Chapter 23: : Chapter 23

It was a few days before O’Hara sent her the file on Lori Preston. She took some heart from the fact he and the other leads not only coordinated now but had cleared her to consult.

A late March blizzard dumped fourteen fresh inches, and she thought of the crocus she’d seen. Buried now, but it would show its blooms again.

She hoped the late-season storm would slow whatever plans those who stole lives had for the next.

There would be a next.

Everything Sloan read said Lori Preston had been a harmless woman. Divorced nearly a decade, she had no serious romantic relationships and maintained a civil one with her ex. They’d had two children, both now married. A son who’d moved to Atlanta for work, and a daughter who worked at a resort in the Laurel Highlands, and had given Lori her first grandchild.

A boy, now four months old.

She’d owned a small gift shop—a lot of crystals, wind chimes, candleholders, and candles—that appeared to be as much hobby as business.

Neighbors described her as a friendly, outgoing woman who’d loved to garden and putter around her house.

And when she’d puttered a few months before the birth of her grandchild, she’d started to change out a dated ceiling light for a new one.

Whether she’d been distracted or just careless, she hadn’t turned off the breaker. She’d suffered an electrical shock that had stopped her heart, along with a fall off her stepladder.

Her daughter had been there, heard her fall, called nine-one-one, done CPR. And saved her.

Until now.

So another face on Sloan’s wall, more pins in her map.

She worked the cases in on her own time—an hour here, two hours there—and admitted she just kept going around the same circles.

She got up at the knock on the door, and found Nash and Tic.

“I brought pizza, and the dog.”

“Both are welcome.” She bent down to greet the happy dog. “I see you dug out.”

“Yeah. Too much for the snowblower, but your father has a plow. I think I might get one myself.”

“Dad’s the plow master. He loves plowing.”

When she straightened with Tic leaning lovingly against her legs, Nash took a long look before he kissed her. “You need a break.”

“It shows?”

“Yeah, so take one. Got a beer?”

“Sure.”

She went back, got one out, and a Coke for herself as he set the pizza on the table.

“Let’s try this. Tell me again what you know about Lori Preston, and what you’ve found out, get it out and off your mind.”

“A nice woman, a good mother, a new and excited grandmother. She loved her little, barely-making-the-rent shop, and switching up the decor in her house from pieces she carried in it.”

She got out plates, a treat for Tic.

“The accident made her only more determined to enjoy her life, according to her children. She’d planned to go to Atlanta to visit her son and his wife next month. She had investment income—you’d get that—so she could have her shop, live that life. No current men in her life.”

She sat, grateful she could say it all to someone other than herself.

“She told her daughter she liked being single, independent, getting together with girlfriends now and then.

“Her daughter, the daughter’s husband, and the baby arrived at her house about five-thirty for a visit. Planned. The shop opened noon to four on Sundays.”

Though her appetite had waned again, Sloan ate a bite of pizza.

“She wasn’t there, her car wasn’t there. The daughter has a key, so they went in. She called her mother’s phone, but it wouldn’t go through. No signs she’d started on the Sunday dinner she’d planned.

“Thinking she’d gotten stuck at the shop, the son-in-law drove over. He found her car, locked, in its usual place. The shop locked. They checked with friends, with neighbors. Nobody’d heard from her or seen her since the day before. They called the cops.”

Tic came over to lay under the table between them, and laid his head on her feet.

“They reacted quickly because it fit the pattern. It still does because no trace. None. They did track down a woman who’d gone into the tattoo parlor in the same shopping center about a half hour before Preston would have closed the shop. She didn’t see anyone, didn’t see a white van. She thinks she might have seen a black one.”

“And you’re thinking they might have had it painted after the last abduction.”

She shrugged. “Not in any of the companies I’ve contacted. Witnesses aren’t always reliable. Somebody swears the car was a red compact, somebody else swears it was a blue sedan.”

Though she hadn’t finished the first, Nash put another slice on her plate. “You can handle two. Now tell me what you think.”

“I think Zach Tarrington was in that white van in the hotel lot when Rusk came out. And the people who took him knew or feared his coworker would remember it. They could’ve taken it out of the area to have it painted, or done it themselves. And I think…”

She picked up the half-finished slice.

“I should say the investigators think, and I agree, whoever’s doing this most likely works in a hospital, either medical or support staff. Somebody who’s found a way to access records. The missing didn’t all go to the same hospital, so they’ve found a way. Some of the missing’s accidents were reported—police reports, articles—so that’s another way.”

“But you’re not thinking cop?”

“Can’t rule it out, but again, different jurisdictions. And as far as where the abductors might be, Western Maryland, over into West Virginia, and up into Pennsylvania.”

“A lot of ground to cover.”

“Which helps them. If they don’t kill the abductees immediately—and why would they? There’s no gratification in that. They have to have a house, remote enough or secure enough to take people, hold them for however long as they do. It could be hours, days, hell, weeks. And they need a way to dispose of the bodies.”

She considered as she ate.

“Digging graves in this area over the winter? No easy feat.”

“Not impossible,” he pointed out, “with the right equipment.”

“No, not impossible. Maybe they have access to a backhoe, maybe one of them works with heavy equipment. Or a funeral home, a crematorium.”

Whether she knew it or not, Nash observed, she’d started to relax a bit.

“You’d have considered those angel-of-death types who decide instead of healing to kill patients.”

“They weren’t patients.”

“At one time they were. But they survived. Something like that—looking for follow-through? Religious fanatics against medical intervention?”

She studied him over a sip of Coke. “You’ve been thinking about this, too.”

“I guess I have.”

“Those are angles, and they’re taking a look there. Lori Preston’s abduction has the FBI taking an interest, and they’ve done or are doing a profile. I have to wait to be brought into that loop.”

“Will you be?”

“I think so. They’ll take a look at me.”

Nash stared at her. “As a suspect? That’s bullshit.”

“Not entirely. I’m alive due to that medical intervention, I’m law enforcement, I live in the area. I’d look at me. I’d clear me, of course, but I’d look.”

“You didn’t live in the area when the first two—ones you connected—went missing. And were barely out of the hospital when Janet Anderson got snatched.”

“Yes, the first two happened before I was shot, before I moved back, but I have roots in the area, I pushed for information on Anderson, and I dug up—so to speak—the first two victims.”

“Okay, you convinced me. They’d better lock you up.”

That brought a smile. “They’ll clear me, but they’ll want to do that before they share more. Anyway, that’s what I know, that’s what I think, and you were right. I need a break, so tell me how the office goes.”

“Nearly there. We decided to do one wall in this old barnwood we scored, so it’s taking a little longer. There’s enough left over. It’d look good in your office.”

“My office.” She turned to look toward it and those Barbie-pink walls. “Well, damn it.”

“It’s out in the shop if you want a look. We planed it down smooth, and it was worth the extra time. Oh, and CJ’s hair is orange now.”

“Sure, it’s baseball season—nearly. Oriole orange.”

“Huh.” Because Tic got up and went to the door, Nash rose to let him out. “I guess wearing a jersey or hat isn’t enough.”

“Not for CJ.”

“Clearly.” Though he planned to stay, he got a Coke rather than another beer from her fridge. Then he sat, studied her.

“What?” Instinctively she lifted a hand to her face. “Do I look that bad?”

“You’re beautiful.” He spoke it as fact, not a particular compliment. “It’s disconcerting sometimes. I tended toward tall brunettes.”

“Really?”

“Going by that, you shouldn’t be my type. And yet. I came over tonight because I missed seeing you, talking to you. We’ve both been busy, add better than a foot of snow. I’ve got no problem with alone, or I wouldn’t have bought the house. No problem with busy, or I wouldn’t have bought the house and started the business.

“But I missed seeing you.”

The fact he’d say it, and in a tone that clearly indicated he wasn’t altogether pleased by it, meant a lot to her.

So she gave him back in turn.

“I liked opening the door and seeing you there, for the same reason. And I think I make good use of alone. I’d have been glad to see you even if you hadn’t brought pizza and Tic. They’re the bonus.”

When Tic gave one quick bark, Sloan rose to let him back in.

“We don’t call them parents, Theo and I,” he began, and Sloan turned back slowly. “But for clarity, I’ll use the term.

“I don’t know why they had us, except it’s something you did, were expected to do. Have progeny and form them into doctors, lawyers, CEOs, important careers. Power careers. Put them in the right schools toward that end. Lead, guide, or push them eventually into the right marriage—not necessarily good, but right.”

He paused a moment. “‘Right’ supersedes all. So that includes said progeny’s membership in the right country club, the purchase of the right home for hosting the right people. A second home—the Hamptons, Hilton Head, maybe the tropics. All this resulting in more progeny who would continue along the same expected lines.”

She sat again. “I’m sorry.”

He met her look levelly, impassively. “Don’t be. They made me what I am today. Theo, too. We’re just not what they expected or … invested in. I was supposed to be the doctor. But that really wasn’t going to work, and even they clued in there. So finance—the right firm, the right clients. They come from money, have money, respect money, so that was tolerable enough.”

He shrugged that off. “I had a knack for it, even enjoyed it. They tolerated my summers working with Habitat, designating it as overt charity work, which is also important, at least the overt part of it. What they didn’t see, and maybe I didn’t for a while either, was that’s what I wanted. Building.

“I did what was expected for longer than I like to admit, but you get into the habit of it. It’s easier to go along, or at least give the appearance of it, than to constantly run into the wall.

“They don’t like each other very much, they divorced years ago, but they still make a hell of a wall together.”

“My parents make a hell of a wall together, but of a completely different kind.”

“So I’ve noticed. They had staff to take care of us, watch us, feed us, deal with clothes. We had all the right schools, carefully curated companions, and we got trotted out when it was appropriate or advantageous. The rules were hard, fast, and not in any way negotiable. Go outside them, you paid.

“Not physically,” he added quickly. “Some prized possession taken away. Not for a day, or a week. Just gone. Demoralizing lectures on how insufficient we were. They paid the staff extra to report on us if we broke some rule. Some of them did, some didn’t.”

“Abuse doesn’t have to be physical.”

“No, it doesn’t. I figured that out long ago. The best parts of my life were when, for whatever reason, they weren’t speaking to me. I’m in one of those now. Theo was, but they’re once again to trying to push him to return to New York, back into an important law firm.”

“He won’t go.”

“No. He’s found the woman he loves, found his home, and in your family, his family. He wanted one so much.”

“He had you.”

“We had each other.”

“Will they try to pull you back?”

“I don’t think so. I think, this time, they’re done with me. They can’t take what’s mine—and that includes Theo. With his staying here and marrying Drea, having the business with me, they’ll be done with him. Whatever children Theo and Drea have won’t exist for them.”

“Good. They wouldn’t deserve them any more than they deserved you or Theo.”

“They might actually like Drea, on some level, if they got to know her, which they won’t.” Now he smiled. “They really wouldn’t like you.”

“Good,” she repeated. “One thing. They didn’t make you what you are. You and Theo made yourselves what you are.”

She reached out for his hand. “You taught him to play poker for Skittles, then when some heartless bastard ratted you out—on freaking Christmas—you took the blame.”

“Well, I’d won them fair and square.”

“You gave him a dog.”

Nash looked down at Tic. “Yeah, weak moment. But that’s working out okay.”

“He came here because he was tough enough to go after what he wanted, too. And he found it. So this, you, him, it’s not because of them, Nash. It’s in spite of.”

Still holding his hand, she rose. “What do you say we both take a break and go sit by the fire? We can pretend to watch a movie for a while, then I’ll get you naked if you do the same for me.”

“That sounds like a really good idea.”

Sloan gave Drea her first day off. The bride-to-be wanted to start the hunt for the perfect dress. Since the first round involved a boutique in Morgantown, Sloan slipped a possible non-wedding stop in her back pocket.

Elsie insisted on the back seat, and Drea chattered away while Sloan drove.

“I know we made the right choice with the venue. There’s such a beautiful outdoor area, views of the lake and the mountains. It’ll be gorgeous, just right in mid-October. And if the weather’s not good, we’ll move it inside. But the weather will be perfect.”

“So say we all.”

“It’s the right size, too, for the number of guests we want. I mean other than Nash and some friends from New York, it’s mostly our family and friends. Which is a lot, but not too many.”

“Breaks my heart,” Elsie murmured.

“I know, Mom, but Theo’s good with it.”

“We’re his family now. Their family now,” Elsie corrected. “It’s amazing and admirable they turned into such good men with that awful, that selfish foundation. It just makes me love them more.”

She shifted her attention to Sloan. “And I’m perfectly aware that you and Nash are—let me pick the easiest word—seeing each other.”

“Well…”

“Not asking for chapter and verse. I’ll only say your taste’s improved. Not that there was anything wrong with Matias. That spineless weasel.”

Amused, Sloan flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. “Will it make you feel better to know he called me back in January to apologize, and to see how I was?”

“Moderately.”

“But we like Nash better,” Drea added.

“That’s good. So do I.”

“And this is a lot more fun than the last time we drove to Morgantown. Looking at wedding dresses, maybe finding your dresses, too. Did I tell you my colors?”

Sloan looked over. “I think you’re about to.”

“Plum and copper. I want rich colors, nothing pastel. You can pick either for your dress, Sloan. So can Leah as my attendant and Hailey for flower girl. I’m not going for everyone has to have the same style either. But I want those strong colors, beautiful flowers, and simple elegance. Not fussy, not over-the-top. And I know just the style of dress I want. Simple, sleek. No train, no veil. Forget the lace, forget the tulle. A beautiful ankle-length column and great shoes.”

“Then this should be easy.”

“And if I don’t find it here, we’ll look somewhere else.”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Elsie predicted as Sloan navigated Morgantown.

They had champagne while the bridal expert selected a few dresses meeting Drea’s criteria.

“How lucky I am,” Elsie mused, “to have daughters who want to include me in this important moment. Not obliged to include me, but want to.”

“How lucky are we to have a mom who gave us love every single day. Even when we pissed her off.”

Drea came out in the sleek and simple, and strapless.

“What do you think?”

“I think my daughter’s going to be a beautiful bride.”

She modeled it, turned this way, that way in the triple mirror.

“It’s so elegant. Simply elegant,” Drea said. “A definite maybe. I’m going to try on the one with three-quarter sleeves.”

When Drea went back in, Elsie looked at Sloan.

Sloan said, “No. Beautiful, and she’d be beautiful in anything. But … too severe for her, I think. Still, it’s her wedding.”

“And we’re here to love whatever she picks,” Elsie added.

She tried on and modeled two more, and when she went back in for the next, Elsie rose. “Come with me.”

She led Sloan back to a row of dresses. “This caught me when they were picking out the others.”

“It’s not the sleek and simple. It’s a princess dress. Lace and tulle.”

“I know. Maybe it’s just a mom thing, wanting her baby to be a princess on her wedding day. But I don’t think so, because every dress she’s put on would suit you, would be gorgeous on you when you have yours.”

“If you ask her, she’ll try it on for you.”

“That’s why I’m going to ask. And whatever she picks we love it.”

“Already with you there.”

The attendant came out.

“She really doesn’t love the last one, so I’ll find a few more.”

Elsie pointed to the dress. “Would you mind taking that in to her? I know it’s not the style she’s looking for, but ask her to indulge her mother and try it. Just for fun?”

The attendant looked at the dress, then at Elsie. Smiled. “I’ll be happy to do that.”

So they had another glass of champagne and waited.

Drea came out in the cuffed, off-the-shoulder dress with its full skirt, lacy bodice, and subtle white-on-ivory embroidery. The quick sparkle of sequins.

Not sleek, Sloan thought, but classic and graceful.

“Oh, I love it.” Tears gathered in Drea’s eyes. “I just love it. Mom!”

“Yes, yes, yes. There’s my girl on her wedding day.” Elsie rose quickly, hurried over to hug.

“I was so sure I wanted … I want this. It’s not simple like I thought.”

“Yes, it is.” Sloan rose, made a circle with her finger so Drea turned one. “It’s simply classic, simply gorgeous, and simply perfect for you. That’s plenty of simple.”

“I found my dress.” With her hands crossed over her heart, Drea turned to the mirror again. “This is my wedding dress. I’m getting married in this dress. Let’s find yours! Then I’m taking my mom and sister to lunch.”

After the choices, decisions—Sloan went for the plum—the bride’s first fitting, they reaped a bonus with Elsie’s find of her mother-of-the-bride dress.

High on success, they had their celebration lunch. And talked weddings. Flowers, table settings, music, menu.

While her mother and sister indulged in more champagne, Sloan stuck to sparkling water. Not only was she driving, but she hoped to make one more stop.

“I need to ask a favor.”

“The way I feel right now?” Drea tossed back her hair. “You could ask me for anything. Except Theo.”

“I’ll take him off the list of favors. I’d like to make a stop, well two. At two WVU hospitals.”

“Are you all right?”

“Mom, I’m fine. It’s about the missing. Two of them went to hospitals here. I just want to see if I can talk to one of their nurses, doctors, an orderly. Since we’re so close.”

“Of course.” Elsie put a hand over Sloan’s. “We’ll wait in the car for you.”

“Or,” Drea said, “you can drop us off at the mall. I want to look at hair accessories, shoes, and I need the right underpinnings for my dress. And that way you won’t feel you have to rush it.”

“Thanks. Really, thanks. I’ll text you when I’m done, you’ll tell me where you are.”

And they’d have more fun without her, Sloan thought when she dropped them off. She liked shopping, but she liked it when she knew just what she shopped for. Then anything over that equaled bonus.

She’d checked with the helpful neighbor, so knew what room Celia Russell had been in post-surgery. She made her way up and to the nurse’s station and took out her badge.

“I’m Sergeant Cooper with the Natural Resources Police. I’m assisting in an investigation that involves a former patient. Not about her medical condition,” Sloan added. “Celia Russell, she had surgery on a heart valve.”

She gave the nurse what information she had.

“We see a lot of patients, and since you’re talking about last year, I’m not sure how I can help you.”

“I was hoping to speak to someone on staff who remembers her, who tended to her during her recovery.”

One of the other nurses stopped by, pushed up pink-framed glasses. “Did you say Celia Russell? I remember her. Plus, the police came in not long ago to ask questions.

“You had that week off, Ally. Didn’t I tell you about it?”

“No. Why did they come in about her?”

“She’s missing. Has been for months now. She was a really good patient. You should remember, Ally, she showed us pictures of her little dog. She brought us in cookies after she went home. And I remember especially since I read she went missing, and then they came in to ask. They haven’t found her?”

“No, we haven’t found her.”

“That’s just awful. She brought us a big tub of chocolate chip cookies and flowers. The flowers were sweet, but those cookies were even better.”

“I do remember now.” Nurse Ally’s brows drew together. “She was a good one. Cooperative, a pleasure, really. You told me—I forgot—Deb, when she went missing. Sorry,” she said to Sloan. “It didn’t ring a bell.”

She glanced at the call board. “But that one does. A lot. And he’s mine.”

“You go ahead. I’ll talk to—sorry?”

“Sergeant Cooper. I appreciate it. I wonder about visitors, or people asking about her.”

“Let me think. I put my mind to that when I read about her being missing, then again when the police asked, so it’s a little fresher than it might be. Her daughter—every day. Some of the people she worked with, and her neighbor. She got plenty of flowers and cards. I recall she said her neighbors were taking care of her little dog.”

“You were her nurse?”

“Day nurse. But any of us would see to her if I was on break or off shift. Ah, let’s see, Luke would’ve been on nights. Luke Renner, but no visitors once he’d come on. She was a sweetheart. Everyone on the floor liked her.”

Sloan asked more questions, got a few more names before she left. And admitted the investigators would have already covered the ground.

She considered just texting her sister, but since she’d already started, she might as well finish.

She hit the next hospital ER to ask about Lori Preston.

She thought about her own trip there on Thanksgiving. The pain, the anger at herself, the depression from knowing she’d undone so much progress.

Behind her now, she reminded herself as she approached the desk.

She started the same routine at the desk when the doctor who’d treated her walked up.

“It’s Corporal Cooper, right?”

“Sergeant now, Dr. Marlowe. Sloan,” she added, and offered a hand.

“Well, congratulations on the promotion and your recovery. You look fit and healthy. Why are you here?”

“Actually about another patient. She was admitted after an electric shock.”

Dr. Marlowe listened, nodded. Then turned to the nurse at the desk. “I’m taking five, Clara.” She signaled Sloan. “I need some caffeine. Do you want something?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Marlowe fed some money into a vending machine, chose a Coke Zero. “Bad habit,” she said, and drank. “I didn’t treat her, Dr. Larson did. I know because I understand she’s missing.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t tell you much. I know she was admitted for observation because Dr. Larson and I talked about it the other day. You’re better off talking to him. Let’s see where he is.”

“I appreciate it.”

She guzzled more Coke Zero as they walked back to the desk. “Clara, where’s Dr. Larson?”

“Exam room two. Shoveling snow. Chest pains.” Clara shook her head. “Patient’s seventy-two, already taking meds for high blood pressure, and should know better.”

“Clara always knows. We’re lucky you rotated down to ER.”

“Back upstairs next week.”

“Our loss. I’ll take a look in exam two if you want to wait, Sloan.”

“Yes, thanks.”

“You sure don’t look like a cop,” Clara commented when Marlowe walked off.

“Off duty. But I was in the area, so thought I’d just check. I don’t suppose you were on the desk when Lori Preston was admitted.”

“When did you say that was?”

When Sloan told her, Clara pursed her lips. “Whew, that was some time ago. But I don’t think so. You said she’s missing?”

“That’s right.”

“Is that what you do? Look for missing people?”

“In this case.”

“I sure wish you plenty of luck.”

Marlowe came back. “The patient’s stable, but he’ll be a few more minutes. I have to get back to it.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“Glad to. And glad to see you looking so well. Keep it up.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sloan walked over to sit in one of the chairs.

Clara admitted a man with a rattling cough, a woman with a sprained ankle. She input their information as Marlowe took the next patient.

And when Larson came out to speak with Sloan, she took the opportunity to do a patient search.

Dr. Marlowe knew her, had treated her, so …

And there she was, on Thanksgiving. Pulled pectoral muscle. Recovering from gunshot wound.

How about that?

She noted the name of the surgeon and the hospital where she’d been treated for the GSW.

Multiple GSWs.

She and Sam would do some work on that, see just who she was and why she’d come poking around after all this time.

Probably nobody and nothing, Clara assured herself. Dr. Larson wouldn’t be able to tell her squat.

But it paid to do your research.

And something about the woman gave Clara a bad feeling.