Where Angels Rest (37 page)

“That’s it?” asked Nick. “How’d he know where to find Lud?”

“Who?”

“The reporter.”

“Anyone who knew Lud would know where to find him, Nick,” Schaberg said. “Just start checking bars. But just for the record, he was a she.”

She?
Nick hung up and Quentin straightened.

“Aw, man. That looks like Leni. She thought Ferguson took Rebecca, so she posed as a reporter to set him up. Ran his ass down.”

“Maybe not.” Feldman, who’d listened from the door, walked in. “Want me to rock your world?”

Nick and Quent both looked at him. “So, we’re poring over missing persons reports for the last two decades. Thousands, and no reason to think they might be in our orbit.”

“But…” Nick’s heartbeat picked up speed.

“Then we get to Eleanor Vann. A sixty-two-year-old woman in Lexington, Kentucky. She disappeared in 2005.”

“When the Hugginses lived in Virginia.”

“Three hours and fourteen minutes away, says MapQuest.”

Feldman held up a picture. A gray-haired Bohemian woman, overweight, with gaudy jewelry and fingernails like red claws. Tammy Faye Baker makeup job.

Not the sort who would have been a lover of Jack. Of course, that was mattering less and less.

“She was a medium.
Madam
Vann.”

Nick frowned. “What puts her in our orbit?”

“Keep listening. She and her daughter both disappeared in August, and her bones were found in Lake Cumberland more than a year later. Rib bone appeared to have been shot through near the heart; the bones were washed too smooth to tell the caliber. There was no skin left to look for paint thinner on her face. But—” He paused, milking it.

“For Christ’s sake,
what
?” Nick shot.

“The week before she disappeared, Madam Vann had an appointment with Maggie Huggins.”

N
ICK’S BRAIN STUMBLED
. A second later he picked up the phone, called the tail on Margaret.

“She’s in the house,” the guy assured him. “Came straight home with Rodney from talking to you, hasn’t gone anywhere since.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight. I want to know if she moves so much as a finger.”

Okay, she’s covered. Think, now. Think.

Quentin was at the whiteboard, adding:
Eleanor Vann. Medium.

“We need that search warrant,” Nick said, and turned to Feldman. “And I want that history on Margaret.”

“Coming.”

Feldman left and Nick stared at the last name on the list. “Why was Maggie seeing a medium?”

“Her parents? Her sister, maybe?” Quent said. “Rodney’s mother was Margaret’s twin. Twins are supposed to have a bond of some sort.”

“Here,” Feldman said, coming back with a woman in tow. She was the same woman Nick had seen handling phone calls to locate students who’d left Mansfeld.
Starched white blouse. “This is Agent Bidell. She’s been pulling together the background on Maggie Huggins.”

“We’re beginning to think she’s our murderer,” Nick said. “Do you see anything that could support that?”

“There was some major sibling rivalry in that family. I’ve seen people kill over less.”

“Tell me.”

She pulled out some pages, laying them on Nick’s desk. First, two pictures. They were the same ones Margaret had been wearing in her locket. “You’ve got a pair of drop-dead-beautiful twins. Identical. Except one’s the apple of her father’s eye and one’s not.”

“Why’s that?” Quentin asked.

“I don’t know. I only know that when sister Claire killed herself, their father pulled every string he could not to let Maggie get custody of Rodney. He got a lawyer and claimed that Maggie was unfit in the eyes of God.”

“I take it he was a religious man?” Nick asked.

Bidell nodded. “Catholic, sort of. But not just everyday Catholic. Some fanatic strain. His criticism got even worse when John Huggins started hanging around her. Her father blamed him for Claire’s death.”

“Why?” Feldman said.

“John Huggins was driving the car the night Claire was scarred. They were together and he fell asleep at the wheel.”

“Wait a minute,” Nick said, “John knew Claire? Before he knew Maggie?”

“Well enough to take her out, but that might not be saying much. Claire Devilas was a call girl. She lived on the kindness of men with money.”

“A call girl with a blind son?”

“She only saw her kid once in a while. He was a boarding school.”

Nick rubbed his brow. Maggie’s twin sister was a call girl who’d gone out with John. Weird, to say the least. “And a year after the accident,” he said, trying to put it all together, “John married her twin, Maggie.”

“Yes,” Bidell said. “Believe it or not, it looks like John and Maggie met at the hospital, trying to visit Claire after the accident.”

“Trying?” Quentin asked.

“She wouldn’t see anyone. In fact, she lived like a recluse for the next year—which was the rest of her life.”

Bidell laid out a photo of Magg—no, Nick corrected himself—this was Claire.

“Before the car accident,” Bidell said, then she put another picture beside the first, and said, “After.”

“Whoa,” Nick said. The scarring was brutal. Even with a thick layer of caked-on makeup, Claire’s face looked like a photograph that had been cut up and taped back together, the edges not quite fitting.

“This is why she became a recluse?” Nick asked.

“And why she killed herself. At least, that’s what her father claimed,” Agent Bidell said. “Turns out she never went out after the accident, refused to be seen. She and her little boy lived like hermits for that year. The only time she went out was the night before she died. She took her son to a Mardi Gras parade.”

“Because she could wear a mask,” Nick said, recalling the mask in Rodney’s house. One of the few tokens he had from his life with his mother. “And then she came back home and killed herself.”

“Right in front of her kid,” Bidell said. “After she died, he was alone with her body for two days. Tried to put her makeup on for her. Finally, he found his way to a cathedral down the block where the nuns took him in.”

Nick winced. Christ. No wonder Rodney’s hair had turned. That would be enough to traumatize anyone, not to mention a ten-year-old kid who was blind. “So, then the fight started about who got Rodney. Where’s her father now?”

“Dead. And her mother. They both died of cancer, six years apart. When her father died, Maggie was the last family member. Her father had written her out of the will, so everything reverted to the state. Maggie never saw a dime. She did break into his house and take a collection of figurines, though. There’s a misdemeanor charge for it on file.”

“What kind of figurines?”

“Angels. Ten little ceramic statues of angels. Court documents say she claimed that’s all she wanted from the estate.”

Nick tried to put it all together, but he couldn’t get traction on anything. “Maggie is a beautiful woman, talented, and successful. Her sister was a hooker-turned-recluse. What would make an ultra-religious father claim
Maggie
was the one unfit in the eyes of God?”

Nick stared at the whiteboard, trying to imagine something that might make a fanatically religious father turn his back on a daughter. The answer came in one name:
Shelly Quinn.

“Lesbian,” Nick said, more to himself than to the room. But everyone heard.

“Nick?” Quent said.

He turned to Feldman. “The one thing you always said didn’t fit about Shelly Quinn was that she was a looker and yet there weren’t any studly frat boys around her. The one thing that seemed odd about Jack and Margaret was that they were a partnership except in bed.”

The whole room grew still, but Nick’s mind raced. Damn it, Shelly’s roommates had just about handed it to him on a platter when he asked if she’d had an affair with Jack.
With his
wife
she might’ve… Not with
him…

Jesus. Maggie was a lesbian.

“Doesn’t make her a killer,” Quent said. “The firefighter in Minnesota still doesn’t fit, and neither does the medium.”

No, they didn’t. But for sure this wasn’t only about
Jack’s
affairs. Maybe it was about Maggie’s.

Nick picked up the phone. “Bishop, have you got the master list of people slated for interviews about Leni’s whereabouts this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Sixty-three names who were at or around Engel Eatery’s today, who might’ve seen Leni leave the restaurant. Will take another day to get to them all interviewed.”

“Is Margaret Calloway on that list?”

“Hold on…” Shuffling papers. “Yeah. No. Oh, wait, I remember. No one saw Margaret around town today, but there were a couple people who said her Saturn was here.”

“Where?”

“Behind the Sunoco station on Fir Street.”

Nick’s heart dropped. He hung up and told Quent and Feldman and Bidell.

“That’s right behind Engel’s,” Quent said. “So, Margaret stole Leni’s car and ran down Lud, then just came back and parked it?”

“Maybe. Except the car wasn’t broken into, and everyone at the restaurant says no one went into Leni’s office, where the keys were. Without doing that, how did Margaret get keys for Leni’s car?”

It hit them all at once. “Rebecca.”

E
RIN CLOSED HER EYES.
There was nothing left in Rebecca’s room. Not one item she and Katie hadn’t picked up, looked at, talked about. Not one clue.

Her phone rang. It was Nick.

“Listen to me, and if Katie can hear you, don’t say anything.”

Erin stiffened. “Okay,” she said. Katie was ten feet away.

“It’s Margaret,” he said. His voice was wired. He sounded like he was running, and there was commotion behind him.

“Nick?”

“It wasn’t Jack, damn it, it was Margaret.”

She almost lost her breath. “You’re sure? Can you prove it?”

“I’m getting there. We’re putting together a team now to take her at Hilltop. We’re gonna go fall on her and finish this whole thing. I’ve called my sister; she’s ready as soon as we nail down Margaret.”

“Dear God.” Erin could hardly breathe. It was happening. Justin was going to be exonerated.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing, I’ve got it cove—” He stopped. “You’ve done enough, sweetheart. I can finish it now. I just want to make sure you’re here when it’s over. Deal?”

Erin felt as if her heart would come out of her chest. She clutched her arms to her breast, holding him in her heart, and closed her eyes. “Deal.”

Rodney seethed. Think,
think.
Everything had been just fine. Years, a lifetime, of everything perfectly controlled, and suddenly, things were unraveling. Someone had
seen
and he didn’t know who.

Unacceptable. There was only one more angel, and that was Nick Mann. If there were more, then—that couldn’t be. He’d spent the past twelve years hunting all ten down, his entire adult life eradicating them.

The rage came like a mushroom cloud, and with it a sense of panic he’d never experienced. For the first time since his surgery, he couldn’t see straight. Suddenly, he didn’t know who or how many were out there watching.

And it was Mann’s fault. He should have been the grand finale. He should have been the end.

Rodney paced. He had to think, but there was no time. Whoever had just been here had certainly seen Rebecca. Police could be on their way right now.

The decision was quick—the only choice, really—and thanks to Jack, he could do it… false IDs and credit cards, a stash of money. For years, Jack had lived with his eye on the road and Rodney could make use of that now. Take it all and start over, without any angels watching. A new ruse, maybe—a paraplegic, maybe, or an autistic. He’d studied Calvin enough. He could pull it off.

But he couldn’t leave anyone behind. Not Maggie, not Erin Sims, not Nick Mann.

Especially not Nick Mann.

He took two more minutes thinking it through, then kicked into gear. Brought the motorcycle up and pulled it into the woods where he’d be able to make a quick break if he needed to. Tipped the ninth figurine off the shelf and watched it shatter on the floor, then grabbed the tenth and dropped it into his pocket. Snatched up Rebecca’s mask.

He paused on the way out, and went to the kitchen to have a little fun with Nick. When he was satisfied the sheriff would catch on, he grabbed a coat and hat and the white cane, and rolled down the path on his scooter.

First, Maggie. She was no angel; she’d never seen Rodney for what he really was. But she was in the way.

And after she was gone, the Angelmaker would get his grand finale. He’d turn it into a hunt and spread a little bait for Mann, just to make sure he showed up.

Erin Sims.

Erin hung up with Nick, her heart thrumming in her chest. It was coming to an end. She could hardly believe it.

When her phone rang, she grabbed it without looking at the number. “Nick?”

“No. Uh… sorry. Dr. Sims, this is Rodney.”

He was whispering; he sounded strange. Maybe even afraid.

It’s Margaret. She’s the murderer.
Did he know?

“Rodney, why are you calling me?”

“I need to talk to you. I think I have something important. I think—” he stopped, struggling with the words. “I know who killed Lauren and all those others.”

Erin’s pulse kicked up.
Don’t say anything. Let Nick handle it.

“It was Maggie. God help me, it was Maggie.”

She let out a breath. He knew. “Rodney, I don’t think she would hurt you—”

“I know that. But she knows the sheriff is coming, too. She’s covered her tracks. You won’t find the evidence, but I took something from her. It will free your brother.”

Dear God. Erin’s breathing went shallow. She didn’t want to tell him he was right, and that Nick was already planning to take Maggie Huggins. But she didn’t want to let Rodney crawl into a hole with evidence that would free Justin, or give Maggie a chance to destroy it.

“Can you meet me?” he said. “I’m afraid to go to Hilltop right now. She scares me.”

Erin looked out Leni’s front window. The gray sedan was still there, parked along the curb with two FBI agents. She could leave one with Katie and still have an escort herself.