Dark Storm

by Karen Harper

  * * *

  “Darcy’s husband is giving a press conference out there,” Claire told Mr. Warren when she returned to the Florida room where he had risen and was pacing, staring out at the fenced-in yard. “I’m tempted to go out to back him up, but I’ve been through too many confrontations like that. Still, if I thought it would help Darcy, I would.”

  He nodded so strongly she thought he just might march out there, too. She had to get herself together. She had to settle down enough to take advantage of asking this man what he knew about Darcy that she might not even know.

  “I appreciate your stopping by,” she said, sitting at an angle to him when he came back to the couch. He perched there, leaning forward, somehow not sinking into the soft leather cushions.

  “I came to ask if there was anything I might do. To learn the facts. And to see how Darcy’s daughter was—is—getting on.”

  “Not well, I’m afraid. Nor is my daughter, so I need to get back to them. Let me be frank, Mr. Warren—”

  “Will. Please call me Will.”

  “Will. I suppose you didn’t know her that well, but can you suggest anyone who might want to hurt Darcy?”

  “Or, if she was taken, could they have misidentified her as Tara?”

  “Yes, but surely not for long. Unless, of course, they immediately incapacitated her so she couldn’t explain or protest. Her purse was missing, so that would have been full of ID. Her phone was found on the floor and someone—surely not Darcy—left the butterfly door to the exotic house open.”

  He sat even more forward on the soft seat. “And were any of the exotics missing? Has Tara taken a survey—a count?”

  “I don’t know. She said some orange somethings were missing, though—can’t think of their name now, though I know it.”

  That made him sag back a bit. “The falcates. It had to be the falcate orangetips. Valuable and not indigenous to this area, though they like the sunny south and adapt well. Their native turf, if I can put it like that, is over in Louisiana.”

  “The falcates—valuable how?” she asked, even as she heard a racket from the front of the house. The girls’ shrill voices, Steve’s...

  She vaulted to her feet and ran with Will puffing along behind her.

  “What happened?” Claire asked Steve as Jilly clung to him around his waist in the front hall and Lexi just hugged that doll.

  “The kids cheered me when I came in,” he said. “I think most of the crowd is breaking up, good thing, too, ’cause I about lost it answering some of their damn questions. Oh, Will,” he said, tipping his head to see the man behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just here to see if I can help.”

  Claire was surprised they knew each other, since Steve often worked out of town and wasn’t the type for story time.

  Lexi’s doll voice said, “If you came to tell us a story, Mr. Will, make it a happy one, ’cause we are all going to cry over losing Aunt Darcy. It’s just like me being taken away. Very, very bad.”

  * * *

  When Nick came in from the garage, Claire threw herself into his arms as if he’d been the one taken and had come back at last.

  “I have at least four days off,” he told her. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  “Will Warren showed up, but I hardly had time to question him. I did say I’d go with him tomorrow to help Tara do a careful count of the butterfly breed that is evidently missing, the falcate orangetips. I guess they’re valuable because they’re rare around here.”

  “He just showed up? You didn’t invite him?”

  “Absolutely not, so I don’t expect a scolding from you or Ken Jensen. But for a double-whammy, Lexi has really regressed, not just last night but this morning. I was hoping she’d kind of sleep it off. Nick, I’m afraid to just take that old doll from her. Last time she went off the deep end. She didn’t use or need it as a prop but just had that imaginary friend. This time, I think I’d better try to wean her away from it, carefully talk her out of it.”

  “Maybe we could replace it with another one.”

  “Doll shopping is down on my list right now, but that might be worth a try. It used to be a darling doll, but it’s so—so worn and tattered now that it kind of haunts me. Finding Darcy has to come first, but I’ll keep working on finding some good, healthy substitute for that doll. You see, when Jace and I split up, it did comfort her. So I need to spend time with her, help her through this and, if I can’t again, get her some counseling. I swear, Trey’s the only normal one right now, and I think even he senses something’s wrong. However pregnant Nita is, I’m so grateful she can still help with the kids before her own arrives at least.”

  They still held tight, not moving farther into the house. “Got a call on the way home,” he told her. “Heck’s coming over tonight to report on some research he’s doing. And though he doesn’t know it yet, I want him to look into that Fly Safe group. Probably research Tara, too, even Will Warren.”

  “Will is advertising his new book on butterflies, Love and Lore. I have his card. By the way, he said he thought Darcy might’ve had that book with her since she was reading it, so maybe whoever took her took that, too. It would have fit in that big purse of hers. Oh, Nick, where is she? Is she—is she all right?” Claire cried at the thought of what she’d almost asked: Is she alive?

  6

  They stayed up late that night, going over possible contacts and scenarios, laying plans, talking to Ken again about further police strategy and trying to bolster Steve. Finally, feeling like the walking dead, they got a bit of sleep.

  The next morning, as soon as Nita arrived to take care of the children, as they had decided late last night, Steve and Claire headed out to go look through Darcy’s things for any clue as to where she might have gone—or who had taken her. Claire had decided to delay going to help Tara count butterflies and question her carefully.

  “Let’s get going to look through Darcy’s things,” Claire said. “We should have done that immediately, and I’ve promised the police I’ll report in if we find anything that could help—give us any clue. I’m glad I’m going with you,” she added over their adults-only breakfast since Nita was eating on the patio with the three children. “Despite how close the two of you are, it would be good to have my point of view, too.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, and heaved a sigh, staring into his half-eaten bowl of cereal. “You’re the next closest to her, not counting the kids.”

  Nick nodded. “Meanwhile, like we planned, I’m going to take Ken Jensen at his word that it’s okay for me to check out this ecology group Fly Safe. They have a big website but also an office. I’ll make it all about Jace and Mitch wanting that name, too. Though, actually, this group had it first, so they have dibs, as I used to say in prelawyer days.”

  “Wish I could go back to prebutterfly days,” Steve said, picking up his cereal spoon again, then just staring at it. “Yeah, Claire. I can use your help since I don’t want to leave Jilly for long, either.”

  Claire looked out through the Florida room glass door at the children. Nita was letting Trey stuff Cheerios in his mouth, so at least one of them was eating. The girls looked slumped, silent for once. Yes, she needed to go with Steve, but she wouldn’t stay away long, either. And this afternoon, if she could get the girls to take the naps they now thought were beneath them, she’d drive out to see Tara again. No way could she stay here, sit still and just wait for news.

  * * *

  “Glad I caught you, boss,” Heck called to Nick as Nick opened his garage door to head out to talk to the Fly Safe group.

  “Glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d get here earlier.”

  “So I hear, but I was in Miami with Gina and came right back when I got the message. I know this is tough. Didn’t mean to let you down.”

  “You never do, my friend, but I need your help.”

  Nick slammed the car door without getting in and met Heck in the opening to the garage.

  Heck’
s face was somber. “So sorry about your sister-in-law. How’s Claire doing? How are Lexi and Darcy’s Millie?”

  “Jilly,” Nick corrected. “The girls and Claire are really distressed, of course, and Claire’s thrown herself into looking for clues. She’s with Darcy’s husband, Steve, at his house going through things now. Lexi’s gone back into her hostile imaginary friend routine. This time she’s carting an old doll around who is the imaginary friend.”

  Nick leaned back against the trunk of his car and sighed. “Nita’s inside with the kids, and both Kris and Brit are coming over to help entertain the girls. Jace and Mitch are on their first hurricane flight over the Caribbean, so I appreciate everyone is pitching in. Claire said she’d be back soon, but I’ve got to see some people who...who may know something.”

  “Or may be guilty? I know that look, boss. Want me to go along?”

  “What I want you to do is what you’re the absolute best at, Heck. I need you to do a thorough search on a local flying-animal protection group called Fly Safe, which I’m going to check out in person now.”

  “Got it,” Heck told him with a nod. He took no notes, but never really had to. The guy was a computer genius who had bailed Nick out of trouble more than once. Hector Munoz was a friend, too, and Nick had tried to bolster him throughout the guy’s off-again, on-again relationship with his Cuban fiancée, Gina, who was in med school in Miami.

  “Also,” Nick went on, “I need bio dossiers on a couple of people. Tara Gerald, who owns the Flutterby Farm out on Sabal Palm. She used to be an elementary teacher, had Lexi in her class. Also a guy named Will Warren—probably William—who works at the library now but, in the past, left town for several years. He’s an author, a butterfly expert, published a book recently.”

  “Probably a website and Facebook page at the least,” Heck said with another nod. “I’m on it. And, boss, you be careful, too. We been in things before where one thing—one crime—led to another.”

  “That’s what I told Claire, to be careful, but she’s upset that I was upset she’d spent some time with a character witness—damn, don’t mean to be talking like this is a trial—here at the house. She said I interrupted what she was starting to learn from the guy—Will Warren—but I told her we’ll go to see him together. You know Claire. There’s no way to hold her back or protect her from this tragedy, not with Darcy gone.”

  Nick shoved away from his car and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Almost forgot,” he told Heck. “Check out Larry Ralston, too. Owns a deep-sea fishing boat down on the Naples pier. I think the boat’s called Down Under.”

  “Good name for a charter fishing boat, right? Does he tie into Darcy’s disappearance, too?”

  “No, law firm business, which I almost forgot. I think he wants me to defend him on illegal netting of a dolphin charge. Find out if and how well-connected he is in town, because the mayor called over it. You know, Heck, I feel I’m at sea right now, and I’d definitely name my boat that.”

  * * *

  “It feels funny, going through her stuff—so glad you came along,” Steve told Claire as he turned on Darcy’s laptop to look through email, and Claire headed toward the master bedroom to go through the drawers in Darcy’s dresser and bedside table. They figured they were barely ahead of the police possibly confiscating her laptop and searching the house if they could turn up any proof of foul play in her disappearance.

  Steve had slightly pulled out the drawers that were Darcy’s so she’d know which ones to search. Claire saw that the table on her sister’s side of their king-size bed had books piled on the open shelf under the single drawer Steve had pulled ajar, surely not to search himself but so she’d think to look in it.

  What in the world was she looking for? She knew her sister better than anyone except Steve. No way was Darcy hiding something like a lover or trouble with Steve. It couldn’t be that she owed someone money. She was not despondent. They were never going to turn up something like a farewell note or—God forbid—a suicide note.

  Just the usual in the bedside table drawer. Silk eye shades to sleep better in the light, lip balm, a comb, tissues, a pencil and small notepad—blank.

  “I’m blank, too,” Claire whispered, sniffing back tears. “I have no idea what could have happened.”

  She made certain nothing was stuck between the books on the lower shelf, then went to the dresser and carefully examined the clothing in the drawers, much of the shirts and shorts familiar-looking. She sifted through the lingerie drawer—some sexy stuff, a black nightgown and lacy panties. She even checked for notes or photos under the drawer liner paper, which gave off a faint floral scent.

  She looked under the bed, amazingly dust free, and through Darcy’s half of the closet, which Steve had opened for her. Hidden under folded garments on the top shelf above the hanging clothes, she found a present already wrapped for Steve for their anniversary. If—if Darcy didn’t come back soon, should she give it to Steve?

  Nothing in the two extra purses, nothing in the shoes on the floor rack. Claire sat back on her haunches and sighed. She’d go see how Steve was doing, maybe look through bathroom and kitchen drawers and storage cabinets.

  But then she remembered that their mother often filed notes within the pages of books she read. Darcy used to do that, too. She’d just flip through the books in the bedside table.

  Two books on butterflies. Neither one was by Will Warren, but this one had a beautiful cover. She took it to look through. Darcy had a sticky note in it with falcate orangetips scribbled on it, and yes, that was what the entire double page was on. That breed kept coming up so maybe she should read up on it. Tara and Will had mentioned those. Tara had said some were missing from the exotic house, and Will had seemed interested. She and Nick had both noticed that same breed had cocoons missing from pegs in the butterfly room inside Tara’s house.

  The other books included one on child rearing and a couple of novels. Claire’s brain flashed back to the diary she’d found in German that had held important clues for one of Nick’s key cases—and hers. No diary here.

  “But have I read this one?” she said aloud, studying the cover. No, she thought, but she recalled now why it rang a bell. This book by author John Fowles called The Collector was one of the many too-far-over-their-heads novels Mother had read to them. After their father left, that was evidently her way of “taking care” of them.

  Claire decided to take it along with the nonfiction butterfly book. But wasn’t there something in this novel about butterflies? She racked her brain for a dark memory that would not quite surface. It was something about Mother reading to them, scaring them as if they were to blame for Daddy’s desertion.

  “Claire? You okay? I’ve been calling for you.”

  Steve stood in the door of the bedroom, his fist raised to knock. Or had he knocked?

  “You find something?” he asked.

  “A couple of her books I’ll take with me, if that’s okay. The one ties into butterflies—maybe the other one, too.”

  “Yeah, fine. Let’s go look through her desk where she paid bills and stuff. Maybe there’s even something in the monthly paychecks from Ms. Gerald. There was nothing strange on her laptop except she’s been searching articles on hibernation—of bears and even dolphins, of all things. You ever hear dolphins can sleep with half their brain and keep the other half alert?”

  “No. Can’t imagine how that ties to butterflies,” she told him, getting up with the two books. “I suppose when they’re in the cocoon, that’s a kind of hibernation. I’ll research that.”

  As they approached Darcy’s desk, Claire noticed two five-by-seven photographs she hadn’t see before perched on top of it. The familiar, somewhat beat-up desk was a rolltop that had once belonged to their father. When their mother had died, they had split up some of her things, and Darcy had wanted this. Its curved roller top was open now and Claire saw the cubbyholes were stacked with various bills, receipts and other items. She leaned closer to lo
ok at the photos under glass with gold metal frames.

  One was obviously taken at a wedding reception, but not someone Claire recognized. Oh, she saw why Darcy had it on display: in the background was a large butterfly release. Reception guests looked up as a spiral of bright butterflies flew skyward. She recalled that Darcy had gone to several such events for or with Tara Gerald. No wonder Claire didn’t know anyone in it.

  “Darcy took the butterflies there,” Steve said. “It was in Bonita Springs. And that other picture—wish she wouldn’t have put it here. A release of nearly a hundred yellow and blue ones at a funeral out on Marco Island. The deceased was on the University of Michigan football team years ago, and their colors were maize and blue. Crazy, huh?”

  “Who would think of that?” she said, squinting at the faces in it. “Oh, I do know someone here. See—Will Warren. So did Darcy go with him to this?”

  Steve shook his head. “We were busy that day, so I said let him do it on his own, though he’d asked her. The guy attends a lot of funerals, she said. Don’t want him releasing butterflies at my funeral...” His voice trailed off. He shook his head and shuddered.

  “Do you know him very well?” Claire asked. “Nick and I are going to talk to him soon to try to learn more than I did at the house yesterday.”

  “Darcy liked the guy and—same as you—she had good sense about people, so I just let it go, her friendship with him. But a guy who likes to go to funerals—not my type.”

  He sank into the chair, propped his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands. “Let’s look around, but I think searching for stuff here is a dead end,” he told her. “Didn’t mean to say it that way. We’ve got to find her—trace her—somehow.”

  It frightened Claire that it sounded as if he’d shifted his thinking. Did he now believe that Darcy was not coming back, could only be traced, hopefully found? But with a final dead end?