Little Girl Lost

by Adrianne Lee

  “Not sure.” Bonze jabbed his arms into his baseball jacket. “Someone may have gotten a license-plate number. I’ll call you when I have something positive.”

  “See that you do,” Chad said, following him to the front door. He’d just returned to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. He pivoted again. “Bonze must have forgotten something.”

  Barbara stayed in the kitchen, studying Suzanne Emerson’s picture. Voices issued from the foyer, but she couldn’t make out what was being said and really didn’t care.

  Chad appeared a moment later, holding a large manila envelope. Excitement darkened his eyes from gray blue to slate.

  “That was the messenger from de Wolfe’s office with my copy of the papers that are being served on Marshall tonight.” He held the envelope high. “We can take Mr. Bear to Missy whenever you’re ready.”

  Barbara’s throat constricted. “I’m ready.”

  BARBARA STOWED HER suitcase in the back seat of Chad’s car, then settled in front, with Mr. Bear clutched to her churning stomach. She’d waited for and dreaded this visit all day, dying to see Missy and yet knowing it might be the last time she would spend with her child for years to come.

  Chad opened the garage door and backed the car out into a steady, drizzly downpour. The night was as black and miserable as Barbara’s shriveling heart. Her hands were wet, her mouth dry. Sitting beside the man she loved, she felt more alone than she’d felt in her whole life; now, when she most needed comfort and reassurance, he had withdrawn into himself, shutting her out.

  Wind bent trees, stripping leaves from branches and slinging them through the air to slam against the windshield. Deep pools of standing water sprayed against the car with loud, unnerving regularity. Chad drove cautiously.

  Her anxiety increased with every passing mile.

  She glanced at the envelope on the seat. It separated them like a wall, as solid and impenetrable as the stony silence in the car. If only she were more versed in love relationships. But her lack of experience limited her skills in that area. She didn’t have the first idea how to make him open up and talk about a woman who had obviously hurt him deeply. She didn’t know how to help him heal.

  The journey seemed endless, but finally, Chad nosed the car through a pair of massive white masonry arches and along the Tarmac that fronted the Emersons’ Mercer Island home.

  A huge, two-story house, of Art Deco design, it overlooked Lake Washington. The drive curved past the front door. A new Jeep Cherokee claimed the spot nearest the porch steps. Barbara muttered, “New house. New car.”

  “Yeah,” Chad said. “All bought with blood money.”

  She shivered at the thought.

  Chad parked behind the Jeep. Barbara zipped Mr. Bear inside her jacket, then darted through the downpour beside Chad, up the concrete steps, and across the wide porch. Wind blew the rain against their backsides. Barbara hunched into the collar of her coat, and although the teddy bear was in no danger of slipping, cupped her hands under it.

  The second Chad’s knuckles connected with the door, it moved inward as though on a spring. He stepped back, startled, and laughed nervously. “That’s appropriately creepy for a night like this.”

  “The last person in,” she suggested, “probably didn’t realize they hadn’t shut the door tightly.”

  “Emerson,” Chad called. “Hello. Dr. Emerson?”

  No one answered. Chad glanced down at Barbara. “The lights are all on.”

  “Hello!” she cried. “Is anyone here?”

  Still no answer. Uneasiness skittered through her.

  “Maybe we should just go in.” Chad shook rain from his shoulders. “We’re getting soaked.”

  “I don’t kno—”

  “What was that?” He jerked his head toward the hallway.

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Shush. Listen.”

  She heard it this time. A low groan.

  Chad hastened inside with Barbara on his heels. Elvis Emerson lay sprawled on the floor of the entrance hall, clutching his stomach and writhing, obviously in pain.

  “Check on him,” Chad ordered, continuing on into the house as Barbara dropped to the fallen man’s side and gripped his shoulder. “Elvis, Elvis, what happened?”

  His pale blue eyes fluttered open. His gaze locked on her face. He groaned, “B.J.”

  Unbidden, the image of other pale blue eyes assailed her. She swallowed hard against the sudden shock of knowledge.

  He groaned again. “Poison.”

  Fear shot through Barbara. “Where’s Missy?”

  But Elvis’s eyes glazed, rolled back and shut.

  “Barbara!” Chad called from the next room.

  She lurched to her feet and ran to him, stopping abruptly at the sight of Marshall lying on the floor near a glassbrick fireplace.

  Chad was checking Marshall’s neck for a pulse. “Looks like he tripped over the coffee table or something.” He nodded toward the huge square that seemed to be made of white granite. “Has a hell of a bruise on his right temple.”

  Barbara’s heart climbed into her throat. “Call 911, Chad. I have to find Missy.”

  She bolted for the stairs. Restrained by a terror she couldn’t cite, she bit back the urge to scream the little girl’s name. The thick blue carpet swallowed her footfalls. She raced up the geometrically shaped staircase and into a long, wide hallway lined with half-a-dozen doors.

  Her chest heaved with fear. The only light shone from the last room on the left. Instinctively sensing she would find her child there, she headed for it.

  As she neared the room, she heard a voice. A woman’s voice. “It’s all right, my darling Missy. Mommy didn’t really die. And now I’m going to take you far away from all these bad people.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  With her heart leaping against her ribs, Barbara stepped into the room. An overhead light glared brightly after the relative darkness of the hall. Blinking, she scanned the scene before her. Two women and Missy were in the room. Barbara’s gaze shot to the little girl.

  Fully dressed, she lay on the single bed that was centered beneath the window. She appeared to be asleep. Barbara’s pulse skipped erratically. She suppressed the urge to run to her child and scoop her up.

  “Mommy will be ready to leave in a moment, Missy,” said the woman, bending over Joy Emerson’s inert body.

  Barbara’s heart dropped through her like an elevator falling sixty floors. “Oh, my God, Edie? What is this? What are you doing?”

  Edie jerked around, syringe in hand. Alarm widened her eyes, but her mouth was tight with purpose. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.”

  “Wh-what?” Horrified disbelief slammed through Barbara. This couldn’t be. Not Edie. Edie, who’d been her friend from the moment they’d met, who’d shared her innermost secrets, her soul-wrenching fears. Who’d risked everything to protect Missy and her.

  “Why are you doing this?” Barbara edged closer to the bed.

  “I’m taking my daughter far away from you and all the others who think you can come between us.”

  “No, I—” Barbara broke off. This wasn’t Edie her friend. This woman was deranged. No amount of logic would penetrate her psychosis.

  Barbara took another step into the room, her gaze riveted on her child. A discarded cloth lay crumpled near Missy’s face. Terror gnawed her. She wanted to run to her, but feared any sudden movement might startle Edie, might feed her instability. “What have you given Missy?”

  “A little ether. It won’t harm her. I’d never harm her.”

  “Why?” Barbara asked, hoping to distract Edie until she could reach Missy. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you. She’s mine.” Edie ran a hand through her unkempt blond hair. “I deserve her after everything I’ve done.”

  Apprehension grabbed Barbara’s nerve endings. She inched closer to the bed. “What have you done?”

  Edie threw her head back and laughed. “God, what haven
’t I done?”

  The crazed look in her eyes chilled Barbara. “What does that mean?” But she was starting to fear she knew what it meant. All those miscarriages. Edie’s immediate willingness to help her after the accident. She’d wanted Missy from the first.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t remembered about Kayleen and me?”

  Barbara shook her head. “You knew Kayleen?”

  “We met at the UW. Became fast friends.”

  Barbara gaped at her, stunned.

  “You really didn’t know?”

  “Kayleen’s friends didn’t interest me. I was only sixteen.”

  “Well, she chattered up a storm about you. Barbie, this, Barbie, that. Even had your picture in her room. You and your bleached-blond buzz cut. Downright unique.” Edie shook her head. “And I was so worried you were going to remember and then figure out that I was the one she’d sent Marshall’s journal pages to.”

  Barbara’s stomach made a sickening lurch, stopping her cold. “Then you knew from the beginning who I was? Who Missy was?”

  “Why do you think I helped you with the false ID? I wouldn’t have risked my career for anyone—except that sweet baby. I’d planned on killing you, too, but then I couldn’t figure out how I’d explain to Dirk, or anyone else, where I’d gotten Missy from. So, I did the next best thing and became her aunt.”

  “You knew Marshall would be looking for Missy.” Barbara took another step toward her child.

  “I didn’t want him to find her any more than you did.” A smug look crossed Edie’s face. “Of course, that necessitated poor Jane Dolan departing this world a little ahead of God’s schedule.”

  Revulsion flared inside Barbara. “You.?”

  “I just put her out of her misery a little early.” Edie was refilling the syringe from a vial.

  Barbara took another step toward the bed.

  “Then Kayleen saw me in Cle Elum two weeks ago,” Edie continued.

  Barbara stiffened. Until that fateful day last week, she’d avoided going to Cle Elum. Driving that stretch of freeway was too much for her. She gingerly touched the end of the bed.

  “I really thought she’d perished in the accident. The officials had found her ring, declared her dead, and she wasn’t among the victims brought to Ellensburg.” Edie raised her heated gaze and her face grew stony. “She was furious that I hadn’t given the journal pages to Chad Ryker.”

  Barbara scooted another step toward Missy. But she couldn’t understand her sister’s actions. “Wh-why didn’t she try contacting you for five years?”

  “You know, that’s what I asked her.” Edie squatted beside Joy and positioned the vial to appear as if it had rolled from the unconscious woman’s limp hand. “She claimed she was so devastated by the loss of Missy and you that she spiraled into a deep depression. Your mother had to work to support her for all that time. She was finally coming out of it when she spotted me that day.”

  Barbara could touch Missy’s feet now. “I suppose she wanted you to give the journal pages to her?”

  “Oh, yes. She went on and on about what she wanted. But did she care about the babies that I’d lost? Did she care about my hysterectomy?”

  “Hysterectomy? Wh-when did you have a hysterectomy?”

  “After the last miscarriage six weeks ago. It was the final straw for Dirk. He walked out.”

  Barbara reeled inside. She hadn’t even guessed. Had taken Edie’s word that her marriage was on the mend. That she and Dirk were going to try again to have a baby. Edie must have been devastated. Maybe, if she’d shared her pain and heartache. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because all you care about is yourself. And what you want. Just like Kayleen. She only cared about what she wanted. And if she found out that Missy was alive, then there would be no question what she’d want then. I couldn’t let her take the only child I’d ever have. I had to kill her.”

  Barbara’s knees buckled. She dropped onto the bed. “You killed my mother and Kayleen?”

  “Well, not me, personally. Although I’m quite accomplished with a gun, bullets aren’t my method of choice. I had a friend, Willie Breen, hire Dean Ray Staples for the job.”

  Barbara’s eyebrows rose. “But Staples will tell the police—he’ll give them your name in exchange for a lighter sentence.”

  “He doesn’t know my name.” She moved closer. “I just told you that Willie Breen hired him.”

  “And you trust this Willie Breen to keep quiet?”

  “Willie. Poor, stupid Willie. I wouldn’t be here now, if he’d managed to get into your apartment and take Missy for me the other night.”

  “Scarface was Willie Breen?”

  “Sad, but true.” Edie waved the needle at her. “That wound to his face brought us together. He’d been slashed during an attempted robbery. Willie was terrified of going back to prison. So I didn’t tell the police. He was very grateful.”

  A chill swept through Barbara. “You meant him to murder me that night.”

  Edie stepped toward her with purpose now. Barbara stared at the syringe as if it were a poisonous snake about to strike. Edie lifted her other hand. She held a gun. “Don’t move. Like I said, I wouldn’t like to shoot you, but I will.”

  Instinctively Barbara sucked in her stomach muscles. “Edie, you can’t get away with this. Chad is with me. He’s downstairs. He’s called the police.”

  Edie stopped, her eyes wild as this sank in. In the distance came the sound of approaching sirens.

  “No-o-o-o.” Edie lunged for Barbara, and drove the syringe into her stomach.

  A heartbeat passed before Barbara realized she felt no pain. Mr. Bear! She shoved Edie by the arms. The doctor fell back, pulling the needle free. Chad charged into the room. He tackled Edie.

  Barbara scrambled toward Missy.

  Chad and Edie hit the floor with a resounding crash.

  The gun went off.

  Barbara covered Missy’s body with her own. The loud report rang in her ears. Her heart thudded against her ribs.

  She lifted her head. Chad had Edie pinned to the floor. Barbara drew a shaky breath. He wrenched the gun from Edie’s hand, then staggered to his feet. Keeping his eyes and the gun trained on the doctor, he asked, “Is Missy okay?”

  The little girl moaned and her eyes opened.

  “She was knocked out with ether,” Barbara said. “But she’s waking up now.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m all right. Chad, she killed Kayleen and my mother.”

  “I heard.” His voice was filled with sympathy and she knew he understood and cared about the pain she was feeling, even if he could no longer tell her.

  “Mommy?” Missy struggled up. Barbara hugged her, shielding her from the sight of Joy’s inert body and of Chad with the gun trained on Edie.

  “Drop the syringe.” He took a step closer to Edie, cocking the gun. “I’m serious, Doctor.”

  Edie grinned at him, a crazed gleam in her eyes. She held the needle out toward him, then jammed it into her chest. Into her heart.

  And pressed the plunger.

  Chapter Nineteen

  For Barbara, the next hour passed in a kaleidoscope of commotion. It seemed to her that police and paramedics were everywhere. A medic pronounced Missy wide-awake and suffering no ill aftereffects from her ether-induced sleep.

  Elvis, Marshall and Joy were rushed to the hospital—along with the spent syringe—so an antidote could be found for whatever “poison” Edie had injected them with.

  It was too late for Edie.

  Barbara and Chad moved Missy to a different upstairs room to keep her away from the chaos. A uniformed policewoman found them there a few minutes later. “Detective Quinn would like to speak to you now. He’s in the dining room. I’ll stay with Missy until you return.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, they encountered Billy Bonze. “Hey, Ryker.”

  Chad strode toward his assistant. “How’d you get wind of this so fast?”


  “I didn’t. I was still following the shelter-fire lead.”

  A spark of hope flicked through Barbara. “And that brought you here?”

  “Yep. They’re going to nail Emerson for it.”

  “Marshall?” She gasped.

  “No, Elvis.”

  Chad’s eyes narrowed. “It was his license reported in the anonymous tip?”

  “Yep. They searched his trunk and found a bunch of empty gas cans. The idiot hadn’t disposed of the evidence yet.”

  “What about Marshall?” Barbara’s hands landed on her hips. “Surely they know he’s behind this?”

  Bonze shrugged, then turned back to Chad. “Apparently that new Jeep out there belongs to the dead woman, but it’s registered under a different name than you gave the police. They found false ID in the glove box and a suitcase full of children’s clothes and toys on the back seat. What’s going on here, anyway?”

  “That’s what I’d like them to tell me,” a brusque male voice interrupted. “I’m Detective Quinn. I’d appreciate it if you two would come into the dining room. Now.”

  Barbara turned toward the detective and gazed up. He had an athlete’s body that suited his well-cut street clothes, tanned skin and trim gray hair, which he wore a little longer than was fashionable. His shrewd brown eyes swept over her. She swallowed over a twinge of discomfort.

  She and Chad followed him into the dining room, which was elegant in its simplicity and sparsity of accessories. Fresh-cut roses scented the air. Quinn walked to the head of the table. “Please, sit down anywhere.”

  Barbara and Chad sat on either side of the detective and another officer took a chair at the opposite end of the table. Quinn steepled his hands. “I’d appreciate it if one or the other of you would tell me exactly what went on here tonight.”

  She and Chad took turns explaining how they’d come to be here and what they’d found when they arrived. The officer at the end of the table took notes.

  “May I join this group?”

  Chad shifted around, recognizing the deep bass voice instantly. He smiled and half rose from his chair. “Adam. I was wondering what happened to you.”