Screaming To Be Solved

by Lauren Hope

  “No, Mama,” she said, keeping her eyes buried in the book. “I told you, I don’t want to talk to him unless it’s about the case.”

  “Sorry,” a deep, familiar voice spoke from behind. “I didn’t leave you much choice.”

  She swiveled quickly on the couch, sent a narrowed glare to her mother. “Why did you let him in?”

  “He kept callin’ baby. I’m sorry. I felt for the poor boy. And then he was standin’ at the doorstep. What did you expect me to do?”

  “I expected you to respect my wishes. But I guess I can’t get that from either of you.” She tossed a revolting glance at Grant.

  “Well, he’s here now, so there’s no reason to get your feathers ruffled. Might as well talk to the man. ’Cides, Marxie,” she called as she strode out of the room, her back to them, “you ought to have known I’d’ve let him in. I’ve never been one to deny a good lookin’ man.”

  Marxie rolled her eyes and turned to face Grant whose slight grin belied his amusement. He was watching her mother walk away with interest. “You look so much alike,” he smiled, “it’s remarkable.”

  “Hmm.” She feigned disinterest, sent him an apathetic glance. “So, news on the case, Detective Carter, or are you here to throw around more theories and conjectures?”

  “Neither. I’m here to speak with you.”

  “Well, like I’ve told you, unless it’s about the case, I’m not giving you that option.”

  “Like I told you, you don’t have much choice.” He came to her now in one giant stride, put firm hands on her arms. “Listen to me, Marxie. I’m sorry I hurt you in accusing people you know. But I had my reasons, and I stand by those. I’m sorry if whatever fizz was between us scared you away. Sorry I wasn’t more professional about that, that I couldn’t keep my attraction to myself. I should’ve stayed on course, not let myself get carried away with you. But I did. And now I’m paying the price for it. But so is Evan.”

  At that, she met his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said when she was silent, “Evan too. There was another team on the burglary, but like or not, I’m still the investigator over Evan’s death and discovery. You’re not communicating with me. Not helping me get details. Chief Raines won’t talk to me, is never there when I stop by for a visit. He’s even missed appointments we’ve set up, gave some lame excuse later.” He paused. “I need you to get some information from him.”

  “How many times do we have to discuss this?” She shrugged away from his grip.

  “As many as it takes for you to understand.”

  “Have you heard the news about the break-in,” she asked bitterly.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I told you, I’m standing by my earlier convictions. I know that two boys were picked up, and they did it, no doubt; their fingerprints put them there. But it doesn’t jive, Marx. There is no reason in the world that two young guys would want to break-in to your place and write Leave It Alone on your mirror. They barely even took anything. And they didn’t touch Liz’s things. Does that sound like a robbery to you?”

  Well, no. But she wasn’t going to say that out loud. She had successfully pushed that nagging little feeling that Detective Flanagan was wrong about the coincidence to the back of her mind, and now Grant was throwing it back in her face. She’d been so glad they’d found the guys who did it, she hadn’t wanted to consider another motivation other than plain old viciousness.

  “Marxie.” Grant took her shoulders, shook gently. “You don’t have to like me, or share my opinions, but I need you to trust me. I need your help and I need you to be on my side.” He paused, stared at her with those intense chocolate eyes. “I need to know just as much as you who did this.” He stepped back, walked to a chair and sat. “I’ve got this thing, it’s weird. I’ve let you in a little on it before. But I can’t let a case go. I literally can’t sleep until I’ve covered all the bases, searched every angle I can think of.”

  “But what you’re talking about aren’t even plausible angles. It’s dumb.”

  He sent her a sharp look, but didn’t respond to the insult. “Well I’ve gotta find that out for myself.”

  She huffed and was ready to end the conversation—obviously he’d brought nothing new, only old thoughts and more pleading for her to take his position—but when she turned to go, he rose in a swift move, came to her quickly, and without warning, pressed his lips firmly to hers.

  She wanted to push away, was angry he’d sprung on her. But when he moved slightly, positioned himself over her like he did that night at his house, she went slack in his arms. Her head got all light and fuzzy and all she could focus on was his constant heat, his strong arms that made her feel like everything would be all right. She hadn’t felt that comfort and security in so long. She wasn’t aware she craved it until she was in his grip, consumed by his kiss, wrapped in his tenderness.

  Before she was ready, he pulled away, but kept her close, drawing their faces only inches apart. He spoke barely above a whisper. “I get you. More than you know.” He smiled a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with it. “And maybe that’s why I can’t keep this attraction I’ve got raging inside me to myself.”

  She let out a soft laugh; put a hand to his cheek. “I’m not doing so hot at containing it either.”

  He leaned and put his lips to her forehead. She wanted to melt, pool in a puddle right there on the floor, but he grabbed her hand, led her to the floral loveseat her mother had situated under the window.

  “It’s true what they say,” he started softly, “when you have something in common, it connects you. I said I like people who lay their cards on the table? Well, here are mine. I’ve been connected to you since the minute I saw that picture of you in the paper, grieving, crying, trying to maintain your strength in the midst of tragedy. It reminded me so much of my family. Your dignified grace and fragile strength was so like my mother.”

  “I think that’s a compliment. You seem to really love her.”

  “She’s one of the greatest women I know. She’s been through so much.” He paused, took a quick breath. “At my house, when you said I couldn’t understand you . . . I can. I do. More than I’d like to in fact. I should have told you then, but I was angry and upset that you weren’t listening to me. And I never discuss this with anyone. Especially not someone involved in a case. But I’ve felt more linked to you than anyone else I’ve ever worked for, with.”

  “A kiss will do that.” She laughed, hoping to lighten the worry she saw clouding his face.

  “No doubt,” he smiled, running a hand over his mouth. His face grew serious again before he spoke. “The girl in the picture from my room? I don’t see her much because she’s gone.”

  Finally understanding, Marxie lowered her head, ashamed. He’d had a child die. The worst kind of pain. And she’d been so cruel that night, telling him he could never understand losing someone. “Oh, Grant, I’m so sorry.” She reached for his hand. “How did she die?”

  He shook his head quickly. “She’s not dead. At least I don’t want to think so. My parents think she is. We just don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She’s missing. Has been for twelve years.”

  “Your daughter’s missing?”

  “My daughter?” he wrinkled his brow.

  “Yes, the girl from the photo.”

  “Oh, no,” he shook his head, “that’s my sister. Caroline.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marxie said. “I just assumed, she looked so much like you.”

  “Yeah, she did. Except she was beautiful,” he smiled, his eyes looking past her to memories she couldn’t see. “I was such a proud big brother. My mom had her late in life. She was a surprise, but a happy one.”

  “I’m sure,” Marxie smiled.

  “She was four in the photo you saw. By her fifth birthday, she was gone.”

  “What happened?”

  He lowered his head, looked at their clasped hands in her l
ap. “Mom was in a park, a busy one. Several friends were with her, they’d brought their kids too. Mom was the oldest, and they always joked about it, but she enjoyed their company. The younger women loved her, always looking to her for advice. That day, one of the women was seeking Mom’s counsel about her upcoming divorce when her child got hurt. Fell off the monkey bars, something like that.” He waved a hand, brushing past the trivial fact and looked up to Marxie. “Of course, most of the women in the group ran to help the bleeding kid. He had a busted nose and his hands and knees were skinned up, other than that, he was fine. When Mom turned to check on Caroline, she was gone. They looked everywhere. Dogs, volunteers on foot and ATV’s, helicopters, you name the place, they searched it.” He dropped his head again. “We haven’t seen our Caroline in twelve years. She’d be seventeen this year.”

  “Grant.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed, aching for the pain and injustice they’d both had to experience.

  “I was eighteen when she went missing, and it hit me hard. No doubt it was my main motivation to go into law enforcement. As the years passed, and her case got cold, that affected me even more. To think that she was forgotten, her case and all the evidence boxed up somewhere, it killed me. If I couldn’t do something for her, I wanted to at least help victims like her . . . and their families, like me. So I switched to cold case.”

  “That’s an honorable thing to do.”

  He shook his head. “Would’ve been more honorable if I could’ve found her.” He stood up, walked to the opposite window to stare out. “I tried so hard. I was just a kid myself, but I hounded the cops on the case, interviewed witnesses. Got car makes and models that were at the park that day, statements from witnesses about people coming and going that looked out of place.

  “I had some fresh ideas from my information and tried to piece it all together, but nothing was fitting good enough for the police to listen to me. I went out on my own, looking for her, using my gut.”

  “And you found her?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, stuck his hands in his pockets. “At least I found where she’d been. I scoured parking lots, stores, motels, other parks. One day, I was driving by an old motel heading out town, one of the cars in the lot clicked with me. I checked my notes; it was a match for a car in the park on the day Caroline was taken. I drove by that motel for days, wondering, speculating, thinking most of the time I’d gone crazy, was seeing things and making them up. I ignored the feeling I had, pushed it to the side. I wasn’t a cop, I was a teenager, how should I know what instincts to listen to? Now I know it was because I was her brother. It was my intuition talking.”

  He turned from the window, stared at Marxie. “I finally told the police about the car and the motel. They got a warrant and searched the place.” He ran a hand over his hair, sighed heavily. “She’d been there with the man that took her. There were videos, the clothes she’d worn on the day she went missing. Even her hair in the bathtub drain. The motel clerk was given a fake name, and the guy paid with cash. We’ve never been able to figure out who he was.” Grant muttered under his breath what Marxie thought was a curse.

  “I have a feeling now, Marxie. A strong one.” He walked toward her, sat back on the loveseat. “Please try and talk to Chief Raines. Just go and see him. See how he acts toward you. If he’s funny, or different. And let him know I’ve been trying to get in touch with him. I’d like to do it myself, but as I said, he’s been unavailable. Plus, you know him, you guys have a history. You’ll be better able to see any discrepancies in his behavior or demeanor. If you can’t get through, or don’t see anything, I’ll go myself. I’ll just wait at the friggin’ station until he shows up. But I’m asking this of you first. I think it’s best.

  “He may feel intimidated by me, have his toes stepped on if he feels I’m questioning him, especially if he thinks I’m attacking his leadership and abilities. Not to mention insinuating his department is involved in a cover-up. I want him to feel comfortable, willing to open up. I think you’ll get that. The very last thing I want to happen here is to have to subpoena him and his records on Evan. But it’s coming to that, and quickly.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, “I’ll go see him this week. I’ll ask him why he hasn’t gotten back to you.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  She returned the smile. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’ll call me if you find out anything?”

  “Of course.”

  After they said their goodbyes, she followed him to the door, watched him walk out. When he was almost at his Jeep, he turned and glanced back at her. “Marxie, does this mean I’m back on the case?”

  “Yes, Detective,” she smiled gently and leaned against the doorjamb. “I think that’s what it means.”

  Liz sat across from Marxie, looking fabulous as usual. Her weeks in New York had given her a city glow, an envious wardrobe, and no doubt, a handful of great men. But in the hours since she’d been back, she and Marxie had yet to get to her trip. Marxie had been too busy catching her friend up on all that had happened since she’d been gone to get to the lighthearted fun of Liz’s journey.

  Besides, with the look on her best friend’s face, Marxie was pretty sure Liz didn’t care about sharing the joys of the big city. She was far too worried.

  “So,” Marxie said, finally coming to a stopping point in her weeks long update, “that’s what’s been happening around here.”

  “Amazing.” Liz shook her head, her blonde hair flowing over her shoulder as she bent to sip Marxie’s mother’s famous apple cider. “I still cannot believe you didn’t call, make me come home. I wondered why your texts were so vague. I thought you were just busy. I’m actually a little pissed at you to be quiet honest,” she said, punching Marxie lightly on the arm. But when she sent Marxie a sideways stare and the corners of her mouth turned up, Marxie knew she couldn’t be too mad.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Liz. I just knew how long you’d been looking forward to the trip. And I wanted you to have your own life for a change, not have be so wrapped up in mine.”

  “My best friend’s home, and mine I might add, was ransacked and her most prized possession taken. Two sleazy men are after her affections. Well,” she paused, fingered the necklace that rested in the dip of Marxie’s collarbone, “one’s not so much a sleaze ball, and kind of hot, but still, he’s thrown you for a loop.” She peered at Marxie over her mug. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t come home for that?”

  “That’s the problem,” Marxie leaned forward, laying a hand over Liz’s. “I knew you would. And I didn’t want you to. You deserve to live your own life. You’ve taken care of me enough the last few years.”

  “What?” Liz asked, her big blue eyes growing wider and her ruby painted lips parting.

  “Oh, don’t try to deny it. We both know you’ve been my guardian angel. Finding the town house, letting me live downstairs for easy access to the business, getting me customers through your contacts, sleeping in my bed when I couldn’t alone. You’ve been my keeper, basically. And I’ve let you. I’ve leaned on you so much, I guess I kind of thought it was time I stood on my own two feet.”

  Liz sighed and chuckled a little, shook her head. She sipped her cider and when she brought her mug down, reached and placed in on the end table beside the couch. “You really haven’t leaned on me that much. In fact, I’ve worried about you these last two years. If it were me, I couldn’t have dared to do all that you’ve done. In my opinion you’ve not only stood on your own two feet, but on your hands and knees and head—anything to keep from needing someone else’s support.”

  When Marxie only stared at her, she resituated, threaded an arm through Marxie’s. “You need to let go, Marx. Crying is okay. Grieving is okay. Even doing that in front of others. It’s like when Evan died you thought you had to be alone to cry for him. You didn’t. People understood and still do. You miss him. We all miss him.”

  Marxie sat beside her best friend in the whole
world, who was apparently light years wiser than she, and leaned her head on the ever-present shoulder. “Really? You feel that way?”

  “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. You know me, too honest for my own good.”

  Marxie sniffed and laughed a little. Then, with their arms linked, staring ahead at the collection of tea sets her mother had meticulously set out, she cried. She cried with joy for being blessed with such an understanding friend, she cried with confusion over her feelings about Grant and the possibilities he’d presented, but most of all, because she was allowed to, she cried bitterly for her dear sweet husband and the future that they would never have.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Hey, Chief.” Marxie smiled at Chief Robert Raines and strode across the office to be wrapped in his standard hug. He rose from his desk as she crossed the room and his arms came around her, warm and reassuring.

  “Hey, gal. How’s it goin’?”

  “Better I think. They caught the guys who broke into my house.”

  “So I heard,” he said, gesturing for her to sit as he sunk back down to his chair. “Punks.”

  “Apparently.” She sat in the navy chair opposite his desk, folded her hands in her lap. “What do you make of the message?”

  “What message, dear?” he asked absently, glancing down to the papers littering his desk.

  “The ‘Leave It Alone’ thing. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

  He sighed, looked up. “You can’t do this to yourself, Marxie.”

  “Do what?”

  “Roll things over and over in your mind. Worry on them, over-analyze. You’ll drive yourself nuts that way.”

  “No kiddin’,” she muttered, but didn’t repeat herself when he raised his eyebrows at her.

  He rose from his chair, came around the desk and sat on the edge. “I’ve got no doubts it scared you silly when you saw the place. Break-ins are traumatizing to most people. After what you’ve been through in the last few weeks, years for that matter, I can bet it was an even bigger blow. But,” he said emphatically, leaning toward her, “you have to take facts for what they are. The boys have been caught. You’ve no reason to worry anymore. Questions in Evan’s case and the break-in have been answered. You’ve got to take it easy, put things to rest.”