Undeniably Yours (17 page)

“You expect me to know everything? All I know is that he’s been hanging around here at least three weeks now. I saw him not ten minutes ago at that corner.” She pointed to the same corner where the trio had been hanging out. “Sad to say he’s back to his old ways, doping and dealing.”

I peeked over the railing. The corner was empty. “The blond guy?”

“That’s him,” she said. “Some people are just born bad. He’s one of them.”

With that, she stepped back and closed the door in our faces.

I was reminded of Danny Beckley and his parting words yesterday, about the world being an evil place.

I didn’t want to believe people were born bad or that the world was evil.

But right now it was hard to argue.

Sean said, “We’re still not going in those woods.”

I’d call Aiden and get him on it—he had resources I didn’t. Corey would need to be formally questioned. As would Jarvis, no matter how much his mother didn’t want him to be.

I stared at that empty corner. “I just realized why I thought I might know him. I do.”

“You do?”

Gripping my crutches tightly, I looked at him, held his gaze. “Yeah. I saw him on video yesterday in the Channel 3 garage. He’s the guy who left the doll in Kira’s SUV.”

A
half hour later, Sean and I were sitting across from Patty Keefe. The walls of the hospice care center were painted in neutral shades, but artwork burst with color, bringing a sense of light and joy. I fully expected a somber mood, but I found most everyone we’d come across to have a smile on their face. It was a relaxed atmosphere, and I suspected that came from the employees who strived to ensure their patients were surrounded by happiness during their final days.

It was humbling to say the least, and made me feel extra appreciative for all I had. But it didn’t change the sad facts of this case—or that we’d brought up a painful topic to discuss with Patty.

Dressed in a loose floral-printed dressing gown, she was propped up in an armchair. A heating pad peeked out from an elaborately-crocheted blanket on her lap. An oxygen machine’s narrow tubing snaked upward, branching at her neck to wrap around her ears. It then looped down to her nose where a nasal cannula delivered the supplemental breathing help. A support pillow cushioned her head that looked like it held the weight of the world.

Short blond hair had been clipped behind her ears with double bobby pins. Although her thin face and sunken eyes told the story of her terminal diagnosis, she still wore full makeup complete with fake eyelashes and perfectly-applied lip liner and lipstick. Her nails had been painted a bright pink as well. It brought a lump to my throat to see her attempting normality despite the abnormality of her situation.

“I knew Corey was trouble from the start,” Patty said softly, barely able to shake her head.

On the way here, I’d spoken with Aiden, who’d gone momentarily silent after I told him my suspicion about Corey and that doll. Aiden promised to contact his superior and attain the reinforcements we needed to not only track Corey down but to pull Jarvis in for questioning. Then he cursed a blue streak about being stuck in the hospital and Em took his phone away.

“But,” Patty said, her blue eyes suddenly flashing with a spark of life, “there was nothing I could say to sway Alisha from marrying him.
Love
.” She brought a trembling hand upward, stuck a finger in her mouth, and made a gagging noise. “I did my best to keep my mouth shut and be a part of her life, especially when Corey went to prison and she found out she was pregnant. It took everything in me to swallow that ‘I told you so.’” She inhaled deeply as though trying to catch her breath. “It’s hard to hate Corey, however. Because of him, I had Dustin. He was the sweetest baby. But unfortunately he didn’t hold the power to keep Alisha from slipping back into her old ways.”

“Old ways?” I asked for clarification.

With her lower lip jutting, her fingers worked tirelessly, rolling the edge of the colorful afghan between her thumb and forefinger. “Alisha started using drugs her senior year of high school, at first recreationally.” She drew in a deep breath. “It snowballed after graduation. A year later, she was arrested and sent to a rehab facility. That’s where she met Corey.”

Patty glanced down at her hands, her fingers finally stilling for a moment.

“Did they get married straight off?” I asked, trying to keep her talking.

“They waited a year,” she said, looking up again. Her fingers went back to rolling the crocheted yarn. “Then came news that Alisha was pregnant. She quit the drugs cold turkey—or so she told me. But Dustin was born with marijuana in his system. Alisha said she’d only smoked it because of nausea from the pregnancy…I don’t think that’s true. Anyway, that’s how she came to the attention of the DCF and CFC.”

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.”

T
wenty 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.’”

“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.”