The Girls Across the Bay Page 9

  Madigan nodded.

  “No,” she whispered. “Oh, my poor Johnny.”

  “I couldn’t even be sure it was him, but I remembered your picture of him. He looks different now.”

  Evette opened her mouth to say something, but instead, puffed on her cigarette, and Madigan winced as the embers inched closer to her fingers. Evette tapped it out into the ashtray and sat further back in her seat.

  “I didn’t know her.” Evette licked her lips. “I don’t know much about his life at all.”

  What do you know about mine?

  “Well, do they know who did it?” Evette asked.

  Madigan shook her head. “I don’t know much about it at all.”

  “I’ll have to send my condolences along to him. Would that be appropriate when I never met her?”

  “If you care about him, I think he’d appreciate it.” Madigan nodded.

  “Care about him?” Evette scoffed. “I love him. He’s still my son. You’re still my daughter—same as Gracie.”

  How? How could you still think that?

  Madigan tried to hide her reaction, but Evette had seen it in her face.

  “Even if you don’t consider me your mom,” she said and went into a coughing fit once again.

  She reached for her cigarette pack and tapped one out. “Is that all you came for?” Evette asked, an edge to her voice.

  The dream. I saw him.

  “I remember seeing John at the house one time. I was little. You don’t remember?”

  “Can’t say I do. I don’t think he was ever there when you girls were.” Evette put her cigarette in her mouth and grabbed a pink lighter from her pocket.

  “You said you have nightmares.”

  Evette froze and took the cigarette out of her mouth.

  “I do,” she said, nodding. “Of Eli beating me. Beating—well beating you girls. I don’t know how I stayed with him for so long, just afraid of what he might do next. In my nightmares, he’s always this dark shadow. He’s always lingering over me. Waiting for me to step out of line. To punish me.”

  Will you remember my nightmare?

  “It’s probably normal,” Evette said, clearing her throat.

  “I guess so.”

  Evette nodded and lit her cigarette.

  “I used to dream of a body—a dead body,” Madigan said, staring down at the carpet. “I don’t know if you remember, but I used to dream of someone dead in the house, being dragged across the floor.”

  Evette blew smoke from her mouth, nodding. “You don’t still dream about that, do you?”

  Madigan looked up at her, watching a small glint of concern flash across Evette’s face.

  “Well, like I said, it’s probably normal. You saw a lot in that house. We both did. The beatings, the emotional abuse. The bad business Eli was always a part of, dragging us into it.” She shook her head. “You’ve got to try to let it go.”

  She’s got to be kidding.

  Madigan made a scoffing noise and moved to stand.

  “I’m sorry,” Evette said, and Madigan stayed in her seat. “You have to know I’m sorry.”

  She imagined the grief and guilt the woman lived through alone each day, and she’d always assumed she was sorry. Sorry for letting her husband use their foster children as drug mules and hustlers—stealing from people. Sorry she’d let him abuse them, just as he’d abused her. And sorry for the way it all ended and what she said the day they were all taken away.

  “I know,” Madigan whispered. “But you can’t just let it go. You know that.”

  Evette nodded and scratched her thin arm. “You doing alright for yourself, Maddie?”

  Madigan nodded.

  “Good,” Evette whispered and stared off in a trance.

  “I’d better get going.”

  “If you see Grace,” she said, “would you tell her, too? That I’m sorry.”

  She would have recommended telling her in person, but she doubted Evette would ever get the chance. Madigan nodded.

  “That’s a good girl.” Evette smiled. “Good to see you, Maddie. Thank you for coming to see me, if only to deliver some bad news.”

  Madigan walked to the door and lingered there while Evette stayed in her seat.

  I’m being silly, and I’ve embarrassed myself over a nightmare.

  “Well, then,” Evette asked, “is that all?”

  Some part of me wanted to see you. Needed an excuse.

  Madigan nodded, unable to put her feelings into words. “Goodbye, Evette.”

  She waited, but Evette stared down into her lap, smoothing her robe over her knee again.

  Madigan saw herself out. She hopped down the staircase, each step releasing a flood of emotions.

  Evette was sorry, just as she’d known all along, but the words made it real. She had always been a sad woman, but the years hadn’t been kind to her, and Madigan carried guilt over it. Like somehow it was her fault.

  She was the reason they escaped from that hellhole.

  The reason Eli was taken away in handcuffs the same day she and Grace were taken back into the custody of child services.

  The reason Evette screamed at her, telling her what a bitch she was as Eli was shoved into the police car and child services arrived.

  Two officers held Evette back as she turned her attention away from Madigan, reaching out for Eli, crying in hysterics.

  On some level, Madigan thought there was a chance once Eli couldn’t hurt her, Evette could be the woman she was when he wasn’t around. Fun and oftentimes silly. Sweet and more attentive to her and Grace. More relaxed.

  But Evette had blamed Madigan.

  As the police car drove off that day, and she stopped struggling against the officers, she gave Madigan the dirtiest look, a look intended to burn through her. But abuse, Madigan had learned since, took control of the victim in ways of pain and binding shame. With guilt and psychological warfare.

  Madigan learned that after her first relationship, where she too had been abused. When Drew found out, he and his best friend, Jack, met her and her boyfriend on the way home from school and kicked him until he stopped moving.

  After that, she stopped speaking to Drew for weeks, and her abusive boyfriend never spoke to her again. Drew forgave her, and she learned through her experience that it was possible to become attached to your abuser in ways no one else understood.

  To want to be with them despite, and in a twisted way, because of, the pain they caused.

  She was just upset that day. Lashing out. She didn’t mean it.

  Maybe now, I can forgive her like Drew forgave me.

  As she got on her bike, she debated calling Grace to tell her what she’d discovered about John, but decided against it.

  The news was meant to be told face to face, just as Evette’s apology would be.

  Maybe Grace can forgive her, too.

  On her ride back along the coast of Bones Bay, she thought about the ever-changing nightmare of the body being moved in the house on Warbler Way.

  “I saw some crazy shit,” she muttered to herself, agreeing with Evette’s sentiment.

  Maybe it was just a dream.

  But the scorpion.

  The nagging feeling of something more, just under the surface, tugged at a place deep inside of her.

  After parking in her driveway, she pulled the business card from Thom’s Tackle from her purse.

  John Talbot, Co-Owner of Thom’s Tackle—the office number and his cell number typed out just below.

  She took her cell phone from her purse and punched in his number.

  Was it you in my nightmare, John?

  What have you done?

  She hovered her finger over the green call button.

  Chapter Nine

  Grace strode out of the real estate office without gaining any insight into what happened to Lily that night. In her car, she tucked Lily’s colleague’s statements into her file folder, counting through the files. Number six was missing. As she w
alked back through the department, Mac and Tarek, the tech analyst, had congregated by the coffee pot.

  As she approached, Mac did a double take.

  “I thought you were checking out the vic’s co-workers?” Mac asked.

  “She brought in the least out of the whole office; she was extremely new to the game, and no one had anything of interest to report about her. One of her colleagues last spoke to her that afternoon after she’d shown a house for her and said she seemed normal. It’s a dead end.”

  “I see,” Mac tucked his thumbs into his belt.

  “Any leads from the cell records?” she asked.

  That you didn’t think to call me about?

  Tarek turned to Mac, who nodded. “I was just telling Mac, I finished looking through the records of the night in question and the night prior.”

  “Should we go back to the board?” Grace asked.

  “Uh, sure,” Tarek nodded, and they waited for Mac to start walking back to their room before following him.

  “Okay,” Tarek said. Mac grabbed a dry erase marker. “Lily Martin called John Talbot’s place of work, Thom’s Tackle, the night prior. No one picked up, and I doubled-checked. They were closed.”

  “She might have thought he stayed late,” Grace muttered.

  “Then we’ve got a call from Mrs. Christine Martin, her mother, the night prior, just after eight. They had a fifteen-minute conversation. No texts the night prior.”

  Mac nodded and continued to write. “And day of?”

  “One text to a colleague, agreeing to show a house for them that afternoon upon request from the client. Patricia Colt texted her back with ‘thanks,’” Tarek said.

  Grace nodded. “She showed the client a few houses, brought the keys back to the office, and that was the last they said they’d heard from her.”

  “The next activity came at 8:35 p.m. An outgoing call to an unlisted number, a pay-as-you-go cell phone.”

  “Okay,” Mac said. “Know where the phone was located at the time Lily called?”

  “I’ve narrowed it down to one cell tower in Amherst,” Tarek said and referred to his papers for the first time. “That last call lasted for less than a minute. That was the last phone communication she had.”

  “Where in the city?” Mac asked.

  “Near the distillery district,” Tarek said, handing Mac a piece of paper with a map on it. He’d outlined the area with a red circle.

  “Wild Card’s in that area,” Grace said. “Where Mickey said he was.”

  “Yeah,” Mac said. “But he didn’t mention a call. That’s a big area. The warrant for John Talbot’s and Michael Clarke’s records should come through soon enough, and I want you on them ASAP.”

  “Got it,” Tarek said, then strode past Grace toward the door.

  “If Mickey used a burner phone, it won’t be on his actual cell records,” Grace said.

  Tarek nodded. “But we can see if his phone ever left that area.”

  “Good call,” she said, nodding, before Tarek left the room.

  “Have you looked through Lily’s phone yet?” Grace asked.

  “They’re still processing it. I’m going to collect it after the coroner’s tomorrow.”

  Grace nodded. “Yep, I’ll be there. Eight tomorrow to see Lockwood?”

  Mac nodded and passed her, stalking down the hallway toward the break room.

  She leaned over the desk and grabbed Mickey’s sixth file that had been tucked under one of John Talbot’s files. Banning assigned them both the case, and there was no reason she couldn’t look at John Talbot’s files for herself if she wanted to.

  She opened a thick file with John’s name on the side and flipped through it, glancing at the door every few pages.

  So why do I feel sneaky?

  She stopped at the first image, a mug shot of John, age nineteen. His cold eyes betrayed his smirk, revealing a certain sadness at the time of the photo.

  Arrested for possession and sent to jail for six months.

  Grace herself had been a drug mule for her foster father, although she’d never been caught, and for the first year or so hadn’t a clue what she was delivering.

  John served his probation cleaning the area surrounding the locks by Bones Bay. He started Narcotics Anonymous for the first time that she could see in his records at that same time. She placed the file to the side and flipped open the next. Foster care records, as well as adoption papers.

  Something else we have in common, John, although I never found anyone who wanted me as their own.

  “Sheppard?” Mac asked, poking his head into the room.

  She jerked away from the files. “Hmm?” She looked up at him, clutching Mickey’s files to her chest.

  “Don’t write on my board,” he said in a deep voice, and she smiled. “Seriously.”

  “I wasn’t,” she called as he disappeared back around the corner, and she exhaled, shaking her head.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  She grabbed John’s files and took them to the room across the hall with the photocopier.

  I’ll leave your files alone and make some of my own.

  Chapter Ten

  Madigan hit the green button, but hung up straight away.

  She couldn’t find the right words, and without a real introduction, John had no reason to speak with her.

  As she danced around the kitchen, cooking dinner for the first time that week, she referred to the recipe book before each step. She wanted to make it up to Will for leaving her side of the bed empty the other night and thought she could use the cooking practice before the next night when his parents would come to celebrate Will’s news.

  She glanced at her phone.

  What would I say to him?

  She needed more evidence to prove her dream was real or a better way to connect with John.

  Maybe Evette could make the connection?

  As she danced toward the garbage can with a cutting board of carrot shavings, Buster nudged her leg.

  “Hey, boy.” She smiled down at him. “You like my moves?”

  Buster wagged his golden-haired tail and sat between her and the garbage can.

  “Ahh, I’m sorry.” She turned toward his doggy bowl, brushing some shavings into it. “There ya go.”

  Buster’s tail wagged faster as he trotted over to the other side of the bowl and chomped on the shavings.

  Madigan sang along as she turned back to the counter and set a red pepper atop the cutting board, belting out the chorus and shaking her butt as she grabbed her knife. In the reflection of the kitchen window, a dark shadow moved behind her, and she jumped, turning around.

  “Hey, babe,” Will said, taking his wallet out of the pocket of his scrubs. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

  “Yes, and I have a knife!” Madigan set it back on the counter. “You did that on purpose.”

  Will laughed and nodded. “I’ll admit it, but I wouldn’t have if I’d known about the knife.”

  “You know not to mess with me when I have a weapon,” Madigan whispered.

  He cornered her between himself and the counter.

  “I know you’re dangerous without the weapon.” He leaned in close. “But I like messing with you. You’re cute when you’re surprised.”

  He kissed her lips, then her cheek, continuing across her neck.

  “Oh, yeah?” She giggled, grabbing his toned arms.

  Since when do I sound like a giddy schoolgirl?

  She caught herself every once in a while saying and doing things she’d never have imagined. Being with someone for so long, letting them lead the way like she had with Will was unimaginable at one time in her life. Letting herself be physically vulnerable had always been easier than being emotionally vulnerable.

  He pushed his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. “God, I love you,” he huffed, smiling.

  A push and pull for power—their dynamic kept things exciting, but each time she exposed herself emotionally, she f
elt like someone else.

  She pushed his arms away from her, and he stared down at her with a confused smile.

  “Everything alright?”

  She nodded and turned back to the counter, avoiding the expectation of reciprocating his feelings for her, and chopped the pepper.

  He kissed the back of her neck and she closed her eyes, enjoying his soft touch. “I’m going to have a shower quick,” he said.

  “Want company?”

  He didn’t.

  He never asked her to shower with him after work, and she knew it. She used it as a way to make it seem like she was trying without having to follow through.

  Why aren’t I really trying?

  “Maybe next time,” he said, pulling away from her and popping a carrot stick in his mouth. “But later tonight, maybe you could show me those moves?”

  Madigan laughed as he walked toward the front staircase with Buster wagging his tail close behind.

  “You’re sexy when you dance like that,” he said. “I’d like my own private show.”

  “If you’re lucky,” she called to him.

  As Will jogged up the stairs, Buster trotted back to the kitchen, watching Madigan at the counter.

  “You’re a good boy,” she said and hummed to the music instead of singing out loud as she finished preparing the food.

  While she’d lived with Evette, their regular diet consisted of take out and frozen dinners, when they remembered to feed them. After moving to her adoptive parents’ home, she learned to cook from her mom. Felicity took pride in the meals she made, emphasizing that the cooks of the family brought everyone together.

  Madigan realized years later that the simple idea had been the true motivation for her passion for cooking. To please the people she loved and to bring them together, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart. To keep them together, even when she wasn’t sure it was possible after Drew’s death. It worked for a short while, until her mom and dad retired early to Florida for three quarters of the year.

  Every year.

  “Babe,” Will called to her as he entered the kitchen from the foyer. “I’m off tomorrow, so make me a list of whatever you need for dinner tomorrow night, and I’ll grab it, okay?”