The Haunted Reckoning Page 2

  Christ! Listen to her. A mother and child were dead, and here she was feeling sorry for herself!

  She let Sheila lead her into the kitchen and set her down on the chair. A flash of Cory broke through the fog of her brain. He’d been so damn polite and heartwarmingly earnest in his proclaimed love of his daughter. Hell, he’d even managed to speak well of his ex, never blaming her for being so protective of Aubree. Noele had been a good mother, although she had a tendency to hover over their child. But she was from El Salvador and that was probably their way, according to Cory.

  Sheila took a seat across from her and pressed a tissue into her hand. “Cry, Paige. Get it out of your system. I’m here for you, girl. Take as long as you need.”

  Paige nodded. She noticed steam drifting out of the spout of the teakettle and rose to her feet. Her legs felt wooden as she stepped over to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine. She grabbed a water glass and filled it to the brim. With a wan smile, she glanced over at Sheila. “Sorry. Tea isn’t going to cut it.”

  “You do what you have to. My mum’s remedy was tea, but the Irish reprobate who was my father swore by whiskey. This is a day to just get through, Paige. You’ll do that. This is a tough one.” She ran her finger through shaggy blonde locks of hair and looked up at the ceiling silently for a moment.

  “I had a case similar to this one, once.” Her smile became lopsided. “It didn’t end in death but it could have. My client was a tough lady. She knew her ex, and she was prepared to deal with it when he lost. He’ll carry a scar on his face for the rest of his life, thanks to his bullying ways.” She got up and poured water into the teapot, her words low and soothing, “You just never know about people, Paige: what they’re capable of...good and bad.”

  Paige took a long sip of the wine and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “But that’s just it, Sheila. I should have known. There had to have been some hint as to what he really wanted...who he was. How did he slip under my radar?”

  Sheila looked up from stirring milk into her mug of tea. “Some people are cold. They can hide their true nature under a veneer of normal. Or maybe, as Brad said, he just snapped. Maybe the wife said something, looked at him the wrong way, and”—she snapped her fingers—”they’re dead.”

  It was small consolation but she’d take it. Anything to ease the heavy mantle of guilt from her shoulders. Maybe it hadn’t been premeditated. Maybe when he’d dropped off Aubree, the wife said something to set him off.

  Her stomach clenched tighter, feeling the wine rise to the back of her throat. But why murder his daughter? The wife...sure, that could happen. Men give into rage every day and wives suffer for it. As heinous as it it, it happens far too often. She shuddered at that thought.

  But it takes a special kind of evil to murder your own child.

  Chapter 4

  “STAY THE HELL DOWN! The cops are lookin’ for you, for shit’s sake! I’m not going to be caught aiding and abetting a criminal, Bucko.”

  Cory stared up into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with his father. As usual, the old man was more interested in looking out for his own welfare rather than Cory’s. His eyes narrowed as he hunkered lower in the back seat of the Escalade. If there were any other way out of this mess, he’d jump at it, but the old man was all he had. It rankled to be under his father’s thumb...again.

  Well, not completely under the old prick’s thumb. Thanks to that little tidbit he’d picked up when he was fourteen, seeing his father with the hooker and then reading about her death the next day had been a gold nugget. He’d been able to hold it over him and leverage it to some extent. Real providential, that evening had been.

  His leg knotted up in a cramp, but the discomfort in his bladder was worse. “How much farther? I gotta take a leak.”

  Michael glanced back at his son and sneered. “You hold on, Bucko. Think I care about that? You’re lucky I’ve got a place to stash you. You just hole up there for a while and then get the hell outta Dodge, y’hear? Grow a beard if you’re capable. You might want to change your hair color too.”

  Cory bristled at his father’s words. Even though he was thirty, never asking for a penny from the old bastard, the old man still treated him like a punk. He held his tongue though. He graduated from his father’s school of hard knocks years ago and wasn’t about to take any remedial classes. The old guy could still probably beat the hell out of him; God knows he’s had the practice.

  “Don’t worry. As soon as the heat dies down a bit, I’m outta here. Maybe I’ll go west and pop in on dear old Mom. Shall I give her your regards?” Cory’s lips twitched. That last bit would sting. Mom had taken off as soon as he finished high school and Dad never got over it. Mom up and leaving him—especially with nothing to go to. She’d left an affluent lifestyle, for what? A minimum wage secretarial job in some two-bit insurance office? It wasn’t that his father missed her. Mom had been like the Rolex on the old man’s wrist, his. She wasn’t just the old man’s wife, she belonged to him!

  Just like Noele and Aubree. Damn her to hell. He sneered. Hell. That’s just where the two of them probably were right now. He couldn’t hurt that bitch enough. But choking the life out of Aubree right in front of her? Now that had been fun.

  Bitch. Who did she think she was? Some two-bit whore from El Salvador. Sure, he hadn’t been rich but at least she’d never had to eat dog meat. The nerve of the woman getting a restraining order against him. All he’d ever done was give the kid a light tap on her arm. He’d showed that bitch though. Thanks to the fancy-pants lawyer, her restraining order and custody got shot out of the water.

  He was jolted back to the here and now by the jostle of the car hitting a pothole. He squeezed his legs together to keep from wetting himself. “Seriously. Where is this place, Alaska?”

  “Shut up. We have a bit more to go, okay? You’ll have the comforts of home, almost.” The old man chuckled. “Less a wife and child though, thanks to your temper. How many times did I tell you about that? You’ve got to push it down, the craving. Or at least if you can’t do that, channel it.”

  Cory’s eyes narrowed when he parried, “Like you did with Mary-Jane Harrow? Pick up a skanky whore and beat her till she was dead? That’s your forte isn’t it, Dad? Sorry, but there’s not that many streetwalkers where I live.”

  “Where you lived, son. That life is over. And so is any more contact with me.”

  For a moment Cory froze, but then his words came out in a rush. “What? What about me? I’m going to be in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. You’ve got to help me. Bring me food at least. How will I survive?”

  The short laugh that burst from his father’s mouth sent a spike of rage through Cory.

  “You were never one for foresight, were you? Even back when you were only twelve... How many neighbors lost their cats? You never thought they’d wonder about you skulking around after dark?” The old man blew a fast sigh. “Of course I’ll see that you have food. I bought you that phone, but you’re not to call me—only when absolutely necessary. The police are probably watching my home and office.”

  Cory’s face tightened. “So how you gonna do that? Get supplies to me, I mean.”

  “I’ll leave them in a duffel bag at the edge of the property. I don’t have to even stop the car to do that.” He looked in the rearview mirror and their eyes met. “I’ll show you where when we get there. You just keep to the cabin. The old biddy who owns it hardly even knows her last name. I’ve kept the electricity on, and there’s a woodstove and a well. It’s actually kind of nice. I was thinking of buying it. Build some more cabins and make a fortune. There’re almost ten acres of waterfront property.”

  Cory decided to throw the old man a bone. “Now you’re sounding like the successful Realtor you are. No wonder you make so much money.” The old biddy wouldn’t be the first client his father had taken advantage of. He’d heard the rumors about that family who were forced out of their home when the father was killed in a car accide
nt. Funny how Dad’s firm was the Realtor of the new subdivision that went up there. Hmm. Yeah, real funny coincidence.

  “I’d say the fact you never came near me...well after the incident a few years ago, was a blessing in disguise. Every one of my neighbors will attest to the fact that we were estranged.” His father eased up on the gas and turned the steering wheel.

  Cory risked sitting higher. The vehicle’s headlights showed a dirt track bordered by tree growth so dense, it looked like they were heading down a tunnel.

  The vehicle stopped, and his father pointed to a wooden sign. Sanctuary was painted on the rough piece of wood in red letters. Corny. “Right there, see? I’ll leave a duffel bag with provisions a few feet from that sign. The cabin’s about five hundred feet around a bend. You’d never see it from the road. Not that there’s much traffic up here anyway. The nearest cabin is half a mile away. They shut it down for the season, so no one will be around.”

  Cory edged forward on the seat, looking past his father out the windshield. Right on time, a rustic log cabin was highlighted in the beam.

  Home sweet home. For now.

  Chapter 5

  PAIGE AWOKE WITH A START. Her forehead was pimpled with tiny beads of sweat, and her heart thudded hard. She clutched her pillow like a teddy bear, panting. Gradually her breathing evened out.

  It was just a dream. But even so, her eyes darted around the room trying to ground herself in the familiar comforts. It was that little girl. She dreamed of her—watching her play in a small fenced area, jumping from a tire swing onto the ground, racing to a small wooden sandbox. It had been so real!

  The worst of it was the sense of dread that infused her peering at the girl playing in the sand. Something bad was about to happen, and she had to get the kid out of there. When the girl had looked up, gazing past her, the smile on her face morphed into fear. Her eyes grew wider, and she sprung back, backing up till she was stopped by the fence. Her scream still rang in Paige’s ears.

  Aubree.

  Of course, it was understandable that she’d dreamed of the little girl. Her death and the woman whom she’d watched in the courtroom testifying against her ex-husband were bound to play out in her dreams.

  Her eyes closed, and for the hundredth time, she wished that she had believed the woman rather than arguing for her client’s case. That monster, Cory Smith, had done it. The police thought so, and so did she. They’d find him, and when they did, she’d make it a point to pay him a visit in his prison cell.

  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. The red numbers glowing in the dark showed it was just ten minutes after three in the morning. The dull ache in her temples was the result of killing practically a whole bottle of wine. She’d hoped to numb her mind to escape the guilt, but it was now tomorrow and the guilt was still there. Even worse.

  Throwing the covers back she eased out of bed and stumbled across the room, drawn by the night-light’s amber glow in the bathroom. She flipped the switch and found a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. With a quick toss of her hand, she dry-swallowed them. A glance in the mirror showed dark cusps under her eyes while her hair hung in strings over her shoulders.

  She scooped a handful of water from the tap to clear the foul taste from her mouth. As she was about to hit the light switch she gasped. A face had appeared in the mirror behind her! She spun around but there was nothing—only the wall with a shelf of toiletries showed.

  But something had been there. Her heartbeat raced, pulsing in her ears. Not just something. It had been a face: a little girl with dark hair and wide eyes.

  Giving her head a shake, she flipped the light switch off. There was nothing there now. Her mind, wallowing in despair, had not only caused the nightmare but was now messing with her vision. She was tired, and if truth be known, also hung-over. She’d get a few hours more of sleep and face the day later. There was no way she was going to work. Bradley had suggested she take time off, and as usual, he was right. Just a few days, and she’d be able to get back to the office.

  She hoped.

  ***

  Six hours later, Paige sighed opening her eyes to the bright fall sunshine pouring into her bedroom window. Bone weary, she pushed herself from the warmth of the bed and trudged past the living room and entered the kitchen. Her laptop sat on the table where she’d left it the night before. After clicking the button on the coffeemaker, she took a seat at the table to boot her email up.

  There was one from Sheila as well as one from Beth. She’d read those later. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she opened the news app to see if there was anything new on the Smith homicide. With any luck, they’d caught the creep—her client.

  It was a blow to her gut when Cory’s face stared back at her from the front page. She peered at his picture, seeking any clues in his eyes, or the tight set of his lips, anything that she’d never picked up on before. Was it her imagination or was there a sense of “deadness” in his pale blue eyes? It was like gazing at the eye of a fish tucked in ice at the supermarket. Why had she never noticed that before? This photo looked recent, probably from a family album. The folds of the hood of his sweater nestled around his neck.

  If she was right and it was a family photo, then whoever took the shot had captured a glimpse of his soul. With the thin lips and dead eyes, the expression reflected was blank and cold. She could see what he’d always kept guarded, projecting an affable politeness to the world.

  Or maybe she was reading too much into one picture, making it fit with what she now knew.

  She got up and poured a mug of coffee before returning to read what was written earlier that morning.

  The bodies of Noele Smith and her six-year-old daughter, Aubree, were found at around 2 p.m. October 13. The coroner’s report shows that both deaths occurred on or around Friday afternoon. Noele Smith died from multiple blows to her head while the child’s death occurred as a result of strangulation.

  Police are asking for the public’s help in locating the ex-husband and father of the deceased. He is wanted for questioning in this matter. Cory Smith, employed as a bouncer for a local bar, Blue Beered, failed to show up for his shift Friday night and has not been seen by friends or co-workers since.

  Paige sat back and huffed a sigh. There was a call that she’d have to make later that morning. Bradley may have bought her a day in talking to the homicide investigators, but she knew that they’d also want to hear from her. It wasn’t something she looked forward to. She felt guilty enough without some damn detective raking her over the coals.

  But maybe she deserved it. She’d dropped the ball and given this maniac access to his wife and child.

  She should have known.

  She gulped half the coffee down and reached for her cell phone. It was time to grow a spine and face this.

  Chapter 6

  PAIGE LEFT THE POLICE STATION TUGGING HER LEATHER JACKET TIGHTER TO HER NECK. The breeze had picked up in the two hours she’d spent with the two detectives. If she’d had any thought that they were going to go a bit easier on her those hopes were quickly dashed.

  This wasn’t a large city, and heinous crimes such as this were rare. Added to that was the fact that Noele had barely been recognizable after being beaten so badly. Plus, the child was so young and innocent, the police were totally pissed. The whole city was. This was Albany, not Chicago or Detroit.

  She had to get her car from the office. She had her own spot in the lot and figured walking to the police station would help with her hangover. It did; she arrived a lot more clearheaded.

  Heading back, she replayed the interview with the detective over in her mind. Peterson wouldn’t even talk with her at his desk! Instead, he put her in an interview room like a common suspect!

  “New procedures,” he’d said with a sneer. Bullshit. He wanted her to know loud and clear what he thought of her. They may both work for the justice system, but she was on the wrong side on this one.

  The way he grilled her—it got real clear,
real fast that Peterson blamed her for the murders.

  She let out a sigh. ‘That makes two of us.’ She hugged herself as a gust of cold wind rolled over her, put her head down and kept on going. Parking ten blocks away didn’t feel like such a great idea anymore.

  After walking for ten minutes or so, the sounds of children’s laughter and squeals yanked her back to reality.

  There was a park that she could cut through to save a few minutes getting to her car. A group of women, young mothers bundled in jackets, chatted as their children tired themselves playing on the climbers and swings. Many of the women looked to be her age; some were close to thirty, enjoying their children’s preschool years. Others were more like her, well past the “dirty-thirty” birthday, but still young enough to enjoy their kids.

  For a few moments, Paige paused, deliberating on whether to take the shortcut. Not only was it a reminder of the gruesome murder, but there was that personal element. She’d purposely postponed marriage and a family until she was established, career-wise. She had determined at an early age to not follow in her mother’s footsteps.

  It was funny sometimes. The very lifestyle her mother chose in raising her single-handedly had caused Paige to feel like an outsider a lot of the time. Her friends all had dads or stepdads at least. Now here she was eschewing that kind of life and still feeling like an outsider next to these young mothers with toddlers tugging at their jackets.

  ‘Enough with the self-pity, Paige. This isn’t all about you.’ She turned, striding down the walkway that ran through the park. She forced a chuckle down at the next thought. ‘Sure it is. You’re always the star in your own life. Duh.’

  She looked over at the children as she passed by the circular space of equipment. One little guy yelled at his mother to look as he dangled from a bar on the jungle gym, waving his hands while his legs hooked around the iron. Another child in a green hoodie was clambering up the side, trying to make his way to the top.