“I’ve seen some seriously twisted shit,” Tanner muttered, “but this beats it all.”
It did rank right up there, Reed thought, taking in the gruesome display. What should have been a beautiful child’s toy had been violated in a very ugly way. Strung up like a sacrificial lamb, arms and legs stretched wide and fastened with cord to the foliage wire. Its body had been sliced open and smeared with what appeared to be blood. Its eyes were wide open; the mouth had been violently punctured to form a hideous gaping hole.
Tanner coughed, clearly struggling to steady herself. “A response to Baby Doe?”
Reed nodded. “Some bored kids thinking they were being funny. Maybe.”
He moved his gaze slowly over the area. The doll had been strung up in easy view from the tractor paths that ran alongside the vineyard. The spot was located within eyeshot of the B &B and the main road.
The road wasn’t highly traveled, but it wasn’t remote. Placing the doll here would have presented problems for the perps. They had to have done it at night and been especially quiet.
“They didn’t hide it, that’s for sure.” Reed squatted in front of the find.
Tanner joined him. “Whoever left this wanted it found.”
“That’d be my bet. But why?”
“To get a reaction, of course.”
Baby Doe number two. The press could have a field day with that. Uneasiness settled in the pit of his gut. He looked at Tanner. “Think it was a sick joke?”
“Normally that’d be my guess.”
“But?”
“But this isn’t a doll somebody picked up at Walmart. “It’s an Ashton Drake collectible. They go for a bill and a half.”
“A hundred and fifty dollars? For a doll?”
“Yup.”
He frowned. “And how do you know so much about collectible dolls?”
“My sister’s kid. She’s gaga over ’em and there’s nothing my sister won’t spend on her. She’s spoiled her rotten. And I do mean rotten.”
“How old’s your niece? Maybe she’s our prankster?”
“Eight. Give her a few years.”
“Wow,” he murmured, expression deadpan, “such a doting aunt.”
“That’s what my sister says.” Tanner motioned to the desecrated doll. “My point is, that’s a lot of money for a doll you’re going to destroy in a prank.”
“Yet using this doll is what made it so effective.”
“Which means our pranksters thought it out.”
“Maybe. Or they’re selfish brats who don’t give a crap about how much their parents spent on something. Just plucked it off one of their shelves.”
“Which would mean a girl’s involved.” He retrieved a glove from his coat pocket, fitted it on and carefully examined the bloodied polyfill spilling out. “How about it, Tanner. Is it blood?”
“It’s not ketchup or paint, that’s for damn certain. But it could be theatrical. There are home recipes that look pretty authentic.”
“Let’s photograph and bag it. Find out if it’s blood.”
“And if it is, is it human?”
“Right,” he said, disgusted. “When kids pull these stunts, they don’t think about the manpower it takes to clean them up. I hope this is the work of some stupid kid so I get a chance to scare the shit out of him.”
“Hey.” Tanner wagged her finger at him. “Stop with the sexism. A female could be behind this, you know. Equal opportunity stupid fucks.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
San Francisco, California
Monday, March 1
2:20 P.M.
Alex sat in her mother’s living room, what was left of her mother’s work set up around her. Ten days had passed since her trip to Sonoma. In that time she had taken care of her mother’s remains. The arrangements had been exhausting, even though they had been relatively minor. Her mother had wanted to be cremated and because she’d had few friends, Alex hadn’t seen a need for a memorial service. She had contacted the Chronicle with obituary information, picked out an urn, and worked on processing the fact that her mother was gone.
That wasn’t the only fact she had been processing. And sadly, it wasn’t the most disturbing. What kept her up at night was a lifetime of lies and secrets.
“Talk to me, Alex.” Tim sat across from her, expression concerned. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t buy it, obviously. “What about finances?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said again. “Mom didn’t have any life insurance, but she was debt-free. She owned the house and her car outright. If I have to I’ll sell the house.”
She may want to, she thought, moving her gaze over the room. So many bad memories.
She motioned to the paintings. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Even unfinished.”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s good you saved them.”
“Yes. Good.” She frowned and brought a hand to her temple, massaged at the tension there. “I can’t stop thinking about her other life. In Sonoma, before Dylan disappeared. She was happy, Tim. Everyone I met said so. You saw the pictures, she looked like a different person.”
“Tragedy changes people,” he said softly, mimicking what he’d said after she’d shared everything she’d learned with him.
It wasn’t enough, she thought. Not nearly.
“I want to know who she was, Tim. I need to know.”
“You need to move on, love.”
She met his gaze evenly. “Move on to what? I don’t know who I am anymore.”
He leaned forward. “You’re the same person you were the day before your mother died.”
She shook her head. “Think about it. It’s like a piece of a puzzle’s been forced into the wrong spot. The picture that emerged around it is wrong. Warped.”
He stood and crossed to her. Kneeling in front of her, he gathered her hands in his. “You’re grieving. You lost your mother, your only family.”
She stared at him, frowning. What she was experiencing didn’t feel like grief. It felt like betrayal. Anger and uncertainty.
And it felt like a gnawing urge to do something. Right now, sitting still wasn’t an option.
“I quit my job,” she said.
Something like alarm raced into his eyes. “Now’s not the time to make life-changing decisions.”
“How important a life decision was it, Tim? I was a bartender.”
“You have your dissertation to finish. Your Ph.D. to earn. That’s important to you. I know it is.”
She gently eased her hands from his. “It is important. But so is this.”
“What?”
“Finding out who I am.”
“I want us to get back together.”
She stared at him, certain she must have heard him wrong. Certain it wasn’t panic she heard in his voice.
He pressed on. “It’s just grief, I promise you. I’ll love you through this.”
“It’s not, Tim. And you can’t.”
“I can.” He drew her to her feet. “We were good together once. We will be again.”
She shook her head. “Tim, I don’t-”
He tightened his fingers over hers. “I need you, Alex. What will I do without you here?”
It was all about him, she realized. His needs. Same as when they’d been married. That’s why at the first bump in the road, he’d cheated on her.
“What about what’s good for my life?” she asked softly, extricating herself from his grasp. She crossed to one of her mother’s paintings and gazed at swirls and slashes of color.
After a moment, she glanced back at him. “I’m thinking of moving to Sonoma.”
“Sonoma? You can’t be serious.”
“More than thinking about it. I found a house to rent.” He didn’t reply and she went on. “It’ll be a temporary move. Just until I get the answers I need.”
“You may never get those answers, Alex. What then?”
She refused to consider that an option and pressed on. “I’m subletting my apartment to a friend from the bar, furnishings and all. The place I’m thinking of renting is furnished. And Sonoma’s the perfect place to work on my dissertation.”
“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”
“Nope. Sorry.”