Chapter 5
Tuesday …
Queenie had gone through the next few days in an almost numb state. She’d gone happily for years without having any contact with Kirk.
But every year at this time, the memories overwhelmed her. Today was the day she’d woken up to be told her son had been taken from her and had already been cremated. It was bittersweet that Kirk had divulged the news to her.
Having him show up again in her life had brought the memories from the past to the surface. Painful memories. She knew, in another few days, weeks, months, it would all fade again. Yet something was different this time. That voice in her mind, for one. She hadn’t heard it in these recent years, but she hadn’t gotten rid of its presence. And that spider with a message to share. Spiders didn’t talk. But she was psychic enough to realize the spider had given her a message of some kind. She just didn’t know what. And she was desperate to learn how and why. Did it have anything to do with that little boy being dragged along with the murderer? Should she ask Kirk about the missing boys’ cases?
He’d told her to call him anytime. That he’d make time for her. Even after she had kicked him out of her life. Again.
It was early for her to be up, much less already at her tent. Yet, for some reason, she couldn’t sleep again last night. Not that she needed to look too closely at the reasons why. But here she was, before eight in the morning, coffee in hand, standing in the dark shadows of her tent. She could still feel Kirk’s presence, the disturbing energy from the Watcher, even the energy from the man who had killed for property gain. Her heart wanted to grieve for the woman in the lake, wishing Queenie could help more. She wanted to cleanse the tent from all that energy too. There was no power in here. She turned toward the entrance, tied up the tent opening to let in as much light as she could, went to the back and rolled up what passed for a window covering. A large mesh area at least would allow some light in.
Carlos wanted her tent to be in darkness, adding to the spooky, mystical element. But, for somebody who loved light, being in the dark all day was depressing for Queenie. She had a wooden floor and a broom in the corner; again Carlos had thought it was appropriate, one of those big old straw witchy-looking things. She grabbed it and gave the small space a quick sweep.
As she did so, she kept a close eye out for any sign of that spider. She knew perfectly well everybody would say it was her imagination, and a spider was a spider, and hopefully it had died somewhere along its way.
But something had been different about that one.
After she gave the floor a good sweeping, she lifted the cloth off the table, took it outside and gave it a good hard snap to remove the dust that had collected. Then she went back and did the same with that little stand she kept beside her. It held her water bottle and a couple books underneath it, in case she got too bored waiting for customers.
Things once again cleaned and dusted, she sat at her table without its covering because she had a good forty minutes before the amusement park opened. She pulled out her books and took a look at what she kept here. One was on mediumship, which she’d intended to read, but her interests had waned in the last few months. She flipped through it.
Her eye caught on the acknowledgment page. She never read pages like that. But this one gave credence to somebody named Stefan Kronos for his assistance and training. She frowned, remembering hearing that name from way back when, while she worked in the police department, but, just like so much of everything back then, she’d blocked it out.
She brought her prepaid phone up to refresh her memory, and, as soon as she typed the name into Google, she was amazed at how many pages came up with information on Stefan. The man had a vast and checkered career. Everything she read was either about cases he had worked on or his artwork hung in galleries all over the world. Mostly in private collections, from what the articles said. As she devoured the information, she realized many people credited him for finding their lost ones and for helping them deal with a certain issue.
His name was often linked with Dr. Maddy’s as well. There was no website; there was no contact information. She couldn’t blame him. Anybody who had talents like hers—or, in this case, like his, which were way beyond hers—the last thing they wanted was an outlet where the public could reach over and say, “Hey.” There was just way too many of the rest of the world and only one of them. Those knocks on their psychic doorways had to be monitored very closely.
She sent out a quick message, saying, “Universe, if you want me to have any contact with Stefan, show me the way.”
A weird buzz sounded in her mind. She laughed, knocked on the wooden table in front of her and said, “Hey, if that’s you, Stefan, let me in.”
A voice boomed in her head. “Why the hell should I?”
She froze. Then jumped to her feet and spun around. “Who are you?” Normally she only had contact with entities through people. Rarely through the dead … So she had to assume it was somebody alive and probably somebody with very strong psychic abilities.
“You know who I am,” came the voice in exasperation.
She stepped back, and the bond was broken.
She stood there for a long moment, wondering what and who, and then realized she had felt no negativity in that message; there’d been no darkness in the contact. Instead a lightness has infused it, with a positive, almost loving aspect to it, and she’d called out to Stefan herself.
She just hadn’t expected an answer.
He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. She closed her eyes, opened her mind and asked telepathically, Stefan, is that you?
This time there was almost a rumbling of thunder in her mind, as if she had disturbed him. Instantly she withdrew and winced. “Sorry,” she called out.
For what? a male voice snapped in her ear. For disturbing me twice? Make that three times now.
She smirked, marveling that the connection was so clear and crisp. Almost as if talking in person. Not in her head. Yet that was exactly what he was doing. “How can I be disturbing you? The only ones who can even hear this are you and me, and everybody would say I was crazy.”
And you know that’s not true. So let’s not beat around the bush. You called me. What do you want?
His response was so breathtakingly honest and direct that she was charmed.
You know that makes you odd, right? But this time there was a note of humor in his voice.
She belatedly realized that, not only was he talking to her but he was essentially reading her thoughts. That was so not cool.
Then stop making them so obvious and out there.
“Obvious and out there?” she said in wonder. “And here I thought they were in my mind.”
And everything that’s in your mind, you telegraph outward.
There was a fatigue in his voice, as if he was tired of having to say the same thing over and over again. She wondered if he was some beacon of energy that attracted this kind of conversation.
Somewhat, he said. But that’s not why you called me.
And?
He gave nothing away. His voice was direct, smooth, and yet there was almost a container around it. As if he had some sort of a defense mechanism.
Don’t you think I would have one, given the type of work I do?
“How do you get that?” she asked urgently. “I need better defenses myself.”
Only silence followed.
She winced. “Please? I’m not sure how to unlock this ability.”
It’s not a case of unlocking the ability. You already have plenty of abilities, he said. What you don’t have is a constructive path for them. And what you do have is in many ways confused.
She sagged in her chair. “Well, that’s one way to put it. The shrinks would say I was crazy.”
You’ve done enough work with the police to realize you’re not, that your abilities have value, and you’ve helped a lot of people because of them.
Her chest squeezed tight. “Do you know who I am?”
Do you know who I am?
She was left gasping at the speed of their conversation. She was speaking out loud, but he was talking in her head.
It doesn’t have to be that way. Close your mouth and speak to me the other way. You’ll do it more effectively and, with time, less effort.
Knowing it was almost a turning point in this conversation, and, if she wanted anything else to do with him, she needed to do this, she obediently closed her eyes, not sure why that was important, and said, Like this?
Yes, just like that.
She opened her eyes and realized she stood in a massive cave. Beside her was a glowing arc. Are you this ball of light beside me?
I could be, if that’s what you’re seeing.
She frowned. Meaning, I’m projecting something onto you, not that you are projecting this yourself?
Correct. Now that you’re speaking to me this way, tell me why you contacted me?
For several reasons, but the most important is to help build up my defenses. It came out in a rush, but she hadn’t intended that.
Interesting.
What’s interesting?
The bloody amusement park would open soon, and she’d be inundated with people asking questions. And not that she meant to mock them—they were her bread and butter—but this was so much more important for her.
You’re hiding, he said thoughtfully. Most people don’t hide in plain sight.
Nobody would think to find me here, she said to him.
And yet you’re still helping people? Still using your abilities to help others?
I’m hoping that whoever needs my assistance comes to me. Besides, I learned at a huge cost what happens if I don’t use my abilities.
That’s the way it works, but you were doing bigger things before.
Bigger, yes. Better, I’m not sure about that. All things come at a cost.
There was silence, and she could feel a surge of energy rippling through her. She frowned. It was almost like files flipping around her head, images, videos playing. She turned in a slow circle as if inside some massive memory bank. It took a moment for her to realize it was her own memory bank.
Are you searching my memories? She was completely awestruck and horrified at his temerity.
Yes, feel free to stop me at any time, he said smoothly. But, if you’re asking for my help, I have to understand what it is you’ve gone sideways on.
Who says I’ve gone sideways? she asked, her hackles starting to rise.
Good. Get angry. I’m taking advantage of you right now. You don’t even know how to say stop. You don’t even understand how to close the doors in my face.
She glared.
He said, Well, you’re getting there, but you still haven’t figured out how to do the rest of it yet.
She reached out and swatted a door. It was a mental door, but she slammed it tight, pissed off at him and at herself. She’d asked for help, not to be taken advantage of. It was a simple-enough request; he could have said yes, or he could have said no.
Yes, he said, chuckling.
She gasped and bounced off her chair, realizing she was back in her small tent again. You’re still talking to me, even after I slammed the door in your face?
I had to know if you were there or not or whether you were so far gone that you were past being able to use simple tools.
She frowned, not quite understanding. Meaning, if I can’t manage a door to let people in or out, how will I defend against somebody insistent on getting in?
Oh, somebody is already in, Stefan said softly, too softly.
She gasped. “Can you see him?” she cried out fearfully.
I can see his energy.
Can you track it backward? Can you find out who it belongs to? This guy watching me is a killer. And he somehow connected to me, having fun in the fact I can’t stop him. But he can share what he’s done with me.
Stefan’s lackadaisical attitude dropped away. How do you know he’s a killer?
I don’t know for sure. She rubbed her face, then explained what had happened. Her shoulders sagged, and she added, Is there anything you can do to help me? Show me what direction to go in next?
He sighed. If you have a killer attached to you, that makes you a very important connection to him.
“I don’t want to be an important connection to him,” she whispered painfully. “I helped the police for years. It didn’t do me any good, except leave me broken and alone.”
I can see that, he said cautiously. I myself went down that path. Now I selectively pick and choose those I can help who won’t destroy my hard-earned peace.
I don’t know how to pick and choose, she whispered in her mind.
And what was that about your son? he asked.
She smiled. I was hoping you’d ask. She gave him what she knew. He’s all I could think about when I woke up in the hospital and found out he was gone. I tried so hard to contact him, and it took weeks, months even, but, even though I’m not a medium, I managed to connect. Although something is there, I only see energy and hear laughter. It’s the only way I found peace with his death, knowing a part of him lived on. She laughed at that. There’s always beautiful cascading colored energy accompanying his presence. And he doesn’t come often but enough to bring me comfort. But I wondered how to deepen the connection.
There was a gentle disapproving tone to Stefan’s silence.
She winced and stepped out of her tent. The morning sunshine hit her in the face. She backed up into the gloom of the tent. She wasn’t ready to step out there into the sunshine. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know how, but she needed to be inside the tent. And then there’s a spider.
This time Stefan’s voice took on an odd note. What do you mean by a spider?
And she could sense she was losing him; something inside of him was withdrawing.
“Please don’t go,” she said urgently, out loud.
What about the spider?
She winced, knowing it would sound beyond stupid. But she told him what she’d sensed when the spider had been here with her. After hearing the spider, I heard the little boy crying out for his mommy. She took a deep breath. I have to tell you, that hurt.
She could hear Stefan sucking in his breath, but she didn’t know what that meant. I need to connect to him again. If he’s in trouble, I need information to give to the police, so they can help him, she said, tears pouring down her cheeks. She knew she had a note of desperation in her voice. She knew it, but she couldn’t control it. Please help me.
Having said that, tears clogged her throat, had her sobbing quietly. She clamped hard on her control, or lack of control, and tried to pull her strength together. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, she said urgently. I don’t want to be desperate. I don’t want to be clingy. I just don’t know what to do next. And then she heard voices. She groaned. The amusement park is about to open, and it’ll get busy in here today.
You can do so much more. Don’t give up. We’ll talk later. And with that he disappeared.
She didn’t know what to think. She stood in the middle of her gloomy tent, watching as people came gushing through the amusement park. She knew a half dozen were heading her way. She didn’t need to know how she knew; she just knew it was a fact.
She walked back to her table, pulled out a Kleenex from her little set of shelves and blotted her eyes. Stefan hadn’t said no, but he hadn’t said yes either.
She closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, reached for her silly headdress and put it on her head. She walked around the table, covered it once again with the cloth and pulled out her crystal ball, putting it on the tabletop. Then she sat behind it with her empty money jar and waited for the crowd to rush in.
She sent one last thought to Stefan. Please help me.
Then she closed the door quietly this time, not slamming it shut but gently, and she didn’t lock it. If he wanted to come in, maybe he could knock, and she’d hear him. And, if not, well, she was a survivor. She’d always been a survivor. That wouldn’t change. But, with his help, maybe she could be so much more.
*
Kirk sat at his desk. It was hard to write these emails. He had basically nothing to say, and they were going into his draft folder anyway. They were more of a journaling form. They were notes regarding Queenie’s messages, her psychic insights. He had hundreds by now, just not any in the last few years.
Before, she’d been able to give him a lot more information than a dead body in a lake floating just beneath the surface. What the hell did that mean? The woman could be two feet deep or twenty feet deep. It would be almost impossible to see her unless they went right over her. Was that a sign of Queenie’s abilities deteriorating, or was it the chaos in her own world?
He hit Save on the draft email and let it slide into his Drafts folder. Other people laughed at such a system, but it worked for him.
His mind glommed onto that damn spider thing again and the little boy. Of course it being a boy had triggered Queenie’s protective instincts. It wasn’t that Queenie was interested in spiders.
But she’d now associate spiders with this little boy. Kirk had checked but found no active missing-boy cases in the area. Yet the little boy didn’t have to be missing to be in trouble.
Still, why would Queenie pick a spider in this instance? That made no sense. He thought about the description she’d given of the man who’d come into the tent, then thought about her being caught by some other psychic force to view what the Watcher wanted her to see. “No way,” he said sourly. “My belief system will go only so far.”
“If you’re muttering about Queenie again,” Peter said, “you know your belief system can go a hell of a long way.”
Kirk groaned. “I’ve been to hell and back over Queenie and the stuff she tells me. I’m not going there anymore.”
“Sounds like it’s too late already,” Peter joked.
Kirk stood, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and said, “Damn well better not be.” He picked up his keys and his cell phone, slid them into his pockets and started to walk out of the office.
“What are you doing?” Peter asked from the far side of the room. “Going to visit Queenie again?”
He froze, turned to look at Peter and said, “What do you mean, again?”
Peter chuckled. “Walking past the amusement park entrance a few days ago, I saw you leaving the park.”
“Are you following me, Peter?” Kirk asked.
Peter shrugged. “I figured Queenie had to be there.”
“Why the hell would you think Queenie was there?” Kirk asked, his voice suspicious. He hadn’t warmed to Peter since the first day the guy had arrived. But five of them worked closely together, and, to work well, they had to get along. So he did, but it was harder with Peter than anyone else.
Peter shrugged his shoulders. “I saw her on the amusement park website. Queenie’s Spooky Truths, ask the Queen Seer,” he said in a mocking voice. “Like, good God, how far has she fallen?”
There was silence in the rest of the room as everybody else understood what was happening. Kirk shoved his fists into his pockets instead of Peter. “I don’t know. How far has she fallen? Seems like you know better than I do.”
“Jesus, dude, you almost married that witch.”
“Hardly a witch,” he said, his voice deceptively mild.
“Well, given the shit she was doing, I’d say witch is just about the right term.” Peter’s voice was getting obstinate. “Kirk, look at her. She’s reading crystal balls.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I suppose she’s got some of those little fancy tarot cards in there too. Does she tell you who to sleep with next?” There was a twitter of amusement running through the office.
“No clue. But apparently you need to get a reading done,” Kirk said. “Your love life hasn’t been doing so well, has it?” On that parting shot, hearing the laughter explode behind him, he headed outside, mildly satisfied with the last part of their exchange.
Something about that guy always got to him. The trouble was, the reason Peter upset him was because Kirk saw himself in Peter. Years ago, when he’d been with Queenie, it seemed like he was Peter—upwardly mobile, everybody loved him. Kirk was the topic of every conversation as he was the one closing the cases.
Behind his back they all whispered about him sleeping with the psychic. But he didn’t care because he was bringing closure to so many people. His superiors loved him. As long as he didn’t broadcast where the information was coming from, everybody was happy. And then everything blew up. Nobody spoke Queenie’s name again.
Until she was hospitalized, and several men told Kirk where she was.
She’d been distraught, completely overwhelmed at the loss of her child. When a couple of the guys had questioned Kirk about whose child it was, he’d snapped back and said it was the wrong age. Eventually the talk had died down, but his suspicions hadn’t. He had always wondered in the back of his mind whose child she’d had. She had never said anything to him, and he’d always trusted her, but then they hadn’t left on the best of terms. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with a child of hers. He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at the thought she’d think that and then do what she did or if she’d gone and slept with somebody else and had another man’s child.
If it had been his, he’d have wanted to be there, to help in some way. Back then he’d had several raises, several honors awarded. Queenie hadn’t been given anything. And now, when he considered that, he thought how damned unfair that was.
When she walked through the office, people would always say hi and be friendly, but they wouldn’t want to be friends. They were afraid she could read their mind or she’d know something about what they were doing in their lives. At one point, after shaking one of her bosses’ hands, when Kirk and Queenie got home that night, she’d told him what she knew about that boss.
“You know he’s got a mistress on the side, right?”
He remembered saying, “Hell, no. He loves Helena. He’s been with her for like twenty years.”
“No, he doesn’t love Helena. He loves Helena’s money. His mistress is Louisa. And Louisa has two of his children already.”
Kirk had hated hearing that. It was none of his business. It wasn’t a criminal matter, but he did like Helena, and anything negative and upsetting, like this, that would affect Helena was just plain shitty. He had blamed Queenie because she’d brought up something he didn’t want to know, something that put him on the spot, something about somebody he admired, and he didn’t know what to do about it. So he did nothing.
He wondered if he should tell Helena even now. If there was a way to get an anonymous message to her, he might have done it. But, if Kirk’s boss found out that the news came from Kirk, he’d be fired for sure, and that was unfair. But that was the way it was. He might not get fired today; he might not get fired this week, but it would be soon. And that wasn’t something he was ready for. He didn’t want to put his job in jeopardy because some man couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. But he no longer respected his boss because of it.
Outside, he stopped and took several deep breaths. It seemed like life had slowed since he had separated from Queenie, but he wasn’t sure it was a good thing. He’d had several relationships—some weeks long, others months long—but out of loneliness, … not caring. Lorraine had been the longest, mostly due to her. He wasn’t sure he could care anymore. He’d loved Queenie completely. Living with her had been intense, her focus 100 percent, so his had been too. It was one thing when it was directed at him, but it was another when it was on some of the most gruesome murders in the world …
Several deep breaths later, he hopped into his Acura and headed to the grocery store. For months after the breakup he did takeout, and then he decided that had been enough of that. He needed to settle down, learn to cook and eat a little better. Just as he eased back the crazy caseload at work, he tried to ease back the crazy stress on his system. He’d even taken up yoga. But that wasn’t easy. His body wasn’t meant to be compressed into the positions he asked of it. But he was getting better. He’d also taken up swimming.
He’d rather swim in a lake or a river or any natural body of water. He hated the chlorinated water, but the pool was the only thing available to him.
His phone rang as he walked to the car. He stared down at the number and frowned. He didn’t recognize it. He lifted his phone to his ear and said, “Hello?”
“Hi, you don’t know me,” a woman said. “My name is Erin. Erin Callahan. But I wanted to thank you for getting my husband in to see Maddy on Maddy’s Floor.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a clue who you’re talking about.”
“Queenie said you’d say that. Anyway she said I should call you and say thank-you. I just wanted to let you know that, no matter what happens, I’m grateful.” And Erin hung up.
Kirk stared down at the number in surprise. He’d shot off an email to Drew but hadn’t heard back. It didn’t make any sense. Inside his car, he checked his recent calls, found Queenie’s number and called her. “I just got a weird call from some woman who said she got her husband in to see Maddy on Maddy’s Floor.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad she called.”
“She said you told her to send her thanks to me.”
“Well, I don’t need thanks. You know that. But it looked like you were suffering, so I told her to send it to you. Maybe the good vibes would help you out.”
He stared out the window. “You’re weird sometimes. You know that?”
She chuckled. “Always weird. Remember that.” And she hung up.
He was grinning now as he tossed the phone on the seat beside him.
At the grocery store he picked up the phone again, pocketed it and headed inside. He grabbed a cart as he went in. He picked up a few apples, some fresh grapes and then headed to the veggies. By the time he had four days’ worth of meals and had picked up some granola for breakfast, he was ready to pay. He got through and headed back out.
As soon as he reached his car, his phone buzzed again. He looked at the number, not recognizing this one either. “Hello? … Hello?” A weird crackling noise filled the phone, and then it went dead. Shrugging, he pocketed his cell, got in the car and drove home.
While putting away the groceries, setting up to make himself a large salad for dinner, marinating a steak to barbecue, his phone rang again. This time he jotted down the number and answered. “Hello?”
No answer.
Frowning, he shut off the call and hit Redial. It rang and rang, but nobody picked up. He put his phone on the counter beside him and seasoned his salad. And his phone rang again. Getting pissed, he looked at it again. Same number. He clicked on Talk and said, “Hello?”
A weird static filled the air, but nobody was there.
He disconnected the call and laid it back down again, went out and lit the barbecue. When it was the perfect temperature, he tossed on the steak and set the timer. He liked his steak medium rare, and it was too damn easy to overcook it and not have any pink left in the center. He waited beside the barbecue until it was ready, then brought it back in, slapped it onto a plate and filled the other half with fresh salad.
He walked back outside with a steak knife and a fork, his plate full, and a cold beer to drink. He sat down on his chair. He thought he’d have owned his own house by now, but he was still renting. Mostly because he didn’t want to deal with the problem of finding a new place. It seemed stupid to buy a whole house just for him, although he knew lots of people who did. He’d thought about it when he was with Queenie. He had been so sure that’s what they would be doing at this stage of life, but it hadn’t worked out that way.
He attacked his steak and carved up several good-size bites. With the first bite popped into his mouth, he sat back and relaxed, chewing happily. The steak was cooked perfectly. He washed it down with a slug of beer and kept eating.
Sure enough his phone rang again. He looked at the number, shrugged and set it down without answering it. But it kept ringing. He frowned. His voice mail didn’t even pick up. Finally he hit Talk. “Who is this?”
Instead of a voice, instead of the same crackle, a weird mocking laughter came from the other end.
“Hey,” he snapped. “Who is this? What do you want?”
And again more laughter. And then the call ended.
He stared at his phone uneasily and set it off at the far corner of the table. He continued to eat, but he kept glancing at it. His phone’s voice mail should’ve kicked in after eight rings, and it had rung fourteen times, and still voice mail hadn’t taken over. He would have to check it. But he knew, in his heart of hearts, nothing was wrong with his phone. The voice mail worked just fine. This call had all the earmarks of more woo-woo stuff.
Thankfully the phone didn’t ring again for the rest of his meal. When he was done with the dishes, he picked up a second beer and walked back out on the deck. He had the whole evening to himself, and yet he was out of sorts. He couldn’t get Queenie off his mind—or Peter’s comments for that matter.
Kirk walked inside to grab his laptop and returned to the deck. He logged onto the police database to see what cases had drownings. There was a chance Lee-Anne Jenkins’s mother, Bonnie Jenkins, had been found. Just because Queenie said Bonnie was in the lake didn’t mean she was there today. There had been other cases where Queenie’s timeline had been off. And it added to the confusion and undermined her validity with her information. But eventually they’d sorted it out.
At the time, she had shrugged her shoulders and said, “There’s only so much I can be accurate about. It’s not like I have a full and complete timeline. I get what information comes to me in bits and pieces.”
He hadn’t understood that. He still didn’t understand that.
As he meandered through the cases, looking for drowning victims, he thought about Lee-Anne who had come in wanting help looking for her mother. He’d sent an email to the sheriff’s office, asking if somebody would go to the property to check but hadn’t heard back. He looked up their office number, grabbed his phone and called the sheriff. Of course the sheriff wouldn’t be there at this hour, but a deputy should still be on duty, depending on how big the office was. It could be just a dispatcher. But then it wasn’t all that late.
By chance the sheriff answered the phone. He sounded frazzled.
“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff. This is Detective Kirk Sanders,” he identified himself. “I sent a request to have Bonnie Jenkins’s property checked to see if she was in residence. Have you had a chance to do that?”
“Two of my boys went out there today,” the sheriff said. “We didn’t see any sign of her. Bonnie is a bit of a loner. But the couple times we’ve been by and stopped in to see her, she’s been home. This time they got no answer, and the door was slightly ajar, so they walked through. Found no sign anybody’s been there for at least a couple days.”
“What do you mean ajar? What did your men find?”
“The door was slightly open. Dishes on the counter with food dried or baked on them, milk going sour in the fridge. Opened package of cinnamon buns left on the counter that were hard as a rock.”
“So potentially she could have been missing for at least a week.”
“Honestly it could’ve been longer. The milk was dated four days ago, according to my boys.”
“So it could have been ten days before that too.”
“Exactly.”
“Did they walk the property?”
“They did. They went down to the lake, walked along the shore, crisscrossed, calling out, but found no sign of her.”
“She had dogs, didn’t she?”
“She did, and again we found no sign of them. Her vehicle wasn’t there either.”
“So what’s your take on it?” Kirk leaned forward. This could be Queenie’s drowning victim.
“If it wasn’t for the food sitting on the table, I’d have said she had gone off for a few days. But, because the milk was going bad, and food was on the counter, I’m not sure what to think.”
“She wasn’t the kind to leave food around?” Kirk asked. He knew from the daughter that the mother didn’t have any money, so wasting food was generally not something people did who were broke.
“No. She was always very generous with tea and cookies, or some treat, if she had them the couple times I’ve been there. But I also know she doesn’t have much in the way of income, and the place is in poor repair. I don’t think she ever had much. So to waste food like that is not really in keeping with who she was.”
“What about the neighbors?”
“The boys knocked on a couple doors but didn’t get anybody at home. They’re up there again right now.”
“Good. Thank you very much for checking, Sheriff. Her daughter is looking for her, and there hasn’t been any contact now in a few weeks.”
“That’s not good. It’s possible she went for a walk with the dogs and had an accident. I’ve certainly seen dogs sit down and die beside their owner in some cases.”
Kirk winced at the thought. “Let’s hope that’s not what this is about. How many dogs were there, and what breeds were they?”
“Two beagles,” he said. “Don’t know their names. Only that they were brown, and one was spotted.”
“Thanks so much. Let’s keep in contact, in case anybody has an update.” Kirk rang off, did a search and came up with the closest animal rescue center. When he got somebody at the other end, he identified himself and asked, “Any chance two beagles were turned in over the last couple weeks?”
The woman was surprised at the request. “I do have two beagles here,” she said cautiously. “But I’m not sure when they came in.”
“Could you check please?”
“Certainly. Just give me a minute.”
He could hear papers rustling as she searched through intake forms. She came back on the line a few moments later and said, “They came in eight days ago.”
“Do they have name tags?”
“Daisy and Dolly,” she said. “A neighbor found them wandering the roads. They took them home but didn’t find anybody there, so they brought them to us.”
Kirk frowned at that. “Wouldn’t the neighbor have tried again, kept the animals for a day or two?”
“He said he did. But he has his own dogs, and he couldn’t keep them as well.”
“Do you have his name and number?”
She gave that information to him.
He thanked her and rang off and called the sheriff back. He gave him an update on the dogs.
“That’s really not good,” the sheriff said in alarm. “Are you going to call the neighbor, or do you want me to?”
“I suggest you give him a call. Let your deputies know and have them stop in and talk to him.”
“Will do.”
Kirk hung up again and sat there with his laptop open, thinking about a missing mother who had disappeared and finding her two dogs. Did the daughter know what happened to the dogs?
He brought up her file and called her. “What are the names of your mother’s dogs?”
“Daisy and Dolly,” the daughter said. “What about them?”
“They were turned in to an animal shelter eight days ago,” he said.
She cried out, “My mother would never give away those dogs.”
“A neighbor apparently found them wandering around on the road. He tried to return them to your mother, but nobody was there. He kept them for another day or two and tried again. Then he took them to the shelter. The shelter has not heard from your mother or anybody trying to claim them.”
“I’ll get them myself,” the daughter said. “As soon as we get my mother back, I’ll make sure she gets them. She would be devastated if she doesn’t have them.”
“Here’s the number.”
She was almost in tears when she finally got it written down correctly.
“We’re still looking for your mother. The sheriff’s deputies were up there the other day and again today, walking the property, calling for her. There is sour milk in the fridge and old food on the table.”
“That’s not like my mother,” she said. “She never wastes food.”
“That’s what I thought. But it does give credence to the theory that something is wrong, that maybe she’s fallen on a walk, or maybe she had a medical emergency and was alone.”
By now the daughter was crying full force.
“I can’t tell you any more than that yet,” he said. “The deputies are out talking to the neighbors. Hopefully they can connect. Otherwise they’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe somebody has seen her. Maybe somebody knows something about her.”
“And her truck?”
“It’s missing,” Kirk said. “Another reason to wonder if maybe she headed to town for the day and had an accident.”
“She took those dogs everywhere,” Lee-Anne said. “She’d never have left without them. And, if she was coming to see me, she always brought them too.”
Leaving the young girl sobbing but promising she’d contact the shelter about the dogs, he rang off and sat there wondering what the hell would cause a woman to run away and leave her dogs behind. Of course the answer was, if she was alone, and those dogs were everything in her life, the only reason she would have left them behind was if they would have been safer. But that didn’t mean very good things in terms of her own safety. More than likely, something happened to her, and somebody else took her vehicle.
And that brought him right back around to a woman in a lake drowned several feet beneath the surface. And then to Queenie. Damn her.
*
It was cold in his room. But it was better to be here and alone. Daddy had hurt him again. He sniffled. Pulling up his blanket around his neck, he shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
The spiders were gone.
He kept looking for more, but they’d left him. Alone.
Another scream erupted upstairs, followed by a heavy thud, then whimpers.
He scrunched down in his bed, his throat choking back his own cries. He had to stay quiet. He sniffled again. Please don’t let Daddy come down here again. The little boy was so cold; he just wanted this all to go away.
He’d heard them talking. He was adopted. He didn’t know what that meant except he had a real mommy out there.
Silence settled upstairs. And no footsteps. He sighed and whispered into the darkness, “Mommy, are you there?”
He wanted the spiders to come home. He missed them. But they couldn’t come yet. They were doing important work, he knew. They were helping him. They were going to find his real mommy so she could rescue him. He just wanted to leave here. He wanted to be with his mother. He wanted to be safe.
Someplace where Daddy couldn’t find him.