“You have to be careful,” Devin warned Vickie. “You’re becoming...a little crazed.”
“I know,” Vickie murmured. “I heard myself when I was talking to Griffin. It’s just that my dream was so bizarre, and then, finding out that the waitress, Audrey Benson, doesn’t even really exist... I’m so frightened for Alex, Devin.”
“I understand. We tend to have personal involvements with what is going on around us, but it makes the concept of control really important,” Devin told her, smiling. “You only realized that he was missing last night. Griffin only ran down that poor fool, Darryl Hillford, last night.”
“It only takes a matter of seconds to kill someone,” Vickie said softly.
“Okay, true.”
“And the attacks and Alex’s disappearance are absolutely related, I’m sure of it,” Vickie said. “He was the first one attacked. And we know that he never made it home from the coffee shop the night before.”
“And we know that he’s brilliant, right? So, we have to presume that they’re after him for something that he either knows or can figure out for them. He’s alive, Vickie.”
“So why was there so much blood in my dream?” Vickie murmured.
Devin was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know. It could mean...someone else is dead. Let’s face it,” she said flatly, “with what’s going on, I think we’re all afraid that someone somewhere has been practicing blood sacrifices.”
“Isn’t that usually a young blonde virgin?”
“Who said it hasn’t been a young blonde virgin?” Devin asked her dryly. “Though, of course, young blonde virgins—or those of either sex with any color hair—aren’t so easy to come by these days. Then again, maybe human sacrifices have come along with the times.”
“And for it to matter at all, you need to believe that your sacrifice means something and that there is a devil. Hell, in my mind, anyway, tends to be on earth. Dante Alighieri pretty much invented hell as we envision it, and while we know there is something...something beyond, I don’t particularly believe that anyone brought Satan back in the 1600s, the 1800s or the 1970s!” Vickie told her.
They were lingering outside the coffee shop while Devin made calls. A search for a local address for Cathy and Ron Dearborn had not gone well at the departmental level, even after they’d searched their way to the registered business name that the duo went under, which was just “Dearborn.”
And Vickie didn’t know why, but she was determined to talk to the sister-and-brother act. They were just performers.
But Alex had loved them.
And he just might have said something to them.
Vickie tried to catch the eye of the server, Manny, through the café window. He saw her right away and hurried out to them. “Hey, what’s up? I heard about Audrey. Wild, huh?”
“We can’t find an address for the Dearborn sister and brother. Can you help us?” Vickie asked him.
“Actually, I can,” he said. “I helped them haul a speaker over here from their place a few times. It’s easy walking distance from here.”
He showed them the best way to get there.
And he wouldn’t let them leave without coffee.
They thanked him, and soon they were headed along Tremont Street, on their way to the residence/hotel where Alex’s beloved duo were staying, according to Manny.
“We try to talk to these guys,” Devin said, “and then we’ll head in to speak with the forensic artist and get an image of Audrey Benson going.”
They reached the address they’d been given just in time to see a dark-haired woman carrying a big box out to a minivan that had been pulled illegally into a small laneway.
“Cathy Dearborn?” Devin asked Vickie.
“Yep, that’s her,” Vickie said.
“Miss Dearborn!” Devin called.
The young woman stopped and turned, smiling as she looked at them curiously.
“Yes? Can I help you? We’ve got a few dates out in Worcester County, so I’m not sure we’re available if you’re looking for a booking,” she said.
They reached where she was standing, ready to hike the suitcase into the back of the minivan.
“Hi, I’m Vickie Preston. And this is Devin Lyle.”
“Vickie, hi. I’ve seen you around—nice to meet you. Devin, nice to meet you, too. How can I help you?” she asked. “Our calendar is online, if you’d like to check it out.”
“Actually, we’re here to find out if you happen to know anything about a friend who has disappeared. Alex Maple.”
The girl’s face scrunched up for a minute. “Alex...yes! One of the best audience members we’ve had—ever, anywhere! Great guy. I saw him at the coffee shop by Faneuil Hall the last time we played there—night before last actually.”
“Have you seen him since? Did he say anything to you about leaving town?” Vickie asked.
“No, he told me he loved it when we did Fleetwood Mac music. That’s about the extent of our conversation that night,” Cathy said. “We have talked about other things. He is amazing. I’m from Athol, and I don’t begin to know any of the things he knows about my area of the state. Is he okay?”
“I hope so,” Vickie said quietly.
“Did you see him leave with anyone? Talk to anyone—meet up with anyone just outside of the shop?” Devin asked.
“No. I’m so sorry. I can’t help you.”
“What about your brother?” Vickie asked.
“Why don’t we talk to him? He’s on his way out, too. We’re heading west today. We were here for a few months so we just did a short-term condo rental. We’re thinking about expanding—we’ve got a meeting with a wicked good drummer tonight. Anyway, come on in—oh. Here’s Ronnie. Men, you know. Whether you’re related to them or dating them, they just don’t seem to get the concept of time,” Cathy said, indicating her brother, who was now coming out the front door, dragging along a large suitcase.
“Hey! I heard that. And women are notoriously slow!” he protested.
He really was good-looking, Vickie thought. Light-haired, with very unique eyes. He had a good smile, too, both slightly apologetic and slightly mischievous.
“Ron,” Cathy said, “this is...”
She grimaced, clearly having already forgotten their names.
“Victoria Preston and Devin Lyle,” Vickie said. “We have a friend who is missing. You have come to know him or, at the least, you’ve seen him often. Alex Maple.”
“Alex, sure! I love Alex. I wish he came bottled. We’d be rich and famous. Have I seen you with Alex?” he asked Vickie.
She nodded. “Alex is missing.”
“We just saw him the night before last,” Ron said.
“That’s the last time anyone has seen him,” Vickie said.
“Is that really missing? Maybe he popped out of town. Maybe...hey, he seems to be on the straight and narrow, but you never know. Maybe the guy is just out on a bender or something.”
“We’re looking into all possibilities,” Devin said. “We were hoping he might have said something to you or your sister. Or that you might have seen him with someone.”
“I’m so sorry. I know he was there. He was supportive and enthusiastic, as always. But I didn’t see where he went, or if he met up with anyone.” He turned and shoved his bag into the minivan. “Sure wish we could help you. But...”
Devin produced one of her cards. “If you think of anything, if you see him, if you can help us in any way, call me, please,” Devin said.
Ron Dearborn looked at the card, and then at Devin.
“FBI?” he said. “The FBI is looking for Alex—when he’s only been missing a day or so?”
“Alex was attacked and left for dead,” Vickie reminded him.
“But they caught that guy last night!” Ron said. “Offed him—or he offed himself.”
“It’s an ongoing investigation,” Devin said.
“Wow,” Ron Dearborn said.
Cathy caught his arm. “We’ve got to get going. If there’s anything at all we think of, we’ll call.”
“Sure. Of course,” Ron said. He glanced from Devin to Vickie. “I guess you have friends in high places. Friends besides Alex.”
He looked intently at Vickie. “You’re like him, right? You’re one of those historians. A teacher?”
“No. A writer.”
“But smart, like Alex, right?”
“I love history.”