Wicked Game

by Lisa Jackson

  Becca sensed the detective wasn’t quite taking them seriously and she sent Hudson a “what gives?” look, but Hudson’s gaze was glued to McNally. It had been three days since Mitch’s death and the scene at Becca’s condo. She and Hudson had wondered when Zeke and Evangeline would contact the police, but when Mac called up and politely asked them if they could meet again, they’d said they would join him at the Laurelton station. McNally had assured them it was just an informal discussion, so Hudson and Becca had decided to preempt Zeke and Evangeline in the interest of keeping the investigation moving forward into Renee’s accident.

  The woman detective appeared from an inner door carrying four paper cups of coffee. She handed them around, then stood back from the proceedings.

  “Thanks,” McNally told her.

  She shrugged a response.

  “Zeke said you probably already knew who sent the notes,” Hudson said. “Sounds like you led him to that conclusion.”

  Mac inclined his head. “I thought it was a woman. And when Zeke’s DNA came through, the possibility seemed to be there.”

  “You obviously don’t think Evangeline’s a killer or you would have picked her up,” Hudson observed.

  “We got somebody else in mind,” Gretchen couldn’t help saying.

  Mac felt his temper rise but he held it inside. He’d confided what he’d learned from the Portland PD to Gretchen, but she still had those “jump in too soon” tendencies that drove him nuts.

  “Who?” Hudson asked. Both detectives hesitated, which pissed him off. “If you have any information on who killed my sister, I want to know.”

  “We’re looking into the arson/homicide at Blue Note,” Mac said. “One of your group has been picked up for questioning in Portland.”

  “Who?” Hudson asked.

  “Scott Pascal.”

  Becca nearly sloshed her coffee from her cup. “What?”

  “Scott was Glenn’s business partner,” Hudson said.

  “Their businesses were running in the red. Portland PD has evidence he was in the area that night. We think he set the fire.”

  “But he and Glenn were friends!” Becca protested.

  “Money does strange things to people,” Mac said.

  “He ever involved with your sister?” the woman detective asked Hudson.

  “No.”

  “Didn’t have a thing for her? Wouldn’t want to see her dead?”

  Becca gasped.

  “No!” A vein throbbed in Walker’s throat, his anger palpable.

  Mac shot Gretchen a quelling look, then said, “I plan to give the Portland PD any and all information I can on why Scott Pascal would kill Glenn Stafford, Renee Trudeau, and Mitch Bellotti. That’s why I asked to meet with you. Can you think of any connection we’re missing?”

  Becca and Hudson looked at each other, then at Mac.

  “Mitch was harmless,” Becca said.

  “Maybe not, if Stafford told Bellotti he thought Scott Pascal was an embezzler. And then Bellotti put two and two together and figured Pascal had more to gain by burning the place down than trying to keep it afloat.”

  “He wouldn’t have killed Glenn.” Becca was certain.

  “That could’ve been a mistake. If Pascal thought he could control Stafford once the place was gone, he may not have meant to kill him.”

  “What about Renee?” Walker asked, his expression dark.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Mac said on a sigh.

  “She was not involved with Scott.”

  “They both went to the beach a lot.”

  “For work,” Hudson pointed out.

  “And maybe a little afternoon delight,” the woman detective said.

  McNally’s desk phone rang and he hesitated a moment before picking up. Everyone sat tensely as the detective listened, answering in near monosyllables. When he hung up, he said, “Thank you for coming in.”

  “That’s it?” Hudson asked.

  “For the moment.”

  “You’re wrong about my sister and Scott,” he said as he and Becca shrugged into their coats and headed for the door.

  Mac didn’t answer as he watched them leave. Gretchen lifted her brows at him after they were gone.

  “We’ve been invited to witness the Pascal interrogation,” Mac said. “Maybe we’ll get some answers.”

  “Renee was not involved with Scott,” Hudson stated firmly as he punched the accelerator and his truck leapt away from the police station parking lot.

  “No,” Becca agreed. Her head was full of too much information, but what kept ringing through her ears was Detective Sandler’s last remark.

  And maybe a little afternoon delight.

  It brought to mind images of all the afternoons and days and nights she’d spent in bed with Hudson, and the fact that she still hadn’t had her period.

  Hudson was cutting through traffic on his way back to Becca’s. The sun was rising over a bank of clouds, the promise of a clear day. He followed two motorcyclists riding side by side. “Renee and Scott really were little more than acquaintances.”

  “What if she found out something in Deception Bay, or maybe Lincoln City, that tied him to the other murders and he thought he had to get rid of her…”

  “You believe that?” he demanded.

  “Not really. The police always have a way of rattling me.”

  Hudson grunted. “Renee was after a story. It had nothing to do with Scott.”

  “But everything to do with Jessie.” Becca’s stomach suddenly nosedived and she sucked in air in a hurry. “Would you mind pulling into the Safeway? I could use a soda.”

  “Feeling sick again?”

  “Kinda.”

  As he nosed into a parking spot, she grabbed hold of the door handle, her knuckles showing white. She hesitated a moment, getting her bearings.

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?” he said, half joking.

  Becca’s hairsbreadth too long hesitation was answer enough. Hudson stared at her. “Are you? Are you pregnant?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

  “I thought you were on the pill,” he said blankly.

  “I wasn’t even thinking about it. I haven’t used birth control since my marriage. I just…” She didn’t know how to explain. She could scarcely explain it to herself.

  “But you aren’t sure yet.”

  “No. It’s just conjecture. I’ve been meaning to get a pregnancy test, but a lot’s been happening. Maybe I’m not. I mean, maybe I’m just feeling nauseous.” She looked away. “I’m afraid to find out. Afraid it might not be true,” she admitted in a rush.

  “You want to be pregnant?”

  “Yes.” She was emphatic. “Yes, I’ve wanted a child forever. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t think about it. I was going on emotion…wanting you…” She heard the note of excitement and pleading in her voice and had to turn away. If he didn’t want this, she would understand. She would. She would make herself.

  “Well…” he said slowly.

  “Well,” she repeated.

  “I guess we’d better find out, then.”

  She couldn’t read him. “You’re okay with this?”

  “I’m just—taking it in.”

  She heard something in his voice then, a note of wonder. “Yeah?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” she said, watching him closely.

  A kid, he thought.

  He might actually have a kid.

  To raise on the farm where he himself had grown up. He hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t even considered it, but now that the chance for fatherhood was facing him, he felt a surprising buoyancy, a lifting of his spirit. “A kid,” he said aloud. “Our kid.”

  “Well, it’s not for sure yet. My periods don’t exactly run like clockwork.”

  “They sell those tests here, don’t they?” He indicated the grocery store.

  “They have a pharmacy department.” She reached for her door hand
le and looked back, an anxious smile touching the corners of her mouth. “What if it’s true?”

  “What if it is,” he replied, smiling, and Becca, full of emotion, slid back across the seat and hugged and kissed him for all she was worth until she felt his chest rumble with laughter and his arms squeeze her back hard.

  Scott Pascal’s interrogation was taking place in a bare narrow room with two rectangular tables surrounded by eight metal chairs. As expected, Pascal had lawyered up. Mac and Gretchen had arrived at the station, half expecting the interview to be over, but Pascal’s lawyer had been delayed, so they got to witness the full proceedings from behind the two-way glass window. The invitation had been extended because their case was linked to the arson/homicide at the restaurant. An assistant DA and another officer rounded out their group of four as they watched the interrogation which, of course, was also being recorded.

  The guy was sweating, looking nervous and continuously listening to his lawyer before answering. But he was having trouble explaining why his car had been spotted parked in a shopping center lot three blocks away, courtesy of a security camera, during the time of the explosion. Another traffic camera had caught Scott nearly running a red light, and an employee who had left her car at Blue Note to have some drinks with a friend had come forward saying she’d seen Scott enter through the kitchen as she was driving away. The fact that the fire inspector had claimed the fire was caused by arson only added to Pascal’s troubles.

  The fucker was nailed.

  He knew it.

  The cops knew it.

  And his tight-assed lawyer knew it.

  When the evidence was laid in front of him, Scott collapsed and put his head on the table.

  “If I could have a minute alone with my client,” the lawyer said.

  On their side of the glass, the ADA, a sharp-dressed black man with clipped hair and rimless glasses, nodded. “He’s gonna want to cop a plea.”

  “About time,” McNally said. Finally a break in the case. “When he does, see what he knows. He set the fire and killed his partner. I want to know about the other dead bodies. I think he killed Mitch Bellotti to keep him from talking.”

  “We’ve got it covered,” the ADA said, “and we’ll find out if he knows anything about the Jezebel Brentwood case.”

  Mac doubted that Pascal would admit to killing the girl, but it was a start.

  Finally, the case was pulling together. Except for Renee Trudeau. Pascal had been in Portland on the day her Camry had been forced through the guardrail and off the cliff into the Pacific Ocean.

  But he could have an accomplice. Or, as Mac was coming to suspect, there might be a second killer.

  From inside the room, Scott’s lawyer said, “I want to talk to the DA. My client is willing to tell you everything he knows, but in consideration for his testimony—”

  “—confession,” one of the officers corrected.

  “—Mr. Pascal would like to know what he can expect.”

  “He wants a deal,” one of the officers said and looked into the glass.

  “Okay, showtime.” The ADA walked out of the observation room, and in the next few minutes, Scott, assured he’d not get the death penalty, admitted that he’d set the fire at Blue Note and also killed Mitch Bellotti.

  “I knew it. That son of a bitch,” Mac whispered, watching as Scott, sweating and holding out his hands as if anyone with half a brain would understand his reasoning, explained.

  “The restaurant was hemorrhaging money. Blue Note couldn’t be saved and Glenn, he wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Because you were cooking the books. And taking some of that money to the casino in Lincoln City. We found those records, too,” the officer said, and the wind seemed to go out of Pascal’s sails. “You’d better be straight with us, Pascal, or all deals are off.”

  “Okay, okay, so I ‘borrowed’ a little of the company funds. It wasn’t a lot. Jesus Christ, I owned the damned thing. I was the brains behind the business. Glenn with all his marital woes was useless.” He was red in the face, angry all over again.

  “So you decided to off him.”

  “No…not really. I was just going to burn the place down. I didn’t know Glenn was inside. That was a pure accident.”

  “That accident sure worked out for you,” the officer said. “No more Glenn Stafford to worry about.”

  “He shouldn’t have been there! That was his fault, not mine!”

  “Oh, brother,” Mac muttered, staring through the glass.

  “And Bellotti?”

  Scott rubbed a nervous hand over his forehead. “I feel bad about that. This thing just became an out-of-control roller coaster. First Glenn, and then Mitch started asking questions. I had no beef with him. He wasn’t so smart, but an okay guy. But Glenn had told him things and I could tell he was putting it all together. So…” To his credit, Pascal actually seemed guilt-riddled. “The body was found in the maze, we got the notes, and at first I thought I shouldn’t say I got one…but then when everybody did except Zeke it seemed fortuitous, y’know? Stupid Evangeline was trying to save him, and she just made him look guilty.”

  “But you’re the one guilty of killing four people.”

  “Four? No way!” Scott was rising from his chair, but his lawyer placed a staying hand over his forearm.

  “Mr. Pascal is telling you what he knows. About the deaths of Glenn Stafford and Mitchell Bellotti.”

  “What about Renee Trudeau and Jezebel Brentwood?”

  Scott wasn’t waiting for his lawyer. “I had nothing to do with that. I wasn’t anywhere near the coast when Renee had her accident. Jesus, I have an alibi. I was at a meeting with bankers about refinancing Blue Ocean. The meeting was in Portland at Second Community Bank. Check with Davis Sheen, he’s my banker.”

  “We will.”

  “And I didn’t kill Jessie. I hardly knew her.” He was nearly convincing as tears glistened in his eyes. “You have to believe me.” He turned his tortured gaze to his bland-faced lawyer. “It’s the truth. I didn’t kill Renee, and I didn’t kill Jessie. And I don’t know who did.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Becca gazed at the wand in her hand with its two bright pink lines that indicated, yes, she was indeed pregnant.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed, staring at the two lines in wonder.

  I’m having a baby. Hudson’s baby!

  Again.

  She blinked against a spate of tears and told herself that all she had to do was step through the door and tell Hudson, who was waiting downstairs. He’d wished her luck as she’d hurried up the steps of her condo, pregnancy test kit tight in her hand.

  If she figured right, the baby would be born in late November or early December. A Christmas baby!

  “Stop it,” she said, not wanting to get caught up in the host of fairy-tale dreams. It was too early for that. She’d been down that rocky road once before.

  But it was time to inform Hudson that he would definitely be a father by the end of the year.

  She stood up quickly and as she did, she felt the floor start to buckle beneath her feet. The walls closed in on her. A vision…Her head felt like it was splitting in two.

  Oh, God, no! Not now!

  Her vision fogged and she felt as if she were going to faint. She grabbed on to the sink for support, dropping the test. Head throbbing, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror only to have the image fade to watery waves. The smell of the sea was thick in the air, and in the glass she spied the same teenaged girl she’d seen before. Again on a rocky out-crop, the wind teasing her hair, her eyes, so like Becca’s, wide with fear, her skin nearly translucent.

  Dark clouds spun above her, the churning sea roiling far below.

  “Jessie,” Becca whispered as the girl looked at her and placed a finger to her lips.

  But this time Jessie wasn’t alone. This time there was someone else, a dark, faceless figure looming behind her, an evil presence of which Jessie appeared unaware. Becca cr
ied out and the demon seemed to look straight at her, his eyes hidden, his nose tilting in the air, as if to smell the breeze.

  Though she couldn’t see his features, Becca knew deep in her heart that this monster was what Jessie had feared.

  Her knees gave way, but she clung to the sink and realized there was something familiar about him, something bone deep and riddled with an evil as dark as all of Hades. “Jessie,” she tried to cry again, in warning, but her voice failed her as she slid further downward.

  Jessie was already dead. She knew that…didn’t she? But this girl…she looked so much like Jessie.

  This horrid creature, this malevolent force had already killed her. The girl on the cliff was only a spirit, a ghost of the girl who had been murdered and buried in the maze at St. Elizabeth’s. Becca knew that.

  So why was she here?

  Why had Jessie returned to haunt her?

  Not to haunt you…To warn you…

  Had that thought come from her own mind, or had Jessie mouthed the words?

  She couldn’t tell, but the ominous figure in the dark cowl came closer, nose in the air, so close that surely Jessie sensed him. She had to feel the heat of his fetid breath against the back of her neck, yet she didn’t move, not even when he raised a hand over her.

  Watch out! Jessie, run! Run as fast and as far as you can!

  She mouthed something to Becca, then glanced back at the monster.

  Becca’s heart was pounding, fear coursing through her bloodstream, but Jessie, facing into the wind, stood motionless. Didn’t try to escape.

  No!

  The monster stopped. Hand raised, he drew a knife from deep within the folds of his cloak and stared over Jessie’s shoulder straight at Becca.

  Becca gasped. This was what had killed Jessie.

  And it was coming for her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Becca?”

  She heard her name as if from a distance. It rolled inside her head, echoing.

  “Becca!”

  Hudson? It was Hudson’s voice?

  “I’m coming in.”

  She blinked, her eyes opening to the bright lights of her own bathroom. Her head ached dully and she was lying on the cool tile floor, her head inches from the bathtub, her feet nearly touching the tub. She remembered the demon in her vision, could almost smell the saltwater that had clung to him. Was he even real?