Dead Little Darlings

by Herron, Rita

  Mr. Darling rubbed his cheeks with the palms of his hands. “Candace and Deborah had made some kind of pact with two other girls. Polly didn’t want to go along with it. She threatened to tell.”

  Ryker’s mind raced. “What kind of pact?”

  Mr. Darling lifted his head, his expression anguished. “To get pregnant.” His voice cracked. “They said they wanted to have babies, that they’d be better mothers than their own mama. They called her a drunk, and she was intoxicated that night, cussing and screaming like a lunatic.” His body shook with emotions. “I had to drag her off of Candace and Deborah. I thought she was going to kill them right then and there.”

  Another tense moment stretched. Agent Manson’s eyes widened. “Your daughters were pregnant?”

  Mr. Darling nodded. “They were bragging about it. Said they were going to live in a house with their friends and raise their babies together.”

  A tense minute passed, then Caroline spoke. “What happened next?”

  Mr. Darling scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand. “Phyllis was so enraged she screamed at the girls to get out, said she wouldn’t let whores live under our roof. They were crying and yelling at her, then they threw some clothes in their backpacks and ran off.” He choked on a sob. “That’s the last time I saw my daughters.”

  The school counselor mentioned that the girls were troubled. Ryker had heard of pregnancy pacts before, concocted by hopeless teenagers who thought having a baby was a way to escape their own dysfunctional families and fulfill their need for love.

  “You never heard from the girls after they left?” Caroline asked.

  “I didn’t. The next morning when my wife woke up, she was hysterical and ashamed of what happened.”

  “Your wife buried Polly?” Agent Manson asked.

  Mr. Darling studied his fingernails as if he could still see the dirt beneath them. “We both did, that night.”

  Caroline’s jaw hardened. “Then the next morning your wife called the police and you both acted as if the girls disappeared, and that you had no idea where they were.”

  “That part was true, I didn’t know where they were,” Mr. Darling said. “And I did go looking for them. I was hoping to convince them to have an abortion and to come home. I . . . just lost Polly. I didn’t want to lose them, too.”

  “Do you know who fathered your daughter’s babies?” Ryker asked.

  “No, they didn’t tell me.”

  Caroline crossed her arms. “Let’s say we buy your story. That still doesn’t explain how your wife’s body ended up in the ground with your daughter’s.”

  Mr. Darling closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Either he was fabricating another lie or reliving what happened.

  “You claimed she left you,” Ryker reminded him.

  “She did,” Mr. Darling said in a tormented whisper. “She blamed herself for what happened to the girls, for Polly’s death and that damn pregnancy pact, and for running Candace and Deborah off. One night she got drunk again and swallowed a bunch of pills. I . . . found her dead out in the yard, slumped over the grave where we buried Polly.” He gulped back another sob. “That’s when I decided to bury her with our little girl. So Polly wouldn’t be alone.”

  Ryker cleared his throat. “Or maybe you felt guilty for not protecting your daughters from an abusive drunk mother, and you snapped and killed your wife?”

  Mr. Darling shook his head. “She killed herself. I swear it.”

  “Why should we believe you?” he asked.

  Darling released a shaky breath. “She wrote a note before she died.”

  “Where is this alleged suicide note?” Caroline demanded, tapping her foot.

  The man wiped at his cheeks again. “I put it in the back of a photograph in the bedroom.”

  Ryker straightened. “The family photograph.”

  Mr. Darling nodded.

  “I’ll be right back.” He gestured toward Caroline. “A word outside.”

  She shot Darling a look of disgust, then followed Ryker into the hall. “I’m going to call the ERT to look for that note.”

  She nodded, but her face looked ashen.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She leaned against the wall, visibly trembling, her complexion as white as a ghost. “What’s wrong, Caroline?”

  Her legs slackened as if she was going to faint, and she reached for something to steady herself. The damn woman had been so cold and professional before that her reaction seemed odd. Perhaps she was sick. He rubbed her arms, soothing her. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  She started to stay something, but footsteps clattered behind him. Dammit. He glanced to his side. Marilyn was staring at the two of them.

  What the hell was going on?

  Marilyn was ready to confess everything to Ryker. Her mother had insisted she keep silent out of fear, but if Preston Richway had enough courage to talk, so did she.

  It was long overdue.

  But seeing Agent Manson in Ryker’s arms made her turn cold inside. Once before, in the beginning of their relationship, she’d screwed up so badly that he’d turned to another woman. He’d sworn it was just for a night. And it had been her fault. She’d practically thrust him into the other woman’s arms by pushing him away.

  She hadn’t liked it then. And she’d vowed to do better. To try to open up her heart and let him in . . . It was just so hard for her . . .

  Ryker gently eased the other woman from his arms and asked her, “Do you need to sit down?”

  The agent’s face looked pale.

  When she spotted Marilyn, she straightened as if she hated looking weak. “I’m sorry. Excuse me. I wasn’t feeling well.” She darted down the hall toward the restroom.

  Marilyn folded her arms. “What happened, Ryker?”

  He shrugged, although he looked confused. “I don’t know. We were interrogating Howard Darling and I came out to make a phone call. She looked as if she was going to faint.”

  “Is that all there was to it?” Marilyn asked, a hint of jealousy edging her voice.

  Ryker raised a brow, then seemed to realize that she was bothered by the other woman. He leaned closer and brushed his hand against her cheek. “Yes, Marilyn. That’s all.” His look softened. “Are you okay?”

  Her stomach fluttered, and she silently chastised herself. She was supposed to be tough. Independent. But this case—and seeing Ryker touching another woman—had shaken her up. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? I know yesterday was hard, honey.”

  His husky voice sounded so intimate that she wanted to curl in his arms and kiss him. But Agent Manson might return any minute. “Don’t worry about me, Ryker. I’m a survivor.”

  “Even survivors need someone to lean on occasionally.”

  The urge to tell him nagged at her, but she thought she heard footsteps, so bit back a response and gestured toward the ladies room.

  “Do you think the interview upset her?” Marilyn asked.

  For a moment his jaw tightened as if he realized she’d intentionally changed the subject. Then he sighed. “It’s been a disturbing few hours.” He explained about finding the graves in the back yard, and Mr. Darling’s statement. “This is off the record, Marilyn.”

  “Understood.” Marilyn rubbed her hands with her arms. “Do you believe Darling?”

  “I don’t know yet. I came out here to call the crime team to search for the suicide note.” Ryker removed his phone from his belt. “Darling does seem genuinely distraught. It’s possible he’s telling the truth about the pregnancy pact.”

  “The pregnancy pact fits,” Marilyn said, then relayed her conversation with Jeremy about the party. “Does Darling know who fathered his daughters’ babies?”

  Ryker shook his head. “Claimed he didn’t.”

  “Do y
ou think Darling molested Deborah and Candace?” Marilyn asked.

  “I don’t.” He exhaled roughly. “ I think he’s finally telling the truth.”

  “Preston Richway could be the father,” Marilyn suggested. “When Jeremy left the party, Preston was drunk. Later, he told Jeremy that the Darling girls showed up along with two other girls, Mellie Thacker and Aretha Franton. Maybe one or all of them hooked up with him.”

  Ryker clenched his phone. “That makes sense. The school counselor mentioned those girls. Preston could have moved away so he wouldn’t have to accept responsibility for the babies.”

  Marilyn nodded. “There’s something else.”

  Ryker arched a brow. “What?”

  “I think Mellie Thacker and Aretha Franton were in on the pact. I couldn’t find any information on Mellie after she and her mother left town. No driver’s license, nothing.”

  Ryker shifted on the balls of his feet. “What about her mother?”

  “She was killed in a car accident three weeks after she and her daughter left town.”

  Questions flickered in Ryker’s eyes. “Jesus,” he breathed. “You think Mellie is the other body found at Seaside Cemetery?”

  “I think that’s a distinct possibility,” Marilyn said.

  Agent Manson exited the ladies room and walked toward them, her confident air back in place.

  “I’ll call the ME.” He glanced at Agent Manson. “Do you feel better?”

  “I’m fine,” she said curtly. “What is she doing here?”

  Marilyn clenched her jaw at Agent Manson’s disapproving tone.

  “She had some helpful information to share,” Ryker said.

  “And I suppose you reciprocated,” Agent Manson snapped.

  Marilyn lifted her chin. “Ryker and I have an understanding,” she told the other woman. “We’ve worked together long before you entered the picture.”

  Agent Manson’s cold gaze met Marilyn’s.

  Ryker raised a hand. “Listen, ladies, I don’t understand what’s going on between the two of you, but we all want the same thing.”

  Yes, she and Agent Manson wanted the same thing. Ryker. And Marilyn wasn’t about to give up the fight.

  “My show has an exclusive on this story,” Agent Manson said. “And she is not to interfere or report a word on the Darling case without my permission.”

  Marilyn bit the inside of her cheek. So much for sharing information. She turned to Ryker. She’d planned to ask him if he wanted to go with her to question Preston Richway. But not now, not with this haughty agent glaring down at her, ordering her to stay out of the way.

  Marilyn didn’t take orders.

  “I have to go.” She didn’t wait for a response. She wheeled around and stormed down the hall.

  Ryker caught her just as she reached the exit, and snagged her arm. ”Marilyn, wait. Please don’t run away from me.”

  The vulnerability in his tone made her heart squeeze. “I’m not,” she said. Hadn’t she promised herself to try harder with Ryker?

  “It feels that way,” he said. “Last night . . . I was worried about you.” He shifted and tilted her chin up with his thumb. “I with I could keep you with me every minute so I could protect you.”

  Her breath caught. She wanted more than protection. She wanted intimacy. “You might not feel that way if you knew everything about me.”

  His eyes darkened, skating over her. “Try me.”

  Her heart melted as she searched his face. Would he understand?

  “You can trust me. I won’t run.” Then he cupped her face in his hands and closed his mouth over hers. Marilyn succumbed to the passion strumming through her, ran her fingers through his hair and deepened the kiss. Lost in the moment, she forgot everything but being in Ryker’s arms.

  Until a voice interrupted. “Detective Brockett?”

  Damn that federal agent.

  Ryker pulled away, his breathing choppy, desire heating his eyes. “We’ll finish this later.” He squeezed her arm. “Call me if you need me.”

  Without another word, he turned and strode back down the hall toward Caroline Manson.

  Marilyn pressed her fingers over her lips. She could still taste Ryker. She wanted to taste him again tonight.

  Agent Manson might get her story.

  But Marilyn would get hers, too. She wouldn’t lose Ryker either.

  Still, the story came first. She wanted to know about that missing baby. And no one, including Cold Cases Revisited star Agent Caroline Manson would stop her.

  “Good fucking grief, Caroline,” Ryker said. “Why do you have so much animosity toward Marilyn?”

  “I know how pushy she can be working a story, and this one is mine.”

  “Caroline, I can’t ignore when a good lead is handed to me.”

  “So what is this lead?” Caroline asked.

  Ryker relayed what Marilyn had told him about the party at Preston Richway’s, and about Mellie Thacker and Aretha Franton.

  Running a hand through her hair, Caroline huffed, “I’ve tried repeatedly to reach Aretha, but she hasn’t responded.”

  “Because she’s hiding something, or she’s scared. And if Marilyn is right, we can’t reach the Thacker girl because she’s dead.” Ryker gestured toward the interrogation room. “Now, if you want to talk to Darling again, I’ll call the crime team and Dr. Patton.”

  She worked her mouth from side to side, then stalked back into the room.

  Dammit, he didn’t like playing referee between these two spirited women. At least he’d driven his point home with Marilyn with that kiss. Hopefully he was hacking away at her distrust and she’d talk to him soon.

  If she didn’t . . . he didn’t know if he could continue their relationship the way it stood now.

  He phoned the ME first and explained his suspicions.

  “I’ll see if I can dig up the Thacker girl’s medical and dental records,” Dr. Patton said. “And I’ll keep you posted.”

  Ryker thanked him and called the head of the ERT at the Darling house. “Darling claims his wife killed herself, and that she left a suicide note. He put that note in the back of a family picture in his room. I saw the photograph when I was there. I’ll hold while you look.”

  He tapped his foot on the floor while he waited. Seconds ticked by. A minute, then two, then three.

  “I found the photograph,” Lieutenant Granger said. “I’m removing the back now.”

  Another minute passed. Then another. Ryker had been so certain Darling had killed his daughters and wife. Was he wrong?

  “It’s here,” the lieutenant said. “It’s definitely a suicide note.”

  “Read it to me.”

  The lieutenant sighed. “Dear Howard, I can’t bear to go on in this world any longer. All my children are gone. Three daughters. I was not a good mother to them. I know that now, and I’m so ashamed. I drank too much and took my temper out on them. That’s the reason they came up with that crazy pregnancy pact.

  Poor little Polly. She was the sweet one. The one who didn’t go along. And Deborah and Candace got into a fight with her because of it. A fight that ended so badly.

  That’s my fault, too. I should have taught the girls how to handle their problems without using their fists.

  The grief and regret have eaten me alive. I’m so sorry for failing my girls. I don’t know where Deborah and Candace are, or if they have had babies of their own by now. That would make me a grandmother.

  But I’ll never know. I don’t deserve them anyway.

  I can’t stand the thought of my sweet Polly being alone. I’m going to be with her now.

  Howard, please put me in the ground beside her.

  Phyllis

  “That’s it,” Lieutenant Granger said.

  Dammit. “Then Darling may be tel
ling the truth. Bag the letter and we’ll have the handwriting analyzed to verify that it’s Mrs. Darling’s handwriting.”

  “Will do.”

  Ryker hung up and scraped a hand over his chin. If Darling was telling the truth, what happened to Deborah and Candace after they’d left their house? And who had killed them?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Marilyn’s body tingled from that heated kiss with Ryker. She’d sensed he was hungry for more than just sex. She recognized it because she craved it herself.

  She’d been alone for so long. Guarded her heart and tackled her life all alone.

  What would it be like to truly have a real partner? One who understood and loved her in spite of her faults?

  She wanted to find out.

  “Promise me you won’t go asking questions about what you saw that night,” her mother had asked on her deathbed.

  Marilyn was breaking that promise now. But she had to know what happened to that baby. How could she even consider a relationship or a family of her own when an infant might have died because of her silence?

  Riddled with guilt again, she left the hospital more determined than ever to crack the case.

  During her research into the Keepers stories, she’d made enemies, but she’d also gained friends. Some people, especially women, supported the Keepers and their devotion to rid the world of men who preyed on women and children.

  Cat Landon and Carrie Ann Jensen were two of them. Liz Roberts, the counselor she’d been working with, was another. Even Laura Austin, Rachel Willis and Kendall James had vented their frustrations with the system.

  Another was Piper.

  She explained that she needed all she could find on Aretha Franton and Preston Richway. “I’ll get back to you in a few,” Piper said. “And about the adoptions/missing babies reports—I’m still digging.”

  Marilyn thanked her, then hung up and stopped by the Village café. She made notes on the investigation as she sipped her coffee and polished off a salad.

  She listed the names of everyone she’d questioned and other persons she needed to interview, then drew lines to the possible connections she’d made to date.