“What?” Her face turned into a snapshot of surprise. Hurrying to his side, she pressed her buttocks into the edge of the counter, settling next to him.
“Yeah, turns out the information that Barbara allegedly told her mother is wrong. She never met up with him, and left him in the lurch. He’s still busted up over it.”
“What do you mean allegedly? You think that Mrs. Moore was lying?”
“I think something’s terribly wrong with what she said, but …”
“But what?”
“But he doesn’t,” he stated flatly. “He thinks it was another way for Barbara to remain hidden. There was some friction between her and her mother. He believes that she lied to her mother to supply her enough of an answer to drop the search, but one that would preclude her from actually finding her.”
“Wow, that’s some reasoning!” she said folding her arms.
“It does make sense. After all, he did know both of them and was actually there. Anyway, he was following you and your friend to make sure you both stayed safe. He didn’t want you vanishing like Barbara. Course given the recent arrests, I doubt it’ll happen.”
Quieting, she mulled over what was said.
“Hey,” he said taking her arm. “I hope I didn’t spoil your good mood. I couldn’t help but notice that you were enjoying yourself. I’d never forgive myself for taking that away,” he said moving in front of her. His hand caressed her soft cheek.
His touch was enough to start a rush of heat. Attracted to him, she started to cave in.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, ever attentive to her moods and disposition.
“Nothing,” she murmured, her lips seeking out his.
He simultaneously leaned down, fulfilling an urge to become closer to the girl that remained a seductive enigma. Their lips meeting, their souls embraced in the soft tender kiss. She raised her arms up, wrapping them around his neck as if a choreographed mood. Right now she was Odette to his Siegfried. Ever hopeful that this was a true, everlasting love, she pressed her supple fame against his hard body finding the comfort and reassurance that he would always be there.
The soft hiss from the stove was enough to ruin the mood. Shyly breaking away, she tended to the needs of the sweet concoction in want of attention. Picking up the spoon, she gave the milk a quick stir, as Todd came up behind her. Placing one hand around her waist, he stroked her waist length dark hair with the other. Sweeping it to the side, he planted a quick kiss on the back of her head.
“The kiss was alright?” he asked unsurely.
It was the right thing to say. One of the things she liked about him was that he wasn’t arrogant. Not reeking of a sense of entitlement that other men displayed, perhaps he was misreading her reluctance to be involved with inadequacy on his part. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Lowering the flame to a simmer, she turned around, bringing up her arms once again. Caressing the back of his head, she brushed her fingers through his short hair.
“It was perfect,” she sighed, as she dove in for another kiss. This time the loud tattering of footsteps caused the two to separate. Grasping the spoon just as Grant burst in, Todd strolled to the table, the afterglow of the fleeting romance still plastered all over his face.
“Hope I’m interrupting something,” he teased, whacking his son on the back with a firm hand. Bringing his arm up he swung it over his son’s shoulders, pinning him down as if they were in the wrestling ring.
“Not really,” Todd answered, trying to hide his brush with romance.
“Then why not? A beautiful girl like this … alone in the kitchen … where did I go wrong?” he lamented. Turning his attention to Missy, he took the spoon out of her hand. “Hey, little lady, you’re a guest, and guests don’t work for their meals. Not in the Cavanaugh household, anyway. Now you skedaddle into the living room and help my wife tie those bows you suggested. She’s making them big enough to make the tree look like Little Lord Fauntleroy. We men will serve our ladies. I think we can handle that much. Right, son?”
“Right, Dad.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” she remarked, giving Todd a little wave before exiting.
“So anything you’d like to tell me?” Grant asked as soon as they were alone.
“Like?” Todd asked, unsure where the conversation was going. Returning to the sink, he began washing out the mugs.
“Like what happened tonight … with the investigation. Why are you here and not there? Didn’t those Fed boys bring somebody else in? Or is the Holybrook rumor mill high on eggnog?”
Turning on the water, Todd rinsed the soapsuds off the squeaky clean cups.
“Don’t miss a thing, do you, Dad?” he shot back, a wry smile on the lips that still tingled from the touch of his dream girl. She’d gotten under his skin. There was no denying that fact.
“Not much. Including that pink in your cheek. Only happens when you run ten miles or kiss a pretty girl. Now which do you suppose happened?”
“No comment,” Todd countered, not willing to divulge all his secrets. “As for the investigation, first thing is the Feds don’t like locals getting their hands all over their cases, and this is now their case. Second thing is that they seem to feel I’m personally involved. Didn’t exclude me entirely, but I’m taking a back seat in lieu of other more objective parties.”
“That true? I mean, the part about you being personally involved?” his father asked sipping the heated mixture.
“All I can say is I’m trying,” he hinted, not ready to admit victory or defeat.
“Good!” his father bolstered, putting down the spoon and turning off the burner. “Who’s the guy they brought in?”
“Guy? More like a kid. Name’s Jack Harris,” he answered, placing the mugs back on the tray. Ripping open a new bag of miniature marshmallows, he waited until the drinks were poured.
His father grasped the pot handle with a woven holder. Carefully filling the mugs bought at a local artisan craft show, the artist’s three initials were right under the painted trunk of the tree.
“Jack Harris … Jack Harris …” he mumbled. “You don’t mean the kid with all those tattoos, do you? Think he has one of those damned fool circles in his ear.”
“That would be the one,” Todd acknowledged, trusting that his father would keep a tight lip on the privileged information.
“Oh, he can’t be involved!”
“And why would that be?”
“Because he’s rebelling to show the world he’s different. Always has been, but he’s a creative type not a violent type. You know, the other kids in his school weren’t very nice to him. Sort of gave him no choice, but to do what he’s doing.”
“And this is your professional opinion?” Dropping neat handfuls of the puffed white sugar into the rich, thick brown liquid, they bobbed like buoys.
“Yes, Mr. Wise Guy, it is and I’m never wrong. He was even at that fair, where your mother and I got these mugs. Exhibited some of his drawings. Not my thing, but pretty damned good. Talked to him for a bit. Always bothers me when kids aren’t given a chance.”
“Yeah, well, he’s been ID’d as a member of that group.”
“The Innocents?”
“That would be the one.”
“And who said that?”
“Laurie Hilliard. She received some emails from him,” he stopped, catching his father’s eye. “And you know the drill …”
“Yeah, nothing gets repeated until he’s officially charged or I see it in the paper. Whatever.”
“Not whatever, and you know that.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” he confirmed, nodding his head. Dropping the pot in the sink, he let it fill up with water to soak. “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that he’s gotten himself involved in that group. After all, he’s looking to belong. If one group doesn’t take you, you look for one that does. Can’t be alone all our lives, can we? In fact, I’d find someone that isolated themselves from everyone a lot more suspicious and m
ore likely to act out.”
Todd laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You may have a point there, Dad.”
“I always do.”
Arranging the stout containers on the round surface, Todd tucked some napkins to the side.
“Say, Dad, you remember that vagrant that was in Holybrook a couple of years back? Name was Eddie.”
“Eddie?” he said rubbing his chin as if checking for stubble.
“Yeah, think people called him ‘Schmooz’. Used to panhandle in front of the train station.”
“Oh, you mean, Lezlo!”
“Yes, Eddie Lezlo. Do you know what happened to him?” he inquired, scooping up the tray.
“Left for greener pastures that weren’t so cold.”
“And why do you say that?”
“Because that’s what he told me. I used to help him out every once in a while. Don’t like people down on their luck, and that’s what he was. Lost his wife, job, and home in one fell swoop. He said he was staying here to get enough money together to head down south. Better weather and pickings,” he explained, clamping down his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Now let’s get this served before those women turn on us. And, just between you and me, I sure hope your little gal knows how to tie bows.”
Chapter Forty-six
“Come on, Jack. We have your emails,” Ace insisted.
“You’ve been ID’d as the author,” Angela bolstered, crossing her arms across her chest.
Flabbergasted, Jack wondered who the hell would do this to him. Yeah, he’d been hated by classmates in the lower grades, but he’d gained a certain notoriety in high school. The relentless bullying ceasing, his fellow students left him alone. Whether it was through fear of his retaliating through the use of the Black Arts or just because he became cool, he didn’t know. Speculating that it was combination of both, he’d felt fairly certain that he’d gotten past that awkward phase. Now out of the blue was proof that he hadn’t since someone disliked him enough to try to frame him for that officer’s disappearance.
“What emails?” Refusing to become upset, they might be bluffing. Police were like that, so why not Feds?
“The ones you wrote about that little cult you run?”
“Cult? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stated. It was some kind of joke—it had to be.
“Really? Well, here they are. All nice and printed out courtesy of Laura,” Angela contradicted, as Ace dropped the small pile in front of him.
Eyeing the sheets of paper, he gave a derisive sneer at the female agent who was getting on his nerves. Tall, dark, with a perpetual tan, she reminded him so much of those girls in grade school that had given him a hard time. They hadn’t even wanted to talk to him, let alone go on a date. The tats and dark-themed clothing had spun all that around.
Fingering the top page, he began to read. He recognized them, and now knew who Laura was. They were talking about Laurie Hilliard. He’d read about the charges brought against that stupid bitch, and now she was trying to pass the hot potato onto him?
Quickly rifling through the pile, his temper exploded. All he’d done was try to befriend that stupid, friendless little whore, and this was how she repaid him? He hated cops and hated Feds even more. Government was bad. Anything with that much power was.
“This? This is bullshit.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t think so. We think it’s all we’ll need to make sure you spend a good long time behind bars,” Ace shot back.
“I don’t mean that,” Harris retorted, a complete lack of respect apparent in his tone. He couldn’t help it. He had no time for idiots, and these people were idiots. Most police were. It’s why they chose such a reprehensible profession. Imagine having a job where you get to frame people all day.
These people didn’t know what they were talking about. Hence, they were grasping at straws. Like the emails, they were a bunch of lies meant to impress the recipient. There was no cult. In fact, he was trying to resurrect it. He’d stumbled onto info about The Innocents. Completely fascinated by the urban legend of them being responsible for Barbara Moore’s disappearance, the status really ratcheted up after that dancer went missing.
Pressing his fingers together, Laurie was going to get hers. He knew too much about her to let her get away with trying to implicate him. Normally, he’d be adamant about not turning anyone in, but she’d started it by going up against the wrong person. He wasn’t that little kid that got kicked around in third grade.
About to speak, he held back—the feral part of his brain kicking in. Yeah, he wanted revenge, but he needed some assurance before going for the jugular. Holding a huge bargaining chip, he needed to first see what it was worth.
“What’s in it for me?” he said, his hands going up behind his head.
“What’s that mean?” Ace asked.
He scoffed dismissively, rolling his eyes.
“It means what I said. I want to know exactly what will happen if I give you the answer, the key, the solution to your little dilemma.”
Ace pivoted, looking at Angela. Swiveling, he pulled up a chair.
“It depends on what it is.”
Harris rocked forward, his forearms landing with a loud crash on the table.
“A confession.”
“Yours?”
“Nope. All I’ll say right now is that it’s from someone ‘in the cult’,” he said, making quotation marks with his fingers.
Ace jerked in an anticipatory gesture. Wanting to bite at the hook being dangled, he wasn’t sure about this guy. Hard to read, his body language was too cocky. Arrogant, he doubted that he really had the goods.
“If you can provide such evidence, we might be able to get your charges reduced or …”
“Eliminated?”
“Possibly,” he conceded.
Harris shot out his forefinger, jabbing it into the tabletop.
“Well, you just bring me a little piece of paper that says that, and I’ll wait right here,” he said, laughing at his own joke. His humor growing on him, he doubled over, his hands rubbing his long, artificially-colored hair. Hysteria gripping him, his eyes filled with tears as he was led away.
Chapter Forty-seven
Melissa hugged the good friend about to leave. Standing on the porch, they resisted letting go. Justin and Zoe ignored the tearful goodbye, continuing to load their suitcases in the back of the cab.
“Goodbye, Collette!”
“Goodbye, Missy,” her friend fervently replied, squeezing her very vulnerable young friend close to her. She had a bad feeling about this. Wanting to postpone her trip home, Missy had talked herself out it. The situation was scaring the hell out of her—as it should. Pulling back, she scrutinized Missy’s gorgeous little face. “Look, you have my number, so use it. And I mean it. If you feel the need to talk, or if anything happens, you call me. I know you have that big hunky guy protecting you, but sometimes it’s easier to say something to a friend.”
“True enough.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Missy stated, noticing Zoe shooting daggers. “Don’t turn around, but you know who is having a conniption fit about being delayed,” she whispered, stifling a laugh.
The absurdity of the diva attempting to control how long it took for them to say their farewells eased the tension. A smile broke out onto Collette’s cherubic face.
“Yeah, well, tell that stick figure she can just wait until I’m good and ready to leave,” Collette replied. Moving to Una and Anna instead of the stairs, Zoe exhaled sharply, loudly complaining to Justin. Ignoring the ill-mannered outburst, Collette calmly bid adieu to the woman she owed the most.
“Goodbye, Madame Velofsky. Thank you again for allowing me to be part of your company.”
Una warmly took her into her arms, giving her a gentle pat.
“No, it is I who should thank all of you. You are the ones bringing my dream to life. Now go and don’t worry about anything. Just enjoy your holidays becau
se when you come back, the real work will begin.”
“Understood,” she replied with a smile. Turning, she gave Anna a tender embrace before descending the steps of the porch. Looking over her shoulder, she waved at Missy, miming, “Call me,” by using her fingers.
Una sidled over to the lone student. Placing her arm around her, they watched the cab pull away.
“It’s just our little troop left. Now go get your things. Tracey will help you. She’ll show you to the room we have prepared. It will be all yours for the next two weeks, unless you’ve decided differently?”
“No, I haven’t. And thank you so much for being so understanding.”
“It’s fine, Melissa. I think you are even harder on yourself than I was on myself, and that is some achievement. Now go! We will be waiting,” she said, taking her mother’s arm.
Chapter Forty-eight
“Hey, Todd,” Foster greeted.
“Hey, Foster,” Todd said, easing into the chair behind his desk. He gave his hands a fast rub as he waited for his computer to boot to life.
“Big doings. Don’t suppose you’ve heard,” he said, sitting on the corner of Todd’s desk, coffee cup in hand.
“Heard what?” Todd said, leaning back and looking up.
“Jack Harris handed Laurie Hilliard’s head to us on a platter.”
“And how did he do that exactly?” he asked, tilting his chair back and taking a sip of coffee.
“By giving us a confession that she wrote.”
“A what?” he said tipping his weight forward. The chair squeaking as it rapidly shifted positions, the soles of his boots banged hard on the floor.
“You’re surprised?” Foster coolly apprised.
“Shocked is more like it.”
“Cummings is grilling her now if you wanna watch.”
“I do. You joining me?”
“Sure. I’ve got a few minutes,” Foster said falling in line behind Todd.
“Is there a transcript of Harris’ statement?”
“Yup, the Feddie boys don’t waste time,” he responded. Heading to his desk, he handed the small sheaf of papers clipped together to Todd. “Here. Knock yourself out.”
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