When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(62)

“How long have you worked here, Hélène?” Kimberly spoke up.

The maid didn’t seem to know how to answer. D.D. squatted back down. “It’s okay. If you have any concerns about your security, you may walk out with us right now. I will personally guarantee your safety.” She looked at Bonita as she said this.

“Now see here, I don’t like what you’re implying—”

“Hélène.”

“I started in January,” the woman whispered.

“Do you have your own room?”

“Yes.”

“Bathroom?”

“We share. Four girls to a bath. It is better . . . better than what I had back home.”

“What did you think of Mrs. Counsel?”

“She took care of us.”

“Did you talk to her last night?”

“I cleared the dinner dishes for her and the mayor.”

“Did she speak to you?”

“No.”

“How did she and the mayor seem?”

Awkward shrug. “It is my job to clear the dishes.”

Was it D.D.’s imagination, or did the cook’s posture just relax?

“After clearing the dishes, what did you do?”

“I went to bed.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Just . . . sirens. After four. I came upstairs. The mayor. He was very upset. He was . . . he was crying.”

D.D. nodded slowly. So the mayor was genuinely distraught over the loss of his wife.

D.D. switched her attention to Bonita. “Did you see Mrs. Counsel last night?”

“She can’t talk!” the cook exploded.

“She can indicate yes or no.”

“She’s stupid—”

“You will shut up or I will remove you from this room!” Kimberly clipped out sharply.

The cook thinned her lips mutinously, but fell silent.

“Bonita, did you see Mrs. Counsel last night?”

A faint nod.

“After dinner?”

Head shake.

“She took them dinner,” Hélène volunteered. “She serves, I clear.”

Another nod.

“Did you hear anything in the middle of the night?”

Bonita hesitated. She shook her head no, but at her side, her hand stirred. One finger, meaning yes. Hélène jolted slightly, as if realizing for the first time something might be going on. The older maid quickly glanced away.

“Did you hear any sounds of arguing?”

Another head shake. Finger nod.

“Violence?” D.D. asked intently.

Head no. Finger yes.

D.D. blinked her eyes, trying to figure out how to ask her next question. “Do you believe Mrs. Counsel hanged herself?”

“Oh for God’s sake!” the cook exploded.

Kimberly strode forward, placed a restraining hand on the woman’s shoulder. “One more word . . .”

D.D. kept her eyes on Bonita. The girl looked at the cook. She made a helpless sort of shrug. Playing a role D.D. was starting to recognize. They thought she was stupid and she let them. While down at her side . . .

Two fingers for no.

Bonita had heard something in the middle of the night. There had been an argument, some kind of altercation. Mrs. Counsel hadn’t hanged herself.

“All right.” D.D. rose smoothly to standing.

She addressed the cook. “Thank you for your time. That will be all for now. Good luck with breakfast.”

Kimberly didn’t say a word, simply followed D.D. back out through the kitchen doors.

“What did you learn?” Kimberly asked the moment they were clear of the room.

“Mrs. Counsel didn’t commit suicide and we gotta get both of those girls out of here, right now.”





CHAPTER 26





FLORA





WALT DAVIES IS JACOB’S FATHER. My mind feels shattered by the information. And yet it makes perfect sense. The way the two men move, how they carry themselves. Their shared paranoia but also their natural technical aptitude. Walt has built an entire state-of-the-art microgreens operation in an abandoned barn, while Jacob spent years custom fitting houses and long-haul rigs to hide kidnapped girls.

They are both clever; they are both crazy.

I’m aware of Keith watching me, waiting for my next move, while across the barn Walt continues to fuss over a tray of tiny sprouts. Is he afraid of me, of what I’ll do next?

Is he telling the truth when he says that he tried to come back for me? That he believed what his son was doing was wrong and he wanted to rescue me?

This is a man who says the trees scream and the woods are alive with ghosts.

Then again, maybe they are.

I know what must happen next. The whole reason we came to Georgia. Because the only way forward is back. My only end, where it all started eight years before.

“Do you know where he held me?” I ask Walt.

He nods, still stroking pea shoots.

“Was it on this property?”

“Nah. I didn’t know he was even in the area. Till one night, at Stickneys Pub, he found me.”

“I want to go there,” I say.

He knows I don’t mean the tavern. “You won’t like it,” he says softly.