No One Left to Tell

by Karen Rose

  Grayson didn’t look impressed. Yet.

  The woman from the school came back to the line. “She never graduated?” Paige said. “Did she transfer to another school?… I see. She dropped out entirely. That’s troubling. I should rip up her application, but I really liked her. I’d like to give her another chance. Can I ask one more question? She’s put on her app that she attended Samuel Ogle Middle School. It would be great to confirm that at least… She didn’t? Where did she attend?… Longview Ridge. Thank you for your time.”

  Paige hung up. “Got her middle school,” she said with satisfaction.

  “Yes, but you don’t know if that school received MAC funds and if she was one of the students.”

  “O ye of little faith. Call number two, the middle school’s librarian.”

  “Why the librarian?”

  “Because all the kids go there at some point and librarians don’t have to worry about confidentiality policies like the front office. Plus, the librarian would have gotten goodies from the MAC program, but likely wouldn’t have had contact with the charity itself, so no worries that she’ll report our snooping to the McClouds.”

  “What if it’s not the same librarian?”

  “Then I find the old librarian’s name and call her. Hush,” she hissed when he opened his mouth for another what-if. Paige brought up the middle school’s Web site and dialed the main number. “Can I have the school library, please?” Her call was transferred and an older lady answered. Excellent.

  “This is the library. Mrs. White speaking.”

  “Hi, Mrs. White. My name is Brittany Jones.” Grayson’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but Paige waved him silent. “My sister went to your school fourteen years ago. Her name was Crystal. Do you remember her?”

  “Let me think,” Mrs. White said. “That would have been when… 1998? That was the year we got the new computers. Of course I remember Crystal. She had the most beautiful blond ringlets. Like spun gold. Natural, as I recall. How is she?”

  “Um, well… she dead, ma’am. She was murdered six years ago.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. White gasped, shocked. “How terrible. Oh my dear Lord.”

  “It was terrible,” Paige said soberly. “I was moving recently and came across a few of her things. I hadn’t been able to look at them before, you know.”

  “I know,” Mrs. White said sadly. “Oh, mercy, child. I’m sorry to hear this.”

  “Crystal used to read to me all the time. She made me love books. One of the things I found with her belongings was a book from your library. That’s why I called you. If it’s all right, I’d like to keep it and just send you a replacement copy.”

  “Of course, dear, of course. That would be fine. If there’s anything else I can do…”

  “Maybe there is. Mrs. White, one of the things I found in her box was a medallion. It’s plastic. I remember her getting it when she was at your school, but I can’t remember what it was for. It’s pretty scratched up, but has ‘M-A-C’ on it.”

  “M-A-C?” The librarian paused. “Oh. MAC. It was a program chaired by one of the state politicians. McNeal. McGee. McSomething. Back in the nineties they chose a few schools and gave endowments for the year. That’s where we got the new computers. All of them are completely obsolete now. We’ve replaced them twice.”

  “Do you remember how Crystal got this medallion?”

  “I imagine she was awarded it at the party given by the charity. One child was chosen to represent each school. The party happened at the politician’s house. They had ice cream, as I recall. The children submitted an essay with their picture and the charity picked one.” Mrs. White’s swallow was audible. “Crystal got a new dress. It was blue and she was so proud of it. She wore it to school one day before the party, to show me. I don’t guess you girls got new dresses very often. With that hair of hers… she looked like a little china doll.”

  Paige found her own throat closing. “Thank you. This has helped me, a lot.”

  “Me, too. It’s nice to know that one of my books was something she kept.” There was a teary laugh. “Even if the scamp would owe quite an overdue fine after all this time.”

  “I’ll send the replacement copy,” Paige promised. She hung up and stared at her phone until her eyes stopped stinging. Grayson, too, looked drained.

  “She was there.” Paige blinked, clearing the moisture from her eyes. “She even got a new dress. Something happened that day, Grayson. Something that made her go back the night of the party, eight years later.”

  “Something that she was certain would make her a lot of money.” He sighed. “Things just became a lot more complicated. If something did indeed happen, it could have been anyone on the estate. And it was fourteen years ago.”

  “Just to be clear, we’re both talking molestation,” Paige said. “Sexual in nature.”

  “That’s what my gut’s telling me. This is going to be very difficult to even approach, much less prove. Fourteen years and no complainant? Not a good combination.”

  “There’s no complainant because she’s dead,” Paige said, frustrated. “You’re not giving up?”

  “Hell, no. I’m just getting started.”

  Twenty

  Thursday, April 7, 11:30 a.m.

  Silas was growing impatient. He’d watched his employer’s front door all morning, waiting for him to emerge. All he’d seen was Grayson Smith and his PI going into the building, coming out a half hour later. If you only knew how close you really were.

  His trigger finger was itchy. He glanced down at his personal cell. So was his redial finger. He’d been trying to reach his wife for an hour. She was overdue checking in. She might have gotten caught somewhere where she couldn’t phone. Inside a store, perhaps. Violet needed new clothes. New everything.

  His cell finally rang and he snatched it up. “Rose.”

  “No. Not Rose. Not even close.”

  His chest flattened. No breath would fill his lungs. “No,” he whispered.

  “Oh yes.”

  “What have you done with her?”

  “What I had to. Say hi, sweetie.”

  “Papa?” Violet sobbed. “Where are you? Mama’s—” She was abruptly silenced.

  “Violet!” Silas shouted.

  “No, we’re back to me,” his employer crooned. “Little Violet has gone to sleep. Not to worry, just a sedative. She’ll live—if you cooperate. I didn’t like that little show of temper this morning, Silas.”

  “Don’t you touch my child.”

  “But I’ve already touched her.”

  “Bastard.” A sob rose in his throat, furious and desperate. “You fucking bastard.”

  “Oh, Silas, surely you don’t think… I had to grab her, to get her out of that hotel room you had her hiding in. I haven’t touched her that way. For shame.”

  Silas drew a strangled breath. “What do you want?”

  “Much better. I want Smith and the PI dead. Then I want you, unarmed.”

  “You’ll trade? Me for my family? For Rose and Violet?”

  “Sure. Well, for Violet anyway.”

  His heart stopped. Just… stopped. “Rose?” he whispered.

  “She fought hard. Did you proud. Good cop’s wife.”

  Silas couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. Rose. “You’re lying.” He had to be lying.

  “Check your other cell. I just sent you a text.”

  Silas did and bile rose to choke him. It was a picture. Rose, crumpled on the floor, her head covered in blood. Rage geysered, blinding him. “I’ll kill you, you sonofabitch.”

  “Silas,” his boss cautioned in a friendly way. “Don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater. Or so the saying goes. I want Smith and Holden dead. I want it done quickly, before they cause any more difficulty. I want it done today.”

  “And if it takes longer?”

  “You have until midnight. After that… you’ll need a small coffin.”

  Panic filled him. Seized him by the throat.
“How did you find them?”

  “You let Violet take her doll. I’d been in her room. It was a simple matter to place a tracker in the doll’s body.”

  “I see.” He closed his eyes. “Just don’t hurt her. Please.”

  “I like it when you say please. I like it better when you obey me. So, Silas, obey.”

  The connection was broken and Silas sat staring at his phone.

  I killed her. I killed Rose. He’d never raised his hand to his wife, but he’d killed her just the same. My baby. That bastard has my baby.

  He covered his face with his hands, his decision made. I’m sorry, Grayson. I don’t have any other choices. He’d never killed a friend before. Today would be the first.

  Thursday, April 7, 11:45 a.m.

  Grayson and Paige found Joseph on the porch of the town house, scowling at Peabody through the door’s side window. Peabody was staring, his teeth slightly bared.

  It made Paige laugh. Joseph was not amused.

  “Your dog is a beast,” he said.

  “My dog is a sweetie,” she said. “He just doesn’t like you.”

  Joseph’s eyes narrowed. “He would if you told him to.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll tell him to when I’m sure that I like you.”

  Grayson was pretty sure she already did, but that she enjoyed needling Joseph. With three sisters, Joseph was more than used to being needled. Down deep, he even liked it. Down deep, Joseph liked Paige, he could tell. With any other man than his brother, Grayson might be jealous.

  “One of these days you might wish you’d been nicer to me,” Joseph growled.

  Paige rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have, like, a job?”

  “I do, like, have a job. One I should be doing right now, except Romeo over there wants his Juliet to keep breathing.”

  “Play nice, you two,” Grayson said mildly. Joseph had a very important job, but was so rattled by the bomb that he’d taken personal leave, a fact shared privately by his mother that morning. Paige has her protection dog and I have mine.

  It moved him. I’m a lucky man.

  Grayson unlocked the door and let them in, scratching Peabody behind the ears. “Paige, he’s brought you a present. The least you can do is tell Peabody to be friends.”

  Joseph held out a paper bag. Paige peeked inside, then pulled out the Kevlar vest, hooking it over her pinkie. “What every girl is wearing this year.”

  “What every girl who wants to stay alive is wearing this year,” Joseph corrected. “I borrowed it from a colleague. Try not to get anything on it. You know, like blood.”

  Paige sobered. “Thank you. And I didn’t tell Peabody not to trust you. He gets used to most people quickly, but there’s something about your scent that scares him.”

  Joseph looked taken aback. “I scare him? Why? I like dogs. Dogs usually like me.”

  “More like he’s scared for me.” She lifted her brows. “All that raw danger, y’know.”

  “The tape-will-self-destruct-Jim thing,” Joseph said with a smirk. “I get that a lot.”

  Paige glared at Grayson. “You told him what I said.”

  Grayson shrugged. “He’s family. Go,” he said gently. “Try it on. Please.”

  She huffed her displeasure, but went upstairs, the vest in her hand. Grayson watched her, his eyes drawn to her ass. He looked back at Joseph, only to find his brother watching her, too. Grayson cleared his throat.

  Joseph just grinned. “Hey, she came downstairs this morning buck naked under your robe and I didn’t even sneak a peek. I think I can be trusted.”

  “I know you can. It’s just all that raw danger.”

  Joseph snickered. “I know, I know. Drives the women crazy.” His head came up, his gaze snapping to the window beside the door. For a long moment he stared, saying nothing. Then he let out a quiet breath. “Grayson, there is a woman coming up your walk with a lime green suit, four-inch heels to match, and legs up to her shoulders.”

  Grayson knew only one woman who dared to wear lime green suits.

  “Daphne?” Grayson opened the door. She was carrying a dry cleaning bag with a suit in one hand, and a towel-covered basket in the other. “What are you doing here?”

  “Deliverin’ your dry cleanin’, darlin’,” she said with a drawl. She took one look at Joseph and stopped. “Well, well, well. I didn’t expect you’d have company.”

  She was eyeing Joseph with interest, a reaction Grayson had become accustomed to since he and Joseph were in the fifth grade. It was always Joseph who the ladies preferred. Except for Paige. Who prefers me. The thought warmed him.

  “I didn’t expect you, either.” Grayson shut the door. “Joseph, my assistant, Daphne Montgomery. Daphne, my brother, Joseph Carter.”

  Daphne studied Joseph through the skinny glasses at the end of her nose. “I’d definitely shake your hand, honey, but mine are a little full.” She held the dry cleaning bag out to Grayson. “If you don’t mind.”

  Grayson took his suit and hung it in the closet and she shook Joseph’s hand.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Carter.” She pushed the basket into Joseph’s hands. “Poppy-seed muffins. Made ’em myself. Grayson’s favorite, but there’s enough for everyone. Would you mind taking them into the kitchen?”

  Joseph did, pausing to glance over his shoulder, his gaze sliding down to check out Daphne’s legs once more before he headed into the kitchen. It had been Grayson’s first reaction as well, the first time Daphne had worn one of her short skirts. It was rumored that she’d been a Vegas showgirl, but if that was true, it wasn’t in her work history.

  She kept a more suitable outfit at her desk for the days she was in court, so Grayson had no cause to complain about her lime green suits. He’d finally gotten used to her neon wardrobe, but it hadn’t been easy.

  “Your brother doesn’t say much,” Daphne commented when they were alone.

  Grayson found himself laughing. “I have to say I’ve missed you.”

  “’Course you have, sugar,” she said wryly. “I keep you just brimmin’ with cheer.”

  He grew sober. “You didn’t really come to bring my dry cleaning. What’s wrong?”

  “Stevie said she was meeting you here, so I hoped I’d catch you. You’re such a mobile guy these days.” She pulled a small envelope from her handbag. “You got a delivery. In person. From one Mal the cable guy.”

  Grayson’s eyes widened. “Brittany’s boyfriend? What’s in it?”

  “I do not have X-ray eyes, Grayson,” she snapped. “Open it yourself.”

  Grayson looked up to see Joseph leaning against the kitchen doorframe, half a muffin in his hand, the other half in his mouth. Watching with keen interest.

  Grayson tore off the side of the envelope and out slid a small key. “Safe-deposit box key,” he said. “No note. What did Mal the cable guy say, exactly?”

  “Not much. Brittany called him, told him where to find the key, and asked him to bring it to you. Not to mail it, but to be certain someone in our office signed for it.”

  “Did you sign?” Joseph asked and she nodded.

  “I did. Mal didn’t look terribly happy about the whole thing. He hadn’t slept. I asked him where Brittany had gone. He said he’d driven around all night looking for her.”

  “She’s gone into hiding,” Grayson said. “What time did Mal say she called?”

  “After your car went kablooey. I’d be scared, too. Her with a kid and all.”

  “It fits,” Paige announced, her footsteps creaking on the stairs above. “But severely limits my wardrobe choices.” She appeared, her hand across the V collar of her shirt where the vest showed. Her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be Daphne,” she said, coming down, her hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Paige.”

  Daphne shook Paige’s hand hard. “It’s good to meet the woman who finally got Mr. Tight-ass to take a vacation. Can’t say I’m partial to the method, but I like the results.”

  P
aige laughed, then threw a glance over her shoulder at Joseph. “Her, I like.”

  Someone knocked on the front door and Daphne twisted to look through the side window. “Oh. Stevie’s here.”

  “She came for Crystal’s bankbooks and the medallion,” Grayson said.

  Daphne opened the door. “Come on in, honey. You look like shit.”

  “Thank you,” Stevie said. “I love you, too.”

  Daphne shrugged. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”

  Spying Paige, Stevie held out a zippered bag. “Makeup from my sister, Izzy.”

  Paige held the bag as if it were a treasure. “Thank you. I’ve felt undressed all day.”

  Joseph cleared his throat and Grayson glared at him before turning to Stevie. “No success finding Silas, I take it,” he said and she shook her head, eyes dull with worry.

  “We’ve put out a BOLO. Armed, approach with caution. Just like any other killer. Rose isn’t answering her phone, either. Please give me some good news.”

  Grayson and Paige exchanged a look. “We don’t have any either,” Grayson said.

  “Just the opposite,” Paige added with a sigh.

  “Let’s have it,” Stevie said. She sat at the dining room table wearily. “I’m ready.”

  Grayson, Paige, and Daphne joined her. Joseph stayed in the kitchen doorway, listening, while they related the visit to Reba’s office, the discovery of the MAC program, and the librarian who’d confirmed that Crystal had indeed been one of the children invited to the estate in 1998.

  “Something happened to her there,” Paige said. “Something that made her come back eight years later planning to make ‘big money.’ It’s hard not to imagine the worst.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Daphne said. “And damn tragic.”

  “But it happens,” Stevie said heavily. “All too often.”

  “I want to get inside the MAC charity records,” Grayson said. “Without a live complainant, the only hope is if someone else was also a victim and will come forward.”

  “You’re making an assumption that Crystal was molested,” Joseph said quietly. “What if that’s not true?”