A Cold Dark Place (21 page)

"Or Angel's Nest?"

Nick nodded, it seemed to make sense. "My dad said that
was the name of the adoption agency in Seattle. It was what
he and Cary McConnell argued about. We're going there"

"We can't." Jenna could feel fear rising in her.

"I need to know," he said. "You can stay. You can go back
to your mom" When he said the word "mom," his voice
cracked slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I'm going."

Jenna knew then that it was too late for her. She'd lost any
choices she could make when she decided to help Nick. She
cared about him. She trusted him. She thought that he could
even be right about her own mother. Maybe she couldn't understand. Maybe she wouldn't really believe them.

"I know where Shali keeps an extra set of car keys,"
Jenna said.

Early Saturday morning two cars were headed out of
Cherrystone. One, a bland Honda Accord driven by the detective in search of her daughter and a killer, and the other, a
VW bug with a flapping ragtop driven by the suspected
killer and the same daughter. Neither of the drivers or the
sole passenger knew the other was on its way to the same
destination, for the identical purpose. Getting out of town
hadn't been an easy prospect for either. One had to steal a
car; the other had to squirm a little.

Emily Kenyon didn't exactly argue with Sheriff Brian
Kiplinger to leave the investigation, but he wasn't thrilled
about it. "I know you have personal problems, Emily," he
had said, "but we're up to our necks in alligators here and we
need you to wrestle a few."

It was a lame metaphor, but Emily knew what he meant.
Her investigation had been stymied by her daughter's inadvertent involvement, the FBI had offered to step in, and the
Spokane police had drawn their line in the sand, too.

"I get that" Her dark eyes flashed. "But, look, I think that
some of the answers to what happened at the Martin place
will be found in Seattle."

Kip crossed his burly arms and narrowed his gaze. "And
maybe your daughter, too?"

Emily bristled at the mention and wished she'd just called
in sick. "Jenna is not a runaway. She's not a victim here. I
know she's just trying to help a friend. I believe that. Why is
that so hard for you to accept?"

"Emily, I'm your boss" Kip shifted his frame in the
chrome-accented chair that was the only luxury in his office.
He rocked backward and steadied the chair by putting his
foot on the leg of his desk. "You're talking to me like I'm
your ex. I don't know what happened. I'm glad you think
Jenna is all right. But I just talked to a woman who buried
her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew out at Green View two
days ago and she's none too happy that we haven't picked up
Nick guilty or not"

The dialogue played in her head as she climbed the
mountain pass where yellow flashing lights advised drivers
to watch for falling rocks. The remaining snow piled on the
shoulder was coated in gray sludge and had almost disappeared. She could see the conical yellow and pale green
forms of skunk cabbage as it fanned out along the swampy
edges of a waterfall-fed bog. The AM radio talk show that
had kept her somewhat entertained, out of her own head for
almost an hour, began to crackle. The blowhard's voice faded.
She pushed FM and the radio scanned through several Latino
stations before landing on Celine Dion singing that song
from Titanic.

Jenna loved that movie when she was a little girl. She
thought that Leonardo DiCaprio was the cutest boy ever
Cute and artsy. Maybe that's how she views Nick Martin?

As Celine worked her vocal chords into an unqualified frenzy, Emily began to wonder once more why Olga MorrisCerrino had changed her mind and would only speak to her
in person.

"Some things are better covered face-to-face," she had
said when Emily had called back that evening. "Come up
here. I'll pull my files. I might even fix you lunch."

"Lunch would be good," she said, before saying goodbye.

She didn't know it, but a half hour ahead of her Honda,
Shali Patterson's stolen VW sped down the mountainside,
the radio playing the same Celine Dion song.

Mercer Island, Washington, barely felt like an island. It
was pinned to Lake Washington by Interstate 90 and a pair
of bridges, one of them floating on the surface of Seattle's
Lake Washington on enormous concrete pontoons. The lake
was so deep and a suspension bridge so costly, that at the
time of its conception a floating bridge seemed a good idea.
Mercer Island was named for Asa Mercer, who'd famously
brought women from back east to marry the loggers carving
out the great forests. It seemed that Mercedes Benzes, BMWs,
and Jags were the only cars that exited the interstate to the
island's addresses.

David Kenyon was a surgeon making big bucks, but not
so much that he had been forced to live on the island with
Microsoft millionaires, sports stars, and the very few that
actually carried a whiff of old money from the lumber and
gold of Seattle's past. His girlfriend, Dani, however, was a
social climber of the highest order. She stretched the doctor's income like a tube top on a stripper-to near breaking.
But she got the island house. Not waterfront, but view. And
not peak-a-boo view, either. The house was a 1960s rambler
that if plunked down somewhere in the Midwest wouldn't cost more than $150,000. On Mercer Island, it was a cool
million dollars.

It wasn't all that early in the morning, but Dani was in
bed and David was padding around the house when he heard
a knock at the door. He found Jenna and Nick, standing outside,
looking scared. Instinctively he went to Jenna and wrapped
his arms around her.

"Oh, Jenna," he said. "You've scared the hell out of us."

"Dad, I'm sorry. But we needed a place to go," she said.
Tears puddled her eyes.

"Nick?"

Jenna nodded and he put his hand out to shake.

"Who else could it be?" David wanted to ream the kid for
getting his daughter involved in this mess. He saw how Jenna
looked at Nick and knew that any kind of harsh words, threats,
promises to put him away, would only make her defensive.
Maybe angry. She was safe now. That was all that mattered.

"We're calling your mother," David said.

"Dad, please don't do that just yet. I came here for help.
Your help. Nick didn't do anything wrong."

David reached for his phone. "But kidnap you," he said
tersely.

She grabbed her father's free hand. "That's not fair and
that's not the truth. Don't call."

"I didn't, sir," Nick said, wishing he hadn't used the word
"sir" but it just slipped out. It seemed so false, though it
hadn't been meant that way.

David didn't know if he should call the police or his exwife. Or listen to his daughter and the stranger that accompanied her.

"Listen, Nick, I don't really know what happened," he
said. "But I'll be blunt. Your family is dead and the police are
looking for you. I'd put this at the top of anyone's list when it
comes to troubling. Wouldn't you?"

David didn't wait for an answer, which was fine, since it
didn't appear as if Nick was going to say anything. He stood
mute, stepping backward toward the door. His eyes were full
of fear and, maybe, David thought, remorse.

"And somehow, God knows how, you've got my little girl
involved in this mess--"

"What's going on here?"

It was Dani. The noise of the argument rousted her out of
her feather bed. Her blond hair was surprisingly tangle free
and she even wore-at least Jenna thought so-a little lip
gloss. Her bathrobe was a Vera Wang knockoff, all creamy
and flowy. It didn't conceal much.

The teenager stood there, her big blue eyes wide.

"You're pregnant," Jenna said. She looked over at her father. "She's pregnant"

Dani pulled on the belt tie of her robe and like some kind
of floating cloud, took a seat next to David.

"I was going to tell you," he said, his eyes riveted on his
daughter. Embarrassment swept over his handsome face.

"When? When my brother or sister was born?"

"It was something I wanted to tell you-"

"We wanted to tell you," Dani interjected, her hand now
caressing her melon-sized abdomen.

"In person," David continued, finishing his thought.

"We want you to be here for the wedding, too" Dani's
words were meant for Jenna, but she seemed to say them in
the direction of her future husband, now sitting on the couch.
"I was hoping you'd be in the bridal party. If you don't think
that's too weird, you know. It would mean a lot for me"

Dani was carrying on like she was talking to a wedding
planner, not a teen that'd just found out that she was going to
be a big sister.

"You know," Jenna said, "I thought that I had the worst
week ever. Let's see. A tornado rips up our town, Nick's fam ily is murdered, I'm sleeping in a shack, my mom is pissed
off at me, and now my dad's girlfriend is knocked up ""

"Enough!" David stood up. His face was red with anger.
He was walking a fine line and he knew it. In front of him
was his nearly grown daughter and to the left his pregnant
girlfriend. He knew he needed to let her vent, but the "knockedup" comment was too much.

"I'm not saying I'm perfect," he said stiffly, holding his
temper.

Jenna went to Nick, who was standing his hands in his
jeans pockets looking around like he wanted to escape. "No
Dad, you're not," she said, fighting back tears. "Far from it.
Some family we are"

No one said anything for a few long seconds, when Nick
finally broke the ice.

"Can I use your bathroom?" he asked. "Been a long drive."

Dani smiled, though she had fanned the flames of the little altercation, she knew things in her perfect home were not
so ideal after all. Regrouping was in order and she pounced
on the opportunity

"Down the hall, Nick. Let's all get some coffee," she said,
looking at the other two still frozen in their anger.

Jenna followed her dad and his girlfriend into the kitchen,
an enormous room of hanging pots and pans and a gas-fueled
fireplace.

"Does Mom know?" she asked softly, once more feeling
the hurt of a secret revealed.

"Yes," he said. "I'm afraid she does."

Dani feigned a preoccupation with brewing coffee, and
Jenna summoned the courage to speak her mind. The words
came in a rush. "Dad," she said, "If you call the police and
say anything about Nick, I'll never speak to you again."

He clearly didn't like her attitude. "Don't push me," he
said.

"You know, I cried for a week when you moved to Seattle.
Make that a month. And all along you probably had her.
Like she was waiting in the wings. I thought that your leaving us was something that you needed to do to practice your
specialty. Spokane wasn't big enough"

David remained mute. He figured at the very least in
some small way, he had it coming.

"And you know what, Dad? Seattle had everything you
wanted," she said, again thinking of Dani. "But it didn't have
me. It didn't have Mom"

"It is more complicated than that. You'll see when you
live your own life."

"Complicated? What I'm going through right now is complicated. I need you to be there for me. I need you to help
me. Nick and I need your help."

Traffic was uncharacteristically light as Emily Kenyon
drove northward from Seattle. Her back ached from the long
drive from Cherrystone, and her car smelled of a cinnamon
scone she'd picked up from a Starbucks drive-through. She
told herself to ignore the exit off the freeway that led to the
home she and David had shared when they were first married. It was a classic Craftsman in the University District. It
had more built-ins than they had things to stash. David was
doing his residency at the University of Washington Medical
Center back then. She was finishing up her stint at the police
academy south of Seattle. All was good. Too good. Too short.
She knew that the fragmentation and ultimate destruction of
their marriage had been shared by both, but even so she
wished she'd given in more often. For her daughter's sake,
and deep down, she knew, for her own.

She glanced at the Mapquest printout of directions to
Olga Morris-Cerrino's address and pulled off the freeway onto a two-lane road along the creamy green waters of the
Nooksack River. A grove of cell towers flew by the driver's
window. She passed a small dairy farm and wondered how
much longer it would be there. New homes were pushing the
countryside farther and farther away. It was true of just
about every populated part of Western Washington. In time,
she knew, there would be no more farms. That would never
happen in Cherrystone, of course. As David had pointed out
time and time again, "Nobody with half a brain would want
to live there."

If it was home, you would, she'd thought.

She passed by an emu farm, its sentinel of birds standing
along a wire fence line like prehistoric creatures. All turned
their heads in unison as her Accord drove by. Emily thought
they were ugly, but considered stopping to snap a photo with
her cell phone. Jenna would think they were cute. She thought
opossums were adorable. Emily turned right up the long dirt
driveway, a tuft of grass separating two parallel grooves. The
mailbox: CERRINO.

Olga Morris-Cerrino was already waiting out front of the
big white house, the chief benefit of a very long driveway.
Standing over the sink in the kitchen window, one could see
a car coming two minutes before it arrived. There was always time to do a little urgent straightening of the house and
a cursory check in the mirror to see if the hair looked all
right.

"You made good time," Olga called out, walking toward
the car. "Perfect timing. Minestrone sound good?"