Within another hour she pulled into Asheville. The address was a shop. One of those weird-ass occult shops, observed Cain as she drove past and saw the sign.
Figures.
And there was a police van parked in front of Desiree’s place. The front door of the occult shop opened and two people dressed in blue scrubs and booties came out carrying what looked to be trash bags, while a police officer stood guard at the front door, his fingers curled around his gun belt. The scrubs opened the rear doors of the van and put the bags in the back.
She pulled down the road and parked a block away. Then she got out and walked back toward the shop. A woman came out of another storefront about four doors down. She was in her fifties, heavyset and with gray hair tied back in a bun. She had on jeans and a long green apron with the name “Organic Alley” stenciled on the front. It matched the sign over her shop.
Cain walked up to her and said, “What’s going on there?” She indicated the occult shop.
The woman looked up at her. “Dolores Venuti was arrested, at least that’s what I heard.”
“Dolores? Really?”
“Yes. She owns that shop.”
“What was she arrested for?”
“I walked over there earlier and asked some questions. They really wouldn’t tell me anything, but I hung around and I heard some of the policemen talking.”
“What did they say?”
“And who are you and what’s your interest?” said the woman, her look now suspicious.
“I’ll tell you. I drove all the way up here from Alabama because Dolores offered me a job in her shop. I’ve done occult retail before. I’m sort of into it.”
The woman looked over her appearance and said, “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”
“So I quit my job and came here. And now it looks like I’m SOL. So, that’s my interest.”
The woman clucked in sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing. But it might turn out to be a good thing for you because I heard the police say that they found drugs in her shop. You don’t want to be caught up in all that. And they mentioned something about a young girl that Dolores had done something to. I even heard the word ‘kidnapping.’ I mean, you think you know people. But she always gave me the creeps, to tell you the truth. And between you and me, she struck me as being a little bit mean.”
“Wow, who knew,” said Cain with feigned surprise, which was maybe the most complex bit of acting she’d ever attempted. “So I guess Dolores is in jail?”
“Yes, the detention center on Davidson Street. It’s not that far from here.”
“Well, hopefully they keep her behind bars, right?”
“Oh my God, yes.”
Cain turned and walked back to her car and sat in it. She looked up the detention center address on her phone, drove there, and stared up at the place.
This was the closest Cain had been to the woman in a long, long time. She felt chills all over her body.
She can’t hurt you anymore, El.
El?
Apparently my real name is Mercy. That’s what Wanda said the FBI had told her, and I suppose they wouldn’t lie about that.
She sat back against her seat and closed her eyes.
“Mercy.” She said the word out loud. It was a strange name. Why would her mother have named her Mercy? And the other child. The one on the other side of the nursery rhyme?
Cain scrunched up her brow as though that would make her damaged memory suddenly light up and tell her all. It didn’t. Nothing came out. Except for one thing.