A Cold Dark Place

Chapter Twenty-three

Saturday, 6:26 A.M., Cherrystone, Washington

Early Saturday morning two cars were headed out of Cherrystone. One, a bland Honda Accord driven by the detective in search of her daughter and a killer, and the other, a VW bug with a flapping ragtop driven by the suspected killer and the same daughter. Neither of the drivers or the sole passenger knew the other was on its way to the same destination, for the identical purpose. Getting out of town hadn't been an easy prospect for either. One had to steal a car; the other had to squirm a little.

Emily Kenyon didn't exactly argue with Sheriff Brian Kiplinger to leave the investigation, but he wasn't thrilled about it. "I know you have personal problems, Emily," he had said, "but we're up to our necks in alligators here and we need you to wrestle a few."

It was a lame metaphor, but Emily knew what he meant. Her investigation had been stymied by her daughter's inadvertent involvement, the FBI had offered to step in, and the Spokane police had drawn their line in the sand, too.

"I get that" Her dark eyes flashed. "But, look, I think that some of the answers to what happened at the Martin place will be found in Seattle."

Kip crossed his burly arms and narrowed his gaze. "And maybe your daughter, too?"

Emily bristled at the mention and wished she'd just called in sick. "Jenna is not a runaway. She's not a victim here. I know she's just trying to help a friend. I believe that. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

"Emily, I'm your boss" Kip shifted his frame in the chrome-accented chair that was the only luxury in his office. He rocked backward and steadied the chair by putting his foot on the leg of his desk. "You're talking to me like I'm your ex. I don't know what happened. I'm glad you think Jenna is all right. But I just talked to a woman who buried her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew out at Green View two days ago and she's none too happy that we haven't picked up Nick guilty or not"

The dialogue played in her head as she climbed the mountain pass where yellow flashing lights advised drivers to watch for falling rocks. The remaining snow piled on the shoulder was coated in gray sludge and had almost disappeared. She could see the conical yellow and pale green forms of skunk cabbage as it fanned out along the swampy edges of a waterfall-fed bog. The AM radio talk show that had kept her somewhat entertained, out of her own head for almost an hour, began to crackle. The blowhard's voice faded. She pushed FM and the radio scanned through several Latino stations before landing on Celine Dion singing that song from Titanic.

Jenna loved that movie when she was a little girl. She thought that Leonardo DiCaprio was the cutest boy ever Cute and artsy. Maybe that's how she views Nick Martin?

As Celine worked her vocal chords into an unqualified frenzy, Emily began to wonder once more why Olga MorrisCerrino had changed her mind and would only speak to her in person.

"Some things are better covered face-to-face," she had said when Emily had called back that evening. "Come up here. I'll pull my files. I might even fix you lunch."

"Lunch would be good," she said, before saying goodbye.

She didn't know it, but a half hour ahead of her Honda, Shali Patterson's stolen VW sped down the mountainside, the radio playing the same Celine Dion song.

Saturday, 10:45 A.M., Mercer Island, Washington

Mercer Island, Washington, barely felt like an island. It was pinned to Lake Washington by Interstate 90 and a pair of bridges, one of them floating on the surface of Seattle's Lake Washington on enormous concrete pontoons. The lake was so deep and a suspension bridge so costly, that at the time of its conception a floating bridge seemed a good idea. Mercer Island was named for Asa Mercer, who'd famously brought women from back east to marry the loggers carving out the great forests. It seemed that Mercedes Benzes, BMWs, and Jags were the only cars that exited the interstate to the island's addresses.

David Kenyon was a surgeon making big bucks, but not so much that he had been forced to live on the island with Microsoft millionaires, sports stars, and the very few that actually carried a whiff of old money from the lumber and gold of Seattle's past. His girlfriend, Dani, however, was a social climber of the highest order. She stretched the doctor's income like a tube top on a stripper-to near breaking. But she got the island house. Not waterfront, but view. And not peak-a-boo view, either. The house was a 1960s rambler that if plunked down somewhere in the Midwest wouldn't cost more than $150,000. On Mercer Island, it was a cool million dollars.

It wasn't all that early in the morning, but Dani was in bed and David was padding around the house when he heard a knock at the door. He found Jenna and Nick, standing outside, looking scared. Instinctively he went to Jenna and wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh, Jenna," he said. "You've scared the hell out of us."

"Dad, I'm sorry. But we needed a place to go," she said. Tears puddled her eyes.

"Nick?"

Jenna nodded and he put his hand out to shake.

"Who else could it be?" David wanted to ream the kid for getting his daughter involved in this mess. He saw how Jenna looked at Nick and knew that any kind of harsh words, threats, promises to put him away, would only make her defensive. Maybe angry. She was safe now. That was all that mattered.

"We're calling your mother," David said.

"Dad, please don't do that just yet. I came here for help. Your help. Nick didn't do anything wrong."

David reached for his phone. "But kidnap you," he said tersely.

She grabbed her father's free hand. "That's not fair and that's not the truth. Don't call."

"I didn't, sir," Nick said, wishing he hadn't used the word "sir" but it just slipped out. It seemed so false, though it hadn't been meant that way.

David didn't know if he should call the police or his exwife. Or listen to his daughter and the stranger that accompanied her.

"Listen, Nick, I don't really know what happened," he said. "But I'll be blunt. Your family is dead and the police are looking for you. I'd put this at the top of anyone's list when it comes to troubling. Wouldn't you?"

David didn't wait for an answer, which was fine, since it didn't appear as if Nick was going to say anything. He stood mute, stepping backward toward the door. His eyes were full of fear and, maybe, David thought, remorse.

"And somehow, God knows how, you've got my little girl involved in this mess--"

"What's going on here?"

It was Dani. The noise of the argument rousted her out of her feather bed. Her blond hair was surprisingly tangle free and she even wore-at least Jenna thought so-a little lip gloss. Her bathrobe was a Vera Wang knockoff, all creamy and flowy. It didn't conceal much.

The teenager stood there, her big blue eyes wide.

"You're pregnant," Jenna said. She looked over at her father. "She's pregnant"

Dani pulled on the belt tie of her robe and like some kind of floating cloud, took a seat next to David.

"I was going to tell you," he said, his eyes riveted on his daughter. Embarrassment swept over his handsome face.

"When? When my brother or sister was born?"

"It was something I wanted to tell you-"

"We wanted to tell you," Dani interjected, her hand now caressing her melon-sized abdomen.

"In person," David continued, finishing his thought.

"We want you to be here for the wedding, too" Dani's words were meant for Jenna, but she seemed to say them in the direction of her future husband, now sitting on the couch. "I was hoping you'd be in the bridal party. If you don't think that's too weird, you know. It would mean a lot for me"

Dani was carrying on like she was talking to a wedding planner, not a teen that'd just found out that she was going to be a big sister.

"You know," Jenna said, "I thought that I had the worst week ever. Let's see. A tornado rips up our town, Nick's fam ily is murdered, I'm sleeping in a shack, my mom is pissed off at me, and now my dad's girlfriend is knocked up ""

"Enough!" David stood up. His face was red with anger. He was walking a fine line and he knew it. In front of him was his nearly grown daughter and to the left his pregnant girlfriend. He knew he needed to let her vent, but the "knockedup" comment was too much.

"I'm not saying I'm perfect," he said stiffly, holding his temper.

Jenna went to Nick, who was standing his hands in his jeans pockets looking around like he wanted to escape. "No Dad, you're not," she said, fighting back tears. "Far from it. Some family we are"

No one said anything for a few long seconds, when Nick finally broke the ice.

"Can I use your bathroom?" he asked. "Been a long drive."

Dani smiled, though she had fanned the flames of the little altercation, she knew things in her perfect home were not so ideal after all. Regrouping was in order and she pounced on the opportunity

"Down the hall, Nick. Let's all get some coffee," she said, looking at the other two still frozen in their anger.

Jenna followed her dad and his girlfriend into the kitchen, an enormous room of hanging pots and pans and a gas-fueled fireplace.

"Does Mom know?" she asked softly, once more feeling the hurt of a secret revealed.

"Yes," he said. "I'm afraid she does."

Dani feigned a preoccupation with brewing coffee, and Jenna summoned the courage to speak her mind. The words came in a rush. "Dad," she said, "If you call the police and say anything about Nick, I'll never speak to you again."

He clearly didn't like her attitude. "Don't push me," he said.

"You know, I cried for a week when you moved to Seattle. Make that a month. And all along you probably had her. Like she was waiting in the wings. I thought that your leaving us was something that you needed to do to practice your specialty. Spokane wasn't big enough"

David remained mute. He figured at the very least in some small way, he had it coming.

"And you know what, Dad? Seattle had everything you wanted," she said, again thinking of Dani. "But it didn't have me. It didn't have Mom"

"It is more complicated than that. You'll see when you live your own life."

"Complicated? What I'm going through right now is complicated. I need you to be there for me. I need you to help me. Nick and I need your help."

Saturday, 11:15 A.m., north of Seattle

Traffic was uncharacteristically light as Emily Kenyon drove northward from Seattle. Her back ached from the long drive from Cherrystone, and her car smelled of a cinnamon scone she'd picked up from a Starbucks drive-through. She told herself to ignore the exit off the freeway that led to the home she and David had shared when they were first married. It was a classic Craftsman in the University District. It had more built-ins than they had things to stash. David was doing his residency at the University of Washington Medical Center back then. She was finishing up her stint at the police academy south of Seattle. All was good. Too good. Too short. She knew that the fragmentation and ultimate destruction of their marriage had been shared by both, but even so she wished she'd given in more often. For her daughter's sake, and deep down, she knew, for her own.

She glanced at the Mapquest printout of directions to Olga Morris-Cerrino's address and pulled off the freeway onto a two-lane road along the creamy green waters of the Nooksack River. A grove of cell towers flew by the driver's window. She passed a small dairy farm and wondered how much longer it would be there. New homes were pushing the countryside farther and farther away. It was true of just about every populated part of Western Washington. In time, she knew, there would be no more farms. That would never happen in Cherrystone, of course. As David had pointed out time and time again, "Nobody with half a brain would want to live there."

If it was home, you would, she'd thought.

She passed by an emu farm, its sentinel of birds standing along a wire fence line like prehistoric creatures. All turned their heads in unison as her Accord drove by. Emily thought they were ugly, but considered stopping to snap a photo with her cell phone. Jenna would think they were cute. She thought opossums were adorable. Emily turned right up the long dirt driveway, a tuft of grass separating two parallel grooves. The mailbox: CERRINO.

Olga Morris-Cerrino was already waiting out front of the big white house, the chief benefit of a very long driveway. Standing over the sink in the kitchen window, one could see a car coming two minutes before it arrived. There was always time to do a little urgent straightening of the house and a cursory check in the mirror to see if the hair looked all right.

"You made good time," Olga called out, walking toward the car. "Perfect timing. Minestrone sound good?"

Emily shut the car door and extended her hand. "You must be Italian."

Olga ignored the hand, and embraced Emily with a warm hug. "Don't let the last name fool you," she said, with a laugh. "I married into that one. And the minestrone? It's my mother-in-law's recipe. I claim nothing."

"It is so beautiful here," Emily said, looking around at the garden as they walked toward the open front door.

Olga bent down to pick up the cat.

Emily smiled. "That must be Felix."

Olga nodded and the cat purred. "He's probably the only one who knows the real me. I'm not a cook. Not Italian. And until I married Tony, I thought dirt was something disgusting. Now look at me. I can't keep my fingernails clean." She flashed her nails, edged in garden soil. "I never wear gloves. Love the feel of the soil on my hands. You'd laugh if you knew me before I ended up all the way out here. Couldn't keep a houseplant alive."

"My silks even die," Emily said. And they both laughed.

The kitchen was authentic in every way. It wasn't one of those new homes that tried to look old with beat-up butcher blocks and retrofitted stoves from the 1930s. An enormous pine table commanded the entire wall of windows on the south side. Light streamed in, bending and twisting as it flooded a row of colored bottles lined on a shelf that passed through the top third of the windows. It was like a prism, sending shards of color everywhere. A wooden bowl with apples sat in the middle of the table. Not wooden apples out of a Pottery Barn catalog, but the real thing. Above all, the kitchen smelled wonderful.

"Sit, eat," Olga said as she scurried to bring Emily a bowl of the steaming soup. Then she handed her a dish of powdery grated parmesan. "Sprinkle some of that on top. And if I overdid the oregano, shoot me with the gun on your hip" She looked at Emily's gun, revealed on her waistband as she " sat down. "Just kidding."

"Thanks for that, and thanks for seeing me. I'm not too proud to tell you that I'm grasping at straws here, but, well .. She stopped and looked down at her soup.

I read about your daughter after we talked," Olga said. "Let's see if we can't sort out some of this together." She looked over at pile of file folders. "That's Angel's Nest and Dylan Walker. We'll get to that after we eat"

"Dylan Walker?" The name had come from nowhere. "What's he got to do with this?"

Olga's expression flat lined. "I'll get to that" She got up and retrieved a pitcher of ice tea from the counter and set it on the table. Emily shook her head when Olga indicated if she wanted some. "But since I'm retired, I don't ever discuss politics or work at the table. Let's eat. Now tell me all about your daughter. Did you bring pictures?"