Whispers of Fate: The Mistresses of Fate, Book Two (13 page)

18

THE THREE GIRLS
sat shoulder to shoulder in the back of Ryan’s truck, their identical faces freaking Chris out a little whenever she looked over her shoulder at them.

“So, why don’t you introduce us to your aunt’s husband?” Chris suggested, trying to sound casual. She didn’t remember Mark Arrowdale very well, but he’d been around when Summer disappeared; he hadn’t left town until a year later. She thought she remembered that Summer hadn’t liked him, actually.

“We’ve never met him.” Ro shrugged. “We just heard he’d returned.”

“Really?” Chris murmured. “When did he get back?”

“A few days ago. Maybe a week.”

“Where’s he now?” Ryan threw in, looking at them in the rearview mirror.

The three girls looked at each other. Tira sighed. “Probably with our aunt, if she’s not at the store.”

“Do you have a cell phone? Can you call her?” Chris urged.

“Schisandra does,” Ro answered.

Schisandra struggled to dig the cell phone out of the front pocket of her shorts, which were a little tight. Entering the code to unlock it with one thumb, she quickly tapped the icon next to her aunt’s picture in her contact list.

Chris could hear the faint ring on the other side of the line.

“She won’t answer,” Ro commented indifferently, looking out the window.

Chris would have believed she didn’t care at all if her chubby hands weren’t curled into fists.

A minute later, Schisandra pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call, cutting off Jane’s voice asking her to leave a message.

She looked up at Chris, her big blue eyes and small mouth almost obscured by the red flush of her cheeks. Sandra didn’t like being the center of attention.

“She didn’t answer,” she said in her soft, flutelike voice.

“Yeah.” Chris sighed. “I get that. She always opens the store on Sundays. Maybe she’s with a customer?”

The girls didn’t answer. Chris cast a sidelong glance at Ryan. She hadn’t exactly told Ryan about the girls’ seeming ability to know things other people didn’t.

She pursed her lips. “So . . . if you had to guess where she might be, you would say . . . ?”

Ro shook her head at Chris. “We can’t see our own, Ms. Pascal. You know that.”

Chris pouted, ignoring the look Ryan shot her. She would explain later—maybe. “Well, you knew she wouldn’t answer.”

Ro rolled her eyes. “She never answers our calls. She thinks we’re annoying.”

Chris didn’t want to agree with Jane about anything on principle, but she thought the crazy woman might have a point about these three.

“What about playing in Tavey’s graveyard? What were you doing there?”

“Exploring,” Ro answered shortly.

Chris frowned. “I don’t know why you don’t trust me. Didn’t I save your life?”

Tira smiled, secretly, quickly, like she couldn’t help herself. “You did,” she confirmed, glancing at Ro for her agreement.

Ro nodded. “It’s not that, Ms. Pascal. We trust you.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“We did,” Ro insisted stubbornly. “We like exploring.”

“You like getting into trouble,” Chris argued.

Ryan choked on a laugh and muttered, “Sounds familiar,” under his breath.

Chris gave him a narrow-eyed glance.

They turned onto the drive for the Havens’ property. Ryan had been there before with Chris last fall, when the girls had been involved in the serial killer investigation at the mill.

They drove by the Victorian cottage–like structure that looked like it had been designed by committee, and were about to pass by the one that looked like a cabin when Ro asked Ryan to stop.

“We should go to Old Ninny’s.” Ro looked at her sisters, and all three nodded in unison.

“Why?” Chris challenged them. “And don’t give me that you-can’t-see-your-own B.S. I know you know something.”

Ryan put a hand on her arm. “Girls, are you sure we can’t help you with something?”

The girls, their faces set and still, shook their heads. “Thank you, Agent Helmer. We’ll be fine. We’ll get out here at the end of the drive. Ninny’s dogs aren’t that friendly.”

Chris looked down the drive at two enormous German shepherds who were walking back and forth at the top of the drive.

“They look superfriendly,” Chris offered sarcastically.

Ro smiled. “Thanks, Ms. P. Thanks, Agent Helmer.”

“Call me Ryan,” he ordered for the hundredth time.

“Okay,” Ro agreed. She opened the door to the truck and stepped out onto the dirt road. On the opposite side, Tira and Sandra climbed out and stood next to the narrow drive that led to Ninny’s cabin. Ro walked over to Chris’s window. “We’ll see you soon.”

“When?” Chris pressed, trying to get them to admit to knowing something, anything.

Ro blinked at her innocently. “At yoga. Six on Tuesday.”

Chris scowled. “Smart-ass.”

19

BESSIE WEAVER
made sure Tavey was safely ensconced in her office before leaving through the back door. She’d always been fond of the girl, especially since she was so close with Bessie’s granddaughter, Raquel. She checked on the sheets she’d hung outside on the line, enjoying the sight of them snapping in the spring breeze.

The sound of dogs barking carried over from the kennels. She didn’t visit them often, for no other reason than not wanting to see Atohi. He felt the same. The two of them carried a burden too great for words.

She made her way there now, walking slowly down the flagstone path lined with fruit trees. Bees buzzed in the trees and the light sweet fragrance of blossoms made her long for simpler days when she was a girl working for Tavey’s grandmother, Mrs. Collins, back when Charlie Collins had been a sweet boy running through the property, dark hair bobbing in the breeze.

Atohi had been there as well, and the two of them had been lovers after a time, even married, though no one knew that, not even Belle.

He was waiting for her by the kennels, whistling for the dogs even as he watched the path, knowing she would come.

She walked close, remembering when she was a girl and her heart would flutter in her chest at the sight of him, so tall and proud and strong. He’d been left, abandoned, and the Collinses had taken him in when he was fifteen. When she’d come to work for Mrs. Collins in the fifties, he’d just turned eighteen and Mr. Collins was sending him to England to learn all he could about dog breeding. Bessie had thought he was the smartest, bravest, handsomest man she’d ever seen, and she’d waited eagerly for two years for him to return.

He had, and for a time she recalled being the happiest person in the world. Their beautiful child had been welcomed by Mrs. Collins and both Belle and Charlie had played together, two innocent children safe from everything on the carefully tended grounds of the Collinses’ estate.

The children had grown up, though, and all had not been well. Belle, beautiful and talented, chafed at the unfairness of being born to servants when it was clear she was meant for better things. Charlie, for his part, lacked the work ethic his grandfather had tried to instill in him, and preferred playing cards and chasing women. Bessie was certain that he and Belle had slept together on and off, bonded in a friendship as deep as their selfish hearts would bear.

Bessie thought of all that even as she opened the gate, shooing the dogs aside with a gesture, and making her way to where he stood, his old eyes fierce and bright on her face.

She walked into his arms and they folded around her, as strong and wonderful as ever.

“Oh, Atty,” she whispered, hating that her old voice quavered. “I think we should tell her.”

His fingers tightened on her back. “Why now? After all these years?”

Bessie swallowed. “She should know. Summer disappeared that day. What if it’s connected?”

“It isn’t. I saw her run off into the woods. She was fine. Fine.”

He sounded tortured, like he was trying to force the words into truth by sheer willpower.

“She got lost is all. Lost in the woods. Nothing we can do,” he continued. “There was no sign of her. Even the dogs . . .” He trailed off.

Bessie shook her head and spoke into his chest, her voice soft and sure. “We’ve been saying that all these years to protect the dead. Don’t think we can fool ourselves anymore. She’s a woman grown, Atty. She’ll stand for it just fine.”

Atty hung his head. “It’s best to let the dead lie, Bess.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Bessie agreed, “if they lie quiet and still. But Summer, she hasn’t stopped whispering since it happened. She wants him found, my love. We should help her now, since we didn’t help her then.”

Atty sighed, a deep wretched sigh, and nodded. “I hope she forgives us.”

“Tavey? Or Summer?”

He smiled shortly. “Summer will probably forgive us before Tavey, dead or not.”

20

TAVEY STARED AT THE
walls of her office, listening to the rhythmic, soothing sound of her beagles snoring on their bed in the corner. Her antique desk was tidy, as always. Two enormous black monitors on a stand dominated the space—ugly, but practical for someone who spent so much time on her computer. She hadn’t found a way to keep them and make the space look any better. A legal pad full of to-do notes sat near her right hand, next to her mouse and yet another cup of coffee.

A crystal vase full of fresh-cut roses sat on one outside corner thanks to Sylvia. Sun drifted in from the window and sparkled on the small beads of water trapped against the straight green stems. Sylvia had them cut and brought in fresh to the house every few days. Tavey knew better than to take the gesture for granted. She certainly didn’t require Chris’s mother to bring flowers to her every day, any more than she required Bessie to wash the sheets or Atohi to tend to the dogs. She paid them, but they had never felt like employees to her.

Tavey’s mother had apparently loved the rose garden, but she had died when Tavey was very young. Her father and mother had been on the way back from a charity function when their driver had lost control on an icy bridge and gone over. They’d found the remains of her mother and the driver several days later; her father’s body had never been found. Tavey had been only two years old at the time, but she’d heard the story her whole life, in the hushed whispers of her grandparents’ guests, in the stories told by Bessie and Atohi, even Sylvia on occasion. When she was younger, even before Summer had disappeared, she’d wanted to teach the dogs to track. She’d thought, somewhere in the back of her mind, that if she trained them well enough, they would be able to find her father.

She closed her eyes, thinking over what she knew. The girls had been to the Collinses’ cemetery. They knew something they weren’t telling, as did Bessie and Atty. They knew something. Tavey didn’t know why she was so certain. She got these feelings sometimes, like which direction to head in a search, or when something was wrong with her friends.

Tavey straightened and logged back on to her computer, a sudden suspicion entering her mind.

She pulled up the feed from her security cameras, narrowing in on the kennels. She blinked, inhaling sharply when she saw Bessie and Atohi embracing in the training area while the dogs milled around their feet. She’d known there was history between them; some part of her had always recognized the connection, but she hadn’t expected to see them like that, after all these years. Tavey had occasionally caught them staring when the other wasn’t looking, staring with the kind of burning longing that bordered on hatred. She watched them for a moment, but movement on another of the thumbnail images caught her attention. In the rose garden, Raquel suddenly gripped the front of Burns’s shirt and pulled him into a fierce kiss that had Tavey’s eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.
What on earth was this about?

Burns had asked for a tour of the property before he left. Tavey had been about to politely refuse when Raquel had volunteered to show him around. Tavey had been a little surprised but thought that Raquel was simply trying to help her get rid of the man. Apparently not.

Tavey quickly closed the browser with all the images. She didn’t want to spy on her friends. She wanted to do something. Chris may have been meant to stare at computers all day, but Tavey was meant for action. She couldn’t sit still. Confronting Abraham and asking him about the book was out of the question while Tyler was there. As was trekking over to the paper mill to investigate her new property. It was far enough that it would be dark before she returned; it was unfamiliar territory and possibly dangerous. Tavey was stubborn on occasion, but she wasn’t an idiot.

You have plenty of work to do
, she reminded herself. Her to-do list rarely had less than thirty items. She’d meant to take care of the top five this afternoon, but so far had done little more than stare into space and brood. She doodled next to the list, trying to work up the energy to tackle any of it.

1. Prepare for next dog-training camp

2. Review financials sent over by bookkeeper

3. Order more lavender-oatmeal shampoo

4. Call vet—Boomer and Curly

5. Call Mrs. Bradshaw re adopting Jackie Jumps

It was this last task that reminded her of the girls’ request. They wanted to train one of the rescue dogs to track.

Tavey pulled up her security cameras again. Bessie and Atohi were gone. The dogs were once again secure in their kennels.

“No time like the present,” Tavey muttered, and logged off her computer. She would see if the Lab-pit mix she rescued two weeks ago, a sweet girl she’d named Penny for her coppery brown eyes, was suitable as a tracking dog by taking her out with Dixie.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of the lightweight hiking pants that she’d changed into before going into her office and pulled out a sandwich bag rolled into a tube. A tiny rectangle of red ribbon was barely visible through the thick bluish plastic. She normally didn’t believe in lying and she’d hesitated to damage the evidence she’d found, but she hadn’t wanted to wait for Tyler to get the lab work back before trying to locate the spot where the beagles had found the ribbon. So she’d cut off a small snip of it, roughing the edges of the piece she’d given him so it didn’t look like a clean cut. She’d told Tyler she wanted it back so she could search because she knew he wouldn’t believe anything else.

“Getting as sneaky as Chris,” she said aloud, nearly smiling, but the longer she looked at the small square of ribbon, the less like smiling she felt. If it was Summer’s, if it was indeed blood and not just dirt that covered it, she was a little afraid of what she would find.

Boomer, Lizzie, and Jack had woken up when she stood and had come over to investigate, their tails wagging. She put the bag with the ribbon back in her pocket and petted them, stroking their soft ears.

“Okay, babies, let’s go find Thomas. I bet he has a treat for you.” Thomas had been practicing making dog biscuits.

She stopped by her room and grabbed her backpack and put on her hiking boots before she led them into the kitchen where Thomas was experimenting with recipes.

“I’m taking one of the dogs out for a few hours. I think she’ll be a good tracking dog for the Triplets.”

Thomas nodded, adding shredded cheese to the food processor. “Shouldn’t there be three? One for each?”

Tavey thought about that. It wasn’t a bad idea. “I’ll ask them. I can’t train three at once, though. Can you keep an eye on these three? Let them out in a few hours?”

“Of course,” Thomas agreed, eyeing the dogs. “They will be my taste testers.”

“Don’t give them too much,” Tavey said severely, and he nodded, equally serious.

“I would never,” he replied in mock offense.

Tavey snorted. He would absolutely and she would have to run them to work off the excess calories.

“Thanks, Thomas. Stay, babies,” she ordered the beagles, receiving a tail wag and a brief glance from them before they went back to staring at Thomas with imploring doggie eyes.

Tavey left through the back door, half expecting to run into Bessie or Atohi, but there was no one in sight. It was late afternoon and the spring sun was hot and bright overhead. A faint breeze stirred the bushes every now and again, and the air smelled of roses and honeysuckle. Bright white sheets hung on lines, billowing gently, and Tavey was struck by a sense of déjà vu. It all seemed so familiar—the white sheets, the smell of roses. She expected to blink and be eight years old again, and see Summer twirling with a crown of daisies on her head.

Tavey shook off the feeling, walking along the house and under the porte cochere to the gravel path that ran alongside the garage to the kennels. Raquel’s motorcycle and Burns’s Jeep were still in the drive, but she didn’t see them.

When she reached the kennels, the dogs began barking and howling, recognizing the sound of her footsteps.

“Quiet,” she called out, but only a few of them listened. Between the barking and the steady hum of the air-conditioning units, it was a wonder she could hear anything.

She went to the kennel where she kept the rescue dogs. Each separate building was long and rectangular, almost like a stable. For the most part, the dogs were kept in separate, secure rooms with a gate, a sling-type doggie bed, toys, and automatic watering and food dishes. The dishes were secured to the wall on either side of the room in case there were two occupants. Stained concrete floors had drains in the center for easy clean-up. She tried to rescue bigger dogs, since they usually had more trouble than small dogs finding a home, and most of the pens were full of pit and shepherd mixes, Labs, and other large, difficult breeds.

When she walked in, all the dogs came to the gates hopefully, happy to see a person. She talked to them as she walked, thinking briefly of an idea to see if any of the high schools she sometimes visited to talk about tracking would be interested in doing some kind of work study, where the students could come and learn how to care for the dogs, train them, and help them find homes. The dogs would love the attention, and she would make sure the students received excellent recommendations for college.

At the end, the long building had a large octagonal area with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the treated glass thick enough to withstand several blows from a baseball bat much less an overly rambunctious dog. In the center, there was a play area with agility-training equipment and an assortment of other toys.

Penny was in one of the rooms closest to the end. When Tavey approached, the gray dog with the short, shiny coat and copper eyes picked up her favorite plaything, a doll-like toy with a squeaky center, and held it in her mouth while her tail wagged.

Tavey took the harness and leash off the hook next to Penny’s room and opened the gate.

“Hi, Penny girl. You like that?”

The dog grew even more excited, her eyes widening, but she didn’t drop the toy. Tavey was encouraged. When training a dog to track, it was important to find something the animal loved to motivate it. The dog had to really want the reward to remain dedicated to the search, which could sometimes take hours. Tavey didn’t intend to start training Penny today, but she wanted to see how the dog behaved, if she’d follow Dixie as Dixie hunted or if she tended to chase small animals or tired easily.

“Okay, sweetie. Let’s get this on, okay?”

Penny, just like all the other dogs, knew what the harness meant—a trip outside. The rest of the dogs whined, hoping they were going as well. Atohi took them out in small groups for walks around the property.

“Just Penny this time,” she told them, quickly harnessing the dog, who stood still while Tavey put the harness over her head and secured the straps under her rib cage to the catches on the top of the harness. She attached a long lead to the ring on the back and straightened.

“All right, sweetie, let’s go.”

The dog still hadn’t dropped the toy. Tavey laughed.

“Okay.” She held out her hand. “Drop it.”

The dog hesitated, then opened her mouth and dropped the drool-covered doll in Tavey’s hand.

“All right.” Tavey put the toy in her backpack and wiped her hand indifferently on her pants. They were going to get dirty anyway. “Let’s go get Dixie.”

She told the rest of the dogs goodbye as she secured the door, heading across the dog yard—the training area—to an identical long building. Here were the tracking dogs. The setup was similar to the rescues, except that the tracking dogs were rarely locked into their pens. The open areas had old couches and chairs and, for the most part, the dogs wandered the building at will. There were five in all at the moment and Tavey loved them. If she thought it was wise or sanitary, she would keep all of them in her house.

“Hey, babies,” she called to them as they went inside. The five small hounds with ridiculously long ears and sturdy bodies with long legs came over to greet Penny with much tail wagging and sniffing of butts. Penny stayed calm and relaxed, sniffing everyone in turn.

Tavey released her to explore and walked down the long room to Dixie’s pen, taking her harness and lead down off the wall.

Dixie, well used to this routine, had followed her, barking happily when Tavey took the gear from the hook.

“You ready, honey?” Tavey bent and geared her up, making sure to praise her exuberantly.

The rest of the dogs and Penny crowded around her and she gave them each a little love before gathering up the leads attached to Dixie and Penny.

“Okay, babies. We’ll be back,” she assured them, and indicated they should stay with a hand signal Atohi had helped her teach them.

She stepped out into the warm sunshine and slid down her sunglasses, which had been pushed up on her head like a headband.

Atohi was standing in the center of the training area, one of the hounds sitting by his side. They both looked solemn.

Tavey thought about mentioning what she’d seen between him and Bessie, thought about asking him what he knew about the graveyard, about the secret they were clearly keeping, but she didn’t want him to stop her today, didn’t want him to wonder where she was going.