Chasing The Dead (An Alex Stone Thriller) (31 page)

As Alex neared where Joanie’s body had been found, she hugged the creek bank, hoping to find Charlotte at the water’s edge, but she wasn’t there. The campground was deserted. Even Gladys Knight’s tent was gone. That left the thick woods at the south end, a trek she wasn’t certain she could make. She sat on a tree stump to catch her breath, peering into the creeping dusk for a sign of the girl, a flickering light at the base of the bluff catching her eye.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way toward the light. The closer she got, the more the light danced, and then she realized it was flames coming from a campfire shielded by a low rock wall. A moment later, a voice called out from behind it.

“That’s close enough.”

Alex stopped. “Gladys? Is that you?”

“Who else would I be? The question is who the hell are you?”

“Alex Stone. I talked to you the other day. How are the Pips?”

“Just dandy. Now, go away.”

“What happened to your tent?”

“Blew away. Got me a nice little hollowed-out cave instead. Suits me just fine.”

“I’m looking for the little girl I told you about. Her name is Charlotte.”

“Get lost. Don’t know anybody named Charlotte.”

Alex heard someone rustling around in the cave, then the sound of something being scraped against the rocks and a child humming, though it sounded more like a closed-mouth whine.

Alex scrambled over the wall, finding Gladys sitting cross-legged in front of the fire and Charlotte banging her spatula against the cave. Gladys jumped to her feet, putting herself between Alex and Charlotte.

The hollowed-out cave was exactly that, extending no more than five feet into the base of the bluff, as if it had been carved out with a giant ice cream scoop, the ceiling just high enough for Alex to stand. The campfire was at the mouth of the cave. Gladys’s belongings, including a stack of milk crates filled to the rims, were piled against the back wall.

“You got no right,” Gladys said.

“How long has Charlotte been here?”

“Hmph. Her name’s Charlotte? Never knew what to call her, so I didn’t call her anything. She showed up in the middle of the night last night, same as usual.”

“She can’t stay here. The police are looking for her.”

“Who said anything about staying? She’ll go home when she’s ready like she always does.”

“She can’t, not anymore.”

Gladys scratched her cheek, looking over her shoulder at Charlotte, who was tracing an invisible pattern on the cave wall, oblivious to them. She motioned to Alex to follow her. They walked around the mound of rocks, Gladys leaning against them.

“Why not?”

“Charlotte was living with her mother and aunt in a mobile home park not far from here, and now they’re both dead. Her mother was the woman whose body was found in the creek. Her aunt was murdered last night. Charlotte might have seen who killed both of them.”

Gladys squeezed her eyes tight, shaking her head. “What’s gonna happen to that poor child?”

“I don’t know, but she can’t stay here. I have to call the police and tell them I found her. Someone from Child Protective Services will pick her up, and they’ll probably put her in foster care for the time being.”

“I don’t want no goddamn police coming around here.”

“Then I’ll take her.”

“Like she’d go anywhere with you! She don’t know you. You try and make her and she’ll just run off, sure as hell.”

“Can’t be helped. It’s either me or the cops.”

Gladys tugged at her hair. “Ah, hell! She’ll go with me, so you’ll have to take both of us, but we ain’t goin’ to no goddamn police station.”

“Where else would we go?”

“You got a house, don’t you? Child could use a bath.”

Alex smiled. “Sure. That’ll work.”

They went back into the cave. Charlotte had knocked over the stack of milk crates and was sitting on one of them, hugging a black dress. Alex stepped toward her, but Charlotte retreated, swiveling around on the crate, giving her back to Alex.

“Gladys, where did she—where did you—get that dress?”

Gladys spit in the fire, cocking her head at Charlotte. “She brung it.”

“When?”

“What difference does it make?”

“A lot, maybe. Charlotte’s mother was wearing a black dress the night she was murdered.”

Gladys cocked her head, her rheumy eyes fluttering. “I wouldn’t know nothing about that.”

“I’m not saying you do, but that dress could help us find whoever murdered Charlotte’s mother and aunt.”

Gladys circled the fire, muttering.

“Okay, goddamn it. I mind my own business and see what it gets me! That child showed up in my tent last week with that dress, and when I heard about the body they found in the creek, well, I ain’t stupid.”

“The killer probably stripped the body in the woods and while he was dumping it in the creek, Charlotte must have taken the dress. Which means she could have seen her mother die.”

“Way I figured it.”

A wave of dizziness came over Alex. She pressed a hand against the cave wall to steady herself, the other hand to her forehead.

“What’s the matter with you? You look feverish.”

Alex couldn’t think of a reason not to tell Gladys the truth.

“Somebody stabbed me last night.”

“And people say being homeless is dangerous.” Gladys put her hand on Alex’s cheek. “You’re burning up.”

Alex turned away from her. “I’ll be okay.”

“Not if you keep bleeding like that.”

“What?” Alex reached behind her, feeling her back. Some of her stitches had given way and she was oozing blood.

“You better see a doctor.”

“I’ve got one waiting for me when we get home.”

“Well, ain’t you the lucky one. She know you’re gallivantin’ around?”

“No. She’s called me half a dozen times today and I told her that I was watching television.”

“Well, if she’s waitin’ for you at home, that story ain’t gonna get you too far, but it might be fun to watch you give it a try.” Gladys reached out to Charlotte. “Let’s go, child.”

Holding on to the dress, Charlotte took her hand.

Chapter Fifty-Three

ALEX PULLED INTO THEIR GARAGE just as Bonnie drove in behind her. Bonnie’s expression morphed from stony-eyed anger to wide-eyed worry when she saw Alex, pale and dripping with sweat, swaying as she stood in the garage, holding on to the car door.

“Holy crap, Alex!”

Bonnie rushed to her, throwing Alex’s arm across her back, using her shoulder to support her, doing a double take when Gladys took Alex’s other side and recoiling at Gladys’s odor.

“Who are you?”

“Gladys Knight. The Pips got lost on the way over. The little girl is Charlotte.”

Bonnie swung her head around. “What little girl?”

“That one.” Gladys pointed to Charlotte, who was standing in the corner of the garage, drawing air circles with her spatula.

“I can explain,” Alex said.

“Not until I stop the bleeding,” Bonnie answered.

While Bonnie cleaned and stitched her wounds, Alex told her about Judge Steele and Robin and about Bethany, Charlotte, and Gladys and the black dress.

“Put that dress in a plastic bag. I’ve got to preserve some kind of chain of evidence for it. And put it where Charlotte can’t find it. By the way, she’s autistic. She doesn’t talk and you can’t touch her, but she loves her spatula.”

“Noted.”

“I need to call Detective Harris and tell him that I found Charlotte.”

“Fine, but if you get out of that bed before tomorrow morning for any reason except to pee or poop, I’m going strap you down.”

“Promise me you’ll use the fake-fur straps you got at Erotic City.”

Bonnie grinned. “What am I going to do with you?”

Alex smiled. “Love me.”

“I might as well. Hate for the toys to go to waste. I’ll check on Gladys and Charlotte.”

Alex left Harris a message when he didn’t answer, then sank into her pillow and fell asleep.

**

Charlotte took a bath and Bonnie put her clothes in the washing machine, giving Charlotte a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt left over from when her niece visited a year ago, not objecting when Charlotte took her spatula into the tub.

After a lengthy argument with Gladys that ended when Bonnie promised to let Gladys pick a clean outfit from her closet, Gladys agreed to take a shower. Bonnie didn’t bother to wash Gladys’s clothes, burying them in the bottom of the barrel of trash that would be picked up the next day. Quincy followed her into the garage, sniffing and whining at the barrel until Bonnie made him come back in the house.

Satisfied that a semblance of order had been restored, Bonnie poured herself a glass of wine and settled into her easy chair, Quincy curled up beside her. The doorbell rang before she could take her first sip. Quincy raced her to the door, barking, sticking his head out as soon as Bonnie opened it, not recognizing the middle-aged blond woman who had rung the bell.

“Hello. I’m Sonia Steele. May I come in?”

It took a moment for Bonnie to register her name, making the connection to what Alex had told her, wondering why Sonia was standing on her doorstep instead of trying to get her husband out of jail. Not knowing what to say to someone whose spouse is an accused murderer, she decided to act like she didn’t know.

“Of course, of course. Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Sonia walked through the entry hall, glancing in every room until she found the kitchen. Bonnie hurried to catch up.

“You must be Bonnie.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but do we know each other?”

Sonia smiled. “No. Alex is a friend of mine. I was hoping to talk with her. Is she home?”

Alex hadn’t described Sonia as a friend and Bonnie didn’t like the way she’d swept into the house, both of which made her uneasy.

“She’s asleep. I’ll tell her you stopped by. I’m sure she’ll call you tomorrow.”

“It’s important. I’d rather not wait until then.”

Bonnie stiffened. “I’m sorry, but she’s not feeling well.”

Sonia drew a gun from her purse. “That’s the least of her troubles.”

**

Alex stirred, hearing Quincy bark, murmuring.

“Shut up, dog.”

She smiled when Quincy quieted.

“Good doggie.”

A moment later, Gladys opened the bedroom door. “Pssst. You got company.”

Alex propped herself up on her elbow, rubbing her eyes. Gladys, her hair wet and pulled back in a bun, was wearing a pair of Bonnie’s Juicy Couture velour pants, a Free People pullover Alex had given Bonnie for Christmas, and a pair of Alex’s boots.

“What on earth are you doing wearing Bonnie’s clothes and my shoes?”

“That doctor of yours drives a hard bargain.”

Alex sat up in bed. “I can only imagine. What did you say about having company?”

“There’s a woman in the kitchen with the doc.”

“Who?”

Gladys put her hands on her hips. “Like I’m supposed to know.”

“Then why did you wake me?”

“On account of your dog.”

“Don’t worry. He’s harmless.”

“But she ain’t.”

Alex rubbed her face with both hands, staring at Gladys, wondering if the woman was an escapee from
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
. “Who isn’t?”

“The woman in the kitchen.”

Alex swung her legs off the bed. “How do you know that?”

“I told you, the dog. I heard the bell and the dog and then I heard voices. So I took a peek. All I could see was that dog of yours. His hair is up and he’s holding still as a statue.”

“You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you?”

Gladys glared at Alex, arms crossed over her chest. Alex’s phone chirped with a text message from Rossi.
It’s not the judge. Call me ASAP.

Rossi answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

“Home and in bed. What do you mean it’s not the judge?”

“He’s got an alibi that checks out. He was at something called the Inns of Court. It’s a lawyers and judges thing.”

“I know what it is. What about the affair with Robin?”

“He admitted it. Said his wife found out and she wasn’t happy. But that’s not all. You were right about him and Joanie. They had a thing after she got out of diversion, but it didn’t last. Then she told him she was pregnant and asked him to pay the bills.”

“So he’s Charlotte’s father?”

“Not according to him. He says Joanie told him it was someone else. He says he paid her medical bills anyway because he had a soft spot for her. He says the next time he heard from her was when the sister, Bethany, pressed him to get her into Fresh Start.”

“That was Bethany’s idea?”

“So he says. Makes sense. Not too many addicts get to rehab on their own, and she knew what Steele had already done for Joanie.”

“What about the five grand?”

“His money, not the foundation’s. He said Bethany called him a couple of weeks ago and told him that Joanie had lied about the kid not being his and demanding money.”

“Or she’d go public.”

“Right, but here’s the kicker. Bethany told him the kid is autistic and she needed the money to pay for the kid’s therapy.”

“But Bethany told me she didn’t have money to pay for therapy. She must have been planning to keep it for herself.”

“She may have planned on using the money for Charlotte at first, but she got greedy and told Steele that the five grand was just for starters and that she wanted ten thousand a month.”

“What did Steele say?”

“He said that if Charlotte was his kid, he’d take care of her but he wanted DNA testing to confirm that he was the father.”

“So how did it all get sideways?”

“When Steele’s wife found out about him and Robin, he decided to come clean about the kid, and then she went ballistic, told him they weren’t going to pay a dime and that she would take care of it.”

“You think Sonia killed Robin?”

“Had to be her. Steele had a permanent reservation at a motel on Barry Road that he and Robin used. The motel manager confirmed that someone used it the night Robin was killed. My guess is Sonia met Robin there, they argued, and the rest is history.”

“I think I may have found the dress Joanie Sutherland was wearing when she was killed. If there’s any of Sonia’s DNA on it, that could tie her to Joanie’s murder.”