Silver Falls (11 page)

Finally he was done. She cleared the dishes, dumping them in the sink for Stephen Henry's caregiver with only a trace of guilt. Anyone who had to put up with Stephen Henry full-time deserved to have the dishes done, but the sooner she got out of this airless, stuffy house the better.

Stephen Henry had moved from the dining
room to the laughably labeled sunroom. The seats in there were even less comfortable, and somehow either Stephen Henry or his handsome aide had managed to find huge plants that thrived in darkness, making the room feel like an unpleasant version of a rainforest. At least she wasn't staying long. She perched on the edge of an antique wicker chair made for sylphs, propped her hands on her knees and waited.

“I wanted to talk to you about my sons. One thing about you, Rachel. You never beat around the bush—you're almost excessively direct. So I know you'll tell me the truth.”

Crap. She should have known. Shrimp salad wasn't worth this. She'd hoped his monologue about David's childhood would have been enough. “Okay,” she said, wary.

“My son is very attractive to women, you know.”

It wouldn't do her any good to deny it. Stephen Henry, for his self-absorption, could be frighteningly acute. “I know he is,” she said. “Freaking gorgeous. He's got that whole bad-boy thing going for him, and women just fall for it. Even Sophie isn't immune.”

Stephen Henry looked at her in silence for a moment. “I was talking about David, my dear.”

Shit. But she was nothing if not a quick thinker. “Oh, well, he has all that golden-boy charm. Both
your sons are chick magnets, S.H.” Not precisely true. David was charming, sweet, thoughtful and half his students had a crush on him, but he was nowhere near the draw that Caleb was. His very name sounded biblically sinful. Goddammit.

“A chick magnet?” Stephen Henry gave an exaggerated shudder which would have been seen in the third balcony if he were the Shakespearian actor he sometimes channeled. “English is such a glorious language—why must you descend to slang?”

“Because slang is a glorious part of a living language, Stephen Henry,” she shot back. “The truth is, women like your sons. For different reasons, but we're agreed, they like them. That's not a bad thing, you know. But you're asking me about David. Are you trying to tell me David is having an affair?”

Odd, how the thought didn't bother her. It would explain so much—his distance, his odd disappearances, the faint unease she felt that she kept trying to ignore. Even his lack of sexual interest. It might almost be a relief—she wouldn't have to pretend anymore.

Impulsive as always, she'd jumped into this marriage, this life, without stopping to think it through. She just wanted to get Sophie away from San Francisco, and David seemed the perfect answer. She had a bad history of jumping into things
without thinking, but usually the consequences weren't quite that dire.

“Having an affair? Of course not!” he said, affronted. “And you would hardly be the one I'd be talking to if he was. David has a great deal of respect for you and for the institution of marriage. Apart from that, he wouldn't think of hurting you. David's far too sensitive to ever want to bring pain to anyone.”

Jesus, she was disappointed. She gave Stephen Henry the same kind of exaggerated sigh of relief that would play to the third balcony as well. “That's good to know,” she said. “So what's going on?”

“I'm worried about the two of you, what with Caleb's advent on the scene. You were quite right in saying he was attractive to women. He has also tended to have a penchant for David's women. They flock to him. I don't want to see my son hurt.”

“Which son?”

“Either of them.” Stephen Henry looked past her, past the ominous foliage that crowded out the windows. “David lost his mother at an impressionable age, and his older brother disappeared a week later. There are times when I think none of us have healed from that hideous period in our lives. I had hopes when he brought you and Sophie back here, but now that Caleb's home and planning to stay for a while I begin to worry again.”

“If you're worried that Caleb is going to steal me away from my husband I think you can relax, S.H.,” she said. “It's not like I'm some irresistible cover model or femme fatale. Men don't tend to fall at my feet.”

“True enough,” he agreed with his lack of tact. “But that might not make a difference with Caleb. The appeal would be that you belong to David, not your desirable attributes or lack of them.”

And she wondered why she always left Stephen Henry's presence feeling edgy and depressed. She gave him a wry smile. “Such a flatterer. In fact, I think you're worried about nothing. David's too busy with the crisis on campus to pay attention to whatever games Caleb might be playing, and I'm immune.” She looked at him, unblinking. Willing it true.

“If you say so.”

“In fact, he's told me I'm not his type.”

“How interesting. And why did that come up?”

Crap. “I'm not an idiot, S.H. I could see there was a healthy case of sibling rivalry going on and I wanted to make my position clear.” That was only a slight fudging of the truth, and Stephen Henry appeared to accept it.

“I lost my wife too young,” he said, and for once there was real pain in his voice. “I don't want any more losses. You be careful, my dear. And
keep an eye on your daughter. I don't know what's going on with these awful killings, but it never hurts to be vigilant.”

She blinked, startled by the change of subject, then realized that Stephen Henry was giving her his royal dismissal. “You know me—I watch Sophie like a hawk. And as you've already mentioned, I don't fit the victims' profiles. Women like me don't get murdered.”

“Anyone can be killed, Rachel,” he said, his voice eerily sober. “Just keep your eyes open, and don't trust anyone.”

“Not even my husband?” she said with a laugh.

But Stephen Henry didn't smile. “Not anyone.”

S
ophie wasn't waiting for her when Rachel pulled up outside the school, five minutes late thanks to Stephen Henry's manipulations and the rain-slowed traffic. She left the car on as she ran into the school, but the halls were deserted except for a few stragglers and no one had seen Sophie.

She raced back to her car, praying that they might have just missed each other, but the car was empty, and her hands were shaking so hard when she tried to dial Sophie's cell that it took her twice as long.

It went straight to voice mail. She'd either turned it off, when Rachel had told her never to do so, or she'd let the power run out.

Or someone had taken her and she couldn't get to her phone to call for help.

No answer on the phone. David was next. He was in class, the department secretary said, and no, Sophie hadn't been there. Rachel wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel in frus
tration. Of course she wasn't. Sophie didn't really like David.

That wasn't true. Why did that thought pop into her mind, when she'd always been nothing but sweet?

Because Sophie was sweet to everyone, and Rachel knew her daughter.

Please, God, let her be all right,
she thought over and over and she drove back to the house. She hadn't specifically told her to wait to be picked up—their normal plan was to have Sophie walk or get a ride with Kristen.

So she must already be home. Rachel tore out of the school parking lot, narrowly missing a cheerleader, and raced back home at dangerous speed, half hoping that Maggie Bannister would stop her. At least she'd set her mind at ease.

She dropped her keys when she scrambled out of the car, fell when she went to pick it up, and it took forever to get through David's complex system of locks. By the time the door opened she was ready to scream, but she took a moment to calm herself. “Sophie?” she called out, trying to sound ordinary.

No fucking answer. She didn't care how it sounded, she raised her voice in a panic. “Sophie, are you here?
Goddammit, answer me!
”

The house was deserted. No sign of her daugh
ter. Rachel ran back outside, out into the street, hoping to see her coming down the sidewalk, huddled against the cold rain.

If her daughter came back, that she wouldn't even yell at her. But the streets were empty, and she stood there as the rain came down, feeling sick inside, frozen in fear.

She mentally kicked herself into gear. “She's okay,” she muttered beneath her breath. “She's going to be fine. Nothing's happened to her—I'd know it if it did. I just need to calm down and find her. She's okay.”

The sound of her own voice helped to steady her, and she climbed back in the car, reaching for her cell phone. No answer at the Bannister's, which meant Sophie wasn't there. Maybe they'd gone with another friend, maybe they were up in Kristen's room, maybe, maybe…

“She's okay,” she said again, and it calmed her. She set the cell phone down on the seat beside her and pulled out of the driveway. She could drive over to the Bannister's, see if anyone was home, and the next stop was the police station, just to set her mind at ease, and by that time Sophie would be home…

The phone made a blessed, beeping noise, signaling messages, and she grabbed it, pushing the buttons to get her voice mail. David, wanting to know why she'd called, and she deleted his mes
sage halfway through, as she realized she was crying. She disconnected, and then immediately another beep. Someone had tried to call her while she was checking messages.

“Hey, Ma, I'm up with Caleb at his house. I asked him to pick me up at school—I know you were going to the Old Goat's house, and I figured you didn't want me to walk. He'll drive me home in a—”

Rachel flung the phone across the car, not even bothering to hang up, and backed out into the street without looking, narrowly missing an oncoming car. Her tires skidded as she sped across town, hydroplaning as she reached the mountain, and she had no choice but to slow down when she started up the narrow road that led up to Caleb's half-finished house.

It took her fifteen miserable minutes to make it up there, her tires spinning, her hands cold with sweat, and when she pulled up at his place she just clipped the fender of his rented Toyota.

The stairs were slick with rain, but she pulled herself together enough to climb them carefully, avoiding the weak one, and she forced her breathing to slow. She was going to kill someone, preferably Caleb, but she didn't need to panic Sophie.

The house had no locks, and she shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall, shak
ing the entire structure. Caleb was sitting on the floor by the wood fire, his long legs stretched out, a beer in one hand, as he looked up at her.

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

“Ma!” Sophie moved into view. She'd been sitting across the room from Caleb, a can of Diet Coke in her hand. “Chill!”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, Ma,” he said. “Chill. I told her to call you.”

“She did.” Rachel came down the short flight of steps to the room. Caleb had thrown something over the bloodstain in the middle of the room, thank God, and Sophie looked both relaxed and indignant, if such a thing were possible.

Sophie had risen, a graceful fluid movement, her long hair swinging. “Are you all right?”

Don't kill them both,
Rachel told herself, struggling for calm.
Even if they deserve it.
“Girls have been murdered in Silver Falls, Sophie. I was worried.”

Sophie immediately looked stricken. “I'm sorry I scared you. You hadn't said anything about picking me up and it was raining so hard I thought I'd call Caleb and see if he wanted to. Besides, I wanted to get to know him better.”

Caleb drew himself together and rose in a leisurely manner. “Can I get you a beer, Rachel? If I remember, you like my beer.”

“You've been here before, Ma?” Sophie looked at her, an odd expression in her eyes.

“Caleb gave me a ride down the mountain yesterday,” she said, controlling her anger. “Sweetie, would you do me a favor and go out and wait in the car? I need to talk to Caleb about something.”

“Now you're in trouble. She's hardcore when she talks like that.” She gave Rachel a swift kiss on the cheek. “Don't be too hard on him, Ma. He was just doing me a favor.”

She waited until Sophie had left, closing the door behind her, before she turned to face Caleb. “You leave her the hell alone,” she said fiercely. “Don't talk to her, don't go near her.”

“Why?”

For a moment she was stopped.
“Why?”

“Yes, why? Do you think I'm a pervert who molests little girls? Do you think I'm a murderer who strangles women and throws their bodies into the falls? Do you think I'm more dangerous than—” He stopped midsentence. “Exactly what
do
you think, Rachel?”

“I think that I'm barely holding things together and until they find out who killed those girls then I'm not going to let my daughter out of my sight unless she's at school.”

“You're an idiot. You should get the hell out of town.”

“Listen, if you're so worried about us why don't you set my mind at ease and keep your distance? Sophie might not like it but I'd appreciate it.”

For a moment he said nothing, and she could see the frustration and anger practically vibrating through his body. “Do me one favor,” he said finally. “Don't let Sophie wear anything in her hair.”

“What do you mean?”

“No barrettes, ribbons, ponytail holders. Not even a bobby pin.”

He must have flipped out completely. “I don't even know if they still have bobby pins. And she needs barrettes—otherwise her hair falls in her face.”

“Let it. Even better, get her hair cut.”

“Why?”

“When the women have been found there's only been one thing missing from their bodies. Their hair clips. I think he collects them as souvenirs.”

She stared at him, trying to ignore the sick feeling inside. “Oh, that's ridiculous.”

“Ask Maggie Bannister. You'll notice she's cut her daughter's hair. Kirsten's got brown hair but Maggie wasn't taking any chances. Maybe you could dye Sophie's hair black.” He moved closer, and she resisted the temptation to take a nervous step back, away from him. “Your daughter's waiting for you. Don't be too hard on her—she didn't know you think I'm a homicidal maniac.”

“I don't.”

He made an impatient noise. “Then what's your problem?”

“There's a difference between what I think and what I know. And I can't risk my daughter's safety based on my instincts.”

For a moment he looked distracted, staring down at her. “Your instincts tell you to trust me. Why won't you listen? If you won't leave, then you need to be very, very careful. Don't leave Sophie alone with anyone unless you've given your permission. And don't give your permission. I don't want to have her body turn up at the bottom of the falls, with her barrettes missing and her hair floating in the stream like Ophelia, caught in the branches.”

“Stop it!” Rachel cried, horrified. “That's a hideous image.”

“I was the one who called in the first murder. I saw her like that. I don't think I could stand it if it was Sophie.” Before she realized what he was doing he reached out and pushed a tangle of her red hair away from her face. “I don't think I could stand it if it was you.”

For a moment she didn't move, wanting to rise into the touch of his hand. But an instant later sanity came back, and she stepped away from him. “Nobody else is going to die. It was a transient serial killer and he's gone. I've read enough about
sociopath killers—they don't murder in their own backyards. It's all about keeping their little hobby a secret. Whoever did these things is long gone. But you're right, I'm not going to take any chances. And that includes letting you anywhere near Sophie. Understand?”

“I understand,” he said. “Doesn't mean I'll do it.”

She turned on her heel and stomped out of the house, slamming the poor, abused door behind her, narrowly missing the damaged step. Sophie was sitting in the passenger seat, looking subdued.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” Sophie said softly when Rachel got in the car. “I just happen to like him. And no, he's not some creep who's into little girls—you've taught me to spot them a mile away. I have perfect perv-radar. I figured he's my uncle, and he's funny, and I ought to get to know him.”

“How can he be your uncle when you can't look at David as a father or Stephen Henry as your grandfather?”

“Number one, Stephen Henry is as big a perv as you can find. Oh, I think he's pretty well behaved, and stuck in a wheelchair there's not a lot he can do. I could always outrun him, and besides, I think his aide is his boy toy. He just gives me the creeps.”

Rachel had never lied to Sophie in her entire life, and she wasn't about to start now. “Yeah, he
does me, too. But David adores you, and you and I have talked about him adopting you.”

Sophie's face didn't change. “I know he adores me, Ma. And he makes you happy, so I like him. But let's hold off on the adoption stuff, okay?”

“We'll take as long as you need. And if you never want it then that's cool, too.” She'd never told Sophie that she was doing all this for her, and she never would. Sophie didn't need that kind of pressure. Sooner or later she'd settle in, start to see Silver Falls as her home, David as her family. David and Stephen Henry.

And Caleb?

He'd be gone. Stephen Henry said always he came back to cause trouble for his brother and then left again, usually without warning. She just had to be patient, and wait. Once he was gone she wouldn't be looking at David's placid good looks and finding them boring. Once he was gone the safety and normalcy of this shadowed town would wrap around her like a soft blanket.

Except what the hell was so safe about murdered students and a serial killer?

Maybe Caleb was right. Maybe she should leave.

She turned to Sophie as she slowly drove the car down the mountain. “Do you feel like taking a little break from here? Maybe a minivacation, just you and me? We could go somewhere sunny, eat
food that's terrible for us, maybe go find some street fairs and markets. We wouldn't have to come back for weeks.”

There was no missing the hope and delight that sprang into her daughter's bright blue eyes, but a second later they were shuttered, blank. “What about David?”

For a moment Rachel was at a loss for words. “He says he can get some time off if we wanted him to come with us. We do, don't we?”

Sophie said nothing.

“What with all the things that have been going on, he doesn't really feel he can leave right away. Or that we should leave. But maybe in another week or so.”