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  When the sixth chime faded away, Harlan leaned forward in his chair. “Is there anything we can do for you, Alexandra?” he asked. “Anything you need?”

  She stiffened at the question, and at the pity in his eyes. “I wanted to meet you, learn what I could about my brother. That’s all.” She stood. “Thank you.”

  Their goodbye moment felt as awkward as their hello had, maybe more so. At least with hello had come expectation.

  But of what? she wondered, gazing out the car window. A warm family reunion? A shocking revelation?

  Certainly not for what she’d gotten-surprise, sympathy and a small dose of suspicion.

  “Would you like to get something to eat?” Reed asked.

  She realized they had reached the Sonoma square and the girl & the fig. “I don’t think so, no. But thanks.”

  “Are you all right to drive? It’s been a big day.”

  She smiled slightly, appreciative of his empathy. “I’m fine. I need to process.”

  He nodded, then indicated the restaurant. “If you come back, you’ll have to try the place. It’s really good.”

  She glanced at the front window, saw past the Help Wanted sign to the bar and dining room beyond. Warm-toned wood, tiny amber lights, small, white linen-covered tables, nestled together, bistro style. Charming.

  “I will.”

  “I’m going to have a crime scene tech come by and collect the pacifier. Maybe some other things as well.”

  “I’ll get them back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you for everything, Detective Reed.” She held out her hand. “Please let me know what happens with the identification.”

  “I will. Absolutely.” He released her hand. “Goodbye, Alex.”

  She watched him drive away, then climbed into her own vehicle for the long drive back to San Francisco.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Monday, February 22

  9:20 A.M.

  “Morning, Tanner,” Reed said, parking himself in the doorway of her cubicle. “How’s life?”

  “Not bad. For a Monday.” She picked up her coffee cup. “Crime lab has the pacifier.”

  “And?”

  “Said there’s a slim chance they’ll be able to retrieve any DNA from it. Marginal at best, their words.”

  “But a chance, nonetheless.”

  “Exactly.”

  Reed yawned. “Spent the weekend reviewing interview transcripts in the Dylan Sommer case. Specifically interviews of Alexandra Clarkson.” He crossed to her desk and dropped a manila folder on it. “Basically got nothing new. One social worker found her to be unusually ‘dissociative.’ ”

  Tanner opened the folder and began scanning his notes. “But everyone else described her as a happy, talkative and well adjusted child.”

  “True. Although, when asked if she knew where her brother was, she said he was ‘sleeping.’ ”

  “Interesting.” She tapped the notes. “Kids are tough interviews. You can only push so hard.”

  The VCI receptionist stuck her head in the door. “You two need to take a ride. Hilldale Winery. The B &B.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Someone mutilated a baby doll, left it strung up in the vines.”

  Thirty minutes later, Reed and Tanner stood side by side at the scene. Neither spoke, just gazed at the baby doll. It was incredibly lifelike. So lifelike that when they’d approached, Reed had been certain it was a real baby.

  Apparently, Mrs. Dale had been taking a group of her guests on the tractor tour, a woman had spotted the doll and screamed. And no wonder. In a weird way it was Baby Doe number two.

  “I’ve seen some seriously twisted shit,” Tanner muttered, “but this beats it all.”

  It did rank right up there, Reed thought, taking in the gruesome display. What should have been a beautiful child’s toy had been violated in a very ugly way. Strung up like a sacrificial lamb, arms and legs stretched wide and fastened with cord to the foliage wire. Its body had been sliced open and smeared with what appeared to be blood. Its eyes were wide open; the mouth had been violently punctured to form a hideous gaping hole.

  Tanner coughed, clearly struggling to steady herself. “A response to Baby Doe?”

  Reed nodded. “Some bored kids thinking they were being funny. Maybe.”

  He moved his gaze slowly over the area. The doll had been strung up in easy view from the tractor paths that ran alongside the vineyard. The spot was located within eyeshot of the B &B and the main road.

  The road wasn’t highly traveled, but it wasn’t remote. Placing the doll here would have presented problems for the perps. They had to have done it at night and been especially quiet.

  “They didn’t hide it, that’s for sure.” Reed squatted in front of the find.

  Tanner joined him. “Whoever left this wanted it found.”

  “That’d be my bet. But why?”

  “To get a reaction, of course.”

  Baby Doe number two. The press could have a field day with that. Uneasiness settled in the pit of his gut. He looked at Tanner. “Think it was a sick joke?”

  “Normally that’d be my guess.”

  “But?”

  “But this isn’t a doll somebody picked up at Walmart. “It’s an Ashton Drake collectible. They go for a bill and a half.”

  “A hundred and fifty dollars? For a doll?”

  “Yup.”

  He frowned. “And how do you know so much about collectible dolls?”

  “My sister’s kid. She’s gaga over ’em and there’s nothing my sister won’t spend on her. She’s spoiled her rotten. And I do mean rotten.”

  “How old’s your niece? Maybe she’s our prankster?”

  “Eight. Give her a few years.”

  “Wow,” he murmured, expression deadpan, “such a doting aunt.”

  “That’s what my sister says.” Tanner motioned to the desecrated doll. “My point is, that’s a lot of money for a doll you’re going to destroy in a prank.”

  “Yet using this doll is what made it so effective.”

  “Which means our pranksters thought it out.”

  “Maybe. Or they’re selfish brats who don’t give a crap about how much their parents spent on something. Just plucked it off one of their shelves.”

  “Which would mean a girl’s involved.” He retrieved a glove from his coat pocket, fitted it on and carefully examined the bloodied polyfill spilling out. “How about it, Tanner. Is it blood?”

  “It’s not ketchup or paint, that’s for damn certain. But it could be theatrical. There are home recipes that look pretty authentic.”

  “Let’s photograph and bag it. Find out if it’s blood.”

  “And if it is, is it human?”

  “Right,” he said, disgusted. “When kids pull these stunts, they don’t think about the manpower it takes to clean them up. I hope this is the work of some stupid kid so I get a chance to scare the shit out of him.”

  “Hey.” Tanner wagged her finger at him. “Stop with the sexism. A female could be behind this, you know. Equal opportunity stupid fucks.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  San Francisco, California

  Monday, March 1

  2:20 P.M.

  Alex sat in her mother’s living room, what was left of her mother’s work set up around her. Ten days had passed since her trip to Sonoma. In that time she had taken care of her mother’s remains. The arrangements had been exhausting, even though they had been relatively minor. Her mother had wanted to be cremated and because she’d had few friends, Alex hadn’t seen a need for a memorial service. She had contacted the Chronicle with obituary information, picked out an urn, and worked on processing the fact that her mother was gone.

  That wasn’t the only fact she had been processing. And sadly, it wasn’t the most disturbing. What kept her up at night was a lifetime of lies and secrets.

  “Talk to me, Alex.” Tim sat across from her, expression concerned. “I’m worried about
you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t buy it, obviously. “What about finances?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said again. “Mom didn’t have any life insurance, but she was debt-free. She owned the house and her car outright. If I have to I’ll sell the house.”

  She may want to, she thought, moving her gaze over the room. So many bad memories.

  She motioned to the paintings. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Even unfinished.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s good you saved them.”

  “Yes. Good.” She frowned and brought a hand to her temple, massaged at the tension there. “I can’t stop thinking about her other life. In Sonoma, before Dylan disappeared. She was happy, Tim. Everyone I met said so. You saw the pictures, she looked like a different person.”

  “Tragedy changes people,” he said softly, mimicking what he’d said after she’d shared everything she’d learned with him.

  It wasn’t enough, she thought. Not nearly.

  “I want to know who she was, Tim. I need to know.”

  “You need to move on, love.”

  She met his gaze evenly. “Move on to what? I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  He leaned forward. “You’re the same person you were the day before your mother died.”

  She shook her head. “Think about it. It’s like a piece of a puzzle’s been forced into the wrong spot. The picture that emerged around it is wrong. Warped.”

  He stood and crossed to her. Kneeling in front of her, he gathered her hands in his. “You’re grieving. You lost your mother, your only family.”

  She stared at him, frowning. What she was experiencing didn’t feel like grief. It felt like betrayal. Anger and uncertainty.

  And it felt like a gnawing urge to do something. Right now, sitting still wasn’t an option.

  “I quit my job,” she said.

  Something like alarm raced into his eyes. “Now’s not the time to make life-changing decisions.”

  “How important a life decision was it, Tim? I was a bartender.”

  “You have your dissertation to finish. Your Ph.D. to earn. That’s important to you. I know it is.”

  She gently eased her hands from his. “It is important. But so is this.”

  “What?”

  “Finding out who I am.”

  “I want us to get back together.”

  She stared at him, certain she must have heard him wrong. Certain it wasn’t panic she heard in his voice.

  He pressed on. “It’s just grief, I promise you. I’ll love you through this.”

  “It’s not, Tim. And you can’t.”

  “I can.” He drew her to her feet. “We were good together once. We will be again.”

  She shook her head. “Tim, I don’t-”

  He tightened his fingers over hers. “I need you, Alex. What will I do without you here?”

  It was all about him, she realized. His needs. Same as when they’d been married. That’s why at the first bump in the road, he’d cheated on her.

  “What about what’s good for my life?” she asked softly, extricating herself from his grasp. She crossed to one of her mother’s paintings and gazed at swirls and slashes of color.

  After a moment, she glanced back at him. “I’m thinking of moving to Sonoma.”

  “Sonoma? You can’t be serious.”

  “More than thinking about it. I found a house to rent.” He didn’t reply and she went on. “It’ll be a temporary move. Just until I get the answers I need.”

  “You may never get those answers, Alex. What then?”

  She refused to consider that an option and pressed on. “I’m subletting my apartment to a friend from the bar, furnishings and all. The place I’m thinking of renting is furnished. And Sonoma’s the perfect place to work on my dissertation.”

  “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  “I don’t want you to be hurt, Alex.”

  “I’m already hurt, so bad it’s sometimes hard to breathe. How could it hurt more?”

  He crossed to stand behind her and gently turned her toward him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole thing. About what happened to your brother and what your mother did. Your mother took you away from there for a reason. She wiped that time from your memory, for a reason.”

  “Grief,” Alex said. “Guilt.”

  “Maybe,” he said, searching her gaze. “But what if it’s more?”

  “What if? That was twenty-five years ago.”

  “What about your vision? The screaming baby? What if you did see something you don’t want to remember?”

  Uneasiness stole over her. She shook it off, firming her resolve. “Then, maybe, I’ll help unearth my brother’s killer.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sonoma Valley, California

  Friday, March 5

  4:40 P.M.

  Alex sat at a window table at the girl & the fig, gazing out at the Sonoma square. Tourists meandered from shop to shop, moms with strollers ambled in the park while a group of young people loitered on benches. They looked a bit more hippie throwback than twenty-first-century Gen-Ys, though their Starbucks cups gave them away.

  She had noted already that unlike San Francisco, people didn’t rush here. The living was relaxed. The atmosphere laid-back.

  Was it the influence of the landscape? Alex wondered, lifting her glass. Or the grape?

  She held her wineglass to her nose and breathed in the zinfandel’s full-bodied, spicy bouquet. It was a Sommer wine. She’d seen it on the wine menu and ordered it despite its ridiculous per glass price.

  She sipped the wine, held it on her tongue a moment before swallowing. It was worth every penny, if not for its superior quality then for the fact seeing it on the menu and sipping it now was like a sign. She had done the right thing.

  She thought of Tim. He had begged her to reconsider this move, was convinced she was making a bad decision. One motivated by grief. He was frightened for her.

  Too late to second-guess yourself, Alex.

  Way too late, she acknowledged, taking another sip. Thirty minutes ago, she’d signed a six-month lease on a charming cottage just a block and a half from here.

  She couldn’t turn back or chicken out now. She had committed herself.

  A knock on the picture window jerked her from her thoughts. Reed, she saw. He smiled in greeting and she motioned him inside.

  A moment later she invited him to join her. “I’m surprised to see you this time of day,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be off detecting?”

  “Maybe I am?”

  “Cryptic. That fits.”

  He motioned the bartender, ordered a Coke, then turned back to her. “Word was, you were back in Sonoma.”

  “Really? Do you have spies everywhere, Detective Reed?”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me more than that?”

  “Reveal my sources? No way.” The waitress delivered Alex’s appetizer, a display of fruits and artisanal cheese, and his soft drink. She sent Reed a conspiratorial glance, then walked away.

  “One of your sources?” Alex asked.

  “Could be. Neely knows most everything that goes on around the square.”

  “Is that so?” She smiled. “She tell you I rented a house around the corner? The little yellow one?”

  His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not kidding. I’m moving in Saturday.”

  “You don’t think that’s a little rash?”

  “Not for me.”

  “What about your job?”

  “I’m good for a few months without one. I intend to finish my dissertation. This’ll be the perfect opportunity. And the perfect place to do it.”

  “You never heard the advice about not making snap decisions when grieving?”

  She thought of Tim. “Just the other day, in fact. Problem is, I’m not very go
od at taking advice.”

  “Independent thinker? Or ODD?” She cocked an eyebrow in question and he grinned. “Oppositional defiance disorder. My brother has a kid tagged with that. Makes life interesting.”

  She spread brie on a piece of baguette, took a bite and murmured her approval. “Independent or oppositionally defiant? Depends on who you’re talking to.”

  He laughed. “Good enough. So, next Saturday’s the day.”

  “No, this Saturday.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “The house is furnished so all I’ll need is clothes, personal items and my research materials.”

  He digested that for a moment, then leaned toward her. “But why, Alex? What do you hope to gain by this?”

  “Answers.”

  “To what?”

  “I would think that’s obvious. Why my mother ran away, why she hid the past from me. To what happened to my brother.”

  “What if there are no answers?”

  “There’re answers. I just need to dig them up.”

  “I wish you luck, Alex.” He stood, seemed to come to a decision and met her eyes. “Think you’d have the energy to go to a party Saturday night? My family’s launching their ’08 Bear Creek Zin.”

  “Are you asking me out, Detective?”

  “I suppose I am.” He smiled. “I’ll introduce you to my mother. Maybe she can help you get some of those answers you’re looking for.” He laid three dollars on the bar. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Dress?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Anything goes here. I’ll see you then.”

  Alex watched him exit the restaurant. It occurred to her as she lowered her gaze that he’d probably be fabulous in bed. Would “anything go” there as well? she wondered.

  She’d better watch herself around the handsome detective, Alex thought. She had a history of not using the good sense God had given her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Saturday, March 6

  8:03 P.M.