“What’s he doing?” I asked Lucas who was opening our last two cans of spaghetti. He shrugged his shoulders, took my hand, and led me outside to where his brother was creating the ruckus. Mason looked over his shoulder, his gaze resting on mine and Lucas’s joined hands. He paused for a moment, jaw tightening.
“Is that the carving?” Lucas asked, oblivious to his brother’s behavior.
Mason stood back allowing us to admire his knife skills.
“I thought we’d give our new home a name.”
Freshly hammered into the side of the cabin was the labor of love carving.
It read, ‘Little Wren.’
Chapter 11
NOW
The precinct was buzzing with activity.
The smell of fresh coffee being brewed wafted over the half-filled mugs of coffee now cold and uninviting. Receptionists wearing figure-hugging skirts and heels more suited to a night out attended to demanding detectives who appeared overworked and generally disinterested. A large disgruntled man, unsatisfied with his recent interrogation, steamrolled past colliding with my shoulder. Using the edge of a desk for balance, I watched the human bulldozer carry on without so much as an apology.
“Jesus,” I muttered, nursing the ache.
“Ms. Sinclair!” a stern male voice called from across the room.
I spun sharply, my left hand knocking something in the process. The stationary holder slid across the table before toppling to the ground. I went to snatch it mid-air, but the items were already scattered over the chipped and scratched floorboards.
Hurriedly, I attempted to gather all the loose pieces, cursing my clumsiness. An extra set of hands joined in the search for runaway pens and pencils.
“Ms. Sinclair, what brings you here?” Detective Kinross conversed with me for the first time. Typically, his partner was the one leading the interrogation. Kinross was a handsome man, and when he actually communicated, he became even more appealing.
Restocking the cylinder, I returned it to its rightful place and straightened, meeting Detective Kinross’s inquisitive gaze.
“I would like to speak to you both,” I answered, nervously. “About your investigation.”
“You caught me at the right time. We were about to head back to Delaware. So…” he gave a nonchalant shrug, “… you did everything to avoid us. Why the change of heart?”
“Because now I can confirm that Mason Carter is involved.”
Kinross bit the inside of his lip, his eyes holding mine, contemplating his words before he spoke.
“All right then,” he finally said, gesturing me to follow him, “Let’s put an end to this.”
“Ms. Gemma Sinclair…” Detective Walsh’s voice was sharp and edgy. She stood by the door waiting for me to enter, a cocky assurance in her eyes. “This truly is a surprise.”
I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair under harsh fluorescent lighting with two somewhat amused and patronizing faces staring at me. “So what do you have for us?”
“Let me start by saying I haven’t seen or heard from Mason or Lucas Carter. What I told you was correct.”
The two detectives, now expressionless, waited for me to get to the crunch.
“But while I may not have seen Mason, well… I think I may have seen him, but I’m not sure. It was dark, and he was there one second and gone the next, but the—”
“Ms. Sinclair, how about you start at the beginning,” Detective Walsh suggested more out of frustration with arms folded tightly over her chest.
“Okay. Well… ever since you two came into my life asking me about the past, strange things have been happening.”
“Like the gallery vandalism?” Kinross asked.
“Yes, there’s that.”
“The faces on the artwork had the word ‘Truth or Dare’ carved into them.”
“As we saw for ourselves.”
“What you didn’t see was the note left behind.” They both raised their eyebrows. “Maximus Kline found it in the middle of the exhibiting room.”
Walsh shrugged. “What did it say?”
“It read ‘Forget everything you think you saw.’”
The detectives threw a glance at each other before returning to me.
“Carry on,” Kinross encouraged.
“It was a warning, knowing I had two detectives seeking me out and probing into a history I’d rather forget.”
“Because someone told you you should forget it?”
“Yes. But there’s more. Although I was keeping to my word, you kept turning up expecting answers. I could see how that may have looked to someone like Mason Carter.”
“And how exactly is that?”
“Like I have betrayed him and Lucas. And because of that betrayal, he’s trying to scare me into silence. Destroying an exhibit at my workplace, leaving me handwritten warnings, breaking into my apartment.”
“Breaking into your apartment?”
“Yes… well… nothing was broken or stolen, but I came home and my bouquet of roses I’d received for my birthday had the buds cleanly cut off leaving only the stems. The flowers were nowhere to be found. Before going to bed, I moved the bookshelf in front of the door. Then later, I woke to see Mason standing at the foot of my bed. He was there, I swear he was. In the dark, watching me sleep. He was holding a knife.”
“How do you know he was holding a knife?” Walsh asked.
“The blade glinted in the small amount of light coming through the window. It’s what caught my attention the most. When I reached over to turn the lamp on, he was gone. The only thing that remained was his cologne. It’s a very distinct scent. One that’s truly unique and specifically his.”
“What happened then?”
“I searched the apartment turning every light on as I went. Nothing was broken or removed, and Mason was nowhere to be seen. The bookshelf was still where I’d left it.”
“So, do you think you imagined him there? Maybe because he’s been weighing heavily on your mind.”
“It was a possibility and something I did consider at the time. That was until I went to wash my face and saw a message written on my mirror.”
Again, their eyebrows raised in question.
“It read ‘Little Wren.’”
“Little Wren?”
For the next twenty minutes, I filled them in on the first time at the cabin. They listened intently, exchanging surreptitious glances, lips pursed tightly together.
“Did you go to the same school?” Kinross asked.
“No, I went to an all-girls school while the boys went to a state school. We only saw each other afterward and on weekends. Holidays we’d always plan a new adventure. Sometimes Mason wasn’t home for weeks on end. When I’d ask Lucas, he’d tell me he was staying with his aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania. They were the best times, when Mason wasn’t around to intimidate us.”
“You more so than his brother?”
“Yes. Lucas had a backbone and would stand up for us both.”
“Hmm…” Walsh murmured, her index finger tapping her thin, dry lips in contemplation.
“At the moment, you could do with someone like Lucas on your side. Maybe if you could convince him to co-operate, we could locate Mason.”
My eyes widened with the suggestion. “Locate him? As in… you can’t track him down?”
“Ms. Sinclair, we’ve been searching for Mason’s whereabouts for weeks now. We paid Lucas a visit first, and the truth is, we think he tipped his brother off. Mason runs a trucking business in Baltimore. His fleet of vehicles run all across the country, yet no one can or will tell us where he’s been the last two weeks.”
“That was his dad’s business,” I mused to myself.
“We’ve visited his place of business a few times a week and nothing. No one is talking. Mason hasn’t used any of his bank cards, and we’re assuming he’s on a burner phone. His cell has had no incoming or outgoing calls in the last two weeks. He’s employed someone to take over the daily running of the fleet, so we don’t know if or when he’s planning on returning.”
“And let’s just say he doesn’t return and he knows we’ve spoken?”
Neither of them rushed into an answer.
“Right,” I said, exasperated with the situation. “Knowing Mason, whether I speak to you or not, I’m going behind his back.”
“We can station an officer. Monitor your apartment. If he’s lurking, we’ll catch him.”
I wasn’t filled with confidence.