The Scent of Wrath (The Seven Deadly Sins, Book Two)

by Greta Boris

  “Mom, who’s Boise?”

  “It’s a place not a person.”

  “But how can a place talk? She said, ‘Boise said...’“

  “It’s just an expression. Not literal.” What did it matter? So what if Tom had taught school in Boise?

  “Who worked in Boise anyway?” Brian fiddled with the phone, tossing it from hand to hand.

  “Put that down,” Olivia snapped. He looked at her, hurt in his eyes. The only sound in the car for the next few blocks was Mick Jagger’s lament about satisfaction, or the lack thereof. When she pulled up to the curb, she put her hand on Brian’s leg. “Sorry.”

  “Are you mad about Boise?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. Okay?”

  He brightened. “Okay. I need to be at Dad’s by six-thirty. We’re going to take Crackers to training.”

  “Get your homework done as soon as we get home.”

  Olivia waited until Brian was in his room with the door shut before she called Fiona back. “I have to tell you something,” she said as soon as Fiona answered.

  “The Boise school said he worked there.” Fiona sounded distracted.

  “You don’t need to make any more calls. I know who—”

  “See you next Wednesday at three.” Fiona’s voice was muffled, and Olivia could hear another woman in the background.

  “Fiona.” Olivia itched with impatience.

  “Great job today.”

  “Fiona, talk to me.”

  “Okay, I’m here.” The sound of papers shuffling came through the phone. “He worked there from 2001 to 2008. That fits doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Peter Compton died in 2008, but it has nothing to do with Tom.”

  Neither woman said anything for a moment, then both spoke at once. Olivia said, “I know who—”

  Fiona said, “I don’t know why you’d—”

  Olivia waited for a beat and Fiona said, “I don’t know why you’d say that. It seems significant to me.”

  “Listen, it’s a long story but I know who left the articles.”

  “Who?”

  “A man who was involved with my mother a long time ago.”

  “Why does he care if you’re dating Tom?”

  “He doesn’t.” Olivia heard the exasperation in her tone and adjusted it. “The man wanted to scare me. He was trying to extort money from my mother. I was his backup plan, in case plan A didn’t pan out.”

  “He said that?”

  “He didn’t deny it.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Fiona said, “I still don’t get how he knew you were dating Tom.”

  “He didn’t. Tom doesn’t—” Olivia heard a beep.

  “I’ve got another call. I’ll call you back.” Fiona rang off.

  Olivia walked into the kitchen. She would explain the whole thing to Fiona tomorrow and tell her she didn’t need to keep looking into Tom’s past.

  She opened the refrigerator and peered in looking for something fast to make for dinner. She pulled a couple of zucchini from the vegetable bin and tossed them into the sink. Then she took a spiralizer from the cupboard.

  She’d finally found a way to get vegetables into Brian. The device turned zucchini, sweet potatoes, carrots, all kinds of things, into long, noodle-like strips. She then mixed them with regular pasta, put spaghetti sauce over all, and Brian ate them happily.

  By the time she’d turned two squash into a hill of noodles, the phone rang again. She rinsed and dried her hands, then rushed to the counter to pick it up before it went to voice mail. “Hi.” Her voice sounded breathless.

  “Okay. This is confusing,” Fiona said. Olivia waited. “Tom didn’t work at the school in Phoenix.”

  Relief washed over Olivia, and she berated herself. She had nothing to be relieved about. “Good. That’s good.”

  “I guess.”

  “What do you mean you guess? Of course, it’s good. It confirms what I told you. Tom didn’t have anything to do with those boys, the articles, any of that.”

  “Probably.” Olivia annunciated every syllable.

  “Oh, come on. Phoenix is a big city. If he didn’t work at Trevor Johnson’s school, how would he know him? It’s not like grown men hang around with other people’s kids when they’re not getting paid to do it.”

  “Maybe you should think about getting a private detective.” Fiona’s words dropped with a thud.

  “Why would I spend money to run down a blind alley?”

  “Done.” Brian slid into the room in his socks. “Can we go to Dad’s now?”

  Olivia muffled the phone against her chest. “We have to eat first.” She returned it to her ear. “Fiona, I’ve got to go, but thank you. Thank you for looking into this. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner it had been resolved, sorry you wasted your time.”

  “But—”

  Olivia cut her off. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  ***

  An hour later, Olivia drove onto the Mission Viejo Civic Center property. It took her several minutes to find a parking space. It was a beautiful lot, but not very practical. It had been designed so that every third space was occupied by either a majestic palm, or some other kind of tree. Nanette had once counted how many spots were lost because of the flora—forty-six.

  Olivia walked the distance to the Civic Center. It was a beautiful evening, clear and chilly. Much chillier than that other night, two months ago when she’d seen Proctor cross this same tarmac. Tonight she smelled the faint smell of wood smoke from someone’s fire. It was much more pleasant than his odor—sweat and chalk.

  That night had been the start of a difficult journey, but one that had changed her and her life for the better. A quiet joy warmed her. She was looking forward to the holidays for the first time in many years.

  She pushed open the door to the community room and looked for Nanette in the third row. A young Hispanic woman sat in Nanette’s usual spot. Olivia searched the rest of room with her eyes. Nanette wasn’t there. Worry settled across her shoulders. She hadn’t spoken to Nanette since her court date.

  As soon as attendance had been taken and the first of the evening’s videos started, Olivia took out her phone and typed a message. “Where are you?” She hit send.

  Minutes later, her phone dinged. The instructor frowned at her from the front of the room. Olivia turned off the sound, and read the text. “No need to come. Dawn moved in with Carl two days ago.”

  “What happened?” Olivia’s fingers flew.

  “Judge awarded him primary custody. I get supervised visits until I can prove I’m responsible,” came a moment later.

  “I’ll call as soon as I’m out of class.”

  Olivia scooted out as soon as class was dismissed. She called Nanette before she reached her car.

  “There’s not much to say.” Nanette’s voice sounded tired and subdued. “His lawyer presented every mistake I’ve ever made in excruciating detail. They’d all been documented.”

  “I can’t believe Fred didn’t speak up for you,” Olivia said.

  “He tried, but Carl’s lawyer made him look an idiot for having a good opinion of me. Fred was the one who’d documented my foibles.”

  Olivia reached her car and slid behind the steering wheel, but didn’t start the engine. “So what happens now?”

  “I have to go through another round of parenting classes, I think they’re advanced or something, and get drug tested—”

  “Drug tested?”

  “Yup. Carl brought up my anxiety medication. He said I took it before driving with Dawn in the car. I told the judge I only take it when Carl drives me crazy.” She barked a humorless laugh.

  “What evidence did he give?”

  “Didn’t need any. If there’s even a whiff of suspicion a child is in danger, the court must err on the side of safety. It’s a mess, Olivia. It could be months before my lawyer and I have enough ammunition to go back to court.” Nanette’s voice broke. “I
miss her so much.”

  “How often do you get to see her?”

  “Twice a week, if my mother can make it.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yeah, that’s another bit of irony. She’s the one the judge appointed to supervise my visits with Dawn.”

  “Let’s get together soon. Go to a movie or something.”

  “I don’t think I’d be very good company.”

  “It’s okay. You need some distraction to get you through. You’ll get her back, Nanette. I’m sure of it.”

  “Glad someone is.”

  They disconnected, and Olivia drove toward Davy’s to pick up Brian. Her heart hurt for her friend. She couldn’t imagine only seeing Brian twice a week. Even when he’d lived with her mother, Olivia saw him every day.

  Hearing Nanette’s story had filled her with a strange sense of gratitude. Davy tried. He tried to be a good parent. He tried to get along with Olivia and work with her schedule. Things, she realized, could be a lot worse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “LOOK, I DON’T want to delve into the past, not here, not now. Just believe me when I say children aren’t safe around the man,” Olivia said. Fiona pursed her lips and gave a small nod.

  Fiona had taken Wednesday off, and Thursday morning had been so busy at the Fishbowl, Olivia had little time to fill her in. She’d told Fiona about Proctor showing up in town, blackmailing her mother, stopping by the Fishbowl after Mike scared him away in disconnected bits and pieces between classes and customers. Fiona listened but didn’t say much.

  When the final client cleared the door, Fiona turned to Olivia. “I think it was Davy.”

  “Davy?”

  “Who left the articles.”

  “But, I just told you—”

  Fiona held up a hand. “Hear me.”

  Olivia closed her mouth hard.

  “Tom worked in Boise when the first boy was killed. We know he was living in Phoenix when the second boy died. This is too big of a coincidence to be a coincidence.”

  “So you think Tom is a danger to young boys?”

  “No. I think someone is trying to make you suspicious of him. And I don’t think it’s this Proctor guy. Why would he care who you were dating?”

  “How would Davy know anything about Tom’s past?”

  “He could have paid one of those Internet search companies. They figure out where people have lived based on public records, like real estate transactions, court appearances, parking tickets. Then checked for tragedies involving boys Brian’s age in those towns in those time frames. He could have left you the articles and hoping you’d come to your own conclusions. That’s probably why he got one school right, but not the other. He didn’t actually know where Tom worked.”

  “That’s a lot of work,” Olivia said.

  Fiona shrugged one shoulder. “He’s got a motive, and you said he’s pulled some pretty elaborate pranks in the past.”

  “But why would Davy assume I’d put two and two together? I’d have to know Tom’s history, where he worked and when he worked there.”

  “That’s a pretty safe assumption. You’re dating the guy.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Besides, there might be another layer to the plan. Maybe there are more messages coming. He might be doling out the clues.”

  “If you want to talk about coincidences,” Olivia’s voice rose, “I think it’s a heck of a coincidence that Proctor, a known child predator, shows up in town after twenty-two years, and I start receiving messages about children in danger at the same time. That’s the real coincidence.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Fiona chewed her lip. “But watch Davy. He doesn’t like Tom. He’s threatened by the man. This could be his way of trying to warn you off, make himself the only safe option.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Olivia said. “I’ve got to pick up Brian from tutoring.”

  Olivia simmered on the way to St. Barnabas. The mystery had been solved. It had all been taken care of. It was Proctor. He’d admitted it. Well, he hadn’t denied it, which was pretty much the same thing. She wished Fiona would leave it.

  She parked in the almost empty lot, walked up the school’s stone steps, and opened the heavy glass doors. She was greeted by the scents of rubber erasers, crayons, and cafeteria food. School. She’d loved it as much as Davy had hated it.

  When Olivia and her mother left Vermont, they’d moved to California and Olivia enrolled in public school. Her favorite day of the year was the day they shopped for school supplies. She’d thrilled at the reams of clean, white notebook paper, freshly sharpened pencils, and textbooks with un-cracked spines.

  Davy told her when he was a kid, he’d always said he liked the last day of school best. Summer trips to the beach, sleeping in, and running around his neighborhood with the gang who lived on his block, that was his idea of heaven. Shopping for notebooks and backpacks had sent him into depression. She and Davy were so different. But no matter how different they were, she didn’t believe he would do what Fiona accused him of.

  She climbed the empty staircase to the third floor and turned right.

  As she approached Tom’s classroom, she could hear the rumble of voices. One low. The other higher. She peered through the window in the door.

  Tom sat across from Brian at a child’s desk, his long legs straddling its base. Brian bowed over a textbook, a can of soda at his elbow. Olivia smiled at the scene—teacher and student in deep concentration. Brian raised his head to look at Tom, and her smile faded. His eyes were unfocused. Guardedness covered his face like a caul. His expression echoed the one he’d worn in the early days after the coma.

  A draft blew through the long, empty hallway, and she shivered. She hesitated, watching for a moment more, then turned the knob. The blankness on Brian’s face lifted as soon as he saw her. “Mom.” Warm relief drove away the cold that had seeped into her limbs while she stood in the window.

  “Hey, sweetheart. You done?” It was obvious he was. Brian had jumped up and begun stuffing papers into his backpack the moment she’d entered. “How’d it go?”

  “Great,” Tom said a broad grin on his face. “He did well. I think we’ll have long division mastered by the end of the month.”

  Olivia turned to place a congratulatory arm around Brian’s shoulders, but he was already at the door. “Ready? It’s Dad’s night. We’re going to a movie. I gotta finish the rest of my homework.”

  “How about saying thank you to Coach Hartman?”

  “Soccer season’s almost over. As long as the other kids aren’t around, you can call me plain old Tom.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Hartman,” Brian said.

  “Brian, honey, he said you could call him Tom.”

  The bland expression slid over Brian’s face for a heartbeat. “I’d better not. I forget sometimes, and I might call him Tom in front of the other kids or something.”

  Tom looked at the floor and nodded. Olivia smiled an apology she wasn’t sure he saw.

  As soon as the classroom door closed behind them, Brian started talking. “Dad said he’d take me to see the new Wolf Rider movie. We saw the coming attractions when we went to see Mothvader. It looked so good. I’ve been waiting to see it for, like, months.”

  Olivia tuned him out as he gave her a blow by blow recitation of the Wolf Rider trailer. She was relieved to see him animated and excited, but she worried about the vacant look she’d seen through the window. Was his brain shutting down for seconds here and there? Or, was it boredom?

  Brian had never liked math, but she’d never seen him disconnect like that before the accident. She’d have to ask his teacher, talk to Davy and her mother about it. If others had seen it, they’d have to make a doctor’s appointment.

  By the time they reached the car, he was quoting, in character, the lines he found funniest. How could he remember such minute details about a film, but not where he’d left his shoes?

  She slid behind the wheel and was about to put th
e car into reverse when she saw something stuck under her windshield wiper. Her first thought was that it was a flier. Probably a discount for a new gym, or spa. But her heart skipped a beat anyway. When she stepped out of her car to retrieve it, she noticed the newsprint.

  Dread gripped her. She forced her hand forward, pulled the paper free, balled it up, and threw it into her tote bag.

  “What is it?” Brian asked.

  “Nothing. An advertisement.” Her throat tightened around the words. “Tell me about Mothvader. I don’t think you ever did.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Brian dove into a detailed plot summary that took the entire car ride. When they got home, Olivia watched him run to his room. After his door shut behind him, she walked into the kitchen. With trembling hands, she took the paper from her bag and spread it out on the counter smoothing the wrinkles. It was an obituary.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  WEDNESDAY, JULY 22ND, 1992

  I SAW THE police car as soon as I turned onto the long gravel drive. My heart stopped for a cold second. No. Dios mio, please, please let it not be Doug. Or worse, something Doug did.

  By the time I reached the end of the driveway, my hands were shaking so badly my fingers couldn’t hold the key to turn off the ignition. I left the motor running, threw open the door, and ran up the wooden steps. Doug and Tomas stood at the far end of the porch watching the Travers’s house through the screen.

  I sat on the edge of a chair before my knees gave out. “What? What’s happened?”

  “It’s Scottie,” Doug said.

  “He fell off his bike.” Tomas turned to look at me, his face expressionless.

  “How bad?” I covered my heart with my hand. No matter how much strain there was between our families, I loved those children.

  “Bad, I think.” Doug said. “All I know is Abby found him by the railroad tracks, came home and told her mother. An awful lot of emergency vehicles are there now. That police car brought Molly and Abby to the house about five minutes ago.”