Violet Fate

Prologue

Kill the kid.

He sat looking at the sleeping child, who was dressed in a clean white T-shirt and shorts that had grown dingy in the week they’d been here. The blond curls were cut tight to the head like those of the angels he remembered from childhood Sunday school lessons.

Kill the kid.

The words echoed in his head, bouncing off the walls of the cottage and returning to haunt him. He couldn’t make himself act, which wasn’t like him at all.

Those three words had ended the conversation he’d had with his partner late last night on the phone. He knew she was right—they had to get rid of the evidence. Why the hell hadn’t he done it yet? He had taken so many jobs in the last decade where getting rid of traces of the crime was the finishing act.

Something about this was different.

The rest of last night’s conversation crowded in on his thoughts. He heard his partner’s whining voice.

Didn’t everything go according to plan, just as I said it would? Didn’t I tell you this would work? I have the money now; you have the transportation arranged. We’ll be sipping tequila before you know it. Then: You did take care of the plane, right?

Of course I took care of the plane, he’d said, irritation rising to the surface. He doubted she’d even noticed, and he knew she was just being her usual, thorough self. He sighed as he quelled his impatience and recited the details.

We’re meeting Donald at the airport Tuesday at six. He’ll fly us to Puerto Vallarta, and we’ll take a boat from there.

Her voice took on a cautionary note. No questions asked, right? Do we need to worry about this old buddy of yours?

He kept his tone even and firm.

Like I already told you, Donald owes me. He knows I have more on him than he could ever get on me.

"Then the only thing left is to kill the kid," his partner had said before hanging up.

He looked over at the child now, trying to calculate how much longer before he had to do it. If he and his partner left Tuesday, he’d need to act soon so he had time to bury the body securely—some place deep in the forest.

Then he looked around the cottage, thinking what a good idea it had been to use the place, but remembering a happier time, many years ago, when he’d first come here to hide. He’d spent a few years of the only bliss he’d ever known in this deserted, quiet spot, planning a different kind of future. How immature and full of hope he’d been!

Maybe that was what made him hesitate. This place dredged up memories that he’d long since tried to bury ― a period in his life before cheating and stealing and killing had begun. A time before danger finally caught up with him, slapped him in the face, and then taught him how to survive in the real world.

He knew this young one was just another meal ticket; he had to act to ensure that ticket didn’t become a liability. The authorities were on alert; the child’s picture was all over the papers and news. And even though his partner had never before asked him to kill someone, they both knew it had to be done. The little one could identify their faces.

He stood and walked to the window, staring out at the glistening lake, thinking about how to accomplish the task. Shooting would be quick and effective, but the vision of red stickiness against blond curls kept popping into his head. It didn’t feel right.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He picked the child up gently and carried the snoozing form down the wooded path to the lake, laying the small body gently on the ground, then bending over and taking off his shoes. The sand felt warm on his feet. Did that mean the water would be warm? He hoped so, though he didn’t understand his own thinking.

He shook himself, then scooped the child up close to his chest and slowly walked into the lake until the water was at his waist. When it got to his upper chest, he lifted the body high above his head. The child stirred; eyelids flickered opened and he was staring into eyes so deep blue they looked purple.

He flung his burden as far as he could.

Chapter 1

Maggie Turner shut the front door quietly and returned to the living room. She bent to the coffee table and picked up three empty coffee mugs, carrying them into the kitchen. Rinsing them out, she placed them in the dishwasher, and then stood for a moment, gazing out the window and waiting. She was cold, and her neck ached from holding her body so erect. She would have liked to return to her bed, pull up the covers and cease feeling. But she wouldn’t; she couldn’t.

Instead, she waited for the next knock on her door, knowing her neighbor, Dottie Alstead, would be over. Somehow, Dottie always knew when company arrived at Maggie’s house – especially when that company was someone as interesting as the police.

The officers had tried to be kind; Maggie knew that. They were new on the force and treated her like all the others had at first—like a piece of delicate glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Then wondered why she didn’t.

They did not understand that her sorrow lay too deep; her years of waiting for something to happen were too long. Maggie had done a lot of falling apart at first, but she’d gotten beyond that stage.

The knock on the kitchen door came, and Maggie turned from the sink to let her neighbor in.

Oh, Maggie, Dottie gushed. Dottie rarely talked without some gushing.

Was that the police? Did they have some word about Jenna?

Nothing significant—a few more sightings that will probably go nowhere. A few more questions based on the sightings, Maggie answered. She sat down at the kitchen table, her knees no longer able support her stiff posture.

Then why do you look so pale? Dottie asked, peering closely into Maggie’s face.

Maggie turned her face toward the petite, blond woman, who despite her forty-plus years, dressed like a teenager. Today, Dottie wore a tube top and short, cut-off jeans that would have looked much better on someone who had curves.

I wish she’d keep her nose out of all this, Maggie thought for the hundredth time. She knew it was an unproductive thought.

For some reason, Dottie considered Maggie a close friend even though all they had in common was proximity and the fact they went to the same high school.

Well, that, and maybe the fact she adores Chad. At least I got over that phase of my life, Maggie thought.

Dottie was one of a handful of girls from their hometown of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, who seemed to still have a crush on Maggie’s ex-husband, the star of the high school football team.

Maggie sighed, knowing that if she didn’t come up with something more to say, Dottie would simply keep prying. Her neighbor fed off sensationalism, and she’d hit the jackpot when Maggie’s girl went missing.

Maggie might as well tell her about the police visit.

They are investigating a similar kidnapping that took place in Allentown. A little boy taken from a mall store in the middle of the day. An Amber alert went out yesterday, and I guess they’re looking into possible connections.

Oh, Maggie, cried Dottie, fat tears welling in her eyes. Unlike Maggie, Dottie didn’t need much of a reason to cry.

How very painful this must be! To dredge up all those memories.

Dottie reached across the kitchen table to grab Maggie’s arm. Maggie simply glanced at the hand now clasping her forearm, and then glanced longingly at the kitchen door. Should she just ask her neighbor to please leave?

Dottie’s clicking tongue cut through her thoughts, reminding Maggie how difficult it was to avoid her neighbor’s advice. And just when things were starting to settle down for you. Maybe this will lead to something, Dottie said.

She sat back, as if to give the moment an appropriate pause before continuing.

Maybe if the two cases are linked, you can find out what happened to Jenna and get some closure.

Maggie felt a prickle of annoyance. As usual, Dottie was oblivious to the fact Maggie didn’t want to hear those words. Dottie grasped her own throat with one of her pink-manicured hands.

Does this mean they’re reopening Jenna’s case? she asked in a raspy whisper.

The question extinguished Maggie’s irritability and replaced it with exhaustion. She sighed deeply.

No, I don’t believe so. In fact, the officers who came today kept referring to Jenna in the past tense. I believe they are convinced she’s long dead.

Dottie was nodding, not hearing what Maggie said, but skipping ahead to her next conclusion.

Maybe this kind of closure is just what you need to get on with your life. Maybe you and your husband can get back together and work on your relationship; have another child...

Maggie’s anger was back.

I believe I’ve told you, Dottie, she said slowly. "Chad and I are not together anymore and never will be. Even when I get my Jenna back."

But she dropped her head to her chest to get her emotions in check. Taking her frustrations out on her neighbor would accomplish nothing. When she lifted her head again, she could see Dottie’s distaste—how dare Maggie speak out against the great Chad Turner! Suddenly Maggie could take no more.

"If you don’t mind, I would like to be alone for a while to contemplate this…closure."

Of course, dear, her neighbor chirped, happy to leave now that she’d tossed out the day’s tidbit of advice.

Maggie returned to the living room and sat down in her favorite chair, her knees wobbly. The officers had shaken Maggie with news of another missing child. Could the two cases be related? Their arrival had reminded her also that the police had given up on her child many months ago.

Then her neighbor’s mention of Chad had triggered painful memories of her failed marriage and the awful years before her daughter was taken and the even-more-awful years right afterwards.

Jenna. Her beautiful daughter, who’d abolished any pain of that bad marriage by creating the need only to be a mom—a mom who even today could feel the presence of her daughter. Maggie rose and wandered down the hall as she had many times, coming to an open door. The room was painted yellow with a wide strip of wallpaper decorated with Noah’s ark figures. The theme was carried through with figurines on shelves and pillow accents. Though the baby crib was long gone, — Jenna was four when she disappeared — her little girl had loved the story of animals boarding a ship two by two. Even though the theme had been chosen when Jenna was an infant, Maggie hadn’t replaced the theme with the more girly things she knew Jenna would want eventually. Would she ever get the chance now?

Maggie closed the door to Jenna’s room and went back to her chair in the living room.

She sat back and let the feeling of Jenna wash over her. She didn’t care anymore that others thought she was nuts for feeling this connection. She could see in the eyes of the few friends she still socialized with that, like the police, they all believed her child was dead and that Maggie had gone off the deep end in her constant efforts to find new ways to search.

It had taken a year of pure grief, followed by a year of getting back to work to get her head on straight, and during all of that time, she continued to work towards one goal: having the strength and the financial resources to pursue what she knew was true.

Jenna is alive. I would know if she wasn’t. I feel her presence. She’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to find her.

She went to her desk, sat down, and brought up Google. But she had no name to type.

What was the name of the detective? What was it?

She tilted her head, letting her mind return to a day last week when she’d met the young girl in the wheelchair at the doctor’s office. The girl held an adorable toddler on her lap who was sniffling as much as Maggie. The two women had struck up a friendly conversation.

The pretty young woman explained that the baby had been a miracle—the woman had been paralyzed in her early teens, fallen in love at age twenty and had a son a year and a half later.

Maggie had cooed over the lively, robust August, as the baby was named, and smiled when the young mother explained that they’d chosen the name August Samuel Jones, even though it was a mouthful, to honor her husband Danny’s mentor Gus as well as Samuel. Samuel was a detective who had helped the couple with a criminal case, then hired the woman in the wheelchair to help in his office. The young woman had gone on and on about how great her boss was and how talented he was at solving difficult puzzles.

But had the mother mentioned a last name for Samuel?

Maggie rubbed her temples with both hands, the detective’s full name on the edge of her consciousness—something that began with an O.

She dropped her hands, picked up the phone book, and turned to the yellow pages to look under security and the O’s.

A small ad was nestled among the listings.

Here he is, Maggie whispered. Samuel Osborne, private investigator. No job too small or too big.

Chapter 2

Sam hung his coat on the rack inside the door, waved at his assistant, Casey Jones, then went into his personal office. He sat down at the only piece of furniture he hadn’t discarded on his last move—an office desk. The desk, which Sam had used for more than a decade on the police force, had been presented to him as a departure gift. It reminded him how much he’d enjoyed his time on the force.

Everything okay this morning, Sam? Casey asked, her green eyes sparkling. She’d wheeled after him into his office and deposited yesterday’s mail on the desk.

Sam drank in her cheerfulness and thanked his lucky stars, as he did every day, for Casey’s pretty blond presence as well as her sharp mind. Sam had stopped seeing the wheelchair a long time ago.

He was gradually giving her more and more of the investigative follow-up. Casey had been with him now for several years, starting as a part-timer as she sought a business degree and her husband pursued law enforcement. When she’d married Danny, who was now a full-time policeman, Sam had been part of the wedding party. Casey, Danny, and their little boy Gus had become Sam’s family.

Everything’s fine, Sam answered, smiling and leaning over to take the mail.

I’ve tied up the loose ends on our last case, he continued.

He sat back in his desk chair then, a sheepish grin on his face.

I must say, Casey, after having you and Danny fall in love while I was investigating your case, then helping Rosie and Jacob solve their problem and watching them gravitate towards romance, I feel like some kind of Cupid. Love seems to follow me around...

Casey chuckled softly. A look at the notebook on her lap, however, brought her merriment to a halt.

"Well, I don’t think that magic will apply to your next job."

Sam looked up from the mail.

You have an appointment with Margaret Turner for a new case tomorrow afternoon at l o’clock.

Sam cocked his head.

Why is that name familiar?

A couple of years back, her daughter was kidnapped. She paid the ransom and the police and FBI launched an investigation, but never located the child.

The smile disappeared from Sam’s face.

I remember now. What does she think I can do for her that the Lancaster police or the FBI couldn’t?

I don’t know, Sam. She sounded pretty desperate and insistent. I guess the police came to her house and questioned her in relation to the kidnapping in Allentown a couple days ago. She doesn’t know if there is any connection, but she insists her daughter is still out there and that police have given up on her daughter’s case.

He was frowning now. I can’t help her, he said firmly. "I’m not