Last Seen Alive (35 page)

Forgetting her fear, Chyna ran ahead and touched the

marble “tower.” Almost immediately Scott stood beside her, shining the flashlight beam on the engraving:
Sternhaven.

Suddenly Michelle began barking furiously. Chyna jumped in surprise, sliding on the frosty grass as her gaze darted around, searching for an intruder, someone who shouldn’t be in a cemetery at night. Scott’s sharp gaze darted everywhere. In a moment, he said, “Chyna, come here!”

She turned around. At first all she saw was a large piece of plywood. Beside the plywood lay a beer bottle and a crumpled potato chip bag. Michelle barked again and, when she’d gained Chyna’s attention, dipped her paw about two inches into a hole. “Michelle, get back!” Scott commanded.

The dog cringed at the harsh sound of his voice but moved away from what Chyna now saw was a large hole in the ground. A deep hole dug for a casket, she thought with a shudder. She would have expected Michelle to retreat to her after being spoken to so loudly by Scott, but instead she kept barking, circling the hole in agitation. There is something down there, Chyna thought. Something I probably don’t want to see.

In fact, for a moment Chyna felt like bolting away from the scene. She wanted to run back to Scott’s car, lock herself in, and drive away, Scott and Michelle in tow. But of course she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t
supposed
to do that.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to draw on the well of strength her mother used to say everyone had inside them. Then, with dread, Chyna crept closer to Scott, who was shining the flashlight into the deep hole.

At the bottom lay a girl, facedown, naked, her wrists bound with duct tape. Her right leg was flung out at an unnatural angle and her auburn hair spread in a tangled, stringy mess, blocking any view of her face. Still, Chyna knew.

“Deirdre,” she whispered. “Dear God, I hope she’s alive.”

After looking at Deirdre for a moment, Chyna had begun to climb down into the hole to see if the girl still lived, but Scott had stopped her. “You could fall and get hurt yourself,” he said, holding tight to Chyna’s arm. “Or you could fall
on
Deirdre. If she’s alive, you might make things worse for her, cause another injury.”

Chyna pulled back from the edge of the hole. “You’re right. It’s just so hard to wait. Are you sure that woman at The Whippoorwill made the nine-one-one call and gave the right directions?”

“I’m sure she made the call, but I didn’t hear her give the directions.” Scott pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll double-check.”

While Scott called the Emergency Service, Chyna tried to get Michelle under control. She wished she’d brought a leash, but they’d left in a hurry and she hadn’t bothered because Michelle so seldom needed a leash. At last, the dog came to her and Chyna knelt down, holding on to Michelle’s collar. The dog panted heavily after running around and around the hole. Chyna had never seen her act so agitated. Or so driven. Chyna had a feeling Michelle sensed someone was hurt and actually wanted to help rather than hide, which was a first for the dog.

“The woman at the Whippoorwill told the Emergency Service to come to the cemetery,” Scott said, putting his phone back in his pocket. “They’re on the way.”

“Thank God.” Chyna glanced at Deirdre again. “Oh, Scott, she looks so tiny and vulnerable down there.”

“She is.” Scott frowned. “How long do you think she’s been in that hole?”

Chyna looked at him in surprise. “She fell in the hole when I fell in the roadhouse. I was having her experience, Scott. I thought you realized that.”

“Maybe, but you don’t always experience things at the

time they’re happening. Like with Rusty. You had the vision of Rusty watching Nancy when she died several days after she fell.”

“Rusty was
thinking
about her falling at the moment I touched him. At least, I believe that’s what happened. And in the Whippoorwill, I handled the paper Deirdre gave me in the cafe. Maybe that somehow put me ’in touch’ with her this evening.” She shrugged helplessly. “As I’ve told you, I don’t know everything about how this power of mine works and often doesn’t work.”

“Do you see something over there?” Scott asked suddenly.

Chyna scanned the cemetery. Then she saw it. A movement in the trees about forty feet from them. Was it one of the deer? She squinted. Maybe. Or maybe it was a person, she thought in dread. Someone else out in the cemetery at night, perhaps looking for Deirdre or perhaps watching her and Scott.

She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. “I see it, but I don’t know if it’s a person or an animal.”

“I can’t tell.” Scott shook his head. “It’s disappeared back in the trees.”

“Was it coming at us?”

“It wasn’t. Not
directly,
at least, but that doesn’t mean it’s not circling around—”

Fear swept over Chyna again. They should get out of here, because she was almost certain they hadn’t seen an animal. But how could they desert Deirdre?

Chyna felt like she jumped a foot when Scott almost shouted, “Thank God! Here comes the cavalry.”

Headlights sliced through the darkness. “An emergency unit,” Scott said. He’d left on his own car headlights, so the unit, which turned out to be a fire truck, came directly toward them and stopped behind Scott’s car. In a moment, an ambulance followed. Scott waved his flashlight and yelled, “We’re over here! There’s a girl in an empty grave!”

“God, that sounded ominous,” Chyna muttered.

Scott shrugged. “Is there any way to make this situation sound
less
ominous?”

No, Chyna thought, especially because she believed the person lingering at the edge of the woods was Deirdre’s abductor, arrived too late to catch his escaped prey.

Rex pulled into the driveway of the Greer home, fumbled in his pocket for his keys, then went in through the side door. He headed straight for the kitchen, poured vodka in a glass, and drank it in two gulps. He was cold, shaken, and exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t go to sleep. Not now. Not with all that was churning through his brain. For the first time in his life, he felt old and weak.

He poured more vodka, walked into the living room, turned on a lamp, and sat down directly across from the portrait of Vivian and Edward. How solid they looked. How privileged and poised, Edward strong and handsome with his patrician features and silvery hair, Vivian beautiful and vivacious, her blue-gray eyes glinting with humor and a confidence that said she could take on the world. That painting was only nine years old, but already they were both gone, each dying far too young. Vivian’s death hadn’t really hit Rex yet, still didn’t seem real, but abruptly he violently missed his brother, a man whose quiet ways belied the strength and tolerance that had carried him through until the end.

It was long after midnight, hours later than when Rex had left with Owen and Rusty. I should have called Chyna, Rex thought with regret. He knew she’d sensed trouble when they left. She’d looked so worried. He should have let her

know he’d deposited Rusty safely at his own home before he went to Owen’s.

Not that his tactic had been very successful. Rex had intended to stay with Owen for at least an hour, maybe more. After twenty minutes, though, Owen had received a call and claimed pressing business at the funeral home before nearly pushing Rex out the front door. Rex had gone to Ned’s for half an hour, but Ned had been called to the car dealership and Rex could tell Beverly wanted to get the children bathed and quieted before bed, so he hadn’t stayed there long, either.

Rex had cruised past Rusty’s and not seen Owen’s car, but it hadn’t been at the funeral home, either. So if I’d called Chyna then, Rex mused, what could I have said, where could I have told her I was going for the rest of the evening?

After his failure to locate Owen, Rex had felt overwhelmed and nearly incapable of thinking at all, much less of making up casual, believable excuses for Chyna about why he wasn’t coming home until late. So he’d just left her hanging, not knowing where he was or when he’d return.

No doubt, Chyna was feeling abandoned by him, and with good cause. He hadn’t really spent any time with her, even though her mother had just died. Instead, he’d been running willy-nilly, making up a lie about why he hadn’t arrived as soon as he heard about Vivian’s death, fabricating stories about visiting local friends once he’d gotten here. He was never around when Chyna needed him. She’d even had to face the crowd that had gathered in front of the house this morning—the crowd calling her names, making accusations, throwing rocks at the house. At least Kendrick had arrived, Rex thought with gratitude. It was Scott Kendrick, a man recovering from great emotional and physical trauma, who’d had to help Chyna ride out that storm. Meanwhile, Rex had been doing other things, things that would shock and sicken his lovely and extraordinary niece.

But maybe he hadn’t let down Chyna as much as he thought he had, because she hadn’t really expected much from him. She hadn’t exactly been leaning on him since he

arrived, maybe because she knew that trying to lean on Rex Greer would be like trying to lean on a pillar of whipped cream. Ruefully Rex felt that failing people had always been his forte. That and keeping secrets. He knew so much about so many things, things that could blow apart what was left of this family, things that could hurt or destroy at least a dozen people in this town. Sometimes his head pounded from the pressure of all he knew and of all he’d done. It would be so nice to be able to shed the compulsions that drove him, the obsessions that haunted him. At times like tonight, Rex didn’t know how much longer he could continue to live life as he had been for years.

But he had a feeling he wouldn’t have to maintain his fa9ade for much longer, because after tonight, he knew with dreadful certainty that Chyna would soon end it all for him.

The fire truck and ambulance arrived with such fanfare Chyna wondered if the dead could sleep through it all. Sirens wailing, lights flashing, people yelling. Five minutes ago this area had been silent and dark and definitely eerie. Suddenly it had the air of a carnival.

“First, we’ll lower ourselves into the grave on ropes and take her vital signs,” one of the paramedics told Chyna and Scott.

“Don’t you mean that first you’ll see if she’s alive?” Chyna asked in fear. “She hasn’t moved a fraction since we found her.”

The young, dark-haired paramedic smiled at her. “We always hope for the best, Mrs….”

“Dr. Greer. Chyna Greer. This is Scott Kendrick.” Chyna suddenly thought these formal introductions seemed silly and a waste of time. Another man was already lowering a rope into the grave. Two paramedics slid down the rope with tremendous speed. Chyna tensed and felt Scott’s arm encircle her shoulder. Then she closed her eyes, unable to watch

them check for signs of life in the girl who lay like a broken doll at the bottom of the cold grave. At last, one of them called, “She’s alive!”

“Thank God,” Chyna breathed, sagging in relief. Scott smiled at her as they waited for the paramedics to check Deirdre further.

“Pulse is a little thready, but no signs of serious trauma besides the lack of consciousness,” one yelled up to the others. “Lower the backboard and the cervical collar.”

“Did you hear that?” Chyna asked Scott. “No signs of serious trauma!”

He gave her a small, tight smile. “So far so good.”

Of course they had to check for other damage, Chyna thought. Who knew how long Deirdre had wandered naked before she’d fallen into the grave? And what had her abductor done to her before she’d gotten loose? Raped her?

Once the cervical collar was in place and Deirdre had been strapped to the backboard, the men above used ropes to raise it. When they got her to ground level, they asked that Chyna and Scott look at her. “You said this was Deirdre Mayhew, but you couldn’t see her face,” one of them said. “Take a closer look now.”

They both bent over and peered at the unconscious girl. She was extremely pale and Chyna’s expert eye immediately discerned that she was suffering from hypothermia, but it was definitely Deirdre. “That’s the Mayhew girl,” Scott said firmly. “I’ve known her all her life.”

“She needs IV fluids,” Chyna directed, temporarily forgetting that she wasn’t in the hospital. “And she’s probably malnourished. Are you sure you have her spine immobilized?”

“Yes, ma’am, we know our jobs,” one of the paramedics said patiently.

“Of course you do. I’m sorry,” Chyna said quickly. “I’m a doctor—”

“You said that.”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to come off as a know-it-all. I’m

just…” Chyna swallowed convulsively, feeling as if she were going to burst into tears. She hardly knew Deirdre, but the emotional drain of feeling her walking on the cold ground, naked, blind, then falling into the hole—a grave, of all things—momentarily overcame her.

Scott tightened his hold on her and said to the paramedics, “I’ll notify her father.”

“We’ll call the sheriff,” one of the men said as they carefully loaded Deirdre into the ambulance. “We need to know why that grave wasn’t covered. They
always
cover open graves. An open grave at night is just a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Yes, I guess so,” Chyna said absently, wondering how he could be thinking about lawsuits at a time like this.

Another paramedic looked at her and Scott and smiled. “There are going to be a lot of relieved people tonight. We were afraid we were going to lose another girl.”

As the ambulance and fire truck drove away, Scott turned her around and hugged her tightly. “You did it, Chyna! You saved Deirdre.”

Chyna felt relief and even a small flame of triumph. But greater than her sense of triumph was her regret that she hadn’t been able to do the same for Heather and Edie, and especially for Zoey.

It was near two in the morning when Scott followed Chyna up to her house. Rex’s car still wasn’t in the driveway, and now Chyna was glad. If he was home and still awake, she was in no mood to talk to him. Chyna opened the front door, walked into the house, then turned around to see Scott lingering just outside. He smiled at her wanly and reached out to take her hand. “Well, I know you’re exhausted,” he said softly, somewhat self-consciously. “Get a good night’s sleep, Chyna. You deserve it.”