Rock Harbor Series - 04 - Abomination Page 3

  Nick scanned it. “The first part is what the cache is called?”

  His dad nodded. “‘Abominations will find you.’”

  Nick read on to the clues. “‘Then Musa cast down his staff and lo! it swallowed up the lies they told.’” He looked up. “Do we know where it’s from?”

  “The Koran.”

  “And he took her tongue.” Nick grimaced. “What leads do we have from the post?”

  “The geeks are on it. Give ’em an hour.”

  “Any ID on the vic?”

  Cyril shook his head. “Not yet. The on-site coroner said she’s got the build of a dancer.” His eyes locked with Nick’s for an extra second.

  Nick rubbed his temples.

  “If it pans out, maybe you could ask Eve—”

  Nick gave a short, bitter laugh. “Eve is steamed that I didn’t show last night. She hasn’t returned my messages.”

  His father’s mouth turned down. “I’m sorry, Son. I know it hurts. You thought about asking Evie for one more try?”

  “No.” Nick narrowed his eyes to warn his father to back off.

  “She loves you, and you love her. Work it out.”

  “Drop it, Dad.”

  “Your mother won’t drop it. Expect her to bring it up on Sunday.”

  “Sunday?”

  Cyril sighed. “Her birthday. I won’t tell her you forgot. She’s been cooking all week.”

  Nick nodded, suppressing a wince. If there was one thing his Greek family loved, it was a chance to have a big family dinner. His mother’s birthday was something none of them was allowed to miss, though he’d sure like to sidestep her interrogation.

  Eve’s face flashed into his mind, but he refocused on the computer screen and pulled his keyboard toward him.

  “Did anyone check out the abomination angle?” he asked his dad.

  “What abomination angle?”

  “The listing.” Nick pointed. “‘Abominations will find you.’”

  “What kind of angle?”

  “Who uses the word anymore? It’s old-fashioned, kind of literary, religious. Might be a clue.”

  Cyril shrugged.

  “I’ll check it out,” Nick said. Intent on the computer screen, he barely noticed his dad close the door behind him. He typed the word abomination into the search box and watched the results appear. The first result took him to Wikipedia. All sorts of references were listed, so he clicked the first entry, the biblical references. Considering the passage came from the Koran, he figured the perp intended some kind of religious significance.

  He scanned down the list of possibilities. Shepherds were an abomination to Egyptians. That didn’t seem obviously relevant. There was an end-times reference that might be a possibility. Maybe the guy thought he was a prophet.

  He stopped at a reference to Proverbs 6:16. The verse encompassed a whole list of things that were an abomination to God. He read them, then read them again. The woman’s tongue was missing. “A lying tongue,” he said.

  Realizing he was talking to himself, he hit the print button. It was too soon to jump to conclusions, but he could keep the list for reference. His phone rang. He picked up.

  “Andreakos.”

  “We got a name on the geocaching Web site post, Captain. Guy goes by Gideon.”

  STATE FOREST FRONTED THE COMPLEX ON THE NORTH, MAKING IT easy to forget that the city was only an hour away. Gideon rolled the van through the gate under a sign that read “Mount Sinai,” then parked in front of the meetinghouse. The enclave of twenty or so cabins and tents cluttered the clearing around it.

  The white-board structure had once been a Methodist church and still turned blind stained-glass windows toward the road. Gideon nodded to several members as he strode up the steps. Inside, the wooden planks of the church resounded under his heels. He walked tall, knowing those in attendance whispered about him in a respectful tone.

  The church held about forty people. Moses Bechtol, the group leader, rubbed his hands together as he approached the podium. The place quieted. “We’re honored to have our special guest today. Just as Gideon judged the children of Israel and led them into the right worship of God, so our man Gideon has much spiritual wisdom for us today.” He clapped, and the rest of the group joined in.

  Gideon walked to the podium. “Archimedes said, ‘Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum strong enough, and single-handedly I will move the world.’ We have that lever and fulcrum.”

  “Preach it, brother,” one of the young men on the front row murmured.

  The audience nodded, ready to accept his message. They were worthy vessels. Bechtol had prepared them well. “Most of you are here because you are seeking something more from life than having the best toys, the most expensive TV, the newest iPod. Some of you come from painful, even shameful pasts. You think you deserve nothing because of what you’ve done.” He paused to watch some of them avert their eyes and cast their gazes to the floor.

  “Our experiences are the womb—or matrix, if you will—to give birth to all we might become. Pain engenders power. The power to change your life is within you.” He tapped his forehead. “It resides here. You can take your past and use it to shape your future. Let it empower you to change yourself, and then the world.”

  “How do we do that?” a young woman called. Her direct blue eyes challenged him.

  He hesitated, aware that only those who were ready for his message would really accept it. Maybe 5 percent of this motley group. The rest would need more time. More pain. “Relish the trials you’ve been given. See what they have taught you. Embrace what they have made you become. Feed your strengths and ignore your weaknesses.” Satisfied when she dropped her gaze, he went on with his lecture.

  When he ended the speech, he invited any of them who sought more out of life to join him in the group he called Job’s Children. Bechtol nodded his approval. Excitement hummed around the room as the young people discussed his new group. Gideon watched with a satisfied smile. Some might ask why he bothered to show others the way when he himself had so much important work to do, but he knew what it was like to wander on his own, searching for truth. There was much satisfaction in speeding others on their journey.

  When the room emptied, he joined Bechtol for a stroll through the compound. They passed a lake that reflected the few shafts of sunlight piercing the tree cover.

  The chilly wind began to creep into his bones as he followed Bechtol along the path. Gideon started for a small cabin on the other side of the armory, and Bechtol redirected him.

  “This way,” Bechtol said, his dark eyes shifting away from Gideon’s gaze.

  “Why?” Gideon asked, stopping in the middle of the path. He pulled his arm out of Bechtol’s grip and started for the cabin again.

  Bechtol hurried after him. “I have a . . . um . . . a guest.”

  As Gideon neared, he could hear a woman sobbing. He stopped outside the door. “Tell me.”

  “She’s going to be my wife when she’s properly broken.” Bechtol made no apologies for what he’d done.

  “You kidnapped her?”

  “Yes.”

  “You already have two wives,” Gideon pointed out, though he and Bechtol were merely colleagues, and neither claimed the right to pass judgment on the other man’s actions.

  “I desired another one.”

  A face appeared at the window. Straight black hair, sloe-eyed face, olive skin. Gideon covered his surprise by swiping his hair out of his eyes, then decided to say nothing.

  THE SCENT OF SOMETHING SWEET DRIFTED INTO THE ROOM. Elena hadn’t thought she would sleep a wink, but her exhaustion and the bed’s comfort sucked her into oblivion. Terri still slept beside her. Her blonde curls lay across the pillow, and her cherubic cheeks were flushed with color.

  Sunshine streamed past the curtains. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to try to think. Her fingers touched the knot on her head, and she winced. Even the light touch of her fingers caused pain. She was afraid to l
ook at it.

  Her name was Elena . . . Elena what? Surely she could remember the full name this morning. No pictures rose to the surface of the fog that shrouded her memories. Nothing about the home she lived in, the yard, her parents, siblings. Her gaze touched the sleeping child. No memories of Terri’s birth came. No snippets of past events like a first tooth or the day she crawled or walked. Nothing.

  Just an empty blankness. And fear. Terror leaped out of the shadows of her mind, and she bolted upright. Throwing back the bedding, she swung her legs out of bed and stumbled to her feet. She had to get away. Stepping to the window, she looked out on a town worthy of Currier and Ives. An idyllic small town with Victorian storefronts, the blue of a lake on one side, and green forest on the other.

  Her fear began to swirl away as she drank in the peaceful scene. Surely she was safe here. While she had no real idea of where she was, the place seemed remote. Later she would ask Bree to show her the location on a map. The car was gone, sunken in the lake. No one knew where she was.

  Elena turned away from the perfect view and found Terri’s backpack. No address book, electronic or otherwise. But even if she’d found it, she would have been afraid to call anyone. What could she say?

  Hello, this is Elena. Who are you, and how do you know me? What’s my last name? Where do I live?

  She sighed and glanced around for her clothes. Gathering them up, she went to the bathroom. It was charming, with a claw-foot tub encircled by a shower curtain that hung from the ceiling. She turned on the water and let it warm. Once she was showered and dressed, she’d figure out what to do.

  A movement to her left caught her eye, and she flinched. A woman she’d never seen stared back at her. She realized it was her own image in the mirror. Long blonde hair, haunted blue eyes, a bruise that covered nearly her entire forehead, and a lump the size of a boulder on her temple. Scrawny too. Her breastbone stuck out of her skin, but her arms and legs were muscular.

  She stepped closer and peered in the mirror. Running her fingers over the planes and angles of her face, she willed herself to remember. Anything, even a single memory would have reassured her. But there was nothing.

  She dropped her hand and went to the tub. Stepping into the flow of water, she flinched when the hot water touched the raw cuts on her head and face. The water at her feet turned pink from the blood in her hair. She had a feeling she was lucky to be alive.

  Someone had tried to kill her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she recognized the seriousness of the attack.

  She scrubbed herself all over, watching the red and brown swirl together down the drain. When she washed her feet, she noticed they were calloused and ugly. The nails were devoid of polish. She was obviously no princess. Her fingers touched the necklace around her neck.

  Ballet slippers. Could that be why her feet were in such rough shape? Maybe she was a dancer. Standing in the shower, she flexed onto the balls of her feet. It felt good to stretch, to use the strong muscles in her legs. Maybe it was a clue.

  Fifteen minutes later, she went in search of the heavenly smell wafting up the steps. Maybe food would help revive her memory. Terri was still sleeping, so she followed the sound of voices.

  Kade’s voice was loudest. “Did you find out anything about our guest?”

  “Not really,” Bree answered. “She’s really scared though, Kade. I wonder if her husband abused her.”

  Elena couldn’t even remember what her husband looked like. Her fingers curled around the doorjamb. Her right hand crept to the ring finger of her left again. She knew she’d been married but had only this circumstantial evidence, not any memory of a man, to prove it.

  She straightened her shoulders and stepped into the kitchen. These good people needed some kind of pleasantry from her. “Something smells good.”

  Bree spun from where she stood cooking at the stove. “Good morning.” She stared. “Your bruise is bigger.”

  Kade stood from his seat at the table and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. Bree is learning to make pannukakku. This attempt is pretty good. I don’t think it will poison you.”

  Elena felt a smile curving her lips. Her tension began to melt away in the presence of these two. “Does she commonly poison people?”

  Bree made a face. “I’m not the best cook in the country. But Kade here has gained fifteen pounds since we married, so he shouldn’t be complaining.” She fixed him with a stern stare that changed to a giggle when he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

  “I’m starving. What is pannukakku?” She’d never heard the word.

  Bree turned back to the stove. “A Finnish pancake. Kind of a custardy one with a fruit sauce. Boysenberry in this case.”

  “Sounds yummy. Maybe I should wake Terri.” Before sitting at the table, Elena went to the windowsill. “Your African violet needs help.” She deadheaded the wilted blossoms and gave the plant a drink of water before caressing the leaves. What a lovely, velvety texture. She sniffed the aroma of soil. Such a fresh, new scent. And how had she known what the plant needed?

  Lost in thought, she went to the table.

  “I don’t have a green thumb.” Bree scooped up some pancake. “This warms up well. You can let her sleep if you want.” She put a plate of food down in front of Elena.

  Elena spooned a bit of the concoction into her mouth. The sweetness felt like a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, this is great.” She began to wolf it down.

  “Good.” Bree sat down in the chair next to her. “Is there anything I can do to help you today? Someone I can call?”

  “No, no one,” she mumbled. She wasn’t prepared for questions. She took another bite, but the pancake lost its savor. Bree would want to dig until she found out who Elena was. The thought of discovering who had done this made her shudder. Whatever it was, the pain was too great to face now.

  “You still don’t remember anything, do you?” Bree asked in a gentle voice.

  Elena grasped for a memory, anything. A dim hint of music floated in her mind. She could see a dance floor, hear the pounding of ballet slippers. Someone called out a name. Elena Cox.

  Her fingers clutched the golden ballet slippers at her neck. “I . . . I remembered,” she gasped. “My name is Elena Cox.” Her gaze fell to the floor. A worn pair of ballet slippers superimposed themselves over her bare feet. A high laugh tried to escape her throat. She was remembering.

  “Oh, good.” Bree’s voice rose on the end with a hint of relief in it. “We want to help you,” Bree said, exchanging a glance with Kade. “And don’t worry, Kade and I discussed it. You’re welcome to stay until you get on your feet.”

  “I don’t have any money. Maybe I could find a job in a convenience store or something.” Ballet hardly seemed something marketable.

  “There’s a little shop in town, Finnish Imports. The owner happens to be my first husband’s mother. She’s looking for sales help. The pay isn’t much, but it would be enough to get by for now.”

  “She’s Finnish?”

  Bree nodded. “Many of the residents of Rock Harbor are of Finnish descent. Or Cornish who came over to work the copper mines of the Keweenaw. I think you’ll like it here.”

  “What do you do?” Elena asked.

  “I train search-and-rescue dogs. I also have an animal shelter. Do you like animals?”

  “I . . . I think so.” Her eyes filled, and she looked down. “Your job must be very interesting.”

  “I like it.”

  “You’ve been very kind,” Elena said. “When could I talk to the owner of the store? What’s her name?”

  “Anu Nicholls. We’ll go over after Terri gets up. You’ll love Anu. She’s always been there for me, even after Rob died.”

  “Mama?” Terri stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Elena held out her arms, and Terri ran to climb onto her mother’s lap. The little girl’s hair was sticky with something and stuck up on end, but the aroma of little girl was even more appealing t
han that of the Finnish pancake. Elena pulled it into her lungs, dragging it in deep like an oxygen-starved diver. “We need to give you a bath. Are you hungry?”

  Terri nodded. Her mother offered a spoonful of pannukakku, and the little girl’s eyes widened.

  “Good?” Elena asked her daughter.

  Terri nodded and opened her mouth like a little bird for more. The child soon finished a whole pancake.

  She wiggled down to the floor. “Music,” she said, pointing to the radio on the counter.

  Bree smiled and flipped it on. The melody filled the room, and Terri began to dance.

  Elena watched her daughter twirl and pirouette around the room. She was incredibly graceful for a little girl. Elena couldn’t drag her eyes from her daughter. Each limb so exquisitely made, so perfect. Her limbs twitched with the desire to dance with Terri, but knowing the Matthewses would be watching kept her in her chair. Elena’s love of dance was her first clue to knowing herself.

  “Looks like she’s had dance lessons,” Bree said.

  Elena just nodded. It was obvious Terri had been taught, but Elena had no memory of the lessons. “Let’s get you bathed and dressed, Terri.” She scooped her daughter up. “I’ll be right back,” she told Bree.

  By the time she bathed Terri and dressed her in denim pants and a pink shirt that read “Daddy’s Girl,” her assurance lagged. She didn’t want to leave the safety of this lighthouse home and face anyone in town. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. A job where she didn’t meet people might be better. What if he came here and just walked into the shop?

  She glanced sideways at Terri. The little girl hadn’t mentioned her father. Was that a telling omission? If only Elena could name the threat. It was hard not knowing who was a danger.

  Terri patted her mother’s cheeks. “Mama sad?”

  “Mama is fine.” She kissed Terri’s cheek. “Maybe we can find a park and go swing later.”

  “Swing!” Terri agreed. “Daddy go?”

  So much for Terri not asking for her father. How should Elena respond? She not only didn’t know the answer; she didn’t know all the questions. “Daddy isn’t here. We’re visiting friends.”