Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller
35
The receptionist looksbetween Kal and me, her blue-gray eyes as clear as the ocean when she shakes her head. Again.
“I’m sorry, boys,” she drawls, sticking a pencil through the graying bun at the back of her head. “We don’t have a Theodore Artinos being held here. Have you checked the detention center over on Parsons and Third? We get stragglers from there all the time.”
Kal sighs, giving her a curt nod. “Thanks anyway, ma’am.”
We leave the station empty-handed, though not entirely surprised. Violet’s story makes more sense than a Mafia family unnecessarily involving the police. Especially over money that’s been mostly paid back.
None of the checks I wrote were ever deposited to any accounts owned by an Artinos; they were all deposited to the same account with an alias in the Caymans, and we’re having Riley run checks to verify the ownership. I’m not sure who else would’ve gotten their hands on the money, but regardless, we’re one step closer to finding out.
Goldengrove, North Carolina, is nothing like I’ve ever seen; the beachside town is the size of Duris, with beautiful cobblestone streets and flowering trees planted everywhere. Downtown is covered in chalk murals, and people actually smile when we walk past, apparently unaware of the darkness in their midst.
It’s exactly the sort of place I’d have expected Violet to be from.
We stop at a little café for coffee, then continue trailing the downtown streets, searching for their father. If he’s here, I’m certain we’ll find him one way or another—even if it means speaking to overly polite strangers.
“Isn’t there a way for you to just… I don’t know… tap into a grid system and find the guy?”
Kal turns his head toward me, dark eyes unimpressed. “You use the same security company I do. Why don’t you call and ask how easy it is to track down a missing person?”
I can already hear Riley’s annoyed response and the subsequent explanation I’d have to tune out. “Fair enough.”
Other than that, we don’t speak very much as we continue our search. I’m learning that the social rumors about Dr. Death appear to be mostly true—he’s silent, but polite enough to remain unnoticed.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to feel like a zoo animal. I’ve definitely been recognized a handful of times, though no one has approached thus far. I suppose my reputation precedes me.
Maybe going slightly insane has its benefits.
Kal arranges for his petite redheaded assistant to pick us up once we’ve exhausted our efforts in town. She’s not said a single word the entire time we’ve been on this trip, and a part of me wonders if that’s something the man looks for in his employees since he clearly values his quiet.
Goldengrove whizzes past as I check my cell, noting several unread texts from Violet. There are photos of her, Willow, and Micah lying in bed with green face masks on, stuffing popcorn in each other’s mouths, but the last one I scroll to gives me pause.
Me: Is that goat in my house?
Violet: She was lonely outside. pouting emoji
Chuckling under my breath, I type out a quick reply.
Me: Did she tell you that?
Violet: No, but I could see it in her eyes.
Violet: Just for tonight. She says she ain’t scared of no ghosts, so I think she’ll keep me safe.
Me: Are you guys watching Ghostbusters?
Violet: winking emoji
Rolling my eyes, I exit the message thread and lock my phone, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling sprouting in my stomach. I should’ve packed her along in the plane with me, but she insisted she get to stay in the estate one last night. Since I was already being an ass just by going, I agreed, though it was the most difficult thing I’d ever done.
I check the security cameras over and over. Every seven minutes, just to make sure my men are in line and no one has breached the property.
We come to a stop in front of a little house with white siding, a sinking concrete porch, and a yard overgrown with as many flowers as the eye can see.
In the front, by the short little picket fence, is a bed of sunflowers. They stretch open and out, seeking the sun, and immediately, I know this has to be her house. Her presence practically oozes from the air, as if she were the phantom haunting her childhood home.
A woman with long black hair and blue eyes rocks in a wicker chair on the porch, knitting a blanket in her lap. I note the intricate, colorful flowers on the border and the slight twitch in the woman’s tired hands. Alarm swims in her face when she sees us exit the vehicle, starting up the front walk to the house.
“Oh God,” she wails, dropping her needles and the pile of fabric to jump to her feet. She clings to a column on the porch, covering her mouth with one palm. “Oh my God, you’re here. It’s her, isn’t it? My baby! Oh God, Violet, my sweet sunflower, I am so sorry—”
“Mrs. Artinos,” Kal says, voice firm, “Violet’s fine.”
Her face falls, a million different emotions playing out at once. She seems to settle on indignation. “Well, in that case, you tell that little brat of mine that she needs to call me and rectify this situation immediately. I can’t have her father out of the country and her not answering me. I need to fill her in on about a dozen different gardening shows and the fact that our pastor skipped town to be with his boyfriend last Sunday. Where the hell is she?”
Kal’s eyebrows knit together, and we stare at the woman for several long minutes. She stares back expectantly.
“Your husband’s out of the country?”
“I believe that’s what I said.”
He looks past her at the house, then up at the sky, scoffing under his breath. “I’ve heard that one before. Let me guess. Sick aunt?”
She pauses, taking a step closer. As she does, her high cheekbones and radiant complexion come into the sunlight, and the resemblance to her daughter is almost uncanny.
Once again, a bony hand goes to her mouth. She stops about a foot from Kal, her eyes widening as she scans him from head to toe. He’s an inch or so taller than me, so it takes her a moment.
Then, she gasps. “Kallum.”
