Up in their apartment, Kris poured Amber a glass of wine and offered me one. I asked for water.
The apartment was small and cozy, with lots of books, pillows, candles, and paintings. A pottery wheel sat in one corner.
We told Kris what had happened. She seemed annoyed that I hadn’t done something—grabbed Nicole, captured Driver, handcuffed them to a signpost and interrogated them on the spot, or something like that. I couldn’t exactly blame her. But I did have Nicole’s folder. That was something, right?
We opened it on the kitchen table. “What is this?” Amber murmured, moving papers around. “Oh—wait.”
“Is that . . .” Kris leaned over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
Four sheets of paper. One was a birth certificate from the state of Michigan. Born in Benton Harbor in 1983, the child’s name was Nicole Jeanne Moss, the mother Kathleen Joyce Moss. The father’s name was blank.
The next two pages were stapled together and dated just eight months ago, showing the results of a genetic test that indicated Nicole was a match with someone identified only by a number, with a 97% probability that the number was her father.
The last page was a list of names, written by hand on a sheet of yellow paper, with dates next to each name: Erick Fischer, 6-11-96; Zach Wilkerson, 9-22-97; Julie Given, 3-2-12; and on and on, ending with Josh Havens, 11-12-22. Men, women, spread out over three decades.
Amber and Kris looked at each other. “Who the hell are these people?” Kris asked.
“No idea.” But the list was ominous. “Recognize any names?”
Amber leaned down. “I don’t think so.” Then she picked up the genetics test. “Do you think this crazy woman could be Jake Holroyd’s daughter?”
“I wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions,” I said. ”But, yes. It’s a good working theory, at least.”
“If she is Jake’s daughter,” Kris said, moving the pages around, “and she’s definitely older than Amber, and Amber’s just Jake’s niece, then that means the house belongs to her. Right?”
“Oh my God.” Amber breathed a sigh of relief. “I could get rid of the thing. Yes!”
“Probably,” I agreed. “There’d have to be more paternity evidence. She’d need a lawyer. But I think the house would rightfully go to her, if this holds up.”
“So why does Driver care about it staying with Amber?” Kris frowned at the papers.
I shrugged. “We don’t know who he is, yet. If I could get hold of Nicole, she might be able to tell us.”
“Can you do that? With this?” Amber held up the folder.
“This gives me a little more to work with.” I reached for the documents. “Can I take these?”
Rachel was making dinner when I got home. We take turns, and tonight she was working on a baked ziti recipe with eggplant and zucchini, because she’s a vegetarian who likes weird stuff in her ziti. I’ve learned not to argue about it unless I want cereal for dinner. I said hi, then went to the office with the folder from the mysterious Nicole.
The easiest document to tackle was the list of names, so I started plugging them into the internet, looking for whatever they had in common.
In 20 minutes I’d tracked down results on half of them—enough to find a pattern. I quit before I got sucked down a black hole of research and went to check on dinner.
“Not yet,” Rachel told me, opening the oven. “You can set the table.”
I did that, opened a beer, and went back to my office to start working on the documents until she texted me from the kitchen that dinner was served.
“How’s the stalker?” She spooned some ziti onto her plate.
“Still out of reach, but we had a break today.” I told her about Nicole and the documents—the birth certificate, the genetics results, and the list of names.
“So did you find out anything?”
“Yeah. Hey, this is really good.”
“Don’t act so surprised.” She kicked me under the table. “Tell me what you found.”
I put down my fork. “Everyone I could find from that list lived in the Benton Harbor-St. Joseph area. And the ones I found were all missing persons.”
She groaned. “Oh, hell.”
“Yeah.”
“Serial killer?”
“Maybe.”
We ate in silence for a minute. “It’s got to be connected to that house.”
“You think they’re all buried in the basement?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. The family history has a lot of tragedy. And the house had a definite vibe. I could feel it even without you there.”
“So—something spooky? Not of this Earth?”
“I hate to say it, but—yeah. If I have to go back, it would really help if you came with me.”
Rachel sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll see.”
The next morning I followed Amber to work again. We’d agreed to keep the surveillance up in order to establish a solid pattern of stalking if and when we went for a restraining order.
I didn’t have to hide as I tailed her, since Driver already knew I was watching for him, but I had my phone ready to get more pictures—and my pepper spray ready in case things went sideways.
Driver was nowhere in sight as we rode the bus. Maybe he was taking the day off. I trailed Amber to her office building, and she headed to the elevators at 8:11 a.m. I turned to go back home—
And found Driver right behind me.
I managed not to jump. He was in his leather jacket, glancing at the people on their way to work. Looking for Nicole?
He stepped toward me. “She should stay away from her. She’s dangerous.” His voice was low and fierce.
“Nicole? Nicole Moss? The woman from yesterday?”
“Of course. Wait—” He stared at me. “You know—”
“Yeah, we have her name. Is she really Jake Holroyd’s daughter? Is something about that scary to you?”
He shot at look at the door, as if he wanted to follow Amber up to her office and warn her in person. “We have to protect the house. That’s Amber’s responsibility now, that’s what Jake passed on to her. She has to understand it.”
“She never signed up for that.” I motioned him toward the curb so nobody would overhear—or run into us while listening to their playlists. “What is so special about that house, anyway? Is somebody buried in the basement or something?”
“Things have been going on for—for a long time.” He backed away. “Just tell her—she has to keep the house. She can’t let Nicole have it.”
“Was Nicole hiding out in the house?” I thought of the discarded food, the T-shirt. “Has she been living there?”
His eyes widened. “W-what? No, that would be—no.”
“Someone’s been inside. Not you?”
Driver looked up, as if trying to find Amber in her office above. Then he shook his head. “Keep her safe,” he told me. “Just—watch out for her.”
He turned and darted into the street, narrowly missing a bus. When the bus pulled away, he was out of sight.
I sighed. Could Driver teleport, or was he just too fast for me? I needed to work out more.
In a coffee shop I called my client. “Jesus Christ,” Amber groaned. “What did he mean, watch out for me?”
“I’m assuming he meant Nicole. She did try to shove you in front of that cab the other day.”
“But then last night she only wanted me to look at those papers. Am I going to have to hire security now? I mean, you’re doing fine, but—”
“I’m not a bodyguard, I know. We should consider that, but right now I want to find out as much as I can about Nicole. And as much as you probably don’t want to, we may have to go out and visit that house again.”
Amber sighed. “Okay. Will you be there when I go home?”
“Yes,” I promised.
“Okay. I’ve got to call Kris. Thank you.” She hung up.
Back home I told Rachel about the encounter. “You okay?” she asked. “It sounds like he didn’t try to attack you or anything, but—”
“No, and I had my spray. But this is getting out of hand.” I sat at my desk and fired up my computer.
“You really think your client needs hired muscle? Beefy, rugged rent-a-cops? Can I help interview them?” She licked her lips.
“I don’t think we’re there yet, but I don’t want her to say I tried to talk her out of a bodyguard if something serious happens. And no, you may not interview candidates for the position. I’m insecure enough as it is.”
“You’re no fun.” She stuck out her tongue, then went back to her web page redesign. I started in on Nicole Moss.
Unlike Driver, she was easy to find online. According to her social media pages, Nicole was a waitress “looking for love and big tips.” She enjoyed hiking, bicycling, and tequila. She’d been born in Michigan, gone to college in Indiana, and now she lived in Indianapolis, working at a local restaurant and also teaching dance classes. Her favorite bands and musicians were people I’d never heard of, but like Rachel, she enjoyed reality TV.
Under the surface, though, I found that she’d been arrested several times for reckless and disorderly conduct, and spent at least two stints in mental health facilities, one for 10 days and another for two months. No details. It didn’t necessarily make her a threat, but it was one more piece of data to consider the next time we met her.
Finding the restaurant where she worked now wasn’t hard—a steak and seafood place on the north side of Indy. I called, but she wasn’t working today. I didn’t leave a message.
Finding her address and phone number—landline, at least—took a little longer and may have involved some questionable ethics on my part. She didn’t pick up. I didn’t leave a message. No sense in spooking her. Yet.
Then I called James Crowley, the lawyer. “The woman who called you about the Holroyd house—was her name Nicole Moss?”
“Uh, yes, maybe. Yes, I think so. Did you talk to her?”
“She’s been in contact, yes. Her mother was Kathleen Moss, and she lived there too. Do you know her?”
“I, uh—I don’t know. It doesn’t ring any bells.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being evasive, or just confused. So I went ahead. “Look, if Nicole Moss is Jake Holroyd’s daughter, with Kathleen as the mother, does she have a better claim to the house than Amber Keenan?”
“If—what? How could—what are you saying?”
“Nicole has been trying to contact Amber.” I decided to leave out the first incident, where she’d tried to kill my client, just to avoid any complicated questions right now. “We think Nicole might be Holroyd’s daughter. We don’t have any hard evidence. But could she inherit instead of Amber, if that was true?”
“Well—yes. She’d have to go to court, since Amber has already been named as Jake’s heir, but it would probably hold up in the end. Especially since the house was only turned over recently. She hasn’t moved in or anything, has she?”
“No. What if something happened to Amber? What if she got hit by a car? Would that simplify the case?”
“Yes. Why? Was she in an accident?”
“Not yet.” This was still all speculation, until we talked to Nicole. Then I remembered something I hadn’t asked Crowley before. “Do you know a man named Driver?”
A long pause. “There was a family. They lived outside of town. I don’t think—I haven’t heard anything about them in years. They may have moved away.”
“Where outside of town? I didn’t find anything about them.”
“They, uh, kept to themselves, from what I heard. Really, I’m talking 50 years ago or longer. Why do you ask?”
I was still trying to keep the details of Amber’s stalker private. “I ran across the name doing some work for Amber.”
“They had some property—I could send you the location—”
“Was there any relationship between the Drivers and the Holroyd family?”
“Not—not that I know of.” He was definitely uneasy talking about them.
“All right. Send me the location.” It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. Well, it might hurt if Driver or his family were armed with shotguns, but I’d deal with that later. “Oh, one other thing—there’s a door in the basement that Amber doesn’t have a key for. Would you have that lying around?”
“I’ll look. I don’t think so, but I can check.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up. I looked at my phone, wondering if his next call was going to be to Driver. Or if I was just making things up.
“Crack the case?” Rachel asked from her side of the office.
“Not yet. It is looking like another drive to Michigan is in the near future.” I looked for Amber’s number on my phone.
“Hey, I’m the psychic. You’re just the amiable lunkhead I keep around for sex.”
“Promises, promises.” I tapped Amber’s number.
When she answered, I told her what I’d learned. Which seemed pretty inconclusive when I boiled it down for her. “I can keep trying to contact Nicole,” I finished. “She must have some idea of what Driver wants from you.”
“And if she’s Jake Holroyd’s daughter, I can just give her the house. Maybe he’ll stop stalking me then.” She sighed. “Are we going to have to go out there again?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
After we hung up I called Nicole’s landline again. This time I left a message. Then I looked over my shoulder at Rachel. “Hey, since you only keep me around for sex—”
“Not now, lunkhead.” She was peering at her monitor.
“Just making the offer.” I turned and went back to other work.
My phone buzzed half an hour later. Unknown number. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”
“Tom Jurgen? You’re the guy last night? With Amber—Amber Keenan?”
“Is this Nicole Moss?” I saw Rachel swing around as I spoke the name.
“Y-yes. Do you have those papers? I didn’t mean to drop them and run away, it’s just—Driver was there.” She was almost whispering, frightened.
“We have them, and we’ll return them to you. But can I ask you some questions?”
“Not now. I have to go to work, and then—wait, are you in Chicago?”
“Yes. Did you drive up yesterday just to talk to my client?”
“Yeah, I just—oh God, I can’t talk right now. Look, can I see you tomorrow? At the house? I’ll explain everything. I’m really sorry.’
I didn’t really want to wait that long. “Let me ask you one question.”
“Okay.”
Great. What should I ask? I fumbled my thoughts for a moment, then came up with the one I was most curious about: “Who is Driver?”
She hesitated. “He—his family owned the land the house was built on. There’s always been a connection.”
“Why is he—”
“You said one question. I have to go now, all right?”
Fair enough. “One o’clock?”
“Yeah. Okay. One o’clock.” She hung up.
I turned to Rachel. “Can you clear your schedule tomorrow?”
She sighed. “I guess I can ask Colin to share his class notes. And this redesign’s almost finished.” Then she brightened. “Road trip! Yay!”
“I just hope my client is that enthused.” I picked up my phone to call Amber.
No comments:
Post a Comment