by Holly Kelly
“I guess so.”
A smile broke across the woman’s face. “Good! I’m so glad you can appreciate the important work you will be doing for our students. Now I’ll need you to start tomorrow at four o’clock, room one-seventy right here in this building.”
Fae opened her mouth to speak.
“And,” the woman interrupted. “I’ll be increasing your pay. You have an interesting and unique look that is worth more than the average model.”
Yeah, right. This woman was just plain desperate. Still, more money would be good.
Fae nodded and managed to say, “Thank you.”
No,” Ms. Kline said. “Thank you for your contribution to the arts and to the future of our students.”
Fae left a half an hour later with a sinking feeling in her chest. At least now she had a source of income.
Chapter 6
Something wasn’t adding up. The woman who haunted Nick’s dreams and his waking hours presented a mystery. Should he put his investigative skills to use and find out everything he could about Fae? Or would that be considered an invasion of privacy? After all, she wasn’t a suspect in a case. She was a student and a woman he would like to get to know better. She had also obviously had a rough life. He should let her reveal things naturally as he gained her trust.
Yes. That’s exactly what he would do. He’d just have to ignore the itch to know everything immediately.
“Nick!” Don stood above him.
“What?” Nick asked, perturbed.
“Are we a little distracted?”
Nick ignored the question. “What’s the big emergency?
“The bodies of sixteen people were discovered in a compound twenty miles off the Dixie highway. Fourteen were victims of an obvious poisoning, the fifteenth was stabbed through the heart, and the sixteenth was beheaded.”
Nick swore. “Do they have any leads?”
“Yeah, they think these are the elusive protectors of the Fountain of Youth.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“I thought that was a myth.”
“The Fountain of Youth is a myth; this group of radical worshipers obviously is not. We leave now.”
“I can’t.”
Don stopped and looked back, stunned.
“Did I hear you correctly, Agent Chase?” a familiar voice came from behind.
Nick turned around. “Hello, ASAC Young.”
She looked up at Nick and sneered. “You will help in this investigation.”
With dark brown hair, steel-blue eyes, and a body with curves in just the right places, Nick had at one time found Cheryl Young attractive. That time was long gone. Her sour personality overpowered everything appealing about her.
“Absolutely,” he answered, “but I’m busy this morning.”
“Doing what?” she blurted.
“I’m teaching a college course. Thank you so much for recommending me.”
She swore under her breath. “This is a big case.”
“And teaching college is a big responsibility. I’m guessing that if I don’t show up, that would be bad for public relations, am I right?”
She scowled at him. “Come in your own car as soon as your class is done. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, resisting the urge to mock her with a salute.
Two hours later, Nick approached a line of news vans a mile long parked along the side of the highway. He double-parked beside an ABC news van. Orange cones and police in yellow jackets directed the cars away from the scene—giving the FBI room to work.
Stepping from his car, he reporters bombarded him with questions. He simply said, “Just arrived. Don’t know a thing.”
“Do you know if this really is the Fountain of Youth?”
That question caught his attention. Nick looked over to see the person who’d asked it. There were too many reporters to ascertain the individual.
Still, Nick didn’t bother answering him. He doubted he didn’t need to—his expression showed it all. That reporter was an idiot.
A local deputy glanced at Nick’s raised badge. The deputy lifted the yellow crime-scene tape to let him through. “It’s straight through—”
“Yeah,” Nick interrupted. “I’ll just follow the trampled path.” He gave the deputy a friendly smile.
The officer chuckled. “I guess it is pretty obvious now.”
The camp was crawling with law enforcement and FBI agents. Nick spotted his partner next to a pond fed by a small spring. Several backhoes dug in the ground around the water, and a victim lay face up at the water’s edge. It looked to be a male in his late seventies with what appeared to be a stab wound to the chest—the likely cause of death.
Nick looked at the backhoes. “Are the other bodies buried?”
Don shook his head. “The sixteen we found—including this guy—weren’t, but Richards said that the depressions in the ground and discrepancy in the growth of vegetation around this pond has him thinking these are graves sites. We’re here to see if there may be more victims.”
“I’m guessing we’ve already scoured the place for evidence.”
“Oh, yeah,” Don said. “This investigation is by the book. I’m sure we’ll all be under a magnifying glass in this case.”
“Whoa!” someone shouted.
Nick looked over to see the claw of the backhoe raise and the machine turn off. He and Don ran over to the site and stepped to the edge of the hole. About five feet down, amid rocks and dirt, he could see something pale, almost white—bone.
“I’d say we found another victim,” Don said.
“Looks that way,” Nick said. “How may graves does Richard suspect?”
“At least five. And he says they all look to be dug decades apart. The earliest one seems to be from twenty years ago, and the others—who knows? Decades before. He even swears that there’s one grave from over a hundred years ago. How in the world he could possibly know that, I have no idea.”
“Yeah,” Nick said, frowning, “but Richards is rarely wrong.” Nick raised his eyes to the crew and shouted. “Clear the area around this. You will remove every speck of dirt until we have each and every bone. Understand?”
Everyone nodded.
Another shout from the backhoe on the other side had Nick and Don running again. Nick frowned when he looked down at the partial remains of a skull. This one looked to be much older than the first victim.
Don scowled. “These crazies have been killing for a long time. Why are we only finding out about it now?”
“That’s not the biggest question,” Nick said.
Don looked at him, startled. “What?”
“Look at these holes, and then look at the pond.” Nick followed Don’s eyes as they went from the open grave to the water, uphill only a few yards away.
Don’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible. These graves should be flooded with water.”
Nick raised his head and turned to the excavation crew. “Someone get a pump in here. We need to drain this pond.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Two men in dark suits stepped out from behind the trees.
“Who do you think are you?” Nick asked.
“I’m Special Agent Smith and this is Special Agent Jones,” the older and slighter of the two said without a hint of humor. “Our division title is classified.”
“Sounds like your names are classified, too,” Nick said. “Or are you really Smith and Jones?”
Jones smiled and turned to Smith. “I like this guy.”
Smith looked at Jones with surprise in his eyes. “You sure?”
“Absolutely,” Jones said. “We should keep him around.”
Smith turned to Nick. “What’s your name, smart-aleck?”
Nick grinned at the old-fashioned nickname. “Special Agent Nick Chase.”
“Okay, Agent Chase,” Smith said. “You can stay. But everyone else needs to leave. Our division is taking over the
investigation.”
“What?” Don’s voice rose. “Under whose authority?”
Agent Smith pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Don. Don blurted out an uncharacteristic slew of profanity.
“What is it?” Nick grabbed the paper. He looked down and his eyes grew wide. “The Director? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Don shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Why can my partner stay, but I have to leave?”
“We’re not at liberty to say,” Smith answered.
“Well, this just bites,” Don said.
Smiling, Jones turned to Smith and mumbled something. They both chuckled.
Don took an intimidating step toward them. “You see something funny in this situation?” His eyes shot daggers at the two agents.
Smith’s humor disappeared as he stepped nose to nose with Don—obviously not intimidated.
Jones stepped forward and put his hand on Smith’s chest and nudged him back. “Murder is never funny,” he said, looking at Don. “Now, if you could join the rest of your team, we can get this investigation underway.”
Don narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t seen the end of me. I’ll be following up to make sure you do your job. One false move, and even the director won’t be able to save your sorry self.” He turned his back and stomped into the woods.
Nick approached the two strange men. “So, the president of the United States knows about what’s going on here?”
“Probably,” Jones said.
“Let’s stick to the details of the case,” Smith said. “And let me inform you, Agent Chase, that what you see and hear will remain with this team. Any sharing of information about this case or anyone working on this case will be considered an act of treason punishable by execution. That includes sharing information with anyone in your local field office, am I clear?”
Is this guy for real? “Yes, sir.” Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked up to see his friends and colleagues filing out from the crime scene with stunned looks on their faces. Even ASAC Cheryl Young was being escorted out. She locked eyes with him and shouted, “Why does Agent Chase get to stay? He’s only been in the field for three years.”
The man next to her shook his head and spoke to her as he kept his hand on her elbow. The fierce glare she shot him gave him a smug satisfaction. Still, this turnabout in events was the strangest thing he’d ever witnessed.
“Now that I’m part of the team,” Nick said, “can you tell me what your division is called?”
“You’re not part of the team,” Smith said. “For now, we’ll consider you an outside consultant.”
“Right,” Nick said, doubtful. “And what are you consulting me about?”
“That’s classified,” Smith said.
Nick shook his head. “If I’m to understand it right, you can’t reveal to me my own expertise?”
“Exactly,” Smith said. “Now, I think you’ll be of more use with the recent murders.” He gestured north.
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Yes, sir.”
The scene was not quite as gruesome as he imagined it would be. That was, until the stench hit him—vomit mixed with feces and rotten flesh. Oh yeah. This was a murder scene.
“Hey,” a tall, lean man raised his hand and stepped toward Nick. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
Nick motioned toward the waterfall. “Mr. Smith told me I could stay.”
“He did, huh?” He pulled out his cell phone. “Smith, did you give the okay on an outsider?... Jones cleared him?… Let’s hope he knows what he’s doing.”
He replaced his phone in his coat and put out his hand. “Agent Chase?”
Nick shook his hand. “That’s me.”
“I’m Agent Thomas.” He nodded. “What’s your first impression?” He looked around, his eyes lingering on the oozing corpses of fourteen people lying haphazardly around a campsite.
Nick narrowed his eyes. “I’d have to agree; it looks like a poisoning. You can see the uneaten food and vomit on and around each of the victims.”
“A ten-year-old could have told me that. What do your instincts say?”
Nick looked again. There were remnants of uneaten pastries, breads, lamb, desserts… “Looks like they were celebrating something.” He saw benches set up in a semi-circle. “And either someone gave a speech, or there was some kind of performance. No. It was a speech. These people don’t look like the performing type.”
He stepped over to the one body that was different—this one was missing his head. He knelt to examine the wound. “The blade that caused this was very sharp. This wasn’t done by anything you’d find in a sporting goods store. Has anyone found the head?”
Agent Thomas gestured several feet away at the base of a tree. The face looked up toward the sky and held a distinct expression—despair.
“I think this one was the last to die,” Nick said. “Most likely stumbled onto the scene and was killed from behind.”
“How do you figure?” Agent Thomas asked.
“He doesn’t look afraid, he looks devastated. And why he would feel that way? Because friends and possibly family members are lying dead at his feet. And the fact he wasn’t poisoned like the rest suggests a late arrival.”
“Not bad, Agent Chase.” Agent Thomas walked over to a black bag and retrieved a camera. “I want you to document everything you think is important, and everything you don’t think is important. I want every inch of this crime scene photographed from ten different angles. Understand?”
“Sure thing, Agent Thomas. What about the scene around the waterfall?”
“No. Definitely not. They have a different crew working that area.”
Nick shrugged, his suspicion raised. This division ran with a lot of secrecy. “No problem.”
When Agent Thomas’s turned his back, Nick slipped a transmission chip into the camera that would send the images to his phone. There was something seriously off with this team, and he didn’t trust them at all. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right? And Nick was determined to cover his butt.
He snapped about a thousand shots and made it to the woods between the camp scene and the scene by the waterfall. Looking around, everyone seemed absorbed in what they were doing. Nick turned his camera to the area around the falls. He zoomed in to see if he could get a better look.
The area seemed void of investigators—which was odd. It should be swimming in them. They did, however, have strange lighting set up. He couldn’t see where the light originated from, but the whole area was cast in some sort of green illumination. Suddenly there was activity… Movement came from several agents and one woman being carried from the scene. Unconscious? Looked like she’d taken a plunge in the water. She was completely drenched, the water dripping from her flowing dress. Who wore a dress to a crime scene?
Nick had the impression that someone was approaching. He turned and aimed the camera toward the camp and continued to snap pictures.
Agent Thomas came into view.
“I think I got shots at every possible angle,” Nick said.
“You’re out kind of far from the camp.”
“Didn’t want to miss the forest because of the trees—if you know what I mean.”
Agent Thomas nodded. He took a quick glance behind Nick and said, “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He reached his hand toward the camera. Nick pulled the strap over his head, his heart pounding in his chest. How in the world would he pull out the chip—
“Hey, Thomas,” a shout came from behind. “You gotta see this!”
Nick didn’t waste the chance while the agent’s attention was diverted. He slipped his chip out of the camera and then handed the camera back. Agent Thomas looked back at him and mumbled, “Thanks,” as he took the camera and stomped over toward the voice. Nick followed, his curiosity peeked.
A bulky man with a bald head came out of a tent carrying a worn, heavy book. He took a step back as soon as his eyes met Nick. “Who’s the new guy?�
��
“Agent Chase,” Agent Thomas answered. “Meet Agent Williams. Jones cleared him.”
“That’s cool.” He shrugged. He stepped forward and pulled out an ancient book. “Take a look at this. This is the only book left from a whole library of journals. Looks like the rest were taken somewhere. This one would probably have been taken too, but I found it in a tent on the far side of the camp. It seems to be detailed documentation about The Fountain of Youth. Maybe Jones can use it to help the lady—”
“Yes, thank you,” Thomas interrupted. He took the book and tucked it under his arm.
“Does the journal mention the members of the society?” Nick asked.
Agent Williams nodded. “Oh, yeah, and detailed accounts about the fountain. It looks like it restores youth, but causes insanity. Maybe the murderer is named in there. I’ll bet he’s an old guy—or at least he used to be old.”
“So, you think we’re on the lookout for a newly young, crazy guy?” Nick smiled.
“Young, yes,” Thomas said without a hint of humor. “Crazy? Maybe.”
Nick continued to chuckle. “Right.” His laughter died when he realized they were completely serious. “You don’t really believe in the power of the Fountain of Youth, do you?”
Thomas raised an eyebrow. “If I told you the things I’ve seen, you’d think I needed a padded cell.”
“We’ve seen,” Williams added.
“Yeah,” Thomas said.
The men in this division were certifiably insane.
Chapter 7
Fae sat with her eyes glued to the crime scene before her. A woman lay on a bed, her clothes and her bedding scattered on the floor. She appeared to be sleeping off a wild night with a lover. But she wasn’t sleeping. She was dead.
“Okay,” Nick said, stepping up beside the image on the screen before him to address his class full of students—in fact, it looked like there were more students here today than the first day. “I want you to take in every detail you can and let’s see how much you can remember.” He waited a few moments and turned off the screen. The class groaned.
“Now,” he said, “write down as many details as you can remember. And I’ll give you ten bonus points if you can tell me how the victim died.”