Chapter Seven
Mollie could hardly believe that Erin had followed them from the airport. Her cousin, Erin. A woman she’d grown up with. A shoulder she’d cried on when they mourned Madison’s death.
Mollie reached across the center console of the Escalade and held out her hand. “Give me your phone, Spence. I want to talk to her.”
“Not yet.” He continued his one-sided communication with Rossi while circling the cul-de-sac where they’d been hiding, then made a left turn at River Road.
She opened her fingers and closed them a couple of times in a gimme-gimme gesture. In an assertive voice, she said, “The phone, please.”
While driving in a perfectly safe manner, he shot a glance in her direction. “Here’s the new plan. We’ll meet Erin and her daughter at the cabin. Before we get there, we need to talk. Just you and me.”
“There’s no need for us to be guarded. I don’t keep secrets from Erin. She’s a friend, one of my only true friends. I want to see her, to hear her voice.”
“You asked me to find out who was after you. Remember?”
“Yes.”
“I never answered.”
“I noticed,” she said.
“Do you still want me to investigate?”
“You have the qualifications as a security expert, you know my family and, most importantly, I can afford your services. Will you, please, figure out who is trying to chase me down and why?”
“Here are my conditions. First, I have your full agreement to pursue whatever direction seems warranted. Second, I call the shots, which means I’m in charge. Third, no secrets. Fourth, you will not tell anybody about our arrangement.”
His demands didn’t sound unreasonable, but she hesitated, fearful that she’d find a catch she couldn’t live with. “That’s sort of vague.”
“If you want details, I’m happy to draft a twenty-seven-clause contract,” he said. “And sign in triplicate.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you act like a lawyer.” She glared. “I can’t say that I like it very much.”
“Do we have an agreement?”
“It’s a deal.” As she reached over and shook his hand, she thought of the letter in her pocket. A secret, but she’d found it before they made their contract. “Starting now.”
Though she had a decent sense of direction, the twists and turns through an area of Salem she didn’t know confused her.
At least these streets were civilized. The Escalade wasn’t plunging up and down hills like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
Soon, this would be over. Very soon, she’d be with Erin and could slide back into her Oregon life… or not. She was afraid to look ahead.
“Erin doesn’t seem like a threat,” he said, “and she probably isn’t. But we have to investigate everybody who steps into your orbit. Somebody told your old friend how to find us, but she didn’t make a simple approach. Why not?”
“I can think of several reasons. She’s concerned, doesn’t want to rock the boat and cause problems. Or maybe she didn’t enter the airport because she didn’t want to bring her child into a pitched battle between a sniper and Salem SWAT.”
“Or maybe she has information that leads to the person who’s tracking you,” he said. “I want to talk to her alone. See if she has a hidden agenda.”
“Like what? A payoff?” Mollie hated the idea that her friend could be bribed but had to admit that Spence was correct.
She ought to be suspicious of everyone and everything, even if it meant stepping back and letting him do his interrogation.
“I can’t imagine that Erin would sell me out, but I’ll let you judge for yourself. ”
“Rossi asked me to pass on a message from Erin,” he said. “She wants you to know that she brought the teal blue dress with lace sleeves that you like. You can wear it at the memorial.”
“But it’s really old. I don’t even know if it fits anymore.”
“Got a better idea?”
Beggars can’t be choosers. After all, teal was one of her favorite colors. She remembered the stalker in Salt Lake City who sent her a pair of teal shoes and a matching purse. She almost regretted throwing them away.
Spence’s route continued south, passing through neighborhoods that ranged from mansion-sized manors overlooking the riverside to clustered groups of smaller homes and businesses until he crossed a bridge near Independence and drove into forested land.
Any attempt to figure out their final destination would be futile. The arching branches and moss-covered trunks seemed familiar, but Mollie couldn’t say for sure where in the Willamette Valley they were. Getting close to Cloverdell? She was so ready.
“Tell me about Erin,” he said. “What was she like in high school?”
The first thing that popped into her mind was Erin’s glorious smile. “She had a great sense of humor and was always laughing. People liked to be around her. She was a cheerleader. A great dancer. The life of the party.”
“A good friend,” he said.
“And a matchmaker. Always fixing me up with dates.” Mollie recalled several of those dates as disasters.
“There was this one guy who stole a skeleton from the biology department on Halloween and went around scaring little kids who were trick-or-treating. Sounds funny, but it was horrible and mean. Then, there were a couple of drunks. And a jerk who insisted on taking me skinny-dipping.”
“I heard about the skeleton thing. Didn’t the guy get arrested?”
“Yep.” She shook her head as she tried to balance the good dates against the bad. Far more ranked high on the bummer scale. “I guess Erin has really bad taste in men.”
“We could have figured that from her ex-husband, Smitty.”
“Bad boys.” Mollie shuddered. She’d never found that type of man to be attractive in the least. “Erin just kept hooking up with these losers and trying to reform them, change them into responsible human beings.”
“Any chance she knew Julio Flores?”
“Yes, she did.”
The memory still stung. After Madison had been abducted by the Peligro Cartel, she sent a text to Erin with an attached photo of her and Julio in bathing suits on a tropical beach.
They looked spectacular together. “My sister and Erin both had a thing for dangerous men. Erin tried to convince me that Madison was better off living with a criminal than staying with WITSEC.”
“Did Erin ever mention contacting anyone in the Peligro Cartel?”
“Never.” But Erin wouldn’t be foolish enough to tell Mollie about a clandestine connection with the thugs who were responsible for Madison’s death.
Not to mention that when Mollie went into WITSEC to care for Dad, her life had been shredded.
Her plans and dreams…destroyed. “Why are you asking about this? Julio can’t be the person who’s after me. He’s dead.”
Unless he somehow escaped the explosion and staged his own death.
Which would mean her sister was still alive.
Mollie wanted so much to believe that version of the truth.
Fumbling in her pocket, she grasped the envelope with the familiar handwriting.
Maybe she’d find the answer in this note.
Maybe she should open it and tell Spence.
Not yet. She had to read it first, and then she’d make that decision.
* * *
The safe house nestled in the forest was larger than Mollie expected.
Spence made it sound like a cozy nest, but this residence looked more like a hunting lodge.
The two-story log cabin with dark green shutters had a long, wide porch that stretched all the way across the front.
About twenty feet from the cabin was a plain, brown four-car garage with a flat second floor that was probably an apartment.
Just beyond the cabin, a creek meandered through the trees.
Leaving the Escalade parked in a grove of Douglas fir, they entered the house through a side door that opened into the kitchen.
The aroma of fresh-baked bread greeted them.
The baker—a woman wearing a pink apron over her camos and holster—introduced herself as Liz Quintana, Spence’s assistant, and asked if they wanted something to drink.
Mollie took a bottle of water and followed Spence through the dining room and front room to the center staircase.
The interior of the safe house heightened her impression of a hunting lodge with knotty pine walls and a huge moss rock fireplace.
Though the curtains were drawn, light from floor lamps showed a number of paintings instead of the typical taxidermy display of animal heads—elk, moose and bear.
A three-foot-by-five-foot acrylic landscape of Mount Saint Helens caught her attention.
She took a closer look at the dreamlike swirls that held secret images of wildlife and indigenous people.
“This is by Selma Firebird. I’d recognize her style anywhere. ”
“Another of her works is upstairs in your bedroom.”
Memories of her life before WITSEC tumbled into her mind.
In college, Mollie had studied art history to broaden her base of knowledge.
Through her father, she had connections and mentors who helped her find a pathway into the world of contemporary artists after she graduated.
Selma Firebird, who lived in Yachats on the coast, had worked with Mollie to set up her first curated art show in Salem at a gallery owned by her great-aunt Irma.
“I’ve been away too long.” She allowed her gaze to sink into the painting, feeling the colors and imagining their reality.
“Everywhere we lived in WITSEC locations, I made a point of visiting the museums and galleries. But Dad and I both needed to stay detached from the art community. Because of his books with a photo of his face on the back, he’s well-known, easily identified.
Anybody looking for him or me would check into the art scene. ”
“He mentioned that you might need an artsy fix,” Spence said. “Suggested that the best way to make you feel at home in the safe house was to take down the animal heads and find a couple of paintings you’d appreciate.”
“You did this for me?”
He nodded.
His thoughtfulness overwhelmed her. Impulsively, she moved toward him and threw her arms around his neck for a full-body hug.
Her intention wasn’t in the least bit sexual, but she couldn’t help noticing how nicely their bodies fit together.
A warm blush climbed her throat and heated her cheeks as she quickly retreated, putting a safe distance between them. “Thank you, Spence.”
“I’m hoping you like my choices.”
“So far, so good,” she said. “Impressionist prints, copies of Chagall and a Moulin Rouge poster.”
He guided her up the wide wooden staircase to the second floor. “There are five bedrooms up here. You have the largest, and you share a bathroom with me. The other three use the large bathroom in the hall.”
She slipped through the door into a charming room, painted soft blue with pine furniture including a desk.
The Firebird painting hung on the wall beside the bed so it would be the first thing to be seen in the morning and the last at night.
The subject of this canvas was an intimate landscape with a huntress hidden in the shrubs and ferns.
Mollie traced the bow and arrow in the air outside the painting.
“She did a series of these goddesses of the forest.”
“I arranged to borrow these two paintings for the weekend,” he said, “but I think I’m going to keep them. I like the idea of a secret goddess hiding in the trees.”
She did, too. Sometimes, she imagined herself in the role of the goddess. Moving mysteriously through the forests and hillsides, she could work her magic and solve her problems. While continuing to study the painting, she asked, “What’s our plan for tonight and tomorrow?”
“Quintana will come up here with something for you to eat. She also has clothes for you to change into. After I talk to Erin, I’ll bring her into your room. I’ve arranged for her and her daughter to stay in the bedroom across the hall.”
“And tomorrow?”
“The memorial is tomorrow from two to three o’clock at United Methodist of Cloverdell. After, there’s a reception at Irma’s house, where Bethany still lives.”
Mollie was deeply grateful to Bethany Randolph, the oldest and most responsible of the Four Clovers, for handling the required arrangements and plans for her great-aunt’s death.
Irma knew everybody in Cloverdell and the surrounding area.
The pews in United Methodist would be overflowing with friends coming to pay their respects.
Remembering her informal contract with Spence, she asked, “Is it okay for me to call Bethany and find out if I can help? Or does that interfere with your investigating?”
“No problem as long as I know where you are and who you’re with,” he said.
“In fact, you three Clovers should put your heads together and decide when you want to talk to my grandpa about what’s in the will.
The formal reading can be scheduled for next week, but it would be good for you to get a heads-up. ”
He had already grasped the doorknob, ready to start on his next phase: the interrogation of Erin.
She felt a little bit abandoned by his obvious need to move forward and leave her behind.
At the same time, she welcomed this moment of privacy.
With no one else watching, she could read the note she’d found in his car. Finally.
When her bedroom door closed behind Spence, she locked it. Pacing the pale blue carpet, she literally took steps of moving on. Seated at the desk, she placed the envelope on the desktop and ran her hands over the crumpled paper to smooth out the fold.
In the center desk drawer, she found a letter opener and used it to slit the top. In the silence of her bedroom, the tearing sounded louder than a cannon. A note—folded in thirds—was inside. The message had been typed or written on a printer. It read:
I need to see you. Meet me on Saturday at the Clover Clubhouse. Five in the afternoon. Come alone.
The signature was another spiky M.
Madison?
Mollie’s breath caught in her throat. The note confirmed her intuition. It had to be from Madison. The only people who knew the location of the clubhouse were the Four Clovers. The note couldn’t have come from Erin, who had already tracked her down. And it wasn’t Bethany’s style. That left Madison.
Her twin was alive. And needed to see her. Why would she say that? See her? What did that mean? How was the envelope hidden in Spence’s car? Why, why, why?
Mollie needed help to decipher this life-changing clue. She wanted to turn to Spence, to confide in him.
A knock on her bedroom door startled her. Maybe he’d returned. Oh, yes, I hope so. She shoved the note back into the envelope, dashed to the door, unlocked it and flung it open. A small girl with a huge smile stood outside her bedroom.
“Hi. I’m Amy,” she said. “I’m four.”
“I’m Mollie.”
“I know.” Amy rolled her eyes. “Mommy says you’re an artist. And you’re supposed to draw my picture.”