The Girl and the Black Christmas (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 11)

by A J Rivers

  I shake my head. We have fallen down the rabbit hole again. It seems now that Xavier has introduced us to the entrance, we are tumbling down that path far more often than we used to.

  “No, Sam, Xavier does not want to be a mermaid. He was singing Christmas songs. White Christmas. He’s making cookies that inspired him to tell Dean, and he wants to know if it’s going to snow. Anyway, we were talking about the snow and Xavier asked if we would go out and play in it. And that got me to thinking.”

  I walk around behind his desk and set up my computer, pulling up the series of images I was looking at. I minimize each one so they can all appear on the screen at the same time.

  “This is the one near the Christmas tree farm?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Angeline Courtney. We talked about her name being too on the nose for there to be an angel. And it is. Unless you think of it like a little child.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Okay, I’m listening,” Sam says.

  “Okay, remember in the report and in some of the news articles it said that there weren’t any signs that she was running or that there was a struggle. But that there was evidence that she was in that area for a little while? Or at least that she was walking through it on purpose?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I remember that,” he nods. “It means she probably wasn’t snagged from the Christmas tree farm and dragged out there.”

  “Right,” I say. “But I couldn’t really understand what it was talking about. It seemed so vague. They didn’t just come right out and say what they found, or what told them that everything was alright. Just that there were some indications. Then I got to thinking that maybe there was a detail they were purposely leaving out.”

  “Keeping it concealed from the public so if somebody did know about it, it could be a suggestion that they were involved,” Sam says.

  “Exactly. Only, I think I found it. Right here in the pictures,” I say.

  “What were you talking about seeing it as a little child?” Sam asks.

  “I’m getting there. When I was younger, I very briefly had a neighbor named Hannah. Her mother had called her Hannah Banana from the time she was born, and that was a major thing for her. Rather than it just being a nickname or even something that she thought was annoying, it became like a part of her identity. She ate bananas all the time. She had little tiny banana earrings. Pins, patches, shirts, everything you could think of that had to do with bananas. She had it.”

  “But did she have a banana bedroom?” Sam asks.

  “No, but she also didn’t have a Xavier. Hannah’s mother told me she started to want to collect things with bananas when she was really small. It wasn’t just something she got into when she was older, and it could seem trendy. She had a stuffed banana when she was two. Now, thinking about it that way, think about a girl named Angeline. What do you think her mother probably called her?”

  “If she had a nickname? Probably Angel. We already established that,” Sam says.

  “And what would a girl named Angel do if she was playing in the snow?”

  He looks at the screen to where I’ve rested my fingertip on one of the images of the snow where they found the pieces of the coat and the receipt with Angeline’s name on it.

  “You make a snow angel,” he says.

  “It’s what I would do,” I say.

  “So, this is her,” Sam says.

  “Everything fits. The only thing that is missing is the snowplow. But it says a truck driver was the one who spotted the pieces of coat. I bet if we do a little bit of poking, we’ll find out that truck driver was probably a private snowplow owner.”

  “That’s amazing,” Sam says. “But what do you do now? You figured out who the letter is about, but what are you supposed to do to help them?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.” My eyes widen slightly. “Yes, I have.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “The email. The one we got when we were in Feathered Nest. That asked if I was still up for lunch. I email back.” I go to the email box and open up a reply email to the message from ’Third Floor’. Before I can type anything in, I stop. “Wait. it’s not enough.”

  “What do you mean it’s not enough?” Sam asks.

  “Remember, this is supposed to be a Christmas list. A letter to Santa. She didn’t just want us to know who she is. The end of the letter was her request. We have to find out where she is,” I say.

  “Which means we have to find out who took her,” Sam says.

  “That would be a good start,” I nod.

  “I’ll get in touch with the department that investigated it. See what information I can get,” he says.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’ll keep researching. See if I can figure anything else out.”

  I go back to the house and finish the present that is still sitting on the dining room table. Once it’s tucked under the tree, I call Dean back.

  “I figured out who the letter was about,” I say and explain the same thing I told Sam.

  “That’s great. Did you let the person know?” he asks. “You still don’t know who sent it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. But the letter said it wanted me to figure out where she is. That’s her Christmas request, so I have to find that out,” I say.

  “You should tell them. Let him know you’re on their trail,” he says. “Even if you don’t know who it is, let him know you’re smart enough to play their game,” he says. “It might make them slip and you’ll find something else out.”

  “Do you think there’s any chance she’s still alive?” I ask. “Some of the reports do say that members of her family thought she might have just run away. Apparently, she was in a relationship her parents didn’t approve of and had gotten into a few fights with them over it. She wanted to bring him home for Christmas and they said no, so she said she wasn’t going to come home at all. Do you think there’s any chance that’s actually what happened?”

  “How long ago did she go missing?” he asks.

  “Fourteen years ago. Tomorrow is actually the anniversary.”

  “And there hasn’t been any sign of her?” he asks.

  “No,” I admit, even though I don’t want to.

  “Do you want the real answer or the Christmas season answer?” he asks.

  “The real one,” I say.

  “No. It’s been fourteen years, Emma. It’s not impossible. People have come back after longer. But you know the statistics. The chances Angeline is still alive are slim at best,” he says.

  I draw in a breath and nod. “What was the Christmas answer?”

  “No. But you’ll find her. Incidentally, that’s the real answer, too. You know who she is and where she was last. Now all you have to do is find out what happened to her after she made that snow angel,” he says.

  “That’s all,” I say.

  “You can do it, Emma. Tell them you know her name. Let them know they aren’t going to get away with it,” he says.

  I get off the phone and go to my computer to send the email. He’s right. I’m letting myself get too lost in the game aspect of this. I need to remember what this is really about. This is a person. A woman whose life took a sharp turn when she was only eighteen. As much as I want to think that she followed her heart and left the life people were telling her she should live to find the one she wanted, I know that’s not what happened.

  It’s hard to stay hidden now. There’s a possibility. There’s always a possibility. But the chances that Angeline was able to run off with her boyfriend, start a new life, and live happily but without ever being noticed again, are very low.

  Something happened to her. Something she probably never could have imagined.

  I don’t know what, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.

  And the closer I get to Angeline, the closer I get to Julia.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Thirteen years ago…

  Julia pulled the scarf out of the laundry basket but h
esitated before putting it into the washing machine. She ran her fingers over the fibers and thought about what Lynn said. This wasn’t a mass-market scarf. It wasn’t something somebody tossed into a shopping cart as a last-minute Christmas gift, or grabbed on an unexpectedly cold day. It wasn’t a cheap bit of acrylic.

  But it also wasn’t anything overtly luxurious. Just good quality fibers and skilled craftsmanship, the muted colors unisex and universally flattering.

  Julia looked down into the water filling the machine and the soap starting to bubble up. She thought about dropping the scarf in along with the rest of her clothes, then hesitated. After a second, she folded it back up, put it in the basket, and closed the top of the washer.

  She checked her phone and realized she was running short on time. She rushed back to her apartment and changed her clothes, pausing only long enough to freshen her makeup and add a slick of red lipstick that seemed appropriate for the sparkling December afternoon.

  She tucked the scarf into her purse before waving goodbye to Lynn, where she still sat on the couch. Her roommate gave her a look that seemed to indicate she thought she had transferred something valuable to Julia, as if she had given Julia a responsibility.

  There wasn’t much time when Julia got into her car, but she still took the right turn out of the parking lot rather than the left. She drove out of the busy section of the city to the picturesque neighborhood, with the slumbering playground and cold, bare vines on the brick wall.

  There was only one car in the driveway, which she expected. She didn’t pull into it. Instead, she drove past it a little and parked on the other side of the street. It wasn’t unusual for her to rush when she was getting up the sidewalk and onto the brick porch, but this time she was trying to get inside.

  The door opened and Marissa looked out with a confused expression.

  “Julia,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today. Iris isn’t here.”

  “Oh, I know. I just came by to return this,” Julia said, reaching into her bag and pulling out the scarf.

  Marissa took it but looked down at it as if she didn’t even remember that Julia had it. Something must have clicked, because she nodded and patted the scarf as if she was acknowledging it.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she said.

  “It was really warm, thank you again for letting me borrow it,” Julia said.

  Marissa nodded, taking a step back as if she was trying to get back inside the house.

  “Of course,” Marissa said. “It was a cold night. Thanks again for bringing it back.”

  She started to close the door, but Julia stepped forward to stop her.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you. With Christmas coming up and all, do you happen to know where I could get one of those scarves? It’s so nice, and I really think my father would like it.”

  “Oh,” Marissa said, looking at the scarf again as if it would help her answer the question. “To be honest, I don’t even remember who this belongs to. I do so much laundry around here, and sometimes it’s hard to remember what belongs to who. Things like this I just hang up in the closet and anybody who uses it, uses it. As far as I know, it’s been around for a while.”

  “It has? Like how long?” Julia noticed the strange look Marissa was giving her. “I just mean, so I could ask around at stores. If I know what season it’s from, they might be able to get one for me.”

  “It’s been around for years,” Marissa said. “I don’t even know if they would carry it anymore.”

  “Oh, well,” Julia said with what she hoped it was a convincingly cheerful smile and a shrug. “I guess I’ll find something else for him. I’m going to head out now. See you soon.”

  “Have a good night,” Marissa said.

  Julia got back in her car and drove away. She knew she would have to hurry if she didn’t want to be late. Curiosity was tempting her to take out her phone and do a quick search, but she didn’t. This, she didn’t want to be late for. It was far more important than any class or job.

  She was thankful for easy traffic and managing to hit every light on her way out of the city and across town. That very rarely happened, and if there was going to be a time for it to happen, this was the time.

  When she got to the parking lot, she pulled in and drove around the building slowly, trying to find the meeting spot they’d agreed on. She had gone almost all the way around the building when she finally saw a giant lit wreath on the wall.

  Slowing down, she looked at the sidewalk in front of the wreath but didn’t see any familiar faces. She could only stay there for a few moments before the cars behind her got impatient, and a couple of beeps from horns made her move along. Rather than driving back around the other side of the building, she turned into one of the aisles of the parking lot.

  She took out her phone and sent a message.

  I’m here. I looked at the wreath, but I didn’t see you. Did you already go inside?

  She drove up and down the aisles looking for an empty parking spot for a few moments before getting a response.

  Got stuck in a little bit of traffic. Be there in a minute.

  It seemed odd, considering she had no traffic at all, but he was probably coming from a different direction and must have hit a snag. Holiday traffic could be rough, she told herself. She didn’t want to let herself think that he was doing this on purpose. Not tonight. Not for this.

  Knowing she had a little bit of time on her hands, Julia could no longer resist the urge. She opened a search engine on her phone and typed in the details that Lynn gave her about her friend’s death. She hadn’t told her much, but Julia typed in what she knew.

  It took a little bit of searching, but she found it. The article was brief and gave very little information Lynn hadn’t already told her. What it did offer was the name of the street where Samantha’s body was found in the abandoned store. Julia took note of it, then plugged it into a Maps app.

  It took only a few seconds to trace the route. An uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach, but she couldn’t dwell on it. Closing all the windows on her phone, she pushed it into her bag and got out of the car. She didn’t want to leave them waiting.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Now

  “Oh, hey, honey,” I say, coming into the living room just as Sam is walking through the front door. “I didn’t realize you were coming home so early. I thought you said you were going to be late because you had to do those trainings with the new officers. I was just throwing together some pasta for dinner. Do you want some?”

  “No. I’m fine,” he says. “I have to get back.”

  “I’m really glad you’re here. I think I figured a couple of things out,” I say. “You want to hear it?”

  “Emma, I only came by for a minute. I need to talk to you,” he says.

  “Okay but give me just a second. I need to jot something down. It popped into my head while I was in the kitchen, and I just don’t want to forget it. I think I made a connection between Angeline and another case that was going on around the same time.”

  “Emma,” he repeats more forcefully. “I need you to listen to me.”

  I lower myself down onto the couch, looking over at him as I set my cup down on the side table.

  “Go ahead,” I say. “Is something wrong?”

  “Have you watched the news at all today?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “I haven’t even turned the TV on.”

  “Turn it on.”

  I don’t like the tone of his voice. It’s not angry, there’s something else in it that’s even more unsettling. I just don’t know what word to use to describe it.

  I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, switching channels to the local news. It’s on a commercial, but Sam holds up his hand like he wants me to be patient. Two more commercials later, the news returns. A stern-faced woman stares down the camera as she presents the story.

  “Details continue to come in on a young woman apparently abducted from the Larsonvi
lle area. Nineteen-year-old Rebecca Parrish was last seen in the vicinity of the Old Dominion Christmas Tree Farm this afternoon. She was with her family and separated from them to make a phone call. When she didn’t return, her father and brother searched the area for her. Several pieces of fabric were found along the side of a nearby access road. Her family said they appeared to be from the sweater Rebecca was wearing. Other evidence in the area has police saying this case is very reminiscent of another missing persons case in the state. Angeline Courtney went missing fourteen years ago today, also from a Christmas tree farm. Pieces of her coat and a receipt with her name on it were found in the snow. The case remains open. Police are now considering whether these two might be linked.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasp. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Emma, the news isn’t reporting all the details. They want to keep some things back from the public to protect the case... “

  “There was a snow angel,” I say without looking at him.

  My eyes are still frozen on the TV screen in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod.

  “I got in touch with the Larsonville department. One of the detectives is an old buddy of mine and he gave me some extra information as a professional courtesy. Clearly this is off the record, but…”

  “Just tell me, Sam.”

  “There was a piece of coal left next to the shreds of her sweater.”

  It feels like the wind has gotten knocked out of me. For a second, there is no air in my lungs.

  “Shit,” I say. “It’s the anniversary of her disappearance. That’s what the first note meant. Don’t take too long. I wouldn’t want them to get coal.”

  I jump up and Sam steps forward to try to take hold of my arms.

  “Emma, calm down. Just take a breath for a second,” he says.

  “I can’t calm down, Sam. He did this because I couldn’t figure out where Angeline is. I couldn’t figure out what happened to her, so he snatched another girl.”