Dark Storm Page 3

  “You call the cops?” he asked, his voice shaky now. “Or do they have a waiting period?”

  “Our police contact has been to the scene already, has begun interrogations and will move on this soon. That twenty-four-or forty-eight-hour waiting period is TV and movie stuff, not the way law enforcement really works, at least with adults. Detective Jensen has talked to Darcy’s employer and is going to get more information from Claire. Of course, he’ll want to talk to you, too, but don’t panic.”

  “I’ll bet Claire is.”

  “It’s a detective we know well on the case, so—”

  “The case? It’s a case?”

  “Best to err on the side of caution. Steve, you do need to come home. They’ll have questions only you can answer.”

  “Yeah, you told me once they always look at the husband first.”

  “Don’t talk like that. There may be an easy explanation, surely a good ending to this.”

  “I’ll wait around here for a few more hours—the time she’d take to get here, if it’s like before. She could have just dropped her phone,” he said, his usually strong voice choking up.

  Nick reached under his sunglasses to squeeze the bridge of his nose. His eyes stung. He started pacing again as Steve’s voice, shaky now, went on.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t tell her employer. Maybe she thought she’d call her from the car, then couldn’t find her phone. But that open door—she was careful there. Damn, Nick, something’s really wrong. You guys keep Jilly, okay? Explain as best you can to her.”

  “For sure. And if you don’t like staying at your house, come to be with her. We have room for you and Drew, too, when he gets back.”

  “But what if Darcy doesn’t come home?” Nick heard him muffle a sob. “I can’t lose her.”

  “We’ll find her. We got Lexi back when she was taken—not that that’s what’s happened here.”

  “I’m not gonna tell Drew yet, but at least he’s far out of this for a few more days with my parents. I’ll call my dad, tell him not to tell Drew—just to pray.”

  * * *

  Claire told Nick she was stable enough to drive, so he followed her in his car and she did fine. Ken had already gone ahead to the Collier County sheriff’s station downtown to arrange for a formal missing-persons report after radioing Darcy’s license plate to the highway patrol. He’d wanted to get away from the butterfly farm and have more time to question Claire about Darcy’s life and personality. Nick had assured Ken that Darcy’s husband would be back soon, that he wanted to wait for a while at his job site, then at his apartment in Daytona, to be sure Darcy didn’t surprise him with a visit as she had once before.

  “Can I get you something to drink before we begin?” Ken asked Claire as she and Nick settled at a table in a small, bare room near Ken’s office.

  “I’m fine,” she said, feeling robotic, or maybe more like a drone, like she was seeing all this from afar. This nightmare could not be happening. Not to her. Not to Darcy, too.

  She remembered she hadn’t taken her narcolepsy pill, so she dug a packet of them out of her purse. Life had been going so well lately that she hadn’t relied on these hard-hitters, only her herbal remedies. “On second thought, Ken, I could use some water.”

  He got it for her, then pulled up a chair on her other side in a friendly, relaxed posture. She knew that tactic, had used it numerous times herself on a person she needed information from and didn’t want to alienate or frighten. Well, she was frightened, not of Ken, but for Darcy. Women’s intuition? Her forensic psychologist training? No, just a sisterly bond that had withstood so much over the years.

  She took the pill. Ken produced his ubiquitous notepad, maybe another ploy not to use a laptop or tablet in this spy-on-you technology world.

  “Claire, I know this is terribly hard right now, but just in case this is some sort of crime, I need to know as much as possible about Darcy. Of course, as soon as her husband gets back in town—hopefully with her—I’ll talk to him, too, if necessary. So let’s start with that—their marriage. All of them have rough spots, but the fact he’s out of town overseeing, like you said, Nick, a large construction crew—”

  “Which means,” Claire cut in, “it’s probably not domestic violence. They’ve been married ten years next week, two kids, very happy. Churchgoing.”

  “Steve’s job takes him away quite a bit?”

  “Sometimes,” Claire said, “but don’t go there about another woman for him or someone else for her. Especially lately, I’ve been with her a lot. Her extra time when her kids are in school has been spent at the Flutterby Farm, and she’s even taken her kids and Lexi there for long visits. Well, not so much Drew lately, as he’s spent this month with his grandparents in upstate New York.”

  “Don’t even go there?” Ken threw her initial protest back at her. “You know we have to look at all possibilities, and many people do have dark secrets in their lives. Okay, so probably no other men in her life. It does happen, Claire. It happens, even in the best of circumstances, though I trust you to psych something like that out.”

  In the sudden silence, Claire said, “She does have one notable male friend, whom I know—Steve and all our kids, too—but he’s old enough to be her father.”

  Ken had not written one thing down yet but he poised his pen over his notepad. “Tell me. Just in case we need more information from or about her other acquaintances.”

  “Will Warren is a librarian at the main branch here. He’s in his early sixties, usually dresses up, stands out. Silver hair, brown eyes, almost six feet tall. He’s also an author—on butterflies, no less, and has written a book on them. He excels at story time at the library, does voices for all the different characters. The kids love him.”

  That last remark hung in the air a moment.

  “He writes children’s books?” Ken asked.

  “The one he gave Darcy was targeted at an older audience—Butterfly Love and Lore, I think it is called—but he does the children’s story time at the library on Orange Blossom. I think he’d been doing it for years, at the library in Olde Naples before that one was built, though he was away for a while.”

  “He gave her his book but not you? And he works in the children’s division at the library?” he said, jotting things down fast.

  “Yes, that’s right. We’ve had our kids to his story time the last several years he’s been back in Naples. Everyone knows and likes him. But I think the fact that he’s a butterfly expert of some kind bonded him with Darcy lately. Really, Ken, he’s got to be thirty years plus older than her, and it’s...it’s not like that—what you’re looking for. I would have picked up on it.”

  “I’m just taking background notes in case I go to see him. He married?”

  “I don’t think he has ever been, but I’m not sure. If you go to talk to him, I could go with you.”

  “Claire,” Nick’s voice cut in, “this is all preliminary, and you do not need to go with Ken—”

  “No, actually,” Ken said, sitting back a bit in his chair, “it might be better, especially if we don’t locate Darcy right away, for Claire to gently question him without an officer or detective hanging on. If you do talk to him, do it in a safe, public place. Darcy’s ties to him seem so tenuous and unsuspicious that my presence might tip him off—or set him off.”

  Claire turned to look at Nick but didn’t pursue that right now. He gave her a mixed message of a shrug and a frown.

  “So,” Ken went on, “anything or anyone else? How about Tara Gerald, who, of course, seems like a far-out possibility. But I can tell she was distraught at the butterfly door being left open and those orangetips she keeps mentioning getting out.”

  Claire heaved a huge sigh. “My daughter and I have known this woman for over a year. She is warm, caring and supportive. During the year Lexi was in Tara’s first grade class, Tara helped her regain her outgoing nature after all we’ve been through with Lexi’s problems and setbacks. I’m sure, if you g
et the security camera footage from the post office where Tara took those butterflies to be mailed, you’ll find her waiting in line during the timeline when Darcy must have disappeared. Yes, Tara was distraught and emotional, but no way would she strike out at Darcy or anyone else.”

  Ken turned toward Nick. “Is she always one step ahead of you?”

  “Usually. Or two. No law degree or police badge, but you’ve got to watch those forensic psychs.”

  Despite their banter and attempts to help and support, Claire knew she was losing control again. Ken and Nick could not comfort her or lighten the mood or calm her down, however much she trusted both of them. They had to find Darcy! Right now!

  “Are you going to ask me next how Darcy and I are getting along?” she demanded, her tone more strident than she intended. “I could tell you that we practically had to raise ourselves after our father deserted us and our mother became a shut-in. She even ordered books over the phone so she could read, read, read as an escape from her husband’s desertion. That ruined my life and Darcy’s for years. So if you ever wonder—and I know you were going to get to that—whether Darcy would have set this all up and just left on her own, the answer is no! She would never do that because she knows the horrible pain of being abandoned. Something terrible has happened to her!”

  * * *

  Early that evening, Claire decided she had to tell Jilly some version of what happened, since—obviously—her mother was not coming to pick her up and take her home tonight. She rehearsed things over and over in her head, but she knew she couldn’t lie. Was a softened version of the truth even possible? She chose to tell Jilly and Lexi together, hoping they might be a comfort to each other during this hopefully temporary loss. She and Darcy had been stronger for suffering together, holding each other up through tough times.

  Since Claire had known both girls all their lives and Nick was somewhat new in their world, she and Nick decided he would wait in the kitchen where he could hear if she called. She sat the girls down next to each other on the U-shaped leather seating in the Florida room. She had closed the blinds along the patio window so it didn’t look like a huge black mirror. Wanting to get close to them, facing them, Claire sat on the edge of the glass coffee table, leaning forward. All her training, her counseling experience, all she and Nick had been through—yet she didn’t know how to start. Was this a mistake to think Lexi could help Jilly when she had been through so much, even being abducted and held captive?

  It had been terribly traumatic, of course, and though they got her back physically unharmed, off and on since then the child had slogged through mental and emotional turmoil. She’d developed an imaginary, hostile friend to cover her own anger. At least her love of riding her horse, Scout, had been like therapy for her, as had the support from Claire, Nick, Jace and others. The nightmares had finally stopped, but could this loss and shock set her back?

  “Jilly, your mom is going to be a bit late, so you’ll be staying with us tonight.”

  “But she’s really late. It’s dark outside.”

  “She left the butterfly farm earlier without telling anyone. We’re not sure where she is, but she took her car, and now we have some people looking for her. I’m sure they will find her.”

  Jilly jerked upright and shouted, “I’ve got to call Daddy!”

  Claire leaned even closer and took Jilly’s hands in hers. The child’s skin was warm, her own hands cold. “Uncle Nick did call him, honey, so he knows. He’s coming home to be with you. He’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

  “So she didn’t go surprise him like last time?”

  These kids were sharp. She wanted to hold them close. She could sense, even see, that Lexi was also instantly distressed, fidgeting, folding her arms over her chest, shaking her head. Maybe she’d made a mistake to tell them together where she couldn’t tend to them both.

  Lexi blurted, “I hope she didn’t get in a car with someone bad like I did!”

  Damn, Claire thought. All that counseling, all the assurances that what had happened to Lexi would never happen again. However much Claire was praying the girls would help each other through this, she wedged herself between them and hugged both of them hard.

  “I’m sure your mom will be all right, Jilly. Did she say anything about going anywhere? Or about seeing your dad?”

  “She said she’d pick me up here right after work, and she was so glad I love butterflies, too!” the child whispered, and twisted around to bury her face against Claire’s shoulder.

  Claire tightened her grip as her niece burst into tears. Lexi, thank God, leaned over to pat Jilly’s shoulder, then leaned in to hug her, too. Claire tugged her daughter onto her knees and the three of them just huddled, even when she heard Nick enter the room, though he didn’t come closer.

  “We’ll find her, sweetheart,” Claire said in Jilly’s ear.

  “Yeah,” Lexi offered on her other side, her voice muffled. “I came back after that really bad man took me far away. But right now I’m remembering all the bad stuff, even though I got found and saved. Like, I was so scared. Mommy, I’m going to my room to talk to my friend about this, because she’s back now. And she’ll help Jilly, too. The three of us can sleep in my bed tonight.”

  Claire gasped as Lexi pulled away and ran down the hall toward her bedroom. Not that nightmare of the past, too! Lexi had been doing so well, normal now after suffering through what Claire considered post-traumatic stress disorder. But if Lexi was running to her room to resurrect her imaginary friend who had comforted her before—and made her rebellious and even nasty—Claire had made a mess of this. Now, she had to help her own daughter as well as her niece. And where in heaven’s name was Darcy?

  4

  At the Markwood house, no one was sleeping that night. Drained and exhausted, but wide-awake despite her narcolepsy, Claire lay in Lexi’s room in the twin bed with Jilly where the child often slept for overnight visits. Hoping to ease herself off the narrow mattress if Jilly stopped crying and clinging, Claire lay outside the blankets in her jogging outfit because the air-conditioning was on.

  In her own bed just across the bedside table, Lexi had finally gone to sleep after whispering to her old, beat-up doll. It was not a baby doll, but a little-girl doll that Claire had thought she’d outgrown. It was named Honey, probably because Jace often called Lexi that. The doll had helped her get through Jace’s not living with them.

  But now with the doll, Lexi had been imitating another voice, harsher, rougher, to make the doll whisper back. The doll’s face was marred from use and being stuffed in the closet. Much of her blond hair was gone, and her glassy blue eyes, which never closed anymore, just stared. Claire shuddered. How sad to say her dear daughter’s doll, back from the grave of the dark closet, gave her the creeps.

  They were enmeshed in dreadful news all around. Darcy’s disappearance, of course, was the worst, but Jilly’s fragile state and Lexi’s slipping back into her unhealthy reliance on an imaginary friend was painful, too.

  Nick had come in twice to see how they were doing, but he hadn’t been in for a while. Hopefully, he, at least, had fallen asleep after talking to both Ken Jensen and Steve again. He had to be in court in the morning or he’d fall into the bad graces of the judge for getting a short delay and then holding things up again. As loyal as Nick was to his own family, until he could fully prep and hand things over to his defense team, he had to defend his client, too. Claire had actually wondered if his elderly client didn’t remind him of his deceased mother.

  Jilly finally dozed off in sheer exhaustion. Claire had to go to the bathroom, so she carefully disengaged the child’s now-loosened grip and got up. She’d use the guest bath, not the one off the master bedroom, though she was aching to be held and comforted, too, to just crawl in bed with Nick because—and this terrified her—Lexi’s bad-seed alter ego was back in that damn doll. Previously, she had not needed a physical object but had pulled her imaginary friend out of thin air, but lately, the doll had becom
e the focus. And the fact it looked like some evil voodoo-type doll just made things worse.

  “Mommy, you ’wake?” Lexi whispered as Claire passed her bed.

  “Yes, sweetheart. Just going to the bathroom. Be right back. Love you.”

  “I’m just glad my friend is back. You told me she went away for good, but that wasn’t true. I knew right where to find her.”

  As badly as her bladder was calling, Claire tiptoed to the far side of Lexi’s bed and leaned over to kiss her. But the child pulled her doll closer and Claire kissed the cold, plastic face.

  “Mommy, she says you don’t like her. She changed her name, so you and Dad have to call her Princess now.”

  “Really? Remember that Dad, Jilly and I are your friends, so you don’t need someone you put away in the closet because you had outgrown a doll—a doll that isn’t real.”

  “But I got taken and now Aunt Darcy, too. You said the man who was bad to me died, but maybe he didn’t.”

  “He did. You are safe. Aunt Darcy’s going missing has nothing to do with you.”

  “Did Aunt Darcy run away?”

  “Absolutely not. She would not leave her family. Maybe there was an accident, but we will find her soon and get her back, just like we got you back.”

  That made her remember that the police were checking the South Florida hospitals in case there was an accident and the victim had no ID. Anything to find her—anything at all.

  “Princess will take care of me so you can take care of Jilly,” Lexi whispered as Claire leaned over to hear. “Trey is too little to know how to help her, but I don’t know how, either.”

  “Just being with Jilly, giving her a hug, will help.”

  “But if Aunt Darcy is hurt bad, will Jilly live with us or Uncle Steve?”