Misty squinted into the sun, unable to see the expression on Amber’s face. Was she telling the truth? Had she really been an addict all along? Did it even matter?
“Look, I’ve been going to NA meetings, too.” Amber lowered her voice and moved closer. “I saw you in there, and I thought…well, I thought I should at least try to apologize. I know it might be too late...”
“It is too late,” Misty agreed, stepping back. “I hope you have gotten help. Anyone who could do what you’ve done needs help.”
Fighting back the anger that threatened to take over, Misty drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
“But that doesn’t mean I can ever forget what you’ve done, and I’m sure as hell not ready to forgive you.”
Just then two teens on bikes raced past them, causing Misty to take another step back. But she was too close to the curb. Her foot found only air, and she began to totter backward toward the street.
Grabbing Misty’s arm, Amber steadied her, pulling her back onto the sidewalk just as a pick-up truck sped past behind her, causing her shoulder-length hair to fly around her face.
“I’m trying to make amends,” Amber repeated, as if nothing had happened. “I’ve even been helping the cops.”
Still shaking from her near miss, Misty stared at Amber, her big, brown eyes blinking against the sun.
“You’re helping the cops? How?”
“We’re gonna take down one of the guys responsible for setting up the syndicate in the first place,” Amber said, looking over her shoulder, then back at Misty. “That way he won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”
“Who?” Misty asked, her tone hardening. “Which guy?
Amber’s hesitation confirmed Misty’s fear. The woman was lying. Spinning on her heel, Misty started down the sidewalk again.
“Mack,” Amber called after her. “We’re gonna set up Mack.”
Misty stopped and looked back. She’d heard the name before. Amber had picked up a shipment of pills from him the same day two of Amber’s girls had gone missing. Misty had always suspected it had been an even exchange.
“Really? You’re turning him in?”
“I told you, I’m trying to make amends.”
Glancing at her watch, Misty nodded.
“Good, I’m glad. But I’ve gotta go. I’m late for an appointment.”
“I can give you a ride if you want,” Amber said, pointing back to her Camry. “I owe you that much.”
A shiver rolled through Misty at the thought of getting into Amber’s car. She never wanted to be anywhere near the woman again, no matter how late she’d be, or how far she’d have to walk.
“I don’t need anything from you,” Misty said, her voice firm. “I’m just fine on my own.”
With a sense of relief, she turned and walked away.
She didn’t look back.
✽ ✽ ✽
Misty approached the house on Gladstone Drive with hurried steps. Climbing the stairs to the little room over the garage, she unlocked the door, then looked over her shoulder toward the street.
She was suddenly sure she would see Amber’s Camry parked by the curb. But the residential street was empty, and she scolded herself for being paranoid.
After my interview I’ll call Veronica Lee back and tell her what Amber said. Maybe I’ll even call Detective Bell. They’ll make sure she stays away.
Entering the little studio apartment, Misty closed the door behind her and locked it, making sure both the deadbolt and chain were securely in place.
Then she turned to see that the navy-blue suit was still on the hangar just as she’d left it. Throwing her purse on the foldaway sofa, she opened the tiny refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.
The encounter with Amber Sloan had left her dry-mouthed and a little shaky. She’d need to regain her composure before her interview.
Unscrewing the lid, Misty took a long sip from the bottle, then turned to the closet. She didn’t have shoes that matched the blue suit, so her black pumps would have to do. She opened the door and reached in for the pumps.
An iron hand gripped her wrist, and a sharp pain shot up her arm. Wrenching her arm back, she saw a syringe fall to the floor just as a man’s face appeared in the shadows above her.
Before she could scream, the man looped a strong arm around her neck and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Amber Sloan asked me…to pay you…a little visit.”
The man dragged her toward the sofa, knocking the blue suit to the floor, and crushing it under his boot.
She brought her knee up with a sudden thrust, but the man took his hand off her mouth to counter the blow.
“Are you Mack?” she gasped in a weak voice, starting to feel the effect of whatever was in the syringe. “Are you…”
“What did you say?”
Giving her a sharp shake, he lowered his angry face to hers.
“What did you call me?”
“Mack,” she choked out. “Amber’s setting you up...”
Panic filled the man’s face, and he looked toward the door as if he expected a SWAT team to burst in at any minute.
“What did she tell you?” he demanded, yanking her toward him.
But his voice was fading, along with the room, and the rest of the world. Her eyes were too heavy to hold open, and she closed them, blocking out the rage in the man’s eyes, sinking into darkness.
Chapter Twenty
Veronica looked over at Skylar, who was staring out the car window at the changing landscape of green fields and fenced-in horse pastures. The girl had been quiet on the flight up from Willow Bay, and she now sat silently in the backseat of the rental car, her hand resting on Gracie’s soft head.
“You okay?” Veronica asked, wishing she knew what was in her sister’s mind. “You still want to go through with this?”
Turning her big green eyes to Veronica, Skylar nodded.
“I want to meet my grandfather,” she said, sounding sure. “And I know my mother wanted to take me to Sky Lake. I feel like I owe it to her to go. Like she’ll be watching over me.”
The blue Nissan slowed, and Hunter glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting Veronica’s anxious eyes.
“We’re almost there,” he called back from the driver’s seat. “Just down this road and you’ll be able to see the farm.”
Frankie turned around to offer Skylar a wide smile.
“Maybe you and me can learn to ride horses,” he said with a wink.
A nervous smile lifted the corners of Skylar’s mouth, and she leaned forward to look through the front windshield just as a long white barn came into view.
“There it is,” Skylar whispered, pulling Gracie closer in her excitement. “It’s just like I thought it would be.”
Passing the sign for Sky Lake Farm and Stables, Veronica felt her own excitement building. As the car rolled to a stop, Hunter pointed toward an older man with snow-white hair who was waiting by the stable. Holding a wide brimmed hat in one hand, the man lifted his other hand in greeting as they all climbed out.
“Mr. Fairfax, it’s good to see you.”
Hunter strode forward to shake the older man’s hand, then gestured back toward the car.
“This is Veronica Lee and Frankie Dawson,” he said, “but I’m sure we’re not the ones you’ve been waiting to see.”
He turned to Skylar, who was holding tightly to Veronica’s hand.
“Skylar, this is your grandfather, Conrad Fairfax.”
Moving forward, Conrad studied Skylar’s face, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he approached.
“My goodness, you sure do take after your mother.”
His voice was thick with pain, but he managed a smile.
“I have something of hers I’d like to show you.”
He motioned for Skylar to follow him into the stable, but she hesitated, looking to Veronica for help.
“Go see what it is,” Veronica prompted, feeling her sister’s hand trembling in
hers. “It’s okay, Gracie and I will go with you.”
They walked into the stable together, and Skylar gasped in pleasure as she saw Conrad standing beside a horse with a snow-white coat that perfectly matched the older man’s hair.
“How beautiful,” Skylar whispered, lifting a small hand to tentatively stroke the horse’s neck. “It’s so soft.”
“Her name’s Sunshine.” A sad smile accompanied his words. “And this saddle belonged to your mother.”
Running his hand along the soft chestnut brown leather, Conrad looked down into Skylar’s face. His smile faltered as he studied his granddaughter’s delicate features.
“I’ll teach you how to ride, if you like,” he said, turning away to adjust the saddle. “Summer had a horse a lot like Sunshine when she was about your age. She loved that horse so very much.”
The older man dropped his head, trying to hide his tears as Skylar continued to stroke the horse’s neck and withers.
“She told me about this place.”
Skylar spoke to Conrad’s bowed head.
“She wanted to come back here more than anything.”
Pulling a wrinkled handkerchief out of his back pocket, Conrad wiped at his eyes and lifted his head.
“Your mother talked about Sky Lake? What else did she say?”
A shadow passed over Skylar’s eyes at the question, and Veronica felt the girl’s hand tighten around her own.
“Skylar was too young to remember very much,” Veronica explained, wanting to spare Skylar the pain of admitting how little she could remember about her mother. “Her mother was…was taken from her when she was just a little girl.”
Conrad winced, his red-rimmed eyes turning to Veronica.
“Yes, of course,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “I understand. I was just hoping…well, we never knew what happened.”
Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. He carefully unfolded the paper and held it out to Veronica.
“This is the letter we found in Summer’s room,” he said. “My wife never believed it was Summer’s handwriting, although it was written by someone who did a good job mimicking it.”
Skylar stared down at the paper, her eyes scanning the words scrawled across the page.
“No, that’s not my mother’s writing. I would know it anywhere.”
She frowned and shook her head, as if it hurt to remember.
“She wrote stories for me and I kept them after she was…gone. I had them until he found them. I had them until the Professor took them all away.”
“The Professor?”
“That’s what she called Donovan Locke,” Veronica explained, seeing in dismay that Skylar had retreated behind a blank expression and glazed eyes. “Apparently he often pretended to be a professor in order to lure young women into trusting him.”
Conrad’s face tightened with anger.
“Donovan Locke grew up around here,” he said stiffly. “He was always bad news. But he’d left town years before Summer went missing, so I never…well, no one ever suspected…”
His next words came out before Veronica could stop him.
“That brother of his is a strange character, too. Never did seem to grow up,” Conrad said. “Last I heard Tom Locke still lives with his mother. Still works with Beau Sparks over at his charter service, too.”
Feeling Skylar stiffen next to her, Veronica wished she’d told her sister that their father’s family was still alive, and that they still lived in Sky Lake. She’d been too scared, fearing that Skylar would want to meet them, and Veronica wasn’t sure she was ready for that.
But as they followed Conrad up toward the house, Skylar pulled on Veronica’s arm, holding her back as the others walked ahead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, her eyes filled with hurt. “I’m tired of being kept in the dark. I want to know who I am and where I come from. I want to meet my family.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The rehabilitation center was located just over the county line in Jefferson County. Harriet Locke’s neighbor had given them directions, along with a detailed account of how Harriet had broken her hip several weeks before.
“Poor Harriet will be there for another month at least,” the neighbor had assured them in a conspiratorial tone. “Of course, most old folks don’t ever come back after such a fall.”
Veronica stared at the brown, single story building with dread. The woman who had given birth to a sociopath waited behind the concrete walls and narrow windows, and she was about to meet her, whether she wanted to or not.
“It’ll be okay,” Skylar said, slipping her small hand into Veronica’s. “I have a good feeling about this.”
Her sister’s words brought a reluctant smile to Veronica’s face as she realized they’d suddenly switched roles. The frightened girl who had needed to be protected was suddenly the one offering comfort.
Opening the big glass doors, Frankie waved them through. Hunter followed them into the lobby, accompanied by Gracie on a leash. They all stood awkwardly by the reception desk, waiting for a compact woman in a stark white uniform to finish a phone call. The woman’s name badge identified her as Dee Wiggins.
“We’re here to see Harriet Locke,” Veronica finally said, when the woman put down the phone. “We’re not on the visitor’s list, but…”
“That’s all right, honey,” the woman said with a smile. “We’re always glad to have visitors around here. We don’t get enough of them if you ask me.”
She slid a clipboard toward Veronica.
“Just sign in here and I’ll need to see an ID from one of you.”
Lowering her voice, she muttered in Veronica’s direction.
“Seems a waste of time to me, but ever since the U.S. Marshals came here a few weeks back my supervisor’s been on my case to follow all the rules. Even the dumb ones.”
Frankie pulled out his wallet and presented his driver’s license.
“Looks like I got this just in time,” Frankie said, handing it to Dee with a flourish. “Although the picture doesn’t do me justice.”
“Florida, huh?”
Dee studied the license with interest as Veronica wrote her name on the clipboard, then added Skylar’s name under her own.
She looked down at Gracie and smiled, writing in the dog’s name on the line below.
“No pets are allowed inside,” Dee said, peering over the counter at the white Lab. “But I’m guessing that’s one of those service dogs, so that’s okay.”
She slid the clipboard toward Hunter and her smile widened.
“The old girl will be glad to see you,” she said, watching with interest as he picked up the pen and added his name and Frankie’s to the list. “She doesn’t get many gentlemen callers, other than that son of hers.”
Leading the group down a brightly lit corridor, Dee stopped outside a closed door and knocked.
A woman’s frail voice called out, although Veronica couldn’t make out the words. Pushing open the door, Dee walked inside.
“Mrs. Locke, you’ve got a load of visitors to see you.”
The elderly woman in the bed fumbled on the bedside table for her glasses, then stared over at Veronica, who stood still in the doorway.
“Come on in, dear,” she said, adjusting the covers around her and smoothing down her wispy white curls. “I won’t bite.”
Moving into the room, Veronica pulled Skylar along with her, until they stood only a few feet from the hospital bed.
“You two can go on in,” Dee told Hunter and Frankie, slipping past them into the corridor. “And let me know if you need anything.”
Harriet looked past Veronica and Skylar, her eyes widening as she saw Hunter and Frankie’s tall figures filling up the room.
“I’m sorry to come here without calling first, Mrs. Locke,” Veronica said, inching closer. “But we have news about your son.”
Worry flooded the older woman’s face.
�
��What’s happened? Is Tom all right?”
Shaking her head, Veronica hurried to explain.
“I meant your other son…Donovan.”
Harriet’s look of concern was replaced by a flash of suspicion.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you know about Donnie?”
Feeling her throat constrict, Veronica looked back to Hunter and Frankie for help, but Skylar spoke up first.
“My name’s Skylar,” she said softly. “Donovan Locke was my father, and I…I wanted to meet his family.”
The shock on Harriet’s face told Veronica the older woman hadn’t known about Skylar. Perhaps she hadn’t even known Donovan Locke had been killed.
“I’m sorry if you didn’t know your son was dead,” Veronica said, swallowing hard. “I thought the Marshals would have told you.”
“Yes, a deputy marshal told me that Donnie had been killed. They’ve come back to question me a few times since.”
Harriet studied Veronica’s face.
“The deputy said Donnie had been involved in more bad stuff, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about his having another daughter.”
She kept her eyes on Veronica.
“He had a wife and a little girl, you know, back before he’d gotten arrested. I was told they were killed in a car accident.”
Veronica reached for Harriet’s thin hand, cursing the terrible web of deceit, lies, and pain Donovan Locke had created for everyone who’d gotten near him.
“I’m that little girl,” Veronica said through numb lips. “My mother and I weren’t killed in a car accident. We went into hiding after the trial. He’s my father, too.”
She felt Skylar come up beside her to take Harriet’s other hand, and they stood by the bed in silence for a long moment, as if in mourning, although Veronica knew she could never grieve for the man who’d ruined so many lives.
“I’m sorry for what Donnie has done,” Harriet finally said, sounding tired and fragile. “I tried so hard to be a good mother to that boy. I tried to do right by his real mother.”
It took a minute for Veronica to absorb what she was saying.
“Real mother?” she asked. “So, Donovan wasn’t your son?”
Her Silent Spring Page 13