I recalled reading that he’d been taken away at that point and only given back after Alisha completed a court-ordered drug program.
“Dustin was removed from her home once more after that, wasn’t he?” Sean asked.
“Yes. Alisha was partying and got carried away. Forgot he was outside in his playpen. She was arrested again, and the CFC took custody of Dustin. I couldn’t take him in because I was going through chemo at the time, so he went to a foster home. After rehab, Alisha got him back and vowed to change her ways. And she did. For a while. Until I got the news right before Thanksgiving that the chemo hadn’t worked.” She looked off to the side, her eyes unfocused. “Apparently, she went back to drugs instead of dealing with her emotions, and I didn’t see it because I was too busy taking care of myself. I accepted her excuses as to why I couldn’t see him because it was easier on me emotionally and physically than to investigate.” Her fingers grabbed the afghan, squeezing it tightly. “Maybe Dustin would still be here…”
I struggled to find something to say that didn’t sound trite. All I could manage was, “I’m sorry.”
Looking haunted, she blinked back tears. “Do you think you can really find out what happened to him?”
“We’re going to do our best,” I said. Someone laughed in the hallway, completely at odds with the tension in this room.
Patty’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s what that reporter said, too, and look what happened to her.”
“You spoke with Kira Fitzpatrick?” I asked.
Patty let go of the afghan and adjusted the heating pad. “She was here on Thursday morning, all excited that she was close to cracking the case. Do you think she’s dead?”
Her words knocked me backward, as though she had physically shoved me. Even though it was a possibility I’d thought about a hundred times since Aiden and Ava appeared on my doorstep, hearing it said aloud seemed so harsh. “We don’t know,” I answered honestly.
I learned from Aiden that detectives from across the state were following up on tips about Kira’s whereabouts. Supposedly there had been various sightings between the Cape all the way up to Portland, Maine. I hoped one of them proved accurate. I wanted to believe that Kira was alive and well and simply hiding.
“Do you know what happened to Dustin’s belongings?” I asked. “His toys, his clothes, that kind of thing?”
“I assume the apartment manager threw it all away after Alisha died.” She swallowed hard.
“She never…” I bit my lip. “She never confessed anything to you, did she?”
“No.” Patty looked up at the ceiling before turning her attention back to us. “Until the day she died, she swore up and down that the CFC had taken him away. She begged me to believe her. I wanted to…so badly. I still want to.” Her eyes glistened. “But I have to face reality. The CFC didn’t take him.”
My stomach ached. “Was Alisha violent? Had she ever hurt him that you knew about?”
“No!” she said emphatically. “If I thought for a moment that she’d hurt him, I’d have called the CFC myself. Maybe she left him outside again and someone took him? Maybe he wandered away? There’s that pond near the apartments… Maybe one of her lowlife roommates did something? Or maybe,” she swallowed hard, “maybe…”
She couldn’t finish the thought. There were a lot of maybes. All of them tragic.
“Do you have anything of Dustin’s?” Sean asked, his voice low. Solemn. “Something he may have left at your house at some point? Clothing? A stuffed animal? A blanket?”
Her eyes lit again. “I had a blanket.” Motioning to the throw blanket on her lap, she added, “I made it for him. His was blue with a white border. It was the only thing of his I brought with me when I moved here. Everything else was donated.”
“Had?” I asked, latching onto the idea of that blanket for dear life. “What happened to it?”
“I gave it to Ms. Fitzpatrick,” she said. “On Thursday.”
Sean leaned in. “Why?”
“As a favor to me. If she found out what happened to him, if I’m gone… If he’s gone…” She paused, biting her lip. “I wanted him to be buried with it, to have something familiar with him, so he wouldn’t be…alone. A part of me would be with him, too.”
The ache in her tone tore at my heart. “You made the blanket for him?”
“Every stitch.”
Glancing at Sean, I smiled, hope blooming. “If I find the blanket, not only might we find Kira but Dustin as well.”
“I don’t understand,” Patty said.
I explained how I could locate items through touch and scent. Before I even finished talking, she’d lifted her hands, offering them up to me.
“Think about that blanket, Ms. Keefe.” Sucking in a deep breath, I took hold of her chilled, frail, and nearly lifeless hands and closed my eyes.
Within seconds, a scene played out in my mind, taking me on a dizzying journey. I tried to focus on what I was seeing, the bits and blurs. It appeared as though the blanket was in a cardboard box in the back of a moving SUV. Concentrating as hard as I could, I tried to see a landmark and who was driving. I was taken aback to see two grade-school-age kids sitting in the backseat, watching a video. A big dog, a retriever, had his nose stuck out the window.
Silently, I willed the driver to look up, so I could glimpse a reflection in the rearview mirror. And when she did, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I released Patty’s hands and fought off the wave of dizziness that always came with visions. “The good news is that I know who has the blanket.”
“Kira?” Sean asked.
“No. It’s with Nya Rodriguez.”
“Who?” Patty asked.
The wooziness was subsiding. “She’s Kira’s producer at Channel 3.”
Patty rolled the afghan between her fingers again. “Why does she have it?”
“It was in a box of pictures and awards, that kind of thing. My best guess is that when Kira was fired and rushed out of the building on Thursday, Nya boxed Kira’s personal effects to give to her later. That box is still in the back of Nya’s SUV.”
“You said that was the good news…what’s the bad?” Sean asked, watching me carefully.
“It looks like Nya’s on vacation,” I said. “There was luggage in the back of the SUV as well as that box, and she was driving north. I saw a sign for the Mount Washington cog railway.” Which was in New Hampshire. She was already three hours away.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Sean said. “Kira’s disappearance is the biggest story Channel 3 might ever have. Why would Nya up and leave now?”
He was right. It didn’t make sense. “I don’t know. I think the only person who can answer that is Nya. We need to find her.”
15
Twenty minutes later, I’d added Nya to my list of missing people.
She wasn’t answering her phone. I’d already left two voicemails to call me back as soon as possible and hoped she wasn’t staying in the wilds of New Hampshire with no cell coverage. I’d called Channel 3 to see if anyone knew where she had gone but no one had any idea.
Sean adjusted his hat and stifled a yawn as we walked up the brick path to Cat Bennett’s front door. The house was a well-tended split level with a neatly-tended front yard. There was a sporty black car in the driveway, but no sign of the blue car with the smiley face ball on its antenna.
The dark clouds had moved past without a drop of rain falling. Sunbeams poked through thin clouds, spotlighting beautiful yellow rosebushes lining the walk.
“After this, we’ll head home for a while,” I said, noting the growing darkness beneath his eyes. “Get something to eat, make sure my mother hasn’t brought in a wrecking ball, make some calls, and rest a little bit before going to see Aiden at the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Didn’t say you weren’t.” I crutched up to the concrete landing.
“I know you, Ms. Valentine. ‘Rest’ is code for ‘naptime.’”
r />
“If it is, why do you assume I’m talking about you? I’m exhausted. My stomach hurts, my armpits are chafed from these damn crutches, and I can’t wait to get this boot off so I can scratch my calf to my heart’s content.”
His eyes narrowed, then his lip twitched.
“You don’t believe me?” I lifted my arm. “Look, look at this chafing.”
The front door flew open, and a man I recognized from news footage as Cat’s husband, Ross Bennett, stood in the doorway, staring straight at my armpit.
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks as I quickly dropped my arm. “Hi.”
He looked worse for the wear. Red-rimmed bronze-colored eyes. Thick stubble. Messy reddish-blond hair. Smudged eyeglasses. His shirt was stained, his jeans torn. Confusion flashed as he tipped his head. “Do I know you?”
Introducing myself, I quickly held out my ID. Sean added his to the mix. I said, “We’re here to speak to Cat Bennett.”
He folded his arms across a muscled chest. “You’re kidding.” He looked at Sean. “She’s kidding, right?”
“No,” Sean said.
Ross took off his glasses and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I cannot even freaking believe this.”
Glancing at Sean, I raised my eyebrows in question. He shrugged. Finally, I said, “Is Cat here?”
As Ross put his glasses back on, I saw tears pooling on his lower lashes. “No, she’s not here. I can’t find her. Anywhere. I filed a report, and sure, the police came out and looked around and asked some questions, but they say she’s an adult and can voluntarily leave anytime she wants. Only I know Cat. Cat wouldn’t just leave. Even with all this stuff going on with her job. And definitely not without her medication—she’s diabetic. When I saw your ID, I thought for a second that you were actually here to help me find her. How stupid of me to think someone might actually want to help. Why are you here? To pester her about that missing little boy again? She’s already answered everyone’s questions.”
Elliman Bay’s words echoed in my head. “A forewarning… When I last spoke to her, she wasn’t in the best frame of mind.”
I bit my lip. “Well, yes, but we might be able to help you find her. Can we come in?”
He tossed his hands in the air and spun around, leaving the door open behind him.
Sean said softly, “Kira, Dustin, two other little kids, Nya, and now Cat all missing? What in the hell is going on?”
At this point I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I had a bad feeling about it all, one that twisted and twined around my soul, squeezing it tight.
Sean closed the door behind us as we followed Ross into the living area. He sank into a leather recliner, and motioned for us to sit on the couch.
Behind him, a brick fireplace was stained with soot. The mantel was decorated with grapevine, candles, and several photos of Cat and Ross. In each, the couple mugged for the camera, looking happy and carefree. It was a far cry from the way he looked now.
“How long has Cat been missing?” I asked.
“Since Thursday afternoon. I got a call at work from her at eleven, completely hysterical. She asked me to come home. I cancelled my class—I’m a professor at Plymouth Bay College,” he said by way of explanation. “But I hit traffic and by the time I made it home, she wasn’t here. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Why was she upset?” Sean asked.
I noticed another photo on the mantel, a group shot that looked like it was taken at a Christmas party. Ross had his arm slung around Cat, who stood next to Elliman, two other women, and the receptionist I’d seen earlier today. Not long after that joyous picture, Dustin had gone missing. It made me feel ill that an agency created to do so much good had messed up so badly.
Ross clenched his jaw. “Because that reporter cornered her in the grocery store parking lot, peppering her with questions about her car and her whereabouts and it freaked Cat out.”
“Reporter? Kira Fitzpatrick?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” he said. “She’s been harassing Cat for a couple of weeks now. I’d like to give her a piece of my mind. I mean, no one blames Cat for what happened to that little boy more than Cat herself. It’s eating her up. She doesn’t need the reminder of her mistakes day in and day out. The phone calls. The drop-by visits. If anything’s happened to Cat, I blame that woman and her badgering.”
Sean’s eyebrows dipped. “You do know Kira Fitzpatrick is missing, right?”
Ross’s shoulders stiffened as Sean’s words registered. “What?”
“She’s missing,” Sean said again. “Disappeared on Thursday night.”
“Thursday?” Ross echoed.
“It’s been on the news,” I said, wondering if Cat could possibly have had anything to do with Kira’s disappearance. Kira had been awfully interested in Cat’s car, and we’d heard from several people that Kira claimed she’d been close to solving the case. Had talking with Cat on Thursday morning been the turning point for Kira?
Ross dragged a hand down his face. “I haven’t been watching the news. I’ve been looking for my wife.”
I waited for the moment he realized the two events might be related and saw it as the color drained from his face. He, however, said nothing, probably not wanting to implicate Cat.
“Do you know if Cat came home after the run-in with Kira Fitzpatrick?” Sean asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She called me from the grocery store lot. She said she was going home…”
“Is anything missing here? Like she packed a bag and left?” I asked. It was possible she’d run away. I’d give almost anything to know what she and Kira discussed.
“No clothes or anything like that,” he said. “Her car is gone, her purse, her phone. That’s it. The phone has been turned off—calls go straight to voicemail. Our bank account shows no new transactions.”
Sean said, “Aside from being upset by the confrontation at the grocery store, how was Cat’s frame of mind?”
I recognized his tactic. We knew from Elliman Bay that Cat had been depressed, but would her husband be honest with us?
Sighing, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, she was…fragile. Ever since she learned that little boy was missing, she’s blamed herself. She’s barely eating. Barely sleeping. She finally went to a doctor a week ago. He prescribed a depression medication.”
“Does she have it with her?” I asked.
“It’s sitting on her nightstand.” His wrung his hands.
Sean said, “I hate to ask this, but do you think she’d harm herself?”
“I—” His voice cracked. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. She wasn’t herself…” He gave himself a good shake as though he could slough off his uncertainty. “How can you help?” he asked. “The police said there’s nothing they can do until we get some sort of lead. Her using a credit card or something like that.”
I gave him my standard speech about my abilities, how they worked, and my role with the state police. “With Cat, our chances are really good that I can find her. I can usually get a reading from wedding rings, because in my world, they’re gifts you give each other. I can probably smell an item of her clothing to get a scent reading to find out where she is, and is her car in both your names?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Then it belongs to you, too, so I can find where it is.”
One of his eyebrows lifted in skepticism. “You can really do that?”
“I really can,” I said. “Are you willing to do a reading?”
“Yeah, of course.” He still sounded distrustful.
I was used to nonbelievers. It came with the job. I hopped over and sat on his chair’s ottoman. “I need you to focus on that wedding ring, and I should be able to read its energy through your palm.”
“Okay,” he said under his breath.
His hands were clammy as I rested my palms on top of his. In a flash, I saw the platinum wedding band, sitting alongside a solitaire diamond r
ing. I drew my hands back and looked around. “Does Cat take her rings off when washing dishes?”
“Yeah. How’d you—”
“Her rings are sitting in a little dish next to the kitchen sink.”
Ross jumped up and jogged into the kitchen. He came back a second later with the rings in his hand. “She must’ve forgotten to put them back on. That happens sometimes.”
“Does she wear any other jewelry? Something you gave her as a gift?”
He shook his head.
“Well, let’s try a reading on the car. It’s blue, right? With a smiley ball on the antenna?”
He slowly sank back onto the chair. “How’d you know that?”
“Came up in our investigation.” I said. “Do you know if Cat was working on January third?”
After a second, he said, “I can’t recall exactly when she went back after the holiday. Why?”
Sean said, “Someone may have seen her at Dustin McDaniel’s house that day.”
“Impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “She openly admits she hadn’t seen him since December. Who’s saying this? What’s to gain from it?”
What was to gain? I hoped the truth, but I understood him trying to protect his wife. Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I tried to diffuse his growing unease. “It’s just a loose end. Now, think about that car, okay?”
Faint wrinkles pulled at the corners of his downturned lips. He held out his hands. “All right.”
I set my palms on top of his and closed my eyes. It took only a moment to see the blue car, and I easily recognized the location where it was parked. “It’s at the Quincy Adams T station.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Ross said, shaking his head. “What’s it doing there? Did you see Cat?”
“No. Do you have something with her scent on it? A pillow? A shirt?”