Page 107 of Girl Between

They stopped at the corner of St. Charles and Third, in front of a large, white house with two floors of columns and balconies. George walked up to the black wrought iron fence that surrounded the corner lot and pressed the gold call button. A moment later, a metallic click granted them access to the grandiose property.

Even then, Dana knew there was something different, darker about this house. She had a feeling the sturdy exterior hid the true horrors that dwelled inside.

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A housekeeper greetedGeorge and Dana at the front door. After inspecting his badge, the gray-haired woman widened the door and ushered them inside.

Dana struggled to cling to reality as everything inside the old mansion tempted her with its bygone era, including the housekeeper’s black and white uniform.

“Miss Miriam is in the solarium,” the housekeeper said, leading them toward the back of the house.

They passed a grand ballroom, formal dining room, receiving rooms, multiple studies, and a library—each room sadder than the next. The antique furniture was draped in shrouds of colorless oilcloth. Cobwebs hung from every chandelier. But most disturbing of all was the smell. Rot.

The scent was unmistakable. It was also easy to pinpoint. Piled on nearly every surface were stacks of old newspapers.

The hopeful part of Dana’s mind wondered if maybe Mrs. Barton owned birds. Perhaps the newspapers were for their cages. Dana had an affinity for the intelligent winged creatures but preferred them as they were meant to be. Wild, not captive.

As they moved deeper into the house, she doubted anything as cheerful as birdsong had echoed through its halls in quite some time.

They entered a long, dark hallway. Sunlight glowed at the end; finally spilling into a large glass sunroom. It took a moment for Dana’s eyes to readjust to the light. When she did, she had to stifle a gasp.

The reason for all the newspapers became abundantly clear.

Black and white cutouts of dark-haired women were taped to every available surface. Dana’s gaze rapidly darted over each of them. They were all the same. Missing women. Their ages ranging from children to young adults to women her own age. Headlines from just about every state in the continental US jumped out at her.

Dana may have been wrong about the birds, but Miriam Barton was definitely trapped in a cage of her own making.

If George was struck by the bizarre scene, he covered it well. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Barton. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

The frail woman sitting amongst the newspaper clippings rose from her cushy pink chair. “Please, call me Mariam. Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice dripping with a southern accent born of pedigree and old money.

“I’m Detective George from NOPD; this is my associate, Dr. Gray.”

Miriam shook both of their hands with surprising strength. “I can’t tell you what it means to have an officer of the law take interest in my girl again.”

George glanced at Dana, “That’s the thing, ma’am. We’re not sure we’ve discovered anything pertaining to your daughter’s disappearance, but we’re working on something with unavoidable similarities. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions to gain a clearer picture.”

“Anything,” she said, gesturing to the love seat that matched her pink, rose-patterned chair.

Dana couldn’t draw her eyes from the frail sixty-something woman. She wore a pale silk nightgown that left nothing to theimagination. Her alabaster skin was taut against the sharp angles of her protruding bones. Jaw, clavicle, shoulders—so delicate and birdlike.

Forcing images of caged creatures from her mind, Dana refocused on Miriam.

Thankfully, the woman had the sense to shrug a patterned silk robe over her nightgown. The bright pink and orange floral print made Miriam appear paler, like some sort of apparition, playing dress up. Drawing the sash tight around her slender waist, she reclaimed her chair like a queen returning to her throne. She picked up the half-empty martini glass on the round, Kelly green side table next to her and took a sip.

“So, how can I help you?” she purred, her skeletal fingers caressing the silver chain of an emerald locket around her throat.

George spoke first. “What can you tell us about Chloe St. James and Veronica Richards?”

Miriam blinked in surprise. “My second cousins?”

Nodding, he asked, “Can you explain your relation?”

“They’d be my great-uncle’s children’s children. Lived in Baton Rouge, last I knew. Sadly, I never met them.”

“Were you aware they were both reported missing a few years back?” asked George.

Miriam gave a sad smile, her gaze flicking to the newspaper clippings plastering the walls. “Detective, I don’t think there’s a missing woman in this country that I’m not aware of.”