Say Goodbye Read online

  Bingo. The timelines matched. Pastor’s wife and kids had disappeared five years after DJ had arrived in Eden, according to Amos. Tom smiled at the couple, hoping to put them at ease, because Croft had them on high alert. “What were their names?”

  Joni smiled back tentatively. “Will and Tracy Holly.”

  “Nice kids,” Merle added, “but too quiet. Always scared, always looking over their shoulders. Margo wouldn’t leave the house for years. I remember Mom going to meetings with the kids’ teachers at the school. Mom and Dad were like the kids’ grandparents. Joni and I weren’t blessed, so . . .” He shrugged self-consciously.

  “His folks adopted the kids,” Joni finished. “Not officially, of course.”

  “And, as time passed, Mom and Dad lost hope that DJ would come home,” Merle said sadly.

  “I’m sure the twins were a comfort to them,” Tom said. “How long did they live there?”

  “Until Tracy graduated from college,” Joni answered. “Will left home when he was eighteen. Mom and Dad got postcards from him for a few years.”

  Merle sighed. “Until he killed himself.”

  Oh. Shit. “How terrible,” Tom murmured. “Your parents must have been devastated.”

  Joni nodded unhappily. “They were. We all were. Margo . . . she was . . . well, I’m glad she still had Tracy. That girl held her together until Margo met her new husband.”

  “She married again?” Tom asked, hoping he sounded casual.

  Merle nodded. “She did. A good guy this time. An architect. Dad met him and approved.”

  “Do you still see them?” Croft asked, also casually.

  Joni shook her head. “No. Margo left her life here behind, and I can’t blame her. So many sad memories in that house, what with Will’s suicide and all. Last I heard, she lived in Modesto. We lost touch with Tracy, too, but Merle’s mom gets a postcard from her occasionally. Never from the same place, though, so I don’t know where she ended up.”

  “And your father?” Croft asked.

  “He died ten years ago,” Merle said gruffly. “He was never the same after Will’s suicide.” He cleared his throat. “But enough talk of sad times. What else can we help you with?”

  “Did your parents continue to rent the house after Margo moved away?” Croft asked.

  “They did,” Merle confirmed. “It was nearly always occupied, although it’s been sitting empty for the past few months. We’re probably going to sell it. Mom’s nursing home is pretty expensive.” He made a face. “I should probably sell the car, too.”

  “No,” Joni said quickly. “You need to keep that car for yourself. As a memory of your dad.”

  “I guess we’ll have to see,” Merle said. “Will you need the car, Agent Hunter?”

  Tom turned to Croft. “I don’t know. Will we?”

  “For a little while, yes,” Croft replied. “It might have been used in the commission of a crime, so we’ll want our forensics team to examine it.”

  Merle’s mouth dropped open. “A crime? What kind of crime? Does this involve DJ? Is that why you’re here?”

  Croft threw a quick glance at Tom before turning back to the couple. “We don’t know if DJ is connected to the car, but we do have evidence that he’s involved in our investigation.”

  Joni gasped softly. “So he is alive?”

  “We believe so,” Croft said. “If he should come to see you, please contact us. Don’t invite him into your home.”

  “He’s turned out like his father, then,” Merle said heavily. “Has he been in prison, too?”

  “We don’t know,” Croft said kindly. “But he is dangerous. He might not bother you, but if he does, please let us know.”

  “We will,” Merle said, his voice faltering. “This . . . is not what I expected.”

  Tom believed him and it seemed that Croft did, too. “Can we see the car?” he asked.

  Merle rose unsteadily, Joni at his side. “Of course. It’s this way.”

  Tom and Croft followed the couple to the back of the house, passing along a wall covered in framed photos. Tom paused at one that caught his eye—two photos side by side, both of small boys about four years old, both blond, nearly identical in appearance. But one was in color while the other was black-and-white and appeared much older.

  “That’s Waylon as a baby,” Joni said when she realized what he was staring at. “Waylon and DJ at the same age. There’s a strong resemblance, isn’t there?”

  “There really is.” Tom met Joni’s gaze. “May I snap a photo of these pictures?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Joni stepped back, allowing Tom to take the photo.

  “Thank you.” Tom scanned the wall. There were several photos featuring an older couple—Merle’s parents, he figured. In one of the photos, Merle and his father stood in front of the classic Camaro, wearing matching grins. There was another photo with the older couple and DJ, dressed for church. But there was no sign of Pastor’s wife and children. “No photos of Margo and the twins?”

  “Mom has a few at the nursing home,” Merle said. “The rest are in storage. Why?”

  Tom smiled at him. “Just curious. I apologize if I overstepped.”

  “No worries.” Merle jerked his head in the direction they’d been walking. “Car’s this way.”

  Tom whistled softly when Merle opened the door to the garage. “Sweet.” It really was. Even from several feet away, it was obvious that the car had been well taken care of.

  Tom wondered where Ephraim had kept the car all this time. They might never know now.

  “Your forensics guys won’t hurt her?” Merle asked.

  “They’ll take good care of her,” Croft assured him. “We’ll just wait out in our vehicle for the flatbed truck to arrive. Can I have the keys?”

  Merle handed them over reluctantly and Tom and Croft returned to the SUV, where Croft called for a truck while Tom called San Francisco PD about the Camaro.

  A half hour later, a truck was on its way and Tom had confirmed that the Camaro had only been cursorily searched by SFPD. “Not sure if the car will yield anything new, but it can’t hurt to check,” he told Croft.

  “I agree.” She glanced up at the Belmonts’ house. “I believed them.”

  “I did, too.”

  “Why did you ask for the photo?”

  Tom shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure. Maybe just to fill in some gaps on my case wall.” He’d been collecting documents and photos for the past month, keeping them organized both on the wall of his office at work and at his home office. “Maybe I’m just curious.”

  “Curiosity isn’t a bad thing,” Croft said. “So we know Pastor’s wife is still alive. Not sure what that gets us, if anything. We also can be fairly certain that DJ hasn’t contacted his aunt and uncle. So we can cross them off our list and refocus on trying to track him through his connection with the Chicos and with the rehab center where Pastor is. Sound like a plan?”

  Tom nodded, aware that she was kindly telling him to stop chasing after Eden’s past. “Sure.”

  She gave him an understanding smile. “It’s okay, Tom. We’ll likely chase down a ton of leads before we find the right one. It’s the nature of the business.”

  Tom managed to smile back. “Thanks. I’ll dig into the dark web when we get back. If DJ is selling drugs for the Chicos, there should be some record somewhere.”

  “That’s good thinking. And I’m going to reread your Eden file while we wait for the truck.”

  Leaving Tom to check his phone for any messages from Liza. There were none. He sent her a text, asking if she was okay, but got no answer.

  I need to fix this. But if she shut him out, he wasn’t sure how.

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MAY 25, 5:15 P.M.

  DJ’s eye twitched as he was beeped into the
rehab center through the back door. He was still shaking an hour later.

  Kowalski had lured him into a trap. The package that DJ was supposed to pick up had been a trap. His last-minute decision to take Smythe’s Lexus might have saved his life. His gut hadn’t liked the setup—the warehouse in Stockton had been too quiet. He’d been right.

  He’d pulled into the loading area of the next warehouse and looked through his scope. And there had been Kowalski, waiting with two of his biggest thugs. His finger had itched on the trigger, but he hadn’t fired a shot. If DJ had fired, he would have been made, and likely wouldn’t have been able to escape.

  So now he was sneaking into Sunnyside Oaks through the employees’ entrance, wearing a cheap goddamn wig that he’d been forced to buy at a party store, because his drug-dealing boss wanted to kill him because his fucking face was all over the fucking Internet.

  A nurse met him at the door, a surgical mask in her hand. “You’re wanted by cops in several jurisdictions and by the FBI. I think covering your face may be in your best interest, since that wig won’t fool anyone, and not everyone here is paid to look the other way.”

  DJ rolled his eyes, but he took off the wig and put on the mask. Dammit. “How is my father doing?” he asked as she led him down a hallway where the stainless-steel wall tiles gleamed so brightly he was tempted to put on his sunglasses.

  “He’s awake and talking.”

  Alarm skittered down DJ’s spine as he imagined all the things Pastor might say if he was high on painkillers. All the truths he might speak that both DJ and Pastor would prefer he keep quiet.

  “What’s he saying?” he asked casually, but the nurse wasn’t fooled.

  “Nothing like that, sir. You’re not alone in your worry, though. We keep all recovering patients who are still on painkillers in their own rooms with specialized personnel who are trained and vetted. They won’t share anything they hear.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or they’re terminated,” she replied without a heartbeat of hesitation.

  DJ wasn’t sure if that meant fired or killed, but he didn’t really care if it was the latter. “I see. Thank you for letting me know. What’s he talking about?”

  “His children mostly.” A sad note entered her tone. “The ones who died. That’s not uncommon, though. Painkillers can fog the patient’s brain and make old memories resurface.”

  DJ remembered Pastor’s twins. They’d been a few years older than him and real assholes. They’d been the prince and princess of the community and had never let anyone forget it. They’d also believed they were invincible and ignored the warnings to stay out of the forest. Their mother had gone hiking with them and nobody had seen any of them alive again.

  It might have been the only case where Edenites truly had been killed by wolves.

  Pastor had disappeared for two weeks, searching and then mourning. When Pastor had returned, he’d immediately adopted DJ and declared him his new heir.

  Fat lot of good it’s done me.

  “He’s a real sweetheart,” the nurse continued. “All of his nurses love him already.”

  A sweetheart? Pastor? “I’m glad,” DJ managed, and she smiled.

  “They’re often nicer here than they are at home. Don’t take it personally.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, for which DJ was grateful. He was still trying to wrap his mind around Pastor being a “sweetheart.” He was loved by his congregation, but that was more of an awed worship. Not affection.

  DJ felt no affection for the old bastard. Especially after the stunt he’d pulled that morning with the access code. He wondered if Coleen loved Pastor. She might. She’d been sufficiently brainwashed over thirty years, despite knowing the deep, dark truth.

  He was momentarily stunned when the nurse showed him into Pastor’s room, which wasn’t a room at all. It was a suite with several rooms—a master bedroom with an en suite bath, a second bedroom also with an en suite, a third bathroom, a living room, a kitchen, and a dining room.

  Holy fucking shit. “How much does this run us a day?”

  “It’s all part of the prepaid package,” the nurse said, not answering his question. “Your father is in the master bedroom, through there. If he’s asleep, let him sleep. Your mother is sleeping in the other bedroom.”

  She is not my mother. But DJ smiled tightly. “That’s good. She must have been tired.”

  “She was, poor thing. The bedrooms are soundproofed, so if you want to watch TV out here, you won’t disturb them. His private nurse will stay in there with him. Her name is Nurse Gaynor and she’s one of our best. She’s been with us for almost ten years. I’m Nurse Innes, the charge nurse, by the way. Contact me with any concerns. Speed dial one on the house phone goes right to my cell.” She held up a smartphone. “Cell coverage is very good here and there is Wi-Fi. Password is changed daily. Your father’s nurse will have it for you. Nurse Gaynor just came on shift, so she’s probably checking his vitals. I’ll leave you to your visit. Call me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll escort you out.”

  As soon as she was gone, he took off the wig and the mask, wondering if last night’s surgeon did plastic surgery. He might need it when this was over and he skipped the country with his fifty million.

  He turned off all the lights in the living room and opened Coleen’s bedroom door to ensure that she was really asleep and not going to spy on him. She was under the covers, visible by the light from the bathroom that she’d left burning. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. If she was awake, she was good at faking it.

  She wore a simple nightgown, the sleeping uniform of all Eden women. The neckline wasn’t high like a turtleneck, but it exposed nothing below the hollow of the throat. Where her locket lay, glinting in the dim light. Even Coleen had to wear a locket. No discussions. No exceptions.

  Satisfied that she slept, he closed her door and approached the master bedroom, remaining quiet. He really didn’t care if he woke Pastor, because the old man was a douchey motherfucker. He was more concerned with hearing what Pastor was saying in his nurse’s presence, and whether he was aware.

  Nurse Innes might be convinced that their staff was trustworthy, but DJ was not. The only person he could trust was himself. Everyone else had an agenda that conflicted with his—getting the money and living in luxury on a tropical island. Even Coleen had an agenda, but DJ hadn’t figured that out yet. Maybe it was just to remain in power at Pastor’s side. If he died, she’d become the bottom-rung wife of another man in Eden and it would suck to be her.

  He opened Pastor’s door a mere crack, not wanting to alert the old man.

  What the hell? He froze, staring as the nurse in Pastor’s room rocked back on her heels, having been standing on her toes to reach a lampshade.

  She then pulled something from her pocket and slipped it under the nightstand lamp. The light was dim, and DJ couldn’t see exactly what she’d deposited there, but he had a fair idea.

  She was bugging the room. What the actual fuck?

  His mind raced, analyzing all the possible responses. He decided on pretending he hadn’t seen it. He wanted to find out if this was a plot by the facility’s owners to gather incriminating information that they could use for future blackmail.

  Or . . . it could be that someone else was pulling the nurse’s strings. Kowalski was the top contender, considering the man wanted him dead. And since he’d recommended the doctor. He was the only one who knew for sure where they were.

  The other option was the Feds. That was least likely, though, because it made no sense that either Kowalski or the facility’s owners would be giving the Feds information.

  So . . . probably Kowalski. Fucking Kowalski.

  DJ closed the door and took a step back, giving the nurse a minute to resettle herself wherever she’d been sitting or to do whatever she’d be pretending to do when h
e knocked.

  He turned on the lights, then knocked lightly on the bedroom door, opening the door a fraction. “Is he asleep?” he whispered.

  The nurse startled, whipping around to face him, and even in the dim light he could see her face flush with color. “Yes,” she whispered back. “But you’re welcome to sit with him.”

  DJ entered, shutting the door behind him. The master bedroom was elegant. Pastor probably hadn’t slept anywhere so nice since the last time he’d left Eden and stayed in a hotel. That had been a decade at least.

  He took the chair next to the one in which she’d been sitting and waited for her to follow. “Has he been eating?”

  “He had some chicken broth and applesauce. Tomorrow we’ll give him food that’s more solid, and we’ll work him up to his favorites. Do you know what food he likes?”

  “He eats a lot of lamb.” Pastor hated lamb. “Also he loves tomatoes.” Pastor got hives when he ate tomatoes. “And chocolate, of course. Everyone loves chocolate.” Chocolate gave Pastor heartburn. Of course, the old man would never admit to having a physical weakness. He felt that admitting a weakness lessened his status as a pseudo-deity.

  DJ had brought him chocolate at least once a month during the seventeen years since he’d taken over as the community’s buyer, feigning ignorance of Pastor’s plight. The second to the last time they’d moved, DJ had found a pile of chocolate in one of Pastor’s desk drawers, much of it white with age.

  “Chocolate gives me gas,” Pastor whispered. The raspy admission made DJ want to smile, but he bit it back.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” DJ asked, dragging his chair to sit closer to Pastor’s bedside.

  “You’re a vicious little cunt,” Pastor wheezed. “You knew. You gave it to me on purpose.”

  Damn straight.

  “That’s why you’re not getting the access codes,” Pastor added.

  Motherfucker.

  “Aw, Dad,” DJ said with mock affection. He wasn’t sure if he was hamming it up for the nurse or for the bug. “You know that’s not true. I’m sorry. You know I would never have caused you pain on purpose.”