Girl Eight: A Mercy Harbor Thriller

by Melinda Woodhall

  “Why in the world would you let that man into our home, Terri? Are you really that stupid? Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve told you all these years?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled. “You can’t go letting in strangers. You can’t put yourself in harm’s way.”

  Fear washed through Terri at the fury and disgust evident in Doc’s words. The red flush to his face, and the feral gleam in his eyes made her head spin. A faraway memory flashed through her mind: another day when she had seen Doc screaming in rage. A wave of nausea made her grip the armrests of her chair to steady herself.

  “Okay, Doc, I hear you,” she muttered, trying not to be sick as she pushed toward the kitchen. She needed to get away from him, and she needed a drink of water.

  She steered the chair past the stairs that she no longer used, glancing up into the dark rooms above. Resentment burned in her chest as she thought of everything those stairs had taken away from her. Now she couldn’t even have the satisfaction of stomping away from her husband when he was acting like an idiot. She just had to roll away in defeat.

  A firm hand on the back of her chair stopped her just before she reached the kitchen. Terri looked around, tears streaming down her face; she saw that Doc was crying, too. He circled the chair, knelt in front of her, and laid his head on her lap.

  “I'm sorry, Terri. I'm so sorry. I just want to protect you."

  Terri looked down at Doc’s heaving shoulders and ran a gentle hand through his hair. When Doc raised his head to wrap his arms around her, she allowed herself to relax against him.

  What else can I do? He's all I’ve got left.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was noon on Sunday before Anna Stanislaus finally returned Eden’s phone call. Kara had gone missing from the hospital more than twenty-four hours before, and no one at Hope House had seen or heard from her since. Eden’s heart jumped when she saw the hoped-for number on the phone’s display. She stepped out onto the back porch and tapped on the screen to accept the call.

  “Hello, Anna?”

  The woman’s soft response was drowned out by the sound of a child crying. Eden heard rustling in the background and then the woman’s pleading admonishment.

  “Niko, be quiet, let Momma talk.”

  More fussing, and then Anna’s voice close to the phone.

  “Hello…are you still there?”

  “Hello, Anna? This is Eden Winthrop. I’m with Hope House, the recovery center where your sister, Kara, has been staying.”

  “Yes, I know. I got your message. Has Kara been found yet?”

  The question ended Eden’s hope that the young woman had made her way back to Orlando, and the truth settled into Eden’s stomach with cold certainty: Kara was officially a missing person.

  “No, I’m sorry, Anna, but we still haven’t heard from Kara. She left the hospital yesterday morning and no one here knows where she could have gone. I was hoping she’d gone to see you.”

  When Anna didn’t respond right away, Eden gave her time to digest the unwelcome news that her sister was missing.

  The quiet on the other end of the phone was soon interrupted by a high-pitched squeal, and the sound of something banging. Finally, Anna cleared her throat.

  “I can’t think where she would go. She has no one else. At least, not that I know of.”

  Anna’s voice was hesitant, unsure.

  “Why was she in the hospital? Was she sick?”

  “She’d had an accidental overdose. We aren’t sure what she took, or how she got the…drugs.”

  Eden winced at the words, knowing it sounded as if Kara had relapsed, and she rushed to explain.

  “But, I’m sure it was an accident. Kara told me on Friday that she was determined to get straight so that she could return to Orlando and help you and Niko.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happened,” Anna murmured. “Everything was fine six months ago, and then…”

  Eden waited, but Anna had drifted away. The baby was fussing, and Anna responded with the soft, low soothing words that seem to come naturally to new mothers.

  “Momma’s here, Niko. Momma’s right here. That’s a good boy.”

  Finally, Anna returned to the phone.

  “I have to work the late shift today, but maybe Niko and I could drive down tomorrow. I could call in sick. We could look around the town and see if we can find Kara.”

  “No, that’s the last thing Kara would want.”

  Eden remembered Kara’s panic at the thought of Anna driving all the way to Willow Bay because of her.

  “Kara wanted to help you and Niko. She wouldn’t want you to worry. I’ve reported the situation to the police, and I have some friends helping to search as well.”

  “The police? Won’t they arrest Kara if they find out she overdosed? She was allowed to go to Hope House instead of jail. Will the police take her to jail?”

  Eden wanted to assure Anna that Kara wouldn’t be in trouble when she was found, but she wasn’t sure herself. If the girl had run away to get high, or to avoid rehab, and the police found her first, Eden wasn’t sure what would happen.

  “I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Eden said, promising herself she’d find a way to get Kara back into Hope House when she was found. “But first we’ve got to find her.”

  “I have to go. I need to drop off Niko at the sitter’s and be at work soon. But my day off is Tuesday. If you don’t find Kara by then, I’m driving down there, whether Kara will like it or not.”

  Eden recognized the grim determination in Anna’s soft voice. She knew that feeling better than anyone else.

  It had been the same feeling that had driven her to try to save her sister, Mercy, from an abusive husband. The same protective instinct that had compelled her to kill in order to save Mercy’s children.

  No use trying to talk her out of coming to find her sister. I wouldn’t listen if it was my sister, so why should she?

  “All right, but please keep in touch, Anna. You can reach me at any time. If Kara calls you, please let me know. And if I hear from Kara, I’ll contact you right away.”

  Eden held the phone in her hand after the call had ended.

  There has to be something more I can do.

  She thought for a minute, then dialed Reggie’s number. Her friend answered on the third ring, already talking.

  “No, I haven’t heard from Kara, and yes, I’m worried, too.”

  “I can’t just sit around and wait for something terrible to happen.”

  Eden’s tone was defensive.

  “I know first-hand that it’s dangerous to wait for the police to handle things around here.”

  Reggie sighed and made a noise that Eden took for agreement.

  “I’m calling you to ask if Dr. Bellows is scheduled to run any sessions at Hope House today. I’m convinced he knows something, and I want to try to talk to him again.”

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Eden. Besides, we don’t hold sessions on Sundays, so he won’t be at Hope House in any case. He won’t be there until Tuesday.”

  “Then tell me his home address.”

  Eden wasn’t going to give up that easily, and she certainly wasn’t going to wait until Tuesday to speak to him. The self-important doctor was hiding something, and she was going to find out what he knew.

  “You can’t go around confronting people, Eden,” Reggie pleaded, sounding worried. “For one thing, it isn’t safe.”

  “I thought you said that Dr. Bellows was a charitable, respected member of the community. What’s the harm of me stopping by for a friendly chat? Are you worried he’ll be offended?”

  “I’m not worried about him, Eden, I’m worried about you.”

  Eden felt tears threaten as she struggled to think of something to say. Reggie just didn’t understand. She hadn’t lost someone to violence. She hadn’t seen the pitiful ruins of a young girl left to fend for herself.

  She didn’t have to live w
ith the nightmares.

  “I’m not the enemy you know. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

  “What’s his address, Reggie?”

  “Eden, please don’t do this.”

  “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll just look in the foundation’s records.”

  “Okay, I’ll text you the address. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  After she’d disconnected the call, Eden felt guilty for taking her frustration out on Reggie. The kind woman had been a godsend, and Eden knew she’d be lost without her.

  I’ll apologize to Reggie the next time I see her, but first, I need to pay Dr. Bellows a visit.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Eden drove to the exclusive Grand Isles Estates lakefront community, turning down a winding road that led to the Bellows house. Spanish moss hung heavily from ancient cypress trees, blocking out the afternoon sun, and casting gray shadows on the houses below.

  She parked her white Expedition by the curb and hurried up the walkway, eager to knock on the door before she lost her nerve.

  But no one responded, and after several seconds she knocked again, becoming impatient to ask Dr. Bellows and his wife exactly what they’d seen at the hospital the previous morning.

  After further silence from inside, Eden circled around to the side of the large two-story, colonial house.

  The door to the garage was closed, and a large wooden fence blocked her from going into the backyard. She tried pushing on the gate, but it was firmly locked.

  She began to walk back toward the front and noticed that decorative glass panes ran across the upper part of the garage door.

  Eden looked around to make sure she wasn’t being watched. Seeing no one, she approached the door and stood on her tiptoes, peering into the dark garage, glad for once that, at five-feet, ten inches tall, she’d inherited her father’s height.

  Her mood soured when she saw that the big blue van was not in the garage. Dr. Bellows and his wife were not at home. Her questions would have to wait.

  Eden trudged back to her car with a heavy heart. She drove past the thick, gnarled trunks of the cypress trees, emerging from their oppressive shade to see puffs of clouds on the horizon, drifting in from the Gulf. Thoughts of the approaching storm made Eden frown.

  Will the storm hit Willow Bay? If so, will we find Kara before it does?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Wind gusted through the Sacred Heart Cemetery, rustling the calla lilies in Barker’s arms, and covering the headstone with dead leaves. He knelt and put the flowers into the bronze vase, before brushing the leaves aside to reveal the name etched into the marble: Caroline Ferguson Barker, Beloved Wife and Mother.

  “That’s better,” Barker said, keeping his voice low but cheerful. “All clean now, baby. Just the way you like it.”

  He sat back on his heels and looked around at the other graves. Most were covered with leaves and debris that had blown in from the forest beyond the wooden fence, where palm tree fronds shivered in the wind as they towered over a motley collection of cabbage and scrub palmettos.

  Sacred Heart was the oldest cemetery in Willow Bay, and its age showed in the cracked wooden fence and overgrown lawn. But Caroline had thought the place had character, and an interesting past which went all the way back to the town’s founding, unlike the carefully manicured Bay Haven Memorial Park on the other side of town. She’d made all the arrangements herself, and now here she was, part of the town’s history.

  “You always did manage to get your way in the end.”

  Barker studied the marble headstone, pretending everything was all right, just as he did most Sundays, but this time his mind wouldn’t play along. A little voice kept asking him what Caroline would say if she could see him there alone at her grave.

  Where’s Taylor? Why isn’t she with you? Why hasn’t she come to see me?

  They were questions he didn’t want to answer. What could he say to himself or to his wife’s memory that would make sense? Did he even know the truth?

  Taylor left. She doesn’t want to see me. She doesn’t want to remember.

  Barker kissed the tips of his fingers and touched them to the cool marble next to Caroline’s name. He held them there for a long beat, wishing everything had happened differently. Wishing he could do it all over again. Slowly he stood and walked across the lawn, toward the overgrown path that led to his car.

  He sat in the blue Prius and stared out at the cemetery, the graves and the trees replaced by visions of Caroline, gone now for three years, but still so vivid in his mind. Caroline on their wedding day, stunning in white satin. Caroline in the car as they brought baby Taylor home from the hospital. Caroline dry-eyed and stoic after finding out the cancer had returned. Caroline in their bed, that very last night.

  He shook himself and dried his eyes.

  Three years of grieving is long enough, Barker.

  But somehow he didn’t believe it. How could twenty-five years of marriage be forgotten in only three years of mourning? The math didn’t work. Forgetting didn’t work. Nothing seemed to work without Caroline. But he had no one to blame but himself.

  At least that’s how Taylor had seen it, and her accusing words still stung after all this time.

  “You caused Mommy’s cancer. Always smoking like a chimney around us. I’ll be dead next, and it’ll be all your fault.”

  He knew she’d been hurting; he thought she hadn’t really meant it. But his daughter had been gone without a word for more than two years now. Enough was enough. It was time for him to stop grieving and sulking, and time for Taylor to come home.

  Now I just need to find her and tell her.

  Barker started the car and pushed on the gas, steering the car along the narrow, winding road that snaked through the cemetery. As he neared the front gates, he noticed a small figure seated on a bench next to a gray marble lawn crypt. The woman’s silky white dress complimented her smooth, ebony skin.

  Barker blinked in recognition.

  Isn’t that Eden Winthrop’s friend?

  His car’s brilliant blue exterior - the only splash of color in the cemetery other than the flowers among the graves - must have drawn the woman’s attention, because she glanced over, before turning back to the grave and bowing her head.

  Barker tried to catch a glimpse of her in his rearview mirror, but a large weeping willow was in the way.

  I’m sure that was Reggie. I guess she’s lost someone, too.

  Reggie’s thin shoulders and bowed head stayed with Barker as he drove home. He told himself that the knowledge that someone else was grieving should make him feel even worse, but somehow it comforted him. He wasn’t the only one caught up in the past. He wasn’t the only one that spent the weekends socializing with the dead.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Barker sat at his dining room table writing notes onto a stack of index cards. He’d stopped to buy the cards at Bayside Market on his way home from the cemetery, determined to map out all possible links between Natalie Lorenzo and Helena Steele.

  His father had taught him to use index cards to walk through a case. Each clue or fact would go onto a card, as would each suspect, location and open question. The cards provided a way to visualize and sort the information collected in different ways.

  Barker’s phone buzzed in his pocket just as he wrote Community Health Center on one of the cards.

  “Hey, Leo, what’s up?”

  “I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news?”

  “The news? No, I make a point never to watch Sunday morning news,” Barker replied, still moving the cards around on the table. “Too many politicians telling too many lies. Besides, I have a standing date on Sunday mornings.”

  “Well, you might want to catch up on the headlines. There’s been another murder in Willow Bay, and the police have named Frankie Dawson as their number one suspect.”

  “You’re messing with me, right?” Barker sputtered. “This is a joke?”

  “I
f it’s a joke then you haven’t heard the punchline yet.”

  Leo didn’t sound even slightly amused.

  “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “The woman that got murdered? Her name is Penelope Yates.”

  Barker drew in a breath and held it, trying to understand what he was hearing.

  “The same Penelope Yates that Nessa told me about yesterday? The same woman that Frankie was going to track down?”

  “Yep, that’s the one. I don’t have all the details of the murder yet, but the police think Frankie might be involved.”

  “And what does Frankie say?”

  “He denies it,” Leo said, sounding tired. “Says he met Penelope at a bar, but he left her at home and alive.”

  “Has he been arrested?” Barker asked, still dazed by the thought of Frankie being accused of murder. The guy could be a jerk, but he wasn’t a killer. Anyone could see that.

  “No. I talked him into going into the station for a voluntary interview, but they haven’t provided me with any of the evidence yet.”

  Barker thought for a minute.

  “They probably won’t share the details with you and Frankie unless they charge him. Then they’ll have to.”

  “Yeah, I know how they operate,” Leo snorted, his disdain for the police clear in his voice. “So, I’m hoping you might be able to get some details from Nessa.”

  “Oh, man, poor Nessa,” Barker groaned. “She’s the one that gave me the Penelope Yates connection. I bet she’s freaking out about all this.”

  “Poor Nessa? I’m more worried about Penelope Yates, who is dead, and Frankie Dawson, who is being falsely accused right now. I’m sure poor Nessa can take care of herself.”

  “Calm down, Leo. I’m just saying none of this is Nessa’s fault, and she’s going to be left holding the bag. I feel for her. But you’re right, we need to focus on proving that Frankie didn’t do this.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Barker. I know you and Frankie don’t always get along, but it’s good to know you’ve got his back.”