Chapter 2 #2
“Okay, facts. We know that Darrell Manderley escaped. And he likes getting attention and proving how smart he is. Off facts, on to suppositions. I’m willing to bet that he parked a stolen car right in the coffee shop’s lot.”
Jackson studied her, nodding slowly. “And I’m willing to bet you might be right.”
“So—”
“Coffee shop,” Jackson said. He looked at Trent. “And, sir, if you wouldn’t mind . . .”
“I live to serve.” Trent said. “Oh, well, wait, I mean . . .”
“You have ever so kindly stayed on this mortal plain to be of help.” Angela assured him, grinning.
They reached the coffee shop and Trent headed right in, turning back to grin at them because he went through the open door when a man opened it, holding it for his wife.
Trent made it in just before her, amused that he could behave as if he were still his mortal self.
“There was something about her earlier,” Angela told Jackson.
“I agree,” Jackson said. “Okay, great. Stolen cars. All were dark blue sedans; I have the license plates. So do you, of course, if you want to pull up your email—”
“Already done. Oh, man. Bingo!” Angela said, pointing at a car down the lot. “There it is—stolen from Ivan Knoxville, second car reported as stolen. Which doesn’t mean all that much; you don’t report a stolen car until you realize that it’s been stolen.”
“Too true. So, Darrell Manderley might have had a third car waiting to whisk his victims away, or this was his destination—until he disappeared into the woods with them.”
“And I still think that the waitress—or cashier—is . . .” Angela began, frowning.
“Involved? How could even a man such as Darrell Manderley twist someone so very quickly?” Jackson asked.
“I don’t know. Here’s the thing with him.
He obviously twisted someone at the federal prison, too, and our teams working that angle haven’t found out who yet.
The mind is truly a dangerous playground,” Angela reminded him.
“Make someone think they’re doing something right .
. . Jackson, look how many people he got to offer themselves up as human sacrifices. ”
“But he played that over time. Today, he can’t run his mind games with the benefit of time. Today, he wouldn’t be able to swoop in when he knew someone was in trouble, facing a terrible time . . . his ‘come with me; our way can help you.’”
“You have any idea on how we can prove she might be involved in some way?” Jackson asked, arching a curious brow.
“Well, we start by finding out if she saw Sadie come in—and we check the security for Sadie having been here,” Angela told him.
“And if she disappeared out the back. Man, that would be fast, though. Two women drugged and kidnapped in the early morning hours. What is his game this time? He couldn’t have done a brain-washing job on them. And that scares the hell out of me. I want to find these women before . . .”
“I know, I know!” Angela said quickly. “We still must be logical and work on discovering trails and evidence—”
“Angela, I know that!”
“Right, right, of course. But. So. Our good spirit friend Trent has had time to move in. Let’s get in there, too. Oh, you know, the owner seems to be legitimate. All these years this place has been in business, family-owned and operated. We just may need his help.”
“I doubt he can help much if he just sits in his office all day, but you never know. He’ll know more about our cagey cashier/waitress at the very least. Anyway . . . give me two seconds.”
He had his phone out and of course, he was calling for agents to get out with a crime scene unit and scent dogs to see what trail they might follow from the car.
“Ready? He asked.
“Ready, ready.”
Angela was even more convinced that there was something odd about Genie Appleby as they entered the shop.
When the woman saw them coming, she looked alarmed.
Not annoyed that she was going to be asked a lot of questions again.
Alarmed.
And it seemed obvious to Angela.
Genie Appleby didn’t want them there because she had something to hide.
Angela had a picture of their missing octogenarian on her phone. With a smile on her face, she approached the woman who stood at the register again.
“Please tell me you’re here for coffee,” Genie said.
“Sure. My partner and I would love coffee. Hm. You offer just about everything. I think we’ll have a couple of cappuccinos! Trying to stay awake. It’s proving to be a very—very—long day. Oh, and on that front, do you recognize this woman?”
She showed her phone to the woman, aware Jackson had headed down the little hallway, heading to the owner’s office.
They had the video footage from the front of the place; he apparently wanted to talk to the owner about whatever was in it.
Genie Appleby paused awkwardly. “Yeah, sure. She doesn’t live far from here,” the young woman said at last.
“And was she here this morning?” Angela asked.
“Wow. No clue. I told you—”
“Yes, yes, it’s so busy in the morning! So, I guess you’re friends with Darrell Manderley,” Angela told her.
The man had not chosen the best devotee—Genie had no talent at hiding the panic that obviously swept through her when she was called out so blatantly.
“I—I—I—I—” she stuttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she managed at last.
“Oh, Genie. You know, down deep, you’re a good person.
You really have no idea of how to hide what you know to be truth.
Yes, you know Darrell. Did you meet him years ago?
Did you live out west then, or, well, he moved around himself through the years.
And you know, he killed an ambulance driver to escape prison. Or—”
“You don’t understand!” Genie whispered. “He is the true power. It’s been a fight forever, but only those who follow him and his commands and his leads, and now . . . now you know that I must . . . I must . . .”
“Sacrifice yourself?” Angela asked dryly.
Genie looked as if she was about to cry.
She didn’t answer and Angela continued, telling her, “No. That’s the thing.
Genie, No. Please, please, listen to me, hear me with your heart, your soul, your mind, and your intelligence.
You don’t need to sacrifice yourself, not to the likes of a man who seeks power by finding fears or weaknesses in others and preying upon them.
Please. I beg you. He is no true god, demon, or devil.
You seem bright. I don’t know how he brain washed you, but I promise you, we stopped him once before and we’ll stop him again.
We can keep you safe, and there is absolutely no reason that you should sacrifice yourself.
You’re afraid if you don’t, he’ll find someone to do something torturous and horrible to you before you die. But we can—and we will—stop him.”
Angela didn’t know how well her words might work with someone who had obviously been twisted, but she was grateful to see that Genie looked at her with what have been hope.
“I don’t want to die!” the young woman whispered.
“And there’s absolutely no reason that you should,” Angela assured her.
Just in time. A couple of customers were coming into the shop. Jackson was emerging from the hallway after his time in the owner’s office.
And the owner, Charles Martinez, was following him out.
“Genie, these people need some help. You go on and go with them; I’ll take over working out here with service and the cash register for the few hours we’re still open. Please,” he told her. “Some people might really need help and you’re just the one who might give them that help!”
Genie looked a little frightened then, but she saw the sincerity with which her boss was speaking and then she looked at Angela.
Still afraid.
They had been breaking through her delusions and she was frightened; but with his words of encouragement, she nodded slowly.
“What do we need?” she asked.
Jackson gave a nod to Charles Martinez. “Police and techs are coming for the stolen car out there, if they’re not there already.
Just if you see the guy again, behave naturally but as soon as you can, call me.
I don’t think you’re going to see him again.
I’m pretty sure he’s done what he wants to do here, and he’s moved on with whatever his plan might be. But with Genie’s help . . .”
“I was so scared!” Genie said. “But, yes . . . I mean, honestly, I was paying attention to customers but Satan—I mean whoever he really is—left with the pretty young woman and the older woman though the hallway and out the back. But . . .” She paused, wincing.
“Where they went from there, I have no idea.”
“They didn’t come around the front,” Charles Martinez told them. “We just went through the footage, Special Agent Crow. You saw how the cameras worked, showing both sides of the place to the roadway. If they went out the back, they went pretty deep into the forest before they went anywhere else.”
“And a group working with K-9s will be here, too. For now . . .” Jackson said.
“Genie, I have someone just outside who is going to take you to a hotel and watch over you through the night. No one is going to come after you; and if they should so much as try, they’ll be doing a nice prison stint. Our people are good, I promise you.”
Angela glanced at Jackson and smiled. He couldn’t possibly have heard her talking to Genie from the office, but he’d known she’d managed to speak with the girl.
And discover the truth.
He’d called their headquarters and arranged for agents to come out and escort the young woman to safety.
She was sure he’d also arranged for agents to sit with Charles Martinez until he closed up for the night—and then follow him home as well.
Angela didn’t think Martinez was in any danger.
The man was polite—but there was nothing about him that suggested he’d be vulnerable to a cult performance by a man like Darrell Manderley.
“I knew him before!” Genie blurted out suddenly.
They all looked at her, including the spirit of Trent Fielding, who had followed Jackson and Charles Martinez from the office.