Don't Cry Part 18

"d.a.m.n!" The word escaped from between Tam's clenched teeth. "Who is she?"

"Whitney Poole, twenty-four. She's a waitress at Callie's Cafe. Her boyfriend reported her missing after she didn't come home last night or this morning. And her boss called her apartment looking for her because she didn't show up for work this morning. No one has seen her since she left the cafe last night. The boyfriend has called every girlfriend she has, and none of them have seen her."

"She's been missing less than twenty-four hours, so I a.s.sume the reason we're jumping on this is because she fits the profile for the Rocking Chair Killer's other two victims."

"We can't afford to wait," Garth said. "If our guy abducted Whitney Poole, then the sooner we investigate, the better our chances are of nabbing this guy. And if it turns out he didn't take her or that maybe she's not actually missing, I'd rather know we acted immediately than risk the possibility that she is his third victim."

The young woman who opened the door when J.D. arrived at the old farmhouse that had once belonged to Luther and Dora Chaney smiled warmly.

"h.e.l.lo."

"Hi." J.D. returned her smile. "Mrs. Gilliland?"

"Yes, I'm Allison Gilliland."

He showed her his badge and ID. "I'm Special Agent Ca.s.s with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. May I come in and talk to you?"

Her smile vanished, replaced by a speculative stare. "Yes, of course, please come in." She invited him inside and showed him to the living room.

On arrival, he had noted the new tan vinyl siding on the house and freshly painted white shutters. The yard was neatly mowed, the landscaping was filled with greenery, and yellow mums lined the walkway. Once inside, he noted that the interior of the house had been renovated; also, the old wooden floors had been refinished, the walls had been recently painted, and the decor was a combination of traditional and contemporary.

"Won't you sit down, Special Agent Ca.s.s." She indicated the sofa as she sat in a leather recliner in front of the big-screen TV. Once they were both seated, she asked, "What's this about?"

"It's about a woman named Regina Bennett."

"Oh. I see, but I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You know who Regina Bennett is or rather who she was?"

"Yes, of course I know. And I know that she once lived here, in this house and later on in the rental house on this farm. You said who she was was-is she dead?"

"Yes, ma'am. She pa.s.sed away while an inmate at Moccasin Bend earlier this year."

"I'm afraid I'm confused. I don't understand what-?"

"The TBI is trying to tie up some loose ends concerning Regina Bennett," J.D. said. "Ms. Bennett was cremated, and when her nephew picked up her ashes, he mentioned to the funeral director that he planned to return his aunt to the farm."

Allison Gilliland's gray eyes widened in surprise. "If you're asking if anyone came here to the farm and asked permission to scatter Regina Bennett's ashes, then the answer is no. But we own nearly a hundred acres, so it wouldn't be difficult for someone to have entered the property without our permission or our knowledge."

J.D. believed Allison. There was no reason she should lie to him. As far as he knew, neither she nor her husband had any connection to Regina Bennett or her relatives. Nor to the previous owners, who had bought the farm from Dora Chaney. Had he actually thought the mysterious Corey Bennett would have asked permission to scatter his aunt's ashes?

"Would you mind if I took a look around the property?"

"No, I don't mind, but just what do you think you'll find here?" she asked, standing when he did. "It's my understanding that the local authorities and the FBI covered every square foot of this farm years ago."

"I don't expect to find anything in particular. I thought that since I'm here and if you don't have any objections, I'd take the opportunity to just look around, maybe check out the house where Regina lived. Would that be possible?"

"You mean the rental house?"

"Does someone live there?"

"No, not now. The house is run down, and we haven't bothered putting any money into fixing it and renting it since we bought this property a couple of years ago after Mrs. McGregor died and her daughter put the farm up for sale."

"How long has it been since you've been in the other house?"

"Well, actually, not since shortly after we bought the property. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious."

As he walked out of the living room, a framed wedding photo of a happy young couple caught his eye. The bride was obviously Allison Gilliland. The husky young groom in the picture had green eyes, red hair, and freckles.

Mr. Gilliland didn't fit the description he'd been given of Corey Bennett.

Not until that moment did J.D. realize he had subconsciously been wondering if it was possible that the new owner of the old farm might be Regina's nephew.

"The house isn't locked," Allison told him as she walked with him onto the front porch. "It's about a quarter of a mile east of this house. If you follow the dirt road over there, it'll take you straight to it."

J.D. shook hands with the young woman, thanked her, and surveyed the landscape as he walked toward his Camaro. As she'd said, there were nearly a hundred acres, some of it still cultivated farmland, some of it wooded, and a couple of dozen acres that climbed into the hills. From the FBI report he'd read and reread, the hills were dotted with caves and a couple of springs ran through the property, one to the south and the other to the west of the farmhouse. Both houses had bas.e.m.e.nts. Both bas.e.m.e.nts had been thoroughly searched. And every cave in the hills that they had discovered had also been searched.

Any evidence left behind twenty-three years ago would now be long gone. Besides, if the investigators hadn't found anything, it was probably because there was nothing to find.

And you're not going to find anything today.

On the short drive to the rental house, J.D. noted the time on his wrist.w.a.tch. Nearly eleven. He had noticed a pizza place on Dayton Pike on his drive there earlier. When he left, he could stop by for a quick lunch. Since he and Zoe had their first appointment scheduled with Dr. Sherrod that afternoon at four-thirty, it would be after six before they'd get a chance to eat dinner. He sure wasn't looking forward to this family-therapy thing. h.e.l.l, he'd rather walk through broken gla.s.s in his bare feet than talk about his feelings for a solid hour. His gut told him that somehow Audrey Sherrod would make whatever problems he and Zoe had all his fault. Two females against one male. Yeah, even if one of those females was the counselor.

J.D. pulled up in front of the small, ramshackle, clapboard cottage. Several windows were broken and had been boarded over with plywood. The front porch sagged on one end and the roof was in bad shape. A few scraggly, overgrown shrubs grew along the sides of the house, and knee-high weeds and patches of gra.s.s dotted what had probably once been a well-kept yard.

As he stepped up on the porch, the boards beneath his feet creaked, and when he looked down, he saw that several slats of the wooden floor had rotted and given way in places. The front door opened easily with just a turn of the k.n.o.b, the rusty hinges groaning as J.D. entered the house. The small living room lay before him empty and bare and he could see through into a kitchen that looked the same. A musty, unlived-in scent filled the house, and shards of prenoon sunlight crept through the boarded windows and cast long shadows on the dirty wooden floor. Taking his time, he walked through the house, going from room to room and opening closet doors, searching for anything other than dust and grime and an overwhelming sense of desolation.

He stood in the center of what had once been the nursery and recalled the description of the room from George Bonner's report. In his mind's eye, J.D. pictured the baby bed, the Mother Goose rug, the Humpty-Dumpty night-light, the big Raggedy Andy doll on top of the small toy box.

Had it been that same toy box that Corey Bennett had taken to the Chattanooga Funeral Home?

His mind whirled with thoughts, with possibilities, with outlandish ideas, and even with a few solid theories. If Corey Bennett was not Regina's nephew, and all evidence pointed to that fact, then who was he? Why had he visited her at Moccasin Bend in the months before she died? Why had he paid for her funeral? And why had he asked the funeral home to place her ashes in a toy box, possibly the same toy box that had been in Cody Bennett's nursery?

Two possibilities came to mind, neither exactly logical. Either he was one of the toddlers she had abducted, whom for whatever reason she had not killed, or he was actually Cody Bennett.

But Cody Bennett was dead, wasn't he? Regina had admitted that she'd smothered him to put him out of his misery. However, the little boy's body had never been found.

And only one of the six missing toddlers had been rescued; only one was alive. Jeremy Arden. Could Corey Bennett and Jeremy Arden be the same person? Had Arden disguised himself and visited Regina under an a.s.sumed name? If he had, then why?

Audrey checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror as she applied a fresh coat of pink lipstick. Carnation Pink, her favorite shade, one she wore almost every day. She looked quite presentable in her navy blue linen jacket, pale beige tailored slacks, and light pink silk blouse. She didn't usually wear her mother's pearls except on special occasions, but for some reason, she had taken them from the wall safe that morning and put them on without asking herself why. Now she asked herself, and she didn't especially care for the honest truth.

J.D. Ca.s.s undermined her self-confidence. Wearing her mother's pearls reminded her that she was Norma Colton Sherrod's daughter, that she came from a long line of intelligent, well-bred steel magnolias. If she had any hope of actually doing her job and helping J.D. and Zoe, then she couldn't allow J.D.'s att.i.tude toward her to affect her professionalism.

When Audrey returned to her office, she laid out a pad and pen, took a deep breath, and sat down to wait for her four-thirty appointment. She had told Donna that she could leave early as soon as she showed J.D. and his daughter into her office. Once the session ended, she would have to rush home and change clothes before Porter picked her up for their date. A date, she reminded herself, that really wasn't a date. Just two friends going to the symphony together. Had she made a mistake by agreeing to see Porter tonight? She had hoped to make a clean break, but instead she had given in to her empathetic feelings and decided it best to cushion her rejection by seeing him this one last time.

A soft knock on the closed door brought Audrey out of her thoughts. Donna opened the door and stuck her head in.

"Mr. Ca.s.s and his daughter are here," Donna said.

"Ask Mr. Ca.s.s to come in first. Tell Zoe that I'll talk to her privately in a few minutes."

When J.D. entered her office, he ran his gaze over her quickly, and as if he found nothing of any interest, he inquired, "Do I sit down or spread out on the couch?" The corners of his lips lifted in a devilish smile.

She suspected that most women found his smile irresistible and that he knew it. Well, she wasn't one of those women.

"Sit down, please." She indicated the two chairs facing each other on the opposite side of the room.

He waited until she sat before he did, then he looked right at her. "I thought this was going to be family counseling, that Zoe and I would do this together."

"It is family counseling and I will be talking to the two of you together," Audrey said. "But first, I want to speak to each of you privately."

He nodded.

"You and Zoe need to know that both of you will be required to attend every session together. It's going to take your working together to resolve your problems."

J.D. was no longer smiling. "Okay."

"Tell me why you think you need counseling and what you hope these sessions will achieve."

He huffed, glanced up at the ceiling, and gritted his teeth. "I think the why is obvious. I have a teenage daughter who, apparently, I can't control. She was used to doing whatever the h.e.l.l she wanted to do when she lived with her mother, and she resents having to follow rules and regulations." J.D. paused for a minute, apparently waiting for Audrey to say something, and when she didn't, he continued. "What do I hope these sessions will achieve? I hope you can make Zoe understand that I'm her father, that I'm the adult, that I'm the one who makes the decisions. I want her to stop fighting me tooth and nail over every d.a.m.n little thing."

Audrey wrote hurriedly, making notes as he talked. When he stopped talking, she glanced up from her notepad. After asking him half a dozen more questions, she showed him to the door and invited Zoe into her office.

"I'm so nervous," Zoe admitted. "I barely made it through the day at school. I kept thinking about this session and wondering if J.D. would find some excuse not to show up."

"There's no reason to be nervous." Audrey reached out and patted Zoe's arm. "And as you can see, your father didn't find an excuse to back out of coming here."

"Yeah, he's here, but he sure isn't happy about it and he looked downright p.i.s.sed when he left your office a minute ago."

"Come over and sit down and we'll talk." Audrey led Zoe to the same two chairs that she and J.D. had occupied.

"Why don't you tell me why you think you and your father need therapy?"

Zoe's eyes rounded wide and she laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"I think you need to tell me."

"Okay. I'll tell you, and it's not a pretty story. Before my mother died, she told me that the man I'd thought was my father, lousy b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he was, wasn't my father. Then she called J.D. and sprang the news on him that he had a kid he didn't know existed. She died and J.D. got stuck with me because n.o.body else wanted me. He's miserable and I'm miserable. He doesn't want a daughter and I don't want him for a father." Tears glistened in Zoe's beautiful dark eyes, eyes so much like her father's.

Audrey pulled tissues from the decorative box on the table between the two interview chairs and handed a tissue to Zoe. The young girl glared at Audrey's offering.

"I don't need it. Thanks, anyway," Zoe said.

Audrey stuffed the tissues into her jacket pocket. "What do you hope these counseling sessions with your father will accomplish?"

Zoe snorted. "I don't know. Maybe he'll lighten up a little. I'm sick and tired of him bossing me around and telling me how to run my life. I did just fine before he came along and tried to play Big Daddy. My mom didn't smother me the way he does. Sometimes I think he's mean to me because he hates having me around." Zoe cleared her throat. "He's a lousy father."

After a few more questions for Zoe, Audrey asked J.D. to join them, and as he entered the office, she pulled up a third chair and created a seating triangle. Once father and daughter were seated facing each other, Audrey took the chair at the peak of the triangle, placing herself in front of and between them.

Less than fifteen minutes into the session, J.D.'s phone rang. Mouthing a hurried apology, he rose from his chair, walked toward the windows, and took the call. Zoe glared at her father's back. Audrey felt the girl's anger and didn't blame her for being upset. She wasn't exactly pleased with J.D. herself. She had told him and Zoe to either turn off their cell phones or silence them during the session. J.D. had done neither.

From his end of the brief conversation, Audrey couldn't make out much, but enough to realize it was a business call.

"I have to go," J.D. said. "Sorry about this, but-"

"But something more important came up," Zoe said.

"We can reschedule," Audrey told them.

"Why bother? J.D. will just find another way to get out of it." Zoe glared at her father.

"Look, that was Sergeant Hudson," J.D. said. "Another young, dark-haired woman disappeared last night and all the evidence points to the Rocking Chair Killer being her abductor. We've got an eyewitness who may be able to give us a description of a man she saw outside the woman's apartment last night, a man who doesn't live there and wasn't visiting anyone who does live there."

"Go on, then," Zoe told him. "I'll call Reesa and see if her mom can come pick me up and let me spend the night."

"I can drop you by Reesa's on my way."

"Don't bother."

Father and daughter glared at each other.

"Zoe, why don't I drive you to Reesa's house?" Audrey suggested. "That will save your father some time, and I don't mind in the least."

"Is that okay with you?" Zoe dared J.D. to argue.

"That's fine, if Dr. Sherrod really doesn't mind." He glanced at Audrey. "Thanks."

As soon as J.D. left, Zoe looked at Audrey. "Yeah, I know. It's not his fault that he had to leave. I know he's a state cop, and when duty calls, he has to go."

Audrey draped her arm around Zoe's slender shoulders. "You know what? I have an idea. Why don't you come home with me instead of going to Reesa's? I'll fix dinner for us and then we'll watch a movie."

Her impromptu invitation to Zoe was totally unprofessional, but it wasn't the first time Audrey had allowed her emotions to overrule logic. If she had ever seen a girl in need of someone's undivided attention, it was Zoe Davidson. And yes, truth be told, Zoe's hunger to be loved and wanted reminded her far too much of how she had felt as a young girl, with a policeman father who readily used his job as an excuse to maintain an emotional barrier between them.

"You mean it?" Zoe's face brightened instantly. "You want me to come home with you?"

"I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more than the two of us getting better acquainted. As friends," Audrey hastily added. "Not as client and counselor. So, why don't you wait for me in the outer office while I finish up in here and we'll head out in about five minutes."

Audrey had two phone calls to make, one to Porter to break their date, and the other to J.D. to tell him he could pick up his daughter at her house later tonight. And in all honesty, she didn't know which call she dreaded more.