“Well, I guess you both are living in your own little prison now, aren’t you? Tell me, how does it feel?”
“I’m very, very sorry, Eloise.”
“Yeah, you already said that. But then words don’t cost anybody anything, do they? What else did this FBI lady say? Why do they want to find me if I didn’t kill Joe?”
“I think they want to help you. You were kidnapped, after all. And I looked that up after they left. The FBI deals with kidnappings.”
“All these years later?”
“It’s a cold case, that’s what they call it on TV. Maybe you should go and see them.”
Cain eyed her closely, her suspicions running high. She wasn’t ready to believe any of this, particularly coming from this woman. “Are you sure they don’t want to arrest me for Joe’s murder?”
“Well, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? That’s not good enough.”
“I don’t know any more than that.”
Which means I’m still screwed.
The weight of the world seemed to reappear on Cain’s broad shoulders.
“What about Desiree?”
“What about her?”
“Give me the phone number. I want to call her.”
“But why?”
“I don’t think you have any right to ask that. Just give me the damn number.” Cain rose and looked down at the woman.
Wanda stared back up, obviously frightened.
“It’s good to be scared, Wanda, when you’re around me. I’m not normal. No one would be normal after what happened to me. Give me the number. Now! Or I won’t be responsible for what I do to you or the prick in the wheelchair.”
“Are you going to try to find Desiree? And hurt her?”
“That’s my business. You don’t have a say in that, not now. Not ever.”
Wanda rose, slipped an address book out of a drawer on a side table, and tore out a page. “Here, just take it. I never want to talk to that woman again.”
Cain took the paper. “Does Desiree know about the FBI visiting you?”
Wanda nodded. “I called her.”
“Why, to warn her?”
“Something like that.”
“Blood really is thicker than water.”
“Desiree is not a blood relative of mine,” said Wanda petulantly.
“Really? Well, pardon me for being confused on that shit.”
“Can you... can you forgive us?” asked Wanda.
Cain shook her head. “The only reason I’m not going to hurt you both is because you’re not worth the trouble.” She held up the paper. “But if this number is not Desiree’s, then I’m coming back. And everything that bitch did to me, I’m going to do to you. And I haven’t forgotten a single thing. Trust me.”
After she left, Wanda collapsed back into her chair, sobbing.
On the way to her car Cain stopped and launched a powerful side kick against the lamppost next to the sidewalk, sending it crashing to the ground. Then she climbed into her car and looked down at the paper with the number on it.
She had never been this close to Desiree before. And she knew she had to keep out of the range of the FBI. But now that she had made the decision to do this, there was no turning back. If she was going down, so was Desiree.
Chapter 36
Cain had no intention of calling Desiree. She drove into Huntsville and stopped for something to eat. She also searched on her phone for a way to find the address attached to the number Wanda had given her. She quickly found it, and for a small fee to allow herself premium status, the internet search service she had found spit out the name Dolores Venuti and a physical address in Asheville, North Carolina.
Dolores Venuti must be her new name.
Cain plugged the address into her phone GPS. It was five hours if she didn’t stop.
It was mostly interstate, and the hours went by fast as she drove through the Blue Ridge Mountains. The peak fall colors had passed and many trees had dropped their leaves, but it was still an inspiring sight. If Cain hadn’t been so oblivious to her surroundings.
She listened to the radio for any additional mention of “Becky from Georgia,” but there was none. About an hour out she stopped once to pee at a rest stop, then sat outside at a picnic table and drank down a bottle of G2 and ate a banana she’d bought. She stretched out some kinks in her back and legs before she got back into the car.
Before she drove off she opened the glove box and eyed the Glock in there. She’d had the gun for three years. She’d only fired it at shooting ranges. She pondered whether she could actually fire a round into Desiree’s head.
She came away unsure, but that was progress, only Cain didn’t know what kind.
The woman had tortured her for all those years, piling one despicable act on top of another. And Joe had done little to stop her, so she had no reason to feel any sorrow at his death. Yet she had been relieved to know that she hadn’t killed the man, after all these years of thinking she had. But the fact that his true killer and her years-long torturer, Desiree, had gotten away scot-free was just too much to take.
What she was doing might cost her whatever life she had left. But she also knew she could never enjoy another second of living while Desiree breathed air. All those years ago Cain had simply wanted to get away. Now she wanted something more. You could call it payback, revenge — justice, even. She wasn’t sure which one was applicable, if any. But she was sure that, whatever it actually was, she had to get it, or die trying. It was like all the emotional bills pending from that time in her life were now coming due. And she was the debt collector.
Within another hour she pulled into Asheville. The address was a shop. One of those weird-ass occult shops, observed Cain as she drove past and saw the sign.
Figures.
And there was a police van parked in front of Desiree’s place. The front door of the occult shop opened and two people dressed in blue scrubs and booties came out carrying what looked to be trash bags, while a police officer stood guard at the front door, his fingers curled around his gun belt. The scrubs opened the rear doors of the van and put the bags in the back.
She pulled down the road and parked a block away. Then she got out and walked back toward the shop. A woman came out of another storefront about four doors down. She was in her fifties, heavyset and with gray hair tied back in a bun. She had on jeans and a long green apron with the name “Organic Alley” stenciled on the front. It matched the sign over her shop.
Cain walked up to her and said, “What’s going on there?” She indicated the occult shop.
The woman looked up at her. “Dolores Venuti was arrested, at least that’s what I heard.”
“Dolores? Really?”
“Yes. She owns that shop.”
“What was she arrested for?”
“I walked over there earlier and asked some questions. They really wouldn’t tell me anything, but I hung around and I heard some of the policemen talking.”
“What did they say?”
“And who are you and what’s your interest?” said the woman, her look now suspicious.
“I’ll tell you. I drove all the way up here from Alabama because Dolores offered me a job in her shop. I’ve done occult retail before. I’m sort of into it.”
The woman looked over her appearance and said, “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”
“So I quit my job and came here. And now it looks like I’m SOL. So, that’s my interest.”
The woman clucked in sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing. But it might turn out to be a good thing for you because I heard the police say that they found drugs in her shop. You don’t want to be caught up in all that. And they mentioned something about a young girl that Dolores had done something to. I even heard the word ‘kidnapping.’ I mean, you think you know people. But she always gave me the creeps, to tell you the truth. And between you and me, she struck me as being a little bit mean.”