Not One of Us Read online

  “Aren’t you at a dead end with that?” she countered. “You told me about your conversation with his adoptive father. At this point, there’s nothing more you can do.”

  Ah, but I hadn’t told her what Ardy had said about Aunt Tressie. All my life, Mimi had so ingrained into me the importance of family loyalty. Speaking to outsiders about “private matters” was taboo, and my upbringing left me reluctant to speak ill of any blood relation.

  “Yeah, I’m at a dead end,” I lied. “But hypothetically, would an outside threat prevent you from asking more questions?”

  “If you have more questions for anybody, we can get the answers for you,” she said. “That’s our job, not yours.”

  “Well, there is one person,” I began reluctantly. “Ardy was pretty bitter about his ex-wife, my aunt Tressie. And he has reason. He showed me phone transcripts where she’s been coercing him for years to pay for her cushy residence at Magnolia Oaks.” I filled Tegan in on my conversation with Ardy.

  “Your aunt sounds like an extremely unpleasant person, but what reason would she have for kidnapping Zach or threatening you?”

  “Because I’ve been asking questions about her son’s adoption. Have you found out anything about it?”

  “Still looking into it,” she replied cryptically. Which told me much of nothing.

  “Do you have any clues about who took Zach?” I asked, turning the conversation in another direction.

  “Not yet. The day program driver passed a polygraph. We interviewed staff again but haven’t learned anything new.”

  My heart sank, even though her news was hardly surprising.

  “But in searching the woods,” she continued, “we found a trail of LEGOs that led to the edge of a water pathway. It appears that whoever had Zach might have kidnapped him in a boat.”

  “Any footprints?”

  “No. We found a muddy track going into the water. It looked like someone erased all their footprints with a branch. Do you think Zach might have deliberately dropped the LEGOs to leave a trail of bread crumbs?”

  “Doubtful.” I couldn’t imagine Zach doing that. “Must have been an accident. He leaves LEGOs all over the house. You have to watch your step around here.”

  “Has he said anything that gives you a clue where he might have been?”

  “Nothing,” I reported with a sigh. “If he does, I’ll call right away.”

  I hung up the phone and marched back into the house. “Is Rose coming over?” I asked Mimi.

  “She’ll be here in five minutes.”

  “I’ve decided to go out for an hour or so,” I said, grabbing my car keys from the fireplace mantel. “Sure you don’t mind?”

  “Go,” Mimi said, shooing me off.

  “Go,” Zach repeated. “Bye-bye.”

  “Call me if you need me.”

  I made my escape. Once in town, I tapped my car brakes and slowed down as I neared Winn-Dixie. At the last possible moment, I shut off my blinker and hit the accelerator, my decision made.

  A hint of twilight clouded the skies by the time I pulled into Magnolia Oaks. The magnificent antebellum mansion with its white columns, wraparound porch, and well-manicured lawn was striking. I’d never been out quite so late in the day. Every window glowed with warmth, and it looked as inviting and welcoming as a Norman Rockwell painting.

  Poor Ardy had been stuck funding most of Tressie’s living costs, and I suspected Uncle Buddy also regularly slipped his sister extra money. There were less expensive assisted living facilities in nearby Mobile that would have been perfectly decent for Aunt Tressie, but according to her ex-husband, she’d chosen grander accommodations as a way to punish him for deserting her.

  Inside, there was plenty of activity as a local church choir performed in the ballroom. At the reception desk, I signed my name as usual and headed down the south wing.

  An LPN I recognized waved. “Oh, honey, you should have called before coming out. Your aunt isn’t here.”

  “Not here?” I repeated stupidly. “Tressie Ensley?” A series of possible explanations shifted through my mind: Had she fallen? Had a heart attack? My hand fluttered to my throat. Maybe whoever had taken Zach had now targeted my aunt. “What’s happened to her?” I asked.

  “Nothing! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetie. She just decided to run get a bite to eat. Pot roast was on the menu tonight, and she had a hankering for barbeque.”

  “Since when did she start driving?” I asked, confused. Up until this moment, I’d thought the only time Tressie left the facility was when she had an aide drive her to the beauty shop once a month. Ardy was right. Her deceptions went deep, and I’d best remember that from here on out.

  The LPN cocked her head to the side, brows creased with confusion. “She’s always driven. Ever since I’ve been here anyway, which is almost a year. She goes out regularly. The only restriction we have is that all residents return by nine in the evening.”

  “I-I see. Do you happen to know if she was here yesterday afternoon?”

  “We can check the log. Everyone’s supposed to log in and out when they leave. It’s a safety measure.”

  The LPN cast me curious glances as she walked with me to the nurses’ station.

  “Any particular reason you want to know?” she finally asked.

  I shrugged, unwilling to go into the kidnapping with a stranger. The woman asked another employee for the logbook, and a thick blue binder was handed over.

  “Yesterday . . . ,” the LPN muttered, her index finger scanning a page. “Let’s see. No, I don’t see where she left the premises. Hope that helps you?”

  She slammed the book closed, but not before I was able to briefly scan the open pages. Aunt Tressie had checked out regularly. Ardy was right: Tressie’s mental fragility appeared to be an act.

  But why? What purpose did it serve? Was it merely to play on others’ sympathy and extort money from her family? Or was there something more sinister at play?

  “If you’d like to wait for your aunt, you can listen to the church choir in the ballroom. They’re really good. They come twice a month, and our residents love them.”

  “Th-that’s okay,” I managed. “Thanks for all your help.”

  I made my way outside and stumbled to my car in a daze. All these years, Aunt Tressie had been putting on this poor-pitiful-me act, and I’d fallen for it like a complete chump. As far as I knew, Mimi had fallen for it too.

  Darkness settled by degrees. There was no point in remaining, but I couldn’t find the energy or the will to leave.

  Car headlights snaked up the driveway, and my heart hammered as I recognized the dark-blue Town Car. Tressie was at the wheel, her features calm as she turned into the parking lot.

  I sprang out of the car and headed to her, my footsteps loud and reverberating on the asphalt. A crow cawed a warning that Aunt Tressie didn’t heed. She was so smug, so confident, so . . . normal as she exited her Town Car clutching a bag of take-out food and a cup of coffee.

  “Enjoy your evening out?” I asked once I was merely two feet away.

  Tressie jumped, and hot liquid sloshed out of her drink and onto her hand. “Damn it,” she whimpered, staring at the burnt flesh already inflamed and bright red.

  “Let me get that for you.” I moved in, removed the drink from her hand, and stared into the face of a stranger. This Aunt Tressie was focused. Aware. A hint of calculation in her gray eyes that were the same distinctive pewter color as my own and Mimi’s and Mom’s. An inherited family gene through the generations.

  “Jori!” she screeched.

  In less than two seconds, this version of my aunt morphed into a more familiar one. Confusion clouded her eyes; her shoulders slumped forward an inch, and her lips trembled.

  “Um, thank you, dear.” Her voice warbled as though weak and infirm. “What a surprise to find you here.”

  If I hadn’t been holding a cup of hot liquid in my hands, I’d have given her a slow clap of satiric admiration.r />
  “Bet you’re not as surprised as me,” I commented. “You led me to believe the only time you ever left this place was to get your hair done. And even then, you’d pay one of the nurse’s aides to drive you there.”

  “I’ve been feeling much better lately.” She offered a wobbly, apologetic smile. The gray eyes promised a nothing-to-see-here-move-along flash that downplayed her deception. “The doctors put me on a new round of medication that’s working miracles.”

  “Really? I don’t believe in miracles myself.”

  Tressie aimed her keys at the Town Car and locked it with a decisive click. “What brings you here? Is something wrong with Oatha? Or Zach?”

  She could shove the fake concern. “You didn’t hear the news? Zach was kidnapped yesterday.”

  Alarm flared across her features. But not surprise. “Yes, I-I did hear that. The TV news reported he was returned unharmed. Is he okay?”

  “If you knew, why didn’t you pick up the phone and call us?”

  “I didn’t want to intrude. I mean, I figured it must have been a madhouse. I was going to wait and call tonight.”

  “Where were you yesterday afternoon?” I asked flatly, ignoring Tressie’s attempt to downplay her lack of concern.

  “Why—right here, of course. In my room like always.”

  “The whole afternoon? Can the nurses and other residents verify that?”

  Her shoulders straightened. “What are you implying?”

  “That you could have been the one who took Zach.”

  “That’s . . . that’s absurd!”

  “No, it’s not. According to the checkout log, you come and go from here all the time.”

  “They showed you the log? I’ll have a word with them. That should be confidential information. At any rate, if you looked at it, then you saw that I didn’t leave the grounds.”

  “Maybe. Officially. But you could have snuck out without reporting it.”

  “What possible reason would I have for taking him? That’s ridiculous.” She walked around me, moving at a surprising clip for a person supposedly old and feeble.

  “It’s not ridiculous at all,” I insisted, catching up to her. “You’ve pulled some pretty shady stuff over the years.”

  That brought her up short, and she abruptly halted. “What are you talking about?” she snapped, all pretense of Poor Little Old Aunt Tressie obliterated.

  “Don’t play games with me. I talked to Ardy.”

  Her lips pursed together, trembling with rage. “Why would you go see him?”

  “Because I think there’s something fishy about Jackson’s adoption.”

  Fury blazed from her eyes. “How dare you? It’s none of your business.”

  “Somebody—maybe you?—made it my business.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The threatening notes. Zach’s kidnapping.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She resumed her march to the building. Her own private sanctuary where she lived in ease and manipulated others out of spite.

  “Why should I believe you?” I asked, easily keeping pace with her.

  “I don’t give a good damn whether or not you believe me. Go home.”

  I gave a bitter laugh. “Watch it. Your true colors are showing. If Ardy hadn’t had proof of you threatening him, I’d never have believed you had a role in anything illegal. Now, well, I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

  “That bastard owes me,” she seethed. “He ran out on me when the going got tough like the coward he is.”

  “He only left after Jackson died. But he stayed with you when Jackson was a troubled teenager in trouble with the law. He told me he tried to instill discipline but—”

  “Ardy was too harsh on my boy,” she interrupted. “Jackson was just going through an unruly adolescent phase, that’s all. If he hadn’t been murdered . . .”

  Her wrinkled face crumpled like wadded tissue, and I suspected this was the first real emotion I’d ever seen from Aunt Tressie. She drew a deep breath.

  “If my boy had lived, he’d have turned out fine. Jackson had a good heart.”

  I couldn’t argue might-have-beens, although I highly doubted Jackson would have “outgrown” his criminal “phase.”

  The more I puzzled out all that had happened, the more I believed Aunt Tressie was the one behind it all. Where had she taken Zach? Her old house had never been sold because she’d insisted she couldn’t sell the place where she’d raised her only child. It would be a perfect hideout for keeping Zach out of sight.

  “I had nothing to do with Zach disappearing or the threats you say you’re getting,” she insisted. “Now go away and never come back.” Her step quickened, and we were almost at the Magnolia Oaks back door, where three employees were gathered on the patio smoking cigarettes. Once we reached the employees, I knew the conversation would be over. Tressie would play a poor victim hounded by a thoughtless niece.

  “Does Mimi know you bought a baby?”

  Aunt Tressie whipped around. “We didn’t buy Jackson. We paid for a private adoption.”

  “Which the police are looking into.”

  Her face paled, and her knuckles whitened on the take-out bag.

  “Does Mimi know about this?” I asked again. “Who else knows?”

  “There’s nothing to know because nothing happened.” Her eyes dropped to my hands. “Now give me back my coffee.”

  My aunt had no shame. Her callous selfishness infuriated me. I held my arm out straight to the side and let go of the cup. Milky mocha liquid splashed on the pavement and formed a puddle.

  Tressie raised her voice, high pitched and full of angst, amber notes glowing like molten lava. “What are you doing, Jori?”

  She turned to the employees, widening her eyes as though frightened. One of them started to make their way over to where we stood.

  Tressie faced me again, a smug smile on her thick lips. “Don’t ever come back here. I’m going to put you on my restricted visitors list.”

  “I’m heartbroken. By the way, I let a deputy know you’ve got an extortion scheme running with your ex. Are you extorting money from Uncle Buddy too?”

  “I’m not extorting anyone. And if my brother wants to slip his poor little sister a bit of cash from time to time, that’s no one else’s business but our own. Because family is family. We help each other.”

  “Old lady, you better stay away from us. You got that? If you ever take Zach again, I’ll—”

  “Is there a problem, ladies?” A tall, burly man who looked to be in his midthirties came to stand by Tressie.

  “My niece was just leaving,” Tressie simpered. “Weren’t you, dear?”

  “You betcha.” I conjured a fake smile. “We’ve both said everything we have to say to each other.”

  Chapter 28

  TEGAN

  “About to break the Strickland murder?” Sinclair asked the moment I stepped in the office. “It’s been several days, and no one’s been arrested yet.” He made a tsking sound.

  “Just the Strickland case?” Mullins snickered. “Hell, our superstar’s about to break every unsolved murder that’s ever happened here in Enigma. News report at ten tonight.”

  “Jealousy isn’t a good look on y’all,” I chided as I slid into my seat. “We really should get partitions put up in this place. I need a private cubicle so I don’t have to see you clowns.”

  “You’d still hear us,” Haywood said.

  “But I could pretend not to.”

  I entered my computer password and, while I waited for the monitor to light up, checked a stack of papers in my inbox. Who knew being in law enforcement meant dealing with so much paperwork? It certainly wasn’t how I envisioned my career while at the police academy learning how to shoot weapons and struggling through physical agility tests.

  My three coworkers began speculating on the cost of converting our office to individual cubicles. Haywood suggested putting in a request to
Oliver. I knew they wouldn’t follow through with the idea; they loved jawing back and forth with each other too much.

  From outside the open window came the sounds of sawing and hammering. The city maintenance staff was hard at work finishing the final construction for the Blessing of the Fleet events that would start tomorrow. Even getting to our parking lot this morning had been a trial as I weaved around vendor setups and volunteers setting up water stations for the runners in the annual 5K race.

  “How are we supposed to get any work done around here?” Haywood mumbled.

  Sinclair rolled his eyes. “Close the damn window and turn on the AC for starters. Duh.”

  I tuned them out and scribbled a list of my daily to-dos. One, reinterview Eddie Yeager; two, email the courthouse for a list of—

  Oliver burst into the room, looking more intense than usual. “Carter Holt’s been shot,” he announced without preamble. “He’s in critical condition.” He pointed at me. “Let’s go.”

  “Goddammit,” Sinclair swore, banging a fist on his desk. I jumped out of my chair without bothering to shut down the computer and followed Oliver out to the cruiser.

  “Any more details?” I asked, buckling into my seat.

  “Report just came in from Enigma PD. He was found in his car at five thirty-six a.m. on Gilmore Road, slumped over the wheel, bleeding and unconscious. He’d been shot once in the chest.”

  “Who found him?”

  “A local driving to work at a bakery. She called it in. Officers and EMTs responded less than five minutes later.”

  Shot in the chest. That sounded dire. Much as Holt and I had taken an immediate dislike to one another, his shooting hit me hard. It was a brutal reminder of what could happen to me on the job at any time. Even though my ex-husband and I couldn’t stand to be in each other’s company, I had to admit he was a good father. Our twins would always have a loving home with him if need be. I never would have accepted this job without that assurance. Still . . . I wanted to be around a long, long time. Time enough to at least see Luke and Linsey grown, employed in a solid job, and happily married with their own families.