Scent of Roses & Season of Strangers Page 31
Over the weekend, Richard Long, she discovered, had been tossed into jail for spousal abuse. He’d been released on bail, but didn’t show up for his scheduled Monday morning counseling session. She shouldn’t have felt any satisfaction in finding out his wife had finally had the courage to press charges, but she did.
While Elizabeth worked at the office, Zach worked long-distance out of her apartment. He represented a number of clients in the firm’s Themoziamine class action suit and he liked to stay in touch with them. He had a list of calls to make, including a couple of conference calls with his partner, Jon Noble, and members of the opposing law firm.
“Plenty to do to keep me busy till ex-deputy Donahue arrives for our meeting tonight,” he had told her as he walked her to her car. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to work? Maybe you ought to stay home another day.”
“I’m fine, Zach. Just a little headache. Other than that I’m okay.”
He gently touched her cheek, his eyes on her face, then he turned away. “Call me if anything comes up,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll see you when you get home.”
She started the engine of her car, but didn’t drive away until he’d walked back inside the apartment. Something was wrong.
Her stomach knotted at the thought of what it might be.
* * *
She was late getting home that night. The lunch hour had passed and she hadn’t had time to eat. With Sam and Ben Donahue arriving at seven they wouldn’t have time to cook dinner. Deciding to stop by the Chinese takeout, she pulled into her open parking garage at just before six that night.
Zach was waiting when she walked through the back door, pacing restlessly in front of the kitchen table, his face a mask of worry. His expression relaxed into one of relief, quickly followed by tight lines of anger.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Surprised at his tone, she held the paper bag she carried out to show him. “I stopped to get some Chinese food, something easy for supper since the men will be here at seven.”
He took the bag out of her hand and set it down on the kitchen table. “Why the hell didn’t you answer your cell phone? I thought… I was afraid… I was worried something had happened to you.”
She would have been angry if she hadn’t noticed the edge in his voice, the unmistakable trace of fear. He had been frightened, afraid she might have been hurt.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I would have called if I’d known you would worry. I don’t know how I missed your call. I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
She slid the strap of her white leather bag off her shoulder and set the purse down on the table. Digging out her cell phone, she flipped it open and checked the dial. “I guess the battery is low.”
Zach’s gaze found hers, locked and held. She recognized the concern, and something more, something much deeper that made her heart pound with hope. Zach caught her shoulders, drew her against his chest, and very thoroughly kissed her.
“Don’t scare me that way again.”
Elizabeth went up on her toes and kissed him back. “I won’t. I promise.”
Zach looked away. He paced over to the window and stared out toward the parking garage. “I don’t know, Liz. I don’t think I can do this.”
“Do what?”
He slowly turned to face her. “Love someone this way. Care this much. It’s just not the way I am.”
She walked up in front of him, cupped his cheek with her hand. “I think it’s exactly the way you are. I think that’s what scares you so much.”
When Zach made no reply, she kissed him again and he kissed her back. She could feel his hunger, his growing need, feel his heavy arousal pressing urgently against her.
Then the phone rang and the moment was lost.
Zach gave her a last long glance, then turned and walked over to pick up the phone. Apparently it was Sam, calling to confirm their meeting. Elizabeth busied herself setting out the Chinese food she had bought for the two of them, though she was no longer hungry.
Instead, she thought of Zach and the uncertainty in his voice, and fear of losing him made her stomach churn.
She was in love with him. She believed that he loved her. The question remained, did it matter? And how bad would it hurt if he chose to return to his solitary existence instead of choosing a life with her?
* * *
True to his word, Sam Marston arrived with Ben Donahue at seven o’clock. Zach shook hands with both men and Sam introduced Elizabeth to Ben.
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” Elizabeth suggested. “There’s a table we can use, and we can all have something cold to drink.”
“Sam’s told me a little about your situation,” Donahue said as they made their way into the kitchen and Elizabeth poured frosty glasses of iced tea and set them down on the table in front of the men.
Ben opted for a beer, twisting the top off a Bud Lite Elizabeth gave him, then taking a long, refreshing swallow.
“I gotta say this all sounds completely insane,” he said, “but I have to admit, I’m intrigued.” He was tall, lean, blond and fair, a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties, single, according to Sam.
Ben had only been in San Pico for about three years, two before he’d been injured on the job and forced to retire, which, Zach had earlier proclaimed, was probably the reason he’d agreed to talk to them.
“He doesn’t know much about me or my brother. So far, he’s still got an open mind.”
Which Donahue proved by listening to the wildest tale any two people ever told. Together Elizabeth and Zach explained, step by step, how they had come to the conclusion that nine-year-old Carrie Ann Whitt might be buried under the little yellow house at Harcourt Farms.
“We worked backward,” Zach told him. “We figured, if there really was a ghost like Maria Santiago claimed—which, of course, neither of us actually believed—it must be someone who had died in the house. In this case a little girl, since that was the vision Maria described.”
“We didn’t find any children who had died,” Elizabeth put in, “but we found out that thirty-some years ago, a married couple who had lived in the old house that existed on the very same spot had murdered a little girl up in Fresno a couple of years after they moved away.”
“It was a really brutal murder,” Zach added, “and both the husband and wife were convicted. In fact, the guy was executed for the crime.”
“Wow…”
Elizabeth took a drink of her iced tea. “Unfortunately, the little girl in Fresno—Holly Ives—didn’t match the description of the ghost in the house on the farm and of course Holly was killed a hundred miles away.”
“But you still thought you were onto something,” Ben said.
“Exactly.” Zach took a drink from his tall, frosty glass. “After reading about the pair and talking to some of the people involved in the case, we got to thinking that maybe someone as evil as these two—maybe they had killed before. Maybe they killed another little girl while they were here in San Pico.”
Donahue leaned forward in his chair. “A serial couple?”
“The cops we talked to all agreed they were likely candidates, but they were never able to link them to any other murders in the valley.”
“Still, you figured it was worth checking out.”
Zach nodded. “I hired a private detective named Ian Murphy to canvas the L.A. basin. We figured if they kidnapped another child and she wasn’t from the valley, the next closest place was L.A.”
Ben set his beer bottle down on the table. “Don’t tell me Murphy actually found a victim who matched the description of the ghost?”
“Incredible, isn’t it? And the girl disappeared during the years the Martinez couple lived in the house.”
“I can’t believe this.”
Elizabeth stared into Ben’s face. “I saw her, too, Ben—just like Maria Santiago. The ghost of a little girl.”
Ben held up a hand. “Okay, okay. At this point you assume your ghost really was this little girl who went missing in L.A. What’d you do next?”
“We talked to the detective who worked on the abduction,” Zach told him. “He’s retired now, a guy named Danny McKay. McKay remembered Carrie Ann Whitt. He even recalled what she was wearing the day she disappeared.”
“Good memory. So what did she have on?”
“A party dress,” Elizabeth answered. “A pink pinafore, just like the one the little girl who appeared in the house was wearing. You see, the day she disappeared was Carrie Ann’s birthday. That’s why he remembered.”
Donahue pushed up from his chair, beer bottle in hand. “This is nuts.”
“You’re telling us?” Elizabeth said.
“There are things going on in that house,” Zach continued. “Dangerous things. We need to find out if she’s there, if that’s what all this is about.”
“Why are you so convinced you’ll find her there? Even if these people actually murdered the girl, they could have buried her anywhere around here.”
“True enough.” Zach finished his iced tea and set the glass back down on the table. “But the Martinezes buried Holly Ives in the basement of their house in Fresno. So…”
“Jesus!”
“Exactly,” Zach said. “Holly was tortured, raped and strangled. It was a terrible, brutal murder, the kind of violent death that, according to what we’ve been reading, might result in the spirit remaining in the house.”
“But you said yourself Holly wasn’t killed in San Pico.”
“No, but we think Carrie Ann Whitt might have been,” Elizabeth said. “That’s why we need your help.”
Ben sank back down in his chair. The knuckles wrapped around his beer bottle looked pale. “Who the hell would believe a wild-ass story like this?”
“I don’t even believe it,” Zach grumbled.
Elizabeth reached over and touched Ben’s hand. “We have to find out if it’s true, Ben.”
He looked at her and then at Zach. “Crazy as it sounds, I’m beginning to see why you think it might be.”
“So you’ll help us?”
“Like Sam said, you sure can’t go to the police. Which means you got no choice but to look for her yourself.”
“No choice at all,” Zach said.
Ben began a slow grin. “In that case, I guess we’re going to have to dig.”
Sam grinned, too.
The corner of Zach’s lips barely lifted.
Elizabeth thought of the little blond girl who looked like an angel and what might have happened to her and didn’t smile at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Elizabeth went into the office early Tuesday morning while Zach stayed home and made calls from her apartment. He was growing more and more distant, as though he had never been frightened for her, as though they had never talked about love, as though they were friends and nothing more.
They hadn’t made love last night, though she had hoped they would. Zach had hardly touched her since the attack. She told herself he was waiting for her to heal, but she knew it wasn’t the truth. He was afraid of his feelings for her.
Afraid of what might happen if he gave in to them.
She was determined to talk to him, to get things out in the open, but couldn’t seem to find the right time. When the phone on her desk rang just before noon, she was surprised to hear Zach’s deep voice on the line. It rolled over her like a caress, sent her nerve endings into high gear, and she thought again how much she had come to love him.
Lately, she’d had plenty of time to think and whenever she did, she remembered the look on Zach’s face when she had opened her eyes in the emergency room and seen him standing there in the room.
He had told her that he loved her. When she thought of that moment, she believed him. She had seen it, written so clearly on his face. He loved her and she loved him.
And in these past few days, she had come to a decision. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it couldn’t work, she wasn’t giving up on them.
Not without a fight.
“I just got a call from my office,” he said into the phone. “Apparently Dr. Marvin went to see the judge assigned to my father’s case. He told the judge it was urgent that Dad’s operation take place as soon as possible, that the chances for success went down with every day they waited. The judge has agreed to a hearing Thursday morning.”
There was something in his voice, a note of optimism that hadn’t been there in days.
“You’re smiling, I can tell. What is it?”
“The judge…his name is Hank Alexander. He was my father’s best friend.”
“Oh, my God.” She shifted the phone against her ear. “Isn’t he supposed to recuse himself or something, since he knows one of the parties so well?”
“I don’t think he will. If he knows my father as well as I think he does, he knows Fletcher Harcourt would want this surgery as much as I want it for him. I think he’ll hear the case himself.”
“Oh, Zach, I hope so. I really do.”
He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m working on a brief I need to finish. And I’ve got a couple of things to do before Donahue and Sam show up.”
“All right, I’ll see you at the apartment.”
“Yeah…” he said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Elizabeth hung up, wondering what she had heard in his voice. Yearning, she thought. Maybe he heard it, too. Maybe he would realize how much he cared and decide their relationship could work. Maybe he would decide he loved her enough to stay.
If he did—if he ever really made that kind of commitment—Elizabeth had come to believe he would keep it. She was convinced he was that kind of man.
Zach wasn’t at the apartment when she got home. Elizabeth changed into jeans and a sleeveless white blouse meant for the Salvation Army bag, tied the tails up around her waist, and went in to fix herself a glass of iced tea.
Zach arrived a few minutes later, carrying a small paper sack, which he set down of the table beside her glass. “I brought you a sandwich. I didn’t think you’d want to cook.”
She opened the bag and peered down at the crusty slices of bread.
“Turkey and cheese. I hope that’s okay.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t hungry. Just thinking of the night ahead made her stomach roll. She looked down at the bag. “Where’s yours?”
“Not hungry. Maybe I’ll catch something later.”
She rolled the sack closed and set the sandwich aside. “I think I will, too.”
At ten after seven, Ben Donahue arrived. Sam walked in behind him.
“Thanks for coming,” Zach said, shaking both men’s hands. He led them into the kitchen and Elizabeth poured them a glass of iced tea. She offered Ben a beer but he declined with a grin.
“Tonight I think I’d better have my wits about me.”
Sitting around the kitchen table, they talked about the house and the best way to approach the search. Zach showed them a grid he had made on the computer to use as a way of keeping track of their progress and mentioned the access hole on the side where they could go in.
“I bought some lights at Wal-Mart I think will work pretty well. It’s going to be dark down there. We’ll need as much light as we can get to see what we’re doing.”
“I’ve got a couple of short-handled shovels in my car,” Ben said.
“We’ll have plenty then. I bought some when I got the lights.” Zach drained the last of his tea. �
��Along with a couple of buckets if we need to move the dirt around.”
“I brought something I thought might help,” Sam said. “A metal detector. I borrowed it from a friend.”
“Great,” Zach said. “Maybe it’ll pick up something useful.”
They went over a few last details and by the time they finished, it was getting dark.
“Time to go,” Zach said, rolling up the grid he had printed out, wrapping a rubber band around it. “We’ve got to talk to Miguel before we start digging. I thought about going over there last night, but I didn’t want him to have time to change his mind or maybe say something to Carson.”
“What if he won’t agree?” Ben asked.
Zach’s jaw hardened. “He’ll agree. I’m not giving him a choice.”
* * *
The night was dark, only a fingernail moon, the little house rising up out of an inky blackness. Though it looked no different than a thousand other houses, Elizabeth shivered.
“Maybe he’s not home,” she said, looking toward the windows of a darkened living room.
“He damned well better be. I called him. I told him we’d be coming over. I told him we needed to talk him.”
“He goes to work early. Maybe he’s already in bed.”
Sam and Ben stood next to them in the driveway. “You think he’s in there?” Ben asked. They had all come in Zach’s Jeep, which he’d parked next to the garage until they could unload their gear.
“You guys stay here and I’ll go see.”
“I’ll go with you.” Heading for the front porch, Elizabeth walked next to Zach up the porch stairs. Zach cast a glance her way, then knocked on the door. Inside the house, Elizabeth heard muttered curses, someone stumbling around inside, moving toward them across the living room, then the porch light went on and the door swung open.
Miguel Santiago stood in the threshold, though for a moment, she didn’t recognize him. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty, his black hair a long, tangled nest around his head, and his eyes were hollow and sunken in. In the faint light inside the house, she could see the odd, waxiness of his skin, the way his nostrils flared when he realized who stood on his doorstep.