Trouble Maker: A MacKenzie Family Novel (The MacKenzie Family)

by Liliana Hart

  As she’d aged she’d learned to control her gift. And if she could help others like she’d needed to be helped, then she’d do whatever she could, even at the cost of being ridiculed or ostracized.

  Not everyone wanted her help, but there were enough who’d witnessed her gifts with their own eyes to use her. There were some progressive police departments who wanted to solve crimes badly enough that they’d bring her in, often as a last resort. She didn’t do it for money. In fact, she always refused payment of any kind. She wasn’t a charlatan. And she didn’t need or want the money. Growing up poor had its advantages. She was used to a frugal life of hard work.

  Her time behind the camera paid the bills—taking portraits of children and shooting wedding after wedding. But it was the photographs she took outside of those events that held her heart. She was fascinated by faces. Old, young, man, woman, child. It didn’t matter. Every face had a story. She’d often wondered what story hers had told as a child. And if anyone had bothered to look at it through the lens of a camera.

  She’d built her portfolio over the years, and little by little, some of her pieces had started to sell. She’d scrimped and saved and opened her first studio in Savannah. And then Clive Wallace had walked through her doors one rainy afternoon and looked at her and her work with a critical eye that had immediately set her on edge. She didn’t know him or even recognize his name. But he was one of the biggest art dealers in the world. And he wanted her work. And as she’d discovered later, he’d wanted her too.

  Her life had been a whirlwind for almost two years—working almost nonstop and collecting enough pieces for a show in his New York gallery. It was some of the best work she’d ever done. Her focus was sharp and she thought maybe that was the life she was supposed to lead. A rags-to-riches story where good triumphed over evil.

  The show was a success and the money started rolling in. And Clive became her lover, even though he was almost twenty years older and much more experienced. He was exciting and showed her things naïve girls from Nowhere, Montana, didn’t often get to see. And sometimes—he was able to make her forget where she came from.

  And then she’d gotten a phone call from Lieutenant Navarro in Miami. He’d seen reports about the work she’d done for other departments and he wanted her help. Off the books because his captain wasn’t as open to the woowoo kind of stuff as he was.

  She wasn’t a stranger to the news—her face had appeared on camera several times after helping with particular cases—but she didn’t crave the attention. Clive wanted her to take the job because the publicity would be good for her next showing. So they’d gotten on the next available flight and headed to Miami.

  There’d been a series of kidnappings—all infants between the ages of six weeks and nine months old. The cops had tracked down a nurse at one of the hospitals and she’d admitted to selling patient information to an unknown third party. She entered the information on a website that was set up online and then they deposited money in her bank account. Two other nurses at other hospitals also confessed once the clues led to them.

  But the nurses had no idea what had happened to the babies that had been kidnapped. Their involvement didn’t reach that far, though they’d each be doing a stretch behind bars. But the cops were stumped on how to find the children or where they’d ended up. And the hope of finding them was almost none.

  It was an extensive and brilliantly executed kidnapping network. They’d scam parents who thought they were going through legitimate channels to adopt a child, and then place the stolen child in with the parents who paid enough money.

  When she and Clive had arrived in Miami they hadn’t been greeted with open arms by the city or by the higher-ups in law enforcement. And to make matters worse, the media had been notified of her arrival and were waiting to greet them at the airport, turning the whole thing into a three-ring circus. She’d found out later Clive was the mastermind behind that fiasco.

  It had only taken her a matter of hours to get to the bottom of things, and thank God she’d made friends at the FBI during various cases over the previous decade. Once she’d found out the mayor, the CEO of the hospital, a captain at the police department, and a state legislator were involved, she knew she needed to call in someone who could take over and get those children back to their rightful parents.

  They’d been fortunate that all the data had been meticulously kept—which children were taken from which families and what state and family they’d been sent to. It was an undertaking that would take months to clear, but she’d been able to tell them where to look and who to look at.

  And Clive had been right. The combination of her popularity as a photographer and the coverage from the press over the kidnapping case had made her show sell out in less than an hour. She hadn’t liked the attention. And she hadn’t liked the feel of using one gift to help make the other gift profitable. The whole thing felt dirty.

  Then she’d found out why Clive had orchestrated the press to coincide with the Miami kidnappings. Unbeknownst to her, he’d signed legal documents in her name making him her business manager and in control of the majority of her assets. He also owned her name, and because her name represented the work she did, he owned that as well. She’d trusted him, and because she’d trusted him she hadn’t used her powers to look and see what he was really like on the inside until it was too late.

  She knew how men like Clive worked. She’d seen him in action during business deals. He was a man who got what he wanted, no matter the cost. And she’d never be able to beat him if she tried to take him to court to reclaim what was hers. He had too much money and too much influence.

  But Marnie had always been resourceful. He never should’ve underestimated a girl who’d been raised learning how to stay out of Harley Whitlock’s way. So she’d taken the money in her savings and hidden it in a different account with only her name on it. And she’d added to it when Clive gave her a small percentage of her sales every two weeks. She’d quietly told the landlord of her studio she wouldn’t be renewing her lease and she’d packed her personal belongings and favorite photographs she’d taken for her personal pleasure and not one of Clive’s galleries.

  He’d told her repeatedly that he’d take care of her and she never had to worry about money again. Then he’d kept her on a tight leash, doling out small amounts of “play money,” as he called it, so she had to keep coming back for more.

  It was about that time that the visions of Surrender went from the occasional and sporadic to every day. She knew it was time to return home, though she didn’t know what waited for her there. Her visions were oftentimes restricted when it had to do with her own future. She’d see places or small flashes. Only enough to show her a direction. And that direction had led her back to Surrender.

  Clive had never been abusive. Not like her father. But he was controlling. And he’d essentially bought her, though she’d been too naïve and dazzled at the time to realize it.

  When she’d finally told him she was leaving, that she wanted out of their relationship and partnership, he’d spewed such filth and hatred at her that she wondered what she’d ever seen in him to begin with. But at least he’d let her walk out the door with her belongings and the small van she’d had for years to haul equipment for photo shoots.

  He’d started calling the banks and cutting off her credit cards and access to them when she’d walked out the door. He’d underestimated her. She didn’t care about money. She’d never had money before and it didn’t matter. But she’d be damned if she’d escape one prison only to be held in another. So she’d walked out the door and toward freedom for a second time in her life, with a smile on her face.

  Chapter Seven

  After a busted radiator in Missouri and a stomach bug that kept her holed up for two days in South Dakota, she finally crested the hill that led to Surrender.

  She stopped the car at the top, next to the sign that said Welcome to Surrender. It was familiar, yet different. They’d upgra
ded the old green sign to a white wooden one that had been hand painted.

  The sun was a flaming orange ball directly overhead and the sky was cloudless. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was. Or maybe she hadn’t appreciated the splendor of the landscape as a child.

  Surrender was a perfect green jewel nestled in a valley of rolling hills. Farther out the land softened and flattened so it was miles of white fences and pastureland. A lake of crystal clear blue was on the west side of Surrender, but it was right in the middle of MacKenzie land and it was for personal use. To the east side of Surrender was a larger lake—one side of it bordered Hamilton land, but the other side was open to the public. She had a perfect view of everything from where she sat.

  And for the first time since she’d had her art and her name taken from her, she felt the urge to get her camera out. The pictures she took now would be for her own enjoyment. She’d never needed fame or glory. She’d only needed an escape.

  She didn’t fight the urge. The camera bag sat strapped into the passenger seat, where it had been since she’d started her trek across the country. The sunlight was too bright to get the kind of shots she wanted, but she got one or two that might be good to frame for her new studio.

  It had taken her two solid weeks to travel from Georgia to Montana between the car problems and her illness. But she’d used the travel time wisely. Her first phone call had been to Mary MacKenzie. Mary had been a second mother to her, and guilt still ate at her that she’d not been in contact with her or Darcy, either one. She’d picked up the phone several times to dial their number, but she’d never had the courage to go through with it. And then she ultimately decided that maybe it was best to leave the past in the past.

  Marnie knew the MacKenzies had tried to adopt her after social services had taken her away. She’d overheard the social worker mention it while she was in the hospital being treated after that last beating. But social services ultimately thought she’d do better in a location outside of Surrender, so they’d placed her with a foster family in Bozeman.

  Calling Mary out of the blue had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But after her initial surprise, Mary had talked with her as if no time had passed at all. By the time she hung up the phone, she had a house to rent and had been guaranteed the vacant shop next to the sheriff’s office. Now all she had to do was apply for the permits and business license she needed to open the shop and she’d be all set.

  Marnie packed away her camera and got back in the car. And then after a deep breath she put it in drive. No one noticed her as she drove through town. Main Street was busier than it had been during her childhood, and though there was no parking on the bricked road that ran between the middle of the businesses downtown, she’d watched people circling from her place on the hilltop, looking for a place to park.

  She got lucky and a car pulled out of a spot just behind the florist shop. There was no time like the present, so she straightened her spine and put on the bored look she’d learned to adopt during her showings. She was an adult now, not a helpless child, and it didn’t matter that people might stare or that there’d be whispers behind her back. This was Surrender. There would always be whispers about something.

  But she was where she was supposed to be. She’d known it from the first vision she’d had after she left, the one where she’d watched Darcy lying on her bed crying because her best friend was never coming back. Marnie might not have been in Surrender in person, but she’d still seen. And when the visions changed from the present and they were instead placing her in them somewhere in the future, she knew she’d made the right decision to leave her life behind and start anew.

  The air was brisk and bitter with cold despite the sun shining overhead, so she wrapped her blue quilted jacket around her and set off for the sheriff’s office. She’d been in the south too long and her blood was thin. Moving back to a place that had real winters was going to take some adjustment and the thought made her smile just a little. Her first southern summer had been an adjustment too.

  The florist was at the end of the street, so she followed the sidewalk around to the front of the building and stepped up on the wooden sidewalk that lined the front of each side of the street. She passed the bookstore, and a young mother and her toddler came out of the ice cream shop next door. The woman looked at her oddly since she didn’t recognize her, but she smiled and said hello as she dodged the rocky road-covered hands of her child.

  White rocking chairs, two on each side of the door, sat in front of the mercantile and two old men sat rocking and gossiping as she passed by. They both nodded and went about their conversation. She’d recognized them, but couldn’t put a name to a face. But one of the men had once given her a pack of bubble gum for a treat when her mama couldn’t afford to add anything else to the groceries in her cart. Mr. Murdock, she thought.

  They wouldn’t recognize her. She’d spent her entire life trying to be invisible. To blend in and not draw attention to herself. If she’d had a choice, she would’ve skipped her own gallery showings, but Clive had insisted she be there for them, dressed up and painted like a doll. But here, in her own clothes, she was something unremarkable.

  The people who passed her would see a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a tail at the nape of her neck. Thick brows winged over dark eyes that were somber and too serious. She’d lost weight over the last few months she’d spent with Clive and her cheekbones were a little too sharp and her eyes a little too big for her face. Her clothes were simple—a thick cable-knit sweater in hunter green and a pair of dark brown corduroy pants. Her boots were well used and scuffed at the toes.

  The little shop next to the mercantile was vacant and she stopped to stand in front of it and look through the windows. She knew it was the place her shop would be. There were two square display windows and the thick wooden door had a glass insert. The floors were the original wood and though the space was narrow, it was deep enough that she could divide it into two spaces—one a reception area and place to hang samples of her work, and in the other she could put backdrops and screens for in-house photo shoots. There was an apartment above the space that had a tenant, but Mary assured her that she was quiet and wouldn’t be a bother.

  She felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders. She could make this work. Now she just had to find the courage to actually speak to the people she’d known all her life. But she could do it. Those same people would be lining up for family portraits, graduation pictures, babies, and weddings. It was a business, and she was providing a service for the community.

  It was only a few more steps to the front door of the sheriff’s office, and she found her hand was slightly damp as she turned the knob. Mary had told her that Cooper had beat Sheriff Rafferty in the election several years back. She’d grown up with Cooper, just like she had all the MacKenzies, though he’d been several years older and didn’t often hang out with them. But imagining him in the position of authority as sheriff was hard to wrap her brain around, especially knowing some of the stuff he’d done as a kid.

  She’d grown up hearing Harley rail against the police. How corrupt and useless they were. How they targeted the poor and the people who needed their help the most. And then he’d told her if she ever told Sheriff Rafferty about the whippings that Rafferty would come straight to him because they were friends. And she’d get twice the punishment.

  She’d never heard any gossip around town that Sheriff Rafferty had been corrupt. Mostly people called him inept and lazy. But she’d never been sure if her daddy was telling the truth about them being friends, so she’d made it her policy to steer clear of the police whenever she saw them.

  The sheriff’s office was pretty much what she’d expected. It smelled strongly of Pine-Sol trying to mask the smell of sweat and burned coffee. A wooden desk sat to the right of the door and a slightly plump woman with fresh highlights in her blonde hair sat behind the desk, her long nails clicking against the keyboard as she typed. Her desk
was stacked with papers and file folders, and behind her was a dispatch board where she took calls if there was trouble.

  There was another desk directly across from her, but this one was empty except for a couple of pictures of a man she’d never seen before and what she assumed was his wife, who was stunningly beautiful. Two jail cells lined the back wall of the room. They were stark and empty except for a cot with a mattress that had been covered in plastic and a metal toilet.

  It took Marnie a few seconds to remember why she recognized the woman’s face. And then it hit her and dread settled in her stomach like a lead ball. Lila Rose. The girl everyone loved to hate, but never had the guts to say so to her face because they were afraid of what she’d say about them.

  There hadn’t been a moment from kindergarten to her junior year that Lila hadn’t made fun of her for wearing the same old clothes or only having a boiled egg to eat for lunch some days. It had always irked Lila that Marnie could come and go as she pleased at the MacKenzies. In her mind, Lila and Darcy should’ve been the best of friends. The two daughters of wealthy ranchers. But Darcy couldn’t stand Lila and had told her so to her face in the first grade. In turn, Lila had set out to make Marnie as miserable as possible.

  “Can I help you?” Lila said.

  She was still pretty and it was easy for Marnie to see the Carnival Queen now that she’d recognized her. She must’ve married well, because the rock on her finger had to be a good two carats and the diamond tennis bracelet she wore strained against the thickness of her wrist.

  Marnie didn’t have to look into Lila’s mind to see what she was thinking. It was all over her face. She sized Marnie up quickly and dismissed her as unimportant, though she was curious about what she was doing in Surrender. But she smiled a fake smile and welcomed her anyway.