That first, all encompassing look cemented her image in his mind, and he had the distinct impression he wouldn’t be shaking it loose anytime soon. He’d been a choosy man most of his life, and right now the mix of iron maiden and distressed female that Arden Jones projected looked entirely too intriguing for his peace of mind. That and the fact that he’d always liked tall women. It was probably a good thing for both of them that she was married. He could feel his body’s response to her as clearly as his mind’s.
“Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Ashton, we spoke on the phone yesterday. Why don’t you come on back to my office? Gail, can you get Captain Jones some coffee or tea?” He tilted his head slightly to one side, questioning her preference.
“Um, coffee please, black.” She tried not to stare at the broad back preceding her. Her first thought was, wow, the cowboy sheriff lives.
He filled the space around him, seeming to touch everyone and everything at once without even moving. It was intimidating and soothing at the same time, and, oddly enough, it made her feel safe.
Arden was surprised that a man in his thirties would hold such a powerful position, even in a town as small as this one. He moved with a graceful solidity she hadn’t seen since her technical instructors at basic training. It was almost catlike, and told any interested observer that the Sheriff could and would take care of business with a minimum of fuss.
And that voice, it rumbled and tumbled through her like thunder coming, flipping on every nerve ending in her body.
Her thoughts were immediately colored by chagrin. I’m looking at this guy’s butt when I should be worried about my sister. What the hell am I thinking, Arden chastised herself. She might not have seen Samantha in years, but she was still her sister.
She took the seat he politely held out to her, then looked slowly around his office while he took his own. The place was a disaster area. Arden inwardly cringed. The Sheriff may be a hunk, but how could he effectively investigate any crime in this jumble? Even the coat rack occupying one corner of the office looked chaotic, a seething mass of ball caps, cowboy hats, and windbreakers hanging on by one desperate arm. Muffled country-western music issued from one of the piles, but there were so many she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source. Her circuit of the room completed as Gail brought both of them coffee then closed the door behind her. The Sheriff was looking at her with amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Really, I know where everything is.” Then he laced his fingers together, leaning forward on his desk. His eyes focused on her, refreshed her, made her feel like the only person in the whole world. That kind of intensity and presence was comforting, unnerving and more than a little compelling.
“Captain Jones,” he began earnestly, “I really don’t know what else I can tell you that we didn’t speak of on the telephone yesterday. I realize this involves your sister, but I don’t think there’s much you can do here. We have no real evidence of foul play, just a sports bag and her cell phone. Our garage even diagnosed the breakdown as a matter of circumstance.”
Arden dropped her eyes to her lap and rolled the Styrofoam coffee cup between her palms, warming her clammy hands. Taking a deep mental breath, she looked up back up, capturing his gaze. “Listen, Sheriff Ashton, right?” At his nod she continued, “I haven’t seen Samantha in over fifteen years, since before I joined the military. While I’ve never kept my whereabouts secret, we certainly weren’t in contact when my car was stolen. The fact that Samantha’s name even enters in this confuses me and worries me. She wouldn’t have hesitated to contact me if she needed something.”
Ashton looked at her thoughtfully, leaning back in the creaky office chair. “Tell me something, Captain Jones. If you haven’t seen your sister in fifteen years, what makes you so sure she’d come to see you? It doesn’t sound like the two of you have a particularly close relationship.”
His query, while fair, shook her nonetheless. “Good question.” She began, wondering how to even begin to paraphrase her on-again, off-again relationship with Sam. “I’ve been bailing Samantha out of trouble for what seems like forever. After we graduated from high school she went her way and I went mine.”
Arden paused, nervously blowing her bangs off of her forehead with a quick burst of breath. “I hear from her whenever she decides to surface. The last time she found me overseas. She needed cash and needed it fast. I wired it to her somewhere in Dallas and haven’t seen or heard from her since. That was three, maybe four years ago.
“Bottom line, Sheriff, my sister is a user, and she wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to hit me up for something besides my car.” The voice she delivered her speech in was hollow, missing even the basest emotion. What she didn’t know was that her eyes said it all, conveying embarrassment, confusion, and most of all, hurt. “I heard on the radio that you’ve got a serial killer on the loose. Could this connect to Samantha in any way?”
More than a little curious, he answered candidly. “To be honest with you, I don’t know. The discovery of your car and the circumstances surrounding it are certainly unusual. With what you’ve just told me, who knows? We’ll definitely be on the lookout for your sister though. I don’t suppose you brought a picture with you, did you?” He asked hopefully.
“I brought one, but I don’t know how much good it will do you. Like I said, I haven’t seen her in years, so I don’t know how accurate this one is. I only got this one when my folks passed away, they saw her more than I did.” She passed him one of those Glamour Shots that usually looked nothing like the person in question. He looked down at it, struck by the similarity between the two sisters. He could also see, even in this enhanced photo, that Samantha Henning had possessed that indefinable quality that made her something special, made her one of those women men would do just about anything for. He couldn’t really picture the woman looking up at him begging for money from her sister. No, she would demand it.
He was surprised that Captain Arden Jones gave it to her. He glanced up and saw Arden looking at him with a sad smile in her eyes. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She always has been.”
Bill carefully put the picture down, framing it between his hands and thought of the best way to answer. “Yes, she is. But if you don’t mind my saying, she’s also got that look that says ‘I could chew you up and spit you out.’ I was on LAPD long enough to see that look, that attitude on a hundred different women. Did you know your sister’s telephone was registered to an address in Hollywood?”
Arden couldn’t disguise the surprise that flickered through her eyes, just as she couldn’t control the mask that descended mere seconds later. She’d been doing it for far too long.
“No, I didn’t. Maybe I misjudged Samantha. She knew I was in L.A., and she knew I worked with entertainment types in my job. I’m surprised she didn’t show up the day I transferred in.” She looked down at her hands, grimacing at the way they compulsively clutched at the coffee cup. Enough of this. She looked back up at him, her back straightening. “Well, Sheriff, I guess that’s neither here nor there, is it? What else can you tell me? Can I turn my rental in and collect my car or is it still impounded?”
Ashton shrugged, squirming a little in his chair. “I’m sorry you came all the way up here from L.A. for nothing, Captain Jones. I’m afraid we’ll need to keep your car for at least another day just to have the lab go over it. Then I can release it, but it’ll still need to be repaired. The folks down at the Chevron station said it blew a radiator hose.” He shifted again, uncomfortable with what he was about to say.
“I’m sure you’re concerned about your sister, but as I said before, we found absolutely nothing that would indicate any foul play with the exception of the discovery of her cell phone and the sports bag.” He’d always been a terrible liar, but he just wasn’t ready to broach the subject of the money, at least not yet.
“We can take a missing person’s report and investigate, but to be honest with you, most of my deputies are committed to this murder investigation. Unless w
e get more to go on within the next 72 hours or so, I don’t know what to tell you. We can post her picture on our website and make up some posters, but that’s about it for now. I’ll have one of our guys do a canvass of that neighborhood this afternoon, see if anyone saw anything, all right?” At her bemused nod he shifted gears.
“Do you have somewhere to stay for now, or would you like to head back up from the Southland in a few days? Your car should be ready by Friday at the latest. Maybe you and your husband could see the Park or something in the meanwhile.”
Arden’s laugh was harsh, bitter, totally at odds with the personality she’d displayed thus far. “Ah, no. I’ll stay here until I can get my car back and figure out where the hell my sister is. My ex is in Korea right now, so he won’t be joining me. Any recommendations on a place to stay away from the maddening crowd?” she asked, referring to the press.
“Sorry,” said the Sheriff crisply, all business now. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot. I just assumed you were married when you mentioned that Henning was your maiden name. As for a place to stay, you might try the Maple Street Inn. It’s a bed and breakfast far enough from the highway that the press probably hasn’t caught on to it yet.”
And so their conversation degenerated into the banalities that pass between a law enforcement officer and a crime victim. But as they conducted their business across the top of the battered, cluttered old desk, each felt a niggling sensation in the back of their minds. Bill dismissed it as something he might have missed in the investigation. Arden chalked it up to being tired and bitchy. Whatever it was, both of them were feeling it, and continued to feel it as he left to talk to the FBI and she checked into her hotel room.
The Third Fold
So, she has finally begun the process. I’m pleased she chose Grimassi’s book, it has been my inspiration. Fort Hood seems so long ago and far away. How cynical and young I was then. When I first attended a coven meeting I thought they were all frauds. How wrong I was. They never knew how close to the real truth they were. If only they had researched their history a little more, learned the true meaning behind The Sun, The Moon. If only they’d applied the lessons of the Egyptians and the Aztecs, the value of blood let in the name of God, they could have been my first disciples. Instead I am alone. Alone and living the only true religion. My religion. The Way.
Samantha knew he was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her as she sat pretending to read the hocus-pocus, “nature is love” drivel she was holding. Who believes this shit? Well, obviously he did, and that really frightened her. The fact that the bookcase held such a broad base of religion was extraordinary as well. She, who had grown up in a liberal Lutheran home, hadn’t heard of half of the religions represented, and couldn’t tell you what the ones she did recognize believed in. She and her secular education had parted ways when she turned sixteen, and she’d never looked back. In retrospect, she thought dryly, that might have been a bad choice.
She was glad she could look at this whole situation with a little detachment, because she knew that was what she’d need to get out of here alive. Allowing terror or any emotion at all, to dictate her moves would surely get her killed sooner rather than later. She was a survivor, and would apply the skills she’d learned on the streets of L.A. to keep her alive from one day to the next. She fleetingly thought of Arden, and that maybe the police would find her car and contact her. But no, her captor wouldn’t have overlooked such an obvious clue to authorities. From what little she’d seen, he was too smart, too methodical in his approach.
She could certainly appreciate, even as a victim, the elaborate measures he had gone through to make her prison comfortable and soothing. People paid big bucks to have lighting and sound systems like this one installed. The coupe de grace was the food delivery system.
That little nugget had dashed any hopes she had had of overpowering or outsmarting her captor in a one-on-one meeting. It was an ingenious dumbwaiter, computerized, of course, which reminded her of the gizmo used in a drive through bank teller. The ‘server’ would pop out of the wall, and as it did, a metal plate would drop in back, preventing her from even seeing what was behind the wall. When she was finished, she placed her dirty dishes into the server, and it disappeared into the wall. It, like the door she had discovered her first day here, was virtually seamless, and offered no means of escape.
She knew a kind of lethargy was settling over her in general, and knew exactly where it came from. Good as his word, she had never seen her captor, except perhaps in those initial moments of her abduction, and had heard from him only on that first day. She still couldn’t remember anything from that time, and doubted she ever would. So she pretended to read the Wiccan claptrap, because she knew it would make him happy, and therefore maybe, just a little, complacent. She wanted him to be pleased with her when they finally met, so he would have no reason to suspect that she was ready to claw his fucking eyes out at the first opportunity.
I know exactly what she is thinking. Haven’t I made the study of human nature my life’s work? Does she really think she’s fooling me with this transparent show of obedience? This only makes me surer she is the Chosen One. When she ascends with me, the world is ours.
Chapter Seven
The Maple Street Inn was quiet, quaint and hideously expensive. Apparently the reporters had taken every other room in town. Well, at least she got a killer, no pun intended, breakfast in the morning.
So here she sat in her nicely appointed room at ten in the morning, not quite sure of what to do, but knowing that planting her ass on the chair in the sitting room wasn’t going to get her any closer to finding Samantha. If she was really even missing. Arden had tried calling the number in Hollywood that Sheriff Ashton had provided her, but all she got was an answering machine.
Sam’s husky sex-goddess voice rippled over her, reminding her of times past, both good and bad. She left a short message, telling Sam she was looking for her, and how to reach her in Mariposa.
Samantha. When was the last time she had even entered Arden’s mind? It was almost like an anniversary, getting those calls in need of money. It had been her only contact with the one person in the world who should have been closest to her, her sister. It seemed like she was always there for Sam, but the reverse was never true.
Where had Sam been when her life went to shit, when she’d found out Tom had been cheating on her? Where had Sam been when she’d actually survived basic training as an enlisted troop, then five years later when she’d earned her degree and become an officer? Had she been there to revel in Arden’s triumph? No. Instead, she’d called, not six months later, looking for money for an abortion. Arden remembered asking herself even then if she cared enough to delve deeper and came up with a most dissatisfying answer. No. So she sent her a check and went on with her life.
Arden had never really figured out why she sent the checks and the money orders and the wire transfers. She did know that guilt was part of it. Building a nice, steady life where she was liked and respected had always been important to her. Even her marriage had been a concession to that. It had been a pleasant, quiet and safe union.
Someone as volatile as Sam would only wreak havoc in her carefully constructed life. And, she acknowledged to herself, there was always that quiet little voice in the back of her head that said that Sam was her sister and she wanted to see her succeed. She knew it was a foolish and naïve hope. People like Samantha never changed, they just used up people as fast as they could until family was all they had left.
Suddenly fidgety, Arden surged out of her seat, admiring the simple, clean lines of the décor, restlessly running her fingers along the nubby surface of the top of the fainting couch, across the pure softness of the down comforter, down the silky smooth finish of the intricate oak dresser. She’d always been a fan of Southwestern decorating, but she’d never seen it done so well, so elegantly. The colors and shapes and even the wallpaper flowed to soothe, to relax.
As much as she tried to
embrace that feeling of comfort, to let it slide into her mind and ease away her worries, it did no good. Her mind kept returning to Samantha.
They had always been polar opposites. She’d been the good student, the good daughter, while Sam had run amok throughout her formative years. And run amok wasn’t even a good description of the terror Samantha had wrought in her late teens. Police visits to their nice suburban house had been frequent; the drugs found in her possession almost a weekly occurrence. Their parents had been puzzled. How could two girls raised in exactly the same loving, nurturing environment turn out so differently? Arden had her own take on the situation.
Sometimes shit just happened. God, or whoever was responsible for putting together the DNA that makes each person, sometimes just forgets to hit that one switch. The one switch that makes the middle-class, law-abiding suburbanite happy with their lot in life. That switch, which, when left ‘unflipped,’ seemed to absolve the concerned party of any moral or just obligation to the rest of the human race. And Samantha’s switch had obviously never been hit.
Arden balled her fists against the elegant needlework of the sitting room chair in unconscious anger. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never been one to sit back, waiting for life to come to her, she’d always reached out and grabbed it by the throat. So why was she sitting in her pleasant prison, waiting for the cowboy sheriff to make an appearance, or grace her with a phone call? She knew why. It was Samantha.
Anytime she felt less than what she really was, Samantha was the root of it. She had always been the pretty one, the popular one, while Arden faded back into the shadows. Samantha’s short tenure on the cheerleading squad had totally eclipsed Arden’s four years of involvement in student council, her years of charity work in the community. Maybe not to their parents, no, but to each and every boy that attended their mid-size Oklahoma high school, Samantha had always been the first choice, Arden a distant second.
The Summerland Page 5