The last words hissed through clenched teeth. She didn’t have tears; she didn’t even have grief now. It was anger, pure and just. Ivy wrestled her wrists free and stumbled backward.
Joel worked his jaw back and forth. His eyes narrowed, his expression hardened. “You have always been so sure of yourself. That you were always right and that you had a complete grasp of the circumstances.”
The icy words were not what Ivy expected, and they did not cool her fury.
“Shall we go up?” She waved at the stairs. They were at an impasse. She needed space from the conversation. He riled her emotions, and she had precious little patience for emotions.
He extended his arm as if to say carry on. His movement made the unseen wall between them even higher. Their footsteps matched as they climbed the stairs to the attic. Ivy could hear Joel’s breathing was controlled, but not at all rhythmic. He was angry too. He always breathed that way when angry. She tightened her hold on her dress, lifting the hemline so she didn’t step on it.
The attic was stale, and dust particles danced in the air as their feet disturbed the dirty wood floor. It took a moment for Ivy’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“There’s a lot of old furniture up here.”
Ivy waited for his reply, but Joel didn’t respond. He moved past her and inspected a chair. His hand moved over the upholstered seat and back, eaten away by mice and moths.
“Worthless,” he muttered.
The tension was thick. Ivy ignored it, instead pulling open the drawer on a small end table. Empty, with the exception of a dead cockroach. She slammed the drawer shut.
“There’s nothing here.” Joel was leaping to a conclusion. Another sign he was upset. His logical approach was influenced by his emotions during times of stress.
“We’ve hardly looked.” Ivy was the opposite. Emotion in herself irritated her as weakness.
Joel yanked open a door on an old wardrobe. His eyes widened, and he quickly shut it in a plume of dust. Coughing, he waved his hand in the air to clear it. Ivy stared at him until he offered her a sheepish look.
“There was a bat in there.”
Ivy shivered. The expression on Joel’s face altered as he looked beyond her. Ivy followed his line of vision, and her breath hitched in surprise.
“Is that . . . ?” Her hand flew to cover her mouth.
“A baby cradle,” Joel said, his mouth tightening into a firm line. He stalked across the floor and ran his hand over it.
“And it’s not dusty, is it? Not one cobweb?” Ivy questioned while already knowing the answer.
“No. It’s clean.” The grave tone in Joel’s voice matched the horrible sensation in Ivy’s stomach.
Straight lines, applied carving on the headboard, nine pierced slats, and out-swept legs formed a beautiful specimen of craftsmanship. But it was the baby blanket inside, piled at the end of the cradle, clean and fresh, that sent spears of horror through Ivy.
“A baby was here.” She reached for the blanket, imagining an infant swaddled in cotton and lace kneading the air. Its innocence in a house that sheltered mysteries. “I told you.” Ivy couldn’t help it. She couldn’t resist the need to make sure Joel saw her urgency as validated. That she hadn’t been foolhardy or emotional when she came to Foster Hill House the other night.
Joel cleared his throat. “So you did.”
Their eyes met, and this time all animosity dissolved between them.
“But where’s the baby?” Ivy’s whisper echoed through the attic like the quiet breath of a ghost.
Chapter 12
Kaine
A sharp rap on her motel room door jolted Kaine awake. She scrambled across the bed, taking the blankets with her on her fall to the floor. Olive scampered to her feet, three deep woofs emanating from her throat.
“Kaine? Love?”
It was Joy.
Kaine ran her fingers through her dark straight hair that was snarled from sleep. Olive’s tail thumped the floor as she sensed her mistress relax.
“Hold on!” Kaine called, untwisting herself from the covers. She tugged her tank top over her red pajama bottoms and scratched the middle of Olive’s head as she passed by the dog. Not willing to leave Kaine alone, Olive followed close at her heels.
Kaine peeked through the door’s peephole. Joy’s red-lipped smile greeted her with magnification. Sliding the dead bolt back and twisting the lock on the knob, Kaine opened the door. A blast of fresh spring air hit her in the face.
“Oh my. I woke you, didn’t I?” Joy hoisted her flamingo-pink purse on her shoulder. Her T-shirt was emblazoned with a Green Bay Packers helmet, and her yellow cardigan begged to be worn by someone twenty years her junior. Kaine originally thought she was in her sixties, but her flamboyancy could have landed her easily in her fifties, if not forties.
Kaine smiled. Maybe her first genuine smile in two days. After Danny’s picture showed up at Foster Hill House and Detective Carter called to let her know they weren’t able to pull any prints from the photo, Kaine holed up in her room with Olive. She had to think, to pray, to figure out what she was going to do next. Witness Protection Program? Not an option. Return to San Diego? That wouldn’t help anything. Sell Foster Hill House? There wouldn’t be another human alive who would be as gullible as she had been, and she wouldn’t be able to ethically hide the truth to some out-of-state buyer as the real estate agent had done with her.
“C-can I help you?” Kaine wasn’t sure why her voice broke. Maybe she was lonely. A dog could only offer so much companionship, especially when you jumped at every noise.
Joy reached out and squeezed Kaine’s upper arm, then pushed a lidded Styrofoam cup into her hand. “I’m not working for the next few days—goodness, I wish that were all the time. I’m sixty-two, but when Megan’s daddy passed a few years ago, his social security just wasn’t quite enough. Anyway, Megan is waiting in the car.”
So she was in her sixties. Kaine glanced over Joy’s shoulder to see Megan focused with intent on a tablet. She turned her attention back to Joy in time to catch her words. “So I’m taking charge.” Joy smiled and pushed past Kaine. Marching across the small motel room, she pulled out a dresser drawer, then gave Kaine a quizzical look.
“You haven’t unpacked?”
Kaine smiled and took a sip of the awful gas-station coffee. “I’m not big on settling in.” A lame excuse, but if she needed to flee, having her clothes lined up in the drawers and closet wasn’t conducive to a quick getaway.
Joy tapped the duffel bag on the luggage rack at the end of the bed. “God told me this morning that you aren’t to be alone at Foster Hill House. So, Megan and I are coming with you today.”