Speak No Evil

by Anne Crosby Tanya

  From Caroline’s current perspective, it was easy to see what her mother valued. Everything else in the attic was either a valuable antique or something belonging to one of the kids. As far as personal items went, she was much more apt to throw away something she was tired of than to save it. Not surprisingly, there was an entire section devoted to Sammy. Every last item from his bedroom had been carted up here and lovingly stowed.

  They closed up and stacked the boxes, arranging them so they could easily haul them down later. Right now, Caroline wasn’t up to taking them down by herself, and there was no way Savannah could help with her broken arm.

  By dinnertime, when Augusta didn’t show, they started to get worried. Caroline tried her cell phone to no avail. Savannah tried too, just in case she might be mad at Caroline for some reason—because you never knew with Augusta. About an hour later, they tried Sadie and Josh. Caroline also tried Frank at the office.

  No one knew where Augusta was.

  Caroline’s note appeared to be part of a purchase order.

  If there was an address imprinted in the top left corner, it had been snipped off, leaving the accounting portion, along with the P.O. number in the top right corner. Jack didn’t believe it was an accident that the number had been left on the slip. Someone wanted him to find the pad it was torn from.

  A challenge maybe?

  As a precaution, he ran the slip by the station to put it under a forensic light source. Unwilling to part with it just yet, he looked it over himself instead of checking it into the evidence unit. Alternate lights might reveal some prints. It worked a lot like the fluorescent blue-green light from a laser or incandescent source used over a bedspread to reveal evidence of semen in the fibers. If there were organic materials in the paper, it would fluoresce yellow without the addition or powders or dyes. But the kind of fingerprinting really needed in order to expose hidden evidence—prints that were invisible to the naked eye—was a little more involved and necessitated involving the forensic unit. But those type of prints could last up to forty years, so it could wait another twenty-four hours while he made a few rounds. Besides, no one would be able to look at it until Monday—especially since the overall feeling was that they had all the time in the world. Without another body, the prevailing attitude was that this was an isolated homicide. And there was no way Jack could get the go-ahead to bring people in on a Saturday when the average officer’s caseload was already bloated and time off was at a premium.

  He was nearly finished with a quick examination when Josh Childres sauntered in. “Speak of the devil,” he said.

  “Well, if it ain’t the dude!” Jack teased. “Working for the county solicitor’s office must be good for you. It’s certainly done wonders for your wardrobe.”

  Josh made a mock half turn. “Like it? Armani—gotta look good, you know. These days, the White House doesn’t seem like such a long shot.”

  Jack had to admit, Josh looked like a real politician in his gray suit and satiny black shoes. He gave him a half smile. “I guess you’re busy putting that inheritance to good use.”

  “Oh, hell yeah!”

  “You’ll be right ready if James Island can ever wrestle its way out from under the City.”

  “Damn right.” Josh winked. “In the meantime, I’m here to do my job as the DA’s flunky and bring back evidence nabbed during a robbery at Greene’s place.”

  “Did they finally pin it on someone?”

  “Maybe. They’ve got a kid’s prints on the grip of a bat that was found in a Dumpster not far from Daniel’s office. I wanted to see if it’s a fit for the piece we’ve got in evidence. What are you doing? I know you somehow sweet-talked Kelly into giving up her Saturday morning to check the boring-ass missing persons database for you.”

  Jack blinked, surprised. “No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t. I have no idea why she would be doing that. I didn’t ask her to.”

  “Whatever,” Josh said. “So what brings you in to the office today? I thought you might be too busy trying to hump Caroline’s leg.”

  Jack sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know the piece of paper she called you about? The one you told her to bring to me?”

  Josh crossed his arms, leaning back on the doorframe. “Man, I only told her that because I thought it might give you two a reason to put your knives away and get busy. You think it belongs to the killer?”

  “No idea,” Jack admitted. “But there’s one detail we didn’t make public that would explain the message.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Though it could just as easily be nothing. I’m checking the slip for prints now.”

  Josh shook his head. “Why are you doing it? That’s why we have a forensic unit, Jack.”

  “Because I’m going to take it with me to knock on a few doors.”

  Josh straightened, throwing his hands up, indicating that he should stop. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. Don’t go making my job harder on me, man. If you think it’s relevant and you’re not checking it in as evidence, make damn sure you don’t let it out of your sight!”

  Jack gave him a grin. Too late, he thought. He’d let it out of his sight for about seven hours, while he and Caroline had become intimately reacquainted, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Josh. Nor was it relevant anyway. It wasn’t like he could have hauled the note in to the station at that hour of the night, and no one had touched it.

  “Don’t tell me any more,” Josh demanded, turning to walk away. “I need these ears to remain pris-tine!”

  “Of course. Can’t risk your rep,” he joked. “How else would you win Augie over?”

  Josh laughed. “I gave up on that shit a long time ago! But if you don’t want Kelly, I have a thing for blondes,” he revealed, “especially a hot one who’ll give up a Saturday to please her man.”

  Jack wholeheartedly rejected the idea of an intimate connection with anyone but Caroline—like a body rejected foreign organs of different blood types—but he didn’t bother correcting him. Anyway, telling Josh and the rest of her family was Caroline’s prerogative—if in fact, she intended to tell them at all.

  “Okay, well, see ya,” Josh said, and walked into the hall, his black shoes gleaming like one-way mirrors.

  “Don’t go gettin’ those fancy shoes dirty!”

  Josh’s laughter trailed in his wake, echoing along the hall. “Don’t you worry ’bout it, Detective,” he called from the hall. “I know a damned good shoe-shine boy!”

  Shaking his head, Jack turned around and finished examining the document under the lights. Legally, he didn’t have to check the evidence in yet. Like baggage at an airport, as long as it never left his possession, they wouldn’t run into issues with the county solicitor’s office. All they wanted to be sure of was that it remained untainted—at least from a legal perspective. They didn’t want anything standing in the way of a conviction.

  After he was finished, he literally walked into every mom-and-pop shop within five miles of Patterson’s home address.

  According to the data, serial killers lived and worked in the areas they were stalking—they got jobs as schoolteachers or priests—positions people trusted—positions where vulnerable people turned. They also often left a trail of sexual misconduct, either suspicion or actual charges. Patterson wasn’t working right now, but he had two strikes against him: he was a priest with a record, and he lived in the area.

  By late afternoon, Jack hadn’t found the pad the slip had been torn from, but he hadn’t expected to find so few people who even used such pads. Technology made it more likely for people to use computer-generated slips. For all he knew, his guy could have bought a brand-new pad at an office supply store, but he didn’t think so. The P.O. number was significant. You didn’t just tear off a corner of a piece of paper....

  He sat in his car, staring at the sealed baggie.

  Jesus, maybe it was just a random note.

  Maybe he was chasing shadows.

  And maybe it
was as he had told Caroline . . . just some Bible-thumper leaving his calling card. Maybe . . . but that feeling in his gut said no, and it had served him unwaveringly through fourteen years of police work. Still at this point, he had absolutely nothing to go on except for a hunch.

  His phone vibrated in his hand and he jumped. It was Caroline.

  He forced a smile before answering, hoping the smile, coupled with the simple pleasure of hearing her voice, would filter the edge out of his tone.

  “You’re going to get sick of hearing my voice.”

  “Never. What’s wrong, Caroline?”

  Caroline sat on the top step of the porch, pressing the phone to her ear, taking comfort in the familiar sound of Jack’s voice. “Probably nothing . . .”

  “But?”

  “It’s Augusta . . . she’s been gone all day. Nobody’s heard from her.”

  “Not even Josh?”

  Caroline kicked at the remains of oyster shells. “No. Josh is right here.”

  “At the house?”

  “Yeah—Jesus, she pisses me off! She said she was going to go to the office to do inventory. Frank verified she was there about eleven, but she left almost as soon as she got there and no one has seen her since. Nobody.”

  Jack remained silent, and Caroline’s heart skipped a beat as she jumped to conclusions. Unlike the numbness she had felt over her mother’s death, the very thought of anything happening to either of her two sisters made her scream inside. They were all she had left.

  “I probably wouldn’t be worried except—”

  A pair of headlights suddenly flashed into view in the drive, cutting her off, and Caroline stood, terrified it might be a police car pulling up with bad news.

  “Caroline?”

  As the car neared, she saw that it was their mother’s Town Car, with Augusta at the wheel. Completely oblivious to the fact that she’d left them all to worry themselves sick over her, her sister waved, grinning broadly as she put the car into park.

  “Caroline?”

  “Sorry, Jack. False alarm,” she said. “She’s back, though you might want to call this one in because I’m going to kill her in two minutes!”

  She sensed Jack’s grin even through the phone. “Take it easy on her, Caroline. Remember, you did the same thing to her last night. She’s back in one piece. That’s what matters. Right?”

  “Right,” Caroline said, not really listening. “I’ll call you back,” she promised, and hung up as Augusta got out of the car. Her hands went to her hips. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Augusta sauntered up, all smiles, and replied saucily, “None of your business, sissy dearest!”

  Caroline thought maybe she had been drinking.

  Both Savannah and Josh came out of the front door and behind them Sadie sauntered out.

  Augusta stopped in her tracks, staring up at the porch. “Really?” she asked, incensed. “Did you guys find it necessary to hold a convention while I was out?”

  “We were worried,” Caroline reasoned.

  “You could have called,” Josh chastened, siding with Caroline.

  Augusta’s hands went to her hips defensively. “Jesus H. Christ! Did I climb out of a time machine? Since when do I need to check in with any of y’all?” She pointed an accusing look in Josh’s direction. “Especially you!”

  “Since there’s a killer out there,” Caroline argued.

  Her voice was rising. “Really, Caroline? And where the hell were you last night?”

  Caroline’s face heated, but she wasn’t about to let Augusta turn this around. One mistake didn’t absolve another. “That’s none of your concern!”

  “Well, my itinerary isn’t your concern!” she countered. “And I know where you were, but at least I have the good taste not to grill you about it. You might be the oldest Aldridge now, but you are not my mother! In fact, I have never had a mother who gave a shit where I was, so I’m certainly not going to start checking in now!”

  “Seriously, Augusta? Why so defensive?”

  The look in Augusta’s eyes was bright and angry. “Because you’re offensive!” she said, poking at the air as she passed Caroline. She stopped momentarily. “You’re so busy out there incriminating people that you don’t even know when to press the stop button!”

  She moved past Caroline, leaving Caroline confused in the wake of her accusation.

  Caroline had no clue where any of this had even come from or why Augusta would impugn her. She followed her sister up the front porch stairs and everyone moved out of their way, parting like the Red Sea.

  “Just in case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who wanted to do this fund-raiser, Augie! Savannah and I have been slaving over boxes all day, waiting for you to come home. We weren’t upset you haven’t been around to do shit, we were just worried, for God’s sake!”

  Augusta marched into the house, releasing the screen door without looking back, nearly smacking Caroline in the face.

  Caroline threw her hand out to stop it and followed her in. “Stop running away!”

  Augusta spun to face her like a human tornado, shrieking with indignation, “You’re kidding, right!”

  Even Tango, who had been sleeping by the front door, whined and scurried away, tail between his legs.

  “No, damn it! We were worried!”

  “You’re such a hypocrite, Caroline! For years, you’ve been running from everything! You left this godforsaken piece of shit ten years ago without ever looking back. You rarely called me—and I’m sure you rarely called Savannah, but she’s too much of a martyr to ever complain! You thumbed your nose at everything about that stupid paper and everything Mother stood for and then you come back here and act like she was your hero or something! You step into her ruby red pumps, click your heels three times and suddenly she’s the Good Witch! At least I’m standing by what I’ve always said!”

  Caroline took a step backward at the vehemence of her speech. “Seriously? All this because I was worried about you?”

  Augusta’s eyes shot daggers through her. “No! All this because things don’t just change when you suddenly want them to,” she said, and with that, she turned and bolted up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  While Tango stretched peacefully beside her on the bed, Caroline tossed and turned, remembering the look on Augusta’s face. Not even the memory of Jack’s loving could soothe the ulcer Augusta’s tirade had left on her soul.

  Caroline had always felt closest to Augusta. Just eleven months apart, the two of them had always had so much in common, including their powerful discontent with their mother. Augie’s was just infinitely closer to the surface, while Caroline worked hard to bury hers beneath a mountain of apathy.

  By the time she and Augusta had outgrown their dolls, Savannah had still been planning tea parties, inviting their mother who attended only by proxy—too busy even on a Saturday morning to linger over Sadie’s pancakes. Caroline and Augusta had accepted it, feeling sorry for Savannah who, with her perpetual optimism, kept an eternally empty place setting.

  As they grew older, the chasm between them had widened, until even Savannah’s optimism had become a source of irritation—not just because Caroline couldn’t stand seeing her baby sister disappointed time after time, but because her sister’s wellspring of hope and goodwill only put a harsh spotlight on her own buried feelings.

  When Caroline first heard the song “Cat’s in the Cradle,” she had easily placed Flo into the role of “Dad.” She didn’t know who Little Boy Blue was, or the Man on the Moon, but she knew intrinsically how they felt. What the song didn’t say could be read between the lines . . . the disappointment turned to anger—the “take-that-how-does-it-feel-Mom” attitude that Augusta promenaded instead of Dolce & Gabbana.

  She tried to see things from her sister’s perspective, but couldn’t seem to get beyond the hurt inflicted by her anger and incrimination.

  It seemed to Caroline that there was a volcanic buildup of emotion
simmering just below the surface of Augusta’s skin, probably building since they were children. Caroline had just never realized that part of it was directed at her.

  Take a cold, hard look in the mirror.

  Augusta was right. Caroline had walked away and never looked back—until their mother’s death had jerked her home like a rubber band that had stretched too far. And then, her thoughts had been completely self-absorbed.

  Was she so much like her mother?

  She had let both of her sisters down. Coupled with the look of surprise on Savannah’s face when she had relinquished the typewriter, Augusta’s indictment of her character left her feeling about as cold and selfish as a person could feel.

  Her mother at least had the defense of mental illness. Flo had been clinically depressed ever since Sammy’s disappearance.

  Listening to Tango’s easy breathing, Caroline wished she were a dog. Only a dog could sleep that peacefully, even in the face of loss.

  He’d snuck the shoe into the bed again, she noticed, but she didn’t have the heart to take it away, though the sight of it creeped her out. She hoped, at least, that it was the left shoe, not the right. Something about it made her feel uneasy—even if Patterson had in fact come by it as innocently as he claimed.

  Augusta certainly seemed willing enough to believe him, but Caroline couldn’t picture her mother simply losing a shoe out there in the woods . . . nor would she have let Tango run off with it.

  Caroline was only glad Augusta was distracted with the fund-raiser. The last thing they needed was something else to argue about . . . or another cause for Augie to champion.

  Karen Hutto’s house sat at the far end of East Ashley Avenue in one of the last remaining homes before the road leading to the abandoned Coast Guard station. During the peak of summer, people used the access to the beach, but during the off-season, the location might feel a little desolate, surrounded by older houses and acres of beach scrub. The sun-bleached yellow cottage, built on weathered stilts, with its faded gray roof and peeling trim paint, reminded Augusta of the woman who opened the door.