Chapter Forty Raine
Chapter Forty
Raine
The box waited for me by Hale House’s front door.
A standard eight-by-ten brown cardboard box. Ordinary. Forgettable. Except I hadn’t ordered anything.
Suspicion coiled, tightening like barbed wire.
Normally, I’d assume it was a birthday surprise. But not after the last delivery. This time I approached slowly, edging up the stairs.
The label was typical. Generic. Neat. I scanned the lawn and woods, half expecting someone to be watching. Nothing moved but the trees whispering in the afternoon breeze.
I unlocked the front door, dropped my purse and keys inside, then picked up the package. Light—too light. I carried it in, closing and locking the door behind me.
In the kitchen, I set the box on the counter. My hand hovered over the knife block before I drew one. The blade sliced through the tape with a soft hiss.
Slowly, I pulled back the flaps.
White tissue paper balled up into crinkled clumps. The brittle sound made my pulse jump.
A glimpse of brown fur.
My stomach seized. My fingers curled into tight fists.
When I forced myself to look again, the truth snapped into focus. Not an animal. But a stuffed dog.
I recognized the toy. I’d carried it everywhere when I was a kid. Then in middle school it had vanished. I’d torn the house apart. I’d begged my mother for help.
Finally, I’d stopped asking. Stopped remembering. And now here it was.
The return address was a PO box in Richmond. No name. No clue where it had been for twenty-three years or why it was here now.
The once-beloved toy radiated menace, its stitched eyes dark and hollow. My throat constricted. I shoved it back in the box, tossed it in the pantry, and slammed the door.
“What the hell?”
I changed into hiking clothes and laced boots with unsteady hands and slipped out the back door. Crossing the back lawn, I cut through the brush as I’d done with Maria a thousand times when we were kids.
Following the creek bed, I approached the damp pebbles, gravel, and rocks. Images of Mom’s pale body superimposed themselves over my present reality.
Mom’s laughter rang in my head. “Don’t be a baby. I’m dead and gone. It’s just rocks and shoddy memories.”
“It’s more,” I said.
“No, it’s not. Stand up straight. Don’t be weak.”
Voices carried with rustling leaves and cracking branches. Rounding the final bend, I spotted a blue crime scene tent pitched over a body draped in a white cloth. Relief it wasn’t exposed shifted quickly to dread.
Judson stood nearby, hands on his hips, profile carved in stone. He had to be remembering the day we’d found Mom.
One of the cops spotted me and called out. “Stop right there.”
I did. But didn’t back off. “This is my land.”
Judson strode toward me, frown deepening. “This is a crime scene, Raine. You can’t be here.”
“Who’s under that sheet?” I demanded.
“I can’t tell you that.” His tone clipped each word. “This is an active investigation.”
He was right. He had a job to do.
But fear twisted sharp. “Gabe cut off his ankle monitor. He took Molly from the school. He won’t tell me where he’s going with her.”
Judson froze, inhaled sharply. “How did he get Molly?”
“He picked her up from the school.” I explained my exchange with the principal, his assistant, and their stupid communication error.
He reached for his phone. “I’ll put out a BOLO on him.”
“Molly still doesn’t know her mother died. I was supposed to tell her this afternoon.” My voice cracked for a second, before I could shore it back up.
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “We’ll find them.”
The edges of the white sheet lifted in a breeze. No bloodstains. Too little water for a drowning. Drug users migrated to the isolated parts of the land.
Maybe it was random.
But the toy . . . the box . . . the delivery wasn’t random. I couldn’t shake the fear this body was here for a reason.
“It’s not Gabe, is it?” Molly was with Gabe, and for that reason alone I needed him to be okay.
“No,” he said.
“Or Molly?” It had to be said.
“God, no.”
My relief was jagged, short-lived. “Okay.” My worry built.
“Go home, Raine.”
“Who would dump a body here?” My voice dropped. “Near Mom.”
“I don’t have any answers yet.”
“How long has it been here?”
Stern faced and frustrated, he glared. “Raine, stop asking questions. I don’t have any answers.”
I held his gaze. “You suspect something. I can see it in your expression.”
Frustration darkened his gaze. “Go home, Raine.”
I swallowed, forcing down bitter bile. “It feels like the last time.”
When he spoke again, the edges in his voice had softened. “I’ll come by Hale House when I can. Keep your phone close. Gabe might see reason and call.”
“I’m not sure he will this time,” I said. “Something’s broken inside him.”
He nodded once, grim. “Go home, Raine. I’ll see you soon.”