I finally started handing her groceries to put on the conveyor belt, and she tossed them on there like she was pitching for the Sox. The grapes went flying. The can of whipped cream. Grendel’s cheese. The box of Cheerios.
By the time I paid, she was crying again, and I couldn’t wait to get back for naptime.
I was hoping Ava would sleep, too.
As I approached the car, I clicked the remote to unlock the door, and the car beeped.
Ava silenced, her watery blue eyes focused on the keychain. I clicked the unlock button again, and the car chirped. She smiled through her tears.
Aha. Music soothed the savage beast.
Grabbing the remote, she went to town, pressing the lock/unlock buttons as I lifted the trunk and started loading in groceries. She was happy as could be until she accidentally hit the alarm button, which set the car to honking obnoxiously.
Frightened, she stared at me, started crying again, and dropped the keys.
I quickly bent to grab them so I could silence the alarm. As I picked the keys up, I paused, staring at them in my palm. I had the nagging feeling my subconscious was trying to tell me something—it was the same sensation I’d had yesterday at Lillian Moore’s house.
I tried to focus on capturing that elusive crumb, but Ava’s crying was too distracting.
“Shh, shh,” I consoled, unbuckling her from the grocery carriage. I picked her up and held her close, swaying until she calmed down.
Using the back of her hand, she rubbed wildly at her nose and eyes as I tugged the carriage to the corral. It took a couple of minutes to wrangle her into her car seat—how parents did this quickly I’d never know—and by the time I turned the keys in the ignition, I was completely exhausted.
Ava, too. Her eyelids drifted closed as soon as I backed out of the parking spot, and her face went slack with sleep.
Relief. I took a deep breath and headed for home.
However, I’d driven only a few feet when the car started to vibrate and wobble. Great. A flat tire. I pulled into a space at the back of the lot, grateful it wasn’t crowded. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I smiled at the peacefully oblivious look on Ava’s face.
I set the car in park and got out. Sure enough, the front driver’s side tire was dead flat. I got back into the car while I tried to decide what to do. I had two options. Call for roadside assistance or haul the groceries out of the trunk, unearth the spare, and get to work.
Thanks to Raphael’s many tutorials, I could have the tire changed in ten minutes, and it would probably take the auto club a half hour, at least. With that decided, I rolled down all the windows and shut off the car. Pulling the keys out, I studied my key fob, feeling that unreachable memory tease again.
My phone rang as I pushed the button to pop the trunk. I grabbed my cell before it woke Ava.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“I’m heading into the lawyer’s office and called to check on Ava,” Aiden said. “Why’re you whispering?”
“She’s sleeping, and I prefer her to stay that way.”
“Why?”
I lifted the trunk lid and took out a bag, setting it on the ground. “Grocery stores and tired toddlers don’t mix.”
He laughed. “I see. Where are you now?”
“Still at Shaw’s. Well, in the parking lot.” I grabbed the huge bag of dog kibble, and my keys slipped out of my pocket. “I have a flat tire. We’ll be back on the road as soon as I get this tire changed.”
“Need me to send help?” he asked.
Bending to pick up the keys, I stared at the key fob again, and suddenly the memory I’d been searching for popped into place. It was the video I’d watched of Cat Bennett coming out of the district attorney’s office. She’d been walking with her husband, and he’d dropped the keys as he unlocked the car. A set of keys with a yellow smiley-face fob.
Just like the set of keys in Lillian’s house yesterday.
“Lucy?” Aiden asked. “You still there?”
Which would have made perfect sense, especially seeing as how we believed Lillian had stolen the keys from Cat at the office Christmas party… Because Ross Bennett had told us that was what had happened. That they had been stolen.
Yet, he was holding those same exact keys in that news footage two weeks ago.
Two. Weeks. Ago. Not months.
“Lucy!” Aiden shouted.
“I’m here.” I didn’t know quite how, but Ross Bennett was involved in what happened to Dustin. What happened to Kira. Maybe he’d framed Lillian, but most likely they’d been working together. Together stealing kids and selling them. I’d bet my last Twinkie he was the mastermind of the whole thing.
“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“We need to look into Ross Bennett, Aiden,” I said, my voice high, my words coming out in a rush. “He’s involved. He’s—” I looked at my flat tire. Adrenaline set my heart to pounding. “Oh my God. He’s coming here.”
I casually walked around the car and noted that my other tires were close to flat as well. It took everything in me not to look around, to see if I was right. If I did, Ross would know I was onto him. I quickly dug through my trunk, looking for some sort of weapon. Right now I had the element of surprise on my side.
“I don’t understand, Lucy,” Aiden said.
“It’s exactly like Danny Beckley theorized about Kira’s nearly-flat tire. Ross let the air out of my tire so I couldn’t get away.” And he had to be desperate to do it in the middle of the day. Why would he take such a risk? Then it hit me, and it hit me hard. Barely breathing, I said, “He’s coming for Ava.”
There was a moment of silence on the line before Aiden’s voice came through, loud, clear, and in command. “Lucy, sweet Jesus. Get Ava and go back in the store!”
“I don’t think there’s time.” The car seat alone would take me three minutes…
I heard him talking to someone else, telling them to get 911 on the line. “Then get in the car. Lock the doors. Can you drive on the flat?”
“I could, but I don’t think I’d get far.” Especially not with my other tires low on air as well. I had to think fast. How would Ross approach this? He’d probably offer to help me out, right? Offer to assist with the tire? Would he have a gun? A knife? How was I going to disarm him?
All I knew was that he wanted Ava. And I could not let that happen.
I knew what I had to do. My hands shook as I quickly arranged a few items in the trunk, getting them ready, and left the lid open. Quickly, I got back into the car and started it, turning on the air conditioning.
“I called for help, and I’m on my way,” Aiden said. “Keep talking to me. Don’t hang u—”
I hung up on him, dialed 911, told the dispatcher where I was, that I was being attacked, and to send police and EMTs and firefighters and anyone who could help. Leaving my phone on, I set it in the cup holder.
Taking a deep breath, I looked back at Ava, and felt a bolstering of courage. I had to do this. For her. I opened my door, hit the lock button, and slammed it behind me.
Ava was locked in.
My hands were sweating as I limped back to the trunk. I just had to stall. The police would be here soon. Three minutes. Maybe less. The station wasn’t that far.
I went about the business of pretending to change my flat. It took only a minute before a small black car pulled up in an adjacent spot. Ross had arrived.
My throat was dry, and I could barely hear my own thoughts because of the pounding of my heartbeat.
The window powered down. “Ms. Valentine?” Ross said. “I thought that was you. Small world.”
I forced a smile. “Ross? It is a small world. How’re you doing? How’s Cat?”
I listened for the sounds of sirens, pleaded silently to hear them. But I only heard regular traffic noise.
Dark circles colored the skin under his eyes. He shook his head. “It’s not looking good.”
“I’m so sorry.” You lying, psych
opathic monster. My mind spun, trying to figure out what had happened to his wife. My best guess was that Cat had called him on Thursday morning after Kira confronted her. Probably because she was on to the truth. That he had to be involved because she’d been out of town when Dustin was taken… It made my stomach ache, thinking about how he’d left his wife in that basement to die.
“You have a flat?” he asked, even though he was parked on the passenger side of my car and couldn’t possibly see the tire.
“Yeah, I called my auto club, but it’s going to be half an hour before they can get here, and well, I have a little one in the car and don’t want to wait that long. Thought I’d tackle it myself.”
“Need help?”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you need to get back to the hospital.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, getting out of his car.
I noticed he left it running. It felt as though my heart was going to pound straight out of my chest. Where were the damn sirens?
“Did you say you had a little one?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves as he walked over. He cupped his hands and looked into the backseat. “She’s cute.” He tried the door. “It’s locked?”
“Oh, it’s set so that only the driver’s door unlocks when I put the car in park,” I explained. “You can never be too safe with carjackers and stuff. But the spare tire is back here.”
I played dumb pretty well, I thought.
He came over to me, stood close. His eyes looked so kind behind his glasses. If I hadn’t known better, I’d truly believe he was a Good Samaritan.
I knew better.
When I reached into the trunk as though I was going after the spare, I suddenly felt a sharp jab in my stomach. I looked over. He held a gun under my ribcage.
“You’re going to get the girl and get in my car.”
My gaze flew to his. “What’s going on?”
His eyes hardened into snake-like slits. “For a psychic, you’re kind of lame.”
Now he was taking things too far. I feigned confusion. “Ross, I don’t underst—”
“Shut up. Get the girl and get in the car.” He jerked my arm.
In a flash, I brought my hand up and sprayed whipped cream into his face. Surprised, he let out a cry, frantically wiping his eyes. I took advantage of his distress and grabbed the tire iron. I hit his arm that held the gun as hard as I could, wincing as I heard bone crack.
He let out a howl of pain, dropped the gun and grabbed his wrist. I kicked the gun under the car just as I heard a siren in the distance. His head jerked up at the plaintive wail, and he spun around to jump back into his car. I stuck my boot out and tripped him. He went sprawling, hitting his head on his bumper.
Moaning, he writhed on the ground.
The sound of sirens grew louder and louder as I rushed over to his car, reached in, and grabbed the keys. I chucked them as far as I could.
Feet apart, I held the tire iron out in front of me like a sword, ready to gut him if I had to. That was the way I was standing when the first police car showed up. And the second, third, and fourth.
As officers jumped out of their cruisers, guns drawn, I glanced into my backseat.
Ava was still sound asleep.
24
Almost two weeks later, life was almost back to normal as I sat on a bench overlooking a crowded Connecticut beach.
Well, as normal as my life could be. After all, I was due back at my place this evening for a groundbreaking celebration, to kick off the renovations of my cottage, which were set to begin bright and ungodly early on Monday morning.
Even though I didn’t think the remodel party worthy, Dovie insisted, and I was in no position to tell her no after deceiving her. Or so she told me repeatedly—every chance she got.
Normal would have to wait, too, until the last few loose ends were wrapped up in Kira’s case. Then I could put it behind me for good. Examine my scars, mental and physical, and tuck it away as another case solved. Another bad guy brought to justice.
It was a hot Saturday afternoon, the sun was shining, the ocean sparkling. Wind sent my hair into my face, and I kept pushing it back as I watched a family of three build a sandcastle. Today was a day to tackle one of those loose ends.
Patty Keefe gripped my hand tightly, and I didn’t even mind. I’d signed her out of the hospice for the trip down here, a three-hour drive, round trip.
Worth every second to bring a little closure.
She sat next to me on the bench, a rolling oxygen tank next to her. “He looks…so happy,” she said, watching her grandson shovel sand into a neon-green bucket.
“He does.” Happy and healthy.
A floppy hat shaded his face, and his fish-printed bathing shorts were sagging, even though he’d put on some weight. He didn’t look scrawny and underfed anymore. A woman kept applying sunscreen to his pale skin, and he wiggled, trying to get back to playing.
The woman was Cecelia Wright. Her husband Neil was nearby, busy hauling buckets of water from the ocean. Cecelia tied the little boy’s shorts more tightly, and he ran off, trotting alongside his father, his toothy smile flashing as he laughed.
Almost six months ago, Cecelia, a graphic designer, and Neil, a dentist, adopted a bright-eyed, light-haired little boy through a Boston baby broker, who charged them a small fortune. A price they were more than willing to pay after years of failed infertility treatments.
That broker had been Ross Bennett, using an assumed name.
The Wrights had no idea their little boy, Brandon, was Dustin McDaniel, a stolen child. I wouldn’t say they were entirely guilt-free as they didn’t seem to do much digging into Ross’s background, but they were too overjoyed at the possibility of having a family to question where the child had truly come from.
Desperation often wore blinders.
Because I could only see images through Dustin’s eyes, it had taken me nearly a week of scent readings on the baby blanket Patty had crocheted to locate the town where he was living. Another three days of investigating his new family. A day to drive down here and scope out the situation. And one day to get enough courage up to broach Patty with my suggestion.
Now here we were, sitting on a bench, watching Neil scoop up Dustin and buzz him around like an airplane. Dustin screamed with happiness.
Patty squeezed my hand. Tears welled in her eyes.
I blinked and looked away, watching the white-capped surf slam against the shore. The water was dotted with swimmers.
My phone rang, and I checked the readout. Aiden.
To Patty, I said, “I’ll be right back.”
She patted my hand. “Take your time. I’m happy right here.”
I stood and answered the call, limping a little farther down the sandy boardwalk, searching for privacy.
“Where are you?” Aiden asked.
“The beach,” I said, glad I didn’t have to lie. “How’d it go?”
“Strange. Shocking.”
I glanced at Dustin, who was back to shoveling sand. He crouched, focused on the task at hand, oblivious to all around him. I looked at Patty, whose skin was so thin it was nearly translucent. Her heart was in her eyes as she watched his every move.
I’d found Dustin only because of the blanket that Patty had crocheted. After the showdown with me in the Shaw’s parking lot, and being arrested on a multitude of charges ranging from attempted kidnapping to murder, Ross Bennett hired a fancy lawyer and clammed up. Way up. He absolutely refused to talk. Not about Kira’s murder. And certainly not about the missing children.
However, Lillian Moore had finally come out of her coma and was more than willing to spill her guts. Her attorney cut a deal with the district attorney’s office in exchange for her testimony.
Her interview was today. I wasn’t invited—it was a meeting reserved for detectives and attorneys only.
Sea oats swayed in the stiff breeze. “How so?”
“First shocker was that she and Ross were a couple. Started see
ing each other on the sly after meeting at the CFC office Christmas party, a year and a half ago.”
I recalled the photo on the mantel at the Bennetts’ house. I wondered if Ross smirked at it every time he walked by.
“He reeled her in hook, line, and sinker with his big plans to save the world,” Aiden explained. “Threw around a lot of sociology terminology as to why the majority of the kids in the system would continue the cycle and never make anything of themselves.”
“That’s not true.”
“We know that, but Lillian was smitten and believed everything that came out of his mouth, including that he planned to eventually leave Cat. When he first brought up the idea of rescuing,” he emphasized the word, “at-risk children to make sure they went to good homes, she readily agreed. She wanted to save the kids, and if they made a few dollars on the deal, all the better. By the way, they have a secret account set up that has several hundred thousand dollars in it.”
I thought of all the babies that represented and my stomach turned.
Aiden said, “Between him wheedling information from Cat about her case files, and Lillian’s access to databases and office gossip…it was a match ripe for baby brokering. I think Ross had this plan in place for years, Lucy. He just needed a willing accomplice.”
“Did they set out to frame Cat?” They’d used her car in the kidnappings, after all. If it had been identified sooner…
“I don’t think so. She was an easy scapegoat if they happened to get caught. Oh, and the first couple of kids they bought. Paid willing parents a few thousand dollars. Then they decided it would be easy enough to take some of the kids…”
It was all so twisted. A couple brushed past me, carrying a cooler, towels, and chairs. I turned and walked back toward Patty and threw another glance at Dustin. “Was Ross really trying to save the kids?”
“No.” There was a pause before he added, “It was money all along, something Lillian discovered only when he set his sights on kidnapping Ava. Lillian couldn’t understand why Ross wanted Ava, because Kira was a more-than-competent parent, but she went along with it even though it seemed dangerous, because Kira was a public persona. But he claimed that with the sale of Ava, he’d have enough money to leave Cat. The going rate for blond-haired, blue-eyed babies, by the way, is one hundred thousand dollars.”