my testimony as evidence. If your theory is correct, it’s because one of my parents was with Delphi. But they know your dad was connected to Delphi. Apparently they believed he was enough of a problem that they killed him. So why haven’t they scooped you and Taylor up for testing?”
“Well . . . on paper, we’re not his kids. He adopted us when he married Mom. She listed someone else as the biological father for all three of us, because of the contract he signed that prohibited marriage and families. Although anyone who snooped carefully might question that. Taylor and I look more like Dad than we do Mom.”
“Okay, then—why Molly? How did she get pulled into the mess with your dad?”
“Her mom was with Lucas on and off from the time Molly was a baby. He was bad news from the beginning, mostly low-level drug dealing, petty theft, that sort of stuff. Sam, Porter, my dad, all three of them arrested Lucas at some point. If Cregg was looking for someone to get information on my dad, someone with a beef against him, Lucas was a natural choice. And I guess Cregg found a few other jobs for him after that, from what Molly said.”
A car passes by outside, the tires churning up the water on the street. Exactly like every other time that has happened today, I can’t keep myself from going to the window to check. In case there’s something unusual. This waiting, just waiting with no news of any sort, is killing me.
The view outside the window is a study in grays and blacks. The sky, the water, the rocks along the shore. Even Aaron’s car in the drive is black. It’s eerie. Almost as though you could step through the door and enter some ancient TV show like The Twilight Zone. When Aaron touches my shoulder, I jump, and the wooden slat slips through my fingers, setting the rest of the vertical bli
nd in motion.
“Whoa,” Aaron says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Relax, okay? I know that’s easier said than done, but if there’s anyone out there, I’ll know before you see them.”
“Only if they’re planning something violent. You didn’t sense anything when Dacia walked into the police station last night. Just when she left, right?”
“Yeah, but . . . that was a police station. It’s one of those places where my head starts buzzing as soon as I step in the door from all of the low-level violent thoughts. Hard to pick out anything that’s not a white-hot rage in places like that. Here, though . . .”
I give him a questioning look and he nods toward the street.
“It’s mostly peaceful. Half the houses are empty, so it’s not hard to pick up individual thoughts. Some guy drove by about five minutes ago with a pretty strong intent to slam his fist into his wife’s face because she was hounding him about something. Money, I think. There’s a girl at the end of the block who wanted to smash her sister over the head with the toaster just now, but her better nature or common sense took over and she settled for kicking her. The one that had me most worried was the kid on the bike—you remember? Before Taylor came down with the sketch? He was having some pretty serious thoughts about self-harm, and in my experience, those thoughts are a lot harder for our better natures and common sense to push away.”
I sit down on the couch and rub my eyes. My three hours of sleep is starting to get to me. “I wasn’t questioning whether you could pick out their thoughts. It’s just . . . like you said last night, Dacia was mad when she left the police station, mad that I blocked her. Maybe mad that I embarrassed her in front of the guy who was with her. She could have cooled off by now, though. She told me her boss didn’t want me harmed. And they might send a lackey . . . someone to grab me, someone who sees it as doing his job. Can you pick up on that?”
“Sometimes. People who work as hired muscle, who ‘grab people’ for a living, generally kind of like violence. That’s even true of some cops I’ve known. Anyone driving by will see my car out there, so they’ll probably assume you’re not alone. Maybe even assume there are weapons, and they’ll be thinking about contingency plans. Pretty sure that will be enough to trip my wires.” He glances at the Scrabble box on the coffee table. “Maybe we should start a game? Taylor’s going to be pissed if she hunted for it and we didn’t even play.”
I don’t get the sense that Taylor did much hunting, but it’s a diversion, so I agree. And Aaron turns out to be a good player. Not Emily MacAlister good, but he has a knack for strategy.
Taylor comes down when the board is nearly full. She’s wearing Deo’s earbuds and his turquoise cuff is attached to her left ear.
“We found the—” Aaron stops when he sees Taylor’s raised hand. The gesture smacks of diva, but I keep quiet as well. She grabs one of the pizzas and a bottle of water, then heads back up to her cave.
I place the o and s tiles I’m holding at the end of Aaron’s previous word, path. The last tile lands on the triple word score.
“Pathos.” He curses softly and shakes his head. “I thought of pathed, but all of the d tiles were used, so I figured that was safe.”
It’s already dark and we’re finishing up Scrabble Battle number two when Taylor comes back down. She’s carrying the pizza box—empty, judging from the angle at which she’s holding it—but no sketch pad. Deo’s earbuds are around her neck now. Her clothes are drenched.
“Anything?” Aaron asks.
“I’m not finished, but I need a break. So show me what you found.”
Aaron flicks on the computer and shows her the location, near Havre de Grace.
“I thought that was a type of cheese?” she says, as she pans around the map.
“Pretty sure that’s chèvre,” Aaron says. “And the people there pronounce it haverty grays, not the Frenchified way. You can’t see much more on the map. There’s no street view that far down the road. And judging from the satellite view, there’s no pool.”
Taylor sniffs. “No biggie. Could have been a kiddie pool, a big puddle, something like that. I just got the sense of water a few times when I was drawing. This is the place, I’m certain. What did Molly say?” She pushes the computer aside and snags two slices of pizza from one of the boxes in the fridge.
“Molly’s been kind of quiet, actually.”
And she has. It’s been hours since I’ve felt her presence. The last time was when we looked at Taylor’s sketch.
“She’s still there, though, right?” Taylor’s question comes between bites, and when I nod, she looks over at Aaron.
“Did you check the property records?”
“Dead end. Some sort of holding corporation.”
“Maybe Sam—”
“Sam’s at the hospital ’til nine,” Aaron says. “Giving Ella a break for a few hours.”
“I know. He told me earlier. But Porter’s in his own room now. They can have phones in there. Let’s FaceTime. Pa will want to know all of this, too.”
Molly stirs, as I’m pretty sure Taylor expected she would, when she used Molly’s name for Porter. I resist the temptation to give her a dirty look, because I’m not sure she’s doing it intentionally. But either way, she’s clearly wagging a conversation with Porter in front of Molly like a piece of cheese to lure a mouse out of its hole.
I glance around quickly, to be sure there’s nothing that would give away our location. “Don’t let them know where we are, okay? I’d rather they didn’t have to lie in case the police ask them about my location.”
Even though I don’t say it, I’d also rather Sam and Porter just plain didn’t know, in case one or both of them decides I’ve made the wrong decision about keeping the police out of this for now.
“And let’s not say anything yet about Delphi,” Aaron says. “I’ll wait and talk to Sam first.”
“What’s Delphi?” Taylor asks.
“I’ll fill you in after we hang up.” Aaron finishes entering the digits, and a few seconds later, Sam’s face appears.
“Yeah. What’s up?” One of those over-the-bed tray tables is partially visible behind him, with a brown paper bag and two take-out cups.
Aaron laughs. “Busted, Sam. Does Ella know you brought O’Malley’s to the hospital?”
“She does not.” Porter says off screen. “And don’t you be tellin’ her, neither. A man gets shot, he deserves some real food. Sam was the only one with the decency to oblige.”
“We won’t snitch,” Taylor says through a mouthful of pizza. “But you boys better be sure to take your cholesterol meds. Scooch over so we can see Pa, too.”
Molly’s listening—no surprise there. But she feels faint, wispy, as though most of her attention is somewhere else.
A chair screeches as both of them try to get in position. Taylor says he needs a selfie stick, and Sam mutters a curse in response.
“Why don’t I just hand him the damn phone?”
Porter’s propped up in bed. He somehow appears younger in the light-blue hospital gown. One arm is immobilized, but aside from that, he actually looks better than he did when I last saw him at Kelsey’s office. Of course, he’d just received a pretty major shock yesterday.
He squints, then says, “Hey, Anna. Glad to see you’re okay. I saw you open that door yesterday and heard another shot go off as I was going down. Is . . .”
I know the question he’s hesitating over. It’s the same one Taylor just asked me.
Need a tattoo on my forehead: Yes, Molly is still in the house.
Only if it’s the temporary kind.
“She’s still here,” I tell him. “But . . . a lot farther back now.”
His face twinges, but he nods. “You be careful, okay, girl? What Sam’s been tellin’ me sounds flat-out crazy, and I’m still not entirely sure I believe him. But I think it’s clear these ain’t people to mess with. Aaron and Sam will keep you safe and they’ll help get your friend back. I’m sorry the two of you
wound up in the middle of all this.”
The words are such a change from yesterday’s attitude of blaming me for everything that my eyes tear up a bit. I expect Molly to chime in with some variant of I told you so. But she doesn’t.
“Thank you, Mr. Porter. I’ll be careful.”
Porter gives me a sad smile and hands the phone back to Sam.
“So . . . have you heard anything new?” Sam asks. “Or did you guys just call to check in?”
“Nothing else about Deo. But we . . . found . . . something.”
“Ah,” Sam sighs. “I wondered why Taylor was there. And why she was talking with her mouth full. Your mother—”
“Is in Barcelona today,” Taylor says. “Two more cities and a half-dozen galleries left to go. And since the brother she left in charge packed up his bag and headed off to play soldier boy bright and early this morning, I did the only responsible thing and came to stay with my other big brother.” She gives Sam a cheeky grin. “But yes, I’ve been working today. Aaron’s company card is going to have a hefty charge from Domino’s. Worth it, though. I found the house.”
“Oh. Okay.” Sam’s eyes shift nervously. “On that other case. The one we talked about last night?”
I get the sense he’s keeping things vague to avoid upsetting Porter, and that seems like a good idea. The man is still hooked up to drip bags, so any in-depth discussion of the house where his granddaughter was tortured and killed can probably wait.
“Um . . . yeah,” Aaron says. “We just ran into a snag. It’s owned by a corporation that I can’t connect to any of Cregg’s other businesses. I’ll text you the info so you can run it through your databases. Maybe come up with something I missed.”
“But you couldn’t get anything on where they might be holding Deo?” Sam asks.
“I’ve got something,” Taylor says. “Just not enough yet to start playing hide-and-seek. I need to clear my head and see if things come into better focus.”