The Woman Who Couldn't Scream

  Everybody was happy. Everyone felt as if they’d accomplished something great—even though, as Merida Falcon had said, she’d saved herself. But to have the monster off the streets, to know they would see no more mutilated corpses, that was a great thing.

  Lacey raced to the outer door and waited.

  Kateri opened it and the dog bounded out, license rattling, down the stairs and onto the street.

  At the press briefing, even Councilman Venegra had had to offer up a grudging, “Well done.” Then he had, of course, asked about John Terrance. But after the gruesomeness of these murders, John Terrance had become a lesser terror and, as Bertha told the entire town, the press and Venegra, she’d put so much buckshot in Terrance, his ass was dragging.

  Bertha was now a bona fide Virtue Falls hero.

  Truthfully, like Bertha, Kateri hoped John Terrance had died alone in the woods, a pain-filled septic death, one that in some small part made up for the misery he had caused Rainbow. And her.

  Kateri and Lacey called on the park across the street—Kateri found herself revisiting the wonderful world of dog poo removal—then Lacey trotted past the Oceanview Café, past the Gem Lounge, headed for home.

  Or so Kateri thought. But to her surprise, Lacey missed the turn for their apartment. Kateri called her, but Lacey continued trotting toward the marina, into the cool, softly lit mist that crept off the ocean. The light fog crept over the streets, bringing a magic to the evening. The shops had closed. The restaurants and bars were humming; people greeted her by name, congratulated her on making Virtue Falls safe once more.

  Lacey was right. It was a good night for a walk.

  As Kateri crossed at the corner of Ocean and Marina, on a quiet stretch of sidewalk, she heard the rolling thump of a suitcase on the sidewalk. No, two suitcases.

  Lacey gave a bark and ran toward the sound, disappearing for a long moment.

  Kateri heard a murmur of voices, then out of the mist stepped Lacey, proudly leading Merida and Benedict. Merida's hands were bandaged as was the side of her face.

  Both pulled a light suitcase and looked dressed for travel.

  Interesting.

  In her newly found, soft voice, Merida said, “Kateri, I’m so glad Lacey found us. We’re off on an adventure, and I wanted to say good-bye.” Putting her suitcase onto its four wheels, she stepped forward and hugged Kateri, hugged her hard, looked into her face and hugged her again. “Thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve been … the truest friend…” She choked up, then stepped back and signed, “… anyone could ever have.”

  Kateri recognized the genuine emotion behind the words, and choked up in her turn. “I’m so glad … you came to Virtue Falls. I’m glad for whatever help I could render.”

  “I’m sorry I brought a serial killer with me.” Merida said aloud. “I’m sorry I made so much trouble for you.”

  “I’ll acquit you for that. The FBI has been quite forthright about Gloria Meyrick and what a tangled mess that is. Apparently Nauplius Brassard had her removed from prison so neatly that all law enforcement agencies believed she had died. They looked at the killing in Paris and thought it was a copycat murder when in fact, it was Gloria Meyrick herself.” Garik had confided that the FBI was scrambling to discover exactly how Nauplius had pulled off the escape and who was buried under Gloria Meyrick’s tombstone.

  “I’ve never been so afraid in my life.” Merida both spoke and signed, as if she needed to express herself in every way she could.

  Benedict twined her hand in his, using special care not to hurt her or disturb the bandages.

  Merida leaned her head against his shoulder.

  Seeing their affection, Kateri thought of Stag and considered herself the biggest fool in the history of the world.

  “Meyrick had a record of escalating violence against her students when they didn’t live up to her standards, and when the university cut her Home Sciences program—wow. She stalked and killed everyone she deemed responsible, up to and including the president of the school. It was quite the reign of terror. So, Merry, you won.” Deliberately, Kateri used Merida’s real name. “You saved yourself and killed the monster.”

  “She is the bravest, most wonderful woman in the world, but she never has to stand alone again. I’ve got her back.” Benedict smiled into Merida’s eyes, and Kateri could not only sense, but also see his steadfast determination to always be with her.

  Yep. Kateri was selfish for thinking of herself … but she had been so stupid about Stag.

  Benedict touched Merida’s arm. “Come on, dear, we’d do well to make the tide.”

  “Headed for the marina, are you?” Kateri fell in right behind him, walking almost on his heels.

  Merida followed.

  “We are,” Benedict said. “I thought after our ordeal, we’ll cruise up the coast and into the Salish Sea, visit a few of the San Juan Islands.”

  Merida’s soft voice said, “We’ve chartered a seaplane for a flight over the area.”

  Kateri glanced behind.

  Merida had that look on her face, the one she had always worn when she talked about flying. “I think if the flight goes well, if I enjoy it as much as I think I will, I might take lessons again, get my pilot’s license. That explosion changed so much about my life. I can’t allow it to take away my desire to touch the heavens.”

  Benedict looked back, past Kateri to Merida, and he had a look on his face, too, the kind that said this man adored everything about this woman.

  Kateri’s heart contracted with both joy for them, and sorrow for her own aloneness. “The islands are lovely this time of year. You’ll enjoy it. Hard to trace people out there. Not much for cell service. That reminds me … we at the police department have solved one mystery about last night. We traced the call reporting last night’s first death to … you, Benedict Howard.”

  He kept going. “Carl Klineman’s death, right? Did you discover who killed him?”

  Kateri glanced back at Merida and rolled her eyes. Like she hadn’t seen Benedict sidestep that accusation. But truth to tell, she didn’t much care who had called it in. Knowing about that body had saved Virtue Falls law enforcement a shit ton of trouble later. “We traced the bullet to the pistol Ashley Kocsis used in previous killings. However, as to whether or not she killed Carl Klineman or one of the Cipres took the pistol from Kocsis and performed the deed, we don’t yet know.” Something pinged her consciousness, and she stopped. No jingling license, no tapping toenails on the pavement … “Where’s Lacey?”

  “She went that way.” Merida pointed toward the dark van parked at the curb.

  “Lacey!” Kateri called. From behind the van, she heard Lacey bark wildly, then growl, deep and angry. Kateri started around the vehicle, hand on her holster.

  A man yelped. “Damn you, you little rat!”

  A scuffle.

  Another yelp.

  Deeper growling.

  More swearing.

  And, muffled by the swirling fog, a gunshot.

  Benedict knocked Merida down to the sidewalk and covered her with his body.

  Kateri shouted, “Lacey!” and sprinted into the street and around the van, unsnapping her holster and removing her service pistol. She came around in time to see Phoebe’s son, Evan Glass, point his pistol at Lacey—who had her teeth sunk into his leg.

  “Lacey, go!” Kateri shouted.

  Lacey released him and ran under the van.

  And the dumbshit shot himself right in the foot. He screamed in pain, dropped the pistol and grabbed for the wound.

  Furious and afraid for her dog’s life, Kateri kicked her knee against his hip.

  Off balance, he fell sideways onto the pavement, rolled and scrambled toward his firearm.

  She slammed her knee into his back, smashed him onto the pavement, cuffed him and shouted, “What the hell were you doing?”

  “Your dog bit me!”

  “You were hiding behind that van with a firearm and you shot … at me!” May
be not, but it would play in court. “At the sheriff!”

  “I didn’t shoot at you. I shot at her.” He pointed toward Merida.

  As Benedict helped Merida to her feet, he said, “I told you my aunt and uncle were too thrifty to pay the price for a good assassin.”

  “I feel so cheap,” Merida signed, and humor leaped from her hands.

  Kateri couldn’t believe there had been another attempt on Merida’s life. Really angry now, she improvised. “These good people seem to believe you’re an international assassin and worthy of Interpol’s attention.”

  He whined like a mosquito. “No, I’m not! I got this job from my mother. Today! She said I’d be paid for this and I could move on.” There was a world of loathing in his tone. “I want to leave, not be here working for her!”

  Phoebe Glass had a lot to answer for.

  Kateri heard sirens; someone nearby had heard the gunshots and called 911. As the first police cruiser pulled up, she called, “Lacey, come on, sweetheart.”

  Lacey pranced out, proud of her heroics.

  Kateri captured her in her arms and hugged her, so happy to hold that warm, wiggling body and know they would be going home together.

  She heard the click/roll of two suitcases and looked up in time to see Benedict and Merida vanish into the fog.

  She suspected she would never see her friends again.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Kateri had promised Rainbow and she had promised Margaret. No more delays. She had to open the damned box.

  But for this, she needed to be alone and undistracted. So she took Lacey to Mrs. Golobovitch, who was delighted to dog-sit. Kateri drove her police cruiser to her apartment, parked, tucked the black box under her arm and carried it into the living room. She placed her staff against the wall and the box on the coffee table. Stepping back, she stared at the box, unwilling to again face the contents and knowing they would somehow change her life.

  At last she worked up the nerve and lifted the lid.

  Edgar Allen Poe’s raven looked back, his shiny eyes alive and knowing. Would it tell its secrets?

  Nevermore.

  Putting the box top aside, she grasped him in both hands, lifted him free, carried him to the bookcase and placed him on the top shelf among her best beloved books. At eighteen inches tall and twenty pounds, the nineteenth-century black cast-iron bird carried the weight of Baltimore literature, art and history on his feathers. More important to Kateri, he exuded the intelligent, devious spirit that Native Americans worshiped. For all that, he deserved a tall perch.

  Returning to the couch, she seated herself and pulled the box toward her. She lifted the faded album, wondering how she could be so brave in the face of danger and so terrified by a bunch of old photographs of her father and her mother together. She smoothed the leather cover, picked it up and smelled in the scent of old paper and dust … and was transported back to that moment when she had first seen it, first held it, first opened it and thrilled to the contents.

  Stupid, stupid child that she had been. She had danced downstairs to her father’s study, knocked as she’d been taught, anticipated his summons. She walked sedately across the hardwood floor, over the luxurious Aubusson rug to his desk and waited for him to acknowledge her—which he did after an appropriately lengthy wait.

  But this time, she didn’t care, because she knew a secret.

  * * *

  His cool, disinterested voice: “Katherine, what do you want?”

  She burst out, “I want to say—I found the album and it’s … I’m so glad you loved Mama with all your heart.”

  His already stern face froze into steely lines. “What are you talking about?”

  “About this.” She pulled the photo out from behind her back and thrust it toward him.

  He took it by the edges, never touching her fingers, and looked at it.

  At first, she didn’t notice the way his angular face seemed to be carved of harsh stone, unbreathing, unmoving. She was too intent on babbling, “I know that beach where you took those pictures. Did Rainbow take them? She was in some of them, so I thought it had to be her. Uncle Bluster was in one, too. He’s dead now, Mama said he drank himself to death, but for a long time, he was like a father to me.”

  Her real father lifted his heavy-lidded gaze from the photo and stared at her.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. To cover up her faux pas, she rattled on. “You were picking up driftwood in one picture, and I recognize that piece. Mama always keeps it in her room on a shelf lined with shells. She said she used to like to collect shells but now she—”

  “Where did you find this … picture?”

  Something was wrong. He wasn’t pleased. “I told you. In the album.”

  “Where is the album?”

  “In the attic.”

  “What were you doing in the attic?”

  She swallowed. Hiding from my sister. Hiding from your wife. Hiding from the servants. Hiding from my loneliness. She couldn’t say any of that. “I don’t know.”

  Her father put the photograph in the right-hand bottom drawer of his desk. “Don’t go up there again.”

  “But—”

  “Nothing up there is of any concern to you.”

  “Pictures of you and my mom!” You do remember my mother, Mary Kwinault? You loved her once.

  “They are none of your business.”

  “I want that picture. Give me that picture!” She wanted to lunge at him, hit him, strangle him until he was dead.

  At the same time she feared him, feared that icy control, those cold blue eyes, the cruelty that lurked beneath starched white shirts and in ruthless fingers that without remorse could—and did—tear a screaming child out of her mother’s arms and carry her away forever.

  He picked up his pen. “Is there anything else?”

  Kateri choked on bile, on hate, on impotent fury. “You’re the most awful father in the whole world. No one loves you. And I hate you!” Whirling, she stomped toward the door. Stomped, when she wanted to run, but she wouldn’t allow herself to show fear for that man who hurt her so casually.

  His voice stopped her before she stepped over the threshold. “Katherine.”

  “What!”

  He didn’t answer.

  She faced him. “What?”

  “Put on your shoes before you return to my office.”

  “I’ll never come here again.” She had never meant anything so much in her life.

  “As you wish.” He flicked his fingers at her. “Shut the door on your way out.”

  “My name is Kateri!” She did shut the door, as hard as she could, but the heavy oak and well-oiled hinges did no more than make a muffled thump. She raced to her room before bursting into loud sobs swiftly muffled by her hands, the blankets, the pillows. She fell asleep crying and when she woke up, it was dark and late, she was starving, and she was determined to get up to that attic and take that album. He didn’t care about it. She did. Those were her parents, and that was the only image of her mother Kateri had ever seen with Mary looking radiant and happy.

  She slid out of bed and headed up the narrow servants’ stairs, two flights toward the wooden attic door. The stairway was cold, airless. She didn’t turn on the lights; with no windows she had to grope her way along the bannisters, feel the steps with her bare feet, and all the time, a sense of being stalked grew. She got to the top, slid her hands down the door until she wrapped them around the knob. She turned it slowly, in growing anticipation—but the door wouldn’t yield.

  It was locked, and remained that way for all the rest of her years trapped in that cold Baltimore mansion.

  * * *

  Rainbow said that in the album Kateri would solve a mystery, and so at last Kateri opened the leather-bound album and leafed through the pages, looking at each photo, seeing her mother young and happy, her father … looking happy, too.

  Odd. In all the years she had lived with him, he had never been anything but grim and dist
ant with a lurking cruelty that terrified the whole household. While with her mother he seemed almost human. Maybe in his way he had loved her. Maybe.

  But what did it matter? He had broken Mary’s heart then. Later, when he took Kateri from her, he had broken Mary’s spirit. He had been her mother’s frog god, shaking the earth and breaking the sea and changing her life from a bright shining eagerness into the long, dim tunnel of hopeless years.

  Kateri had forgiven him. The frog god had demanded it. Nevertheless, she was sure he burned in hell.

  The album’s last pages were blank, black sheets of dull paper filled with nothingness, and Kateri had not yet solved any mysteries.

  The very last page wasn’t black or dull; it held a sealed tan manila envelope inserted into the binding. Kateri squished it between her fingers. Not much inside. Tearing the envelope, she pulled out—

  From the doorway that led into the kitchen, a woman’s voice spoke. “You found it.”

  Kateri came to her feet. She looked up to see Lilith staring at her. Sneering at her.

  Kateri looked down at the header and the ornate green border on the mottled security paper.

  CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE

  NEILL PALMER AND MARY KWINAULT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  “You trashed my house for this?” Kateri held up the paper.

  Lilith lunged across the room, reached for the certificate.

  Kateri pulled it back, fended her off with a sharp elbow to the rib cage. “My father and mother were married? He married her? Why?”

  Lilith doubled over, gasped. “He said he loved her.”

  “He said … he loved her? My mother? Mary?” The whole world was falling apart around Kateri’s ears, all the perspectives were changing. She didn’t know how to put the pieces back together.

  “He had clearly lost his mind.”

  Kateri weighed how much force to put into the next blow to Lilith’s rib cage. And head, chest, face … But she wanted information and she couldn’t get it if Lilith was unconscious. “How did you find out?” She lifted the paper. “About this.”

  “Father told me.” Lilith straightened up. “He told me he married your mother. He told me he loved her. I asked where the marriage certificate was, and he said he hid it.”