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Her heart squeezed hard; her pulse pounded in her ears. “What?”
“I found . . . a gun.”
Savannah blinked hard, pulling herself back from a full-on Mommy panic attack. “What kind of gun?”
“I don’t know. A little one? A . . . handgun, I guess.”
“Oh. Well, it must be Hale’s,” she said.
“Uh-uh. I think it’s his wife’s. . . . It was in her things, but kinda . . . hidden a little,” she said slowly.
“Where did you find it?” Savvy asked, realizing that Victoria had most likely been snooping in Kristina’s belongings. A slow burn started inside her at a deep level.
“There was this bag of clothes in the closet? For long dresses and stuff, to protect them? I just wanted to see and I unzipped it and the gun was lying on the bottom, sort of. Kinda tucked back.”
Savvy pushed her anger at Victoria to the back of her mind. Kristina had had a gun? That was news to her, but then her sister had become so cagey and secretive, it was possible she hadn’t known. “You should let Hale know,” Savvy said, but a dark fear swirled into her thoughts. Kristina with a gun . . .
She thought of the evidence file on the Donatellas. The murder weapon was never discovered.
“Have you touched it?” Savannah asked swiftly.
“Well, uh . . . I picked it up, but I put it back.”
Her Mommy panic was
back, only in a different form.
“Should I bring it to you?” Victoria asked.
“No! Don’t touch it again.”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, her voice starting to quaver.
“Just . . . stay with Declan, and don’t do anything. I’ll be right there.”
Savvy grabbed her messenger bag, checked her own gun at her hip, then headed toward the back door of the station.
Ravinia pulled the sheaf of papers from her pack, where she’d had them stowed ever since her friend had handed them to her. She’d intended to turn them right over to Catherine, but then she’d been reluctant to. No, she hadn’t read them, and she couldn’t rightly say why.
She’d purchased several pairs of jeans and some dark green dungarees, three shirts, a sweatshirt, and yes, a black Gore-Tex jacket. She had new underwear; several new bras, the store-bought kind, which actually cinched you in; a new pair of sneakers; and the boots on her feet, with some heavy socks. She had bought some snacks, too, and thought Hot Tamales could almost be the perfect food.
Lastly, she’d purchased a disposable cell phone.
But after she’d returned, she’d spent the day in her room, reluctant to leave it until she was actually on the road. She was delaying for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, but she knew it was because she was going to miss her sisters. Not that she was spending these last hours with them. That was what she should be doing, but it seemed too hard, somehow.
She’d decided that when she did leave, she was going to tramp up the road that ran in front of the Siren Song drive and led to the Foothillers’ village. She wanted to see Rand one last time, see if he could tell her anything more about her family’s connection to his.
Of course . . . her eyes strayed to the pages. Her friend had told her Catherine had been looking for them, so maybe some of the answers were right here.
Getting to her feet, she looked into the small mirror above her ancient vanity and made a face. She’d always been rather proud of her hair. Had combed the dark blond tresses and tossed them about her head, lost in self-admiration. Now that just felt . . . stupid . . . and so she’d plaited her hair into one long braid down her back.
Grabbing up her pack, which was a little heavier than she would have liked, but no pain, no gain, Ravinia slung it over one shoulder, picked up the papers, then headed down the hall to Catherine’s room. She raised her hand to knock but heard voices inside. For a moment she was undecided. She wanted Aunt Catherine to be alone when she turned over the pages. She was just turning back toward her room when Ophelia burst through the door, nearly running into her.
“I was just coming for you,” Ophelia said, taking in Ravinia’s attire and backpack with raised brows.
“I’m just saying good-bye,” Ravinia said, lifting her chin in challenge.
“What’s that?” Ophelia asked, zeroing in on the pages clutched in her left hand.
