A Slow Ruin Page 10

  I had the prickly sensation that something was watching me. Eliot would say it was my Spider-Sense tingling, warning me of danger. Go! Leave! Never come back! Slowly I got to my feet and turned around, scanning the room until my eyes lit on the rolling ladder. My gaze traveled up the steps to the top rung, bathed in shadow at the bookcase’s summit. All at once the ladder zipped along the shelves with a terrible racket, just as a vague shape, yowling like a demon, leapt down and skidded across a reading table, scattering books on the floor.

  “Meowzebub!” I yelled. “You scared the life out of me!” Which is probably what you intended, you hell-spawn, I thought.

  The cat regarded me with contempt for a second, then took off, bunching up the floor rug before sailing through the door with another blood-curdling wail.

  I was done with the murder room. Taking the yearbook with me, I scuttled downstairs as fast as my feet would take me without tripping and breaking my fool neck, as if hands were about to reach up through the floorboards and grab my ankles. I headed for Oliver’s office and fell into his leather desk chair, letting the tension dissolve into the lambskin. His laptop was open, and a touch of my fingertip brought it back to pixelated life. Opening up Google, I searched for Blythe Sampson. Nothing. Of course an underage girl wouldn’t be listed on Google, unless it was for making the news for a major athletic or academic accomplishment—or for murder. Blythe looked more capable of the latter, but I was relieved to see her name wasn’t coming up for dismembering and eating her mother. Here I was, stuck at an informational impasse.

  Searching the public records for county property taxes under her last name was easy enough, but there were at least a dozen families with the Sampson surname. There was no way to tell which was Blythe’s family. I’d need to find another way. But how?

  I was screwed.

  Unless…

  I pulled out my phone and opened my Instagram account, typed in Vera’s profile, then searched for Blythe under Vera’s followers. Hello, @blythesampson4ever. But I needed more. Another flick of the finger and I popped over to Blythe’s profile and checked her followers, searching for anyone with the last name Sampson. Most of her followers only used a first name—which I had in fact insisted Vera do to protect her identity—a security measure that was now biting me in the ass. Without a last name, I had no idea if any of Blythe’s followers was a mother or aunt or distant relative.

  I considered going through every single post to see who liked each one, then searching each name, cross-checking the profiles for pictures of Blythe and any information I could gather. But there were hundreds of posts, hundreds of likes, hundreds of possibilities. And it still wouldn’t guarantee that I’d find her parents. Scrolling through her feed feeling defeated before I’d even begun, I searched under the date for Mother’s Day. Score! I found a post of Blythe as a young girl hugging what appeared to be her mother. A name was tagged in the post: @mamabeartoblythe

  Well then. Not so defeated after all.

  I clicked on the profile and instantly saw an older version of Blythe. Raven-black hair. Bright blue eyes. Beautiful but dark. Tattoos covered every inch of skin beneath her black tank top, dragons climbing up one arm, skulls glaring from the other. A weeping rose circled her neck like it wanted to choke her. Two teardrops were inked beneath the corner of her eye. Did this mean she had murdered two people? What the heck kind of family had Vera gotten herself involved in? I could see where Blythe found her moody fashion inspiration. The name associated with the account was simply Chandra.

  I returned to my county search records and typed in Chandra Sampson. In a few minutes I retrieved a name and address for the not-so-elusive-after-all BS—Blythe Sampson. Best friend turned worst enemy. It was time to find out what happened that led to their rift and exhume the secrets the girls had buried.

  Chapter 12

  Felicity

  I did some digging into my great-great-grandmother’s life today. I wish I had half the courage Alvera had. Once she was mugged while transporting fundraising money raised for women’s suffrage and was left for dead on the street. You’d think that would scare her to stop her activism, right? Not her. Instead she posted on every newspaper in the area a reward for whoever brought in her attacker so that she could face him in person. Guess who ended up getting caught and put in jail? Alvera Fields is my hero.

  I tucked Vera’s journal back into my bedside table, then hustled from the living room, to the kitchen, to the foyer searching for my keys as I heard the grandfather clock tick tick tick down the precious minutes I had left. My body prickled. My fingers twisted. My foot tapped. My nerves sizzled. I could feel the pent-up excitement begging for a release. Now I knew how Meowzebub felt when she got a bad case of the zoomies. I’d been counting down all afternoon for the chance to sneak out and visit Blythe Sampson, watching the clock until the magic hour: time to drop off Eliot and Sydney for their martial arts class.

  Neither child had ever once shown interest in karate until Oliver featured The Karate Kid for Friday Family Fun Movie Night. Friday turned into a Saturday The Karate Kid marathon, including the Cobra Kai spinoff series on Netflix. “Syd needs some semblance of normalcy,” Oliver had insisted. Which was true. When the instructor happily agreed to ensuring Sydney would have plenty of water and breaks, we ordered her uniform—or gis, as Eliot reminded me every time I “said it wrong”—and we signed them up. By we I mean me, because while Oliver was the dreamer, I was the doer. Those always seemed to be our repeat roles: Dad introduces the fun idea, and Mom gets stuck driving the kids all over God’s creation.

  After chauffeuring the kids to karate, and reminding Sensei Lee about Sydney’s water break and rest schedule, I stopped by the house to grab a knife from the kitchen drawer. I had no idea what kind of person Blythe was, if she was packing heat—did anybody say that these days besides uncool moms like me?—but I wasn’t taking any chances. If she was responsible for Vera’s disappearance, I wanted to be prepared to defend myself. I had exactly one hour to kill, no pun intended. Enough time to drive over to Blythe’s house and make it back in time to pick up the kids from karate.

  As long as nothing went wrong.

  I slid the knife in my purse and found my keys splayed on a French provincial-style mid-century table I had found at a local antique shop. The Italian marble top felt cool against my touch. I carefully shut the front door behind me with a soft click. Oliver would never have approved. Certainly not if I told him I was interrogating a teenage kid and bringing a weapon with me. While he preferred to leave everything up to the cops to deal with, I had done that for six long months, forced to wait through body recoveries and autopsy reports while Vera could still be out there. No more waiting. I was getting my own answers this time.

  Besides, Blythe was a teenager. How dangerous could she be?

  As I unlocked my car door, the crunch of gravel stopped me. I glanced at the pebbled parking area, watching Cody’s red truck pull to a stop. I didn’t feel like dealing with him right now, not after last night’s fight. When he pulled up, blocking my car in, he gave me no other choice. He rolled down his window and leaned out.

  “Got a minute?” he asked.

  “Not really. Mind moving your truck?”

  “In a minute. First I wanted to apologize for last night.”

  “Apology accepted. Now can you move…please?” I was down to fifty-six minutes.

  “Where are you heading off to in such a hurry?” Cody asked.

  “If you must know, I need to run a quick errand.” I opened the car door and sat, leaving it hanging open. “When you go inside, can you let Oliver know that I’ll be back in a bit? He should be wrapping up his work call shortly.”

  “Actually, I was hoping we could talk, Felicity. Mind if I join you?”

  I really did mind. “I’d rather not, Cody.”

  “Please? I don’t like how we left things.”

  I didn’t like how any of my life left things, but I didn�
��t get a say in it. But the least I could do was repair things with my brother-in-law. I was well aware of how much Cody was going through, and I couldn’t deprive him of the one thing he needed right now—a friend.

  If only it was that simple between us.

  “I could really use the distraction today. It’s been…one of those days,” Cody added.

  I understood what he meant.

  “Fine. But you’re not allowed to say anything about where we’re going. And you definitely can’t tell Ollie.”

  “I promise.” He parked his truck and jumped into the passenger seat while I set my navigation for Blythe’s address.

  “So where are we headed? Some top-secret government compound?” Cody smiled, but it looked weak, his face sallow.

  “No, we’re going to visit one of Vera’s friends.”

  “Felicity.” That one word held a heap of disapproval. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “I don’t care. It’s the only lead I have, so I’m going to follow it. The police have pretty much given up doing anything to help bring her home, so I’m doing it myself.”

  He knew me long enough to understand there was no convincing me otherwise.

  I glanced over at him, his cheekbones more distinct than usual and the pockets beneath his eyes moody gray. “Are you okay?”

  He shrugged. “Hanging in there like everyone else. And hoping this doesn’t blow up in your face.”

  “How can it get any worse than it already is, Cody?”

  “I guess it can’t.”

  Of course it could, but I couldn’t admit that out loud.

  I spent the drive anticipating what I would say when we got there, while Cody spent it scanning radio channels, unable to settle on one. I was glad for the company. I couldn’t have done this alone.

  When we pulled up to the house, I double-checked the address against my navigation. This couldn’t be right. Based on what I had seen online of Blythe and her mother, hardcore and tattooed with their dark makeup and dark hair and dark moods, I expected something…different. Not this flower-bedecked garden, pots brimming with mums, aster, and marigolds. Two beautifully carved pumpkins sat like sentries at the top of the porch steps. An autumn-themed flag waved in the breeze, attached to this homey cookie-cutter house in a cookie-cutter subdivision full of cookie-cutter families.

  “We’re here.” I turned to Cody and sucked in a heart-steadying breath.

  The image of Blythe’s mother’s teardrop face tattoos flashed in my mind, something I’d read somewhere was a badge of honor for murder. Or was it for jail time? Did I read that or see it on Orange Is the New Black? I couldn’t remember, only that it was a bad thing.

  I dipped my hand in my purse, feeling for the knife’s hilt as I stepped out of the car.

  I gripped it tightly as I walked up the walkway lined with purple violas.

  I lifted it slightly from my purse as I knocked on the door. Red, like blood. I prayed it wasn’t a premonition.

  Cody shuffled beside me as we waited. Knocked again. Then a teenage girl answered the door. Her eyes were bloodshot, like she’d been high for days. Her nose was red, like she’d snorted a line of coke. Her face was pale, gaunt, almost skeletal. She looked stoned out of her mind.

  Cody must have thought so too. I felt his fingers tighten around my arm, trying to pull me away, but I stood my ground, taking in every detail about the girl who threatened Vera, hurt Vera, and thus hurt me.

  Chapter 13

  Felicity

  Blythe Sampson looked worse than the surly, broody teenage girl I had imagined. I wondered what cocktail of drugs she was on. Her hair was a greasy mess, and her cropped T-shirt was ripped on one shoulder, matching the holes in both knees of her black leggings. When her lips parted to speak, I expected the voice of Satan. Instead, her voice was polite and sweet:

  “Can I help you?”

  I swallowed an anchor weighing my words down. I could barely breathe, let alone speak. Just uttering Vera’s name hurt like hell, but having to explain why I was here, that I needed her help finding Vera, took every bit of strength left in me after six months of hoping she’d miraculously walk through the front door. Six months of asking for help, six months of searching for answers, six months of closed doors…

  “You may be the only one who can. I’m Vera Portman’s mother. I believe you two were…” friends? enemies? “…acquaintances?”

  “Oh, wow. Yeah, Vera was…is…my best friend.” She relaxed her grip on the door. “Do you want to, like, come in? I’m not sure if there’s anything I can do to help, but I’ll try.”

  I glanced at Cody. His eyes widened, lips discreetly mouthed a no, but what choice did I have?

  “Uh, sure, thank you. This is Cody, by the way. My brother-in-law. He’s here for, uh…”

  “Moral support,” Cody spoke up.

  “You look like a narc,” said Blythe.

  Cody chuckled nervously. “Do I? Actually, I’m a used car salesman.”

  Blythe’s wry expression suggested that was even worse. “I’m just yankin’ your chain,” she said. “Come on in.”

  Blythe swung the door wide and stepped aside, letting me, then a very rigid Cody, step into the entryway. She looked every bit the awkward and uncertain teen, now that we were face to face. I wondered if Vera, too, would have let a total stranger into our home. It didn’t matter. I was inside, and that’s all that mattered.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Without looking at the screen, I reached around and silenced it. Nothing was more important right now than this girl. Nothing more pressing than getting answers.

  “Blythe, I’m just going to come right out and explain why I’m here. Vera wrote quite a bit about you in her journal.”

  Blythe wiped her nose with her wrist. “She did? I didn’t know she kept one.”

  “Yeah, and some of what she wrote suggested that you two had a fight of some kind? Maybe a falling out?”

  “Really? No, we never fought. Like, ever. Why—what did she write?”

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is if you have any idea what happened to her, or where she would have gone?”

  A long-haired calico slinked up to Blythe’s legs, circled around her ankles in figure eights. Animal lovers? I suppose even serial killers had pets too.

  “I mean, Vera told me she was dealing with some stuff at home, but she never said what. When she disappeared, everyone was shocked. Vera wouldn’t even, like, play hooky, let alone run away.” Blythe’s voice turned earnest. “Mrs. Portman, if I had an idea of where she went, I would have called the police and told them.”

  I highly doubted that. Considering Blythe was a drug user, I couldn’t imagine her willingly approaching the cops for anything.

  “So you have no idea what prompted her to run away from home?”

  Blythe tapped a skull-bedecked black fingernail against her maroon lips. “The only thing I can think of was that it had to do with her ex-boyfriend, Austin. But she was the one who ended things, not him, and after a while he seemed okay with it, like he had accepted it.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. Vera had a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, they were pretty serious.”

  A shock ripped through my heart. My own daughter didn’t tell me she was dating someone. Why would she hide this from me? She didn’t give me the chance to disapprove; we never even had a conversation about it.

  “How serious?” I managed to ask, though it hurt to speak.

  “I mean, not marriage serious, but in love and stuff.”

  I didn’t want to know what exactly in love and stuff meant. Or if Vera had acted on that supposed love. And yet I did want to know. I wanted to know everything, every single heartbreaking and terrifying piece of her life.

  “What did you say his name was?” I asked.

  “Austin Miller. He’s a grade below Vera. Got held back in fourth grade. Not really a good guy, but not bad either
.”

  Austin Miller. The name didn’t sound familiar.

  “What do you mean, he wasn’t a good guy?”

  “Austin…tended to attract trouble. I warned her about him and told her he’d mess up her life. He was pressuring her to have sex, acting like he cared about her feelings then ghosting her when she wouldn’t do whatever he said. I told her the only way out was to break up with him. There’s no fixing someone like him, y’know? But she was devastated. I was pretty worried about her mental state after they split. But eventually she got over him. At least she seemed to.”

  Everything made so much more sense now.

  “How long were they dating?”

  “I forget. Maybe a year or so?”

  “A year!” It came out a scream, startling Blythe back a step. “I’m sorry…I just didn’t expect her to keep a boyfriend a secret for that long. When did the breakup happen?”

  A furrow creased her forehead. “I think Vera ended it maybe a month or so before she…” She wouldn’t say disappeared. I often found myself unable to speak it too.

  Blythe turned her head into the crook of her elbow and coughed. As she covered her mouth with her wrist, I noticed a tattoo. I had seen it recently, but I couldn’t remember where. Rummaging through my memories, it was right there…so close I could see it…

  Again my phone buzzed in my pocket. Again I silenced it.

  “One sec. I’ll be right back.” As Blythe’s coughing subsided, she left us standing in the entry while she headed into the belly of the house.

  “She looks like she’s on something,” Cody whispered. “I wouldn’t count her as totally credible, Felicity.”

  When Blythe returned a moment later, she unwrapped something and popped it in her mouth. “Sorry, I have a bad cold. Don’t worry—it’s not COVID.” She sucked on what I now realized was a throat lozenge.

  Annnnd I had officially dropped to a new low. She wasn’t on drugs; the poor girl was sick.

  “Is there anything else? ’Cause I need to get back to bed. I have a gymnastics competition coming up and I’m trying to get better before then.”