Come Find Me

by Debra Webb

  What the hell was it about this guy that made her not want to fail...him?

  Forget about it, she ordered.

  For now, anyway.

  The house should have been condemned ages ago. The entire structure leaned to one side. Three, no four, dead cars had been left unburied in the yard. A dog lay on the porch. Sarah didn’t see how he kept from freezing to death.

  His tail flopped as they climbed the rickety steps.

  “Good fella,” Conner said gently before banging on the door.

  The house backed up to the woods. Considering the wooded areas between here and the location of the cemetery, it would be easy for Matilda to slip back and forth without being spotted.

  “It’s quiet in there,” Conner said. “Maybe no one’s home.”

  “Knock again.”

  He banged a little harder this time.

  Sarah listened; heard some bumping around. “Someone’s up.”

  Conner beat his fist on the door a third time.

  The door flew open. “What the hell is it?”

  A woman with stringy black hair and dressed in nothing but a T-shirt glared from Conner to Sarah. But the eyes were the same as Matilda’s. This unfortunate being was her mother.

  “Is Matilda home?” Sarah summed up the woman in one word. Druggie. Too skinny. Splotchy complexion. Bad teeth. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. A serious user.

  “Who knows?” The woman flung the door open wider. “See for yourself. I’m going back to bed.” She eyed Conner once before putting word into action.

  Conner entered before Sarah. Another of those protective male gestures.

  The living room had few furnishings. A ragged couch and a couple of tables. The mainstay of the decorating was garbage. Empty pizza boxes. Beer cans. Newspapers. Dirty clothes.

  “Nice place,” Sarah murmured. Poor kid. Living in a dump like this...with a mother like that. As crazy as Sarah’s mother had been, she’d kept a clean house and she’d taken care of Sarah most of the time.

  The kitchen was even worse. Dirty dishes filled the sink, covered the countertops and table. A couple of black flies that miraculously survived the cold crawled around on the window above the sink.

  Conner led the way down the hall. As she’d promised, mother was sprawled in bed, most of her ass showing. Some dirtbag lay partially under her. A filthy bathroom was the next door they encountered.

  The final door was closed. Sarah knocked but there was no answer. The room beyond the door was quiet. She grasped the knob and turned. The latch released and the door opened.

  Unlike the rest of the house, Matilda’s room was neat. A white pentagram had been painted with what appeared to be spray paint on the wood floor. Other symbols of her religion hung on the walls. The one bookshelf was mostly empty. Sarah remembered Matilda saying that she’d hidden her stuff.

  Her great-great-grandmother’s spell books.

  The bed was made. The covers old and tattered.

  The closet had a couple of T-shirts hanging inside and not much else.

  The window that faced the woods was open a crack.

  Sarah walked over and peered through the dingy panes. “So this is your way in and out.” The girl could avoid running into her mother and her friends and seek the safety of the places she felt safe.

  The woods.

  And the cemetery.

  Sarah turned to face Conner. “Let’s go to Bay View Cemetery.”

  He shook his head. “No kid should have to live like this.”

  And, the saddest part was that none of the God-fearing, compassionate folks in his village seemed to notice or care.

  That was Sarah’s cynical side talking. But it was true.

  Somehow she would find a way to help Matilda. It was the least Sarah could do for a kindred spirit.

  The drive to the cemetery took only three or four minutes.

  Sarah opened her door as soon as he’d shut off the engine. She scanned the cemetery. No sign of Matilda.

  Sarah had taken only one step from the Jeep when she stopped dead. She stared at Mattie Calder’s headstone.

  Sitting there watching Sarah...or maybe waiting for her to arrive...were three black crows.

  Chapter 29

  Noon

  In just one hour the special afternoon prayer service would begin.

  Deborah Mahaney stared out the window over her kitchen sink and peered next door at the church’s towering stained-glass window. The beautiful rendering of Jesus ascending to heaven gave her comfort even now, in this tragic time.

  Today Christopher had a brief, faith-building sermon planned for their grieving congregation.

  Evil had struck again and taken another of their sweet children.

  Deborah’s gnarled hands ached. She rubbed them together.

  The memorial service would be tomorrow morning at eleven. Poor Rachel couldn’t bear the thought of going through the service days from now. She wanted it behind her.

  The ache in Deborah’s heart went soul deep. Such tragedy.

  As much as she grieved for the Gerards and the Appletons, Deborah had problems of her own, too.

  The FBI agent was coming this afternoon. He’d come once already to question Christopher about his discovery of poor Alicia’s body. But this time was different. Like that awful Sarah Newton, he wanted to talk to Christopher about Valerie.

  Dear God, what am I to do?

  Deborah closed her eyes and prayed hard.

  How could this be happening? So much time had passed and there had been no trouble. Why now? Poor Valerie was dead. What difference would it make now?

  All the difference in the world, Deborah feared.

  Her crippling arthritis worsened every year. Poor Tamara was just about to graduate high school. She would be going off to college. That took money. Deborah’s medicine and mounting doctor bills took money and insurance.

  If Christopher’s secret were discovered...

  God, what would she and Tamara do?

  Tamara had suffered far too much already.

  Deborah understood that even if the police didn’t find that dirty little sin, she would. Sarah Newton had a reputation for finding what others missed. She would not stop until she had ruined them.

  If Deborah continued to wait...it might be too late.

  She had watched for a sign, but nothing came.

  God often expected his sheep to think for themselves.

  Perhaps this was one of those times.

  She had to make a plan to save herself and Tamara from Christopher’s terrible, terrible sin.

  He apparently did not possess the courage to act.

  Deborah went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She picked up the prescription bottle, turned it in her fingers.

  Yes, she had to do something very soon.

  Chapter 30

  Cliffside Care Facility, 2:20 P.M.

  Barton clasped the bag in his hand and forced his feet to walk, not run, down the corridor.

  Two more doors...there.

  He walked into the room, closed the door that stayed open when no visitors or facility staff were present.

  For a moment he could only lean against the door, his heart pounding harder with each breath.

  Was he making a mistake to bring this up?

  It wasn’t like he would gain anything.

  But he had to do it. He could keep this misery to himself no longer.

  Barton moved away from the door. The television, he noticed, was muted.

  In the long narrow hospital bed, his father lay, the covers tucked neatly around him, his frail eyes staring at the images on the television screen.

  Barton moved past the foot of his father’s bed. Those faded blue eyes followed him around to the side of the bed. Barton lowered himself into the chair he always selected when he visited. For a long time he simply sat there, unsure how to approach what he needed to say.

  Finally, when he could bear the tremendous pressure no l
onger, he leaned forward and peered into his father’s watery eyes.

  “Why did you do it?”

  Thin lids blinked.

  Barton didn’t know why he bothered to demand an answer. His father hadn’t been able to speak in twelve years. He’d lain in this very bed since his stroke. Unable to move even a finger or to utter the slightest sound. Whether or not he could hear or understand was unclear. He was kept alive with a feeding tube and intravenous fluids.

  Would he never die?

  The thought filled Barton’s eyes with tears. How could he be so heartless? He loved his father. Had always loved him. But after the stroke, this...this god-awful thing had become Barton’s personal burden.

  His father was eighty years old. Living on sheer willpower.

  What could they do to him?

  Nothing.

  He was a mere fragile shell of a human with only a glimmer left of the man who once was trapped inside.

  But what would they do to Barton for concealing evidence?

  How could he protect his family?

  He reached out and clutched his father’s cold, feeble hand. “What am I going to do?”

  Closing his eyes, Barton fought the overwhelming emotions.

  Today at four the profiler from Quantico wanted to see him.

  What if he had somehow learned the truth?

  Barton opened his eyes.

  The agent couldn’t know the truth. Barton squared his shoulders, gathered his courage.

  There was no way anyone could know.

  Not yet.

  Barton would be strong for the interview with the federal agent.

  But she...she was a different story.

  She was not bound by the same laws as the agent. She could dig and sneak around until she discovered Barton’s secret.

  He clasped the bag closer. It was his curse.

  He had to make sure she didn’t find out. He had to make her go away.

  All of his efforts so far had failed. When she’d gone over that ledge he’d been certain he’d killed her. He shuddered. Had to be losing his mind. He hadn’t meant to push her...but the impulse had overwhelmed him.

  This was what he had been reduced to!

  He had to be brave. Perhaps there was a way without going to such an extreme. Whatever it was, he had to find it. He had to find something that scared her enough to send her running.

  No one was immune to fear.

  All he had to do was find her one true fear and then he could make her afraid.

  Then she would leave.

  His burden, his secret, would be safe.

  Chapter 31

  Tuesday, March 3, 10:55 A.M.

  Sarah stood, arms crossed, on the periphery of the crowd filing into the Main Street Methodist church for Alicia Appleton’s memorial service. Sarah had observed most of the people on her watch-list drift inside.

  Clouds threatening snow plotted overhead.

  More snow was the last thing they needed.

  Trucks, cars, and SUVs lined the parking area, each one dirty from the mixture of snow, ice, sand, and cinders that littered every street and driveway. Welcome to life in Maine.

  Sarah had been damned disappointed that Chief Willard hadn’t planned a strategy briefing that morning, at least not one she was invited to attend.

  If the investigation had discovered additional evidence or learned new particulars on persons of interest since the last briefing no one was talking.

  Memorial services were something Sarah didn’t typically attend. But she was here for more than paying her respects to the deceased. She was here to analyze the others paying their respects. Not exactly a laudable reason to show, but necessary nonetheless.

  She was beginning to think she should have brought two little black dresses. But since she only owned one, it would have to do. As would the less than sophisticated Converses that were the mainstay of her everyday wardrobe.

  Her editor, Tae, had called demanding an update she couldn’t really give him.

  Primarily because she couldn’t explain why she was still here. There was no logical reason. The story she’d come here to follow was basically nonexistent at this point. Sure, there were myths and legends and tales all over this rocky coast. And no doubt many believed those things were as real as any angel or demon or biblical fable. But the truth was out in the open now. Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton had been murdered by someone as human as they were. Likely someone they had known, possibly well, or all their lives.

  End of story.

  Except something wasn’t right.

  Her instincts were screaming at Sarah to stay. To find the truth. After all, that was the real story.

  Maybe it wasn’t cloaked in magic or ghosts, but it was thoroughly shrouded in secrets.

  Secrets being kept by the most heinous of villains.

  An intimate of the victims.

  Someone known and maybe loved by the victims.

  The mystery here was far more involved than the perp the police were looking for, and certainly more involved than Lex expected. She couldn’t label why yet...couldn’t even put it into words. But she knew it was wrong.

  Just wrong. That was all she knew so far.

  For the first time in ten years Sarah felt she was a part of something bigger; that her task was more than demystifying bedtime stories.

  Conner spotted her across the parking lot and started in her direction. She’d managed to avoid him this morning...until now.

  After a futile search for Matilda and several attempts to meet with Reverend Mahaney or his niece, and Barton Harvey, she and Conner had parted ways late last evening.

  Spending another night with him would have been an even bigger mistake than she’d already made. She was getting too close...allowing him too close.

  Sarah’d turned off her cell phone and spent the night reviewing her notes and what few evidentiary details she’d begged, borrowed, and stolen. Then she’d tried to sleep.

  Dreams had kept her from achieving that ever-elusive goal.

  Only these dreams had been different...they had involved him.

  “I tried to catch you at the inn.”

  She’d known he would. So she’d left early and driven around. Sarah had found herself at the chapel, or at least as close to it as the police perimeter would allow.

  “I had things to do.”

  He nodded. “My family’s over there.” He motioned to his mother’s minivan where his father, stationed in his wheelchair, was being hydraulically lowered to the ground. His brother who’d come home from the University of Massachusetts for the memorial service, hovered nearby. “I thought maybe you might like to sit with us. You haven’t met my brother Jamison yet.”

  “Sure.” Sarah didn’t exactly have an excuse to say no.

  Conner looked good in black. Straight-cut suit, crisp white shirt, narrow black tie. Even had the leather wingtips to match. No flannel or boots today. That she noted every little detail was not a good sign.

  His gaze traveled the length of her and back.

  “It’s the only dress I brought,” she explained for no good reason. Why should she care if he noticed she’d worn the same thing three times already? Not to mention her coat was not exactly suitable for wearing to church.

  “You could wear it every day and the facts wouldn’t change.”

  His hand settled at her lower back as he ushered her toward his family.

  Had she just been insulted?

  “What facts?”

  He smiled. “The facts of how great you look in that dress.”

  Irrationally annoyed, she pointed out, “That’s one fact, Conner.”

  He leaned closer as they reached the minivan. “The others are private.”

  “Sarah.” Before she could analyze that comment, Polly Conner rushed up and gave her a hug. “You have to sit with me.” With a covert glance at her mom, she added in a whisper, “I’ll tell you about everybody.”

  Ellen and Peter Conner greeted her a
s if they hadn’t seen her in ages and were thrilled to have her join them. Conner introduced her to his brother who looked like a younger, carbon copy of him.

  It felt...awkward...too personal.

  Conner pushed the wheelchair, his mother walked on one side while his brother tagged along on the other. Polly hung on to Sarah’s arm.

  The whole situation was somehow uncomfortable.

  Sarah was a stranger.

  Apparently they hadn’t noticed.

  “Let’s find a seat,” Polly urged as the rest of her family headed for the handicapped-accessible entrance.

  Having no ready way to disengage herself, Sarah smiled at the girl and went along.

  They followed Marta Hanover and her husband up the steps.

  Marta glanced at Sarah but quickly looked away.

  See? Sarah was not one of them. Why hadn’t the Conners noticed?

  If that one furtive glance wasn’t proof enough, the blatant glares she garnered inside the sanctuary confirmed it.

  “Here.” Polly tugged her to the wide aisle designed for those physically challenged. She settled on the very end of the pew next to the main aisle and patted the spot beside her.

  Conner and his mother entered the row from the other side. When his mother was settled alongside his father, he took the seat next to Sarah.

  That his arm went automatically behind her set off another of those gut-level alarms.

  Before she could reflect on the maneuver, much less the motive, Polly whispered in her ear. “You see the girl hanging all over Brady?”

  Jerald Pope’s daughter.

  “That’s Jerri Lynn. She’s been after Brady forever. She and Alicia hated each other. ’Course I can’t say much since I had a little crush on Brady, but I got over that and hardly anyone knew.”

  Jerri Lynn wasn’t alone in her efforts to console Brady. Several others, male and female, including Tamara Gilbert, sat around him. But Tamara’s presence was merely on the fringes. It was obvious that she was latched onto Jerri Lynn and that alone was her ticket to the party.

  “Oh, my God,” Polly murmured, still leaning against Sarah’s shoulder. “Reverend Mahaney is here without his wife. And he’s not sitting with his niece.” She bent around to look Sarah in the eyes. “That’s weird. They always do everything together.” She peeked in the reverend’s direction then turned back to Sarah. “His niece is like the biggest nerd in school. Nobody likes her except Jerri Lynn. That’s her all over Jerri Lynn,” Polly added as an aside, not realizing that Sarah already knew. “Tamara always tells her uncle everything, especially about the youth group members. That’s another reason nobody likes her.”