Carlene Thompson

by Black for Remembrance (epub)

  "But why push her down the stairs?"

  "Maybe he didn't. Maybe she just fell. Or maybe she saw something and he decided he had to get rid of her. But if so, he didn't hang around to make sure she was dead."

  "It wasn't one of her usual days to work," Caroline said. "I asked her to come today because I wanted to talk with her. After we'd finished, she said she might as well do some cleaning upstairs while she was here. If she hadn't…"

  "Where is her car?" Tom asked quickly as Caroline's voice broke.

  "At home, I guess. She said there was something wrong with it. She took a cab."

  "So it wasn't her regular day to work and her car wasn't outside. Also, since she was upstairs, she wouldn't have heard someone come in down here."

  "George would have. He was inside when I left for the school, but when we got back, he was outside."

  "Could Fidelia have put him out?"

  "Not without chaining him. She was very careful about that"

  "Which means that someone George knew put him out. Otherwise, he would have attacked an intruder."

  "I think so, yes."

  Tom drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, clearly that bogus call from the school was a trick to get you and Mercer away from the house."

  "The school!" Caroline burst out, looking at the clock over the kitchen counter. "It's three-twenty. Melinda got out twenty minutes ago and no one was there to pick her up!"

  "I'll send Mercer. If she's left the school, what route will she take?"

  "Elmwood to Parkhurst, then left onto our street. But I really think I should go."

  "You sit here with me and calm down," Tom ordered. "Mercer can handle Melinda."

  After Mercer left, Tom asked for more details about the call from the so-called school nurse. "She said her name was Donna Bell," Caroline explained. "She had a deep, kind of raspy voice, as if she were a heavy smoker. She sounded middle-aged."

  "Have you ever heard this voice before?"

  "Not that I remember."

  "And you immediately left for the school. What time would you say that was?"

  "About one forty-five."

  "You locked the door before you left?"

  "No. I don't think so. I was too frightened. I thought Melinda had been poisoned."

  "By a little girl." Tom shook his head. "I'm going back upstairs and see how things are going with the lab guys. You stay in here. I don't want you looking at all that blood right now."

  Caroline nodded, pain flashing through her at the thought of Fidelia's wire-thin body plummeting down the stairs. Fidelia with her strange aqua eyes, her strong brown hands, her dangling silver earrings. Fidelia who had wanted to help by using voodoo, who had wanted her to participate in a ritual.

  In a few minutes Tom came back, sat down, and looked at her intently.

  "Caroline, I don't suppose you've been in your bedroom since you got back."

  "I haven't been upstairs at all. Why?"

  "There's a message written on the mirror."

  "In blood," Caroline said tonelessly. "And it says, 'Help me Mommy.'"

  "That's right."

  "That's what she came here to write."

  "What who came here to write?"

  "Hayley. She came here to write that message and Fidelia caught her, so Hayley hit her."

  Tom's gaze didn't waver. "Caroline, if Hayley had been here, she would have been a ghost, and ghosts don't have to hit people to get away. Fidelia was attacked by a person."

  "You don't even believe in ghosts, do you?"

  "That is beside the point."

  "I don't think so. No, I don't think so at all. I think that's what's giving you all so much trouble. You won't admit that Hayley has come back. It explains everything."

  "It doesn't explain much to me. Why would she kill Pamela Burke?" He leaned forward and looked at her earnestly. "Caroline, you've had a big shock. A lot of big shocks. You're not thinking rationally."

  "Now you sound like Lucy and David. But Fidelia knew. She was going to help me. Hayley couldn't allow that."

  Tom sighed. "I'm not going to argue with you. But…"

  Mercer walked in, his face taut. "I can't find her."

  Tom jumped up. "You can't find Melinda?"

  "I went over every route she could have taken, but there's no trace of her."

  "Maybe she went home with a friend." Tom whirled on Caroline, who felt turned to stone. "Does she have a friend whose house she might have gone to?"

  "Jenny. She used to go to Jenny's sometimes."

  "The number?"

  Caroline had it written down on a pad that she managed to find for him. He called and spoke to Jenny's mother, then by the change in his tone of voice, Caroline knew he was talking to Jenny. When he hung up, he looked at her solemnly.

  "Jenny says Melinda left the playground with a little blond-haired girl she'd never seen before."

  In those first few paralyzed seconds after Tom announced Melinda had left school with a little blond-haired girl, a hundred scenes flashed through Caroline's mind. Melinda born with a head full of curling, chestnut hair; Melinda toddling after Greg as he headed off to baseball practice and crying broken-heartedly when Caroline caught her and made her stay home; Melinda trundling down the hall on Halloween in her bunny costume, huge ears flopping; Melinda talking devotedly to her dormant bean sprout Aurora, willing it to grow. And now she was gone with the horror Hayley had become.

  "What little blond friends does Melinda have?"

  Caroline looked at Tom blankly.

  "Caroline, listen to me. What little blond friend could Melinda have gone home with?"

  "No one."

  "Little blond girls are a dime a dozen. There must be someone."

  "Hayley."

  Tom strode over and grasped Caroline's shoulders. "Snap out of this. There's no reason to panic. Most lost children are found within fifteen minutes."

  "It seems to me I was told that the last time, when Hayley disappeared."

  "This isn't the last time. I need a picture of her."

  Caroline went to her purse and riffled through the plastic photo section in her wallet. "Here's last year's school picture, and here's a shot of her at the Fourth of July picnic we had in me backyard."

  "Good. Now, Caroline, I need to know what she was wearing."

  Caroline was amazed at how perfectly she could picture Melinda that morning standing in the kitchen begging to go to school because she was afraid to stay in the house. "A skirt. Red-and-navy-blue plaid on white," Caroline said as Mercer took notes. "A navy-blue turtleneck sweater. Navy-blue tights. A camel-hair coat."

  "Was she carrying anything?"

  "A lunch box. A Barbie lunch box. And a book bag. It was red."

  "You mean like a backpack?"

  "No, like a little briefcase. She loved it because she thought it was like her daddy's medical bag."

  Tom turned to Mercer. "Call Juvenile and have them get out some cruisers."

  When he went to the phone, Tom forced her to look at him. "Caroline, Hayley Corday is dead. Melinda can't be with her. You've got to get that idea out of your head so you can help us. Now tell me what little blond girls Melinda knows."

  Caroline dragged her hands through her hair. "Tom, it's no use. She didn't go home with any of her friends. She would have called."

  "She's eight. Eight-year-olds aren't known for their sense of responsibility. Now think!"

  "All right. Let's see. There's Beth Madison. She's a blonde but Melinda has never liked her. Then there's Cookie Stevens…no, Cookie moved away last year." From deep in the house she heard the doorbell ringing. Mercer, who had just hung up, left the room. "Stephanie Crane. She's new this year. She's in the school play, but I don't think Melinda knew her very well—not well enough to go home with her. Let's see, maybe Carol Braxton. She's in Melinda's class…"

  Mercer appeared in the kitchen doorway. He held a young teenaged boy by the arm.

  "What is it?" Tom asked.

&
nbsp; "This boy just brought a delivery. Show them, kid."

  The boy, pale with terror, stuck out a bouquet of black silk orchids tied with a black ribbon. Tom was beside him in an instant, jerking away the card that had been stapled to the ribbon. "'To Melinda,'" he read. "'Black for remembrance.'"

  For the first time in her life Caroline fainted.

  Chapter 19

  SHE AWAKENED ON the living room couch. Something damp was lying across her forehead, and Chris sat on the floor beside her, his blue eyes burning at her.

  "Is Melinda…"

  "She's not back yet."

  "What are you doing here?" Caroline mumbled, sweeping the cloth off her forehead.

  "I called to say goodbye before I left for Taos and see how everything was going. Tom answered and told me what happened."

  "What time is it?"

  "After six. When you passed out, they called a doctor. You came to for a few minutes, hysterical, and he gave you something to calm you down."

  "I don't remember any of that. Is Tom still here?"

  "No, he's out questioning people who might have seen Melinda. So's Greg. When he got home, he took the dog. He said if anyone could find Melinda, George could."

  "I guess that's true."

  "There's another detective here—a woman from Juvenile named Ames. She seems nice."

  Caroline smiled thinly. "They don't usually put a detective on the case for twenty-four hours after the child disappears. I remember that. Not unless they suspect foul play."

  "Don't think about that now, Caro. She's going to be all right."

  "Yeah, sure."

  "Tom finally got hold of Lucy. She's gone to the hospital to tell David."

  Caroline struggled to sit up. "I don't want David to know! He's helpless and there's nothing he can do."

  "Melinda's picture will be on the six o'clock news. You didn't want him to find out that way, did you?"

  "No, I guess not."

  The phone rang once. Then Caroline heard a woman talking in the other room. The detective, answering one of the many calls that would come in after Melinda's story appeared on the evening news. "Is the phone tapped?"

  Chris nodded.

  "But the kidnapper hasn't called."

  "Not yet."

  "Probably not ever." Caroline rubbed a hand across her forehead. She felt as if all sounds were coming to her from far away. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation—only strange. "Hayley's killed her, you know."

  "I don't know anything except that I don't believe in the supernatural."

  "Oh, Chris, you're trying to sound all hardheaded and reasonable, but it won't work. The black bouquet should tell you something."

  "All that bouquet tells me is that things are happening differently. Before the flowers always turned up at the funeral."

  "Not in Garrison Longworth's case."

  "But there was a body. There's no body this time. I think the flowers are a warning."

  "A warning that my daughter is going to be killed."

  "No. I know it sounds crazy, but I wonder if the killer can't go through with it—if he's begging to be caught."

  "Chris, that's such a cliché."

  "Clichés get to be clichés because they're true so often."

  Caroline closed her eyes. "Then why was Melinda taken to begin with?"

  "Maybe it's all part of a plan, but the murderer can't take the final step. He can't murder a little girl."

  "I wish I could believe that. Chris, who was the boy who brought the bouquet?"

  "Just some fourteen-year-old who didn't know what the hell was going on. He said he was walking home from school when a little blond girl gave it to him along with five dollars and this address written on a piece of paper. He thought the black flowers were strange, but then she was such a little girl, maybe she thought they were pretty. He didn't see her get in or out of a car—she was just walking down the street."

  "I'm surprised she didn't send Twinkle along with the flowers."

  "Caroline."

  "Well, if you don't believe Hayley is the killer, then it must be the person who kidnapped her. That's the only one who could have Twinkle."

  "If it was Twinkle we found. We're not absolutely sure of that."

  "I am."

  Caroline had heard a car pull up outside but wasn't really paying attention until the kitchen door opened and she heard David call, "Caroline!"

  She swung her legs off the couch and rose, still dizzy after the sedative the doctor had given her. She swayed and Chris steadied her. "David, I'm in the living room."

  David hobbled in, Lucy staggering at his side as he leaned against her. "He refused to stay in the hospital, Caro," she said breathlessly. "The nurses are screaming bloody murder, but here he is."

  David's eyes flickered over Chris. Obviously Lucy had already told him Chris was here. "Where else would I be when my little girl has disappeared?" he asked, his voice breaking.

  Caroline rushed to him, crying. "David, I'm so glad you're here, even if you shouldn't be." She helped him to the couch, where he dropped heavily. "Are you in much pain?"

  "No." She could tell he was lying by the sweat covering his forehead. "Any news?"

  "Nothing."

  "Where's Tom?"

  "Questioning people who might have seen Melinda leave the school."

  "The school," David said with disgust. "They did a great job of looking after her."

  "I shouldn't have let her go today. I should have brought her home after I got that call about her being sick. I should have been there to pick her up…"

  "Caroline, stop it," Chris said. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault…"

  David shot him an icy stare. "What are you doing here?"

  "Trying to help Caroline."

  "Caroline doesn't need your help. I'd like for you to leave."

  "We'd rather he didn't."

  Caroline looked up to see a tall woman of about thirty standing in the doorway. Her brown hair was drawn back in a French braid, and her hazel eyes studied Chris intently. Obviously she was Detective Ames from Juvenile. "Lieutenant Jerome and I would like for you to remain here, Mr. Corday."

  Chris looked at her in surprise. "I don't mind staying, but why do the police want me to?"

  "For your own protection. You've been attacked once by the person who probably took Melinda. We don't want to risk another attack, and it would be easier for us to keep an eye on you here rather than assigning someone to your home."

  "I see," Chris said. He turned to David. "Look, I know you don't like me, and in your place I wouldn't want me here, either. But if the police want me to stay…"

  David looked away. "Then stay. I guess it doesn't matter at a time like this."

  The phone rang again and Detective Ames went to answer. They all froze until they heard her say, "Dr. and Mrs. Webb don't want to do an interview for tonight's news. Please don't call again—we're trying to keep the line open."

  Keep the line open, Caroline thought. Keep the line open for Hayley to call.

  After almost two hours of questioning, Tom had come up with nothing from the people who lived around the school, so he headed back to his office to gather up all his notes on the Webb situation and drop off the note that had come with the flowers for the handwriting expert to look at. As soon as he walked in, Al McRoberts told him there was a woman insisting on seeing him. "I don't have time," Tom snapped. "Someone else will have to handle it."

  "She's determined to see you," Al said. "She won't talk to anyone else. It might be important, you never know."

  "Damn," Tom muttered. Peering through the glass wall of his minuscule office, he saw a washed-out-looking woman of about forty twisting her hands and looking as if she were about to burst into a screaming fit. "I guess I can spare a few minutes. No word on Melinda Webb?"

  "Not a thing."

  "Okay. I'll get rid of this one fast."

  Tom was gritting his teeth but he hid his impatience as he walked into the offic
e. The woman gazed up at him with eyes that must have once been the color of blue gentians but now bore the habitually bleary red hue of an alcoholic. "Hello, Mrs…"

  "Stanton. Annalee Stanton."

  "Mrs. Stanton. I heard you have something important to tell me."

  She leaned forward, placing big-knuckled hands on knees covered by a faded blue wool skirt. "It's about my little girl, Detective. My little girl, Joy."

  "All right. How old is Joy?"

  "Six. And she's missin'."

  "Then you should be talking to someone in Juvenile."

  Annalee Stanton shook her head, making the faded blond bangs dance on her high forehead. "No. I got to tell you."

  "Why me in particular?"

  "Because you're Lucille Elder's boyfriend. I seen a picture of the two of you at a party in the newspaper."

  Tom looked at her suspiciously. "And what does Lucille have to do with this?"

  "I got to start at the beginnin'. If I don't start there, you won't understand. And I'll get mixed up. I do that so much these days." Her hands had begun to shake as she looked around the room, then leaned forward conspiratorily. "You don't have nothin' to drink here, do you? I run out about noon and didn't get the money I expected, so I couldn't buy no more." Tom looked at her coldly. "Hey, a drink would calm me, make me tell my story better. Is it such a big deal?"

  By now Tom felt like gnashing rather than merely gritting his teeth. He had the feeling the woman's suppressed hysteria had more to do with imminent DT's than with her missing daughter, but he remembered the bottle of Scotch a rookie had given him for his birthday. It was cheap Scotch, and Tom hated Scotch anyway, so four months later it was still in his desk drawer. He rummaged until he found it, poured a shot into a Dixie cup, and watched as the woman grabbed for it eagerly, downing it in one gulp.

  "That was good. Another one'd be even better."

  "Mrs. Stanton, I'm very busy…"

  "Just one more, please. My nerves are shot to hell. One more blast and I can tell my story."

  The second shot went down as fast as the first. Then the woman pressed her lips together in satisfaction, sat back, and regarded him from eyes surrounded by a hundred little dry lines and broken veins. "Okay, like I said, Joy's missin'. Has been since this mornin'."