Chapter 20
Tina had warned him that any amount of alcohol made her conk out fast, but it happened even faster than he’d imagined.
She disappeared into the bathroom of their room at the Spotted Owl Inn, where he heard her splash water on her face and brush her teeth with ferocious speed.
A minute later she was sprawled across the other double bed in a pair of navy blue pajamas.
She hadn’t even made it under the covers.
Her bare feet dangled over the side, and her cheek was smushed adorably into a pillow.
He found her feet inordinately sexy. She actually wore polish on her toenails, though she didn’t bother with her fingernails. He felt as if he was getting a peek into her private world by admiring the deep rose pink shining on her nails.
Idiot.
Was she going to get cold during the night? He spent some time maneuvering the comforter out from under her so that he could spread it on top of her instead. She grumbled in her sleep and curled up into a ball.
Too cute. He couldn’t take it.
He went into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, giving himself a quick release while he was at it. He needed to focus on finding Jessie, not this growing infatuation with Tina Chen.
If only he’d put together the “bomb diggity” thing earlier. He went through all the texts Jesse had sent him over the past few weeks. He’d already memorized them—as an actor, he’d developed fantastic short-term memory.
She’d said “dig” three times, which on its own should have been a red flag. But all he’d said in response was “glad you’re having fun.”
Then she’d said the “bomb diggity” thing.
At that point, he should have hopped on a water taxi and gotten his ass to Sea Smoke Island. But again, he’d just sent her a series of laughing face emojis.
As the water drummed against his back, he sifted through every text she’d sent after “bomb diggity.”
He’s a cutie patootie.
If “bomb diggity” was a red flare, “cutie patootie” should have been a wailing siren. Never in her life had Jessie referred to a man that way. Patootie…potatoes? Was that another clue telling him to look in their grandmother’s old potato patch?
Has your crush given you brain damage? He’d texted back. Still making a joke out of it.
Maybe I’ll donate it to science. My art teacher always said I had an interesting brain.
Was that a clue, too? Jessie had worked with several art teachers, and he knew all their names. Why hadn’t she used a name instead of the generic “art teacher?”
Had she been telling him to look more closely at her art?
Was that why all of her art was missing except the watercolor under the fridge? Maybe Seth had caught on to that part of her communication scheme. Hopefully he hadn’t dug up the potato patch already.
Tina had texted Marigold right away, while they were still in the tavern, but she might not get to digging until the morning. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too late.
As he turned off the shower, he realized he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Unlike Tina, alcohol often kept him awake. He itched to do something more. Good thing the Internet never slept. He could do some googling while Tina snoozed.
That story about what the Mansfield family had gone through must have made the local newspapers, he figured. Maybe it had even made the bigger regional papers or the Boston Globe.
He grabbed his phone and settled onto the other bed, pillows propped behind his back.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find a short write-up in the Rutland Herald.
“A Woodstock man was taken into custody after a standoff with state troopers nearly ended in tragedy. Authorities say Mark Peterson held his ex-wife and their two children hostage for three days in the family’s barn before setting it on fire, injuring his son.
Neighbors say they didn’t notice anything unusual because the family was so new to this rural neighborhood.
It wasn’t until a delivery truck driver caught sight of a girl waving from a window that state troopers got involved.
Peterson refused to release his hostages.
Once the state troopers spotted the flames, they rushed inside and rescued the two children and their mother.
All are expected to make a full recovery.
Local authorities expect Mark Peterson to be charged with making terroristic threats, kidnapping and child abuse. ”
A few weeks later there was an update. “Mark Peterson has pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity to charges he held his family captive in a barn. He will be remanded into the custody of a state psychiatric facility. More horrific details have been uncovered, including the fact that his ex-wife has been forced to change her name and location several times over the years. She’s been granted several restraining orders against Mark Peterson, but they proved unsuccessful at deterring him.
‘This case proves that the system we have isn’t working for women trying to escape an unhinged ex,’ said a representative of a local women’s shelter.
‘We need stronger protections both from a legal standpoint and a societal one. Kate Mansfield is lucky to be alive, and so are her kids.’ Those children are currently in foster care while the investigation is ongoing.
Through a lawyer, Ms. Mansfield stated that she would fight any attempt to remove her children. ”
This just got worse and worse. Poor kids, they must have gone through a real emotional roller coaster during that time. Forced to leave their home in Maine, held captive in a barn by their own father, then put into foster care. What a nightmare for them.
The last mention he found was a small item in the same newspaper stating that a resolution in the Mansfield case had been reached. No details were provided beyond a brief statement from Kate’s lawyer that they were satisfied that justice had been served.
That must have been when she got the kids back.
But that was nearly two months later. What had that done to the emotional wellbeing of Linette and Lloyd?
They would have been nine and seven by that point, returning to a community where everyone knew what had happened to them.
He could well imagine the whispers, the gossip, the sidelong glances.
No wonder they’d wanted to ditch Vermont and assume new names.
Damn, was he starting to feel sympathy for the man who might have his sister?
No, not sympathy—but understanding him might help find him.
Dark of Night was known for its layered villains, for always providing some kind of backstory that shed light on their heinous actions.
As for himself, he didn’t know for sure whether some people were just plain “evil,” or if there was always some psychological reason for their terrible acts.
In some ways, it didn’t matter. Harm was harm, a crime was a crime.
In other ways, anyone interested in the complications of human nature, as he was, would think about such things.
But it was a different story when the harm was so close to home, and the person in jeopardy was someone he loved, someone he’d always protected. All he wanted was to get her back safe. He didn’t give a shit what happened to Lloyd Mansfield. Fuck that guy.
On the other bed, Tina groaned and flopped over onto her other side. “I hate you,” she muttered. “Leave us alone. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”
Holy shit. Had she been reading his mind in her sleep? She thrashed around again and kicked off the covers, which slid to the floor. Still asleep, she pounded her fist into one of her pillows.
Yikes. Should he wake her up before she hurt herself? Maybe she was trapped in some kind of nightmare, trying to fight her way out of it.
“Tina,” he said in a low voice. “Chen. Wake up. It’s okay.”
She twisted around again, flinging one hand over her head. It hit the headboard, making him wince. Shit, she really was going to hurt herself.
He hopped off his bed and set one knee on the edge of hers. In a louder voice this time, he said, “Tina. It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up, Tina.”
This time, she flung a clenched fist right toward his face.
He caught her wrist just in time before she made contact. “Tina!”
She came awake with a start and stared into his eyes. “Denver? I knew you’d come.” And she flung herself into his arms.
He patted her on the back, wishing he’d put more clothes on. This could be awkward. He wanted to get naked with Tina Chen, but not like this, not when she was fighting demons in her sleep.
“You’re not Denver,” she said after a moment. She sat back on the bed and rubbed her eyes, then blinked at him. “Sorry. Got a little carried away again.”
“You were dreaming. Sounded like a rough one.”
“Yeah, tequila has that effect on me.” She brushed her hair out of her face, but the silky strands fell right back where they’d been. He wasn’t buying her nonchalant act; her hand was still shaking slightly. That dream had rattled her.
“No.” He shook his head soberly. “That sounded like more than tequila. You kept saying ‘I hate you’ over and over.”
She ran her tongue across her lips. “Well, I do. Not you. Someone else.”
He climbed off the bed and fetched her a glass of water. She drank from it eagerly, draining the whole thing.
“Well? Want to say more?” he said when she was done.
“Ugh.” She gave a shiver of disgust. “I hate that I dream about him, but it happens during certain investigations, like a trigger. Remember I mentioned our corrupt sheriff?”
“The one who targeted Chinese immigrants?”
“Yup, that one. One of his minions used to extort my father for money when I was little. He’d show up every month and ask for his cut of the store’s profits.
My dad had a dry-cleaning store back then.
I hung out with my dad after school when my mom was working, so I saw him a few times.
Once my dad tried to tell him we didn’t have any extra that month, business was bad, and he used a bat to destroy one of our pressing machines.
He stuck it between the rollers. I was so mad I ran from behind the counter and kicked him in the leg. He put me in handcuffs.”
She was relating the story as if it had happened to someone else, but he could see the pulse beating wildly in her throat.
“Handcuffs? How old were you?”
“Eight. We weren’t the only ones he preyed on like that.
Everyone was scared of him, especially because he would always threaten to call immigration.
Even if you have your papers, it’s scary to deal with that.
Mistakes happen, some piece is missing, and all of a sudden you have to find a lawyer or risk getting deported.
Anyway, he actually hauled me into the police station.
My dad tried to get in the police car too but the officer closed the door on him.
But I got lucky because a very kind lady cop stepped in and told him to get a grip or she was going to report him. ”
It was all coming clear now. “That’s why you became a police officer.”
“Yup. That female officer protected us after that. She’d stop by with her dry cleaning and make sure we weren’t being harassed. She got free dry cleaning out of it, but that was a small price to pay compared to fifteen percent of our take.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and jumped to her feet. “Shower,” she announced.
She strode into the bathroom.
He sat, going over the details of her tale, picturing a tiny, fierce eight-year-old kicking a police officer in the shins. She hadn’t changed much, had she? He grinned to the empty room.
Just then, Tina poked her head around the bathroom door. “You don’t follow orders very well, do you?”