No Broken Beast Page 5

  It hadn’t.

  But because I’d eaten the first one, she brought me one every time she came to the house after that, and I took them and squirreled them away so the monster lady wouldn’t get angry.

  Back then, I’d thought if someone was bad, they were actually monsters who pretended to be humans to fool the people around them.

  I know better now.

  Humans are the monsters. Always.

  They don’t care about fooling anyone, just as long as they get what they want.

  And I’m afraid to know what Fuchsia Delaney wants now. The last time I saw her in Heart’s Edge was right before my entire life was ripped out from under me.

  “You,” I hiss, taking a step back, putting more distance between us. “What do you want? Did Galentron send you here?”

  “Ah—hush, hush.” She clucks her tongue, shaking her head, her eyes glittering. “We don’t say that name around these parts. Ears everywhere, you know.” Her lips purse, her chin lifting. “I suppose you haven’t heard the news, ever since you missed the latest mess. I’m more of a free agent these days.”

  I narrow my eyes. “So what? They used you up and threw you away, too? Big surprise.”

  “More like a voluntary separation. My choice. And you should be glad I chose, little Miss Clarissa.” She cocks her head, watching me like a snake that sees a particularly small, juicy mouse waiting to be devoured. “Because I think I can help you find your sister.”

  My heart drums faster.

  “The fact that you know my sister’s missing tells me not to trust you,” I bite off, clutching the stapler tighter. Maybe I can throw it at her. My other hand creeps to my pocket, and my phone. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the cops on you right now.”

  “Because that bumbling Mayberry reject wouldn’t know what to do with me. Do you honestly think Wentworth Langley knows the truth about this town?” God, she’s so smug I want to hate her even more, but I don’t know if that’s possible. “If you tried to explain what you’re so upset about, you’ll just sound like the stress and fear are getting to you. Poor, delusional Clarissa having a hysterical fit. I’m just passing through, after all. A tourist. And you went all crazy and threatened to bludgeon a poor little lady with a stapler.”

  She flutters her lashes with mock innocence, and I sigh, closing my eyes.

  Yep, I remember her, all right.

  If there’s one thing you find out fast about Fuchsia Delaney, it’s how insufferable she can be.

  Always ten words where two will do, and that smarmy attitude that makes everything she says sound like lilting, condescending mockery.

  “Just get out,” I mutter. “I can’t deal with you right now. Not with everything else.”

  “Aw, and here I thought you’d be happy to see me,” she taunts. “Or would you rather see someone else? I’m sure your dashing beau has just been dying for a reunion. Or is that just dying, period?”

  “Stop,” I force out raggedly. “Just stop. Leo’s not dead.”

  “Would you even know if he was? Considering the way you packed up and abandoned town, well...”

  “I’d know, bitch. Trust me.”

  I’d feel it deep down in my heart.

  Like one day there’d be some light inside me snuffed out, left in constant darkness.

  But I can’t let this woman get to me. That’s what Fuchsia Delaney does best.

  Her weapons are her words, and she uses them to peel people open and leave them vulnerable to her wicked ways.

  Not today.

  Not when I have a son to think of, and I won’t let her anywhere near him. She may claim to not be with Galentron anymore, but it doesn’t matter.

  Everything they touch turns to darkness, and if she’s here, then she must be connected somehow.

  I won’t let her claim Zach with her black and terrible touch.

  I won’t let her taint him.

  And I clench my jaw, glaring at her, hefting the stapler in what’s probably a useless threat. “I told you before to get out,” I say. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Just go to hell, Delaney.”

  “Been there, done that.” The way Fuchsia looks at me is odd, almost bitter, before she tosses her head with a disdainful sniff and turns to strut out. “But whether you realize it or not, I’m trying to get us both out.”

  Then she’s gone.

  Gone, and when I break my frozen stillness and bolt out after her, it’s too late.

  She’s nowhere in sight. But I’m not alone, either.

  There’s another tall figure in the doorway—so hulkingly large he barely fits in the doorframe, poised stock-still just outside.

  He’s covered from head to toe in black, wrapped up in a thick coat like some desert nomad, hood drawn up, a scarf or mask drawn over his mouth and nose.

  But I can see his eyes.

  They’re shaded beneath the hood, just barely catching enough light for a single tiny amethyst spark to glimmer in the shadows.

  My heart nearly bursts. I start running forward, reaching out a hand, a name on my lips, but my voice dries up and I can only let out an anguished cry.

  He says nothing.

  I clutch my hand to my chest, curling forward, closing my eyes, trying to keep my heart from breaking out through my rib cage. Is this even real?

  I look away for a split second.

  But when I open my eyes again, there’s no one there.

  And when I race out into the parking lot, crunching over glass and ripping through crime scene tape, a desperate name on my lips...

  There’s nothing.

  Nothing but the hollow ache inside me, a jolt of recognition and longing and hurt so deep I wonder if I’m actually losing my mind.

  Going crazy, wanting to see him so bad I just imagined him, standing there looking at me with his entire soul etched in those deep, dark amethyst eyes.

  * * *

  I hurt so much by the time I finish my business in town and head back.

  I can’t stop thinking about him. And I still can’t forget that bitter parting look Fuchsia gave me.

  Even as I pull up outside Charming Inn, I’m dwelling on it. So freaking rattled I had my hands clenched on the wheel the whole drive back.

  Silly, I scold myself. You should know better by now.

  Both Leo and Fuchsia Delaney are nothing but ghosts of the past.

  The first ones I’ve seen in almost a decade. I’ve tried so hard to leave it all behind and start fresh.

  I had to, I remind myself. It wasn’t cowardly fear that sent me running. Not for myself.

  I’d been very pregnant back then.

  No room for anything else on my mind besides getting my unborn baby as far away as possible from the death and rumors swallowing Heart’s Edge.

  Said now-very-born child is nowhere to be found, though, when I pick my way along the thin trail back to the cabin and let myself in.

  His books are all over the sofa, the Discovery Channel blares through the TV’s speakers...

  But I can’t find Zach.

  For the second time in just as many hours, my heart stops.

  Not him too.

  Not him too!

  If someone took my boy the way they kidnapped Deanna, I swear to God I’ll tear Montana apart to get them both back.

  But there’s no good reason to take my son. There’s not.

  I don’t know anything. They can’t use him for leverage against me.

  Then again, they can use him for leverage against Deanna, can’t they?

  “Crud,” I hiss sharply.

  Okay, so I’m overreacting. That’s why I hurl myself out in the hazy afternoon light, taking in breaths of razor-sharp chill autumn air that knife my throat as I cup my hands over my mouth and scream, “Zach!”

  Please. Please just let this be a prank, let me find him playing outside somewhere. Down by the heart-shaped cliff, or exploring the woods.

  Tearing through the trees, I break in
to a run, pulse pounding, crying out his name over and over. “Zach? Zach!”

  There’s no answer. No laughing. No shouting back.

  I don’t hear him anywhere.

  My eyes burn. Terror thickens my blood. Jesus, if I lose him, I’ll–

  “Clarissa?” a familiar, softly cultured voice calls from the main house. “Clarissa Bell, is that you?”

  I know that voice, and this time it’s not one that makes me sick with its familiarity.

  Ms. Wilma Ford. Pretty much the wise old owl around here.

  If anyone knows what to do to help me find my boy, it’s her.

  I go bolting through the trees, tearing toward the main house, ignoring the twigs and bushes scratching at my hands as I shove my way through them. Warren’s grandmother, Ms. Wilma, stands on the back porch between two tall ivory columns, ladylike as always, even if her once-black hair is now much greyer than I remember, almost snowy silver.

  She watches me with a kind of thoughtful calm, her hands folded together, a small smile on her lips.

  “I knew that was you,” she says, watching me break from the trees onto the lawn. “Whatever’s the matter?”

  “Zach,” I pant out. “My son. Have you...have you seen him? I can’t find him anywhere.”

  “Taking in strays is one of my many talents,” she says, her eyes gleaming with gentle warmth and amusement. “Yes, dearie, I think you’re in luck.”

  Luck? I cock my head, just staring, not daring to get my hopes up until she speaks again.

  She beckons toward me, turning to the door. “Come see your darling boy.”

  For a moment, rather than follow her, I sag, dragging a hand over my face, my bones going loose with relief.

  Thank God.

  So maybe Fuchsia was right about one thing in a broken clock sort of way.

  I really am losing my shit.

  Fear and worry and terrible memories are eating me alive, until I’m nothing but ragged pieces of a woman.

  I straighten up and trail Ms. Wilma into the main house. I’ve not seen much of it besides the front reception desk, but she takes me through carpeted hallways with little warm odds and ends here and there, leading me deeper into the interior...and something I’d have never suspected.

  An open-air atrium, surrounded by shaded colonnades and trees and summer’s last flowers. So much bright sunlight cascades down, shining off the jeweled wings of a hummingbird straggler who hasn’t migrated south yet.

  The sun also gleams off my son’s messy hair. He’s curled up on a little white-painted bench, looking happy as a clam with an orange cat half as big as he is weighing down his lap.

  Oh my God.

  If I wasn’t so relieved, I’d scream.

  “Zach!” I start forward, my voice rising, then dropping as I just...deflate.

  I can’t be angry. I just can’t. He’s everything that’s precious in this world, and as he looks up at me, blinking quizzically, I drop down to settle in on the bench next to him. Looking down, I rest my hand on the top of his head, while he tries to wrestle away, petting the enormous cat. “Why didn’t you stay in the cabin like I told you?”

  He flushes. At least he has the grace to look chagrined.

  But he always does look genuinely sorry after he’s gotten himself in over his head. He’s a good kid.

  One more way he takes after his father, too.

  “Sorry, Mom,” he whispers. “It was just kinda creepy out there by myself, and the cat came stumbling up on our porch. He looked lost.”

  “Old Mozart’s never really lost,” Ms. Wilma says kindly, leaning over the back of the chair and scratching behind the purring tabby’s ears. “He’s just looking for someone new to spoil him, and today this lucky boy found your Zachary.”

  I offer her a faint, grateful smile.

  This could’ve gone down a lot worse. I’m lucky kind old Ms. Wilma truly doesn’t mind keeping an eye on my son.

  But that brings up another dilemma.

  I don’t have real childcare here. I shouldn’t be leaving a seven-year-old alone for anything, even if it’s just a brief run into town. I asked Haley to keep an eye on him while I was gone, but I’m sure she had to step out if someone needed something in one of the other units.

  Heck, I know there’s more truth to those old rumors about abducted children than almost anybody.

  Even though I’ve raised Zach alone, I’ve done my best to make sure he’s not a latchkey kid. There’s always someone close by to watch over him when I’m working, keeping him entertained, engaging his sharp little mind.

  He’s the reason I worked so hard to make Sweeter Things successful.

  All so I could afford to give him the good life. A happy life. A life any mother would want to deliver.

  A safe life, which is more than I can say my father ever gave me.

  He tried to justify all the horrible things he did, the people he hurt, the crimes, swearing it was all for me and Deanna.

  But that’s the thing when people turn into monsters.

  Their excuses get flimsier.

  He’d shown who he really was the night he struck me across the face with a priceless Ming vase, then wrapped his arms around my throat and tried to squeeze the life out of me.

  Sighing, I catch my fingers drifting to the scar on my cheek. It’s a habit whenever I let myself sink into the past, but the moment I feel the sensation of ridged scar tissue, I stop myself.

  Ms. Wilma’s still watching me, her eyes kind but knowing.

  I can’t stand this.

  Can’t stand being here, with these people who see a tragic past every time they look at me.

  So I take a deep breath, standing and offering Zach my hand. “This big ol’ kitty will be around later, I’m sure. Want to come with me for some ice cream and a few errands, kiddo? And then we’ll figure out what to do about that spooky cabin.”

  Zach perks at hearing 'ice cream,' rubbing his eyes, trying and failing to hide his smile.

  I know my boy. The easiest way to keep him out of trouble is through his stomach.

  “Yeah, okay.” He gently sets Mozart aside with one last scratch, and slips his hand into mine. “Huckleberry swirl, Mom?”

  “If they’ve got it.” I toss my head with a tired smile. “C’mon.”

  He slides off the bench and trails in my wake happily.

  As I pass Ms. Wilma, though, I mouth her a huge thank you.

  She just smiles, her eyes glittering. Thank God Almighty there’s still somebody here who, even if she knows me, even if she brings up memories like everyone else...I can trust her not to judge.

  Out in the bright sunlight, I pile Zach into the car, make sure his seat belt fastens, and try to calculate how fast I can get him in and out with ice cream. I’ve got a meeting at the local café and bakery, The Nest.

  As much as I hate being practical right now, I need to keep myself busy or I might do something drastic. Something that could screw up the ongoing investigation worse than my little stumble this morning, and if I get in the cops’ way, it might slow down bringing Deedee home.

  So I’m focusing on Zach right now, and on business, keeping Sweeter Things viable here. It’s what Deanna would want.

  I just hope The Nest’s owner, Felicity Randall, will give me a few display cases for our candy. It’ll be a win-win. They won’t have to spend inventory and time preparing treats for their coffee. I know even after two days in town the café is struggling and understaffed.

  And I get to keep cash flow and branding going, and maybe attract a few new customers who’ll come by the reopened shop to satisfy their sweet tooth once everything’s settled again.

  Lucky for me, Zach doesn’t mind a quick dip in and out of the ice cream shop. They’ve got his huckleberry swirl, and he happily licks away at a waffle cone topped with a purple lump as I drive to my meeting.

  I find him a chair with a window view and leave him with a stack of his Animorphs books—he’s already reading well above his g
rade level—and his ice cream with a warning that’s half plea to behave, stay put, and I’ll be right back.

  “Welcome back to town, Ms. Bell.” Felicity’s waiting behind the counter, all warm smiles and grasping hands. She’s younger than me, not by much, but young enough that she wasn’t in the thick of the mess eight years ago. Young enough that the rumors and scandal the adults were talking about probably went over her head.

  It makes it easier for me to relax, to breathe, as she squeezes my hands and welcomes me back to town.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not staying.

  We talk over cappuccinos, me perched at the coffee bar while she cleans an espresso machine.

  I get it, really—it’s the same thing I’d do.

  The work never ends when you’re a small business owner, and even if I hate the circumstances, it’s still nice to support another woman running her own shop.

  And I think we’ve come to a good deal by the time I’ve finished my drink.

  It’s something.

  Something positive to focus on in the middle of this mess.

  “Awesome. I’ll have the first batch over by next week.” I shake her hand with a warm smile, sliding off the stool, and turn to collect my huckleberry-sticky son.

  Only to find him gone again.

  Ughhh.

  Seriously. I’m about to put him on a leash, collar and bell included.

  Thankfully, this time he’s still in my line of sight, and my freak-out lasts approximately half a second.

  He’s outside, talking to a strange blonde woman in the parking lot—but I don’t think I have to worry about this one. She’s young and slim with a bright, sweet smile and soft blue eyes, and she’s leaning down, talking to him on his level.

  She’s also practically glowing in this way that tells me she’s pregnant, even if she’s not quite showing yet. Sometimes you can just tell.

  Just like you can tell people who are good with kids. Who get kids. And I know this lady wouldn’t harm a hair on Zach’s little head.

  Still, I glance over my shoulder at Felicity. “Who’s that? She’s not from around here?”

  “Technically, she is by proxy.” Felicity laughs, wiping her hands on a rag, and I get why that girl seems familiar when Felicity says, “That’s my cousin, Ember. She came out here to take a job at the vet practice and ended up marrying our local Instagram hottie, Doc.”