Virtue Falls

  “Then maybe it was convenient. But it was real.”

  She chewed her lip, seeking a way out of this well-planned maze.

  “Wanting to forget a tragedy is not a shame. It’s a blessing. His mind rejects it. Your mind discarded it.” Garik took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s normal. If you hadn’t forgotten, you would be forever in pain. Your young mind chose life. Your father’s older mind couldn’t discard the memories so easily. I find it fascinating that he still recalls the important parts of his life.”

  “You’ve really thought about this.”

  Garik glanced at her in surprise. “I was in the FBI. We’re taught to think about it. Our mission is to catch the bad guys, and to do that, we have to understand them, walk in their shoes, then outsmart them. Did you really think it was all gun battles and testosterone?”

  “If I were to try and understand you when we were married, I would say the distance that I felt from you was the wall you set up to prevent me from experiencing the ugliness of the rapists and the killers.”

  “And the child abusers.”

  “Why would you shut me out like that?”

  He pulled over to the side of the road. “You had suffered the kind of trauma no child should ever have to face. On some level, you remembered it. I mean, yes, people faint at the sight of blood. But look at you. The color’s draining from your face at the mere mention. And after that time in the hospital, when I was shot and you fell so hard you got a concussion—do you remember your nightmares? You woke up screaming night after night, terrified of some man who stalked you with bloody scissors.”

  He was right. Even now, she felt suffocated, unable to catch a breath.

  He continued, “There’s something there in your mind, and you’re afraid to see it.”

  “I’m not…” But she couldn’t deny she was afraid. She was. So afraid of the darkness that hid, shivering, in her subconscious. “I think sometimes I would rather face the truth than be such a coward. Then I push toward the memories, and I unravel like an old sweater in the dryer. I think I can’t be whole until I know, and then I think I’m fine with a piece taken out of me.”

  “You are fine, and not a coward at all. You’re one of the bravest women I know. Why do you think I didn’t ask your father to go on and recall the scene of the murder? I can’t do that while you’re in the room.” He caressed her shoulder. “You don’t need another concussion.”

  “We should go back and I’ll remain outside the room.”

  “How about if I drive you back to the resort and let you lie down, and I’ll do a little research?”

  She wished she didn’t feel sick … but she did. Sick with terror and anticipation, and all from talking about the blood. Her mother’s blood, all over the carpet, and her father reaching for her, crooning her name, a pair of bloody scissors in his hand …

  “Or we can go on and talk to Yvonne about the attack on her?” Garik suggested.

  Elizabeth nodded, and closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

  From the power panel on his side of the truck, Garik rolled down her window, put the car into gear, and drove.

  She breathed deeply. The wind came through the window, cool enough to dry the sick sweat off her forehead and upper lip.

  When she sighed, opened her eyes, and pushed her hair out of her eyes, he said, “I do want you to remember something. Your father hasn’t told one single story that you haven’t had the photo to verify. He might be making it all up—but he’s making it up to fit the photos you have. The photos he didn’t know that you had, and that he hasn’t seen in twenty-three years.”

  “So now we’re back to it again … if my father didn’t kill my mother, who did?”

  “Someone had better find out, huh?” He shot her a smile. “Good thing your former husband is a former FBI agent. He’s got contacts on the force.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Garik and Elizabeth stepped quietly through the door of Yvonne’s hospital room; they had been warned, and warned sternly, that they were not to disturb her if she was sleeping.

  But she wasn’t. Or rather, one moment she rested on the stack of pillows with her eyes closed, and the next she sat straight up, staring at them in a wild panic.

  Elizabeth halted in her tracks. “Yvonne? Are you okay?”

  A white bandage covered half of Yvonne’s head: one eye, one cheekbone, most of her scalp and forehead. Bruising extended below the bandage into her lips and down to her chin. She looked wild, fierce—and terrified.

  Garik stepped back and put up his hands to show he had nothing in them.

  “Oh. It’s you two.” Yvonne withered back onto the pillows. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know you’re not killers. But they’ve got me on painkillers and the meds make me loopy. Whenever I drop off and someone comes into the room, I think it’s … him again, come to finish the job.”

  “Yvonne, don’t worry. We completely understand.” Garik’s voice was almost operatic in its warm, slow sincerity.

  “I know you do. Better than anyone, you understand.” She wasn’t looking at Elizabeth, but at Garik, and she nodded in timid, nervous little dips, the kind that made Elizabeth’s heart bleed for her.

  Elizabeth went to the bed and took her hand. “The medical staff weren’t going to let us in because we’re not family, so Garik told them he was your cousin. I don’t think they believed him, but they must have decided we were harmless.”

  Yvonne tried to smile. “Probably. They know I need somebody. I haven’t had many visitors. I don’t have family here. John is still gone. My friends at Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility are all working. I was just wishing I had someone to sit with me.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s fingers.

  Garik moved at the foot of the bed. “How many stitches did it take to close the wound?”

  “Quite a few.” Yvonne touched the bandage self-consciously. “Because he … when he twisted the knife, he did a lot of damage. Shredded the skin.”

  “Oh, God,” Elizabeth whispered.

  Garik pushed a chair under Elizabeth’s bottom.

  Thankfully, Elizabeth sank down.

  Yvonne continued, “Since the cut’s on my face, putting it back together was delicate work. I really should have had a plastic surgeon, but the one who visits this hospital is stuck in Denver and can’t get home.”

  Garik walked to the other side of the bed. “Can you tell me anything about your assailant?”

  “No.” Yvonne closed her eye. “I didn’t see him. His face was covered by a ski mask.”

  “I know you don’t want to remember.” Garik leaned over Yvonne, his voice warm, slow, kind. “But it’s important. What did you see? What color was his skin? Was he thin? Fat? Broad-shouldered? You smelled his breath—did he smoke cigarettes or weed? Did he smell like frying grease, or a hospital, or wet paint? What did his voice sound like?”

  Yvonne’s hand trembled in Elizabeth’s. She turned her head and looked at Garik. “Last night, I answered all these questions for Sheriff Foster. Can’t you get the information from him?”

  “Sheriff Foster and I are not the best of friends.” Garik smiled with such charm Yvonne visibly relaxed onto her pillows. “Add to that I think he’s a crappy law enforcement officer and I told him so—”

  “You didn’t.” Yvonne laughed a little.

  “I did.” Garik waggled his hands back and forth. “Imagine my surprise when he didn’t take it too well. Anyway, I want to hear it all from you.” Garik got very serious again, and very quickly. “I want to catch this guy, for you and for whoever else he might attack.”

  Yvonne’s one eye filled with tears.

  Elizabeth leaped to the side table and pulled a tissue out of the box, and handed it to her.

  Yvonne dabbed at her tears, and her voice wobbled. “I don’t want to remember it again. But I can’t … I can’t forget it anyway. I wish I could. God. I wish I could.”

  “I know. I don’t blame you. If there was any other wa
y I could find all this out, I would. But it’s got to come from you. I have to hear it from you. I promise, if you tell me, you’ll be helping immensely.”

  Elizabeth stared at Garik. She had never before seen him use his voice, his stance, his words to cajole a witness. This was a side of his job she had never imagined, one that took every gentle skill and dexterity. He understood what it was to be a victim, and he used that understanding to get what he needed.

  It seemed every time she turned around, she was learning more and more about Garik … and falling more and more in love with the man who commanded her body, and her heart.

  “We’ll start with just one thing,” Garik said. “You can do that, can’t you, Yvonne? Just one. Tell me about his voice.”

  Yvonne answered obediently, “His voice was hoarse, but I think he was doing that deliberately to disguise it.”

  “Any accent? Foreign? Southern? New York or Boston?”

  “No. He sounded like he grew up here.”

  Garik nodded encouragingly. “That’s important.”

  “He smelled clean, like soap. Maybe a little smoky…” Yvonne frowned as she tried to remember. “Smoky, and like some kind of fuel.”

  “Fuel.” Garik seemed in doubt.

  “My husband’s a trucker,” Yvonne insisted. “He almost smelled like diesel. But not quite. Something else.”

  “Okay. That’s good. Very helpful.” Garik hovered protectively over the bed. He used that soft, slow, hypnotic voice, and he kept eye contact with Yvonne. “Is it possible it was a woman?”

  Yvonne frowned. “Not unless it was a very husky woman.” She strained to recall the attack. “No. What kind of woman could overcome me like that?”

  “One with a background in mud wrestling?” Garik suggested.

  Yvonne chuckled huskily, and relaxed again.

  Garik poured her a glass of ice water, helped her sit up, and gave her a sip. “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you. The meds are giving me dry mouth and talking about the … the attack is making me … I’m hyperventilating a little.”

  “That’s completely understandable. Elizabeth, would you go wet a washcloth so we can help Yvonne freshen up a little?” Garik never glanced at Elizabeth; all his attention remained on Yvonne.

  Elizabeth went in the bathroom to do as he asked, and as she returned she heard him say, “It’s tough being a nurse, isn’t it? You always know exactly what’s wrong with you.”

  “It’s true,” Yvonne said.

  Elizabeth dabbed at Yvonne’s swollen lips, and stroked the cool cloth across her cheek.

  Yvonne closed her eye. “That feels good,” she said. But she mumbled.

  “She’s getting tired,” Elizabeth whispered to Garik.

  He waved the cloth away, and leaned closer to Yvonne. Very quietly, he said, “We’re almost done now. Just a couple of more questions. Can you do that?”

  Yvonne didn’t open her eyes, but she nodded.

  “How about his skin?” Garik asked. “What did you see?”

  “He was completely covered. Dark leather bomber jacket—the collar was worn almost white. Jeans, I think. Boots. Leather gloves. The ski mask.”

  “Did you catch any glimpse of him at all? Just an impression.”

  Elizabeth kept absolutely still, enthralled and desperate not to interrupt.

  “White. He was white. And his eyes.” Yvonne’s voice got breathy. “I saw his eyes. Through the holes. In the mask. They burned. He was … crazy, I think. Not like our patients when they have dementia, but livid, focused … his eyes burned. I don’t know another way to say that.” She clutched the sheet and pulled it up to her neck. “I would recognize his eyes anywhere.”

  “It’s okay,” Garik said softly. “He can’t get you here.”

  Yvonne began to shiver. “I know. I’m safe here.”

  Elizabeth pulled the blanket at the foot of the bed over the top of her and tucked it in.

  Garik nodded his thanks, and still spoke to Yvonne. “Yes, you’re safe here.”

  His assurance seemed to comfort Yvonne.

  “Did you tell Sheriff Foster what you told me about your assailant’s eyes?” Garik asked.

  “No. Sheriff Foster was impatient, in a hurry, and the memory was too … creepy.” Yvonne shivered again.

  “You did exactly right.” Garik gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Just promise me you won’t tell anyone else about the eyes.”

  “I won’t. I haven’t told anyone at all, excerpt you … and that reporter.”

  Garik froze. “Reporter?”

  “That nice young man.” Yvonne smiled, and at last relaxed. “What’s his name? Noah. Noah Griffin.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  “I know the reporter. I met him. Noah Griffin is a pleasant man, and if I ask him not to publish his report, I’m sure he’ll do as I ask.” Elizabeth wasn’t at all sure, but Garik looked so grim, so worried, she was moved to reassure him.

  Garik drove into Virtue Falls, slowing for the ever-increasing stream of pedestrians. “Have you ever had dealings with the press?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

  “Of course I have.” She thought back on the past. “And not good ones. I still say Noah Griffin’s not a bad man.”

  “He’s already sent the story.”

  “Maybe. That depends on whether he has a stable Internet connection, though, so if we can catch him…” A thought niggled at her. “When did you have dealings with the press?”

  “My expulsion from the FBI could possibly be blamed on the press.” He slid a glance toward her. “But mostly the fault is mine. As I told you … I turned into my father.”

  “Stop being mysterious. Tell me what you did.”

  “I’m not being mysterious!”

  “Then tell me what you did.”

  “I will.” As the number of people on foot became a crowd, he slowed more. “But not here. Not now … What is going on?”

  She stared at the pedestrians toward the center of town. “The circus has come to town?”

  They turned the corner toward the square. “Apparently you’re right.” Seated high in the truck, he and Elizabeth could see what was causing the commotion.

  In the intersection, on the pavement, a large commercial helicopter rested on its struts. The blades slowly rotated. A man and a woman, both dressed in fashionable black, stood outside the open cargo doors, handing out plastic gallons of water and brown paper bags filled with … Elizabeth didn’t know what. Something that convinced all of Virtue Falls’ population they should stand in line to receive it.

  “It’s Bradley and Vivian Hoff,” Elizabeth said.

  Garik’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. I haven’t seen them in years, but trendy folks that they are, I should have recognized them.” He looked Bradley Hoff over, sizing him up as Misty’s possible lover—and killer. Both were certainly possible. The guy was handsome in a polished, actor kind of way. He was decently tall, about five-ten, and slender; he wore clothes well. But he was toned, too, for his expensive golf shirt bared arms that bulged with muscle. If Garik remembered correctly, his hair used to be brown. Now it was black, and was cut in a boyishly tousled style that took an entire can of hairspray to achieve.

  But Garik was being cynical. He didn’t like Hoff for the same reasons the critics hated him; he was slick in his pursuit of success, kissing babies and old women to sell paintings and coffee table books. That didn’t mean he was a killer, and personally, Garik thought the guy was too scared of his wife to cheat on her.

  At least, if he was smart, he was scared. Vivian Hoff didn’t look as if she kissed babies. She looked as if she made babies cry … with a single smile.

  “They swooped in … in a helicopter?” Elizabeth was half-amused, half-appalled. “They brought supplies like you did, and nobody noticed you, but everyone worships them?”

  “Bradley Hoff is Nature’s Artist. He’s the town’s golden boy—and I’m not. Beside, look.” Garik indicated the prett
y young woman flitting around the Hoffs, taking artfully posed photos. “They brought their own photographer. I failed to do that.”

  “Wow. That’s … shrewd and … weird.”

  “They’re brilliant.” The crowds made it impossible to safely keep the truck in motion, so he parked at the curb. “They’ll get national publicity for this. And that’s what they care about, isn’t it?”

  “They might care about the people in town.”

  He stared at her, eyebrows raised.

  “It is great publicity,” she admitted.

  Garik got out, walked around, and helped her out.

  Rainbow slipped through the crowd to stand next to Elizabeth. “So even you came in to see what was going on.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the paper bag in Rainbow’s hand. “And even you got a bag of whatever they’re distributing.”

  Rainbow opened the bag. “Toilet paper. A can of tuna. Dried beans. Tampons. Flashlight. Fresh batteries. Hershey bars. Some other stuff.”

  Elizabeth turned to Garik. “There’s where you went wrong. You didn’t bring tampons. Or Hershey bars.”

  For the first time since they had left the hospital, he grinned. “My mistake.”

  “We missed their arrival.” Elizabeth nodded toward the square. “What happened?”

  “It was spectacular. About two hours ago, the helicopter made its first pass. It swooped low over the town, made a run down the canyon, pretty well rousted everyone in the area out of their lethargy, then landed right there like they had every right.” Rainbow’s eyes sparkled; obviously she was one of the people rousted out of her lethargy.

  Garik chortled. “I’ll bet Foster was pissed.”

  “You bet. By the time the sheriff got here, ready to arrest whoever was buzzing his town without a permit, the Hoffs were handing out bags filled with necessities, and he slinked away.” Rainbow did her imitation of slinking.

  “No, he didn’t,” Garik said. “He’s right over on the courthouse steps.”

  “You’re kidding.” Rainbow climbed onto the running board of Garik’s truck and got a look at Sheriff Foster. “Look at him glower. After the days and nights he’s had, you’d think he’d go home to bed. Probably he’s afraid to go to sleep in that house. Probably he’s afraid his mother will haunt him.”