Whispers of Fate: The Mistresses of Fate, Book Two (17 page)

26

THE NEXT MORNING,
just past dawn, Circe and Mark stopped hiking at the edge of the dense forest that surrounded the abandoned Cherokee Paper Mill. New growth had started to fill in much of the open space that had once been the grounds and parking areas of the mill, and trees rose like phantoms among the old brick and concrete. Circe bent over and put her hands on her knees, breathing in and out in relief. She was cold, tired, hungry, and scratched from tree limbs and brambles. The faint light was enough to see the bright yellow crime scene tape that surrounded the crumbling collection of buildings where workers had once processed the trees harvested from nearby forests. Closed in the early seventies, it had been left to the woods, which was slowly, steadily taking back the land.

Circe rubbed her arms to get warm. The spring air was slightly too cool, but that wasn’t why she shivered. She’d never liked it here, never liked the dark, watchful feel of the place. She sniffed, smelling pine, ragweed, and something she couldn’t quite place, something rotten. Clenching her teeth, she straightened. No, she’d never liked this place. There were old spirits here. They wanted everyone gone. She’d felt it even back then when Mark and Rob had brought her and Gloria Belle to the mill for the first time in the spring of 1980.

Mark had driven while Rob sat in the passenger seat, his hair carefully groomed, his face tanned even in early spring. Mark had looked rougher, but he was clean cut as well, his powerful chest covered in a blue shirt with an alligator on one side. Circe remembered feeling giddy, overwhelmed by the luxury of the Mercedes-Benz they were riding in, rubbing her fingers against the leather and smiling for no reason. Next to her, Gloria Belle had hummed a little tune, her eyes slightly out of focus as she sat cross-legged in a beaded silk dress.

Circe remembered being curious where they were going; the first few times Mark had taken her out, they’d gone to Atlanta and eaten at fancy restaurants and danced in the nightclubs. Gloria Belle had even sung at a few, her low smoky voice making all the men’s eyes glint with a dangerous light. Circe had loved every moment of it; the sweet taste of a sugary pink drink in her mouth, the rhythmic beat of the music, the feel of admiring eyes on her beautiful face.

So when Mark had turned away from Atlanta and headed down a quiet highway traveling northeast, Circe had asked where they were going.

Mark had glanced at her in the rearview. “We’re going to meet some new friends,” he’d explained vaguely.

Gloria Belle had snorted, turning her head toward Circe.

“Don’t know why you don’t just tell her. She’ll know soon enough, won’t she?”

“Shut up, Belle,” Mark had muttered.

Gloria Belle had straightened, her lean shoulders jerking forward in the seat. “Don’t tell me to shut up. I’ll tell Charlie.”

“Charlie can blow it out his ass.”

Circe had known only one Charlie, Charlie Collins, but he’d died in a car accident months earlier. Or at least, everyone thought he’d died. His body had never been found, but they’d had a funeral anyway. She’d taken Summer and stood with her behind Tavey Collins and her grandparents as both Charlie’s empty casket and Tavey’s mother’s were slowly lowered into their graves.

“Charlie Collins?” she asked, hesitant.

Rob had glanced back, a small frown between his eyes. “Yeah. He’s alive. Surprise.”

He hadn’t sounded that happy about it.

“But why—”

Gloria Belle interrupted her. “He got tired of answering to his daddy. Found himself a new way to get rich.” Belle sounded admiring and a little avid, as if the thought of Charlie Collins or something he had was as addictive as the drugs she liked to inject in her arms.

When Mark turned down a narrow service lane in the middle of a dense, wooded area, Circe’s trepidation had grown. They hadn’t driven that far outside of Fate, but the area was nothing but woods. Woods and railroad tracks. She’d forgotten there had ever been a mill on the property; they’d closed it down when she was young.

The service road led through the woods away from the highway before opening up into a clearing. Back then the building hadn’t looked quite as bad, though graffiti covered the concrete side of the main building, and weeds had grown up waist high. Charlie Collins—looking good for a dead man—had been waiting for them near another Mercedes, his hands in his pockets.

Two large, bearded men had straddled their motorcycles next to him, their narrowed eyes watching the approaching car without expression. Circe hadn’t known what was going on, but she’d gotten out of the car when they’d parked, and when the two men had gotten off their motorcycles and headed away from the large mill buildings, Circe had followed with the rest of them.

There was a house on the property, on the other side of the mill, closer to the railroad tracks. When the mill was up and running, the caretaker or manager would drive down the service road from the main highway, and down a long drive that led away from the mill farther into the trees. The house had been perfect for cooking, for bagging the supply for distribution, being isolated and sturdy enough back then to be reasonably safe and comfortable. There had even been electricity for a time, stolen from the power lines that had once run to the building.

It was also perfect for the other things they’d done, the women the men had kidnapped. Circe had heard them crying even after they were killed, heard them crying even as their abused bodies were dumped in the millpond.

Circe looked sideways at Mark, wondering if he’d ever been part of that, if he’d ever come here without her and enjoyed those young women. He met her eyes and his eyes darkened as if he knew what she was thinking.

He jerked his head in the direction of the old house.

“Stay inside the tree line,” he whispered. “Let’s make sure no one else is here.”

The snap of a twig caught both their attention. A man, dressed in a suit, was ducking under the crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building, a length of blue rope over one shoulder, a shovel in one hand, a flashlight in the other, as he walked past the old concrete buildings in the direction of the drive that led to the caretaker’s house.
Robbie.

“Who the fuck is that?” Mark whispered, edging a little closer to the trees.

“Robbie,” Jane informed him, picking her way over some brush to come abreast of him. “He came by the store last week.” She frowned. “Or was it the day before?” She was tired. She’d lost track.

She wasn’t expecting him to grab her hair and yank her back.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me that, Jane?”

Circe felt tears come to her eyes. She’d forgotten. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see you. I forgot to tell you.”

He continued to tighten his grip on her hair for a moment, then released her.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “I needed to visit with old Rob anyway.”

Circe blinked back the tears and brushed her hands nervously down her filthy clothes.

He’d carried the rifle through the woods, but now he set it down against a tree and pulled a black handgun out of his waistband on the back of his pants.

From the tree line, the land descended a little before flattening out. The mill was actually made up of one main building and several smaller outbuildings.

She followed Mark as he stalked Rob past the buildings and down the weedy drive to the caretaker’s house. He kept his gun out as he followed Rob, his steps sure and quiet. Circe stayed back a little, following, but not wanting to follow too closely for fear of stumbling or tripping over something and making Rob aware of them. The dim dawn light made the scene even more surreal than it would have been otherwise. Her husband was a dark shape up ahead; the gun in his hand as black as the pupil of an eye.

The house was nearly five hundred yards away from the mill, embedded in the forest so that the caretaker wouldn’t have to listen to the noise of the mill day and night. The farther they walked, the more clogged with weeds the drive became, until it was completely covered by brush and small trees. Rob cursed ahead as he tripped over something and Mark paused, waiting.

He continued after a second, pushing carefully through the vines and saplings that blocked their path. She followed after him, wishing she didn’t feel like an explorer about to venture into an unknown world.

They crept slowly closer, and it became more and more apparent that the FBI hadn’t included the building in their search; they either hadn’t realized it was there or had determined that it was unsafe. Looking at it, Circe couldn’t help but be afraid. It was nearly swallowed by vines and was folding in on itself like a damp rag. She could hear a faint crashing sound, vaguely high-pitched and scratchy, like the sound of bricks hitting each other.

They made their way around the house, and Circe saw the blue rope Rob had been carrying tied to a thick tree. It disappeared into the back of the house, through the curtain of vines that hung over it.

Mark followed the rope, pushing up the vines and ducking under.

Circe hesitated; she didn’t want to go in. Didn’t want to remember.

“Well, good morning, Rob. What brings you here?” Mark asked sarcastically. His voice sounded far away, as though he’d walked into a cave.

Rob’s reply was a lower murmur, like he was farther away. Circe leaned closer, to try to hear but couldn’t make out what he said.

“I think you’re trying to take it for yourself,” Mark said in that deadly, dangerous voice. The one that made the voice in her head retreat and hide. “Jane, get in here,” he yelled back at her.

Circe winced and stepped forward, gingerly lifting the drape of thick, smelly leaves. She eased her way under, blinking as the dim light she’d grown accustomed to disappeared behind the foliage. She was actually pressed up against the old, rotting wall of the house. She’d missed the doorway by several feet. Trying not to touch the wall, she kept pushing the leaves away as she slid along the wall.

She nearly ran into Mark’s back as she stepped inside the dark room that had once been a small living area, a fireplace on the far end. Mark was standing at the edge of a huge hole, where the fireplace had caved in, collapsing the floor underneath and sending a cascade of bricks into what had been the basement.

Rob had used the rope to lower himself down into the hole and was throwing bricks into one corner, trying to uncover the place where they’d hidden it.

“Jane.” Mark’s voice was low and dangerous. He waved the gun at her. “Come closer.”

Circe walked forward until she was standing at Mark’s side, looking down into the dark hole at Rob. He’d taken off his suit jacket, a light sweat covered him. He hadn’t been throwing bricks for that long, so Circe figured he was either excited or terrified. She was terrified, her clothes were soaked in dirt and sweat. She had never felt less like Circe.

Mark grabbed her arm and squeezed, never taking his eyes off Rob, the hand holding the gun shaking a little.

“Jane, get down there and help Rob remove the bricks.”

Circe swallowed and looked into the hole. She didn’t like dark holes in the ground, but she didn’t think it was wise to disobey Mark, either, not with the gun in his hand. She squatted and took the slippery nylon rope in her hands. Lowering herself down as best she could, her fingers slipping as she tried to control her descent, she whimpered low in her throat. The voice laughed at her.
Look at him, look up at him, Circe.

Circe looked up at her husband, who was watching her clumsy progress with what seemed to be satisfaction.

One day, he will bury you in a place like this, and you’ll deserve it.

27

TWO DAYS LATER,
early on Tuesday morning, Tyler stopped by Aspect, the shop owned by Jane Arrowdale, and carefully opened the door. He wasn’t on duty for a couple hours, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, and he’d wanted to talk to Jane. The bell rang as cheerfully as ever when he entered, but Jane didn’t swoop over to him in one of her strange witch outfits as she normally would. Instead, he was greeted by the crisp voice of Old Ninny, who was sitting behind her small table as usual, tarot cards spread out in front of her, her mouth a grim line.

“What can I help you with, Investigator Downs?” the old woman asked without looking up.

“Well, ma’am.” Tyler took a seat next to her, adjusting his utility belt so his gun wasn’t digging into his waist. He didn’t understand why women insisted on this small-ass furniture. “I was wondering a few things, actually.”

Ninny grunted. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“First off”—Tyler looked around—“where’s Jane?”

Ninny shrugged. “She’s either run off somewhere with her husband for a while, or she’s run off for good.”

“Are the girls okay?”

“They’re fine. They’re with me when their mom’s not around.”

Tyler leaned forward a little. “You aren’t worried about Jane?”

Old Ninny leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “She’s a woman grown. She wants to hang around with that scat, that’s her business.”

“She could be hurt, kidnapped—”

“She ain’t,” the old woman cut him off.

“How do you know?” Tyler wasn’t sure why he even bothered to ask. He knew what the old woman would say, or wouldn’t say, as the case may be.

Her eyes twinkled at him a little. “You manage it pretty well, after living here so long. Not everyone can accept that strange things happen in this town without actually believing there’s such things as witches or magic or fate.”

Tyler mentally sighed. It wasn’t an answer, but it was about all the answer he’d expected. “I have another question, this one’s about the past.”

Old Ninny studied him, searching his face, but after a moment she nodded. “All right, then, go on.”

“What do you remember about when Summer disappeared?”

The old woman sighed. “Ahh, that was a long time ago.”

“Did you know her well?”

“Hmm.” She waved a hand. “I hate to say I barely paid attention to the girl. My husband was dying, sick with diabetes, in pain as he went blind and his nerves died. I spent most of my time tending to him.” She shook her head regretfully. “Girl ran wild, really, but she had her friends and seemed happy enough.”

“What about Jane, didn’t she take care of her?”

Ninny sighed and rocked against her chair a little, as if she were used to sitting in a rocking chair. “In an offhand way, Jane’s always been fascinated by Jane.” Her expression darkened. “Until that husband of hers came along. Then she didn’t have time for anyone else.”

“You don’t like him. You said in your statement at the time that if they wanted to know who killed Summer, they should look to Jane’s husband.”

Ninny eyed him. “I know what I said. You goin’ to listen or quote my words back to me?”

Tyler realized he’d broken his first rule of talking to women: let ’em talk and they’ll tell you everything.

“Sorry.”

“ ’S all right.” She settled back. “I remember what I said, but I don’t know for sure. He’s an evil man, but I never saw him lay a hand on the girl. Didn’t even seem to notice her.”

Tyler thought about that. “How did Jane and Mark meet?”

Ninny scowled. “He came to the house, all slicked up in a suit. He wanted to buy our land to the north. Said they were going to put in a golf course. While he was there, he mentioned that he thought Jane was the most beautiful woman in the world, or so she said.”

Ninny snorted, indicating what she thought about that idea.

“Did you ever see Gloria Belle Weaver, Raquel’s mom, with them?”

“Sometimes,” she agreed, her voice sad. “Now, there’s one who let herself fall by the wayside.”

Tyler wanted to ask her about the drinking and shouting his uncle had mentioned, but he wasn’t sure he entirely trusted her. The Havens might have started mixing in with the town after Summer died, but they were a solitary family, mostly content to solve their own problems.

“So what would they do? This town doesn’t have much in the way of entertainment.”

“They’d go to the cabin on Tavey’s property sometimes, her granddaddy’s hunting cabin. Sometimes they would take a car and go somewhere out of town or to Atlanta, but I don’t know whose car it was. It might have been Jane’s husband’s. I never cared to ask.”

“They went on Collins property without permission?”
Tavey would hate that
, Tyler thought mildly.

Ninny waved a hand. “I don’t think they asked, but I’m betting someone over there knew what was going on. Maybe not Mr. Collins, but somebody knew.”

Tyler thought that was really interesting. He wondered what Bessie or Atohi, the servants who’d worked for the Collinses the longest, would have to say if he pressed them about the old hunting cabin.

“I do know that whatever they were doing, they made some money at it.”

“Money?” Tyler listened more closely.

“After her husband left, after Summer disappeared, how do you think Jane got the money for this shop?”

Tyler had never thought about it. He’d assumed they’d sold land or magic beans or something.

“Money,” he repeated.

“Yes, indeed. Now, you through asking questions?”

Tyler scratched his head and stood. “For the time being. If you think of anything else, can you call me over at the Canton sheriff’s office?”

“I surely will,” she agreed.

Tyler started to leave, but she stopped him, her finger on one of her tarot cards.

“I’m real sorry about your uncle,” she said after a brief pause, seeming to frame her words very carefully. “I hate that he was cursed with such a fate.”

Tyler frowned. Did everyone in town know his uncle had cancer? “Thank you, ma’am. He’s a fighter, though.”

“That he was,” she agreed. “You be safe out there.”

Tyler nodded, vaguely uneasy without knowing exactly why.

Out on the sidewalk, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his nose of the scents of amber and woodsmoke that had filled the store. The day was overcast, promising rain, but the air was still mild.

He glanced over at Dog with Two Bones—Tavey’s store. It was open. Betty, the grandmotherly woman with white hair, had opened it just before he’d gone in to talk to Ninny. She’d smiled at him.

Tyler knew that Tavey usually took care of the store herself on Tuesdays, but he supposed she still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent after her little adventure in the woods. He scowled, thinking about the conversation they’d had in her bedroom. He’d reached out to her, told her about his conversation with his uncle, and she’d rebuffed him.

He didn’t believe for one second that she’d just been checking on a dog. She’d been searching for something in particular; he just had to get her to open up to him. No easy task since he hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat for her conversation all these years.

A motion in the window of her store caught his eye. He looked more closely and saw that it was Tavey standing in the window, frozen like a mannequin while she stared at him. She was holding what looked like a small white flagpole and had clearly been about to change the decorations in the front window.

Tyler waved at her, not a demanding wave, not a come-outside wave, just hello. He didn’t remember ever greeting her so simply.

She considered him solemnly for a moment, but then a small smile quirked up one side of her mouth.

She disappeared from the front window and reappeared at the door, opening it and easing down the handful of steps. He hurried over to offer her a hand, not wanting her to fall and twist her ankle again.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, not wanting to release her fingers, but not quite ready for the gossip that would start if he held hands with her as they walked through the center of town.

“Have you had breakfast?” he asked finally. “I have a favor to ask.”

She looked even more surprised than she had when she’d seen him in the window. “A favor?”

He nodded. He understood her confusion. The only thing he’d ever asked her for was to leave his uncle alone. He’d actually made of point of refusing her help whenever possible.

“I’ve had breakfast,” she said, “but I could use another cup of coffee.” Her brown eyes twinkled at him hesitantly, as if she expected him to mock her.

He wished he hadn’t said so many things to hurt her in the past. He hadn’t really thought he’d been hurting her. Hadn’t really thought she could be hurt by someone like him.

THE COFFEE SHOP
was small, in between the Alcove, one of the only restaurants in town, and the bakery.

He opened the door for her and she limped carefully inside. She was holding herself tensely as well, her shoulders tight. He wasn’t sure if that was because he was with her or because her head still hurt from her fall.

“Why don’t you get us a table.” He indicated a small two-top by the window. “I’ll get the coffee.”

“Thanks. I like sugar and cream.”

Tyler nodded; he knew that. Sometimes she’d be getting coffee when he stopped by in the morning on the way to the sheriff’s office in Canton. He’d listen to her order in her clear, crisp voice, and then watch as she’d turn and notice him. Her chin would lift, her shoulders square, as if she were preparing for a battle.

“Hey, Belinda,” he greeted the woman behind the counter. She was a local. Her father owned the organic grocery store and farmers’ market in town.

“Hey, Tyler.” She glanced behind him over at Tavey, raising one eyebrow as if to say,
Since when do you drink coffee with Tavey Collins?
She didn’t say it, though. No one wanted to offend Tavey.

“You both want the usual?” She was already pulling down two large cups, her dark-skinned hands moving with the ease of long practice.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, stuffing a couple dollars in her tip jar and getting out a five to pay for the coffees.

“You’re too sweet to me,” she told him with a bright smile as she filled the cups three-quarters full and placed them in front of him.

“I couldn’t get through my day without you, Belinda,” he said honestly. The coffee at the station tasted like there was algae growing inside the pot.

He walked over to the small station that held napkins, carafes of milk, sugar packets, and stir sticks, and loaded up both coffees with sugar and two percent milk. Walking back to the table, he noticed that people were watching them, even the college students, who usually didn’t have a clue about the locals. The coffee shop was half full, they’d missed the morning rush when everyone who worked in the circle stopped by for a cup of coffee before opening their shops. Most of the students were studying, books and laptops open in front of them while they sipped coffee as if it were the miracle that would get them through their tests in one piece. They usually didn’t pay him much attention, but he was wearing his uniform. He didn’t wear it most days, but he had court again this afternoon.

He set Tavey’s coffee down in front of her and took his seat. There was an awkward pause as they both struggled with the unfamiliarity of the situation.

Tavey was wearing a bright blue shirt with a collar, her dark hair down around her shoulders. She wore little makeup, and in the hazy gray light shining in through the window, her skin appeared to glow. Tyler swallowed.

“How’s your stepdaughter? Your mom?”

Once Tyler would have sneered at her for making polite chitchat, but her curious expression indicated that she was really interested, so he relaxed.

“They’re fine. Mom decided to get a job at the Dollar Store in Canton.”

“That’s good.” Tavey nodded. “Is she enjoying it?”

Tyler knew that Tavey managed several businesses and probably had as much money as the enterprising soul who had invented the Dollar Store. He thought she couldn’t possibly appreciate what a challenge it had been for his mother to get a job. After years of abuse, she hadn’t thought anyone would hire her.