Otherworld 11 - Waking the Witch (11 page)

I
knocked. When no one answered, Kayla opened the door.

“Hey, Dorothy! It’s me. Aunt Rose sent some of that peppermint tea you like.”

A wizened old woman with fire-engine-red hair peeked around the corner. Spotting me, she scowled. “Kayla Thompson, you’re a lying little—”

Kayla held up a bag. “Here’s the tea. Oh, and this is Savannah Levine. She’s investigating my mom’s murder. I told her you saw Cody and Claire arguing, but she needs to hear it from you.”

Kayla marched past her into the kitchen. “I’ll make your tea while you tell her.”

Dorothy followed. “I’m not telling her anything, Miss Kayla. I don’t know what you heard—”

“You saw Claire and Cody arguing behind the hardware store.”

“Who told you—?”

“You did. I heard you at Aunt Rose’s.”

“So you were eavesdropping.”

“Yep.” She filled the kettle.

Dorothy turned to me. “Kayla heard wrong. I never saw—”

“Yes, you did.” Kayla plunked the kettle on the stove, flicked the burner, then parked herself on a kitchen chair. “You don’t want to tell Chief Bruyn because you’re still mad at him for egging your house when he was twelve.”

“And thirteen. And fourteen.”

“So you don’t want to help him. That’s okay. You’re telling
Savannah.
You don’t have anything against her, do you?”

Dorothy’s look said just give her time and she’d find something.

“If she solves the case, it’ll make Chief Bruyn look bad,” Kayla pointed out.

Dorothy’s eyes glittered, but after a moment, she shook her head. “I don’t want to get involved.”

“That’s up to you,” Kayla said. “Just as long as you don’t mind having a killer in your town. One who might have
seen
you spying on him that day.”

Dorothy scowled at her, then finally waved me to a chair.

She settled across the table, looked me over again, then said, “It was the day before that girl died.”

Dorothy had been in the hardware store, trying to return a frying pan she’d left on the stove too long. Cody had been in line behind her, getting impatient as she argued with the clerk, which I’m sure only made Dorothy all the more determined not to step aside.

That’s when Claire came in. She’d walked past Cody and smiled.

“The hussy,” Dorothy sniffed. “Don’t you ever behave like that, Kayla. That’s how your mom got into trouble.”

“If my mom hadn’t gotten into trouble, I wouldn’t be here,” Kayla said.

Dorothy harrumphed and resumed her story. Claire had smiled at Cody. Then she’d walked out the back door, tossing another smile over her shoulder. Cody—“being a man, and you know how men are”—forgot whatever he’d been there to buy and followed Claire out.

That’s when the clerk gave up and agreed to exchange Dorothy’s frying pan, so she didn’t notice what was transpiring outside until she was about to leave, and caught a glimpse of Cody and Claire out the back door.

“That girl wasn’t smiling anymore. She was saying something and Cody didn’t like it one bit. He caught her by the wrist. She shook him off and tried walking back into the hardware store, but he stepped in front of her. Grabbed her arm. I headed for them. That girl was stupid, flirting with a boy like Cody Radu, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let him hurt her. Cody saw me and let her go real fast. She came inside. He took off down the alley, I bet. Coward.”

“Did Claire say anything to you?” I asked.

“I told her she ought to be more careful, and she agreed. Looked real shook up, too. Felt kinda sorry for her.”

Not sorry enough to tell Bruyn about the fight. Claire had flirted to lure Cody outside, meaning they hadn’t been lovers. What had she said to him? And, more important, was it worth killing her for?

As WE LEFT Dorothy’s, Kayla reminded me of my ice cream offer. We’d just turned onto Main Street when a familiar silver SUV roared past.

When Cody saw me, he braked and squinted out the window, like he was hoping for a limp, a broken nose ... I waved. He sped off.

“I hate him,” Kayla said, almost too softly to be heard. “Even if he didn’t kill my mom, I hate him.”

She led me into the diner. We got ice cream and went back outside.

“Grandma decided I should talk to you,” Kayla said. “On my own, without her there. That’s why I came over when I saw you with that cop. I think she figures I’ll tell you things I wouldn’t with her there. She’s still worried that Cody might have hit me.”

“Did he?”

She hesitated, and my heart slid up to my throat. Shit. I wasn’t prepared for this. I had no idea what to do and I was sure that whatever I did would be the wrong thing and it would be so important to do exactly the right thing—

“Would he go to jail if I said he did?” she asked.

“If he did hit you, then yes, that would help.” I noticed her expression was studiously blank and said, slowly, “But if you lie about it, that could make things worse.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “He never did. When they started dating, it was good. I mean, Cody didn’t want anything to do with me, but I didn’t care because Mom was happy.” She looked up at me. “Really happy. Like I’d never seen her before. She said she’d finally found the right guy and he was going to be my dad one day. I didn’t want him to be, but if she wanted it ...”

“Then you were okay with that.”

She nodded. “She said she was going to clean up, so she could be a good wife for him. She gave all her dope to Brandi, and she hardly drank at all. She showed me how to paint my nails, and one day we went into Battle Ground and got our hair done at a real beauty parlor—Grandma usually cuts mine—and Mom had the lady do our hair the same way and it was cool.” Her gaze dropped. “It was really cool.”

I waited for her to go on. After a moment, she did.

“Only Cody didn’t want her to clean up. He’d bring her stuff—dope and booze—and if she didn’t take it, he’d hit her. Brandi said that was okay, he liked her just the way she was and she should be happy.”

“Was she?”

“For a while. One day, when she was high, she took me to Cody’s house. His family was away for the weekend. She found the key and took me in, and she said it was going to be our house one day. She had me pick out a bedroom and everything.” She watched ice cream drip down her fingers. “I didn’t like that. Taryn—Cody’s oldest daughter-was in my Girl Scout group before it closed down, and she was nice. That was her house. Her bedroom. I ... I didn’t like it. But it made Mom happy.”

Again I waited, and she went on.

“Then Cody got worse. He brought my mom more drugs, and she was worse than ever, but he wouldn’t let her stop. He started telling her what to wear—sexy clothes and more makeup. Once, he came over after I was in bed, and he brought this friend. I heard Mom saying she didn’t want to do something and I heard him hitting her, and I snuck into the living room to make sure she was okay and she was ... doing stuff. With the friend.”

Oh, shit. “Do you want to talk about that? What you saw?”

“I know what it was.” Her cheeks reddened. “I just ... I never saw it before.”

A girl her age
shouldn’t.
Especially not when the one demonstrating is her mother.

I asked Kayla how she felt about what she’d seen, which seemed the right thing to do, but she squirmed and blushed, and I decided just to tell Paula, so she could deal with it.

“After a while, when Cody didn’t leave his wife, Brandi told Mom she should at least ask for a better place to live. A good place, so Brandi could move out of her mom’s house and live with us. There were lots of empty apartments around and Brandi figured that Cody could get us a good place super cheap.”

“Did she ask?”

“I think so. I came back from school one day and she was drunk. She said we weren’t moving—not into Cody’s house or anyplace else—and it was all my fault.” Kayla’s voice went monotone, like she was reciting the times table. “She said she wished I’d never been born. She said Grandma was a selfish bitch for not taking me so she could be happy and marry Cody.”

“You know that wouldn’t have made a difference, right? Cody was just looking for an excuse and he blamed you. He wasn’t going to leave his family. If your grandma took you, he’d have found another reason.

“I know.” She got up and walked away, and I thought
Shit, I’ve said something wrong,
but she only dumped her half-eaten cone in the trash, then came back.

“After that, things got really bad,” she said. “Mom was crying all the time, and she wasn’t taking care of herself, having showers or anything, which only made Cody madder and made him hit her more. Brandi didn’t help at all. She never did. Grandma told Mom not to listen to Brandi—that she only wanted the booze and dope Cody brought—and Mom should leave him. She wouldn’t. Grandma tried getting Mom to talk to Dr. Graham about it, but that only made Mom get mad ...” She looked out across the street. “It was bad.”

“You know your grandma was trying to help, right?”

Kayla nodded. “That’s when she told Mom she’d take me, but Mom said it didn’t matter because I’d still be around. She’d still
have
a kid.”

If I’d worked up any empathy for Ginny Thompson, it died at that moment. Hearing that your mother wanted you not just out of the house, but out of her life ...

There were some parallels between me and Kayla—never knew our dads, mothers who weren’t exactly PTA material. But whatever my mother’s faults, I’d been the center of her universe.

Even when I’d gone to live with Paige, as overwhelmed as Paige had been, she’d loved and protected me. She’d risked and lost everything to keep me. I could not even begin to fathom Kayla’s experience. I only thanked God she had her own Paige now in Paula.

“Then Mom and Cody broke up.”

That startled me out of my thoughts. According to everything I’d heard, they’d still been dating at the time of Ginny’s death.

“When did that happen?” I asked.

“About a week before she died.”

“But they got back together?”

She shook her head. “Cody hadn’t come over to our place all week and I heard Mom telling Brandi that he wasn’t answering her text messages. Brandi gave Mom all these ideas for getting him back. She said Mom
had
to get Cody back.”

“Did you tell Chief Bruyn this after the murders?”

“I did, but Cody said I was lying, and Grandma said maybe I misunderstood. But I didn’t. Cody was the liar.”

If Cody had dumped Ginny and she’d desperately wanted him back, she might have threatened his family. Or threatened to expose his underground business. Either was a motive for murder.

K
ayla and I talked a bit more after that. I asked her if she had anything to share on the case--any tidbits she’d picked up in her detective work. She liked that and gave me information that offered a fascinating glimpse into Columbus and what a child can hear when no one’s paying attention to her.

I learned that the grocer, Mrs. Dean, was planning to leave her husband when their last child, Rob, went off to college. I learned that Mr. Martin told his wife he was looking for work, when really, he was just driving around, knowing there were no jobs for a fifty-year-old mill worker. I learned that Emily Rossi was sneaking into empty buildings to meet Rob Dean, though her parents told her she wasn’t supposed to see him anymore, and they were planning to run away after they graduated high school. All very interesting, even if it didn’t add anything to my investigation.

When we got back to Kayla’s place, Michael was still talking with Paula. That made Kayla decide to play outside. I went inside and asked Michael if I could speak to Paula alone. He was cool with that. I sat her down at the kitchen table and told her that Kayla overheard Ginny say she didn’t want Kayla around—at all. Then I told her how Kayla had seen Ginny with Cody’s friend.

That last part was tough. I’m not sure what was worse, explaining it or seeing Paula’s reaction. She was horrified ... and guilt-stricken that she hadn’t known. Kayla had gone to a therapist after her mom died, she said, and she was going to get in touch with the woman again.

I WALKED BACK to the motel after that, and on my way, I called Jesse with a rundown of my progress. I mentioned the tire blowout, but downplayed it. I told him I was going out with Michael and, no, it wasn’t to trick him into giving away leads. I was hoping that after the tips I’d given him, he’d willingly offer some of his own.

Jesse was a little nervous about bringing Michael into the investigation. Typical ex-con—wary of cops and their motivations. I assured him we weren’t teaming up. Nor, though, was I going to turn down the opportunity to share information with him.

I called Adam, too, in case I didn’t get a chance later. No, I wasn’t planning to bring Michael to my room, however well the evening went. Been there, done that. In my late teens I’d gone through a phase where I’d decided relationships, even short-term, weren’t my thing. Sex was, though. Ergo, I had sex without the relationship. Which was fine at the time, but the appeal wore off. These days I took my time.

I updated Adam on the case, then we chatted until I reached the motel, and I realized Michael would be picking me up in about ten minutes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon,” I said.

“With any luck, I’ll already be on my way there.”

“Here?”

“Um, yeah. That’s what I said, right? That I’d swing by after the conference? Help you out?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “I won’t get in the way, Savannah. I’m just coming to help. And wake up after this conference. I’m in
serious
need of an adventure fix.”

I laughed. “I can believe that. All right then. Just don’t rush, okay?” I paused. “That didn’t come out right. What I mean is—”

“—that you’re handling it just fine and you don’t need me breathing down your neck. I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

I’D TOLD MICHAEL to dress casual. I only had the one dress and he’d seen it. For tonight, I went with a nice blouse, then waited until Michael got out of his car, saw he was wearing chinos, and decided I could get away with jeans.

I stuck to boots with low heels, though. I used to strap on three inches and didn’t care if it made me taller than the guy. It was a test. Most failed. I’d learned to tone it down. The high heels still came out, just a little later.

When Michael handed me his keys again, I knew I could have worn the heels. A guy who was cool with me being in the driver’s seat wouldn’t have minded me being an inch taller.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Kayla?” I asked.

“I tried, but she’s decided I’m an asshole, and she’s not budging. Paula was great, though, and I’m not really comfortable interviewing a kid.” He glanced over at me. “Thanks, too, for the tips. I really appreciated that. In return I should tell you that I might know why Claire was talking to Cody. She didn’t come here to join the commune. She came here to investigate it.”

“I thought she was a student.”

“She was. But she had a friend—Tamara—who joined the commune, and left after Ginny and Brandi died. Something had happened, Claire was sure of it, but she couldn’t get anything out of her. Then Tamara took off and Claire couldn’t find her. No one could.”

“She disappeared?”

He nodded. “Claire was afraid whatever happened to her was connected to the commune. I helped Tamara’s family file a missing person’s report but ... let’s just say they weren’t the most engaged parents in the world. They as much as told the police they figured Claire was overreacting and Tamara just took off, which meant there wasn’t much hope of an actual investigation.”

“So she launched her own. And you knew about it?”

“No. Claire and I ...” He took a deep breath. “We’re half siblings. Her mom married my dad after she was born, which was the soonest he could get a divorce from my mom.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. It’s an old story. Dad knocks up his secretary and has to choose a family. He picked them. Mom tried to keep that from me, but I figured it out pretty fast. I didn’t want to have anything to do with his new family, and he was fine with that. He wanted a complete do-over. I saw Claire maybe five times growing up. Then, the week she started college, she called, wanting to see me. I wasn’t really looking for a baby sister, but if she wanted to make contact, that was fine.”

He eased back in his seat. “That first lunch was hellishly awkward. But ... there was something there. Enough for me to look her up when I had a seminar near her college the next month. We eventually got to the whole brother and sister thing. Calls every few weeks, e-mails, visits when we were nearby, Christmas and birthday presents.

“When Tamara joined Alastair Koppel’s group, Claire called me. Tamara and Claire had been friends forever. Grew up together, double-dated, planned to go to college together. Tamara didn’t get in the same one as Claire, though, so they drifted apart over the next couple of years. Still kept in touch, just ... drifted. Claire blamed herself for that. She got caught up in school and made new friends. Tamara was struggling, and Claire knew it, and kept telling herself they’d spend this summer together and everything would be fine.”

“Then Tamara joined the commune.”

Michael nodded. “Claire freaked. She was sure her friend was mixed up in a cult. She wanted me to check it out. I pulled some strings, got the file, and found the FBI had looked into Alastair’s operation after some parents complained. But they’d concluded it was nothing more than a New Age commune. After Tamara disappeared, I forwarded Claire’s concerns to the local FBI. That was all I could do. I didn’t know she was in Columbus until ... well, until she wasn’t.”

Michael went quiet for a few minutes after that. Then he reached into the backseat and grabbed a folder.

“This is for you,” he said. “Notes on Claire. I thought ...” He shrugged. “It might help. You can read them later. Or, if you want to read them now, ask me questions ...”

I pulled over and gave him the keys.

THE FILE WAS a mix of the personal and the professional, the brother vying with the investigator. For most of it, the brother prevailed.

There were photos of Claire, including some from her childhood that he must have gotten from his father. Tamara was in three of them—a small, freckled girl with earnest eyes, staring at the camera, with Claire beside her, arm thrown around her shoulders, grinning as if to say “cheer up, life’s not so bad.” Life
had
been bad for Tamara. The sketchy biography Michael included told the story of a child caught between divorced parents, neither of whom seemed to want her. A girl who’d grown into a young woman probably desperate for approval, for acceptance, for family. A young woman custom-made for Alastair’s commune.

Claire, on the other hand, would have needed to work hard to convince Megan and Alastair that she’d fit in. A passion for acting—she’d played leads in every high school production—had probably helped. Claire didn’t need approval, acceptance, or family. She got all that at home. In high school, she was the kind of girl I’d have wanted to hate, but couldn’t. Pretty, smart, and athletic, she’d have had every right to be a stuck-up bitch, but had spent her spare time organizing fund-raisers instead of partying with the football team. She’d been completing a social work degree when she died.

Claire Kennedy was a girl who had cared. One who had taken the lead when no one else would. One who’d felt incredibly guilty when her friend disappeared. And one whose guilt made her fear the worst—that Alastair had killed Tamara for leaving them, or at least kidnapped her until she was properly brainwashed. Was it any wonder she’d decided to spend her summer term undercover at the commune? No. It was risky and naïve, but it was exactly the kind of thing Claire Kennedy would have done.

Why did Michael let me see this file? I could say he was a canny investigator. He knew it was important for me to see his sister as a person, not as an anonymous victim. But there was more to it than that. Giving me this said “I’m going to trust you, as hard as that might be for me.” I hoped to repay that trust by finding his sister’s killer.

AFTER GETTING THE tire we went for Mexican and wore out our welcome with the staff, who kept coming by our table and casting looks at the growing line outside the door. We ignored them, and it was almost ten by the time we left.

We’d each had only one drink, hours ago, so driving wasn’t an issue. Michael offered me the keys again, but I let him take the wheel this time.

We were passing a scenic outlook trail when Michael slowed, squinting at the sign.

“I’m up for a walk if you are,” I said. Something I’d had for dinner hadn’t combined well with the ride. Fresh air would help.

“It’s closed after five,” he said.

“Which means it’ll be empty.”

He parked. The sun was long gone, but a full moon lit the way. The trail wasn’t that long. Nor was the outlook all that scenic.

It was just a walking bridge over a river with banks maybe twenty feet high. A wooden railing kept people from stumbling off the high banks. I ducked under it and sat on the rocky edge, legs dangling. Michael hesitated, then followed.

We sat in comfortable silence before he said, “Tell me about yourself.”

“Um, I did that for three hours at the restaurant. You talked about you. I talked about me ...”

“No, we talked about our jobs and about my car and your bike. I want to know more about Savannah. You’ve heard my sordid childhood. Now it’s your turn.”

Not an easy request to fulfill. As supernaturals we’re taught to tread the line between cautious and cagey. It’s worse to look as if we’re holding something back. That went double with a cop.

So I gave him the basic Savannah bio, leaving out names and places. I’d lived with my mom until I was twelve. Then she died and I’d been taken in by a friend of the family. Our twosome soon expanded to three. My guardian’s husband was a lawyer and investigator, and they’d opened their own firm. I’d worked there in school, then stayed on after.

I mentioned getting Lucas’s help fixing the dents in my bike, and Michael said, “So you still live close, I guess?”

“Um, very close. Yes, I’m twenty-one and I still live at home.”

He blinked. “Twenty-one?”

“Didn’t you do your basic background check? What kind of cop are you
^?
”

“I did one, but only to confirm your employment. I didn’t dig up personal info.” He looked at me. “Why? Did you?”

“I just made sure you were who you said you were. So how old did you think I was?”

“Twenty-three, twenty-four. You act older.”

I laughed. “I do believe that’s the first time anyone has said that about me. So, is it too young for you?”

He leaned over, lips coming to mine, arms pulling me into a kiss, soft at first, tentative, then ... wow. The guy could kiss. I finally had to pull back to catch my breath.

“Good answer?” he said.

“Yep. You like them young.”

He flushed. “That was
not
the message.”

“Are you sure? Because it certainly seems—”

He cut me off with another oxygen-depriving kiss. When I teetered a bit on the edge, he grabbed me like I’d been about to go over, one arm around my waist, the other clutching the rail.

“I think we’d better back up,” he said.

“Mmm.” I glanced over the embankment. “It’s not that far down. Not fatal unless you land wrong.”

He hauled me back under the railing.

“Chicken,” I said.

He snorted. “If I didn’t move, you would have. You play a good game, Savannah, but you’re not nearly as reckless as you seem.”

“Wanna bet?”

I yanked off my boots and got up on the railing, balancing on it.

“I rest my case,” he said, pointing at the discarded boots.

I stuck out my tongue.

“I take back that ‘seem older’ part.”

“As well you should.” I took a few steps along the railing, then hopped off. “So, are you going to tell me how old you are?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Relatively youthful. You might have to act more immature, though, so I don’t feel bad.”

“I can probably manage that.”

He pulled me into another kiss and I was up against a tree pretty damned fast. He stuck to kissing, though. Like a high school make-out session. Only without the wandering hands, and with a guy who kissed a helluva lot better than anyone I’d dated in high school.

When things inevitably got a little too steamy, he backed off me, saying, “Okay, time out, or I’m going to try something I really shouldn’t on a public path.”

“You’re right,” I said. “We should cool it.”

“Damn.”

I laughed. “Sorry, but it’s only our second date.”