Authors: Mia Kay
Once she was alone in Jeff’s car, Abby searched local hotels, looking for the fanciest ones in town. Wallis wouldn’t stay anywhere else. She narrowed the possibilities to two and panicked when she realized one of them was where she was staying.
She called it first and wondered how she was going to stop the entire crowd from going in.
“Thank you for calling The Grove, may I help you?”
“Hale Riker’s room please.”
The clerk was quiet for far too long. Abby could see the hotel looming in the windshield.
“We don’t have a guest by that name.”
Abby disconnected the call and punched the numbers that would seal her fate.
“Nine One One, what is your emergency?”
“Wallis Riker is going to kill her husband, Hale. They’re staying at Hotel Forty-Three. Please stop her.”
“You’ve overheard a fight?”
“No.”
“A threat?”
Enough of one to convince her. “Yes.”
“Is she armed?”
“No, but she will be.” Abby was now parked in her hotel lot, and all her friends were staring at her, waiting on her. “She’ll take him outside town, crush his skull, and leave his body to rot. Please, you have to believe me. You
have
to.”
“What is your location, ma’am? We’ll dispatch an officer for a statement.”
No they wouldn’t. They’d dispatch an officer to deal with the hysterical, depressed artist in the throes of a panic attack.
Evan knocked on her window, grinning and waving. “C’mon, Abby.”
They’d put her in a psychiatric ward. No one would protect her family.
She disconnected the call, turned off her phone, and opened her door. Forcing her body to work, she took Evan’s hand. “You’re going. With Mr. and Mrs. Harper. Behave.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Evan yawned. “You’ll come get me tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.” The word stuck in her throat. She never lied to Evan. “And Jeff will. Be home. Soon.”
They all got off the elevator on her floor and walked her to her room.
“Go take a bath and relax,” Maggie whispered as she hugged her.
“We’ll have breakfast tomorrow,” Tiffany said.
“Sext that hunky man of yours,” Charlene teased as she swept in.
Abby saved Evan for last. He threw his arms around her neck, and Abby hugged him hard, trying to memorize how he felt in her arms. “I love you, Evan.”
“Love you, too.”
She went into her room because that’s what they expected her to do. Then she stood and listened for the elevator bell, for the hall to quiet. Cracking the door open, she checked to make sure everyone was gone.
Then she ran for it.
Hotel 43’s lobby looked like a business park rather than a hotel, and Abby was sure it made her stand out as she sprinted to what she hoped was the front desk. A clerk smiled as she approached. “Welcome to Hotel Forty-Three. How—”
“Send security. To the Rikers’ room. Now. Keep them. From leaving.”
The young man’s smile faded. “Ma’am?”
“Mr. Riker is in danger. Please. Hurry.”
A man appeared at his elbow. His suit was perfectly pressed despite the hour. “I’m the hotel security, ma’am. May we help you?”
“Hale Riker. You have. To save him.”
She could have screamed when the guard went not to the elevators, but to the desk phone and dialed.
“Mr. Riker? We’ve had a report that you’re in danger.” His smile widened as he listened. “Certainly, sir.” The smile disappeared when he hung up. “The Rikers are in bed. If you’ll come...”
“No,” Abby snapped as she turned on her heel. She wasn’t going anywhere with that moron. Maybe Wallis would at least reconsider killing Hale if she thought people were watching.
Back in the car, she pulled into the shadows and faced the fact that no one was listening. Again. Worse, they’d get in her way.
She’d have to confess.
Gray was at the hotel. He’d believe her. And he was calm enough to explain it and make someone listen.
And it would leave Maggie and Evan unprotected while he dealt with her. Wallis would have open access to the people Abby had spent her life protecting. It would all be for nothing
.
Unless Wallis had no reason to come to Fiddler. And she wouldn’t if the police thought someone else killed Buck. If they thought his crazy, silent stepdaughter had done it. The state would save Evan. Gray would keep Maggie away from her. And Jeff would never come back.
It was the worst kind of lie, but she saw no other option.
* * *
It was dawn when she finished cleaning her house and sat down to print the letters she’d typed and saved years ago. One to Carter about the business, to Lex about her animals and the Humane Society, one to Faye thanking her for everything. And one to Maggie.
It took longer to write the one to Evan, because she didn’t want to type it, and she didn’t know what to say. Each attempt turned into pages of maudlin wishes and dreams. She burned each one and finally wrote what she thought he’d need to know.
This wasn’t your fault. Mind Jeff. I love you.
Jeff’s letter was worse. Her tears kept blurring her vision and ruining the ink. Those attempts went on the fire, too. She’d already told him she loved him, and now he probably wouldn’t believe it no matter how many times she said it. The best she could do was answer his questions.
I’m sorry. Everything you need to know is in the attic.
Slipping into her boots, she went outside and began her chores. Her animals shouldn’t suffer and starve until the police let Lex come get them. The routine soothed her nerves, and ended when she turned the horses out of the stable. Butcher came out last. The sun caught his silver mane and patchy pewter hair as he walked to her and nudged her shoulder.
“You’ll be fine now, boy,” she said as she scratched his ears and sent him on his way.
She looked down at Toby. “You will, too. I want you to stay with Evan and Tug.” The sun burnt the fog from the pasture, highlighting the large maple tree between her house and Jeff’s. Abby stared at it while she dialed.
“Chet? It’s Abby. You and Chief Roberts need to come to my place. Bring a shovel.”
Chapter Nineteen
Why wasn’t she answering her phone?
Jeff disconnected his fifth call to Abby without leaving a message. He’d left four others. And in between those, he’d texted Gray to make sure she was safe.
Everything was fine, according to Gray. So why didn’t she answer the fucking phone?
His taxi stopped at the door of the Jamestown, Kentucky, police department, and Jeff got out carrying his jacket and a brand new duffel bag full of the neatly wrapped, expensive as hell, personal items he’d purchased as he’d run through various airports in the middle of the night.
All to get here, when he really just wanted to be tucked in next to Abby, listening to her say
I love you
over and over again.
This trip had better be worth it.
He looked at the images on his phone. One marriage certificate between Beauregard Zachariah Archer and Wallis Elizabeth Perkins. And one birth certificate for Wallis/Betty naming her place of birth as Jamestown, Kentucky. Amanda was still scrambling for the daughter’s birth certificate, but everyone had agreed that coming here was the best way to connect the dots.
Everyone but Jeff.
He opened the door and walked into the small-town PD. The patrolman at the desk lifted his gaze and frowned. They probably didn’t get many new people.
“I’m Jeff Crandall,” he said, waiting for recognition. None came. “From the FBI.”
That changed things. “Doctor Crandall,” the man said as he bustled around the counter. “Chief Frank Mullins. So sorry. I’m stuck at the desk while my sergeant takes his daughter to school.” He kept walking toward the conference room. “You must’ve flown all night. Coffee?”
“That’d be great.”
When the chief returned, they sat at the table and Jeff put his ten-dollar steno pad in front of him. “Chief Mullins, I’m here to ask about a former resident. Wallis Perkins.”
“Wallis? You’re here about
Wallis
?”
Maybe Bob had been right after all. “So you knew her?”
“Everybody in town knows her.” The look on the chief’s face hinted that Wallis was more notorious than noted. “Have you found her? I mean...like a body or something?”
Or something
. “You believe she’s dead?”
“She’s been gone for thirty-two years. We’ve just assumed she met with a bad end. It wouldn’t be surprising.”
Jeff sipped the hottest, vilest coffee of his career. “Who’s
we
?”
“Her family, her husband, or ex-husband I suppose. Given everything.”
Jeff rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t think. “Husband? Mr. Archer?”
“No,” the chief drawled, frowning. “Ned Quinn.”
Quinn
. Jeff’s world tilted with the name as the pieces of the kaleidoscope in his brain formed a horrible picture. “Did they have daughter?”
This time the chief’s mouth dropped open. “Are you here about Abigail?”
Something told Jeff he was very much here about Abigail. “Tell me what happened.”
“It’s sad, really. The Quinns are an old family around here, well liked, hardworking—good people. Ned married Wallis. She’s from another good family. Smart girl. Pretty, too. And one night we get a call from Ned’s mother. She’d found him in the kitchen with his head split open. And all he’d say was that Wallis had left and taken their little girl.”
My father died when I was four.
“He’s still alive?”
“Sure. Still lives on the old place outside of town.”
“How do I find him?”
* * *
The Quinn homestead sat atop a small hill surrounded by a white, split rail fence. Two houses shared a large, shady yard and a view of the lake. And a lilac bush.
The man who came around the corner of the house pushing a wheelbarrow was tall, wiry and large-boned. His face was shaded by a Braves baseball cap. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Quinn?” Jeff heard the squeaky crack in his voice and cleared his throat. “I’m Jeff Crandall. Chief Mullins called you.”
Ned abandoned his gardening and strode forward, stripping off his gloves. “From the FBI, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeff said as his outstretched hand was swallowed in a callused, firm grip. “May I come in?”
“Sure, of course.” Ned opened the gate. “Agent Crandall, if you don’t mind me saying it, you look like you’ve been up all night.”
“Because I have, and please call me Jeff.”
“Ned,” the man said, smiling. “Would you like coffee? ’Cause Frank Mullins and I fish together. I’ve had his coffee.”
“I would.” Jeff followed Ned up the stone walk toward the house. “I was admiring your lilac. My grandmother has one.”
“That’s my mother’s pride and joy. She used to have a whole hedge of them between the houses.” Ned removed his cap and ran his hand through sandy-blond hair, which was streaked with gray. The movement revealed a nasty scar on the right side of his forehead from his hairline almost to his eyebrow. And deep, soulful brown eyes.
His daughter’s eyes.
While Ned went for coffee, Jeff swept his gaze around the living room. How the hell did he start this conversation?
Your daughter is alive. How could you let that monster have her? What was wrong with you?
A picture on the mantel caught his attention.
Walking closer, he stared at the yellowed photo. A little girl was astride a stick horse, her braids frozen in midbounce and her giggle immortalized. A shaggy black and white puppy was dancing next to her on his back legs.
Jeff heard the steps behind him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the vision of his somber Abby—and he was sure it was her—happy.
“This is your daughter?”
“That’s her. Only picture I have,” Ned explained. “Her and her Toby. Wallis hated that dog, and I think it was just because it loved Abby more than her.”
Jeff’s phone rang, interrupting the story. Gray. He pressed Ignore.
“Did you look for her?” Jeff asked, trying not to snap.
His search for a killer had led him here. What was Abby’s role in this?
Do children of killers become killers themselves?
“Everywhere I went. I finally hired a detective who tracked them to Boone, North Carolina.”
Jeff viciously disconnected another call. “Go on.”
“Her stepfather had taken her into Pisgah National Forest. Murder-suicide. She was just eight, and he’d left her out there so animals could gnaw on her bones. Who does that?”
“Was she alone?” Jeff asked the question he’d already guessed the answer to.
Ned frowned and shook his head. “She had a friend. Connie Dempsey. They’ve never found her. Why are you here, Jeff?”
Because I’m chasing a killer across the country when the answer was living next door.
“Because I know your daughter.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and displayed the photo he’d taken last night of Abby at the gallery, shyly soaking up the adoration.
Ned stared as tears ran down his face. “Where is she?”
“Idaho. I took that picture last night.”
“She’s beautiful.” Ned tapped the screen when the photo faded, then handed it back to Jeff in a silent demand that he unlock it. “I should have asked for my own DNA tests.”
Jeff handed the phone back to him. “Is...the body still in Boone?” The police department there probably had a stack of letters. One for every year.
“I had her exhumed and buried here with her family.” Ned’s face changed from adoration to a frown. “Can you make this larger?”
“Sure.” Jeff complied, and watched the frown morph to shock.
“Why is Wallis there?”
Her mother? Jeff stood over Ned’s shoulder. “Where?”
“There.” Ned jabbed a finger onto the screen. “I’d know those eyes anywhere.”
She’d been in the same room with that monster and not said a word. She’d kissed him goodbye, told him she loved him, but not told him that. Why?
His phone rang again, and again he silenced it. As he fumbled to get the picture back, it buzzed in his hand. Enough was enough.
“What?” he growled.
“Finally,” Gray growled back. “Where are you?”
“Kentucky. Gray, where’s—”
“How far is Bowling Green?”
“How the hell... Ned, how far to Bowling Green?”
“Hour and a half.”
Jeff repeated the information as his skin crawled.
“Get to Bowling Green,” Gray commanded. “We’re sending a plane. I’ll call with details, and this time answer your fucking phone.”
“Go pack a bag, Ned.” Sure the man was gone, Jeff walked to the fireplace and stared at toddler Abby. This was bad. He could feel it. “What’s wrong, Gray?”
“Your girlfriend’s just confessed to murder.”
* * *
A litany of questions droned through Jeff’s brain, overwhelming the engine noise as the executive jet touched down in Hastings. Thankfully, Ned had taken advantage of the droning hum and the leather seats and fallen asleep somewhere over Missouri. Up until then he’d been full of questions about his daughter, and Jeff was tired of hedging. He couldn’t lie to the man, but the full truth wouldn’t make things easier.
Jeff wasn’t even sure if he knew the full truth, though he’d received a photo of Abby’s birth certificate. Abigail Marian Quinn, born October 15, 1980, to Ned and Wallis Quinn. Wallis who’d been in Boise just yesterday, shaking his hand. Who’d dragged her daughter away from a large, loving family and...what? Tormented her until she became a monster herself? That’s what he’d spent months believing. He’d never wanted to be more wrong in his life.
Glen Roberts was waiting next to the hangar.
“Where’s Gray?” Jeff asked.
“He’s with Maggie. They’ve got Evan with them, and Gray thought I’d be able to answer more questions for you. Besides, I can get you to town quicker.”
The police chief looked past him, and Jeff remembered his passenger. “Glen Roberts, Ned Quinn.”
“I’m Abby’s father,” Ned said as he offered his hand.
Glen’s eyebrows arched to his hairline. “We have a lot to catch up on. Let’s go.”
After they were on the road, under the flash of red and blue lights, Jeff asked the question he’d been unable to voice until now. “What happened?”
“She called me out of the blue yesterday morning and said she had information on Buck.”
“Who’s Buck?” Ned and Jeff asked in tandem.
“Her stepfather,” Glen explained, glancing at Jeff. “Didn’t you know that? She lives on his place. Has since he went missing almost twenty years ago.”
Jeff’s lungs shrank two sizes. “Did he gamble?”
“Yeah. Nothing too heavy, but he liked to play the ponies over in Tacoma. Anyway, he was buried in the field behind the house. Tree roots had gone through the body. Poor bastard.”
All those faceless photos in his study swirled through Jeff’s thoughts. Mother-daughter team. This couldn’t be happening.
The traits he’d memorized, that he’d recited in front of her two days ago, were as easy to recall as his social security number. Intelligent child from an unstable family with a domineering mother and an absent father. Whether she’d admit it or not, life on the farm had kept her from achieving what she could. She hated her mother, who had abused her, and she had a list of phobias and hang-ups as long as his arm. And at least one suicide attempt.
Jeff rolled down the window to get some air.
Glen was still talking. “I got out there, and she led me straight to the body and told me she’d killed him. If I hadn’t arrested her, I think she would have cuffed herself to the car.”
Ned leaned up from the backseat. “Wallis did it. Abby couldn’t have—”
“You haven’t seen her since she was four,” Jeff reminded him, and then immediately felt like an ass. “Ned. You need to prepare yourself.”
We both do.
The man shook his head, and Jeff recognized his stubborn expression. He was just like his daughter.
“Did you say Wallis?” Glen asked. When Jeff nodded, Glen exhaled a long slow breath. “See, that’s the other part. This couple has gone missing from their hotel in Boise. The PD sent me a photo of the suspect, and it’s...well, it’s Abby.” Glen shot an apologetic look at Ned. “And the missing woman’s name is Wallis. Hale and Wallis Riker.”
“Wallis isn’t missing. She’s running,” Jeff said as they entered the Fiddler city limits. “Where are we going?”
“I thought you’d want to go to the jail, see about getting her—”
She was the last person he wanted to see right now. “I want to talk to Gray and see Evan. The kid has to be terrified.”
“Okay, but you need to get on with it. We can’t keep the Feds out of it for much longer.”
“I’m the Feds, Glen.”
“Guess you are,” the chief snorted. “I keep forgetting that. Whatever. We’d like to get to the bottom of it first. I figured you’d agree with that, seeing as how—”
“She’s confessed,” Jeff reminded him. Truthfully, he needed the reminder too—because his heart was soaring with the knowledge Abby had such loyal friends.
“Son, that confession is a load of shit, and you know it. Abby wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less murder a man and leave him to rot in a shallow grave. No one thinks she did this.”
The car was quiet for a few minutes. Jeff stared out the window as the countryside slid by at a dizzying pace.
“Who’s Evan?” Ned asked.
“Our—her foster son,” Jeff answered. There was no
our
. She hadn’t shared anything with him. Hadn’t trusted him. He’d told her everything, let her tempt him with the promise of peace, and she’d lied. Lied. And he’d been too lovestruck to see it.
“She has a child?”
The shake in Ned’s voice indicated he was reaching information overload. This morning he’d woke with a daughter in a grave, and Jeff had dangled hope in front of him. A daughter, a grandson.
A suspected murderer and a temporary child.
They arrived at Gray’s home, and Jeff walked in without knocking. Conversation led him to the kitchen.
“Badger, I’m not the best choice for this.”
“She doesn’t need a real lawyer, Graham.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. She didn’t do this. She—” Maggie looked up from her perch on a counter stool. “Hi, Jeff.”
Evan bolted into the room, and Jeff dropped to his knees to catch the boy in a tight hug. Toby galloped next to him. Tug was close behind, scrabbling against the hardwood floor.