by Webb, Debra
“Is Cherry your biological child?”
Prescott appeared completely stunned by the question. His mother-in-law, on the other hand, looked downright offended.
“Why on earth would you ask such a thing?” Patricia Bowden dabbed at her eyes, her hand shaking. “This is exactly the sort of thing we’re trying to protect Cherry from. If the press were to get wind of such a ridiculous suggestion . . .”
“Ms. Bowden,” Wyatt prompted, “we’re not trying to make this any more difficult than it already is. But,” he pressed, “we do need you to answer the question.”
“Cherry is my daughter,” Bowden stated firmly, anger clearly having overtaken the weaker emotions. “In every way. I have her birth records as well as family photos if you need proof.”
Addy studied Bowden long enough to make even Wyatt feel uncomfortable. “That may not be necessary, ma’am. We’ll see where this goes. If the need arises, we’ll pay you a visit at home.”
The tension in the room followed them out the door. Wyatt couldn’t shake the guilt that settled on his shoulders. He hated what these kinds of investigations did to the families.
Outside, Addy suggested, “Let’s check the public library.”
“If Prescott was looking for something in her past and didn’t want anyone at home or at the office to know,” he said, following her reasoning, “she might use the Internet at a public place, like the library.”
“That’s what people do,” Addy said as they reached his SUV, “when they have something to hide.”
Hattiesburg Public Library, 4:50 P.M.
“You’re sure she was always alone,” Adeline pressed. The librarian on duty was a little reluctant to talk about Cherry Prescott at first, but eventually opened up.
“Yes, ma’am,” the young woman said with a pointed look. “She came during her lunch hour several times. Never checked out any books, just used the Internet services.” She nodded toward the rear of the library. “Right over there. Station one. She always used station one.”
“Do you recall the last time she was here?”
“The same day she”—the woman glanced around—“disappeared,” she whispered. “I remember because I couldn’t believe it. I’d just seen her at lunchtime. When I watched the news the next morning, I was shocked.”
The answer to the next question was essential. “Do you know how often your servers are updated?”
“Every Thursday night.”
Damn it. “Thank you, Ms. Vincent.” Adeline pulled a business card from her pocket. “I’d like you to call me if you remember anything else. Anything at all.”
Vincent nodded.
Adeline headed for the front entrance. Damn it. Damn it. That would make finding what Cherry Prescott had been researching a hell of a lot more difficult.
Wyatt caught up with her on the front steps. “I can check with the state lab. They have a cyber division. It would take a warrant, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
That could take days. They didn’t have days.
Adeline climbed into the passenger seat. “You should do another press conference.” She had watched footage of his previous two press conferences. He hadn’t mentioned the princess letters in either.
He started the engine and looked over his shoulder before backing out of the parking slot. “We don’t have anything new to report to the public. What would be the point?”
Adeline grabbed hold of her patience with both hands. Why wasn’t he on the same page with her about this? “There’s another victim out there, Wyatt.” She turned to stare at his profile. As she did his jaw hardened, a sharply defined muscle starting to tic. “Two to go, remember?”
He apparently took a moment to get a grip on his patience, as well. “I agree that there is possibly another victim. However, we have no known relevant connections between you and Prescott. What am I supposed to say? If you have blond hair and you’re in your thirties call us if you’ve gotten a cut-and-paste letter about a princess?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Adeline didn’t see the problem. That was what they had. Why not make it public knowledge and see what kind of reaction they got? She turned her attention to the street, inventoried the numerous Christmas displays, and marveled at the idea that it was Christmas Eve and she hadn’t thought about that fact once today. “Besides, we do have a connection between me and Prescott.”
He glanced at her. Didn’t say the words, but he knew. She hadn’t missed the look he’d shot her when Huff admitted that Prescott was having water nightmares.
“The nightmares she started having related to her daughter is a definite connection.”
“So you’re saying,” he said, while making the turn that would put them on I-98, “that you believe there’s some sort of past traumatic event involving water that connects you to Prescott?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” It was bizarre, no question. Maybe even a little crazy. But it was the only significant lead they had.
“Prescott grew up in Hattiesburg. She spent six years at Ole Miss. You said yourself you’d never, to your knowledge, met her. Are we talking about a psychic connection? Because that’s sure as hell what it sounds like.”
Now he was just trying to piss her off. “You know damned well I’m not talking that shit.” Jesus Christ. “I could talk to my mom. Maybe we knew the family somehow when I was a kid.” Frustration caught up with her. “How the hell should I know? There’s a connection, Wyatt. We just have to find it. Meanwhile someone else out there has or is about to get a letter. If we don’t do something she’s going to disappear the same way Prescott did.”
“You didn’t.”
Adeline took a deep breath and counted to ten. He was right. Damn it. “Yet,” she reminded, “the piece of shit who took Prescott could be watching me at this very moment.”
“I have a more realistic scenario.”
Adeline dropped her head against the seat. “Spell it out for me, Sheriff.”
He sent her a fierce glare. She didn’t have to look to know that it wasn’t pleasant.
“You were a cop here for more than a year. Maybe this has something to do with someone you pissed off during that time, someone who Prescott just happened to piss off as well in her capacity as an aspiring attorney. This could be about revenge for some perceived wrong from the past.”
“Clearly.” Of course that was what it amounted to. “I can go along with the part about me pissing someone off. Take your pick of the residents in Jackson County, particularly if their last name happens to be Cooper. But Prescott would have been a student at Ole Miss at the time. Seems a stretch that we both pissed off the same guy.”
“But not impossible. Womack is working on that theory. He’s cross-checking anyone you arrested or hassled against the students registered at Ole Miss at the time. If he comes up with a list of names related to your work, and he will, we can then check to see if anyone on that list had a class with Prescott or might have known her.”
Adeline had to admit that she hadn’t even considered that line of thinking. “I’m impressed, Wyatt. I guess you are taking this connection seriously.”
His jaw turned to stone once more. She’d hit a nerve.
“Cherry Prescott may very well be dead. That would make this case a homicide.” Fury simmered in his tone. “But whether she’s dead or just missing, I take every case seriously. I don’t appreciate the implication, Cooper.”
Cooper. Yeah, he was pissed. “Seriously enough to go to the press and let them get the word out?”
The silence thickened for ten full seconds before he responded. “Let’s give it twenty-four more hours. If my people can’t come up with a tie that connects you and Prescott to a possible suspect, then we’ll go to the press.”
Before she agreed to his offer, Adeline needed to know one thing. “Why the reluctance? The media can be your friend.” Occasionally, she didn’t add.
Another of those long silences. “I promised the family that I wo
uldn’t let this investigation turn into a circus. Prescott is a public figure. The family’s already received dozens of crank calls. It’s painful, Addy. It makes an already bad situation almost unbearable.”
He would know. Nine years ago, when he’d let her down, the press had had a field day with it.
FRATERNIZATION ON THE FORCE LEADS TO INCOMPETENCE.
INTERNAL AFFAIRS INVESTIGATION REVEALS GRUDGE.
Wyatt Henderson hadn’t had any trouble talking back then.
She didn’t have any doing it now.
“When we get back to Pascagoula,” she said, keeping her attention on the passing landscape, “just drop me at the motel. My Bronco should be there by now.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Addy.”
What the hell did that have to do with anything? “So it is.” She would call her mom. Maybe join her for dinner somewhere in town. No big deal. Holidays weren’t really her thing. Maybe that made her a bad daughter, but a cop’s work didn’t revolve around the federally recognized dates on a calendar.
“My family always has dinner on Christmas Eve night. I thought you might want to join us.”
He had to be kidding. “I don’t think your family would appreciate an unexpected last-minute guest, particularly one named Adeline Cooper.”
“You know better than that.” He glanced at her. She refused to meet his eyes. “My family adores you.”
“You family adored me nearly a decade ago, Wyatt.” She did turn to him then. “Before the shit hit the fan. Lines were drawn, in case you’ve forgotten. Sides were taken. There weren’t too many folks who took mine.”
The roar of the tires on asphalt filled the lapse in conversation for a minute or more. What she had said was the truth. He couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t change it.
And she did not want to talk about it.
Now or ever.
“I’m not taking no for an answer on this, Addy. I’ll pick you up at ten before eight,” he announced. “If your mother would like to join us, we’ll pick her up, too.”
When she started to argue, he cut her off. “You’re in my jurisdiction now, Detective, and that’s an order.”
The chief had made her promise to show respect. She wasn’t so sure that included family dinners. But, what the hell? It was Christmas.
Chapter Eleven
Forrest General Hospital, Christmas Eve, 6 P.M.
Danny sat in a chair in the corner of his mom’s room. It scared him to look at her. She couldn’t open her eyes and she couldn’t talk to him. The machines around her bed made funny noises.
This whole place smelled funny.
He wanted to go home.
Where was his daddy? Danny was worried about him.
His grandma and grandpa stood by his mom’s bed talking to her. She didn’t answer. Danny didn’t understand why they kept talking. It was kinda dumb. It made his chest hurt when his grandma cried.
It wasn’t supposed to be sad at Christmas. His mom wouldn’t like everyone being sad.
He wished his mom would wake up so they could go home and find the presents she had hidden. Every time Danny asked to go home his grandma would cry. So he didn’t ask anymore. If he asked when his dad was coming to get him, his grandpa told him not to talk about his dad.
This was the worst Christmas ever.
Danny stared at the people passing in the long white corridor outside his mom’s room. Bunches of people. Not many kids, though. Lots of nurses and doctors. And people who looked sad like his grandma.
Nobody paid any attention to Danny. Kids were supposed to be at home getting ready for Christmas tonight. He wondered if other moms told their kids stories the way his mom did. He sure wished she could tell him a story now. He smiled, tried to remember what her voice sounded like. The way she smiled and tapped him on the nose with her finger when she told him a story.
The policeman who had been sitting in a chair outside his mom’s room when Danny got here had smiled and asked what Santa was bringing him for Christmas. Danny told him the truth, he didn’t know. That made Danny start to wonder what would happen after he went to sleep tonight. Would Santa really know that Danny wasn’t at home? Would his presents get dropped off at his grandparents’ house?
He didn’t want Santa to forget his presents.
Maybe Santa would take them to Danny’s house whether he was there or not.
Danny wished the policeman would come back from getting coffee. Maybe he could tell Danny what Santa would do. He didn’t want to bother his grandma or grandpa right now. They were real upset over something the doctor said. Danny didn’t understand what a hematoma was. The doctor had said his mom might need surgery.
It must be bad ’cause his grandma was crying again. It made Danny’s stomach hurt even more.
A man stopped outside the open door. Danny couldn’t see anything but his back. His head was shiny. He didn’t have any hair. Probably a doctor since he wore one of those white coats and had one of those funny little hats in his hand. Danny wondered if Santa stopped at hospitals. If he did, he sure wouldn’t be wearing that kind of hat.
Danny wanted to go home. He wished his mom would wake up and tell his grandparents to take him home right now. If she woke up, maybe she could go, too.
The bald man in the white coat outside the door turned around. Danny looked up at him and the man winked.
It took another wink but then a smile stretched across Danny’s face. Daddy! He had known his daddy would come! He started to jump out of his chair, but his daddy shook his head and put a finger to his lips.
Danny didn’t move or say a word. Even tonight Santa would know if he didn’t obey his parents. Especially his daddy. He always did exactly what his dad told him to do.
His daddy pointed to his eyes, then his chest, and then at Danny.
I love you.
Danny nodded. He pointed to his eyes, then his chest, and then his daddy.
I love you, too.
His daddy put his thumb and finger to his mouth and traced them across his lips. He had told Danny over and over that it was very important to remember what that meant so nobody would find out their secrets. Danny hadn’t forgotten.
Don’t tell.
Chapter Twelve
Wiggins, Mississippi, 6:50 P.M.
Penny Arnold parked in the driveway and just sat.
Exhaustion clawed at her. She couldn’t remember ever being this tired.
Through the arched window adorning the front wall of her living room she could see her sweet boys on the couch. Her husband would be hidden away in their bedroom frantically wrapping the last of the Christmas presents. A job that was to have been Penny’s.
He was angry with her.
And rightly so.
She’d been gone four whole days and three nights.
It was past six o’clock on Christmas Eve and she was only just now getting home.
Once the kids were in bed the arguing would start in earnest.
She didn’t have the energy to fight tonight.
But her husband wouldn’t let that stop him.
Her work took up too much of her time. Every argument began with that theme.
What kind of mother allowed her boss to send her to a real estate conference so close to Christmas?
The truth was Penny had volunteered to cover the Phoenix conference. Even more damning, the conference had ended yesterday. Penny had chosen to stay an extra night and day to get in a few career-boosting brownie points with the conference leader.
And to avoid this.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a heavy breath. Her husband didn’t understand her need to succeed as a Realtor. Why wasn’t selling a house now and then enough for her? he would demand. Getting her own agency shouldn’t be her goal. She had two boys in elementary school. A husband who worked hard and made a sufficient living. Why couldn’t she be satisfied with her life?
He didn’t understand that she wanted to succeed in her own right. Why was that such a difficult conc
ept to grasp? Penny didn’t want to be like her mother or her younger sister, both of whom relied solely on their husbands.
Penny wanted her financial independence.
She wanted to be her own boss.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her husband to provide for the family—he would throw that in her face, too. Certainly it wasn’t that she didn’t love him and her children. But what in the world was wrong with being successful in addition to being a mother and a wife?
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing wrong with what she wanted. This was the twenty-first century. These days, more women worked than stayed home.
Because of the weakening economy, most families would need dual incomes to survive.
No use putting it off any longer.
Dread welling to a fever pitch, Penny opened the car door and got out. She reached back in for her briefcase and purse, then closed the door. Her luggage would have to wait.
The dread she felt at walking into her own home heaped more guilt onto her already burdened shoulders. Why couldn’t she just be glad to be home and go inside and enjoy a joyous welcome home?
Because she knew what was coming.
“Just get it over with, Penny.” She trudged up the walk, then climbed the four steps.
At the front door she hesitated. An envelope had been tucked into the storm door. She pulled it free, read the name printed on the front. Penny Arnold.
Not handwritten, she realized. The letters spelling her name had been cut from printed material then pasted onto the envelope.
The dread and guilt morphed into fear.
Her pulse started to race. Her hand shook.
Penny dropped her briefcase on the porch and quickly tore open the envelope. She removed the sheet of white paper and unfolded it. Her heart thumped harder and harder with each movement. A piece of folded up newspaper slipped out, fluttered down to her feet.
She told herself to bend down and pick it up but the words on the page held her frozen.
Pretty, pretty princess. See her smile . . . see her die.