Their current conversation had started with, “We have to get up. You have to go and see Heidi’s family, and I’m taking my camera out for the campfire and ghost walk again.”
“No. You’re locking yourself in this room.”
“No, that would be ridiculous. I’ll be with about two dozen witnesses. No one would try anything.”
The argument had been done; she did have logic in her favor. And so they dressed, reluctant to part, knowing that they must.
The evening had been decided.
Brock hesitated. “Do you think that Angie knows we’re together again?”
“Probably, but...”
“But?”
“I’m not so sure she’d care. Angie is—Angie. Unabashed. Men are dogs—adorable dogs, and she loves them. But one of her great sayings is that if men are dogs, women definitely get to be bitches.”
He frowned, thinking about Angie’s behavior at lunch. “Does she know anything about Rachel and Nils having once been hot and heavy?”
“I don’t think so. Why would she? She wasn’t around way back then. Angie does like Nils. She likes you better, but...”
“I’m spoken for?”
“She might actually think that you’re more interested in me—and that wouldn’t sit well with her ego. She did tell me that if I wasn’t interested, she’d move in.”
He laughed. “Well, honesty is a beautiful thing.”
“It can be—it can be awkward, too,” Maura assured him. “So, are you leaving?”
“Not until I see you gathered with a large group of guests and Angie to head out to the campfire.”
“Okay, then, we should go down.”
He opened the door for her. They headed for the lobby. It was busy—people were gathering. One was a family, including a mom and a dad and three children: older boys and a girl of about five. The couple from the pool was going to be at the campfire that night; they greeted Maura warmly. A few people seemed to be alone. There were two more families, one with a little girl, one with twin boys who appeared to be about fourteen.
Angie was there already, chatting with Mark.
“Hey—are you coming out tonight?” Mark asked Brock. He seemed pleased with the prospect.
“No, duty calls,” Brock said. “But hopefully I’ll catch up by the end.”
“You have to go?” Angie asked.
“I do.”
“You can’t send that other cop?”
“No—because Mike Flannery and Rachel Lawrence are coming here tonight. Rachel knows all about the campfire and the walk and the stories, but Mike has never had a chance to go. And there are things I like to do myself,” Brock said.
“Ah, yeah, every guy thinks he’s got to do everything himself,” Angie said.
“Just on this. Mike and Rachel have really been taking on the brunt of the load. My turn for an initial investigation,” he said pleasantly.
He saw that Mike and Rachel had arrived.
“I’ll just have a word with Mike—maybe I’ll see you later.”
He walked over to join Flannery and Rachel, aware that they’d be heading to the campfire any minute.
“Thanks for doing the interview tonight,” Flannery said. “Really. I know you don’t want to leave. I swear, we’ll watch her like a pair of parental lions.”
“I think male lions just lie around,” Rachel said.
“I’ll be a good male lion,” Flannery said. “I feel that I do need to do this. Everyone really knows the stories and the tree—or trees—but me.”
Brock didn’t want to admit that he really wanted to interview Heidi’s parents himself; there were often little things that could be said but lost in retelling. It was always better to have several interviews with family, witnesses and more. And he did owe this one to Mike.
“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Brock told them.
“And really, we don’t know that you need to be worried.”
“I don’t know. Glass is looking like a more viable suspect all the time,” Brock said.
“Glass won’t be out here. No need to fear,” Rachel said. “And I may be small, but trust me—I am one fierce lioness.”
Brock smiled. “I know,” he told her.
He turned. Mark Hartford was deep in conversation with Maura. She wasn’t looking Brock’s way—she was listening.
He turned and headed out to the parking lot and his car. He knew he couldn’t be ridiculous—he’d never keep his job that way.
It was a twenty-minute drive east to Heidi’s home in a quiet neighborhood just south of St. Augustine. He noted that the girl lived in a gated estate.
The houses were about twenty years old and reflected an upper-working-class and family atmosphere.
Heidi’s parents were eagerly waiting for him. Her mother, Eileen, a slim woman with curly gray hair and dark, tearstained eyes—was frantic. Heidi’s father, Carl, bald and equally slim, kept trying to calm her.
“The police didn’t even want to start a report until today—they said that she hadn’t really been missing. I know my daughter—when she says she’s coming home, she’s coming home!” Eileen said and started to cry.
“When was the last time you spoke with her?” Brock asked gently.
“She was at work. She said she was leaving soon. It was right at the end of her shift—for that day. Shifts could change, and she didn’t care at all. She sometimes worked double shifts, but she said that she wasn’t going to work double that day. She was tired. She was coming home. But she never arrived. I waited up. I woke Carl. We drove all up and down the highway. I mean, nothing happened to her here—our community is very secure.”
“Did you call her work—talk to anyone there?”
“Some man answered the phone—he just sounded irate. He said that they weren’t a babysitting service and she wasn’t even with the summer program. That she probably ran off with some friends!”
“You don’t know the man’s name?”
“He just answered the phone, ‘Front desk, how can I help you?’” Eileen said.
“Rude. If I’d known how rude... You’ll investigate, right? The detective who called us—Flannery—he was the first one who seemed concerned,” Carl said.
Brock nodded. “We’ll take this very seriously, I swear,” he assured them, taking Eileen’s folded hands. “This is important. Did she say anything else? Had she been having any trouble with anyone there? Had any of the other employees or guests been ugly to her—or come on to her inappropriately?”
“She loved her job,” Carl said. “Loved it.” He looked at his wife. “She said that Mr. Glass was nice, but she hardly saw him. Or Mrs. Glass. Fred Bentley was her supervisor, and he seemed to be fine. She said he was a stickler for time and the rules, but she was always on time, and she never broke the rules, so they got on fine. Oh, she loved the guy who was like a social director—and she was welcome to use the pool and the gym and go on the walks—as long as she wasn’t disturbing or taking anything away from the guests. There wasn’t anything she told you that she wouldn’t have told me, right?” Carl asked his wife. “As far as I know, she simply loved her job.”
“Yes, she did,” Eileen agreed. “But...”
She frowned and broke off.
“Please, tell me what you’re thinking,” Brock said. “Even if it seems unimportant.”
Eileen’s frown deepened as she exhaled a long sigh before speaking. “Something odd... She was muttering beneath her breath. She said...”
“Yes?”
“Well, I think... I’m not even sure I heard her right. The last time I talked to her on the phone—before she left work and disappeared—she said something like...‘Supreme Being, my ass!’ Yes, that was what she was muttering. I didn’t pay that much attention—I thought she was talking about a guest—someone acting all sup
erior. I didn’t think much of it—people can act that way, when they think they’re superior to those who are working. And my daughter would deal with it—and mutter beneath her breath. Yes. I’m almost positive, and honestly, I’m not sure what it can mean, if anything, but... Yes. She murmured, ‘Supreme Being, my ass.’”
Chapter Eight
“The beautiful Gyselle,” Mark Hartford said, “is sometimes seen in the woods near the History Tree. Running from it. A ghost forced to live where she saw the end of her life. Or, as a spirit, does she remember better times? Is she running to the tree—where she would meet her lover and dream of the things that might have been in life?”
He told the tales well, Maura thought. And even after they had finished at the campfire, he spoke as they moved along the trails into the woods, and finally, to the History Tree.
Mark had asked her to speak twice and she’d obliged; she’d had the camera rolling again, too—she might as well since they were out there. Angie could decide later which night’s footage she liked best.
Maura noted with a bit of humor that Mike and Rachel were being true to whatever promises they had certainly given Brock—they hadn’t been ten full feet away from her all night.
But at the tree, she found that she wanted it on video from every angle. She kept picturing the police artist’s rendering she had seen that day.
Creepy figures surrounding the tree, unidentifiable. The victim from the 1950s, Chrissie, caught in the arms of one of her attackers.
Were the current victims being held—as she had been held? And if so, how in the hell were they being hidden so well...until their remains were left to rot in the elements?
“You are getting carried away,” Angie whispered to her.
“Just a little,” Maura agreed.
“Questions—anything else?” Mark asked his group pleasantly.
Maura wondered if she should or shouldn’t speak, but her mouth opened before her mind really worked through the thought.
“Yes, hey, Mark, have you ever heard of a group called the Sons of Supreme Being?” she asked.
He looked at her, a brow arching slowly.
His entire tour group had gone silent, all curious at her question.
“Yeah,” he said. “I—yeah. I thought it was kind of a rumored thing.” He lifted a hand. “No facts here, folks, just stuff I heard at college. They say they existed once. They were a pack of snobs—thought they were better than anyone else. They were never sanctioned by any of the state schools—in fact, I heard you got your butt kicked out if you were suspected of being one of them. They were like an early Nazi-supporter group—seemed they watched what Hitler was doing in the 1930s. But, hey, nothing like that exists now, trust me!” He grinned at his crowd. “I’m a people person. Someone would have told me. Where did you hear about them?”
“Oh, I read something,” Maura said. “I was just curious if it had been real or not.”
“I can’t guarantee it, but I heard that they did exist. No one I know has anything on who the members might have been or anything like that,” Mark told her. “Although I did hear that while the rumors of the group started in the 1930s, it really went further back—like way, way back. It was the rich elite even in the 1850s—dudes who came to Florida from the north and all, and built plantations and homes and ranches after Florida became a territory and then a state. They considered themselves to be above everyone else—everyone! If you ask me—a theory I’ve never spoken aloud before—I have a feeling that Gyselle’s death might have been helped along by members—even way back then. Those dudes would have thought that this tree was a sacred spot. And Julie Frampton could have easily whispered into someone’s ear. Gotten them to do the deed.”
“There is an idea for you,” Maura murmured. “Thanks, Mark.”
She felt Detective Flannery take a step closer to her.
“Okay, time to head on back, folks. No stragglers—no stragglers. We don’t know what’s up, but we’re asking people to stay close.” Mark pointed to the way out.
His group obediently headed back along the trail.
As they came out of the woods, she saw that Brock was walking from the parking lot toward them. “Brock!” Angie called. “You missed new stuff—the beautiful Gyselle might have been killed by a secret society. Wild, huh?”
Brock frowned and glanced past her at Maura, Mike and Rachel.
“I asked Mark if he’d ever heard of the group,” Maura said.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, you got something new and fresh on a tour. Great.”
He wasn’t going to talk, not there, not then—not with others around them. She thought, too, that he seemed tense.
Maybe even with her.
Because, perhaps, she shouldn’t have spoken.
But the day was done at last; she wanted nothing more than to get back and close out the world—except for Brock.
She knew that he’d meet first with Mike and Rachel. And, she knew, he’d probably had a rough last few hours—talking to the parents of another girl who had disappeared.
She yawned. “Long, long day—I’m going up to bed,” she said. “Angie, we can head out to those caverns tomorrow—at least, I think we can. Brock, can you take the time?”
“Yes. In fact, I think that maybe Detectives Flannery and Lawrence can join us.”
Flannery might have been taken by surprise; if so, he didn’t show it.
“Yes, we’ll all go. Search those woods—close to where the last remains were discovered. You okay with that, Angie?”
“You bet—that will be perfect. Oh, I do hope we find something!” she said enthusiastically. “Oh, lord, that sounded terrible. Terrible. I mean, I didn’t mean it that way. Except, of course, it would be cool to find a lair, a hideout—save someone!”
“That would be something exceptional,” Maura said, looking at Brock. He still seemed disturbed. “So,” she added, “Angie, an excursion tomorrow means you have to wake up fairly early.”
“Oh, I will, I will. Meet in the coffee shop at 8:30 a.m.?” she asked.
“Sounds good,” Brock said.
“Adventure day—nice break,” Rachel murmured.
“You’re really going to be there at eight thirty?” Maura asked skeptically.
“Ah, and I even have plans tonight! But yes, I’ll be there,” Angie said.
“You have plans tonight?” Brock asked her.
“Not to worry—I’m not leaving the property. I’m just meeting up with a new friend in the coffee shop—or not the actual coffee shop, you know, the little kiosk part that stays open 24/7. We’ll be fine.”
Maura wanted to get away from everyone.
“Okay,” Maura said. “I am for bed.” She didn’t wait for more; she hurried past them and straight for the resort, anxious to get to her room.
And more anxious for Brock to join her.
* * *
BROCK REMAINED OUTSIDE, just at the base of the porch steps, with Mike and Rachel—waving as Angie at last left them, smiling and hurrying on up the steps to meet her date.
He quickly filled them in on what Heidi’s parents had told him.
Flannery shook his head. “It just gets more mired in some kind of muck all the time. I can see a serial kidnapper and killer, but... You think that there’s some idiot Nazi society that has been going on for years—oh, wait, even before there were Nazis?”
“I know, I never heard of it before today—and then that’s all that I’ve heard about. So there is a cult—or someone wants us all to believe that there is,” Brock said.
“That could mean all kinds of people are involved,” Rachel mused. She frowned. “I never heard what Mark was saying tonight before—that a really narcissistic group being ‘supreme’ might have existed as far back as the end of the Seminole Wars. Seriously, come on, think about it—and let’s all be honest
about humanity. At that time, males were superior, no hint of color was acceptable and no one had to say they were or weren’t supreme. Society and laws dictated who was what.”
“Okay, historically, we know that Gyselle was dragged out of the house to the hanging tree and basically executed there. History never told us just who did the dragging,” Brock said. “I do believe that Heidi was taken by the same people who took the other girls—and I don’t believe that she’s dead yet, and we can only really pray—and get our asses moving—to find them.”
“Brock, we have had officers going into any abandoned shack or shed, getting warrants for anything that was suspicious in the least. The state has been moving, but yeah, we need to get going on the whole instinct thing. You think that the caverns might yield something?”
“I think that remains were found very close to them,” Brock said. “Anyway, I’m going up for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yep. We’ll say good-night and see you in the morning,” Flannery said.
By then, the group from the campfire tales and walk had apparently retired for the night. The lobby was quiet as Brock walked across it.
The young man he’d met the night before was on the desk. Brock waved and headed for the elevator, but then noted that he didn’t see Angie or the date she was meeting.
He headed to the desk.
“Yes, sir, how may I help you?” the young clerk asked.
“Miss Parsons was down here, I believe. I think she was meeting up with someone in that little twenty-four-hour nook by the entrance to the coffee shop. I don’t see her.”
“She was down here... I guess she went up.”
“Was she alone?”
“I... I said hello, and then I was going through the reservations for tomorrow and okaying a few late departures. I didn’t really notice.”
Angie’s room was on his way to the attic floor. Brock could knock on her door and check on her.
According to what he had seen and learned from Maura, Angie might well have cut to the chase with whomever she had met.
She might be in her room—occupied.
Tangled Threat ; Suspicious Page 15