“I didn’t want her dead,” I said.
Rafe glanced at me, and I added, “I had a problem with her. For obvious reasons. And I wanted her back behind bars. She belonged in prison. But I didn’t want what happened to her to happen.”
Rafe nodded.
We ended up around the corner from Bianca’s house in Antioch, where all three of Rafe’s boys were still on guard. We pulled to a stop across the street from Clayton and Jamal, and waited a minute for José to join us from the next block.
The three of them crowded around the Volvo. “What up?” Jamal wanted to know.
Rafe’s voice was heavy. “You’re off duty. Go home and get some rest.”
They exchanged a look. “What happened, boss?”
“Police found her,” Rafe said.
There was a beat, then— “She dead?”
Rafe nodded.
“You gonna do the notification?”
Rafe said he was.
“You want some company?”
“I’ve got Savannah,” Rafe said, and the boys all peered in at me. I smiled and wiggled my fingers.
They straightened. “How ‘bout the other lady?” Jamal wanted to know. “The baby dead too?”
“No. The other lady—” Rafe’s voice had a fine undertone of irony, “took it and left.”
“Man.” The boys exchanged another look. “That’s cold.”
Yes, it was.
Usually, it was Jamal doing the talking for all of them. But now Clayton spoke. “You going home and getting some rest after this, too, boss?”
Rafe looked at him for a second before he answered. “No. I gotta do the notification. And then I’m gonna keep looking for that baby. Not like I can sleep while it’s out there.”
I had been afraid of that.
The boys looked at one another. Jamal spoke for all of them again. “You want some help?”
Rafe hesitated. I could sense the struggle between doing the responsible thing, telling them to go home and crash for the night, and the desire to have their company. He needed them more than he needed me tonight, I thought.
“I ain’t gonna tell you what to do,” he said eventually. “This is personal. Not business. Officially, I ain’t involved in the case. If you wanna go home, go home.” His gaze brushed over José, who had a fiancée waiting for him. Giving José tacit permission to leave, and letting him know that there would be no hard feelings if he did. “If you don’t, there’s a place a couple miles from here, called the Short Stop. It’s kind of a sports bar, down off Nolensville Road. I’ll go there after I’m finished with the notifications. If you’re there, great. If not, I’ll handle this on my own.”
The boys looked at each other. “See you there, boss,” Jamal said.
They scattered to their respective cars. Rafe put ours back in gear, and we rolled down the road to Bianca’s house.
The red Mercedes was still parked in the driveway, along with the minivan. Maybe Mrs. Arroyo hadn’t been able to face going home, after hearing the news about Carmen. Or maybe this was what they did on evenings when Bianca’s husband worked. For all I knew, Mrs. Arroyo was babysitting while Bianca had taken advantage of her husband’s absence to go out with friends.
We parked in the driveway behind the Mercedes. With the pickup truck gone, there was plenty of space.
The curtains in the living room twitched as we got out of the car, and before we were halfway to the front door, it had opened. Mrs. Arroyo stood in the opening, outlined by light.
She didn’t say anything, just watched us come closer. If I had to guess, I’d say she’d probably guessed we wouldn’t be back so soon unless there was bad news.
We stopped at the foot of the stairs, and for a second, nobody spoke. Then— “Is your daughter home?” Rafe asked.
Mrs. Arroyo nodded. And swallowed before she answered. “She’s putting the children to bed.”
“Would you mind if we came in?”
Mrs. Arroyo hesitated. Part of her probably wanted to tell us to spill the reason we were there right now, on the front step. Another part of her, I guessed, was trying to put off the inevitable.
After a few seconds she took a step back. Rafe gave me nudge up the stairs.
“Thank you,” I told Mrs. Arroyo on my way past.
She didn’t answer. She also didn’t look at me. She was looking at Rafe, and I could see the fear in her eyes.
We ended up in the dining room again. Mrs. Arroyo invited us to sit, and then stood for a moment wringing her hands. After a glance up the stairs, to where Bianca must be reading her kids bedtime stories, she asked if we’d like something to drink.
I opened my mouth to decline, but Rafe got in ahead of me. “Coffee?”
Mrs. Arroyo nodded, looking relieved. She scurried off into the kitchen.
“It’ll give her something to do while she waits,” Rafe said softly. He reached for my hand under the table, and twined his fingers through mine. I held on to him, his fingers still cold as ice, and waited.
Mrs. Arroyo, the coffee, and Bianca arrived at the same time. There was a cup of coffee for me too, although of course I couldn’t drink it. Not only did I not want to stay up all night the way Rafe did, but I was pregnant.
Bianca and Mrs. Arroyo sat down on the other side of the table. I could see Mrs. Arroyo reach for Bianca’s hand at the same time as I let go of Rafe’s. He wrapped both of his around the coffee mug, while I folded mine in my lap.
No one said anything. Finally—and it felt like a long time, but I don’t think it can have been more than ten seconds—Rafe lifted his head. “I’m sorry to be back with bad news. Carmen was found dead this evening.”
Mrs. Arroyo gasped and crossed herself. Bianca started babbling in Spanish. It went much too fast for me, although it seemed like Rafe followed most of it. He responded back, and they went like that for a minute or two, until Mrs. Arroyo had gathered herself. There were tears running down her cheeks. “El bebé?”
“Gone,” Rafe said.
They exchanged a look, and the tears dried up like magic. “Desaparecido?”
Rafe nodded, and glanced at me. I gave him what I thought was an encouraging smile and got a grimace back.
“Where?” Bianca demanded, and Rafe turned back to her. “Where is my sister’s baby?”
“The other woman—the one who escaped with Carmen—took it.”
“She killed my sister?”
Rafe hesitated. I said gently, “We think Carmen died from complications from the birth. Um... sangrar?”
Mrs. Arroyo moaned and crossed herself again. Maybe this was something it was impolite to talk about. Or maybe she was just sad about the way her daughter had died.
“The police is looking for the baby,” Rafe said. “After I leave here, I’m gonna look, too.”
They both nodded. After a glance at me, Rafe got to his feet. I did the same. “We’re sorry for your loss,” I told them.
It was inadequate, but all I could say.
Bianca looked at Rafe, with tears swimming in her eyes. “Will you let us know what happens?”
He nodded.
“What will happen to the baby when they find it?” Mrs. Arroyo wanted to know.
Rafe hesitated. He glanced at me.
“It depends,” I said, without going into the possibility that the baby may not survive. “Someone from DCS will take it first. The Department of Children’s Services.” They wouldn’t just hand it off without first making sure it was going to the right place. “They’ll find a temporary home for it. Unless it has to go to the hospital. Then it will stay there until it’s well. Eventually, they’ll decide who gets permanent custody.”
“I was supposed to take care of it for Carmen,” Bianca said.
I nodded. “You can tell DCS that, and unless there’s a problem, that’s probably what will happen. If there’s family, and unless the family is unsuitable, they usually get custody. Unless the baby’s father wants custody.” I avoided looking at Rafe. �
��If he does, chances are he will get it, since his relationship with the baby is closer than yours.”
Bianca didn’t look at Rafe, either. I tried not to read anything into that, one way or the other.
“Did she ever tell you who the father is?” We’d asked before and she’d said no, but maybe the answer would be different this time. “Any chance he’s involved? That Denise Seaver would take the baby to him?”
They exchanged a look. Then both of them shook their heads. “She wanted me to take the baby,” Bianca said. “She didn’t want him—the father—to know about the baby.”
“Was she afraid he’d try to get custody?”
Bianca shrugged. Could be yes, could be no. Could be she’d been talking about Rafe; could be someone else.
We took our leave not much wiser than we’d come. When we walked outside in the cool air, Rafe stopped again and took another deep breath, like he had outside the cabin in the woods. “Shit.”
“It’s tough.” It wasn’t even twelve hours since Grimaldi had told me she had had to notify Devon’s parents of his death, and I had told her I didn’t envy her her job. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. It was Mendoza’s job. He would have done it.”
Rafe looked at me for a second. “I guess I feel responsible. I put her prison.”
“You and a lot of other people. And anyway, she’s the one who broke the law.”
He lowered his voice. “If it’s my baby, she’s dead because of me.”
“Like hell she is!”
He frowned, and I added, in a much lower voice and with a guilty look over my shoulder, “She escaped on her own. If she’d gone to the hospital, she would have given birth surrounded by doctors and drugs and equipment. The chances that she would have died are close to zero. I don’t mean to sound cold, but she made her own bed.”
“That don’t mean she deserved to die.”
“Did I say she deserved it? I said it was her own fault. All she had to do was go to the hospital, and she would have been fine. Now she isn’t.”
“Maybe she didn’t have a choice,” Rafe said. “Maybe it was Denise Seaver who stopped the car and stabbed the guard.”
“I’m sure it was.” Carmen likely hadn’t been in any kind of shape to do much of anything. “But she could have refused to leave the van. She could have waited for Doctor Seaver to walk away, and then she could have radioed for help. She didn’t, so she made her choice. And either way, you had nothing to do with it. You can’t blame yourself for this.”
He smiled, ever so faintly. “I think I prob’ly can.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. Just find the baby. That’s all you can do now. Find it and make sure it’s safe. I don’t trust Denise Seaver.”
“No shit,” Rafe said and led the way to the car. When we were inside and pulling away from the curb, he added, “I’m gonna drive to the Short Stop. You can leave me there. One of the boys’ll give me a ride home. Or to work tomorrow, if we’re still looking by then.”
I nodded. “They’re good boys.”
“The best.”
“You’ll be careful, right?”
“Always,” Rafe said, in flagrant disregard of the truth.
* * *
I DROPPED him off at the Short Stop, and headed home. There was nothing more I could do for him. He didn’t want me there, they’d probably get more done without me, and anyway, I needed to take care of myself and my own baby. I was pretty much dead on my feet, if you’ll excuse the terrible pun. It had been a long day, and a busy day, not to mention a very stressful day, both mentally and physically. I needed to get home and to bed.
So I drove home, through the dark, and parked the car behind the Harley in the driveway. The house loomed somewhat threateningly. It’s an Italianate Victorian, three stories, with a round tower on one corner: a bit like the Psycho house from the movie, or enough like it to make it a little spooky on dark nights.
I made my way up to the front door and used the light from my phone to fit the key in the lock. The door didn’t squeak. Rafe keeps it oiled. I flicked on the porch light and the front foyer light, and went inside and locked the door behind me.
I admit it, I’d been a little worried that Denise Seaver had somehow figured out where we lived and was waiting for me, gun poised, when I walked through the door. I have no idea how she might have done that—I hadn’t lived here back in November, when I’d been dealing with her over Sheila’s murder, and the house was in Rafe’s grandmother’s name, Tondalia Jenkins, which doesn’t sound anything at all like Rafael Collier, let alone Savannah Martin—but I worried. It’s happened before, not once but several times, that I’ve come home to find that someone has been in my house.
This time I didn’t. I walked through the whole house from top to bottom, including the dusty ballroom on the third floor, and there was no one inside but me. Once I was sure of that, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, took off my clothes, and fell into bed and oblivion.
FIFTEEN
I woke up to the sound of banging on the front door. “Savannah! Savannah!”
Uh-oh.
I rolled out of bed and staggered toward the stairs. Downstairs the banging continued. “Savannah! Open the door!”
“I’m coming.” I navigated the stairs as quickly as I could. It’s getting trickier every day. The more front-heavy I become, the more worried I am that I’ll pitch forward and kill both myself and the baby. “I’m coming!”
I don’t think she heard me. Not surprising, over the noise she was making. When I pulled open the door, she practically fell across the threshold.
“Sorry,” I said. “I forgot to set the alarm.”
It was Tamara Grimaldi, and unlike last night, when all I’d been able to think about was getting into bed, now I remembered that I was supposed to have met her at the office at nine.
It was well past that now, and her eyes were worried. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I said and yawned. “Just tired. It was a long night.”
Grimaldi straightened and followed me down the hall toward the kitchen. I needed to put something in my stomach pronto, and orange juice sounded like just the thing. “Can I get you anything?” I asked over my shoulder.
She shook her head. “I’ve had breakfast. Several hours ago.”
“Sorry.” I busied myself with filling a glass with juice. “After we left you, we got word that they’d found Carmen. So we drove back out to Eaton’s Creek. After that, Rafe volunteered to break the news to her family, so we drove back down to Antioch. And after that Rafe and the boys got together at the Short Stop to plan how they were going to proceed. They’ve been out there all night. I went home and to bed, and I was so tired, I forgot to set the alarm.”
“But you’re all right?”
I nodded and lifted the glass to my lips. When I had taken a couple of swallows, I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth. Very unladylike, but Mother wasn’t here. “I don’t think Denise Seaver has any idea where we live. I wasn’t living here back in November. Neither was Rafe. He was in Atlanta then, and I was living in the apartment on Main Street. And his name isn’t on the courthouse records. Nor is mine. There’s no reason Denise Seaver would associate Tondalia Jenkins with Rafe. Until last year, nobody knew they were related.” I lifted the glass again.
“You want me to go through the house anyway?”
I shook my head. “I did it myself. Last night before I collapsed. It’s empty.”
Grimaldi nodded and let her hand drop from her gun.
“I’m sorry I overslept,” I added. “I really did mean to meet you. I just forgot to set the alarm.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right. When you didn’t show up...”
I nodded. After a year of this, we’ve all gotten used to expecting the worst. Usually, when the worst happens, it’s Rafe in the crosshairs and not me, but I understood why she’d been concerned. “Everything’s fine here. Just an oversight on my part.”
“At least you
got plenty of sleep,” Grimaldi said and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. “Want to tell me what happened last night? With some more details?”
I did, between sips of orange juice: from the initial phone call about Carmen to dropping Rafe off in front of the Short Stop. “They let you know that she’d been found, didn’t they?”
Grimaldi nodded. “Jaime called me.” Jaime being Detective Mendoza’s first name. “I didn’t go out there, though. I’m busy with my own case, and I know he can handle it.”
“Any news on the baby this morning?”
“Nothing I’ve heard,” Grimaldi said. “The APB went out to everyone, and it hasn’t been retracted, so I’d say we’re still looking.”
I would say the same thing. “I should give Sheriff Satterfield in Sweetwater another call.”
“You think she’s on her way down there?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I can’t think of anywhere else she might go. Her partner in crime—the other doctor at St. Jerome’s, the one who helped her with the adoption ring, Rushing—he’s dead. And she knows that, because she killed him. Carmen’s family hasn’t seen her. The townhouse where Carmen used to live has been sold. And the apartment I used to live in has been rented to someone else.”
“Have you checked with the new tenant?”
I shook my head. “Do you think it would be worthwhile to do that? She knows I’ve married Rafe since then.”
“But if she doesn’t know you’ve moved, she might think the two of you are still living in the apartment,” Grimaldi said. “We can at least ask if anyone’s seen her.”
I supposed it wouldn’t hurt. “Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed.”
“Take your time,” Grimaldi said. “I’m going to call Jaime and see if there’s any news. After we stop by your old place, we’ll go to your office and take fingerprints.”
I stopped in the kitchen door. “Did you check the paint scraper?”
Scared Money (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 13) Page 16