Blackwood (15 page)

  Sidekick bounded in from the kitchen at that precise moment, crashing into her with oblivious happiness.

  "You'd better sit down first," Sara said.

  The warning in her flat tone would have been undetectable to anyone who hadn't been around her before. Miranda thought of Phillips waiting outside in the car, but sank onto the chair. She ruffled Sidekick's fur in reassurance that she hadn't abandoned
him.

  "This is Agent Malone and Agent Walker from the FBI," said Chief Rawling. "They're the new heads of this case until it's resolved. We're cooperating fully. This is Miranda Blackwood, the murder victim's daughter."

  The woman leaned forward, "I'm Agent Malone," she said. A tiny piece of lint clung to the lapel of her black jacket and Miranda focused on that.

  "OK," Miranda said.

  She couldn't stop thinking about Phillips. What if he tried to make it inside on his own? But Chief Rawling and Sara's tense expressions kept her pinned to the chair.

  "I'm sorry about your father," Agent Malone said. She waited as if taking notes on Miranda's reaction to the statement.

  "Thank you?" Miranda offered.

  "Do you know anyone who would have wanted to kill your father?" Agent Malone asked. The light streaming through the pale curtains on the window behind the agent gave her a halo that didn't go with her business suit.

  Miranda caught the chief laying his hand over Sara's.
What am I missing here?

  "Honestly, no," Miranda said. "You probably already know he wasn't the citizen of the year, but no… I can't imagine why anyone would kill him. No one else would have loaned him money, so he didn't owe any, except to me. He didn't have a job. His disability check covered his bar tab and most of our bills. He almost never got in fights. He was harmless. I'm sure the chief has told you all this."

  A glance at the chief told her she'd said way more than she should have.

  Agent Malone leaned back, spine a board. The other agent – Agent Walker – shifted forward.
Bad cop time.

  "What are you doing here now?" Agent Walker asked. "At the Rawlings?"

  Miranda stilled. She didn't know what game this was, but honesty suddenly seemed like the wrong tactic. "I came to get Sidekick. Sara was nice enough to babysit him while I did some things today. She let me stay here last night."

  "Is that because you're dating her son?" Agent Walker let one side of his mouth tick up.

  The chief opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. "Wise decision," Agent Walker said to him, "since that fact came from you."

  "This will all be cleared up," Chief Rawling said. "You're making the wrong leaps."

  "You see, Miss Blackwood," Agent Walker said, eyes not leaving the chief, "it's interesting to us that you and Phillips Rawling are so close, since he's been away for the last few years."

  Miranda stared at him.

  "We've gotten a warrant to search his belongings, his computer – we have agents up at his school. If you're colluding on this, we will find the evidence."

  "Colluding on
what
?" Miranda didn't know if they were playing a game anymore.

  "On your father's murder," Agent Malone said. "Which you don't seem too upset about."

  Chief Rawling stood up. "That's enough," he said, turning to her. "Miranda, don't say anything else. Your father's body… It's missing."

  "What do you mean missing? Like the people?"

  "When Marlon got to the funeral home this morning to let in the federal expert for the autopsy, he was gone." Chief Rawling shook his head. "They think Phillips took the body – had something to do with it disappearing."

  Her chair clattered to the floor as she leapt to her feet, Sidekick dancing out of its way.

  "But that's insane," she said. "He wasn't even
here
when the murder happened. He's the one who told the chief to get the autopsy done. Last night. Chief, tell them."

  Chief Rawling frowned at her.
Right
, she'd been eavesdropping. That hardly mattered now.

  "He already has," Agent Walker said, "but Phillips Rawling
was
in the body storage room. We found his prints on a handkerchief discarded in the biohazard receptacle. He almost got away with taking your father's body, Miss Blackwood."

  Miranda head was shaking, and so were her hands. No. "No…"

  "Where is the boy now?" Agent Malone said, standing up, which prompted her partner to do the same. "We know you left together this morning."

  She walked around the living room table and put a hand on Miranda's arm. The muscles of Miranda's arm twitched under the woman's touch. How could she stop this purposeless witch-hunt?
Witch-hunt, very funny
. Maybe the spirits would warn Phillips to bolt. Maybe…

  Agent Malone's tone softened to silk. "Miranda, I understand your dad may have deserved whatever he got. If you're just honest with us, we can make this a lot easier on everyone. We know you couldn't have gotten rid of one hundred and fourteen people. We're mainly interested in crossing your father's murder off the list of leads."

  
And the Emmy for most transparent attempt at manipulation goes to
… "Do you think I'm that stupid? Don't you guys watch TV anymore, because I'm not–"

  The sound of the front door opening interrupted her vow to get an attorney before saying another word. Not that she could afford one or knew anyone who would represent her for free. A heavy thump and breaking glass came next – the family portrait on the wall next to the door, Miranda guessed, willing time to stop – and then the noise of a body sliding to the floor.

  She wasn't the first one out of the room. She was the last.

  When Miranda turned the corner, she saw that they had Phillips. Sara bent beside him, fingers lifting his eyelids to check his pupils, shattered glass surrounding them on the floor. Agent Malone let handcuffs dangle from long fingers, glanced over her shoulder at Miranda with something that looked like pity.

  They had Phillips. They weren't going to get her, too.

14

Caught

Phillips' parents and the agents were distracted. Sara was warning Agent Malone away from her son, while Agent Walker argued with Chief Rawling. Phillips' cheek pressed into his mother's hand, his eyelids fluttering like he was having a bad dream. The agents wouldn't understand what was wrong with him. They would want to ask Miranda more questions.

  And she had too many questions of her own that still needed answers. She considered her options. Hard as it was to run out on Phillips, she knew it was the smartest thing to do. If they were both held at the station that helped nobody. Sidekick padded toward the cluster, no doubt to gift Phillips with a reviving face lick.

  The snap of her fingers was so quiet she almost expected Sidekick to miss it. But he came to her side, and let her lead him through the kitchen by his collar. She held her breath as she eased the screen door open just enough for her dog to slip through, then herself.

  
Thank you
, she silently directed gratitude to Phillips for being the kind of rule-breaker who would tighten and oil hinges, who would never live in a house with random squeaks. He'd probably checked every door and the step of each route out the night before, just in case. Where could her father's body be?

  The backyard had sandy dirt and clumps of brown-fingered grass mixed with its short ragged blades. The grass was damp from the efforts of a green garden hose nearby, and brightly colored flowerpots were arrayed alongside the house. Sara must have watered not long before.

  Heading around the side of the house to Pineapple, Miranda realised there was no way to take her car
and
make a getaway. Pineapple didn't start quietly at the best of times, and given her luck – nonexistent – the car would sputter and be stubborn. So she simply eased the passenger door open, crouching, holding Sidekick's collar so he wouldn't jump in for a ride.

  The keys to Phillips' mom's sedan weren't in the passenger side seat.
Frak.

  Someone at the back door called her name, "Miranda!" The chief, she decided, followed by the non-dulcet tones of Agent Walker: "Miss Blackwood, you're making this worse for everyone!"

  OK, she'd deal with not having the keys later. She'd get the strange gun from the trunk of Phillips' mom's car where he'd stashed it… somehow. At least the car was at her house where they left it when they traded for Pineapple. That was something.

  She released Sidekick's collar and streaked toward the woods that began past the Rawlings' driveway, making it to them just as the front door opened. The tree she'd selected wasn't overly wide, so she stood sideways to maximise its cover. She tried to think like Phillips would in the situation, remembering Sidekick in that moment. He shifted on uncertain feet beside her, unconcealed. She bent and eased to her belly, pulling him down with her. His tail wagged and she reached back to stop it.

  Proof that he was the best dog in the world? He didn't whine.

  Sara and Agent Malone stepped out on the porch. Chief Rawling and Agent Walker joined them, body language revealing how much the two men were hating each other. Phillips must still be inside, suffering.

  Miranda waited without much patience during their examination of her car and a clipped discussion about where she might have gone. She strained to hear, caught the gist. Phillips was the greater priority, they'd pick her up later. They needed to get back to the station, see if they could get him lucid enough for an interview, check in on the status of locating the missing people and her father's body. These weren't agents from the Fringe division. They were
not
looking for supernatural causes. Aliens hadn't abducted the people of Roanoke, perpetrators had. Or maybe this was a cult thing or a tourism stunt gone wrong. Something understandable.

  And the police chief's son had murdered his girlfriend's father, which might be connected.

  She should have known better than to expect outsiders to decode the island's mysteries. No, they were just here to get in the way.

  "Secret alchemists," she whispered as they went back inside, presumably to collect Phillips. "There's your lead."

  Her house was a couple of miles walk, if she cut through the woods and along less visible roadways than the main drag. She set out at a fast clip, praying to beat any searchers there. Praying for the spirits to talk to
her
and tell her how to jimmy open a locked trunk.

  Praying that Phillips would be OK.

The voices had never been this bad for Phillips, not even the time he'd summoned them on purpose and spent days in bed when they'd answered. Back then getting enough distance from the voices to interact with the real world had been a challenge. But he'd been able to do it. He'd been able to slowly explain to his mother that the voices had descended with such fury and babble that he couldn't make them leave. He'd had to wait a day for them to fade, but he could answer questions.

  He had no control of sense or clear thought now. Snatches of knowing fought to the surface, but not at his command. Nothing was at his command.

  The hiss and howl of the voices was all that truly existed for him.

  
Coming coming – No, they are here – They have always been here – Under the bed – Stealing us – We want to live – Liar liars – The red streaks will be blood will run like – Coming back for you – Water running over us all – Death is here – You won't know them – You'll be too late – She's the cause of it – The ship – They'll use her – Listen to me, my boy, listen – Bluebell, blue sea, blue waves, I'm going mad – You saw the snake – We're all mad – Coming coming –

  One of the few things Phillips knew was that he wasn't at home any longer. He had no idea where he'd been taken. But he knew Miranda wasn't with him anymore, though he didn't know how he knew that. He dimly remembered his weight against her, a ghost of a memory. He'd tried to reach her when he fell. He understood in a vague way, deep in his mind, that she'd taken him home. He also knew strangers had taken him from his mother, and that he hadn't managed one word to her first. He remembered slapping something cool away that had bound his wrists, something he no longer felt there. Unfamiliar voices, breaking glass. The past and the present became syrup he swam through, heavy against his limbs.

  Weighing him down. Down.
Down.

  His cheek pressed against cool wood grain. The desire to see his surroundings developed over several minutes, the will to open his eyes building until he finally managed it.

  The black bars of a cell greeted him. On the other side of them Dr Roswell stood, shaking his head. Then the bars were opening and his father was behind the doctor and there were strangers in suits and…

  
The snake inside her – The things they'll do – Can't be stopped any longer – Stolen life – COMING COMING COMING –

  Phillips eyes closed as hands forced open his mouth and deposited a few pills inside. The gel casings gummed on his tongue and he sputtered as they poured water down his throat. But he swallowed.

  Swallowed, without any real belief the drugs they fed him would do a thing to dam up the flood.

  
COMING COMING COMING–

Miranda tore through the woods like a chupacabra chased her.

  She knew the dead didn't walk… the same way she knew witches and alchemists didn't exist. She felt silly for worrying that her dad was traipsing around zombielike on the island, that he'd come after her. That even now he was in the forest with her, watching as she ran.

  She didn't feel silly enough to stop running. Marshy mud coated her sneakers, creeping up to the pink skin of her ankles.

  Getting home took longer than she expected. Once she and Sidekick reached their neighborhood, they had to navigate an obstacle course of backyards. Zigzagging borders filled with broken down lawnmowers and refrigerators, toys and chained dogs with anger management issues (they hated Kicks on sight). Finally, the back edge of their unfenced, not-recentlymown yard appeared, then the back door of their house.