Anywhere She Runs

by Webb, Debra

  Irene had been quite the looker, as well. Still was. Some gray had invaded her dark hair, but otherwise she remained trim and youthful looking. Adeline turned to her mother who’d taken a seat in her favorite chair—the one in which her husband had spent his evenings watching the news for as long as Adeline could remember.

  “You been watching the news?” Adeline asked as she settled onto the sofa. She rubbed her hand over the coarse, sturdy texture. Same sofa as when she’d been a hard-headed teenager. Her mother had been so proud the day it was delivered. The previous sofa had been pretty beat up from Adeline and her cousin’s rowdy childhood antics.

  Irene nodded, her expression somber. “Is there still nothing new on the case?” She reached for the delicate china cup and saucer on the table next to her chair and sipped her tea.

  Her mother always had hot tea in the afternoons. Two sugars and lemon. From a delicate Old Country Rose cup. The china had been in the family for as far back as Adeline remembered. Belonged to her grandmother if she recalled correctly. Unlike most who only used their china on special occasions, her mother used it every day.

  “Nothing new. Really.” This morning Adeline had filled her in on the latest. But the parts she’d learned this afternoon . . . those were the ones she wanted to discuss. Except for the incident at the cemetery. Not going there. Telling Wyatt would be ordeal enough. “There are some small connections between the victims that, with the second abduction, are proving more significant than previously theorized.”

  Irene’s fingers tightened on the fragile dishes. “What sort of connections? If you’re allowed to say, of course,” she qualified.

  “Both victims are blond. The resemblance is noticeable but not inordinately noteworthy. Career oriented.” She shrugged. “Like I said, nothing really significant.” She didn’t know why she even mentioned those details. Her mother was fully aware of what the victims looked like and who they were. With Penny Arnold’s abduction, however, those points were, as she’d said, more relevant.

  Irene nodded. “There are still no leads on who might be behind this awful nightmare?”

  “Not a one.” Adeline crossed one leg over the other. She resisted the urge to curl up at the end of the sofa the way she used to. Relaxing wasn’t on her agenda. She had questions. Deciding on the proper avenue of approach was the snag. “There is this kind of strange link between the two victims and myself. It may be nothing but we have to look into any and all possibilities.”

  The cup and saucer rattled. Irene set her tea aside. “This is something you learned today?”

  Adeline nodded. Her instincts were humming. It wasn’t unreasonable that her mother would be nervous about discussing the case. The ugliness had hit pretty close to home. The Prescott woman had disappeared only a few miles from here. Even so, there was something not quite right about her overall reaction. The way her back had stiffened and the fact that she didn’t look Adeline directly in the eyes now.

  “Yes.” Adeline pushed to her feet. “Maybe I’ll have one of those cookies after all.” She wanted to watch her mother’s body language and get a better grip on the situation before she said anything she might regret.

  Irene chattered as she scurried around the kitchen before settling a plate on the counter then embellishing it with not one but three cookies. There was no way to miss the way her hands shook. The tension rippling through Adeline moved to the next level. This was so not right.

  Maybe there was something going on in her mother’s life that Adeline didn’t know about. If she learned that Cyrus had been giving her trouble . . .

  “You’ll need milk.”

  Her mother’s statement snapped Adeline from the troubling thoughts. “That’d be great.” Relax. She’d come here for answers. No need to go making something out of nothing.

  Irene reached for the fridge door and launched into more rambling about what some friend that Adeline couldn’t remember had gotten herself for Christmas.

  When the glass was poured and Adeline had selected the cookie with the most visible chocolate chips, she indulged in a bite and savored the decadent taste.

  “Now.” Irene had posted herself on the opposite side of the breakfast counter from her daughter. Her hands were clasped in front of her. “You were saying something about a connection.”

  “Yeah.” Adeline sipped the cold milk. Tasted like old times. “Did I ever have a near-drowning experience?” She picked off another bite of cookie. “You know, in the tub or in a pool. Maybe a lake.” She popped the sweet chunk into her mouth.

  Her mother’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Not that I recall.” She shook her head. “I’m certain you didn’t. I would surely have remembered.” She swiped the cookie crumbs from the counter into her hand and marched them to the trash as if another moment scattered on the counter would have created a tragedy of some sort.

  Her mom had always been OCD about cleaning.

  “Why have I always been afraid of the water? Something had to have happened. Maybe I was with a friend’s family.”

  “Oh, Adeline.” Her mother waved her hands back and forth as if to dismiss the entire notion. “You know the reason for that.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “I was always scared of the water. Never learned to swim and I guess my irrational fears rubbed off on you.”

  True. She placed the half-eaten cookie back on the plate. “Is there any chance at all that we knew Cherry Prescott’s or Penny Arnold’s family at some point? You know, when I was a little kid?” Neither family had lived in Pascagoula, but there were other possibilities. Church gatherings, Girl Scouts, school activities. It wasn’t impossible.

  Her mother blinked. Three times. Rapidly. Her face blanked. “Why would you ask that?”

  Why would she ask why? Adeline swallowed back the hesitation. “We all three are afraid in one way or another of water. We’re all three blond with blue eyes and have a number of other facial similarities.” The implications of what she was saying loomed inside her head, made a breath next to impossible. “And some psycho is targeting us. Calling us ‘princesses.’ There is either a connection in our pasts that put us on his radar or this freak has made one hell of a big mistake.”

  That trapped-in-the-headlights expression claimed her mother’s face. “I’ve . . . I’ve heard you say that those awful serial killers oftentimes pick women who look alike. Considering that . . . are these similarities really so unusual?”

  Again, this was true. Adeline’s heart pounded harder, making her chest ache, with every statement her mother made. She was hiding something. There was no way on earth to deny that glaring fact. “You’re right,” Adeline allowed. “The sticking point is the whole water thing. That’s not exactly something I’ve broadcast over the years, and from what I’ve learned so far neither did the other two women involved in this case.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you want me to say, Addy.” Her mother swiped at the counter again when there were no crumbs to swipe. She glanced around the kitchen as if looking for something else to do then grabbed the dish-towel from the sink and rubbed her hands.

  That bad, bad feeling that had taken root was wrapping round and round her throat and squeezing. For about two seconds, Adeline was at a loss for words. “I just want you to answer the question. Did we or did we not know the families of these victims at some point in the past?”

  “Your question is preposterous. Why would you ask me such a thing?” Irene huffed. “I think you . . . you . . .” The color of frustration and no small amount of anger climbed her cheeks as she looked Adeline straight in the eyes. “I think it’s not safe for you to be here. You should go back to Huntsville and let Wyatt do his job. Not only are you a target of this insane person, but you’re thinking up all these ridiculous ideas.”

  Whoa. “You’re overreacting to a simple question, Mother.” Adeline backed off. This wasn’t going to evolve into a battle. She hadn’t come here for that. “But if discussing the case upsets you that much, we won’t talk about i
t.” Jesus Christ. It was a simple question.

  “Good.” Her mother picked up the plate Adeline had used and started toward the sink.

  This conversation had officially gone from odd to totally bizarre. Did Adeline stay or go or apologize or what?

  The plate crashed to the floor. Adeline jerked at the sound. Broken china and cookie remains lay scattered over the linoleum. Her mother stood, a step from the sink, her back ramrod straight, and turned to Adeline. That she didn’t say something or rush to clean up the mess triggered an alarm that Adeline didn’t want to acknowledge.

  She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but couldn’t come up with the right words, so she covered the two steps that separated them and crouched down to pick up the mess on the floor.

  Her mother swayed.

  “Mom, you okay?”

  Adeline shot to her feet. Barely caught her mother as she crumpled.

  “Mom?”

  Her mother’s eyes were wide with pain and fear. She tried to speak . . . couldn’t. The fingers of one hand clutched at her chest.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Adeline lowered her mother to the floor. “It’s okay. I’m calling for help.” Adeline reached for her cell.

  Pounding on the front door echoed through the house. She ignored it. Keeping one eye on her mother, she gave the 911 operator the necessary information.

  “Addy!”

  Wyatt. He’d obviously opened the front door and stuck his head inside.

  “Kitchen!” she screamed back.

  Irene’s eyes rolled back and her body tensed.

  Adeline dropped the phone. Checked her mother’s carotid pulse. Where the hell was her pulse?

  Wyatt stamped into the room. “Why in the Sam Hill was the door unlocked?”

  Adeline looked up at him, fear crushing her windpipe. “Help me.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Singing River Hospital, 6:37 P.M.

  Adeline sat in the molded plastic chair in the deserted waiting room. The smell of pain and sickness had invaded her lungs. She felt cold. The stupid Christmas tree in the corner mocked her.

  It was the day after Christmas and she’d done this to her mother. She was a bad daughter.

  All these years she’d thought she had escaped the evil Cooper genes . . . she’d been wrong.

  Heart attack. Her mother had suffered a heart attack. Not a massive episode, the doctor had assured during the brief update Adeline had gotten half an hour ago, but enough to admit her mother for additional testing and further observation. Just in case.

  As soon as Irene was settled Adeline could see her. They’d run her out of the ER exam room because her presence seemed to distress the patient.

  Bad, bad, bad. She was a bad daughter.

  “This isn’t your fault.” Wyatt sat down next to her and shoved a cup of coffee her way.

  “You weren’t there.”

  “I didn’t have to be.” He gave up and set the coffee on a table next to a stack of out-of-date magazines. “You love your mother. Your mother loves you. Nothing you said or asked prompted this event. You have to know that.”

  Adeline felt numb, yet the sensation of devastation hovered around the edges of her consciousness. It was there . . . coming, like a hurricane brewing offshore.

  Her mother could’ve died. Still could. The doctor had admitted after relentless interrogation that part of the reason for the observation was because many times a second heart attack followed the first. It reminded Adeline of the aftershocks of an earthquake.

  Only this wasn’t someplace she’d never been or people she didn’t know . . . this was her mother.

  This was her fault.

  “God.” She braced her elbows on her knees and put her face in her hands. All of this was so damned wrong. Off somehow, and it just kept getting more and more twisted.

  “Addy.” Wyatt’s big, warm hand settled on her back. “The doc said she’s going to be fine. You have to believe that. And stop blaming yourself.”

  Adeline sat up, turned her face to his. “She’s hiding something from me.” She looked away, didn’t want him to see the sting of tears in her eyes. She swallowed back the ones crowded in her throat. “There’s something about the past and this case that she’s not telling me. I saw it in her eyes . . . before.” She blinked back the emotion that threatened to spill past her lashes. “Whatever it is . . . it’s big.”

  Bigger than maybe Adeline wanted to know.

  This case . . . coming back here . . . had ripped apart the fiber of her existence. And the tear just kept getting wider and more jagged.

  “Ms. Cooper?”

  Adeline’s attention swung to the double doors next to the admissions desk. Dr. Hubbard, the physician in charge of her mother’s care, was coming toward Adeline.

  She shot to her feet and rushed to meet him.

  “You can see your mother now.” He smiled, the expression more comforting than he could possibly comprehend. “She’s been moved to the cardiac unit on the fourth floor. You may have a few moments with her and then she needs to rest. She’s sedated so she may fall asleep on you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  She turned to Wyatt, relief so profound rushing through her body that her knees threatened to buckle. “She’s gonna be okay.”

  He hugged her close and she wanted to cry all over again. Her heart ached, needed to feel this. To feel him.

  Adeline pulled away. Exiled the powerful emotions. She needed to get a hold of herself. And to get to the fourth floor.

  The journey from the ER waiting room to the main lobby and the bank of elevators beyond seemed to take forever. The delay for the elevator car to arrive was even worse. By the time they reached the fourth floor, Adeline felt ready to have a heart attack of her own. Her heart thumped so hard she could scarcely breathe. Her head spun with the lack of oxygen. And all the crazy fragments of information that didn’t fit together and yet went hand in hand.

  Her mother’s cubicle stood directly across from the nurse’s station. There was no door, just a glass partition allowing visual access to the patient from the nurse’s station. As much as it scared Adeline to see her mother in a place like this, she was glad for the close monitoring.

  The nurse made Wyatt wait in the corridor since only one visitor at a time was allowed. He squeezed Adeline’s hand, offering that support she needed so badly.

  When Adeline approached the bed, Irene’s eyes opened. “Addy.”

  Between the ultrasterile environment, the collage of machines playing their out-of-sync symphony, and her mother’s pale face, Adeline couldn’t stop the tears. “You ’bout scared me to death, lady.” Her mother reached for her hand. Adeline’s heart reacted to the too-cool feel of her skin. “I am so sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to upset you. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

  “This is not your fault.”

  Her voice sounded so weak. Adeline’s gut clenched with fear and dread and worry, all at the same time. “I’m sorry anyway.”

  Irene peered down at their clasped hands. “I shouldn’t have waited . . . I should have told you a long time ago.” She licked her parched lips.

  As much as Adeline wanted to ask what her mother meant, she reached for the ice chips on the table next to the bed instead. “Here.” She placed a few in her mother’s mouth. When Adeline offered more, her mother shook her head.

  “I need you to listen to me.”

  “All right.” Adeline leaned closer to ensure she didn’t miss a word. Her mother’s voice sounded weak . . . fragile. Nothing like the strong woman Adeline knew so well. It tore at her heart.

  “There were three of you.”

  The statement ignited a new kind of fear deep in Adeline’s chest. This moment . . . what she was about to hear, she instinctively understood . . . would change everything. “We don’t have to talk about this, Mom. You should rest. I want you well.” She defied the tears that crammed into her eyes once more. “I can’t bear to see you like this.”<
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  “Three beautiful little girls.” Irene’s voice wobbled. “Your father wanted to take all three of you but there were others who desperately wanted children. I don’t know who made the decisions on who went where. All I know is that your father and I got you. You were so beautiful. Only six months old. And perfect.”

  Adeline pinched her lips to prevent the multitude of questions to which she wanted to demand answers. She couldn’t press her mother. Just let her talk.

  “I believe Cherry Prescott and Penny Arnold are the other two—your sisters.”

  What little oxygen Adeline had been able to draw into her lungs bolted. This wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be adopted. All the times she had wondered about why she didn’t look a lot like her parents or cousins . . . the dreams about the water . . . the numerous pictures of her as a baby but none of her parents holding her until she was several months old. Those niggling facts that had haunted the rim of her existence her whole life came crashing down around her now.

  “Ms. Prescott came to see me.”

  “What?” Adeline regretted how incredulous she sounded. She had to focus. Pay attention to what her mother was saying and work on figuring out the rest later. “When?”

  Her mother’s lips trembled. “The same day she went missing. She wanted to see you. Wanted to know where you lived. How to get in touch with you. Somehow she’d learned that she was adopted and had siblings. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about . . . that she had made a mistake.” Tears streamed down her face. A sob hiccupped from her throat. “I lied to her.”

  Adeline banished the questions, the shock . . . the ache. “It’s okay,” she placated. “You did what you thought was right. Please don’t cry. You don’t need to get upset like this. We won’t talk about this anymore right now.” As much as Adeline wanted the truth she couldn’t risk her mother’s health. But, dear God—Prescott had come to her mother demanding the truth? At least now they had some insight as to what she had been doing in the Pascagoula area.