“What are Charlie’s religious beliefs? Was she known to be into voodoo or spells or anything like that?”
“Not that I know of,” he says. “We were all raised Catholic. We don’t really practice unless it’s a significant holiday.”
I make note of that and try to think of another question. I still have so many, and I don’t know what to go with next. “Is there anything else? Anything out of the ordinary that happened last week?”
I can immediately tell he’s hiding something by the change in his facial expression and the way he shifts in his seat.
“What is it?”
He pulls his feet off the seat and leans forward, lowering his voice. “The police…they were at the house today. I heard them questioning Ezra about finding anything unusual. At first she denied it, but I think her guilt got the best of her. She mentioned finding sheets in your room. She said there was blood on them.”
I lean back against my booth and stare up at the ceiling. This isn’t good.
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward again. “That was last week. Before Charlie went missing. It can’t be tied to her if that’s what they’re thinking.”
“No, I know that. Ezra told them that too. That it was last week and she saw Charlie that day. But still, Silas. What the hell were you doing? Why was there blood on your sheets? The way police think, they’re probably assuming you beat Charlie or something, and that it finally went too far.”
“I’d never hurt her,” I say defensively. “I love that girl.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I shake my head, not understanding why I even said them. I’ve never even met her. I’ve never even spoken to her.
But I’ll be damned. I just said I love her, and I meant it straight to my core.
“How can you love her? You claim you can’t remember her.”
“I may not remember her, but I sure as hell still feel her.” I stand up. “And that’s why we need to find her. Starting with her father.”
Landon tries to calm me down, but he has no idea how frustrating it is to lose eight entire hours when you only have forty-eight hours total.
It’s after eight o’clock at night already, and we’ve officially wasted the entire day. As soon as we left the restaurant, we headed toward the prison to pay Brett Wynwood a visit. A prison that’s almost three hours away. Couple that with a two-hour wait, only to be told we aren’t on the visitor list and there’s nothing we can do today to change it…I’m more than pissed.
I can’t afford to make mistakes when I have just hours left to figure out where she is before I lose everything I’ve learned since yesterday.
We pull up next to Landon’s car. I kill my ignition and step out of the car, walking to the gate. There are two padlocks on it, and it looks like they’re never used.
“Who bought this house?” I ask Landon.
I hear him laugh behind me, so I turn around. He sees that I lack humor in this situation, so he rolls his head.
“Come on, Silas. Drop the act, already. You know who bought the house.”
I breathe steadily in through my nose and out my mouth, reminding myself that I can’t blame him for thinking I’m making all of this up. I nod and then turn to face the gate again. “Humor me, Landon.”
I can hear him kick at the gravel and groan. And then he says, “Janice Delacroix.”
The name means nothing to me, but I walk back to my truck and open the door to make a note of the name. “Delacroix. Is that a French name?”
“Yeah,” he says. “She owns one of those tourist shops downtown. Reads tarots or some shit like that. No one knows how she was able to afford the place. Her daughter goes to our school.”
I stop writing. The tarot reader. That explains the picture, and also why she wouldn’t give me more information on the house—because it seemed weird to her that I was asking about her home.
“So people actually live here?” I say, turning around to face him.
He shrugs. “Yeah. It’s just the two of them though—her and her daughter. They probably use a different entrance. Doesn’t look like this gate gets opened much.”
I stare past the gate…at the house. “What’s her daughter’s name?”
“Cora,” he says. “Cora Delacroix. But everyone calls her The Shrimp.”
Chapter 16: Charlie
No one comes for a long time. I think I’m being punished. I’m thirsty and I need to go to the bathroom. After holding it as long as I can, I finally pee in the plastic cup on my breakfast tray and set the full cup in the corner of the room. I pace back and forth, pulling at my hair until I think I’m going to go crazy.
What if no one comes back? What if they’ve left me here to die?
The door won’t budge; I bruise my fists pounding on it. I scream for someone to help me until my voice grows hoarse.
I’m sitting on the floor with my head in my hands when the door finally opens. I jump up. It’s not the nurse—it’s someone else this time, younger. Her scrubs hang off her small body. She looks like a little kid playing dress-up. I eye her warily as she moves across my small room. She notices the cup in the corner and raises her eyebrows.
“Do you need to use the facilities?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She sets the tray down and my stomach grumbles.
“I asked to see the doctor,” I say.
Her eyes dart left to right. She’s nervous. Why?
“The doctor is busy today,” she says, not looking at me.