His phone rang again and he glanced at the display. His uncle. Knowing he couldn’t put the ensuing conversation off any longer, he answered the call.
“Uncle Conroy,” Holt said. “What a surprise.”
“Don’t give me that. I’ve got calls from the insurance company telling me the department gets to pay for damage to your truck and a totaled rental car. You’re running my department and good name into the ground in this town, not to mention costing the taxpayers God knows how much money with this so-called investigation of yours. I want you off this case and I mean now.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will. Simply make a note in the file that Bobby Rhonaldo took off with his daughter and let the federal agencies handle it.”
“Bobby Rhonaldo is dead.”
There was complete silence for a couple of seconds and then Holt heard his uncle cursing.
“Tell me it was anything but murder,” his uncle said finally.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” Holt filled his uncle in on the events that had transpired over the past couple of days. Aside from the occasional expletive, his uncle didn’t interrupt his monologue.
When he finally finished, he heard his uncle sigh. “What the hell is going on? This is a nice town with mostly nice people. Kidnappings, murder, organized crime…that’s not the Vodoun I know.”
“It’s not the town I know, either, but something’s not right here.” Holt took a breath and pushed forward with his next statement before he could change his mind. “I’m beginning to think the police were looking in the wrong direction back when those girls disappeared. What if all this is somehow connected?”
“That was thirty-six years ago. You honestly believe that something this evil, of this magnitude, has existed here all this time, and no one ever noticed? That
I
never noticed?”
“Maybe it’s all organized by someone above reproach.”
“Like who?”
“The minister, the bank manager, the guy who owns the grocery store.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Think about it. For someone to pull off something this organized for this long, it has to be the last person you would suspect.”
“I’m sorry, Holt. I just can’t believe that Vodoun has been housing someone that disturbed and no one’s ever noticed. I appreciate all the thought you’ve put into this, especially as it’s turned out to be a real mare’s nest, but I just can’t get on board with your ideas.”
“Do you have any better ones?”
“It must be an outsider.”
“A stranger who knew about the kidnappings thirty-six years ago and re-created that hype? A stranger who knew Bobby was Erika’s father even though he was separated from Sarah and didn’t even live in the same home? And why kill him? Why kidnap Erika?”
Holt blew out a breath of frustration. “I can appreciate how much you don’t want to wrap your mind around this, but I can’t see it as anything but personal. Something is going on here besides your basic child abduction. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it—with or without the backing of the department.”
“If you want to investigate your friends and family, go right ahead, but I’m washing my hands of this. When this turns out badly, I will not take any responsibility for the fallout.”
“I never assumed anything else.”
Holt ended the call and pulled into the sheriff’s department parking lot. His uncle was capable enough for speeders and illegal hunters, but when it came to anything remotely serious, he was as useless as Holt had figured he’d be.
Truth be known, it had been a shock to him when he’d gotten the letter from his mother telling him about his uncle’s election to sheriff. He’d always considered his uncle to be rather fearful and lazy. Law enforcement didn’t exactly suit his disposition, but then, if you didn’t actually do anything, perhaps it did. He guessed that more than anything, Jasper liked to use the title to lord over the residents of Vodoun. Growing up in Lorraine’s shadow had left Jasper always looking for a way to get the upper hand. Apparently, he’d found it.
Holt entered the office and unlocked the desk, removing a folder that his uncle didn’t know the contents of. The folder on his dad. Jasper couldn’t even admit that the situation with Bobby and Erika was local and personal. No way would he jump on board with a ring of highly organized killers that had also been responsible for his dad’s murder.
But Holt knew all of it was connected. He could feel it in his bones.
Somewhere, in all these seemingly mismatched pieces, was a picture that would eventually take shape. And he was going to keep pushing until it did. His dad had gone too long without justice. His sons had gone too long without answers.
They were all due some peace.
* * *
A
LEX PUSHED HER CART
down the bread aisle, glad she’d made a grocery list at Sarah’s house. Her mind was so overloaded, she would have stood there for hours without having a clue what they needed otherwise. Like the last time, when she’d returned to Sarah’s with enough tomatoes to feed a small nation.
She selected a loaf of bread and some rolls, then checked her list. Milk was the only item remaining and then she’d be ready to check out. She’d call Holt when she got in line, figuring that would put him at the store by the time she got through paying.
As she rounded the corner to the dairy section, she saw Lorraine Conroy standing at the bakery counter. Given an opportunity, Alex would have turned and left without the milk, just to avoid the woman. Her emotions were too raw and she was too on edge to deal with the shallow accusations of the biggest bitch in Vodoun. But before she could even make a move to wheel the cart around, Lorraine turned around and locked her gaze on Alex.
“Well,” Lorraine said, “grocery shopping for your cousin again? Best be careful—men don’t like fat women. Or maybe the two of you plan on living out your lives together.”
“Commenting on fat women seems a strange statement coming from the woman standing at the bakery counter.”
Lorraine laughed. “This is not for me. It’s Martin’s birthday.”
“And you’re getting him a cake. How cute. Just like you would for any little boy.”
Lorraine’s face turned beet-red. “At least I can keep a man.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t know how when your husband was around.” Alex knew what she said was a cheap shot before the words even left her mouth, but three decades of insults from Lorraine overrode any manners she had left.
She knew the slap was coming as soon as the words left her mouth, but before Lorraine’s hand could connect with her face, Alex caught her wrist. Lorraine yanked her hand from Alex’s grasp.
“Why don’t you and your cousin leave? Vodoun would be a better place without your kind around.”
Lorraine whirled around and hurried away from the bakery counter, the cake long forgotten. A clap of thunder boomed overhead and the lights flickered. Alex grabbed a carton of milk and shoved it in her cart. If she hurried, they might make it back to Sarah’s before the storm hit full force.
She hurried to the front of the store, but drew up short as she caught sight of a man running across the street away from the store. It was him. The height, the build, the gait. It was the killer.
Chapter Fourteen
Alex fumbled in her purse for her phone and pressed in Holt’s number. “He’s here,” she said. “Right outside the grocery store.”
“Who’s there?” Holt asked.
“The killer. I just saw him run across the street.”
“Stay inside,” Holt said. “I’m pulling up to the store now.”
Alex placed her groceries on the conveyor belt and tried to appear normal as the clerk rang her up. She handed the clerk cash and impatiently waited as the clerk counted out the change. Holt was still nowhere in sight when she grabbed her bags and hurried out of the store, completely ignoring Holt’s order to stay inside.
She looked up and down the street but didn’t see Holt’s rental car or the killer. Rain began to fall, and she held one hand over her forehead to keep the huge drops from falling into her eyes. She was just about to step back into the store when she caught sight of Holt hurrying up the sidewalk a block away.
She rushed down the sidewalk to meet him. “Why didn’t you park in front of the store?”
“I saw a man running down the alley a block away. I followed him thinking it might be the man you saw.” He pointed a block away to an alley and took one of the grocery stacks from her. “I’m parked there. What was he wearing?”
The rain began to come down heavier and she hurried beside him down the street toward the alley he’d indicated. “Black slacks and a rain jacket. I only saw him from behind, but he moved just like the guy in the alley.” She blew out a breath of frustration. “I know that sounds stupid—”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“What was the guy in the alley wearing?”
“Black slacks and a rain jacket.”
Alex felt her pulse spike. “Did you see his face?”
“Yeah.” He frowned.
“Do you know who it was?”
“Martin Rommel.”
She sucked in a breath and climbed into the car. “Lorraine’s boyfriend? You’re sure?”
“I’ve only seen him once, but it was him. I’m sure. He drove away in her Mercedes.”
A million thoughts ran through her mind. “But what…why? Sarah only knows the man by sight and reputation, and he and Bobby would hardly move in the same circles. Besides, Rommel’s not old enough to have kidnapped those girls years ago.”
“No, but I believe this is some type of organized crime. Rommel could easily be the next generation of hired guns.”
“But hired to accomplish what, exactly? What in the world is going on here?”
“I don’t know, but if Rommel is the killer, I have to wonder what he’s up to with Lorraine.”
“She’s a good cover for him,” Alex said. “Wealthy and carries some weight in Vodoun.”
“Above reproach,” he said. “I tried to tell my uncle earlier that someone local was involved. Someone above reproach, but he didn’t want to hear it.”
“Well, he’s really not going to want to hear this.”
“He’s not going to.”
“But don’t you think—”
“I think if I tell my uncle that Rommel’s involved, he won’t believe a word of it, then he’ll tell his mother.”
“Who’ll tell Rommel,” she finished, and sighed. “You know how I feel about Lorraine, but she needs to be warned.”
“Not until we’re sure.” Holt stared silently out the windshield into the pouring rain for several seconds. “Do you know what Rommel does for Lorraine, exactly? I know there’s gossip, but my uncle claims their relationship is business. I don’t buy it, but what business does he take care of?”
“I don’t know. I doubt Sarah does, either, but I wouldn’t want to ask her even if I thought she did. She’s hanging on by a thread, and if I give her a tangent to launch onto, I’m not sure she’d make sound decisions.”
“You think she’d go after him?”
“If she believed for a minute that he was responsible for Bobby’s death and Erika’s kidnapping, I think she would in a heartbeat.”
Holt blew out a breath. “Yeah. I guess I wouldn’t blame her. So is there anyone we can ask who won’t gossip about it?”
“Ms. Maude.”
“Is she going to shoot me if I step onto her land? Her reputation for disliking men is sorta legendary in these parts.”
“Ms. Maude doesn’t like people as a species. Added to that, she has a low tolerance for stupid and there’s plenty of that around.”
“She’s sort of a hermit. Do you really think she’ll know anything that can help?”
“I don’t think she misses much. Be honest with her about what we’re doing, and I think she’ll tell you anything she knows.”
Holt started the car. “Ms. Maude’s it is, then.”
* * *
T
HE GRAVEL ROAD THAT LED
to Ms. Maude’s house was narrow, rutted and barely passable with a vehicle. Holt tried not to cringe at the sound of tree branches scraping down the side of his second rental car of the week. His brief foray into law enforcement had been hell on vehicles. The moss-heavy trees draped over the road like a canopy and combined with the storm, made visibility almost nil. It seemed like forever before he finally saw a light from her house ahead.
They jumped from the car and ran to the porch but were still drenched by the time they got there. Before Holt could even lift a hand to knock, the door swung open and he found himself staring down the wrong end of a shotgun.
He stepped back, certain Alex had made a grave miscalculation in suggesting they question Ms. Maude. The woman was a tiny thing, but when you were holding the right end of a shotgun, size became far less important. Her silver hair was cut short and stuck out in all directions and she studied him with a cold, calculating stare.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Ms. Maude,” Alex said, “it’s Alexandria Bastin. You taught me to shoot a nine-millimeter this week, remember? I’m Christine Bastin’s daughter.”
Ms. Maude looked in Alex’s direction and squinted. A couple seconds later, her expression switched to one of recognition. “What the hell are you doing standing out here in the storm? Best come inside before you drown.”
She lowered the shotgun and motioned them in the house. Holt stepped inside, praying that Alex hadn’t missed the mark in labeling Ms. Maude safe and relatively sane.
Ms. Maude’s house was a study in contrast from its owner. Dainty lace doilies perched on top of antique tables, with crystal bowls and vases on top of them. Everything was neat with military precision, and Holt felt his spirits rise a bit as they followed her into the kitchen. Perhaps Alex was right. A person this organized physically may also possess a very organized mind.
“I was just making a pot of coffee,” Ms. Maude said. “Would you like a cup?”
“I would love a cup,” Alex said. She waved a hand at him. “This is Holt Chamberlain. He’s filling in for the sheriff while he’s out with a broken leg.”
Ms. Maude slid two cups of coffee in front of them and narrowed her eyes at Holt. “You Walt Conroy’s boy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“From which woman—first, second or however many was after?”
“The first.”
Ms. Maude nodded. “Your dad was a smart businessman but stupid about relationships. Drove those women crazy and probably would have continued to their entire lives because they would have allowed it.”