When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(72)

D.D. took Bonita to a separate room in the inn, so the girl wouldn’t be exposed to the mayor or the cook for one moment longer.

While Kimberly instructed Sheriff Smithers to have his officers tear apart the inn. Which left Kimberly to interview the gathered guests, four ordinary-looking couples who clearly had no idea what was going on, and were rapidly losing whatever initial excitement they’d felt over the situation.

The mayor sat slouched in the corner, lost in a world of grief and guilt.

They didn’t find Hélène.

And by the end of the afternoon, it was clear the cook had vanished, as well.

Kimberly declared the entire inn a crime scene. The guests gathered their bags and were transferred to other hotels, officers logging their IDs and personal contact information. After a bit of discussion, Sheriff Smithers made the decision to take the mayor into custody, charged with failing to provide proper paperwork on his employees. Most likely, the mayor would be out on bail in the morning, but his arrest kept the B&B clear for the evening, enabling the crime scene techs to descend and perform a much more thorough exam. It also gave some teeth to their future warning for the mayor not to leave town.

Mayor Howard didn’t respond. Now devoid of his morning bluster, he’d journeyed to a remote place deep inside himself. Sheriff Smithers informed Kimberly he’d be putting the mayor on suicide watch. Kimberly thought that was an excellent judgment call.

Then it was done. The Mountain Laurel B&B devoid of guests and staff. One set of investigators leaving, another set—including forensic techs—arriving, while the gathered locals finally grew bored of the show.

Kimberly and D.D. walked Bonita down the front steps. They waited patiently for the girl to get her bearings as she stood in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around in a daze. Had she even been allowed outside the inn before?

And the day had been long. They were all exhausted and there was still the taskforce debriefing to come.

They loaded Bonita into Kimberly’s vehicle and headed for the team’s motel, never noticing the shadow draw away from the window across the street.





CHAPTER 29





FLORA





KEITH AND I ARE EXHAUSTED by the time we return to the motel. I’m not even sure what time it is anymore. Six P.M.? Seven? We should probably shower and prepare for some kind of team meeting. I don’t want to shower. I don’t want to move. I want to sink down on the bed and stare at the ceiling till my vision blurs and reality falls away.

After our visit to Jacob’s shack, Walt brought us back to his property. He fed us. Wood-fired fresh fish, topped with lemon slices and microgreens. It was better than anything I’ve eaten in a restaurant. So we sat on the front porch beside the washer and dryer and ate a meal any five-star chef would’ve been proud of.

Keith ate two plates. Given that I was suffering an out-of-body experience at the time, I stuck to one.

“You don’t like it?” Walt asked me anxiously.

“I don’t eat much.”

“You should eat. A girl needs her strength.”

Which of course, completely killed my appetite. Keith got Walt to talk. About his precious microgreens. About all the time he now spent in fancy Atlanta restaurants and the trade secrets he’d picked up along the way. About his plans for expansion, his paranoia about rivals.

He still wasn’t aware of Jacob being in Niche fifteen years ago—or any time prior to Jacob showing up in the bar and introducing himself. Then again, Walt didn’t get out much himself. Townspeople didn’t like him and the feeling was mutual.

What was Jacob driving the time Walt had seen him?

Walt had to think about it. A pickup, he thought. Nothing special. Good enough for getting around on dirt roads.

Did Jacob own the truck? Had he rented or borrowed it?

Walt had just stared at Keith. Now why the hell would he ask questions like that?

License plates, Keith insisted. Were they Georgia, or out of state?

He thought Georgia. And oh yeah, definitely local.

This is enough to rouse me out of reverie. “How do you know Jacob’s vehicle was local?”

“Town sticker on the windshield. You know. For the dump.”

So Jacob had been driving a locally owned truck. Maybe something he stole? Or borrowed from a friend? Keith looks at me. I can tell already what he’s thinking: We should get a photo of Walt’s vehicle, including plates. I nod faintly. Keith excuses himself, disappearing quickly off the porch and on mission.

Keith really is good at this stuff.

Walt insists on cleaning up after the meal. I roam the tiny cabin, searching for photos, personal mementos, anything that might tell me something. Mostly, I sneeze at the thick piles of dust and feel increasingly claustrophobic in the dark, musty space.

If Jacob had ever lived here as a little boy, I can find no trace of it. Any remnants of Walt’s family are long gone and all that remains of family photos are the faint outlines where they’d once been hung on the walls.

Keith returns. Clearly, it’s time for us to be on our way. What do you say to the father of the man who kidnapped you? The father who swore he came back to save you, only to discover he was too late? The father who greeted you at gunpoint, before giving you a tour of your greatest nightmare, then feeding you a perfectly lovely meal?