Clara was right—her sister is dead. But where are Nova and Lily?
As though he were reading my mind, Sergeant DelGrande said, “These guys have been combing through every square inch of these woods. We haven’t found any other bodies. Why don’t you go home and get dressed? It’s cold out here. You haven’t even been home since getting back from Granton, right? You don’t need to see her like this,” he told me, delicately.
“I’m fine. I don’t see you telling Mike or Roland or anyone else to go ‘get dressed’,” I snapped, angrily.
“Okay then. Well, the medical examiner is going to take her now. If you want to meet us down there in a few hours for the autopsy, you can.” He gave me a tight smile.
“I’ll see you then,” I said, bitterly.
I headed back to my cruiser, mind reeling. If the medical examiner could determine that she’d died on Saturday night, then Rachel Coffey died around the same time Nova went missing.
Could Nova be involved in her former midwife’s death? Or possibly Clara?
It seemed unlikely, but still…
My mind drifted back to the farm and Clara Appleton. I hadn’t even told the Sergeant yet about her connection with Nova. I was about to turn back and go tell him, when I had a thought: Martin probably killed all three of them. Nova, because she left him. Rachel, because she knew about Lily. But Lily…no. Why would he go to the trouble of covering up her existence if he was simply going to kill her?
My thoughts turned around and around, going nowhere.
Inside my cruiser, I laid my head against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Nova. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to answer your call. If I had, maybe I could have helped you. We’ve found Rachel, but where are you…?” I pulled my phone from my pocket, staring down at the buttons until they looked wavy and foreign.
Why couldn’t I have been the one to take her call that night? Why?!
I’d never listened to the voicemails she’d left on the on-call cell phone the night she vanished. Over the past couple days, I’d been so swept up in looking for evidence at the Nesbitt residence, that I hadn’t bothered to listen or look close to home. Somehow, listening now seemed like a bad idea…listening to a possibly dead woman’s distress calls…
But listening was the least I could do.
I clicked on the voice messages and held the phone to my ear. A robotic woman’s voice informed me that I had zero messages. “Roland, you prick.” I clenched my jaw, my face reddening with anger.
Roland was probably worried he’d get in trouble for not responding to an emergency call and had deleted the messages. Disappointed, I flipped through the call log, trying to figure out what time she’d called. I scrolled through, stopping when I saw her number on the screen. Nova had called at 11:03 on Saturday night. I expected to find it listed as a missed call, since Roland said he got the messages on Sunday morning. But instead, I was shocked to see that the call had lasted for twenty-six minutes.
I tried to imagine Roland down at the bar and the strip club, accidentally bumping the phone while he was stumbling around drunk. Or what if…?
I pulled out my personal cell and dialed Mike. “Pick up, pick up…” I chanted.
“Hello?” He was somewhere out there with the rest of the guys, combing for evidence in the trees.
“Mike, it’s Ellie. You and Roland were out drinking on Saturday, right?”
“Yeah, why?” He sounded far away, his voice tinny and strange.
“Were you together all night? I’m trying to coordinate Rachel Coffey’s death with the time Nova called the on-call line.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, he got a call that he responded to. I told him he was too drunk to go, but you know how well he listens. He’s not in trouble, is he?” Mike sounded grave serious now, always looking out for his buddy.
“No. Just trying to figure out some details for this case. You said he left? About what time?”
“About 11:30, why? These questions are weird, Ellie. You’re making me uncomfortable.” I could almost see him shaking his head on the other line.
“Did you see him again after that? Did he come back to the bar?”
“No. He went home after checking on a domestic call. Said he was wiped out. Ellie, why don’t you call Roland and just ask him? I d— ”
I hung up too fast to hear his last words.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Cop
ELLIE
Driving in West Virginia had always come naturally to me. When I first got my license, the hills were so steep at times that it felt like I’d never reach the top, and other times, they’d decline so sharply that I couldn’t slow down, and there was this constant fear of flying down, down, down, right off the edge of the mountains when I reached the bottom. But over time, I’d grown accustomed to them, even learning to love the rise and fall of the rocky terrain. A million times I’d made these turns, a dozen different versions of me, and now I barely used my brake around the curly mountain edges or flinched when I rolled wildly downhill.
But tonight, everything had changed. Everything looked different. I noticed the rickety signs, the dangerous curves, and the mark of poverty and decay. Featureless shadows danced through the trees as I followed the windy, mountain roads that cut between them. The blurring vegetation became so disorienting at times, like I was driving through a tunnel made of trees and there was no end in sight. I imagined him out there somewhere, Martin Nesbitt or maybe someone else, sliding between the shadows, lurking in my own backyard…
It was easier to stomach tragedy when it happened somewhere else. But this felt too close…like if it could happen in Northfolk, it could happen to me, or someone I cared about.
I didn’t know Rachel Coffey. But she could be any of us…like Nova, like Mandy Clark…the victim of a monster. In my mind, the monster I was looking for was Martin Nesbitt. But then his face evaporated, and he became all the other men in my life: Roland, even my own father…
As I passed Widow’s Curve, old stories came rushing back to me…
Supposedly, the sharp curve was haunted, or cursed in some way. I’d never believed the stories before, but now that a woman was dead, I couldn’t help but wonder. I’d heard several different versions of the story that made the legend behind the name, but my mother told me the true story once…
A woman and a man were engaged to be married, but she didn’t love him. He said he loved her, but what he really meant was that he wanted her to be his. You’re mine forever, he’d told her, on the night they were engaged. His family had money and power, and the girl’s parents and sister tried to force her to marry the guy. If you won’t, I will, the sister threatened. But on the day of the wedding, they couldn’t get the soon-to-be bride to go. She said, I don’t think I can do it, not for all the money or comfort in the world. Somehow the guy caught wind of it, that she wasn’t coming, so he charged crazily through the streets of Northfolk, knocking over mailboxes and signs, looking for the girl that he had already claimed to be his. The girl’s family finally talked her into going. This is your fate, they said. Don’t you believe in destiny? So, she got in her car and drove to the church, but before she could get there, she was met by her future-husband in the road. At the curl of the curve, she parked her car and he parked his. When she got out, she could see how angry he was. She tried to say she was sorry, that she’d changed her mind and he could have her, but he shoved her. He shoved her so hard…she fell right near the edge of the mountain. But as she stumbled back, teetering on her heels by the edge, she grabbed the tie on his shirt. Together, they toppled over, crashing to their death below. The family, so distraught and worried about what others would think of them, pushed their cars off the edge and called it a tragic accident.
I blinked, remembering the story my mother told me, as I stared at the eerie scenery around me. So many different versions of the same stories…how can anyone know the truth anymore?
As the trees grew sparser, I realized I’d been holding my breath
this whole drive.
Nothing feels safe anymore. Not in this town; not anywhere. Will it ever feel safe again? I lamented.
I pulled up outside the Appleton Farm, willing myself to get out of my car and go inside. The last thing I wanted to do was tell a woman that her sister was dead…not just dead but murdered brutally. And her online partner was most likely dead as well…
I tried to shake away the flashing images of Rachel’s masked face, the burns on her torso and hands…
The curtains of the farmhouse were drawn, but there were lights coming from the kitchen. This time, when I knocked, I did it softly, part of me hoping she had gone to sleep, so I could avoid this part of my job.
I could hear Clara on the other side of the door, fiddling with the locks.
When she opened the door, she looked more put together than she had when I’d left her. Clara’s gray-streaked hair was twisted back in a tight knot at the base of her skull and her face looked shiny, although still red and splotchy from crying.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? I already know my sister’s gone, I can feel it bone-deep.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss, but we need to talk some more, Clara. There’s still two people missing.”
I expected her to drop to the floor, sobbing, again. But her face looked hard, resolute. She dropped her arms to her sides and turned around, leading me through the kitchen and into the dim-lit den. The den was full of black, industrial-sized garbage bags. Toys spilled out from the top of one bag, overflowing onto the floor.
“I’m clearing out stuff I don’t need anymore. My kids are gone, dead or all grown up…no need for all of this…” Clara said, wringing her hands together. She looked spacey, lost…
I stared at a tattered old doll on the floor. There was a tiny pink brush beside it, like the kind I used to use to make all my barbies perfect and presentable.
There were things grinding in my head, spinning ceaselessly. Gnawing to come out. Something about that doll made me feel uneasy. The glossy body with the bent-back posture and too-small waist, its eyes so depthless and its mouth flat. Like a pretty, perfect, lifeless girl that’s only purpose in life was to be played with. You could bend them and brush them, make them do what you want…Had Roland tried to make Nova Nesbitt do what he wanted? He was probably drunk and horny when that call had come in. He’d told me he hadn’t answered it, that he’d missed the call…but that wasn’t true. The log showed that he was on the phone with Nova for twenty-six minutes. Twenty-six minutes! Maybe nothing happened, but why did he lie about that call…?
I closed my eyes, remembering that day when I got there. In her robe, so soft and pink, and her mental state so fragile. Not bendable but broken.
Suddenly, I was hurtling back to the academy in Illinois. So excited to have been picked, so excited to prove myself…and when the lead instructor asked me to come alone with him to his office, I actually beamed with pride. Because I’d had a good day that day, hitting more than half my shots and I could outrun most of the guys on the obstacle course. I didn’t need extra help or special treatment, I was just as good as the rest of them. He told me he was proud of me. He told me I was a star. He said all the things I wanted, and needed, to hear. And at first, I didn’t notice the weird breathiness in the way he talked, or the bulge pluming from his pants. But I noticed when he slid his hand up the front of my shirt and under my bra. I was frozen in time, frozen in place, as he pinched my nipple hard. Just let me touch them, okay? Let me feel them, baby. Oh yeah. You like that, don’t you? I pulled my shirt down and left his office, but that was all I did. The next day, I showed up for training. I never told a soul. And I didn’t think about it because for some reason I felt like if I didn’t think about it, then maybe it didn’t really happen.
Maybe I never said anything about my instructor because I was ashamed. Or…maybe, it was worse than that. Maybe I kept it to myself because it was so commonplace, so expected, so unshocking, that I didn’t feel the need to share. That realization frightened me more than anything…that I’d become so comfortable, so dulled, to a society that used, abused, and mistreated its women.
I used to wish for breasts and curves and first kisses…but then I just wanted it all to go away for a while. Even now, it’s still this slippery balance beam that I haven’t learned to walk on yet…
But Roland isn’t my instructor, I reminded myself. There’s no proof that he did anything to Nova. Was I just being paranoid? He was an asshole. He, and the other guys, didn’t trust me because I’d shot and killed one of their own. But that didn’t make him a killer or a kidnapper…and Clara Appleton was hiding something, more than she was telling…
Shuddering, I looked down and realized I was covering my chest with my hands.
“Do you want to go on the back porch and talk? I need some air,” Clara said.
There was nothing I wanted more than to escape this sad, stuffy farmhouse but I had to figure out what Clara knew. Did she know where Nova and Lily were?
“Okay,” I said.
I followed Clara out the back door off the den and stepped out onto a narrow wooden porch that overlooked the back of the property. Long, rolling fields with a back drop of woods. A slanted barn stood in the distance, leaning so far left I was surprised to find it still standing.
“Did you see any cop cars that night? The night Nova went missing? I know you said you saw a truck, but that was before I knew you were involved,” I said, dully.
“I didn’t see any truck, or any cop cars for that matter. Besides your visit on the morning Lily went missing, and again, on Sunday morning when you found the blood inside the cabin.”
“What about the truck you said you saw? Was any of it true?” I asked.
Clara eyes were fixated on the barn, as though she could see something there that I couldn’t.
“The truck belongs to Rachel. The plan was for Nova to leave the evidence behind to frame Martin, and then her and Lily were going to get the hell out of dodge.”
“Well, I don’t think they made it, Clara. And we certainly know Rachel didn’t,” I said, emotionless as I looked over at the cabin. It was dark and gloomy, the saddest house I’d ever seen, and it was hard to believe that there had been so many cop cars parked out there the other day. Hard to believe that only a few days ago, Nova and her daughter were moving in. They probably felt safe, at least for a little while…
“Where did they find my sister? Can you tell me how she died?” Clara asked. The wind rushed through the trees of the forest, swaying dangerously from side to side.
“They found her out past Widow’s Curve, about thirty feet east, in that patch of trees behind the old sawmill road. She was under a peach tree. If it’s any consolation, she looked peaceful,” I said, softly. Images of her rippling, shadowy cheeks and the curled-up hands fluttered through my head. I tried to blink them away.
“And cause of death?”
“We won’t know that until an autopsy’s done. I’m headed there when I leave here. But, it wasn’t a natural death, that much is certain.”
For the first time since we’d walked outside, Clara turned her body and faced toward me. “Am I going to jail?”
I considered her question but didn’t answer. “The bunny. Who put it there in the cabin? My sergeant said it was you. He said your husband used to make those things. Where is he?”
With shaky hands, Clara took out a pack of cigarettes. She offered me one, but I declined. Taking a deep drag, she said, “I put it there before they moved in. It was for the girl. I knew about her daughter and I just wanted to give her something,” Clara explained, squeezing her eyes closed at the last part.
“So, was Lily Nesbitt really missing? Or was that all part of the plan?”
Clara frowned. “It wasn’t the plan at first but now they’re all gone…will you lock him away for good? Can you promise me that?”
I couldn’t give her an answer.
“What about the shoes in Martin’s back floorboar
d? How did those get there?”
Clara’s eyes popped open. “Part of the plan. Martin ordered most of Lily’s clothes and shoes online. He never even let Nova get on the internet, you know that?”
I nodded.
“Well, Nova started asking him to buy doubles of things. Shoes that fit Lily really well, or shirts that she’d grown fond of. So, on the day she left, she tossed the shoes in the backseat.”
“What about the clothes and toys and books? Why all the new stuff for Lily if she was going to leave town so soon?”
Clara puffed on her cigarette, nodding. “I bought that stuff before they moved in. I knew they wouldn’t have time to pack up much, and I wanted to make sure Lily had some things. That little girl has been through a lot, you know? I went a little overboard, I’ll admit. I knew Nova couldn’t take it all with her when they left town, but I figured I’d pack it away when I got the cabin back and send it to them when they got to Texas.”
“And the blood? She put that there herself, so we’d find it? This all just sounds so…crazy,” I sighed.
“What’s crazy is the fact that so many women in this country have to go to extraordinary lengths to escape from abusive men. Did you know that if a woman divorces her abuser and files for a restraining order, her chance of being killed increases? The only way to get help is to escape and pray that the abuser either goes to jail or moves onto another victim. Nova was scared to death of that man. Do you think we would have done all this if there was any other way?”
Her words pierced like a knife. I was part of this failing system she referred to. I just couldn’t accept her words as truth…surely, there was another option?
“I wish Rachel wouldn’t have come. He must have followed her, or hell, he may have killed her before she ever left town…”
“I don’t have those answers yet, Clara, but hopefully I will soon. In the meantime, I need to find Nova and her little girl…”
Without a Trace Page 18