“Taylor?” Porter says, and Sam hands him the phone. “Sam told me you were the reason they found Molly’s body. Said you drew the spot, that there never were any hikers—which sounds like somethin’ off a damn TV show, but . . .” He looks down, shaking his head, then adds, “He also said you spent so much time on it you nearly had to repeat ninth grade. I know it hit you as hard as it did us, and you need to know that Mimmy was able to go with some peace in her heart because she finally knew, even though it wasn’t the answer we hoped we’d get. So, thank you from both of us.”
She shakes her head, angry. “I was too late—”
“Taylor Quinn.” Porter’s voice is stern. “I just said thank you. The only proper response to that is you’re welcome. Although I guess I’d also accept, you’re welcome and we’re going to catch those sorry sons of bitches.”
Her mouth quirks upward on one side. “We’re going to catch those sorry sons of bitches.”
Either Porter or Sam clears his throat. Probably Porter, because she grudgingly adds, “And you’re welcome.”
“Better.”
Aaron ends the call. Taylor gives me an odd look. She must have been expecting Molly to say something. To ask me to tell Porter good-bye, that she loves him.
But Molly is in Zen mode at the back of my head.
“I wasn’t blocking her, Taylor.”
He has to let go. So do I.
I open my mouth to relay Molly’s message, but I stop. Taylor needs to let go, too.
I check my phone again—nothing—and Taylor says, “What time is it?”
“Eight forty.”
Taylor tosses the last bit of crust into her mouth. “A bit too early, but at least I can shower before we go.”
“Go where?” Aaron asks.
She gives him a duh look and nods toward the computer. “To check out the house. The street should probably be quiet by eleven, wouldn’t you think?”
“We’re not going to check out that house.”
Already halfway up the stairs, Taylor turns back and gives a shrug. “Thought Anna might need a distraction. She’s pulled that phone out of her pocket to check for messages three times since I came downstairs, even though I imagine she’s got the ringer turned up to full volume.”
She’s wrong. It’s on vibrate. If a message comes in, I want to know what it says before I decide whether to share.
“But,” she continues, “if you guys would rather stay here, I’ll go myself.”
“The hell you will!” Aaron says.
Her eyes narrow and she comes back down several steps so that she’s just a smidge above eye level with her brother. “Like I told Sam, I have to clear my head. Each time I try to focus on Deo and the ear cuff, I get interference from that damned pink purse. So, yes. I am going to check this place out. If you want to come, great. If not, I’ll take the Jeep.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
We do not take the Jeep to Havre de Grace.
Taylor argued in favor of it at first, saying that its off-roading capabilities would come in handy if we needed to make a quick exit. I caught her little smirk as she said it, however, so I suspect she was picking on Aaron.
I’m pretty sure that Aaron would have continued trying to talk Taylor out of going, but Sam called around ten thirty with a bit of news. He couldn’t find any connection between Cregg and the property in Havre de Grace, but the owners listed in the incorporation papers for HLMC CORP are Honoria Lucas and Miguel Cruz. Honoria Lucas has an older brother named Franco Lucas, who usually goes by his last name.
So that pretty much clinched it. They were going. I didn’t see why that meant I needed to go, however. It would be beyond stupid to take the trackers with me when we’ll be snooping around a location connected to Lucas. And it’s been more than twenty hours now without any sort of contact concerning Deo. I’m more convinced than ever that they’ll be coming in person. Being alone at the beach cottage when they show up is exactly what I want. And exactly what I dread.
Aaron’s clearly aware of this. He refused to go unless I did, and since Taylor was clearly hell-bent on going with or without us, here we are. But I’m going to be on edge until we’re back . . . although I guess I’ve been on edge all day.
Anyone watching us leave would probably think we’re headed out for a late-night robbery or goth-fest. Taylor and Aaron are both in black—stuff Taylor grabbed from the closets at their house. I pulled my hair into a messy updo with a big barrette, and I’m in the darkest clothes I own, topped off with my gray-and-white Old Navy hoodie. Not exactly ninja mode, but the best I can do.
“You can sit up front,” Aaron says as I go to open the car door. For some reason, that triggers Taylor’s smirk again.
“That’s okay. I’m fine back here.”
That’s not entirely true. I’ve been known to get queasy in the back, and normally I’d use that as leverage to ride shotgun. But if a message comes through on my phone when I’m riding up front, they’d both have a good view of it. Back here, I might have some privacy.
“How far is it?” I ask as I settle in.
“A little over eighty miles.”
“Round-trip?”
“Um . . . no,” he says. “Sorry.”
As soon as he turns the key, a man with a heavy British accent starts talking about giants not being meant to live in groups.
“That’s . . . Hagrid.”
“Order of the Phoenix,” Aaron says. “I got the full set as a Christmas present from Mom and Tay, since I’m in the car so much. I’ve read the books, of course, but . . . nice to listen to them, too.”
And so we listen for the next ninety minutes. Well, Aaron and I listen. Taylor is asleep ten minutes in.
I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the story. The entire trip, I only check my phone twice. That’s the closest I’ve been to relaxed all day.
Harry is just wondering whether Cho cried because of Cedric Diggory or because he’s a rotten kisser when Molly speaks up. It’s almost a whisper.
Anna?
Yes?
I have to say good-bye. And thank you.
To Taylor and Aaron?
I already did that. To you.
None of my other tenants have said good-bye. A few said “thank you” after we completed whatever task was anchoring them here. Mostly, they just left behind their excess baggage and drifted away.
But . . . shouldn’t you stay a little longer? So you can tell them whether this is the—
It’s the place. I know it. Taylor knows it. And being there again will . . . pull me back . . . when I’m so close to letting go. I need to let go, Anna.
As much as I want to protest, I’m being selfish. Partly it’s that I don’t want her excess baggage when she goes, but I’ve also gotten used to her company. I’m going to miss her. Deo’s gone, and now Molly—
I’m sorry for getting you into all of this, but I can see things more clearly now. This is your path. With or without me, you’d have found it eventually. And you will find Deo. I promise.
With those last words, my entire head . . . no, it’s more like my entire being . . . is enveloped in music. Or maybe I dissolve into the music. It seems to be a variation on Arabesque, the song that was playing at the café the day I met with Porter, but this is beyond mere music. It’s almost beyond comprehension.
I don’t just hear the song. The music has a lock on all of my senses. I feel the notes against my skin, like a soft breeze, a warm blanket. It smells like the sharp, fresh scent of an orange when your nails first pierce the skin, like the woods after rain, like Deo’s cheap cologne. It tastes like chocolate, like an almond cookie, like a cheddar-jalapeño bagel wrapped in a napkin. Love, and joy, and sorrow are embodied in each note.
When I open my eyes, the music swirls around me, a mélange of orange, gold, and purple. Everything I see and hear—the car, Aaron, Taylor’s gentle snore, the street beyond—are transformed. Every element has its own distinct melody, and yet they are all connected
. They all merge into one beautiful symphony—no, a polyphony, with so many melodies and colors that I cannot separate the threads of the tapestry. They are each whole and each part of the whole.
“You okay, Anna?”
I hear Aaron’s words as part of the music. I can see his words, touch them, taste them.
“Anna?”
I vaguely realize that the car has stopped and he’s leaning into the backseat. His eyes are concerned, bordering on alarmed.
I try to speak, but my brain and my body seem to exist on separate planes. Almost without realizing it, my hand reaches for Aaron’s face, and I touch his cheek. The light stubble prickles against my palm and adds faint, staccato notes to the harmony, pulling in the scent and color of sage.
And then it all begins to fade . . .
. . . perdendosi . . .
My senses fall back into place slowly. I can now only see and feel my hand on Aaron’s face, see and feel his hand covering my own. The surreal music and colors are gone.
I flush and pull my hand back, tucking it beneath me. “Sorry. I was . . . dreaming.”
“I’m sorry I woke you. Your eyes were . . .” He smiles and shakes his head. “Miles away. Light-years away, maybe. Must have been some dream.”
I look around. Since my surroundings are no longer painted with every shade in the rainbow, I recognize the neighborhood as the one Aaron and I saw on the map earlier. We’re on a narrow residential street with small, older houses on both sides, parked cars crowding the road even further. I detect the glow of a TV in a few windows, and one porch light is on, but everything seems eerily quiet in the wake of Molly’s strange parting gift.
“So, we’re here?”
“Yeah.” He nods to the road ahead. “The driveway is about a quarter mile beyond that last house, and then maybe another quarter mile to the house itself. Taylor?” He nudges her with his elbow and she groans, tugging her hoodie over her face. “Wake up.”
Another extended groan, and Taylor flops onto her back. She finally sits up, chugs from a bottle of water, then splashes some into her hands and rubs her face. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Aaron pulls back onto the road. Shortly after the houses thin out, we see a paved driveway. He pauses at the entrance and closes his eyes for several seconds, breathing deeply. It almost looks like he’s praying.
“I’m not picking up anything that’s a problem . . . either here or along the street. Still, someone could be there. If so, we’ll turn around and head out. It’s a dead-end road. It’s probably not the first time someone turned around in this driveway in the middle of the night. But if the coast is clear and we go check out the cabin in the back, do not—”
“Touch anything,” Taylor says, tugging on the boots she kicked off during the drive. “Even if most of my freakin’ family weren’t cops, I’ve seen enough NCIS to know that.”
“Yeah, well, if that purse is there, the cops have to be the ones to find it. Not—”
My phone vibrates. It catches me off guard, and I jump so hard that both of them know I’ve gotten a message. So much for stealth.
“What’s it say?” Aaron asks.
I scan the message quickly, ready to lie and say it’s Kelsey if they’re giving me instructions to meet them alone. But it’s Dacia again. From a new number this time, but the same stupid game.
In your patience possess ye your souls.
Then:
By long patience is a prince persuaded
I text back:
Just tell me what you want me to DO!
The response:
Quietly endure, silently suffer and patiently wait
I am to WAIT, though waiting so be hell
And then it ends, just like last night. I try texting back. I try calling the number. Nothing but the out-of-service message.
I fling my phone down on the car seat. The sense of peace and wholeness Molly left behind has vanished. If I could find Dacia Badea, I’d rip her heart out with my bare hands.
“Do you think they know we’re here?” Taylor looks around nervously. “Is that why they called now?”
Aaron shakes his head, but his expression is conflicted. “I think it’s a coincidence. I usually don’t buy coincidence, but I’m not sensing any problems nearby. Well, except . . .”
“Except what?” I ask.
“Except you.” He glances down at my hands and gives me a wry grin. “It was muted because she’s not around and you know you can’t act on it, but the visual was very much like the human sacrifice in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.”
Taylor takes my phone, without so much as asking. “What’s with the word games?”
“My fault. When Dacia told me her boss didn’t like to be kept waiting, I made a smart-ass remark about patience being a virtue. Seems she’s turning the tables on me, combing the internet for every quote on patience she can find.”
She scrolls through the quotes. “Do you think they’re random? Or is there some other meaning here?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure about the last one, but the third quote is definitely Martin Luther King and the first two are from the Bible.”
“Whoa. Look at the walking Wikipedia,” Taylor says.
I ignore the snarky tone of voice and hold out my hand for my phone. “I hosted a history teacher . . . who was also a preacher’s daughter.”
Aaron types something into his phone. “That last one is Shakespeare. Sonnet fifty-eight. I don’t see any automatic connection between the quotes aside from the obvious . . . but are you sure it’s still Dacia? There’s not a single spelling error here, and the ones you showed me from last night were pretty sloppy. From what Molly said, Dacia wasn’t well educated. I guess she could be cutting and pasting from BrainyQuote or whatever, but this looks more like communications are being handled by someone else now. Someone with an ego. I mean . . . by long patience is a prince persuaded?”
I get a sick feeling in my stomach as I remember Molly talking about Graham Cregg. He seemed really full of himself. “Can we go? Let’s get this over with.”
We turn into the driveway. A light is visible toward the end, but as we approach the house, I see that it’s just an overhead streetlight. I get a flash of memory from Molly. There’s no emotion attached to it. I never get a sense of their emotions once they leave. It’s just a sterile memory of her arm being grabbed as Lucas yanked her outside, under this very same streetlight.
A For Sale sign flaps slightly in the wind, with a smaller sign attached to the bottom: Pool and Patio!
No cars are in the driveway, no lights are on inside the house. My first thought is that the place seems smaller, like it takes up less space on the lot than it did in the satellite images we browsed online. But as my eyes move toward the back of the property, I realize that’s not the issue.
The lot looks larger because the guesthouse is gone.
Aaron notices it the instant I do. “Son of a bitch.”
Taylor’s door opens and she hurries toward the backyard.
“Damn it, Tay!” Aaron glances back at me. “You might as well wait here.”
I survey the woods around the car, almost expecting to see Lucas’s face pop up at my window. “No. I’m coming with you.”
When we catch up to her, Taylor is crouched down on the brick patio, peering into the deep end of the empty swimming pool. “That’s why the pool I was sensing didn’t show up on the map. It’s new.”
Slowly, she works her way around the pool in a crab-walk, one hand brushing the inside edge.
“What are you doing?” Aaron asks.
Taylor doesn’t answer, simply keeps moving around the edge until she reaches the middle. Then she swings her legs over the side and starts crawling toward the center of the pool.
“Come on, Taylor. They’ve leveled the place! You’re not going to find any evidence now.”
She ignores him and keeps crawling. When she’s near the opposite side of the pool, she stops suddenly and sits down. H
er eyes are closed and both palms are pressed flat against the concrete beneath her. “Here.” She slides over an inch or two and pats the spot under her left hand. “It’s right here.”
“Under concrete,” he reminds her. “Surrounded by a brick patio.”
“Call Sam. See if—”
“It’s nearly one a.m. On a Sunday. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. And I don’t know if he can even get anyone to issue a warrant based on another anonymous tip.”
“If he can’t get a warrant, I’ll come back myself with a damned jackhammer. Because Molly’s pink purse is right here.”
The lack of sleep hits me hard on the drive back. Aaron, too. He keeps rolling down the window so the cool air will jolt him awake. I offered to drive, but he could see that I wasn’t in much better shape, and Taylor was out before we even reached the main highway.
I try to focus on the Order of the Phoenix again but catch myself nodding off a few times before we reach North Beach.
And I don’t want to nod off tonight. I don’t want to sleep, perchance to dream. I definitely don’t want to dream without the pills Kelsey prescribed. But if I sleep at all, it will have to be without the pills. I won’t risk taking them when there’s the chance my phone could ring, even if it’s only another round of texting Notable Quotables.
I unload the bags of supplies we picked up at a convenience store while Aaron drags Taylor out of the car. She stumbles up the stairs without speaking. He kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the sofa, as he did this morning.
“There are two other bedrooms, you know. Much more comfortable than the couch. Plus there’s a security system. If anyone comes in, we’ll have a warning.”
He glances at the door and shrugs. “The couch is fine. I’ll sleep better here.”
“You are such a liar. I sat on that sofa today and felt the springs poking my ass.”