Claire’s body screamed with exhaustion and her mind was in a million pieces, but she fought to keep calm as she convinced Lexi to take an afternoon nap.
She sat on the edge of the child’s bed. Nick had said to let him know if she needed him, and that he’d be playing with Trey before his nap. Jilly was with Steve. Unfortunately, Princess the doll was in bed with Lexi, eyes eternally open and staring, her well-worn body carefully tucked in next to Lexi under the sheet. The only good thing Claire could think of regarding the child’s obsession with the doll was that it suggested she didn’t judge people, even things, by their looks.
“Lexi, sweetheart,” she began, raising her voice over the rain drumming against the windows, “I’m sure we will find Aunt Darcy soon. We are all working hard on that.”
“Maybe the bad person took her in a car, then a plane like they did me. So she could be really far away.”
At least that was in her own voice. Claire had several approaches to take here, so she’d try the one she hoped was the best.
“Wherever she is, we will pray for her safety. But you need to realize that the people who took you are either dead or in prison. It would not be the same people, so what happened to you is long over, and you are safe here with us.”
“Daddy should be here, then I’d be a little safer. I know you and Dad take care of me. Nita, too. But I heard you tell Daddy when he left to go flying into storms to be very careful, so is he safe?”
“You know your daddy is a very good pilot, and he’s with Mitch, who can fly planes, too. So—you’ve been worried about Daddy as well as Aunt Darcy?”
“Of course!”
The doll’s voice. Lexi reached over and sat Princess up.
“Lexi, honey, I just don’t want you to—”
“And I heard you tell Lexi’s dad, who lives here, that this storm is the way out bands of the hurricane. Is there a hurricane coming, the one Daddy’s flying in?”
Trying to ignore the doll, Claire leaned closer and put her arms around Lexi to lift her up into her embrace. “I said this rain and wind are the outer bands of the storm—way far out. Your daddy and Mitch will be back soon, safe and sound, and we’re all safe here. Please, Lexi, just calm down and take a little rest and everything will be fine. Your daddy will come back, and we’ll find Aunt Dar—”
“You keep saying that, but so far it isn’t true!” Lexi made the doll say. “We just want to find Aunt Darcy. Jilly does, too, or all three of us are going to go looking for her ourselves!”
When Claire finally calmed her enough that she laid the doll down again, Lexi went to sleep almost immediately, obviously exhausted. Weren’t they all, though, physically, emotionally? But now, one more fear: she had to tell Steve and Nick, Nita, too, that it was possible Lexi and Jilly had talked about finding Darcy on their own.
That night, again, no one slept well and not just because of the rain. Despite the baby monitor, Claire went in once or twice to check on Trey and then Lexi, who was so sound asleep she had hardly changed positions. Claire was tempted to rip that doll out of her arms and destroy it, but the repercussions from that could make things worse, if that was possible. At least Jilly was sound asleep, too, in the other twin bed.
Claire padded barefoot back into Trey’s room to check on him—yes, thank heavens, someone was sleeping like a baby—then headed back to bed, hoping not to wake Nick, who had tossed and turned before finally dropping off to sleep. Outside, the rain and wind thrashed the palm fronds against the roof. A distant rumble of thunder made her wonder if the butterflies outside had found shelter.
“Lexi okay?” Nick whispered when Claire slid back in bed. So he was sleeping fitfully, too.
“Still out. I thought you were asleep.”
He reached over and drew her to him, pulling her back against his chest with her bottom cradled in his lap. He kissed the nape of her neck, then her bare shoulder before whispering, “Sleep, sweetheart. That’s the best thing you can do for yourself right now and for the rest of us. I’ll go check on Lexi and Trey next, just for my own sanity. Think we could save some money being our own baby monitors? And did you take your narco meds?”
“Yes. I hate to be back on those heavy-hitters but I need them for now. If I don’t get some rest, I’ll fall asleep on my feet, and I have to go see Tara as soon as possible and research some things.”
“That’s all for tomorrow. We’ll go together. For now, just sleep.”
It felt so good, so safe, in their bed, in his arms. If only this lurking, dark horror about Darcy’s fate would not hold to her, too.
Claire was drifting, but at least Darcy was here, too. Mother was reading aloud to them when they’d much rather watch TV or play outside with the other kids. But Mother collected books, had ever since their father had left without a word—at least without a word to his daughters. Why did he leave? Where was he, and why didn’t he come back?
Oh, Mother was reading from a book called The Collector. There was a butterfly and a door key on the cover. But the same book she had from Darcy’s house was different—a headless woman held down with tape.
Claire shuddered. She knew she was dreaming and wanted to escape, but she had to stay. She had to know about the story. No, she could wake up and find her own book, the book Darcy had. And here, she thought Darcy had hated Mother’s stories. Mr. Warren’s at the library were so much better, funny, fun books, things Claire could understand.
Now she remembered. This story called The Collector was about a man who was obsessed with a woman. He usually collected butterflies, but he drugged her with chloroform and kidnapped her and kept her prisoner. But what was also sad was that his prisoner wrote letters to her sister she knew would never be delivered. She tried to escape but she died—she died!
With a gasp, Claire sat straight up in bed.
“Claire, what is it? Are you all right?”
Nick’s voice yanked her back to reality, but could that fictional book have been real—an omen? Now she remembered why she and Darcy had hated it. That Mother had read it to them made her angry now. How dare she read a horror story with an abduction and sexual obsession and a tragic ending to her daughters, who had been traumatized years before by their father’s strange desertion! How much she had tried to love Mother, how much she missed her and felt sad for her, but that was bordering on child abuse!
But did Darcy know someone who was obsessed with her, so she’d picked up a copy of that old book she remembered because—because...
“Claire, did you hear me? A bad dream?” Nick asked, gently pulling her into his embrace.
She nodded. They both jumped as a crash of lightning nearby shook the house. The dim light in the master bath went out; the bedside alarm clock began blinking its 3:17 a.m. red numbers, then dimmed to black. Their security alarm began to beep.
“A bad dream but maybe good,” she whispered to herself as they both got up to check the house and their children.
“Hope the electricity comes back on soon,” he muttered. “I’ll turn off the alarm.”
She fumbled for the small flashlight in her bedside table drawer. “Nick,” she whispered, shining the thin beam ahead of her in the pitch dark, “I just realized I have to talk to Will Warren again. Soon.”
The electricity came back on in the morning. Once Nita had arrived to stay with the children, Claire, Steve and Nick headed out to the Flutterby Farm. The three of them hoped to catch Will Warren at the main library later, though Claire would rather go alone. Steve was adamant about talking to him, too, and she and Nick didn’t want Steve facing down anyone alone.
Tara had phoned Claire to tell her that her migraine was under control, and she would like to see them, so they drove out immediately in Nick’s car. Claire was relieved he was going along, because she still felt Steve could be volatile. She prayed he wouldn’t blame poor Tara.
The curtains were drawn and no lights were on inside the old house, because Tara had said on the phone that helped her “poor aching head.” Although Claire was hoping they could ease into an interrogation, Steve asked right away if he could see where Darcy had been taken. Claire volunteered to show him so that Tara wouldn’t have to go out into the bright sun. Nick went along, too, since he had not examined the scene.
“I see the so-called butterfly door is double-netted,” Steve observed. “So how did someone leave it open, if that’s how some of them escaped?”
“As I understand it,” Claire said, “both netted curtains were shoved aside, which allowed some of the exotics to get out. At least, they were missing. On her own, Darcy would never have been so careless.”
“So,” Steve said, “it was someone else’s fault, deliberate or just ignorant.”
Claire said, “I’m thinking the netting must have been left that way for a while for close to twenty orangetips to escape. Actually, I looked that breed up in Darcy’s butterfly book, where she had them bookmarked. They’re properly named falcate orangetips, commonly called just orangetips. The males, you might know, have showy orange spots on each wing, while the female is plain white. They’re not large, and they don’t live long.”
At that last wording, Steve’s and Claire’s frowning gazes clashed before Steve looked away. They don’t live long hung in the air with their thoughts again on Darcy.
“So,” Nick put in during the awkward pause, “are orangetips worth a lot of money for some reason? Rare? Special?”
“That’s one of the questions I have to ask Tara,” Claire said. “I do know they’re not indigenous to South Florida and prefer a woodland setting—Louisiana and Kentucky, places like that. Not the Everglades and swamps.”
The two men looked around at the plush tropical growth of the plants most butterflies loved. Claire pointed out where Darcy’s phone was found—with Tara’s prints on it in her panic. Nick looked jumpy when the butterflies landed on him and he blew them carefully off. Steve just shifted away from them. They would hardly, Claire thought, make obsessed fans like the Japanese men Kris had mentioned.
“Let’s go talk to Tara,” Claire suggested. “I hope the dimness in her house helps her, and I’m sure loud sounds would startle her,” she added, hoping both men took that as a hint to avoid raising their voices. She could tell they were both frustrated, but so was she.
Carefully closing both butterfly doors, they headed for the house.
Jace was pleased to be back on land where his phone worked. He wanted to call Claire so he could talk to Lexi. He checked his texts, then his emails. Damn, no “Welcome back to earth, Daddy” message, so he’d just call Claire and have her get Lexi on, then call Brit. Or he could call Brit first. She’d said she’d make an effort to see Lexi while he was gone.
He went to his texts again. Yep, several from Brit. He opened the latest one.
Claire’s sister, Darcy, has disappeared from her job. Police on it. Big local news. Darcy’s husband here. Jilly distraught but Lexi worse, hiding behind imaginary friend and some old doll. Call me when you land.
“Everything okay?” Mitch asked when Jace stopped walking and just stared at his phone.
“My former sister-in-law, Lexi’s aunt, is missing. Gotta get home. Out of the hurricane and—and back into a storm.”