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“Who would bring a child into this place?”
“Someone named Bella Dawn. When I find her, I’m gonna snatch her bald-headed.”
And she said she didn’t have any maternal instinct. The place emptied faster than a church full of sinners and John locked eyes on Greg. “You’d have come to the rescue earlier, might not be such a mess here.”
“I was busy.” He sniffed and John kicked through the trash and stalked outside. He needed to cool off. Striding toward the creek, he let the cold fill his bones, put the fire out. Greg was busy? No, more like he was enjoying the show. John could have been killed. Maybe that was what Greg wanted. Maybe the tip tonight was a setup.
“Hey.” Violet met up with him. “Ruby’s looking for Bella Dawn. She wouldn’t leave without Mason. You and I both know Whiskey’s up in that bar. I say we go back in and find him. Process of elimination.” She shined the cell phone light on him. “Man, you’re looking rough.”
“But it’s manly and attractive, right?”
“Whatever you say.” She chuckled. “I would have come sooner but...the kid. And I’m not leaving until we get him somewhere secure. I’m not sure that means going back to his mom.”
He winced. “I’m with you. I need some aspirin. Big time.”
She touched his cheek, and he flinched. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. Under different circumstances, I’d welcome the touch.” He groaned. “You can get in a lot of trouble for shooting in an open bar with civilians, Violet.”
“Yeah, because these guys are gonna be willing to cough up a secret bar that runs illegal gambling, drugs and, I’m quite sure, hookers. They do things their own way up here. I couldn’t beat ’em with the badge. I joined ’em. It’s not like we were in Atlanta at a mall.”
Guess she had a point. A flash of lightning bolted across the sky and cast light on something near the water’s edge. “Hey, shine your light over there.” John moved toward the pink material. Violet followed. Lying under a bush was a torn piece of a garment. “Doesn’t that look like the partial shirt Atta Atwater was wearing in the cave?”
“Yeah,” Violet said as she squatted and examined it further. “I can’t tell, but is that dark spot rain or dried blood? There’s a broken beer bottle over here too. We need to bag this.” They took photos. No crime-scene kit on them to document it better. They did what they could.
“I’m going to go get a plastic bag if they have one and be back. You stay here.” John raced inside. The place was empty, wrecked. Voices from behind the bar drew him, and he entered the room.
Greg stood next to a guy with chin-length dark hair. Next to him, a woman stood with a small child—must be the one Violet saved. He froze as he set his sights on her face.
The resemblance was uncanny. Shocking even.
“What are you doing in here?” Greg boomed. His eyes narrowed, and he took a menacing step toward him. Was he serious or in character?
John raised his hands. “Hey, man. I need a plastic bag. Clean if you got one.” He glanced again at the woman holding the child.
“Get him the bag, Greg,” the woman said. “He’s here to help.”
Greg cursed.
“Are you Whiskey?” John asked.
“Who’s asking?”
John retrieved his badge. “Detective John Orlando. I’m here investigating the murders—”
“I know what you’re here doing. I have nothing to say or to do with those girls getting killed.” He glanced at Greg. “Get him a bag. Get him gone.”
“Actually, I’m not going anywhere until we talk. Here or at the sheriff’s office. Either way. You pick.” John steeled himself for another fight. Instead, Whiskey slid a chair toward him with his foot, turned it around and straddled it.
Greg left and returned with a plastic bag. Fury in his eyes. John handed the bag to the woman. “Can you take this to the federal agent who gave you the child? She’s down by the creek. Then tell her to come back in here.”
“What about Mason?” She gripped the child closer to her.
“Take him with you. Do you know where his mom is?” John asked. Poor kid. He was likely traumatized. But if Violet trusted her gut with this woman taking care of the child, he would too.
She shook her head then looked to Greg. “Do you know where she might be?”
The boy’s mom must have been the woman with Greg earlier. “She took off long before I intervened. Not my problem, Ruby.”
