Harry Hunter Mystery Box Set Page 18

  The station wagon had been good old-fashioned hotwired.

  I took a photo with my phone, then leaned inside and took a few more of the inside, while wondering about another thing, the very thing that had me puzzled from the first time I read the report.

  I then grabbed my phone and called Detective Ferdinand.

  “Yes?”

  “How come they were in the back seat when they were found?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “The García files. It says in there that they were both pulled out from the back of the station wagon that had been arranged like a sleeping area because they lived in the car. It says both the mother and daughter were in the back when pulled out. Wouldn’t the mother at least be in the front if she drove the car into the harbor?”

  Ferdinand sighed on the other end. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the days, you choose today to bother me with this? Do you have any idea how busy we are right now with what you found last night?”

  “I am very well aware,” I said, not backing down. I demanded answers now. “But this is important too.”

  “All right, all right,” he said. “I guess they were pushed back. That’s what one of the forensics techs suggested, that the mother could have been pushed back by the water when they went in.”

  “What if that’s not what happened?” I said, staring at the station wagon in front of me. “What if someone broke into the car and hotwired it, then drove it to the edge, got out, and pushed it into the water?”

  Ferdinand exhaled. “Listen, Hunter. I don’t have time for this. They were two homeless people; they drove into the harbor either to commit suicide or maybe by accident because the mother had taken drugs. I don’t know. But I do know the case is closed, and I suggest you leave it that way if you know what’s best for you and your family.”

  With that, he hung up, and I stood back, feeling like I had once again been threatened by someone I thought I knew well.

  What the heck was going on here?

  Chapter 28

  Jean had brought Camille into the kitchen and had her sitting in her chair. Harry had bought her a brand-new wheelchair, one that supported her head, so she could lean back now and then when she needed to rest or couldn’t hold it up properly herself.

  Camille looked up at her, then smiled, using only one side of her mouth. It was all the gratitude she was capable of showing; Jean knew that much. She handed her a fork, then placed the cut-up meat in front of her and sat down. Camille struggled to put the fork into a piece of meat and missed a few times.

  Josie was there too and stared at her mother while she fought to get just one piece of meat into her mouth.

  “It’s crazy, right?” Jean said when seeing the sadness in the girl’s eyes. “How she has to learn everything from scratch again. Learn how to walk, how to eat, and one day, hopefully, talk again. But she’s making progress every day. I haven’t been here in a while, so I can really see the difference.”

  Josie nodded, biting her lip. Jean could tell a lot was going on in the poor girl’s mind. It couldn’t be easy to see her mother like this.

  “Will she ever be the same, the way she was before?” she asked.

  Jean sighed and helped Camille guide the fork closer to another piece of meat. “Probably not exactly the same,” she said. “But she can get close.”

  “It just takes so long,” Josie said.

  It was Harry who had asked Jean to stay with Josie for a few hours today while he was at work. He didn’t want Josie to be left alone in the house with Camille after what they had discovered the night before. He felt she needed to be with an adult, and his father, old Pastor Bernard, was out of town for the day. Jean still felt a little strange being back in the house, and with Camille now being aware of her surroundings. It had destroyed her chances of ever being with Harry, but she was still happy for them that they had gotten their mother and wife back…or at least some version of her, that was.

  Jean reached out and grabbed Josie’s hand in hers, then smiled warmly.

  “Give her time. I know it seems like it’s going slowly but think of her as a baby who has to learn everything. It takes time. But I think she can do it. Your mom is strong.”

  Jean looked at Camille, realizing she actually didn’t know how much Camille understood. She didn’t seem to be listening to what they were saying, but there was a tear in her eye that rolled down her cheek. Jean wiped it away with a tissue, then squeezed Camille’s hand as she let go of the fork, and it fell to the plate with a loud clang.

  “Are you tired, Camille?” she asked. “You look tired. I think it’s time for your afternoon nap. Here, let me help you with…”

  She grabbed the napkin she had placed under her chin and tried to wipe Camille’s mouth with it, but Camille turned her face away and gave Jean a push. She then let out a wail of sorts, sounding like a wounded animal.

  “What’s happening?” Josie asked.

  “I think she’s upset.”

  “Was it something I said? Was it because I said I thought it was taking too long, because I didn’t mean it, Mom. I’m just happy to have you back, really.”

  Camille stared at them, shaking her head and torso violently from side to side.

  “I think I’ll take you to your room to get that nap,” Jean said.

  She grabbed the chair and rolled Camille to the small bedroom in the back that used to be Harry’s office, but now was the room Camille slept in, so they didn’t have to get her up and down the stairs. Just till she could walk them on her own, which Harry believed wouldn’t be long. Jean helped Camille get into bed, then put the covers on top of her and held her hand in hers while squeezing it.

  “I know you’re in there, Camille, and I want you to keep fighting, okay? For Harry and Josie. They need you to get well. I know you can do this, Camille. You don’t get to give up, do you hear me?”

  Camille lay still with her eyes open for a little while and groaned like she was trying to speak. It was something she did a lot. Earlier in the day, Jean had tried to hand her a pencil and a paper, thinking she might be able to write what she wanted to say, but so far, Camille hadn’t been able to hold the pencil still enough to write anything. If only there were some way for them to communicate.

  “It’ll come,” Jean said. “The words. Just be patient, okay?”

  With that, Camille closed her eyes and started breathing heavier. Jean rose to her feet and walked to the window to close the curtains when she spotted a car with someone sitting inside it on the street across from them and realized it had been there all morning.

  Chapter 29

  Jean was on the porch outside when I drove up to the house. She gave me a nervous look as I got out and walked up the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” I asked anxiously. “Did something happen?”

  She pulled me closer, then pointed across the street. “That car.”

  “What about it?”

  “Someone is sitting inside it, and they’ve been there all day. I have a feeling this person is watching us, watching this house.”

  I stared at the gray Buick, scrutinizing it. I had seen it parked there in the morning when I left for work. I hadn’t noticed that someone was sitting inside of it, but I did now.

  “I didn’t say anything to Josie. I didn’t want to scare her. That’s why I thought I’d wait for you out here, so I could tell you before you went in.”

  Jean’s blue eyes looked up at me. I felt like hugging her close to me. I didn’t like seeing her in distress like this.

  “Go inside,” I said. “I’ll deal with it.”

  She nodded, still looking deep into my eyes. I stared at her lips, remembering the kiss we had shared a little over a month ago. I could still feel it, and often it was the last thing I would think about before falling asleep at night. I couldn’t forget about it. It was impossible.

  “Okay,” she said, then pulled away and walked back inside. I watched her go, and as the
screened door slammed shut, I felt for my gun in my holster and kept my hand on the grip as I walked down the stairs with my eyes focused on the grey Buick. I walked quickly toward it, hoping to get to it before it could take off. Using my long legs to take big steps, I rushed toward it, and the driver didn’t see me until I was almost there. He started the engine, then drove out of the parking spot.

  “HEY!” I yelled and tried to step out in front of it to stop it. But the driver didn’t intend to stop. He stepped on the accelerator and rushed toward me, forcing me to jump to the side of the road in order not to be hit.

  I rolled in the grass, then lifted my head just in time to see the license plate and memorize it. I got to my feet and brushed off the grass, then hurried back to the house and slammed the door shut behind me, locking it carefully. I took a few breaths to calm myself. I didn’t want Josie to notice that anything was wrong.

  “Dad!” Josie yelled as she saw me. She hugged me, and suddenly a sweet aroma filled my nostrils.

  “I’ve made lamb for dinner,” Josie said. “Well, not completely by myself. Jean helped me.”

  “It smells heavenly,” I said and kissed her forehead. I stared at Jean, who was checking on the meat in the oven. Lamb was one of my favorite meals, and Jean knew this. Seeing her in my kitchen cooking again made my heart overflow with happiness. I had missed her terribly over the past month. She used to take such good care of all of us, and I guess I hadn’t appreciated her enough.

  “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Jean chirped. “I called your dad, and he’ll be over shortly. He just got back.”

  I smiled happily. Just like old times, I thought, then felt guilty. I couldn’t do this to myself. I couldn’t romanticize the time before Camille woke up.

  “I’m sorry I was late today,” I said as I put the keys down and opened my laptop. “It wasn’t my intention to ruin your entire day off.”

  Jean smiled. I hadn’t seen that smile in quite a while, and even though I didn’t want it to, it filled me with warmth.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I actually enjoyed myself. It feels good to be here again. Josie and I had some catching up to do.”

  I looked into her eyes, feeling all kinds of sadness. Why did I feel like this when looking at her? Why did I have all these emotions that I didn’t have when looking at Camille? Was my dad right? He was the one who told me he believed I loved Jean more than Camille, even before Camille overdosed.

  He couldn’t be right, could he?

  I shook my head and looked down at my computer. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything I could do about it now anyway. I was married, and my wife was sick. She needed me more than ever.

  Chapter 30

  When Savannah woke up, she was lying on the floor. Her face felt sore, and her lips tasted like blood when she licked them. She felt drowsy and had a hard time opening her eyes. It was so hot; she was sweating like crazy. What was that awful smell? She tried to recall what had happened before she ended up there.

  She remembered playing the violin. She remembered it getting dark and that she had decided to go to bed. Then she remembered there was a noise and then there was something else. A man, yes, that was it. A man had entered her house and was standing by the back door. Then what had happened?

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” she had asked.

  The man had stepped into the light, pulling down the hood on his raincoat. That was when she had stopped breathing. Recognizing the eyes staring at her, she knew he had come for her. He had finally found her.

  “I never told anyone,” she said. “I kept it to myself.”

  But the man didn’t seem to care. He rushed toward her, and as she saw that, she went for the front door. She turned around and made a run for it, but the man was faster. He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her back, then put his arm around her neck and dragged her backward.

  Savannah had screamed, but he was too strong. He had punched her, then put his hands around her neck, holding tight till she had fainted.

  Why am I not dead?

  She asked herself this as she took a couple of breaths, trying to get back to reality. Her eyelids still felt heavy and hard to lift, so she focused on her hands, trying to move them. They weren’t strapped down. The same went for her legs, and she could move them with ease. But the stench was getting worse, and it was getting harder to breathe.

  What’s going on here?

  She finally managed to lift her eyelids and look. But all she could see was deep darkness.

  Savannah sat up and tried to look around, trying to figure out where she was. She reached out her hand, and it hit something, and she felt it, then used it to lean on, to get to her feet. She recognized her bed, and leaned against it, then felt her way to the nightstand with the lamp, found the button, and turned it on. Except nothing happened. There was no light. She flipped the button again and again, but nothing happened. She then felt her way past the dresser to the door, where she flipped the switch on the wall next to it.

  Still nothing.

  Did the power go out?

  There was like a rumbling noise coming from outside the room. Savannah walked to the window, then grabbed the thick velvet curtains that had been closed to shut out all light. As she pulled them aside, she suddenly saw light, and lots of it, in the shape of flames licking the side of the house.

  Startled, Savannah pulled back with a scream.

  Oh, dear God, it’s a fire. Someone set fire to my house!

  She backed up to get away from the window, then ran for the door. She grabbed the handle, but the door was locked.

  Who locked the door? I can’t get out!

  Savannah pulled it, again and again, shaking the door, but it wouldn’t budge. A huge pop startled her as the windows shattered, and the fire soon grabbed the curtains inside and spread to the bed, moving faster than seemed possible. Savannah screamed at the top of her lungs, then shook the door handle again and again, then started kicking the door till it finally broke open. Thinking she had found a way out, Savannah crawled through the opening she had made and into the hallway when she realized it too was surrounded by flames on all sides.

  She was trapped.

  Chapter 31

  At dinner, Camille sat in her wheelchair next to me, so I could feed her to make sure she got enough to eat. She seemed very insistent on trying on her own, so I let her eat by herself, at least till she gave up and let me take over.

  After dinner, Josie, my dad, and I cleaned up while Jean took Camille to her room and put her back in bed. I told Jean she didn’t have to do that, but she wanted to, she said. She loved Camille and enjoyed taking care of her again. Camille got exhausted quickly these days, but at least she was present now. It was an improvement, and hopefully to her life as well, even though there still was so much she wasn’t capable of doing.

  “At some point, you have to forgive her,” my dad said.

  Josie asked if she had helped enough by now and would be allowed to go back upstairs. I nodded and let her leave. My dad handed me a plate, and I put it in the dishwasher. I turned to look at him once I was sure Josie was completely out of sight and wouldn’t be able to hear us.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Camille,” he said. “You’re angry with her for doing drugs again and for causing this overdose, but at some point, you have to let it go, son. It’ll only eat you up and come between you two.”

  “I’ve already forgiven her,” I said.

  “Have you now?”

  I gave him another look. My dad, the former pastor, always had a way of seeing straight through me to a point where it annoyed me.

  I smiled. “It’s a work in progress.”

  “It always is,” he said. “It’s rarely something that happens instantly. It takes time, and sometimes it’s a process that lasts an entire lifetime. But letting go of that resentment and anger toward her is vital if you want to move on.”

  “I know,” I said, sounding like an ann
oyed teenager. “I just…it’s still hard for me to understand why she would do it, why she would hurt us all like this.”

  “Pray about it,” he said and handed me the last dish. I placed it in the dishwasher, then turned it on. My dad and I each grabbed a glass of iced tea and sat in the living room. I poured some in a glass for Jean and gave it to her as she came out to join us. My dad turned on the TV and watched the news, while Jean and I sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “So, did you figure out who was in that car?” she asked, using a low voice. “Did you see him?”

  “No, he drove off. I didn’t even get a look at his face. But I did get the license plate and called it in and had them run it in the system before we ate dinner.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  I nodded.

  “So, who is it, anyone we know?”

  I nodded again. “You won’t believe it; I hardly did myself. It doesn’t seem to make much sense. I’ve been pondering about it all night.”

  “Try me.”

  I leaned forward.

  “David Smith.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “As in the same David Smith, who is the…”

  “The father of Emilia García, yes, the girl who gave Josie her heart.”

  Jean leaned back and took a sip from her glass of iced tea, a puzzled look on her face. “He was here? Keeping an eye on us? But…why?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me. But he sure was in a hurry to get away when I approached him. I had to jump for my life so he wouldn’t hit me. Scraped my arm.”

  “Do you want me to take a look at it?” Jean asked.

  I chuckled. “I think I’ll survive.”

  “Why do you think he was there all day? It is strange, don’t you think?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. There’s a lot I can’t seem to figure out right now. But I intend to dig deeper into it. Something is very wrong in this town, and I don’t like it one bit.”