Out of the Dark (4 page)

His hands were shaking as he walked back across the room and sat down in the chair where he’d been reading earlier—before his carefully manufactured world had fallen apart. He picked up the book, removed the piece of junk mail that he’d used as a bookmark and then looked down at the page. The words were little more than a blur.

He inhaled slowly and then wiped his eyes, once again trying to resume reading where he’d left off. But the words on the page still all ran together, fading in a watery blur. He dropped the book onto the floor between his feet, then leaned back in the chair and stared across the room.

She smiled at him from beneath the arbor of ivy, her long blond hair falling over her shoulders and down across her breasts. Her feet were bare; their painted pink toenails a bright contrast to the yellow fabric of her long gypsy dress. There was a chain of daisies woven through her hair and another dangling from one hand. She looked young and happy and seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d destroyed his world and stolen his child. Facing her this way—now, after all this time—made him so very, very sad and so very, very angry.

“So they tell me you’re dead. Are you, Margaret…or Ivy…or whatever the hell you called yourself? Are you dead?” He shuddered, as if the words were bitter on his tongue. “So be it, my love. One day I will join you. Then maybe you can explain what the hell you were thinking when you did what you did.”

Margaret’s expression didn’t change. Her smile didn’t waver. Her eyes didn’t blink. The complacency of the woman in the painting began to get under Sam’s skin. How could she smile like that when she’d destroyed him? And there was Jade. His sweet little baby girl. If she was still alive, she was no longer a child.

He got up from where he was sitting and walked toward the painting with purpose in his step, stopping only a few feet from where he’d hung the picture to gaze into her face.

“Where is she?” he muttered. “What did you do with Jade?”

But there had never been answers in Margaret Cochrane, only questions, and asking them now was redundant.

He leaned closer, staring at the right-hand corner near the frame. That smudge he’d noticed earlier was still there, and the longer he looked, the more convinced he became that it was a fingerprint. If so, maybe it would lead to the artist and to the answers he so desperately needed. It was then that he thought of Lucas Kelly. If anyone could make sense of this, it would be Luke. He reached for the phone, then remembered Luke was out of town until tomorrow. Still, he could leave a message. He made the call, unaware that his voice was shaking. Once he was through, he looked up at the painting one last time, then headed for the hall. As he reached the doorway, he flipped off the lights, leaving the picture of his wife just as she’d left him all those years ago—in the dark and without a backward glance.

Luke Kelly walked into his apartment after five days on the road, set down his suitcase and then punched the play button on his answering machine as he sorted through his mail. The last call was from Sam Cochrane.

He smiled when he heard Sam’s voice. He had known him for more than ten years and considered Sam one of his best friends. But the more he heard, the more he realized that he had never heard Sam this shaken.

Without hesitation, he dialed Sam’s number. Sam answered on the first ring.

“I’m home. What’s wrong?”

Sam exhaled slowly. Just hearing Luke’s voice was settling.

“How soon can you come over? I need to talk to you.”

“I’m on my way,” Luke said, and hung up in Sam’s ear.

He didn’t bother to change or unpack, and ignored the fact that he needed a shave. Not once in the eleven years he’d known Sam had he ever asked for a favor. That he was doing it now was indicative of how important this must be. He reached for his car keys, shoved a hand through his hair in lieu of a comb and headed back out the door.

Twenty minutes later he was pulling into Sam’s driveway. Sam met him at the door.

“Where’s Velma?” he asked, as Sam let him in.

“Her daughter had a baby. I gave her the week off.”

Luke tried a smile. “I’m assuming that’s not why you called.”

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s not.” Then he eyed Luke’s appearance. “You look like hell.”

Luke grinned. “Why, thank you, Sam.”

Finally Sam managed a chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never seen St. Louis’s most eligible bachelor looking so…casual.”

“Five days on the road chasing bad guys.”

“Did you find them?” Sam asked.

Luke nodded.

“Good, then you’re hired.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“More than you can know. Come with me,” Sam said, and led the way to the library. Once inside, he turned and pointed to the picture he’d hung last night.

“Hey, what happened to the Wyeth?” Luke asked. “Did someone steal it?”

“No. For the time being, it’s in storage.”

“Then what’s with this? It’s good. In fact, it’s really good. Who’s the artist?”

“I don’t know, but I need you to find her for me.”

“Why?”

Sam took a deep breath and then turned to face the painting. “Because that’s a painting of my wife, Margaret. She’s been missing for more than twenty years, and it’s the first sign of her I’ve had since it happened.”

Luke was stunned. He’d known of the incident and how deeply Sam had been affected. More than once he’d heard Sam speak of the little girl, Jade, who’d been so dear to his heart, but he’d rarely heard Sam speak of his wife. Now, from the expression on Sam’s face, he could only assume that one reason Sam had been quiet about Margaret was that the incident was too painful.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“Paul and Shelly found it at a street fair in San Francisco last week.”

“My God…what are the odds?” Luke muttered; then he leaned forward, looking for a name on the painting, and saw nothing but a faint image of a fingerprint stamped in red on the grass beneath the woman’s bare feet.

“There’s no name on the painting,” he said.

“Yes, I know, and unfortunately, Shelly didn’t get the artist’s name when she was buying this. That’s where you come in. Will you help?”

“Of course,” Luke said. “I’ll need to talk to Paul and Shelly before I go any further. They might remember something on questioning.”

Sam hesitated, then shoved his hands into his pockets and strode to the window on the other side of the room.

Luke frowned, then followed his friend.

“Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Shelly said that the artist knew Margaret as Ivy. She also said that Margaret was dead.”

Luke flinched. He could only imagine what the news had done to Sam.

“Do you believe her?” he asked.

Sam shrugged. “Hell, Luke, I don’t know what to believe. But I need to know the truth, or as much of it as you can determine. Even if it’s true…even if Margaret is dead…something might lead me to Jade.” Then his voice softened, and it was almost as if he was talking to himself rather than Luke. “All these years, I’ve managed to exist by telling myself that, while they were no longer with me, they were still somewhere on this earth, breathing the same air that I breathe, rising to the same sun and sleeping beneath the same moon as I do. They can’t both be dead. They just can’t.”

Luke clasped his friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. “If there’s an answer to be had, I’ll get it.”

Sam turned. A muscle was jerking in his jaw as he reached for Luke’s hand.

“Thank you, my friend. Find my family and you can name your price.”

“There is no price on friendship,” Luke countered. “I’ll settle for a few prayers.”

Sam nodded, choking back tears as he shook Luke’s hand.

“Time enough for all this in the upcoming days. For now, you need to go home and get some rest.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Luke said, and started to leave, then hesitated and turned back around. He pointed to the painting.

“Will you let me have this for a bit?”

“Certainly,” Sam said. “But why?”

“That fingerprint. Thought I’d run it through channels and see what we come up with.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and then he started to smile.

“Good thinking,” he said.

Luke grinned. “It’s what I do.”

S
helly Hudson’s phone was ringing when she came in from the garage. She ran to answer with a breathless hello.

“Shelly, it’s Luke Kelly.”

“Luke! How nice to hear from you. I understood you were out of town.”

“Yes, I was. Got back yesterday.”

“We barely beat you home. Paul and I returned only a couple of days ago ourselves.”

“Yes, I know. It’s part of why I’m calling. Sam showed me the painting.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of hesitation then Shelly added. “Is Sam okay? Paul and I have been torn about what we did. I don’t know whether bringing that painting home did him a favor or not.”

“He’s fine. In fact, I’m going to do a little investigating for him, and I would like to talk to you and Paul about the artist. Since there was no signature on the painting, it’s possible you heard a name and have just forgotten. Sometimes talking about an incident brings back memories.”

“Paul won’t be of any help. He wasn’t even there. My girlfriend and I were the ones at the street fair. Unfortunately she’s in San Francisco. I’d be happy to talk to you, although I’m sure I remembered all there was to tell.”

“When can I come over?”

Shelly glanced at the clock. It was almost noon.

“If you’re up for some chicken Caesar salad, come now and I’ll fix us both some lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Luke said. “Is thirty minutes okay?”

“Perfect,” Shelly said. “I hope I can help. I feel so responsible for opening this Pandora’s box.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke said. “I’ll be there soon.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Shelly heard a car pulling up their driveway and looked out. It was Luke. She stood for a moment, admiring the pure physical attraction of the man. Over and above his intelligence and successful career, he was more than a sight to behold. He stood well over six feet tall, with chocolate-brown hair and sharp green eyes. His chin was square, his lips full and often smiling. His eyebrows were almost as expressive as his mouth, often arching with surprise or tilting in a quirky manner that mirrored anything from disdain to surprise. He wore his clothes with a casual indifference, conscious only of their fit. But women saw more than a tall, good-looking man. To them, he was a talking, walking, hunk of alpha male.

Even Shelly, who was almost twenty years his senior and a happily married woman, could appreciate the beauty of a perfect male. She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to the door and let him in.

“You’re just in time,” she said, offering her cheek for the kiss she knew would be coming.

“You smell good,” Luke said, as he followed Shelly Hudson into the kitchen.

She turned and grinned. “Since I’m not wearing any perfume, it’s got to be the chicken.”

“Like I said, you smell good.”

She laughed aloud and waved him toward a chair in the breakfast nook.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I thought we’d eat in here.”

“This is perfect,” Luke said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I have iced tea in the fridge. You can get it and the glasses I have chilling in the freezer and put them on the table.”

“Will do,” Luke said.

Soon they were sitting down to eat, and for a short time, they stuck to safe topics of conversation. It wasn’t until Shelly was taking their plates to the dishwasher and pouring them some coffee that Luke shifted the mood.

“Tell me about the street fair,” Luke said.

Shelly set a plate of cookies on the table between them, pushed the cream and sugar toward Luke and leaned back in her chair.

Luke sugared and creamed his coffee, then picked up a cookie as Shelly began to talk.

“It was such a perfect day. The last day of our trip. My friend, Deb, took me to this street fair. We’d been there at least a couple of hours when I saw the booth.” Then she grinned. “Truthfully, I probably saw the man who was working there first.”

“I thought the artist was a woman,” Luke said.

“Oh, she was, but there was this man with her.” Shelly sighed. “He was absolutely beautiful.” She giggled, a little embarrassed at herself. “You know…long black hair, striking blue eyes, and the most stunning face…like some Michelangelo statue come to life.”

“Did you get a name?”

Shelly frowned. “I don’t think so. I saw the painting almost immediately, and after that forgot everything except—”

“Yeah, I can understand. Sam said something about the artist calling the subject by a different name?”

Shelly nodded. “Oh, yes! That surprised me. I suppose it stood to reason, though. If I ran away from my family, I wouldn’t be calling myself Shelly Hudson. I’d use another name, which is what I suppose Margaret did.” Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “After all, that was a different time, remember? It was the mid-seventies when Margaret disappeared. She got caught up in some cult, obviously changed her name and got lost in that underground society.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much from Sam.”

“He was devastated. Looked for them for years, but there wasn’t a clue. Then this…” Shelly shrugged, then wiped her hands across her face, as if to clear her thoughts. “I had to bring it to him, didn’t I, Luke? Please tell me I did the right thing?”

“Absolutely,” Luke said, and covered her hand with his. “The worst thing in life is not knowing what’s happened to a missing loved one. Trust me, I’ve been through this countless times with other people. Which brings me to the next question. They told you that the woman in the painting was dead, right?”

Shelly nodded. “Said she’d been dead for years.”

Luke frowned. “Did you ask about her daughter?”

Shelly sighed. “No, and I could kick myself, but I was so stunned, it didn’t occur to me to follow up like that.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Luke said. “What I need is the address where the fair was held. People usually have to rent booth space, so they should have a record somewhere of the renters’ names.”

“Oh, Luke! I never thought of that!”

Luke grinned. “Yeah, well, that’s why I get the big bucks and you smell so good.”

Shelly threw back her head and laughed, her short blond curls bouncing with mirth.

“You make me feel so much better about all this,” she said.

“After that wonderful meal, it’s the least I can do.”

“You’ll have to come back for dinner sometime soon. Paul was saying the other day that it’s been ages since we’ve all been together for a meal.”

“Name the day and I’m here,” Luke said, then stood. “If you remember anything else—anything at all—call me immediately. In fact, why don’t you call your friend, Deb, and see if she remembers something.”

“Good idea,” Shelly said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Within minutes Luke was gone, leaving Shelly with a lighter heart and a kitchen full of dirty dishes.

But Luke wasn’t through for the day. He had the painting in the back seat of his car and was now on his way to the St. Louis Police Department. There was a detective there who owed him a favor, and he wanted the use of their crime lab. If they were lucky, the fingerprint left in paint on the picture might give him a name. It was a long shot, but nothing he could afford to ignore.

Raphael had the aisle seat on the bus bound for New Orleans, putting himself, as always between Jade and the rest of the world. Jade was asleep, curled up in the window seat with her head against the window. The air conditioner vent was blowing directly on her shoulders. He could tell by the way she was sitting that she was cold, so he reached up over her head to adjust the flow.

Even in her sleep, Jade felt the cessation of air on her face. Almost immediately her sleep went from dreamless to a flashback of a hellish incident from her childhood.

It was almost midnight in the San Fernando Valley, where the People of Joy were now living. The old ranch house belonged to a distant relative of one of the People, but he would never know. The stroke that had robbed him of his senses would keep him hospitalized in the sanatorium where he now resided until death took him to a better place.

The rooms where the children slept were at the far end of the sprawling building, supposedly for their well-being. But some of the children would have argued the excuse. Isolated from the other rooms, it was simple for Solomon to pick and choose the child of the moment for the “customers” who, from time to time, came calling.

Tonight, Jade slept curled up against a little girl they called Sunshine. Sunshine was blond and chubby and on occasion still wet the bed. Jade liked her well enough but always slept on the edge of the bed for fear she would wake up in Sunshine’s pee, and tonight was no exception.

The ceiling fan squeaked with every rotation, but the repetitive sound and the flow of air on seven-year-old Jade’s face was oddly soothing. They were familiar things that proved no threat.

She was dreaming about the sweetness of the blackberries that they’d picked earlier in the day when something about the dream began to change. The breeze she’d been feeling on her face was no longer blowing. It had happened before and meant bad things would happen. She started to squirm. There was something that she needed to remember—what happened when the wind stopped blowing. But she was so deep into sleep she couldn’t make herself wake up.

Then the mattress beneath her started to shift. Mental warning bells went off so loudly that she sat straight up in bed with a gasp.

“Shh,” a voice whispered. “It’s okay, my beautiful darling, it’s okay. Sunshine wet this bed, so you’re going to a clean one.”

Jade knew the voice—Solomon’s voice. She also knew he didn’t care if she slept in Sunshine’s pee. He was why the wind quit blowing. Every time he leaned over to pick her up out of bed, he blocked the air from the fan. He was going to take her to the purple room again, and she didn’t want to go to the purple room. That was where the uncles were.

“No!” she cried, and started pushing him away. “Don’t take me to the purple room. Please, Solomon, please. I don’t want to go there.”

“Easy, Jade darling. You know it’s going to be all right. Solomon always takes care of his baby girl.”

“No!” Jade begged, now struggling to get out of Solomon’s arms, but he was unwilling to give back the hundred dollars in his pocket.

“Be quiet,” he said sharply. “You’ll wake up the other children.”

“I don’t care!” Jade screamed, and started to sob. “Take one of them and not me.”

Within seconds, one of the doors up ahead opened. A young boy walked out into the hallway. He was tall for a ten-year-old and wise beyond his years. Solomon saw him and frowned.

“Raphael! Go back to bed.”

But the boy stood his ground.

“Please, Solomon, she doesn’t want to go.”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” Solomon said.

Raphael grabbed Solomon’s sleeve as he passed by.

“Take me. I’ll go in her place. Take me. I don’t care.”

“They don’t want you, boy. Not tonight. Now get back inside and close the door before I make you sorry.”

By now, Jade was sobbing uncontrollably. Raphael reached for her, but Solomon slapped him away, then shoved him inside the room and slammed the door.

“Stay in there or you’ll be sorry!” he yelled.

There was a shuffling sound on the other side of the door and then silence. In that moment, Jade stilled. She knew that if she made any more fuss, Rafie would come after her. If he did, Solomon would get mad—real mad. And when that happened, people got hurt. She didn’t want Rafie hurt.

“That’s my good girl,” Solomon said, and gave her a quick hug.

She turned her face against the sleeve of his shirt and closed her eyes, unable to understand why this was happening to her. In her eyes, her mother had just gone off and left her here. She didn’t know that Margaret was dead, and even if she had, in her child’s mind, she would never have understood the ramifications of what that meant. All she knew was that she was alone with people who hurt her. She also knew that if she raised a big fuss, Raphael would get in trouble, and she loved Raphael. He was her best friend. So she stifled her sobs and closed her eyes, already letting her mind go to another place where nothing was bad and Solomon didn’t exist.

Solomon had no idea what was going through the little girl’s mind, and if he had, wouldn’t have cared. He was focused on the business at hand. A couple of seconds later, he turned the corner in the hallway and headed for the room at the far end of the hall. Just before they went inside, he heard Jade whisper.