Something Wicked (32 page)

“Ophelia, what do you know?” Ravinia hissed.

She shook her head and threw back, “What did you and Catherine and Earl talk about?”

Stalemate. She wasn't going to even hint at the future body switching. She didn't know when and how that was going to happen, but she wasn't going to trust Ophelia with the information just yet.

Something crossed her older sister's face—a flicker of surprise and alarm—just as Cassandra and Isadora entered the kitchen and Cassandra asked, “What are you two whispering about?”

Ravinia waited for Ophelia to say something, but she seemed too distracted to answer. “Ophelia has her driver's license,” Ravinia said into the gap.

Cassandra's large-pupiled eyes moved from Ravinia to Ophelia. “You're leaving?” she asked tremulously.

“No. We were talking about . . . destiny,” Ophelia said, still locked in her own thoughts.

“Whose destiny?” Cassandra asked.

“Yours, Cassandra,” Ravinia snapped, sick of this conversation. She needed to get away from all of them.

“My name's Maggie now,” she cried. “Why can't you call me that?”

“Because I just can't, okay?” Ravinia strode out of the room and ran upstairs, grabbing her bag from her bedroom closet that held the items she needed to leave: a change of clothes, a flashlight, the few dollars that she'd taken from Catherine's purse. Yes, she was a thief, but she'd pay them back someday, when she was able to. And as soon as she got some real money, she was going to buy some real clothes from real stores.

This graveyard rendezvous couldn't come soon enough. Earl had said tomorrow night, but Ravinia wanted to leave
now.
Every nerve in her body felt like it was jumping around. She just had to go. But she couldn't. Not yet. Not till after tomorrow night.

Exhaling heavily, she touched a match to her oil lamp, as the evening light was all but gone. Then she sank onto her bed and felt the journal tucked beneath her shirt at the back of her waistband.

She would keep reading her mother's diary, even though apart from a few strange passages whose meaning she hadn't yet figured out, it was kind of a snooze.

But then . . . after tomorrow . . . she was outta here for good.

 

 

Savvy made two stops before heading to the shelter: the pharmacy where she'd gotten the breast pump, this time for some nursing pads; and then back to her house for a quick freshening up and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then she was on her way north again, and she would have skipped Mickey and the shelter entirely except for the niggling sense of duty that she couldn't ignore. She'd said she would go, so she might as well follow through. She had a feeling Mickey was the type to keep calling until she did.

The Savior's Lighthouse was a long, low building that had once been a mom-and-pop grocery store on the north end of Tillamook. Althea Tunewell was the force behind the shelter's existence, and she was fiercely devoted to taking care of the homeless men, women, and children who passed through her door. Toonie had been homeless herself for a short time in her youth, and she'd made social work and teaching others about the goodness of God and his son, Jesus, her mission in life.

Savannah ducked her head against a very cold and insistent rain as she headed inside. She wasn't really sure why she was even here, but Toonie generally didn't call the TCSD without a good reason.

Inside the place smelled like canned corn and cigarettes, the cigarette odor seemingly embedded in the walls, as no one was allowed to smoke indoors. Savvy's stomach reacted with an uncomfortable lurch, and she determined to make this visit short and sweet.

Toonie was talking to a woman whose hair looked in need of a serious washing and who also had her own aroma, nothing good. The woman smiled when Savvy approached, and asked, “You here for the meetin', sister?”

“No, she's here to see me. Go on now, Jolene. Join the others,” Toonie said before Savannah could answer.

“Jesus loves you,” Jolene said as she turned away, touching at her hair after seeing Savannah.

“I'm so sorry about your sister,” Toonie said. “How are you doing?”

“I'm okay.”

“You're not okay by a long shot, honey. We both know that. I don't mean to add to your troubles, especially since you just had your baby, but I felt that you needed to talk to Mickey.”

“I'm not sure I can help him—” Savvy said, starting to demur, but Toonie interrupted quickly.

“Oh, I thought you understood. I think Mickey may be able to help you with that investigation of yours.”

“I didn't get that message,” she said.

“He's been talking about you and your baby. Talking about Bancroft Bluff and that house he was found in.”

The Pembertons' house, before it was purchased back by Bancroft Development. “He was trying to start a fire inside it,” Savvy said.

“Yes. I know.” She thought about something for a moment, then nodded, as if she'd come to a conclusion. “Could you come into my office for a moment? This won't take long.”

Savvy just managed to keep herself from checking her watch as she followed Toonie through the kitchen to a small room beyond, which might have once been a large supply closet but was now crowded with a desk, a chair, and a fairly new laptop computer. Bookshelves held several copies of the Bible, books on theology, and a few on institution management.

Toonie gestured to a seat, and Savannah sat down on the edge. She wanted to get going soon and didn't want to give the wrong impression.

“I'll make this quick,” Toonie said in response. “Mickey has issues with reality, as I'm sure you noticed, but I believe it's only recently that he couldn't handle the pressures of his life. His family's been in touch with him, but he's unable to accept them yet. He needs medication, and he won't take it. Says it's too expensive, and he's right, but he could get dispensation if he filled out the right forms.”

“I hate to be pushy, but you said he could help me.”

“Just bear with me a small moment or two more.” She pressed her forefinger and thumb together to show Savvy just how small it would be. “Mickey's a Foothiller. Not a term I would call the mix of Native Americans and whites who live in that area around Deception Bay, but it's what they call themselves.”

“I know about the Foothillers,” Savvy said.

“Do you know that they possess some . . . oh, ESP, I guess you'd call it?”

Savvy held her gaze. “Like psychic gifts?”

She lifted her hands as if to negate the words that she was forcing herself to say. “I only believe in God's gifts to us. Our souls. Our integrity. Our concern for our fellow man, but . . .”

“But?”

“Mickey believes in God and Jesus and a whole host of other religious figures associated with the Native American culture and, well, you name it. I'm sure Buddha's in there somewhere, if you asked him. I don't pretend to understand it all, but he is surprisingly accurate in predicting . . . coming misfortune.”

“Okay.” Over the past week Savannah had been so inundated with talk of psychic gifts and paranormal woo-woo that she was beginning to become inured to it.

“He says, and I'm paraphrasing here, that the devil is coming and you need to burn him to send him back to hell. He says that he saw him at Bancroft Bluff.”

“Mickey saw the devil at Bancroft Bluff?” Savvy asked. She wanted to say, “The devil was already there and killed the Donatellas,” but she waited for Toonie to finish, as she was obviously coming to a point.
Small moment, my ass
, she thought.

“He sings ‘Jesus Loves Me' to ward away the devil. He thinks it keeps him and people around him safe.”

“He was singing it when we took him into custody.”

“Trying to save you and your baby, too, I'll wager.” She cleared her throat. “Several nights ago he caught the news, and he saw a picture of your sister. He said, ‘That's her. That's the one Satan's taking to the bluff,' or something like that. I asked, ‘Who?' and he pointed to your sister and said, ‘We need to tell that nice police lady who's having the baby Jesus. She'll send him back to hell. Tell her to burn him.'”

Savvy's throat tightened. “He saw my sister inside one of the houses at Bancroft Bluff?”

“That's what he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

Toonie struggled to come up with an answer. “I don't believe he saw the devil in corporeal form, no. But I think he saw something that frightened him.”

“How long has he been going to the Pemberton house? I didn't think it was the first time when we picked him up.”

“Would you like to speak to him? I know he'd like to talk to you.”

No, she didn't want to talk to him. But if he'd seen Kristina somewhere at Bancroft Bluff . . . “Sure,” she agreed.

“We're just getting ready for dinner, so I'll take you to the dining room.”

Savvy followed Toonie down a short hallway that connected the main room to the kitchen and Toonie's office and ended at another large room, full of folding tables with white plastic covers. A line of men and women was forming, and about three people from the end stood Mickey. His hair had been combed, but his beard was still straggly, and his clothes didn't look much cleaner. Toonie instructed Savvy to take a seat on one of the benches that lined the perimeter wall, and she went over to Mickey and said something to him. Immediately, his attention jumped to Savannah, and he left the line and racewalked across the room so fast that Savvy tightened her grip on the messenger bag, which lay over her shoulder and currently held her gun.

He leaned in close, and she couldn't help but pull back slightly. “I saw her with the devil,” he whispered intensely.

“You mean my sister, somewhere at Bancroft Bluff?”

He blinked rapidly. “Your sister?”

“The woman you saw on the news,” Savvy explained.

“Oh, yes! Yes. The pretty lady. She was with
him.
”

“Where did you see them?”

“They went inside the house.” He looked around nervously.

“The house you were in when I saw you last week?”

“That's my house,” he declared strongly. “They were in the other one, with the red tile roof.”

“The Donatella house is a Spanish Colonial, and it has a red tile roof,” Savvy said.

He nodded gravely. “The house where the people died. Marcus and Chandra Donatella.”

“Yes,” Savvy said, surprised that he knew their names.

“Yes,” he repeated, then said, “They went inside, but Marcus and Chandra weren't there yet.”

Savvy blinked at him. “What?”

“They got there first. The pretty lady and the devil.” He leaned even closer. “I had to hide. Couldn't make my fire while they were there, because they would know I was there, you know?”

“You saw Marcus and Chandra Donatella come later, to join them?”

“The devil killed them. Bang, bang!” His sudden yell made Savvy jump.

After a moment, while she waited for her heart rate to stop thundering, she asked carefully, “You heard the shots when the Donatellas were executed?”

“Bang, bang,” he said again, much softer. “And then the pretty lady came out again, but you can't run from the devil.” He turned away, his lips quivering. “‘Jesus loves me! This I know, cuz the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong. . . .'”

Savannah couldn't take it in. Kristina was on-site when the Donatellas were murdered? She hadn't fully believed Owen DeWitt. She'd ignored Nadine Gretz's comments about Kristina, as well. But something had gone on between Kristina and another man. Something that maybe was connected to the Donatella murders? Who was this mysterious other man?

“I'm sorry about your sister. She was very pretty. I saw her on the television.”

“Thank you,” Savvy said distractedly.

“Where's your baby? What happened to your baby!”

“I had the baby. The baby's fine. He's at his father's house, doing just fine.”

“Keep baby Jesus safe,” he advised.

Steeling herself, Savvy asked, “What were they doing, my sister and the devil?”

“Fucking.”

Mickey's matter-of-fact tone felt like a hard slap. “Does the devil look like a man? Someone you might recognize?”

“It's a disguise.”

“But if you could describe him, what would you say? Look behind the disguise.”

“Oh, the devil is her husband. That's who he is. He took her to his mansion and made her his. . . .”

S
avvy ran through the rain to her rented SUV and scrolled through the list of numbers on her cell phone, looking for Owen DeWitt's. She didn't have it, she realized.
Damn.
She had the list she'd been given of all the Bancroft employees and former employees, and she had almost all their contact numbers, but she hadn't gotten DeWitt's when she met him Saturday at the Rib-I. She'd only given him hers.

But she had Clark Russo's, so she quickly phoned him. He answered just before the call went to voice mail, and she quickly told him what she needed.

“Let's see,” he said, taking a moment to look up the number on his own phone. “I'm really sorry about your sister, Detective Dunbar. I always liked her.”

“Thank you.”

Savvy visualized the handsome project manager, remembering that Sylvie Strahan from Hale's office had recommended him for the job when Paulie Williamson, whom both Russo and Vledich had jumped in and denigrated, quit and moved to Tucson. She'd been interrupted before calling Williamson by Geena Cho, and then everything had gotten crazy. She sure as hell wasn't going to wait for Lang to call DeWitt, not after what Mickey had said.

“I talked to Hale,” he added. “He sounds pretty broken up.”

She sensed he was fishing for information, but she wasn't going to go there. Mickey's screwed-up but scary report on Kristina and her trysts—plural, apparently—filled her head. She absolutely didn't believe he was right about Hale. But she needed to nail down who Charlie was. “Beelzebub,” DeWitt had said. On that he and Mickey agreed. Both of them thought Kristina's lover was the devil.

Russo gave her DeWitt's cell number and said casually, “Thought Woodworth steered you toward the Rib-I to find DeWitt. He wasn't there?”

“I just need to talk to him again.”

“So you did see him.”

“I've really got to get going, Mr. Russo. Thank you.”

“Okay. Good luck with that new baby,” he said as he rang off.

Savvy quickly placed a call to DeWitt, but his phone went straight to voice mail. She hung up and called right back, in case he'd just missed the call, but again she heard his voice telling the caller to leave a message, and she did, identifying herself and leaving him her number. She suspected Lang had left his callback number, too. When DeWitt heard the messages, he'd wonder what had put a fire under the TCSD.

She drove north with controlled concentration, feeling time ticking by, as if she had a clock inside her head. She was tired, too, and her breasts felt like heavy bricks. She would have called Hale, too, but she was driving without Bluetooth, and frankly, she just wanted to get there.

Hale waited for his grandfather as Declan worked his way out of Hale's SUV and through Hale's garage, leaning heavily on his cane. Hale hit the button to lower the garage door as a whipping wind sent a rush of rain their way. Already the driving rain had melted half the snow. A few more hours, and the snow would be a memory on the coast, though what that meant for the mountains was another story.

“I got it. I got it.” Declan waved him inside as Hale held the door for him. Ignoring him, Hale stayed where he was as Declan navigated the few steps to the kitchen.

Victoria Phelan was standing just inside, and baby Declan was in full squall behind her in his car seat, which was sitting on the counter. “I tried giving him a bottle, but he's not taking it. I don't know what to do.”

Declan gave her the once-over as he found one of the kitchen table chairs, his eyes taking in her thin T-shirt, which hugged her breasts, and her skinny jeans. She'd taken off her shoes and socks, and her bare toenails were painted black, the black on both big toes painted with a gold peace sign.

The look on his grandfather's face as his gaze took in the design made Hale want to laugh out loud. But baby Declan's wailing cries took his attention, and he went to the baby and gathered him up. He kept crying, but it wasn't quite as loud as before as Hale, rocking him gently, walked him into the living room. “Do you have a bottle ready?” he called to the nanny as he kept moving.

“Umm . . . yeah,” she called back. “He did take some formula earlier,” she yelled a bit defensively.

At that moment a wash of headlights lit the room, and Hale looked up to see Savvy's rental SUV pull into the driveway. His relief was mixed with pleasure, and when Victoria came with the bottle, he handed over the baby and headed for the door. He walked outside into the pouring rain as Savannah stepped from her car, her face half covered by the large hood of her raincoat.

Hurrying to meet her, he simply wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. “Thank God,” he said. “The baby needs you. Or maybe I need you. . . . I'm just so glad you're here.”

Savannah looked up, the golden living room light shining on her blue eyes, making them glow. It struck him how beautiful she was, and for a moment they just stared at each other. Everything slowed down for Hale, and he felt his blood moving heavy in his veins. Heightened emotions over these past days. Strange events. Incredible highs. Devastating lows. For one crazy second he stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders, gazing down at her with a kind of wild desire that was reflected in her expressive eyes. Dangerous . . .

And then the wind blew her hood back, and her dark auburn hair flew in front of her face, and Hale dropped his hold on her and grabbed her hand instead, tugging her toward the front door. Once inside, he slammed it shut behind them, but not before another heavy slap of rain followed them in.

“Wow,” he said, running his hands through his own wet hair. Declan's cries greeted them both.

Savvy asked, “What's going on?”

“He's hungry. Doesn't seem to be taking to the formula that well.”

She moved past him into the other room, shedding her coat as she went, folding it over her arm. Hale took the coat from her and felt moved by the way she beelined for Victoria, reaching for the baby. For a moment Victoria looked like she might resist, and Hale told her, “Savannah gave birth to Declan,” so Victoria turned the baby over, albeit reluctantly.
Hopeless
, Hale thought. He was going to have to do something about replacing her, despite her one-year contract.

“Is there somewhere I can feed him?” Savannah looked to Hale, who led the way into the master bedroom. The lamps were on, and the room was bathed in soft light. Hale could see the vacuum cleaner tracks in the carpet and could smell the faintly citrus scent from the cluster of candles sitting on a silver tray on the dresser.

“Magda cleaned today,” Hale said as Savvy sat down on the cream-colored occasional chair in the corner. “There's a rocker in the nursery,” he added, remembering it.

“This is fine.”

She sounded weary, and he nodded and left her in the room, closing the door softly behind them. He thought about his earlier reaction to her and decided he might need a drink.

 

 

His wipers rhythmically slapped at the driving rain as he drove south from the St. Cloud house. He'd seen them. He'd seen
her.
He'd been waiting for her up around a bend, with binoculars on the drive that led to the house. He'd been lying in wait for the old man, aware that his grandson had brought him to the house, and then because he was lucky, she'd shown up, the lovely, ripe detective with her swollen breasts and earthiness that dug right into his loins.

Seeing her, his dick had jumped right up, so while he'd stroked himself, he'd sent her another message, sweet and irresistible.
Lover. Soon. We'll be together soon.
He'd waited for her to respond, but something had gone wrong. He'd opened his eyes to see what it was, and she'd been looking up at goddamn Hale St. Cloud like
he
was some kind of fucking god! That wasn't the way it worked. That wasn't right. Had she been feeling this all along, this transference to the wrong man?

Charlie's blood boiled with frustration and rage. He watched them enter the house together, and he knew they were all over each other. He could
feel
it.

He'd netted her, and somehow she'd slipped away!

No!

A car drove by him, and he had to put his truck in gear and ease back onto the road and drive past the house. He couldn't be remembered. Had to stay under the radar.

In his dark mood, he was surprised when a message suddenly blasted across his mind, the first time his secret lover had contacted him first.
I have something for you.

Charlie's attention snapped back.
What? Where are you?
he asked her.

Fuck that
, Charlie thought. He was going to find her. And then he was going to kill them all: her, the luscious detective, all the sisters at Siren Song, and, of course, Pops, the creaky old bastard who'd climbed atop that bitch Mary Beeman and sired him.

 

 

She was asleep in the chair when Hale returned to his bedroom. Baby Declan was lying in the center of the king bed, wrapped up in a blanket, sound asleep, but Savannah had curled into the chair, her head lying against the back of it. Hale gazed down at her, noticing the sweep of her lashes against her cheek. He debated about finding her a blanket, but instead he half woke her and guided her to the bed while she protested that she wasn't going to sleep in his bed. Ignoring her, he pulled back the covers and tucked her in. For a moment, he thought she was going to wake completely; she looked tense and ready. But then she gave up with a deep sigh, and when she was lying quietly, he scooped up baby Declan and took him to his bassinet in the nursery. Victoria was in her room, but she heard him and came into the hall, standing in the doorway and watching him settle the baby. He cracked the door open and joined her in the hall.

“I'll keep an ear open for him all night,” she promised, heading back to her room.

Hale just nodded and then rejoined his grandfather in the kitchen. Before he could say a word, his cell phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was his mother. He almost didn't answer it.

 

 

Savvy woke up with a start, confused for a moment.
Where am I?
And then her memory came back in snapshots, the most memorable being standing outside Hale's house and staring up at him, sensing that he was feeling something of what she was.

And then baby Declan's cries. It was as if she'd been scripted to take him from the young woman's arms and into the safe haven of Hale's bedroom.

Hale's bedroom. Kristina's bedroom . . .

Savvy tossed back the covers and got to her feet. She was fully clothed except for her shoes and socks. Vaguely she remembered being helped to the bed from the chair, and she realized, a dark pink flush climbing up her neck, that it had been Hale, his strong arms around her, who'd pulled back the covers and tucked her in.

Guilt flared inside her. He was still Kristina's husband, and it didn't matter that she was gone. It didn't matter what she did, or didn't do, with Beelzebub before her death. It didn't matter that she might, or might not, have been on-site when the Donatellas were killed . . . not when it came to Hale. Savannah had always prided herself on being the sane sister, the discriminating one, while Kristina had been flighty and impressionable.

So what the hell was this all about?

Hating herself a little, she stumbled into the master bath and took a look at herself in the mirror. She groaned upon seeing her tangled hair and dark-circled eyes.

And then she heard the baby crying again and wondered if that had woken her up. What time was it? She glanced back into the bedroom and realized it was 9:00 p.m. Quickly, she finger-combed her hair, found some toothpaste and rubbed it on her teeth with her index finger—wasn't going to poach either her sister's or Hale's toothbrush—and then hurried out to see where Hale was and to find the baby.

 

 

Hale had heard baby Declan's cries and was just coming down the hall when Savannah appeared from the master bedroom. Victoria's door was shut, and she was nowhere to be seen.

“I think he's hungry again,” Savannah said.

“Looks that way,” Hale said.

“I'll get him and take him back to your room . . . if that's okay.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.”

He stood outside the nursery door and watched her pick up the baby and carry him back to the bedroom, giving him a quick smile as she closed the door. Hale stayed where he was for a moment, then headed back to the den off the kitchen, where his grandfather was ensconced in a chair and the television was turned on to a sports channel, the volume on low.