by Sanna Hines
Zarah was on her feet. “I will see where he goes. If I learn anything, my sister will know how to contact your employer’s home. I will leave you a message.”
Liv jumped up from her seat in Chase’s lobby when Holly entered. “Let’s go,” she said sharply.
“Did something happen?”
Liv stormed past Holly to the door. Outside, she said, “They ignored me. Me—the one who started this whole thing!”
Holly waited. Liv was sure to say more.
She ticked off points on her fingers. “First, the pizzas came and everyone started talking about Kyle and the old days, like when I wasn’t at Sidley. Oh, Kyle’s parties were so cray-cray. And how Nicole was chasing him, but he didn’t like her, so he made an invisibility cape. Remember when his sonic blaster knocked out everyone in the lab, but he got the NSF scholarship anyway? Then, they told Ari stories—she made purple smoke at an award ceremony, so they took her award away. And she—” Liv ran out of breath. She sucked in air, then shook her head. “No one talked to me at all!”
“I hope my brother wasn’t rude.”
“He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t say much, not with Tay crawling all over him.” Liv wrinkled her nose.
“Cam’s shy. She probably embarrassed him.”
“Uh-uh. He was loving it. And Chase was laser-beam on Maddy, but she was too busy teasing Rodrigo and—” Liv rolled her eyes. “I was the only one who watched the video of Natalie Porcini. Poor thing wore this fugly plaid skirt half the time. I’m glad we have a dress code instead of uniforms. Anyway, she sings in the choir, and she’s a math geek.
“I don’t care!” Liv said, interrupting herself. “Let them have their old jokes. I’m sick of them. I wish I didn’t have to help with the video tomorrow, but they need the motorcycle from our house. ‘Crack of dawn’, they said. That’s when they’re filming.”
“Afterward,” Holly soothed, “your grandmother may have a surprise for you.”
Liv stopped raging. “Why?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
Saturday morning, Holly woke to commotion in the side corridor. Scrambling into clothes, she watched two high school boys and Cameron muscle The Rocket up the stairs to the street. Other teenagers followed them, watching Cam cruise the bike downhill, then roar past the house as Chase filmed the ride. An exotic-looking dark-haired type wanted another run, but Liv told them to stop. The neighbors, she said, would complain about noise. Looking surprised, the whole group shuffled around for a bit while Cameron idled the bike. After short conversations with Liv, they left.
“That’s that,” Liv said, shutting the outside door. “I hope they get it right, but I don’t think it’ll happen with Rodrigo around.” She turned to Holly. “So what’s this surprise you talked about?”
“You, your uncle and I are going to Portsmouth.”
The farther they traveled from Boston, the happier Holly felt. Portsmouth was only an hour’s drive, but the two cities couldn’t be more different. Boston was big, brick, and serious. Portsmouth was small, wood, and relaxed.
As Massachusetts urban sprawl turned to New Hampshire forest, Holly said, “I didn’t realize how much I missed the trees.”
“We have trees in Boston,” Mike said.
“Not wild ones; just the tame kind. Park trees are like zoo animals.”
“I’ve never been to New Hampshire before,” Liv said. “Is there anything here but trees?”
“For you, there’s the Halloween costume of your dreams.” Holly told Liv about the plan, feeling gratified when the girl whooped but then asked plaintively “What should I pick?”
“Anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Anything that can be made in less than two weeks,” Holly amended.
She guided Mike toward downtown Portsmouth, telling him to turn into a driveway next to a big, blue building. “There’s the hotel. Park behind it. Jess’ studio is in a cottage out back.”
They’d arrived early. The door to the studio—originally a garden house—was locked.
“So now what?” Mike asked.
He had his answer when a truck with the name of Jim Glasscock’s TV show rolled into the parking lot. “Uncle Jim!” Holly called to his open window.
Jim got out of his truck with a huge grin and wide-flung arms. Sharing a hug, he and Holly asked at the same time, “What are you doing here?”
Holly introduced Liv and Mike, and then gave her explanation. Jim told them he was filming an episode about salvaging materials from old buildings. “You see there?” Jim pointed past the hotel’s parking lot wall toward sagging buildings on the next street. “Three of them are coming down, all 130-140 years old. The demolition people are scheduled for next week, so we’re filming now. We’re going to teach our viewers not to let great lumber, hand-made details, antique hardware and glass fall to the wrecking ball.”
“That’s different,” Holly said. Most of Jim’s shows were about modernizing old houses.
“Gotta mix it up once in a while,” Jim said with a wink.
“The closest house,” Mike said of a vine-choked, swayback roofline, “looks pretty bad, but why raze so many?”
“They’re hulks, just shells abandoned years ago. Absentee owners, I guess. Stopped paying taxes when they moved away. Left the buildings to rot. County owns them now.”
“Seems wrong to destroy them,” Holly said.
“Those buildings are dangerous. They attract vermin. They’re eyesores and depress property values on the block.” Jim looked at his watch. “My film crew’s not due for a few minutes. Want to hike over to the next street and have a look?”
Holly checked the design studio once more. Jess still hadn’t arrived. “Might as well.”
They left the parking lot, passed the hotel and rounded the next corner to enter a dead-end street. Well-kept houses ran halfway down the block before the derelicts began. Two stood on the right-hand side of the street and one at the end. All three looked like a stiff wind would take them out.
“I see what you mean,” Mike admitted. “These buildings are done.”
Jim said, “A developer’s coming in to put up replicas, as period-accurate as you can get with today’s materials. Anything we save from the old wrecks will add to the historic feel of the new homes.”
“Where’s that whining coming from?” Liv asked. She approached the old buildings, listening outside each one.
“Whining?” Jim asked. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Liv’s right,” Holly said. “I hear something, too. Sounds like an animal.”
“Here.” Liv tapped the wall of the middle house. “Something’s trapped in there.” She tugged on the door.
“Whoa, whoa. Be careful. Don’t know what might fall off this thing.” Jim caught up to Liv. “You’re sure you heard something?”
“Yes!”
“Hope it’s not a raccoon. They’re nasty when they’re trapped.” Jim looked at Liv, who had a pleading expression on her face. “All right. I’ll check. Stand back a ways, will you?”
Pulling the key from his overall pocket, Jim set it in the lock. The door opened easily, and as it did, a dog bolted through the doorway, causing Jim to jump away.
“I’ve seen this puppy before,” Liv said. “That’s the teddy bear dog from Boston—the one Ari was trying to keep from getting run over. C’mere, boy,” she lured, squatting and holding out her hand.
The dog barked, then turned to run back into the building.
“Oh, no!” Liv cried. “He’ll get stuck in there, maybe crushed when they knock this place down.” Before anyone could stop her, Liv scurried inside after the dog.
“Hey!” Jim yelled. “Don’t go in there alone.” Muttering, “Crazy kid. She could get hurt,” he plunged into the darkness after Liv.
Holly and Mike rushed toward the entrance together. Before they got through the door, Holly heard Liv scream and the dog howl. A sickening smell attacked her nose, making Holly’
s stomach lurch. Pinching her nostrils closed, she waved a hand at the air, vainly trying to push the smell away while she went farther into the building. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Holly saw Liv, fist to mouth, beside Jim, who was staring at what lay beneath a sheet of plastic he’d pulled back, a look of pure horror on his face.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Day 8—Saturday
Holly fought down the retching. She glimpsed the corpse for mere moments before tugging Jim away so he wouldn’t heave on the crime scene, but that was long enough. The images were seared on her retina. Bloated purple-black face, blistered cheeks, bulging tongue and eyes. A patch of brown hair fallen away from the skull. Fluids seeping from nose and mouth. The once-white blouse, ripped open by the ruptured abdomen, now a gruesome rainbow of colors. Green blotches on marbled legs mocked the plaid of the skirt.
Outside, leaning against the front of the rotting building, listening to Jim vomit, Holly’s head swam. Her eyes didn’t take in anything around her.
She’d had classes, looked at pictures, but nothing prepared her for the intimacy of death at its worst: the squirming insects, the goo, the stench—the unbelievable stench. Holly gulped air to keep her breakfast from surfacing, then remembered…
Liv. She hadn’t tended to Liv. “Mike!” Holly yelled. “Get her out of there!”
Stupid. Of course, he’d done that. They stood a few feet away from the door, not moving, both pale, both staring at Holly. Liv cradled the dog in her arms.
“I took care of her,” Mike said coldly. “You were already outside.”
Holly’s shoulders sank. Three days on the job, and she’d already screwed up. While she focused on her about-to-barf uncle, Mike kept his head, guided her protectee. “I’m sorry,” Holly said. “They must have told us a thousand times in criminal justice classes to preserve a crime scene, not muck it up. I…” She looked at Jim, sheepishly wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I just acted on instinct.”
“Knew I couldn’t trust you,” Liv said.
“You weren’t in danger,” Holly shot back. “Not fair.”
“Is it fair Natalie’s dead?” Liv raged. “That’s her, isn’t it? Has to be—the plaid skirt, St. Winifred’s uniform. And Teddy—” Liv clutched the gray snowball in her arms. “He was in Boston. He’s the one Ari saved. I’ll bet they kidnapped Teddy, too, and left him there to die!”
“Liv, put the dog down. He could be sick.” The corpse had to be days, maybe a week, old. A dog locked inside would have to eat.
“No!” Liv said. “He’s just a puppy, and he’s all alone. I’m not going to let anything happen to him.” Her hold tightened. “We didn’t save Natalie. We didn’t bring her back alive. We’ll find Ari like that, and Kyle. Nothing we’ve done matters!” Liv’s eyes filled up. She blinked furiously, but the tears just kept building. As they fell down her cheeks, she muttered, “I have to sit down.” Moving to the far side of the street, she sat cross-legged on the gravel shoulder, still hugging the dog.
Holly didn’t know if Liv was comforting the puppy or the puppy was comforting the girl. Either way, they clung together. “Uncle Jim?” she asked, turning to check on him. “You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just feel like a fool.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it! I searched these buildings for salvage material not two weeks ago. Looked like nobody’d been in ‘em for years: no trash, no graffiti. I thought ghost hunters for sure would’ve sneaked in to do their voodoo.” Jim rolled his eyes. “Those people are everywhere these days.” He stepped back, looking hard at the front wall of the crime scene. Turning to Holly, Jim said, “There was this one window, though. Busted out when the roof sagged and put pressure on the frame. Gotta be what saved the dog; otherwise, he’d be starved.”
“I’m calling this in,” Holly said, pulling her phone from her purse. “The police know me.”
“Do they?” Mike said in the same icy tone. He looked at Holly with narrowed eyes.
“My dad,” Holly hissed between her teeth, “was a cop. They know the family.” She lifted the phone.
“Wait.” Liv scuttled back to join the group. “Don’t tell them about Teddy. They’ll put him in the pound, and then he’ll be killed.”
Holly said, “He’s evidence. They’ll want to look him over.”
“We need to take him to Boston,” Liv said. “He could lead us to the kidnapper, you know, using his nose or something.”
“The kidnapper might not be in Boston,” Holly said slowly, as a staggering thought dawned. “He could be here in Portsmouth.” Her eyes searched the nearby houses. Did a murderous psycho live in one of them? Was he watching them even now?
Holly squared her shoulders. She couldn’t help the dead girl, but she could protect the living one—do her job. Liv shouldn’t be exposed to public attention. It the killer spotted her again, she’d be a target for sure. Holly told her, “Give your uncle the dog. No, he’s not taking the puppy away, just holding him. Use this.” Holly pulled her keys from her pocket to detach the lanyard and hand it to Mike. “Make a leash.”
“Liv, pull your sweatshirt hood up,” Holly continued. “We don’t want anyone around here recognizing you—anyone connected to the kidnappings, I mean. We need to get you away, not wait for the police, not wait for neighbors to take pictures and post them online. We’ll go to the station to report the death. You understand?”
Liv’s eyes opened wide, but she did as Holly instructed. Mike flinched when the filthy dog pawed at his neat denim shirt until Holly told him to return the leashed dog to Liv. “Keep the puppy to your left and face the fence, okay?”
“Uncle Jim,” Holly said over her shoulder, “close up that house and then follow us to the hotel parking lot. Mike, Liv, we go now!”
“This dog isn’t evidence,” Mike said while unlocking his car. “He’s irrelevant.”
“But why?” Holly asked. “I mean some investigator could find…uh…carpet fibers on his coat or mud under his nails. Maybe they could track the fiber to a particular make and model of car. That would help, wouldn’t it? What if the mud’s from Boston?”
Mike shook his head. “Even if the dog was in a car from Boston, so what? There’s nothing linking this animal to the kidnappings or the murder victim except being in a building. He could have made his way in just this morning.”
“I’m sure he’s the puppy I saw when Ari was taken,” Liv insisted.
“Are you?” Mike put his hands on Liv’s shoulders and stared hard into her eyes. “Without looking at the dog, tell me what special marking he has that makes him an exact match for the one you saw.”
“I…well…” Liv squirmed under Mike’s grasp, trying to sneak a peek at the dog by her feet. She shrugged, shaking herself free. “All right. I can’t. Are you happy now?”
“In a way,” Mike said. He faced Holly. “Look, I feel for the dead girl. I want her to have justice, but I’m also thinking of the two missing kids still out there. If Liv’s right—a big if—the dog could be more useful in Boston than here.”
“You believe me?” Liv shrieked.
“Even you,” Mike said, “have good ideas once in a while. But, oh crap.” His face fell. “Who knows if that dog is housebroken? Don’t want him springing a leak in my car.”
Jim reached them and overheard Mike’s complaint. “Here. Give me the pup. I’ll bring him along in my truck. Gotta talk to my crew, tell them the shoot’s off for today, then I’ll follow you to the station.”
Across the parking lot, the doorway to Jess’ studio opened. She waved and called out, “Holly! You’re here early.”
Holly looked at Liv, who seemed as uninterested in costumes as Holly felt, but Jess needed to know what was going on, to be warned. Her business was only one street away from the abandoned house—and the corpse. Holly took Liv with her into Jess’ design workshop.
After they left the studio, Mike drove Holly and Liv to the police station, part of a complex of red-brick government buildings facing t
he South Mill Pond, which gleamed under bright sunlight. The air was cool but not cold. A beautiful day, Holly thought while Mike parked. One that poor girl will never see.
Pushing open the station’s glass door, Holly suddenly felt four years old again, a child following her mother into a space not made for children—no happy colors, no toys. Afraid, little Holly clutched her mother’s hand while Lisa Glasscock spoke through the window to someone Holly wasn’t tall enough to see.
And then her father came into the lobby, so big and strong in his black uniform. He hoisted her up in his arms, and Holly felt safe.
She never lost that sense of safety at the station. Even now, approaching the receptionist behind the glass window, she breathed easy for the first time since the discovery. “We’re here to report a death—a murder victim.” Holly gave her name and the crime scene address to the shocked clerk.
Detective Putnam came through the door, just as Holly’s father had years ago. He greeted her with the words, “Holly Glasscock? I knew your father.”
Holly remembered the man with the thick mustache, though he was older, heavier, and his brown hair had grayed. She introduced the others, but the detective told them to wait. He would interview each person separately.
In his office, Holly gave him details until he stopped her to make calls to a patrol officer and a crime scene investigator. “There’s another reason why we didn’t phone in,” Holly told Putnam when he finished his calls. She explained about Liv and her experience as witness to the Boston kidnapping. “So you see why we don’t want anyone connecting her to this victim.”
The detective nodded, asked a few more questions, and dismissed Holly so he could interview the others. Mike went next, then Liv. Jim, who arrived while Holly was giving her statement, was called last.
As time dragged on, Mike busied himself with his phone while Liv played a game on hers. When she started a text, Holly stopped her. “Don’t say anything about this to your friends.”
“Why not?” Liv’s fingers paused.
“Out of respect. Your friends will tell their friends, and so on. The dead girl’s family shouldn’t hear the news from the Internet.”