Dylan spit out an expletive and ran his hand through his hair. Yochem was watching them with that speculative TV-detective look. Dylan made a point to stand in front of Chloe as he walked toward Yochem.
What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, that’s what. Nothing new when it came to Chloe.
“Do you have any news? Is that why you’re here?” Dylan asked, surprised to find his voice hoarse.
“No, nothing. I spoke with your housekeeper, who told me you’d probably come out here. So I wanted to see for myself.”
“See what?” Dylan hated the defensive sound in his voice.
“He was telling me to butt out of his life,” Chloe said, trying to inconspicuously tuck in her shirt.
“Oh, yeah, I could tell. Listen, McKain, you gotta understand something. In child disappearance cases, the parents are always suspect until they’re cleared. In so many of these cases it turns out that one or both parents killed their child. Am I saying I suspect you? Don’t know yet. Have I ruled you out? No.”
“You’re still wasting time investigating me?”
“I have to look at all the angles. I had a case several years ago, before I came to Naples. Same kind of thing, the parents were all weepy ‘cause the kid was gone, taken right out of their home. They appealed to the public, played the whole thing, and complained to me because I was looking into their stories and not looking for their kid. Their little girl was an angel, cutest thing I ever did see …” He looked away for a moment, then refocused. “I spent three weeks solid, no sleep, looking for her.”
“They killed their own child?” Chloe asked, obviously outraged by the look on her face.
“He did. He was jealous of the attention the wife gave the kid.”
“That’s crazy!”
Yochem looked at both of them and paused. “A lot of people are crazy. Some are crazy on the outside.” He looked at Chloe when he said that. “Some hide it deep inside.” With those words he looked at Dylan. “I know your wife was the last person seen with Teddy, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t see him sometime that morning. You were chasing your wife when she lost control of the car. Maybe you wanted her out of the way too. Maybe you were both in on it, but things turned ugly. Then you don’t even know your kid has autism. And from what I know about you, you’re into having everything fit the norm. Everything’s gotta look good. Then we got the note.”
Dylan tried his best to stay calm and not to focus on the fact that they were still wasting time investigating him. “What note?”
“Wanda McKain sent us a note the day she died. I just got it; it wasn’t addressed to anyone, so it got tossed around for a day. She told us she was taking the kid because you wouldn’t accept him. She was afraid you might send him away or something.”
“That’s crazy. I wouldn’t send my own son away.”
“Maybe you did something to him because he didn’t fit into your scheme of things.”
Hold your anger in, don’t kill the man because then even when they find Teddy you won’t get to see him. “I love my son. You’ll know the truth when I find him. What about the North Carolina story?”
“Probably nothing but a cover.” Yochem rubbed his nose. “What I can’t figure out is how the cookie fits into this whole thing. Were you two seeing each other before this happened?”
“No,” she said, stepping forward. “And we’re not seeing each other now.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Look, I was just trying to help him find Teddy.”
“I know, the near-death tunnel thing.” At her questioning look, he added, “Dylan had me check into you when you went to him with the story.”
He hated the betrayed look on her face. And that was nothing compared to how she’d react when she saw his comments in the papers tomorrow.
“What I find strange,” Yochem continued, looking at Chloe “is that you seem to be replaying your mother’s final act.”
She smoothed down her hair and stepped closer. “What does my mother have to do with this?”
“I did some checking into your background. You were born in Sarasota to Amelia and Fred Samms. Your dad was a loser, never played a part in your life. Your aunt Lena Stone was a well-known psychic, and your other aunt, Stella Maguire, talks to animals. Apparently your mother felt left out because she had no powers. After all the publicity the Martins girl produced for Lena, Amelia must have really felt left out.” He recited the facts in a blasé manner, yet each word tore into Chloe so visibly, Dylan actually felt it.
“A month or so later a little boy was taken from a Tampa mall. Amelia went to the press with her so-called visions. Lena downplayed her talent or whatever you want to call it, but your mother went overboard. She had these hopeful parents running all over the place, giving them false hope. Worse, she wasted the police force’s energy on false leads while the kidnapper walked right to the parents’ house and left their boy’s body on their doorstep. Your mother led these people to believe that their son was still alive, and they came home to find him dead.”
Yochem’s face suddenly looked very old and tired. “Do you know what false hope does to people? It builds them up only to leave nothing beneath their feet when the truth comes out. People were mad, real mad. They wrote nasty letters and called her with threats. She hurt a lot of people. Even the psychics were angry at her. Maybe that’s why she killed herself.”
Dylan watched confusion, outrage, and hurt play across her features, but the blood drained completely on those last words.
“You’re wrong, you are way wrong.” Her words sounded strong, but her gesture of wrapping her arms around herself gave away her insecurity. “My mother died of breast cancer. She didn’t kill herself, she didn’t.”
Yochem’s expression softened slightly. “You didn’t know, did you? Well, I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I thought you knew, and I thought you were playing at the same game.”
“How? How did she die?”
“She slashed her wrists. Your Aunt Lena found her in the bathtub.”
“No.” The word crackled in her throat, making Dylan want to pull her against him and protect her from the truth. She looked small and fragile, as delicate as the owl pendant she wore. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, repeating, “It isn’t true.” And then she walked down that long shell road toward town.
Dylan watched her go, fighting an urge to go after her. But he didn’t know what he’d say. So he faced Yochem. “Good job.”
“Hey, I thought she knew.”
He tried to put away thoughts of Chloe and focus on his immediate problem: the man’s accusations. “How much of your manpower is going into investigating me?”
“We’re still looking for your son. I’m sorry, but it’s the way we gotta play it. The odds always lean toward the parents. And I gotta tell you, you being involved with the cookie isn’t helping your case.”
“I’m not involved with her.” At Yochem’s raised eyebrow, he added, “It was a kiss, no big deal.” But it had been, that’s what his body told him. It had been a big, big deal. “And she’s not a cookie.” Focus, Dylan. “The letter Wanda sent you …”
Yochem shrugged. “Could be she just wanted to justify her actions. She’d have to figure that if she took the kid, the police would be all over her. She maybe didn’t want the press or anyone else making her out as the bad guy. So she turned the tables on you.”
That sounded like something Wanda would do. Blame everyone else. She’d gotten good at that over the years, blaming the world for everything. He wondered who she’d blamed for Teddy’s autism.
“So what do you think, Detective?”
He shrugged again. “Not for me to speculate. It’s my job to look at all the angles before I make a decision. And right now, the angle I’m seeing doesn’t look too good for you.” He nodded toward the tree where Dylan had pinned Chloe. “I’d steer clear of that one if I were you. I give you that advice for your own reputation. You don’t want to lose the press’ sympathy. As for me, well, if you’re involved with her, and were before your son’s disappearance, I’m going to find out anyway. Good night.”
Dylan stood there for a while, listening to the sound of Yochem’s car fade away, then to the crickets and the wind chimes. His chest hurt, and his body felt tense and stiff.
Chloe had obviously gone to confirm the story. A part of him wanted to be here when she returned. The sensible part urged him to get in his car and leave. He made himself go, fighting every step and wondering why he should even care. God knew he had enough to worry about besides her feelings.
Chloe wished she could forget about it. There were times when she and her aunts had gotten into fights, arguments, really, and they’d all agreed to forget about it. But not this time.
Stella would still be working at the Blue Moon, so Chloe went directly to Lena. Shakespeare walked with her most of the way, but he eventually left to chase something behind the Pink Motel.
Warm light glowed through the cottage curtains and welcomed her. She tried to hold off the avalanche of pain that teetered above her and cast her in its shadow.
It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. That would mean that her aunts had lied to her all these years.
Then she remembered the strange conversation the day before. What does this have to do with my mother? Chloe had asked. Stella had looked flustered, something she rarely was. They’d talked about the press, and Chloe had thought Lena was worried about herself.
When Lena answered the door, she was still wearing the pink fuzzy robe. Her red hair was a mess, her skin was pale, which made her vivid blue eyes stand out even more. Chloe saw the shadows and wondered if Lena already knew why she was there.
“Can we talk, please?” She walked in without waiting for an answer.
The cottage was small, and with the flowered curtains drawn in front and candles lit, it looked cozy.
“Would you like some chamomile tea? I’ve just brewed it. That boo-boo face tells me you need some.”
Chloe walked to the window that faced the bay, arms wrapped around herself. “Say it’s not true, just say it and I’ll believe you … tell me about my mother.”
Lena plastered on a smile. “I’ve told you about Amelia, a thousand times. She was a warm, loving woman, a good mother —”
“And a lousy psychic.”
“Well, she didn’t have any abilities, no.” Lena held the teacup in her hand, stirring slowly. “But you know that.”
Chloe closed her eyes. “But I didn’t know about the part where she pretended to be psychic.” Her voice became a whisper. “Tell me about that.”
“Oh, Chloe.” Lena set her cup down and went to her.
Chloe moved away, probably the first time she’d ever shunned her aunt’s affection. “Tell me the truth, Lena.”
“Who told you?”
“That awful detective who came to see me at the hospital. He came here tonight, probably because of the newspaper article.”
Lena’s face was paler than Chloe had ever seen it. “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I knew we should have told you, and Stella, she was always on my case to tell you. At first, we decided to wait until you were old enough to handle it. And then, well, too much time had passed. You were a happy child, content in your world. Your biggest worry was going into the water and feeling slimy things. Or saving bugs and the like. We didn’t want to spoil it for you. It was all so long ago, and so far away. I thought it would be better for you not to know at all, especially since …”
“I’m not psychic either, and I don’t fit in.”
“Of course you fit in. You’re one of us no matter what.” Lena touched Chloe’s hand. This time she didn’t move away. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear.”
The tears started flowing now, for the image of the mother that was slipping away. “So you let me think she’d died of breast cancer. You let me worry that I might get it, too.”
“I hated that part, I really did. I wish we’d picked something else, something less hereditary. The good part is, you’ll find a lump before it even starts to think about forming.”
Chloe jerked her hands down to her sides. “You lied to me. For years you lied to me.”
Lena sat down on the flowered couch. “I was afraid that you’d take it hard. And maybe that you’d take the same path. The publicity pushed her over the edge. She was always a little jealous of me and Stella. Then that case came along and made life hell for all of us. But it affected her differently. Something snapped inside her, and she had to have what we had. I don’t think she lied about the visions; I think she believed they were real. And when they found that little boy …” She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. “The press really chewed her up. They weren’t as hard on me, because I had really found the girl. It was too late … but I did find her. Amelia was an out-and-out phony.”
Chloe sank down on the far end of the couch. “Is that why you won’t help me find Teddy? Because you’re afraid I’ll do the same thing?”
“No. Yes. Both, actually. And it’s been so long since I’ve had visions, since I’ve let myself have them. They try sometimes, but I don’t let them come. It’s taken a toll. Hon, I’m sorry. Will you forgive us?”
The hurt was too raw for forgiveness. “Does everyone in Lilithdale know?”
“A few women know, but they’ve been sworn —”
Chloe sprang to her feet. “So everyone knew but me. Maybe …” She sniffed, fighting back more tears. “Maybe if I were psychic I would have known you were lying. But I’m nothing. I don’t belong anywhere.”
Then she left, ignoring Lena’s pleas for her to come back. Chloe walked head down, only nodding to the occasional woman who called out her name in greeting. Halfway down her dark road, she halted.
Dylan had been there. He’d heard everything. Now he’d think she was a phony too, that she’d made up or imagined her near-death experience.
Her worst fear was, maybe she had.
Shakespeare burst out of the brush, startling her heavy heart into action again. He happily pranced around her.
She wondered if Dylan was still at her house. The chilly night air wrapped around her, making her long for strong, arms and a warm body to hold her close. But Dylan wasn’t that kind of man. Her body strained to run the rest of the way and see if his car was still in the driveway.
It wasn’t.
Everything else was dark and silent, or at least as silent as it ever was around there. Thank goodness for all the sounds of life around her. And for the family who would never betray her.
Gypsy rubbed her ankles, meowing loudly as soon as Chloe opened her door. Then Shakespeare started chasing the cat, and both were off gallivanting through the dark foliage. Must be nice to have a dog or cat’s life. Eat and play and love all day long.
The phone startled her with its jangling ring. It was probably Lena. Or maybe a reporter wanting to know the sordid details of her mother’s death.
Chloe turned, not ready to handle either. She went back downstairs and got into the canoe. The water looked ink-black where the moonlight didn’t sprinkle the surface with diamonds. Her arms took over, dipping the paddle into the water with a quiet whoosh, speeding her canoe toward the black mounds of mangrove islands silhouetted against a starlit sky. She didn’t want to think about anything, about her mother, or Dylan’s kiss, or even Teddy.
She heard Shakespeare’s barking in the distance. He liked going with her, but she wanted to be totally, completely alone.
She wasn’t sure how long she paddled; it seemed like hours. The canoe glided to a stop, and she let the tiny ripples of water move her along. At first all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the sound of her breathing. When she finally calmed down, she heard another sound. Water hitting the metal of the canoe … it brought back the dreams.
Or were they even real? Maybe she only wanted to be psychic, like her mother. Maybe she was deluding herself. And that meant she could only be headed toward the same end. Like mother, like daughter. Runs in the family.
Suddenly she realized she had no idea where she was. She could see no lights, no sign of houses nearby. Being lost in the dark didn’t bother her too much, as long as she didn’t tip the canoe and fall into the murky water. That scared her, not knowing what squirming, nibbling things were nearby.
Something else bothered her too: the old man who lived on his houseboat. At first Chloe hadn’t believed her aunts, thinking they only wanted to curtail her explorations. Then she’d seen the boat, covered with years’ worth of junk, newspapers covering the windows. The man sitting on the back deck. He hadn’t been that old then.
“Whaddya want, kid?” he’d snarled.
“N-n-nothing, mister!”
And she’d paddled home as fast as she could. He moved his boat around so one never knew exactly where he’d be. A new twist on homelessness, she thought when she’d come across his boat years later.
She could hear water lapping against metal, but not her canoe. Sitting in the dark by herself, her imagination now created a monster of a man, gnarled with age and temperament. Though fear raged through her, she couldn’t make her arms paddle backward. Her body wanted to go … forward. She fought it, and finally managed to control her impulse. And as darkness swirled around her, she realized she had no idea where she was.
When the sun rose the next morning, Dylan had another sleepless night to add to the rest. Hopefully he was another day closer to finding his son.
In the kitchen he took the cup of coffee Camilla offered and pushed his flier across the counter to her. “Since I couldn’t sleep, I put the long night to good use.”
Camilla looked over the flier. “A twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward should get people interested. Good picture of him too.”
Teddy looked like any regular kid. Dylan was going to do everything possible to give him a normal life so people wouldn’t look at him with pity.
“You were rough on that girl,” Camilla said, laying a section of the newspaper on the counter.
He winced at the headline: “Father of missing boy denies working with ‘nutcase’.”
“I tried to retract the nutcase part, but it was too late.” He reluctantly read the article. It was all there, Chloe’s mother, the fiasco in Sarasota, and him disparaging her.
“What have I done?”
“Well, you accomplished what you wanted: getting rid of her.”
“You don’t know Chloe. She’ll help anyway, because she has to.”
Camilla raised her eyebrow. “You know her that well?”
“Well enough.” He subconsciously ran his hand over his mouth, remembering exactly how well he knew her. Deep in the pit of his stomach he felt uneasy. If her mother had committed suicide because of bad press, could Chloe do the same?
He tried calling her, but only got her answering machine. He left a message, but she didn’t pick up. Where could she be this early?
He kept thinking about what Yochem said. Not the part about it being unwise to be associated with Chloe. The part about her mother being railed in the press and how it had caused her to commit suicide.
And the dire pain in Chloe’s eyes when Yochem had told her about it.
“I’ve got to talk to her.”
“If you go down there, they’ll really think something’s going on between you.”
“If she does something stupid because of what I told those reporters…” He pushed the thought away, though the uneasy feeling didn’t vanish. “I’ll have my cell phone if anyone needs me.”
After stopping at the printer, Dylan headed south on US41. He had never thought he’d go to Lilithdale once, much less twice. As he drove, he told himself he was only making sure she was all right. It was his responsibility. Were suicidal tendencies hereditary? It seemed everything was these days.
He spent most of the drive on his cell phone, selling stocks to fund the reward, contacting some of the largest businesses in Naples about distributing fliers to their employees. And he tried Chloe again.
Lilithdale looked even quainter in the light of day. One woman zipped by him in a golf cart that looked like a purple BMW. She took one look at him and nearly crashed into a hibiscus bush.
At Chloe’s house a golf cart with a yellow-fringed sunshade was parked next to her T-Bird. Shakespeare came running out to greet him, all happy barks and wagging tail. Dylan rubbed the dog’s head. Chloe wouldn’t have a watchdog that snarled and scared away intruders. Not Chloe. Although some warning about their visitor last night would have been nice.
He followed the sound of voices through the back yard to the dock. He recognized Lena, Stella and Marilee. Their worried looks reminded him of that day in the emergency room.
Chloe had done something stupid, and it was all his fault.