Blood and Sand Page 12

  “So Taylor and I don’t get a vacation, but you get to keep playin’ detective?”

  “I don’t actually play detective,” I say. “I am one—which is how I was able to detect the subtle changes in you recently.”

  “Cute,” she says.

  “It was mean and I shouldn’t’ve said it. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you have your gun?” she asks.

  “Anna, I’m not going to just let you shoot me.”

  Without responding to what I said, she says, “Where is your weapon?”

  “One is locked in the glove compartment,” I say. “And one is in my holster. Why?”

  “I was just making sure you had one,” she says. “Magdalene was taken while she was alone in her room and her parents were in the other end of this huge house, right?”

  I nod.

  “We’re not going to leave Taylor alone for even a moment and you have a weapon,” she says. “There’s no need for us to leave tonight. We’ll stay tonight. You can do the service in the morning and work on the case some tomorrow while Taylor and I enjoy a little more time at the beach, and then we’ll go. She can sleep between us in our bed. No one’s breaking in here tonight and taking her from us.”

  It’s the most reasoned and reasonable argument she’s made in two weeks.

  “Okay,” I say. “The reason my Glock is locked in the car is that it doesn’t have a safety. The Smith that I have on me does. I’ll leave the safety on but have it on the bedside table next to me.”

  “That’s fine,” she says, “but you won’t need it. Someone comes in here to do harm to my little girl and I will rip them apart with my teeth.”

  24

  “How are y’all feeling?” I ask.

  It’s my first chance to speak with Keith and Christopher by themselves.

  We are in the kitchen of their residence. It’s quiet back here. The front part of the Florida House is still filled with friends and family hoping to get more information tonight.

  “I feel so many different things,” Christopher says. “None of them good.”

  Keith nods. “Yeah, it’s like we’ve wanted something—anything—all this time, but this . . . It just raises more questions and doesn’t give us any answers or comfort.”

  “Comfort?” Christopher says. “Just the opposite.”

  Derinda walks in pushing a hotel-style cleaning cart and tells Keith she’s finished with Raphael’s room. “I don’t like having him here in this house,” she says. “Don’t like it at all.”

  Keith nods to her, and she pushes the cart into the supply closet along the far wall as Christopher continues.

  “Why did he take her pajamas off? We know why, don’t we? And it had to be so quick after he took her.”

  Derinda joins us at the table, pulling her chair over between her son and his husband and placing a supportive, comforting hand on each man. She is clearly distressed, and it is obvious that she has been broken by this entire ordeal—both as a mother and a grandmother.

  “What did our poor little girl go through?” Christopher is saying, his gaze in the distance seeing nothing now present in this room. “Is her naked little body buried out there too? Is there anything left of it? Oh my God.”

  He breaks down and begins to sob, and we all have tears in our eyes.

  I wait for a moment while Derinda and Keith attempt to comfort him and each other.

  “I understand how difficult it is to do,” I say, “but if at all possible . . . if you could just wait a little longer and try not to draw any inferences from anything yet . . . I know it’s nearly impossible, but the truth is we don’t know for sure that those are Magdalene’s pajamas.”

  “Who else’s could they be?” Christopher says.

  “And even if they are,” I say, “we don’t know what that means. There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense about what was found today. We just don’t know anything yet.”

  Brooke Wakefield and Charis Tremblay appear in the doorway.

  Though they aren’t crying at the moment, their eyes are puffy and red, their faces stricken—especially Charis’s.

  “So sorry to interrupt,” Brooke says, “but . . . Rake is insisting on staying here tonight. Says with Raphael back in the house he wants to be around to help if anything happens.”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Charis says.

  “He’s gone to pack a bag and grab his toothbrush,” Brooke says. “He said he’d just stay on the couch because he doesn’t plan on sleeping much anyway, but I wanted to see if there’s a room he can use—maybe one next to Raphael’s—and Charis offered to get it ready for him so none of you would have to.”

  “That’s so sweet of all three of you,” Derinda says.

  Keith nods and says, “I like the idea of having his muscles here. Let’s put him in five. It’s right across from Raphael’s room.”

  Christopher nods.

  My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and glance at it.

  “It’s Roderick,” I say. “Mind if I take it?”

  They all nod.

  “Please,” Keith says.

  I answer it, and as I do they all whisper about getting Rake’s room ready, and Brooke and Charis rush off to take care of it.

  “Where are you?” Roderick asks.

  I tell him.

  “Can you meet a little later tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “How would you feel about working this case with me?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my sheriff called yours and they worked it out,” Roderick is saying. “My sheriff asked me if I wanted an FDLE investigator on this and I told him I’d rather have you and he said he’d see what he could do.”

  “Oh wow, well thank you,” I say. “I’m very flattered. And I’d be honored . . .”

  “But?”

  I explain to him about my concerns for Taylor and my plan to take her home. As I do, Keith, Christopher, and Derinda react to what I’m saying with a mixture of surprise and sadness.

  “Ah, man, I didn’t even think about that,” Roderick says. “I was looking forward to working this thing with you but I get it. I’d do the same thing with my daughter. Let me give it some thought and see if we might come up with a solution—would that be okay? Maybe we could post a deputy there or find y’all another place to stay. I don’t know. Something. You still up for meeting with me later tonight? Could we talk about it more then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  When I disconnect the call, Keith says, “I can’t believe we didn’t even think about the possibility that the same thing could happen to your daughter. I’m so sorry.”

  “We’re selfish and self-centered people,” Christopher says. “Only think about ourselves. Here you are helping us and we didn’t even realize by doing so you were putting your daughter in harm’s way.”

  “I might not be,” I say. “We just can’t know for sure yet. It’s possible that what happened to Magdalene was specific to her, but if it wasn’t . . .”

  “It’d be a little bit of a drive for y’all and the accommodations aren’t nearly as nice,” Derinda says, “but y’all are more than welcome to stay with me.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “That’s so generous of you.”

  “You’re trying to find my only grandchild,” she says. “I’d say it’s the very least I could do. It’s killing me to see what my boys are going through. If we could just get her back . . .”

  “Roderick just mentioned the possibility of having a deputy posted here or finding us another place to stay, but I think my wife has decided she really just wants to get back home.”

  “I certainly understand that,” Derinda says. “We all wish we had taken Magdalene far, far from here before she was . . .”

  “I hate to sound like the selfish asshole that I am,” Keith says, “but does that mean you won’t be able to work on finding out what happened to Magdalene?”

  “No, I’ll still do what I can,�
�� I say. “I’ll take the casebook y’all made me and do what I am able to from over there and come back over here as I can.”

  “Again, I hate to be the asshole,” Keith says, “but did Officer Brandt have any news?”

  I shake my head. “Not that he shared, but we’re supposed to meet later tonight. I’ll let you know anything I find out.”

  “You’ve done so much for us,” Keith says. “We’re so grateful.”

  Christopher, who is looking off into the distance, says, “Our home isn’t safe for children . . . for little girls . . . for sweet little Taylor.”

  25

  As I’m coming out of our room from checking on Anna and Taylor again—something I find myself doing every few minutes—I see Rake Sabin coming up the stairs with a gym bag in his right hand, its contents causing the muscles in his flexing arm to bulge against his tight athletic T.

  “Hey, John,” he says when he sees me. “I want you to know that I’ll be keeping an eye on your room tonight too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Rest easy and get some good sleep,” he says. “I got this. I appreciate all you’re doing—the inspiring talks and helping to find out what happened to little Magdalene. I know that’s a lot on you, so just don’t worry about your family tonight. They’re safe.”

  “I really appreciate that,” I say.

  He nods toward Hal Raphael’s door. “Can you believe the balls on this bastard? Walking in here like he owns the place, demanding a room, acting as if we don’t all believe he’s the one responsible for what happened. Wonder why he’s back? Why now?”

  “I hope we can find out.”

  Charis opens the door of Rake’s room and steps out on the landing with us. “You’re all ready,” she says. “Not my best work, but probably my quickest.”

  “I just appreciate you doing it,” Rake says. “But you really needn’t have bothered. I won’t be sleeping—or even using the room much for that matter. But thank you just the same.”

  “Pleasure,” she says.

  “Well, I’m gonna go grab a quick shower so I can be fresh and alert the rest of the night,” he says, and disappears into his room.

  “That was very nice of you to do,” I say.

  She shrugs. “It was nothing. Besides, it helps keep my mind off . . . other things—like what the Frankford man found and . . . things like that.”

  I nod. “I know everyone around here focuses on Keith and Christopher’s loss and grief, but yours has to be very similar.”

  Tears appear in her eyes and she nods. “They only had her a little longer than I did,” she says. “And part of me will always feel like her mother. Can I tell you something in confidence? I need to tell someone and . . . there’s no one else around here I can tell.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “I genuinely love Keith and Christopher,” she says. “It took me longer to come around than it should have, but . . . I got there eventually. I just got to thinking—I mean back when Demi told me they were planning to adopt Magdalene—there’s no couple who could adopt her that I would agree with everything about them. I just needed to know that they would love her and take good care of her no matter what. I’m a work in progress.”

  “We all are,” I say.

  “And I’m not saying I agree with gay marriage or whatever, but I could see that they both had a lot of love to give and they planned to give it to her. That was good enough for me. I mean, I still wanted her to have a mother, but . . . I’ve fostered a lot of kids over the years and I’ve learned that the thing that matters most is finding them a good placement where they will be loved and cared for. There are no perfect people or places, but . . . a good one is good enough. As you can imagine I’ve wanted to keep nearly all the children I’ve fostered over the years, but some of them—like Magdalene—have an even more special place in my heart. And they always will. So yes, she still feels like mine. I feel like her mother.”

  I nod and give her an understanding look. I genuinely feel for her—more so because of how much I’m missing Johanna.

  “Here’s the secret I’m keeping that I need to tell someone . . .” she says. “As much as I love and care about Keith and Christopher, and as much as what I’m doing to help I’m doing for them, I’m doing it far more for Magdalene. And if . . . I know this is a very big if and isn’t likely, but if . . . we somehow find her alive . . . I plan to sue for custody, to . . . try to adopt her myself. And it’s not because Keith and Christopher are gay. It’s because they didn’t protect her. They didn’t keep her safe. And maybe it’s just because their home is like this public house with strangers coming and going or maybe it was that party and all the drinking and whatever else went on, but . . . they left that sweet little angel vulnerable somehow and I just can’t stand by without trying to stop that from happening again. It’s nothing against them, and I realize that chances are I will lose, but I have to try. I have to. I get that it could’ve happened to anyone, but as much as I care for them my first responsibility is to Magdalene. Do you understand that at all?”

  “I do,” I say. “Of course. Keeping my children safe is more important to me than anything else. I feel like it’s my first responsibility, so I certainly understand.”

  “I know the chances of getting her back alive are . . . minuscule, which breaks my heart. The only thing that breaks it more is her being alive out there somewhere and being abused and tortured. Anyway, it’s a very long shot and even if it happens, no judge is ever going to give me custody. I know that. And I know that I will lose them as friends—them and Derinda and probably even Demi, but I’m hoping that by trying it will inspire Keith and Christopher to be better, more cautious parents. I’d rather try and fail than not try at all. I’d rather lose them as friends and risk never seeing her again if it means she’ll be safe then . . . Please tell me you understand—at least a little.”

  “I do,” I say, nodding, my eyes locked onto hers, which have tears in them.

  “And please don’t tell anyone. I want to be able to keep helping, to stay close, to be a part of everything that is being done for her. We’ve formed a kind of family and I’d be devastated if I lost that too.”

  “I understand,” I say.

  “I feel so much better having told you but now I’m scared you’ll tell them.”

  “I won’t,” I say.

  “Oh, thank you,” she says, and steps forward and hugs me. “Thank you so much.”

  26

  As Charis and I reach the first floor, we find that no one has left, and that the group has been joined by Vic Frankford.

  “I don’t know,” he is saying. “I really don’t. I’ve never been before, but I don’t know, something just kept telling me to go today.”

  Evidently, he is regaling everyone with how he found the Toy Story pajamas in the woods. Equally evident is that it’s not a short story.

  We remain standing in the foyer close to the staircase. Though Taylor and Anna are safely locked inside our room and Anna is completely capable of protecting Taylor, I want to be as close as possible to them as I can, and from here I can keep an eye on the front door and the stairs too. No one can even get to our room door without me knowing—much less inside the room itself.

  “It’s not easy for me to get away from my market,” he says. “God knows I would’ve liked to have gone on the searches before now, but . . . my customers expect to find me when they come into my store.”

  Most of his customers are tourists who don’t know him or that he is the owner.

  “And I owe it to them to be there,” he says. “But I was here that night—the night little Magdalene was taken from us—and I owe something to her too. And to my dear friends, her parents. So I said to myself, I’m going today and all the rest can rot. And good thing I did, I can tell you that.”

  He says it as if he hadn’t been there the pajamas wouldn’t have been found. But if he hadn’t been there someone else would’ve walked his line. Even with him there, a f
ew feet in either direction and the person next to him would have found it.

  “I try to listen to that little voice inside my head,” he is saying. “It has never led me astray. It’s a tiny whisper most of the time, but when I hear it I do my best to honor it by doing what it is telling me to do.”

  “What exactly did it tell you to do?” Henrique asks, and it’s obvious he’s having some fun at Vic’s expense. “Did it give you the coordinates of the garment?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Vic says, and it’s equally as obvious that he is oblivious to what is happening. “It’s very subtle. Like an impression. A feeling.”

  “A thought?” Henrique offers.

  “Sure, yeah. Like that. The thing is, it’s easy to miss.”

  “Many things in this world are,” Henrique says with a smile.

  During my last visit to our room upstairs, Anna had informed me that she had called her dad and he would be picking up her and Taylor in the morning, and that since they wouldn’t be home for a while anyway, I should stay to work the case with Roderick. I tried to talk her into reconsidering and us just going home, but she was adamant that she and Taylor were going to her parents’ place in Dothan and that the time apart would do us good.

  As the others are talking, I text Roderick and let him know I can work the case with him if he still wants me.

  Hell yeah, I still want you to, he had responded. That’s great news. I’m five minutes away. I’ll brief the family and then we can meet. And I’m bringing a deputy to stay there tonight for extra security.

  “I hate to leave good company,” Derinda says, “but this ol’ gal can’t hang like she used’a could.”

  “Investigator Brandt is on his way,” I say.

  “He’s been on his way for hours now,” she says. “Besides, just like you, he ain’t gonna tell us anything anyway. ’Course, if I’m wrong and he does, call me immediately. If not, I’ll be back over in the morning and y’all can tell me what he didn’t tell you then.”