Drayco tried to concentrate on his driving as he headed toward the sheriff’s office, but his mind kept turning to all the lost children. Jacob, who should have grown up with Lucy and Cole. Jeremy, who might have survived, had Lucy been given proper prenatal care. Add in the names of those young mothers in Beth’s ledger and the tragic choices they made, or in Iris Quintier’s case, the choices taken away, and the abortions, and what did you have? A tangled string of tragedies.
Then there was Virginia, better off with Lucy than she would have been with Winthrop, but a lost child all the same—or more of a throwaway child, abandoned by one father, neglected by another.
By now, he was sure Nelia had filled in the sheriff on the contents of Beth’s diary. And located the obstetrician who’d taken the initial ultrasound during Vesta Mae’s pregnancy. So when his cellphone rang, he expected to hear Sailor’s voice. It wasn’t the sheriff, it was Barry.
“Is Virginia with you?” Barry asked.
Drayco felt a cold sweat down his neck. There was one reason Barry would ask that question. “No, she’s not.”
“I was supposed to pick her up from the gallery. She wasn’t there. Thought you’d gotten there first.”
“Did you ask Martin Questa if he saw her leave?”
Barry’s voice was subdued. “Didn’t occur to me. Think something’s happened to her?”
“I’m going to check with Questa. I’ll call you back.” Drayco hung up and made it to the Art of Arts Gallery in what must be record time. He didn’t care if he got pulled over for speeding and half-wished he would. He didn’t have time to call the sheriff’s office right now.
Running inside the gallery, he spied Martin Questa. “Was Virginia Harston here for her lesson, as usual?”
Questa leaned on the counter. “Sure was. She’s not missed one yet.”
“Is she still here?”
“She left fifteen minutes ago, give or take.”
“Did you see her get picked up?”
Questa narrowed his eyes as he scanned Drayco’s face. “She said she was going outside to wait for her friend Barry. I didn’t see what happened after that.”
“Any cars nearby?”
“That same Caddy you asked me about before. What’s going on? Is something the matter?”
Drayco took a deep breath. “I’m not sure.” He ran to his car and called first Lucy, then Maida. Neither had seen her.
He was going to call Barry again, but the boy beat him to it. “Drayco, did you talk to Martin Questa?”
“Virginia was here, she left, but he didn’t see who with. He did see a big grayish-purple Cadillac outside. I think I know who it belongs to.”
Barry’s voice grew hard. “I do too. It belongs to the Gatewoods. Faris Usher usually works on their cars, but he brought that car in once for bodywork.” He paused, then said, “I’m going to check this out.”
Drayco tried to interrupt him, “Barry, stay put, you hear me? Don’t do anything yet. Barry?”
But the boy hung up.
Drayco turned his car around and headed in the direction he’d come. Several scenarios were churning around in his brain, and it was hard to know which to follow. Virginia could have wheeled herself into another store, but that was unlikely. Or another friend picked her up? No, even less likely.
If the worst had happened, and Gatewood were responsible—where would he have taken her? Should Drayco head to the pier, where Gatewood might try to finish his earlier failure? Too public. He’d most likely take her to a remote location or back to his home.
Drayco was pinning his hopes on the latter. Vesta Mae did say Winthrop expected her to be gone all day and into the evening. He called the sheriff on the way and brought him up to speed. Sailor said he was going to muster his troops to start checking different battle fronts.
Drayco mentally kicked himself he hadn’t been more insistent on Virginia keeping a lower profile. The trees flew past on either side in a blur. Leonora's eight cylinders might not be fuel-efficient, but they could push past the other cars on the road as if they were standing still. He had his cellphone close by, hoping it would ring with news that Virginia had turned up, ice cream in hand, wondering what the fuss was about.
The phone remained silent.
The cars and buildings grew less frequent as he headed into the more remote stretches of the town until he neared the unmarked entrance road that led toward Gatewood’s place. As he arrived at the entrance itself, his heart stopped when he spied tendrils of smoke rising into the air.
The car roared up the driveway heedless of the flowers he tried to avoid on his first trip, obliterating many of them. He barely took the time to turn the engine off while jumping out the door. A flash of red and blue on the corner of the lawn caught his attention—Barry’s car was already parked in front of Drayco’s. The boy’s speeding ways for once worked in his favor.
Drayco saw something else ahead on the lawn, and he ran to the spot where Barry cradled a groggy Virginia. She was alive, coughing, with dark smudges on her face and clothes.
Barry looked up at him, “She was lying here when I arrived. I don’t see her wheelchair, so I don’t know how she got here. Thought I saw Winthrop Gatewood, then he headed inside. But the house is done for.”
The tongues of orange and yellow lapped at the upper windows as the black smoke grew thicker. Drayco started to ask if Barry had seen anyone else when they both heard a scream coming from inside. Drayco threw his cellphone to Barry and yelled, “Call 9-1-1 and tell them to hurry,” and dashed inside the house.
The smoke was so thick on the bottom floor it was hard to see or breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose before heading up the stairs, keeping his head as low as possible. Vesta Mae told him earlier she was going to lie down in her bedroom. And Winthrop hadn’t expected her to be home.
Drayco reached the top of the stairs and hesitated. He’d never been on this level and didn’t know which room was hers. The smoke was much thicker now, making his eyes water. Not having any time to waste, he ducked into the nearest room. Empty. He lurched farther along the hallway, so close to the flames, the heat was an oven against his skin.
The second room he tried seemed empty except for the curtain of smoke, but then he heard a moaning sound. He looked toward the open window and spied the prone figure below it. Scooping her up in his arms, he flew down the stairs, holding his breath to avoid inhaling more fumes.
The open door was like a gateway to another world as he passed from the hellish smoke and fire to blue skies and puffy white clouds in one step. He gently laid Vesta Mae on the grass next to Virginia, far from the inferno. He checked her pulse and respiration and was relieved when she opened her eyes.
Vesta Mae was wearing the gold locket which she instinctively reached up to touch. She looked over at Virginia beside her and smiled before closing her eyes.
Barry asked, “Did you see Winthrop?”
“No. Are you sure he went inside?”
“Pretty damn sure. Maybe he went out the back door.”
Sirens drew near, followed moments later by the fire trucks. The firemen uncoiled the hoses, as one of them came over and asked, “Anyone else in there?”
Barry and Drayco looked at each other and didn’t say anything at first. Drayco could tell what Barry was thinking, that if Gatewood was still in the house, it was a fitting end.
Drayco replied to the fireman, “There was one other person in there. The owner, Winthrop Gatewood.”
The fireman surveyed the house with a doubtful frown. Part of the roof collapsed, causing a chain reaction that brought down one of the columns and blocked the front door. The fireman rushed toward his colleagues as they tried to extinguish the flames and make it safe to enter. But it wouldn’t matter. The house that patriarch Gibson Gatewood had built, his legacy, and his son, disappeared in less time than it took Beth Sterling to die.