“That doesn’t add up for me, Alex.”
“Why am I not surprised by that?”
“Come on. Do you really blame me?” He crossed to stand directly in front of her. She tipped her head to meet his eyes. “You’re here for this one tour, in the history of wine country tours, where a mutilated doll is discovered in a fermenting tank. And I’m not supposed to find that damn incriminating?
Before Alex could reply, Rachel stuck her head into the office. “How are you doing, Alex?”
“Better. Now that I know it was just somebody’s perverse idea of humor.”
“Tell me about it.” She shifted her gaze to Reed. “Your partner asked me to tell you she’d like to speak with you, as soon as you’re done here.”
He nodded. “I’m done. For now.” He looked back at Alex. “Are you going to be okay?”
Rachel answered for her. “She will. I’ll make sure of it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Saturday, March 13
11:55 A.M.
Reed reconnected with Tanner outside the tasting room. “How are the tourists?”
“Happily inebriated. Or on the way to it.” She glanced at her watch. “And all before noon.”
“Anybody raise a red flag?”
“Nope. All staying at local hotels and B &Bs. All first-time visitors from out of state. All horrified, and not so secretly thrilled, by the incident.”
Human nature, Reed thought. They could all go home with a vacation story to top all vacation stories, and knowing Treven Sommer, a cache of free wine as well.
“What about the family and employees? Nobody had better access.”
“Deputies took statements. Running background checks on the transient help.”
Reed nodded. “Got to cover bases, but the cost and availability of those dolls limits the suspect pool.”
“My thought as well. What about Clarkson?”
Something in her tone set his teeth on edge. “She was understandably shaken.”
“Did she tell you she’s taken this tour before?” Tanner paused. “Yesterday. One of the guides remembered her. And a guard I spoke to found her in the caves, separated from the group. She told him she was claustrophobic and asked him to lead her out.”
Reed frowned, remembering the episode she’d had in the cave the night of the party. She hadn’t mentioned claustrophobia then. And why would she put herself in that situation not just once again, but today as well?
“There’s more. Apparently, she had a run-in with Clark. He’d been drinking and got up in her face.”
She hadn’t mentioned that, either. Interesting. When he’d questioned her, she’d gotten indignant-like he was the one out of line, for being suspicious. Truth was, he’d be out of line for not being more suspicious.
What a dupe she’d played him for.
“What was the outcome of that?” he asked, voice tight.
“Treven came along, defused the situation. Settled her down. Or so he thought.”
“What does that mean, or so he thought?”
“Maybe she placed the doll in the tank? Payback for him and the entire Sommer clan. For abandoning her.”
He thought of the story his dad had told him about Patsy, what she had done. And how he, Treven and several others had run her out of town. And now this happened, two days later.
“Clark confirmed the story,” she went on. “Was understandably sheepish about his behavior. She made a comment, he said, about the photographs in the museum. How none of them included her, her mother or Dylan.
“Let’s look at this, Reed. A lamb is slaughtered, stuffed under Alex’s bathroom vanity and left for her to ‘find.’ A bloodstained altar is discovered at Bart Park. Alex just happens to be an expert in alternative religious practices. Max Cragan hangs himself. Guess who finds the body? A second mutilated doll turns up-”
“And Alex is there to see it.”
“Yes.”
“And the first doll?”
“Check your calendar. Doll number one turned up on February 22, three days after Clarkson visits you at HQ.”
He did the math and realized she was right.
“Tom Schwann is brutally murdered. Bizarrely, his murder is connected to Clarkson in two ways.”
“The first, his tattoo and her ring. What’s the second?”
“Alberto Alvarez, killed in the same manner as Schwann-”
“Twenty-five years ago. You’re not suggesting a five-year-old child-”
“Committed the crime? Hardly. She’s connected to it because she lived here at the time and occupied the bedroom across the hall from her brother the night he disappeared. For all we know, she might be the one who set Cragan’s cottage ablaze.”
“She wasn’t.”
“You’re so certain? How?”
He met her eyes. “She has an alibi for that night. And for the night Schwann was killed.”
For a long moment, Tanner simply gazed at him. When she spoke, her tone was measured. “I suggest you evaluate your priorities. And if I were you, I’d do it fast.”
Reed managed to hold it together until he’d finished processing the scene. But even as he questioned winery employees and reviewed surveillance tapes and security logs, at the back of his mind, waiting to come barreling out, was his anger at Alex’s duplicity.
He found Rachel in her office. “Has Alex gone?” he asked.
“An hour ago. At least. Is everything okay?”
“Fine. I had another question to ask her, that’s all.”
“She promised she was going home.”
Reed thanked her and headed for his SUV. In typical wine country fashion, Saturday traffic was stop and go. It fueled his anger, and by the time he pulled up behind her Prius, he had to fight to keep it in check.
He climbed out of his vehicle and jogged up her walkway. He rang the bell, then, when she didn’t appear, pounded. “Alex! It’s Reed.”
After several moments, she answered. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and jeans, her hair was sticking out in several different directions and her eyes were red.
“You took the Sommer Winery tour yesterday. You didn’t tell me. Why?”
He’d caught her off guard, as he had meant to. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Why, Alex?”
She swung the door wider and stepped aside so he could enter. He did and she closed the door and faced him. “I started to last night-”
“I don’t remember that. I remember you kicking me out because I dared to question you.”
Color flooded her face. “I should have. I wanted to tell you everything-”
“But you didn’t. Why, Alex?”
She jerked her chin up. “Because I knew how it would look! Okay? How it would make me look!”
“And how’s that? Guilty?”
“No. Crazy.”
That one caught him off guard.
“I had another episode, in the cave.” She clasped her hands together. “It was worse this time. I had… I really panicked. I felt ridiculous after. And… shaken up.”
She turned and crossed to her living room couch. She sank onto it and dropped her face into her hands.
“Why, Alex?” he asked, unmoved by her attempt to elicit his sympathy. “Why were you out at Sommer yesterday?”
For a moment she didn’t respond, then lifted her face to his. “After you told me that story about my mom… I wanted to prove it wasn’t true. I called your mother and-”
“My mother?”
“She’d offered to let me look through your family photo albums. Since I couldn’t ask my mother the truth, I had to go looking for it. I figured the photographs couldn’t lie to me.
“I ran into Ferris while I was there. He suggested I go out to the Sommer place, that there were photos there as well. Plus, I wanted to see Mother’s painting, the one in the tasting room, behind the bar.”
Reed knew the painting but hadn’t realized Patsy had created it. “Why not ask
Rachel or Treven to show you around?”
She spread her hands. “This was private. The last thing I wanted was to have to discuss it with one of them.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Still covering up, Alex. Why?”
“I’m not!” She fisted her fingers. “You asked me a question. I answered it honestly.”
“You and Clark had a confrontation.”
“Yes.”
“I saw you that night, you didn’t mention it.”
“Banging me doesn’t give you an automatic right to my every thought and feeling.”
“Is that what we’ve been doing? All we’ve been doing?”
She looked away. “It shook me up. He said something… about my mother, about wanting to know… He pinned me against the wall and when I struggled, he refused to let me go.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Treven came along and sent Clark scurrying off. He was very kind to me.”
Reed could picture that. “Anything else?”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “Let’s see, other than your father making it clear that I was to stay away from his sons-”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh yeah, wouldn’t want Patsy’s tainted goods near his precious sons. I guess I’d give you cooties or something.” She held his gaze. “Let’s see, to continue with my really swell day-there was my emotional meltdown during sex and you questioning my motives. I think that sums it up.”
He searched her expression, wondering if her story was true. If it was, he felt both fool and brute, standing there, his accusations still hanging between them.
Reed crossed to stand directly in front of her. “So, why go back today, Alex? After all that, why go back?”
She didn’t blink, though her eyes sparkled with tears. “Because I want to know the truth. Because I need to know it.”
She was either being honest with him or was a liar of monumental skill. He drew her into his arms, against his chest. She melted against him, shuddering.
A part of him hated himself for this. For trusting her. For being here with her despite his partner’s cautioning. Despite his own suspicions.
He’d never played the fool for a woman before; he wondered if he was now.
His cell phone went off and he dug it out of his pocket. “Reed here.”
“It’s Tanner. I connected with the tour guide from yesterday, questioned her in depth.”
“She bring anything new to the party?”
“Yeah, she remembered Clarkson asking about Harlan Sommer’s first wife and the accident that killed her. She also brought up Dylan’s kidnapping. The guide found it weird and it made her uncomfortable.”
“Thanks,” he said, his gaze shifting to Alex. “Anything else?”
“From Schwann’s phone. The odd number he dialed that night was a Red Crest Winery number.”
“That makes sense.”
“I thought so, too. Figured he got tired of waiting, dialed up to the party hoping to snag a ride. He connected with somebody, the question is who.”
“I’ll put that at the top of my list. Thanks.” Reed ended the call and extricated himself from Alex. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Have you told me everything, Alex?”
“Who was that?”
“Tanner.”
“I see. So did she have some new incriminating evidence against me? Some suspicious thing I’ve held back?”
“She questioned your Sommer tour guide from yesterday. The woman said that on the tour, you brought up the death of Harlan’s first wife and Dylan’s disappearance.”
“Was that a crime?”
He searched her gaze. “Why’d you do that, Alex?”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Why, Alex?”
“I don’t know. I was mad. Pushing a point. In all those pictures in the Sommer museum, not one of me, my mother or Dylan.” She tipped up her chin. “You couldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She didn’t respond. He sensed she was preparing her thoughts, sifting through them to find the truth. Her truth.
Or maybe he was simply naive. The duped homicide detective. Blinded when it came to a woman. He wouldn’t be the first.
She began, speaking softly, “You can’t understand because your roots go deep. You know who you are and where you come from. I don’t have that.
“I feel a connection to this place. Sometimes the connection scares me. Like in the caves.” She looked away, then back at him, expression raw. “This place is part of my history. I want to know the missing pieces. And I want to belong. Did I pass the test, Reed? Am I naked enough now?”
He stood and crossed to her, cupped her face in his palms. “Do you realize how bad all this looks?”
He could tell by her face that she didn’t, not fully. “You being there two days in a row, you asking those questions, your confrontation with Clark-”
“I didn’t leave the doll, Reed. I returned to Sommer today determined to take the tour again and figure out what the hell happened to me in those caves. And since you’re wondering, I didn’t slaughter that lamb and leave it for me to ‘find.’ Nor did I create that altar or kill Max Cragan. I may be nuts, but I’m not that nuts.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy. But I need to know everything. From now on, total, brutal honesty.” He searched her gaze. “The truth is, Alex, whatever’s happening, you’re a part of it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Monday, March 15
4:25 A.M.
Alex opened her eyes, fully awake. She held herself completely still, fear thundering through her veins. She moved her gaze slowly over the room. The darkness seeming to swallow it. The absolute and utter quiet.
Someone was in her house.
Slowly, she inched into a sitting position. She reached for her cell phone, resting on the bed stand. She closed her fingers over it, its cool weight reassuring. She let a breath out slowly, then listened some more.
Why was it so quiet? Where were the creaks and moans she had learned to associate with this old house?
She hadn’t been dreaming. Something, someone, had awakened her.
Or had she been? A disgusted laugh slipped past her lips. Another nightmare. Shit. Would she ever sleep through the night again? She looked at the bedside clock and groaned. Four thirty in the morning.
Margo sat up, stretched and blinked at her. “Yeah, I know,” Alex muttered, “I’m certifiable.”
Her voice, the words, brought her and Reed’s encounter crashing back.
She still hadn’t been completely honest with him. She hadn’t told him about her visions. Or her nightmares. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. They either made her look crazy, guilty, or both.
“Whatever’s happening, you’re a part of it.”
But which part? she wondered. And why? She squeezed her eyes shut. Remember, Alex. Remember. They’re only memories. They can’t hurt you.
She breathed deeply, working to relax and let go. She focused on what her subconscious had already freed-the robed figures… the flames licking at her… the faceless baby screaming…
Suddenly, an image flooded her mind. The robed men circling her… Hands holding her down… terror… screams and laughter… a thrumming, thundering drumbeat…
Run… run…
Alex launched to her feet, her scream echoing in the empty house. She took a step, then stopped, quaking, terrified. It hadn’t been real. A memory. Or a hallucination.
It was cold, she realized. A cold, damp breeze licked at her bare feet. She’d left her window cracked open. Alex reached for her robe, hanging on the bedpost, and shivering, slipped into it.
She closed the bedroom window, but still felt a breeze. Funny, she didn’t remember having opened another window.
Goose bumps racing up her legs, Alex followed the breeze. The bathroom. The single window at the far end stood open
. The gauzy drape stirred.
Not bothering with the light, she hurried across the bathroom, yanked the window shut and locked it.
She stopped and relieved herself, the toilet seat frigid against her backside, then started back to her bed. Her foot landed on something. Cold and soft. It squished beneath her foot and between her toes.
Fear took her breath. She pictured the slaughtered lamb, eye winking up at her.
With a cry, Alex flipped on the light and was momentarily blinded. Then she saw red. Smeared across the floor. On her foot and between her toes. Her heart leapt to her throat. A series of images played across her mind: the lamb, the bloodied doll in the fermenting tank, the altar, dried blood spilled across its top.
With a squeak of fear, she took a step back. More wet. More red. Bringing her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream, she realized what she was looking at.
Lipstick. The red she and Rachel had picked out.
How had it ended up on the floor?
The scream became an embarrassed giggle. Thank goodness no one but Margo was here to see her make such a monumental ass out of herself.
She bent to pick it up, then stopped. Red on her right hand, a stain. She studied it, frowning. Her writing hand. Along her forefinger, on the ball of her hand and thumb.
Slowly, she straightened. Turned toward the mirror. There, scrawled across it in Light Your Fire red, was one word: Remember.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Monday, March 15
4:50 A.M.
With a cry, Alex turned and ran back to her bed. She flipped on the bedside light and threw back the covers. There, on the sheets, more red.
Alex stared at it in horror. Dear God, had she done this? Could she have?
She hugged herself, feeling as if she might be sick. What was happening to her? Was she crazy? She’d have to be, to have done that-and not remember. Like one of those people with multiple personalities.
She sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. She’d always feared becoming mentally ill, like her mother. Now, it was happening.
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