SUCH A GOOD GIRL: An urgently timely gripping mystery with a heartbreaking twist (Eva Rae Thomas Mystery Book 9)

by Willow Rose

  The waiter brought them water, and they each ordered a drink. The woman got a Cosmopolitan, while Rachel just had a glass of Chardonnay. She never dared to order drinks like that and look refined and city-like. Chardonnay was safe and one you never went wrong with.

  “I take it you’re curious,” the woman said after her first elegant sip. “Why I have asked you to come? My name is Crystal, by the way.”

  Rachel nodded. She was curious.

  Crystal narrowed her eyes while smiling. She leaned forward, her hands folded in front of her.

  “I contacted you and asked you to come because I…or rather we…need your help,” she said.

  Rachel nodded and sipped her wine, taking bigger sips than she usually would, hoping it would calm her nerves.

  “With what exactly?”

  Crystal looked to the sides, then leaned forward. “As I told you in the text, I know…” she paused and looked at Rachel. “I know that…some stuff happened to you. I have been researching, looking for other…victims…women who have been assaulted and abused by Richard Wanton. Your name came up a few times during this research.”

  Rachel almost choked on her wine. She felt her cheeks grow warm and her throat tighten.

  “I…I don’t know…if…”

  Crystal reached out her hand and put it on top of Rachel’s. “It happened to me too. And so many others. There are many of us.”

  Rachel stared into the woman’s eyes. She felt like crying again when thinking about Wanton and seeing him leave the courthouse, a free man again. That’s what had started it all, the panic attacks, the fear, the depression, seeing him get away with it, getting away with murder this time. That’s what had thrown her into almost killing herself. She simply couldn’t bear it.

  Rachel exhaled. “You’re telling me you’re gathering a group of women to take down Richard Wanton?”

  Crystal smiled and leaned back in her seat, holding the stem of her pink drink lightly between her fingers.

  “That is exactly what I’m saying. It’s about time he tastes a little of his own medicine, don’t you think? The bastard needs to be taken down.”

  Rachel stared at the woman, her heart pounding in her chest. Could it really be that there was something she could do to stop him? That he hadn’t won after all? Even though he did walk away from the courthouse a free man? Even though the news said that the case against him was falling apart? Even though he had been on Sixty Minutes and told the world he was innocent and that he was the victim of a witch-hunt?

  “All right,” she said, nodding. “Count me in. Tell me what you need from me.”

  Crystal lifted her glass and clinked it with Rachel’s in the air.

  “To taking Wanton down.”

  “To taking him down,” Rachel replied and smiled genuinely for the first time in many months.

  Chapter 34

  Angel cooed and looked up at me from my arm. I was holding the bottle, and she kept grabbing for it. I placed it between her lips and leaned back in the chair. Angel drank while looking into my eyes. There was nothing like that early contact with your child to make all your problems go away. Looking into her gaze, getting to know her, was the most rewarding thing in life, I believed.

  “Who are you going to be, little Angel?” I whispered with a sniffle.

  It had been a tough week to get through after Kimmie’s death, and I had to fight to get myself out of bed in the mornings after what happened. But Angel kept me on my toes, which was good. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure I would get up at all. I felt so strangely disillusioned.

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been able to save her.

  You did all you could. Those were Isabella’s words. But somehow, they rang false to me. I wasn’t so sure I had done everything. If I had called for help as soon as I had seen the guy climb onto the balcony? If I hadn’t gone there alone?

  But you didn’t know he was going to be there. You thought you were just coming to talk to Kimmie, to try and get her to come back, or at least see if she was even there. You couldn’t possibly have known this would happen.

  I shook my head and leaned back, rocking my child back and forth gently in the chair, hoping she’d fall asleep soon. The whole story just seemed so strange in my mind. I had called and asked Isabella when they’d need my statement for the case against Richard Wanton. Because they were naturally trying to prosecute him for murdering their witness, right?

  She had barely wanted to answer and told me to get some rest for now. “I’ll be in touch when—and if—I need your help.”

  If? If?

  What the heck was that supposed to mean?

  A twenty-year-old girl had been killed, murdered, and Kimmie had seen it happen. And then Kimmie was murdered by hired help. All fingers pointed back at Wanton. My testimony had to play some role in this, a pretty important one, I should think. But they hadn’t asked me about it at all. I knew the FBI had taken over the investigation since I had called the local police in White Oak and asked them if they needed me to come in. They told me they hadn’t been allowed to touch the case at all, that FBI Director Horne had taken over immediately.

  It rubbed me the wrong way somehow.

  Angel let go of the bottle and closed her eyes briefly before opening them again and continuing. I watched her fight the urge to fall asleep while she sucked the last drops out of the bottle, then dozed off again on my arm. I then put her down in her crib and watched her for a few seconds until she was completely out. I snuck out of the room, then walked downstairs, my mind still circling the events in Washington. There was the matter of the missing surveillance footage and the fact that Yossi David knew where to find Kimmie at the safe house. Could the FBI have a leak? And now it was like Isabella didn’t even want to get my statement? What was that all about?

  I grabbed a cup, poured coffee in it from the pot, and then stared out at the canal behind my house. A flock of pelicans flew by, floating through the air, then dove into the water with a huge splash, trying to get the fish below.

  Watching this spectacular show, as they dove in one after the other, I couldn’t stop thinking about Samantha Durkin, who was murdered. I knew absolutely nothing about her. Had Wanton really killed her simply because she didn’t want to sleep with him and Kimmie? It seemed a little excessive, I thought. It had to be more than that. Had she maybe threatened to expose him? To go to the media?

  But why would he murder her himself and risk getting seen and caught when he apparently easily could hire an assassin as we saw with Kimmie? Why not just let her go and then send someone after her?

  Why would a man as powerful as Richard Wanton risk everything by murdering her? You’d assume he was smarter than that.

  Right?

  Chapter 35

  THEN:

  She had decided to stay strong, to resist him the next time he tried something. A month later, after Samantha had met with Wanton in the restroom, she still felt so dirty that she could barely focus on her work. She felt like everyone knew what had happened and looked at her differently, talking about her behind her back, laughing at her for sleeping her way to the top. She couldn’t blame them for thinking that way. She knew how it looked.

  And now, she had decided to end it.

  Samantha did want to climb high in the ranks, and her dream was to be an anchor one day. But not this way. She didn’t want to look back at her career and know that it was because she had slept with Wanton.

  She didn’t want it this way.

  And she couldn’t do it anymore. After what happened in the restroom, she could barely look at her own reflection in the mirror; that’s how disgusted she was with herself. She dreamed about it at night, waking up bathed in sweat, scared anyone would know. During the day at the TV station, she was so afraid that people could somehow see it on her—that they knew what she had let him do to her.

  Samantha shivered at the thought while sitting by her computer screen, writing the manuscript for a story she was doing. She had been worki
ng like crazy ever since it happened, trying to prove to herself and others that she was worthy of her internship, that she was a good reporter. Her friend Natasha complained that she never got to see her anymore, that she was never home, and that she was working herself too hard, but it was all she knew how to do right now. She wanted to become a reporter, a good one. And working was the only thing that made her forget what she had done. But once she closed her eyes, it was there again and again. Him grabbing her by the hips and turning her around. The way he pushed her down over the toilet. She could still feel his hands on her and hear his groans behind her.

  It haunted her.

  You gotta let it go. You gotta stop thinking about it. Focus on your work.

  But the disgust was hard to get rid of. Words like whore and slut circled in her mind constantly, and as the days passed, she felt worse and worse about herself. When the other interns went out for a drink, she didn’t go with them. When the colleagues went for a bite to eat after a broadcast, she didn’t go, and she stayed in the newsroom, covering herself with work.

  She could barely recognize herself. Natasha had begun to say things too. Like she was getting boring—like the job had become her boyfriend, and as early as the day before, she had asked her if it was something Natasha had done. If she was angry with her?

  “It’s not. I swear,” Sam had said.

  “Then, what is wrong? You used to be so much fun? We used to go out all the time. You’re the party girl, remember? You’re the one who dances on the bar counter, so all the guys look at you, wishing they were with you, and all the girls stare, wishing they were you, that they had your confidence. I’m the boring one, and you’re the one who drags me out of my comfort zone. What if we go out tonight? Maybe we’ll meet those cute guys again like last time? Remember how you told me to put myself out there more?”

  “I…I don’t…I’m not sure I think you should anymore; nothing good can come from that,” Samantha had said, then added: “I’m busy. I’ll call you later.”

  She had hung up on her before she could protest. There was no way Samantha could explain to Natasha what was going on with her because she wasn’t sure she understood it herself.

  She stared at her screen, barely blinking, when a message ticked in in the corner. Samantha stared at it, not knowing what to do.

  Then, she opened it.

  WE’RE GOING FOR A RIDE IN MY CAR. COME OUT BACK AND MEET ME THERE. NOW.

  Samantha stopped breathing. She looked at the words from Wanton, her heart sinking. It had been a month. She truly believed he had grown tired of her by now, that he’d leave her alone. She bit the side of her cheek, wondering what to say, how to respond. There was no way she was going anywhere with him in his car; that was for sure. Not after what had happened last time in the bathroom—not after he had made it perfectly clear what kind of relationship he wanted with her.

  I’m going to have some fun with you.

  That’s how he had put it. And he had had his fun. But it wasn’t going any further than that. It was going to end here.

  She leaned over the keyboard and started to type:

  I CAN’T.

  Then she pressed enter to send it, feeling strong, telling herself it was the right thing to do.

  The answer didn’t wait long to come.

  YOU HAVE TO. MEET ME NOW.

  Samantha shook her head at this. Even if she had wanted to, she really couldn’t since she was going into the editing suite in just fifteen minutes.

  I CAN’T. I AM WORKING. I HAVE TO EDIT MY STORY SOON. I CAN’T LEAVE. MY PRODUCER WILL KILL ME.

  Trying to stand firm, forcing herself to follow through with this, she leaned back in her office chair, heart throbbing in her chest, waiting for his reply.

  It came fast.

  YOU HAVE TO. COME NOW.

  Samantha wrinkled her forehead. Was this guy for real? Wasn’t he the head of the entire network? Didn’t he understand that work came first? That the story had to come first? Didn’t he want her to do her job?

  I CAN’T, she wrote, feeling stubborn and annoyed with him now.

  A pause followed before the next message arrived:

  COME. NOW.

  She couldn’t believe him; why didn’t he give up? She wrote again:

  I REALLY CAN’T. I’LL GET FIRED.

  She knew that Wanton could probably stop that from happening, but she didn’t know if he would do that for her or if he’d just toss her in the street, not caring while moving on to the next girl. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe he actually cared for her.

  YOU MUST COME NOW!

  She was staring at the screen when her producer came to her desk, and she closed the window quickly without answering, so he wouldn’t see who she was messaging.

  “Why aren’t you in editing?”

  She rose to her feet, laptop in her hands. “I’m going now.”

  “Better get a move on!” he yelled after her as she rushed out of the newsroom and down the hall. She found the editing suite and sat down with a guy they called The Bear because of his size and similarity to one.

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  “So, what are we doing today?” he asked.

  She explained her story to him, and as he found the footage on his computer, she opened her laptop and logged onto the system again, terrified of seeing more messages from Wanton.

  There was one. She opened it, heart beating fast in her chest. It said:

  JUST MESSING WITH YOU. SEE YOU LATER.

  Chapter 36

  John was sitting in his office when he saw his wife stroll past the glass windows and storm inside. He got up from his chair, startled.

  “Carol? What are you doing here?”

  She smiled. “Just checking in. I was close by and wondered if you’d like to grab lunch with me.”

  He looked at his watch. “I have a meeting in ten minutes that I can’t miss.”

  She tilted her head. “Ah, that’s too bad.” She looked around, then sat down in a chair. John felt uneasy.

  “I saw the new intern sitting in the newsroom. She’s pretty.”

  John sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. “I told you, Carol. There are no others. I am being a good boy.”

  She smiled. It came off sarcastically. “That’s right. You told me that.”

  “Is there anything else you need right now? Because I have to get to the meeting. Wanton will be there, and he’s pissed.”

  She nodded. “I bet he is.”

  “So…can I do something for you now? Because otherwise, I need to get back to preparing for this meeting.”

  “Of course, of course,” she said.

  Yet, she didn’t make any attempt at getting up or walking out. John watched her, puzzled.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I was just thinking…”

  “About what?”

  “The girl that was killed.”

  John sighed. “Samantha. She jumped. Wanton told us the truth, remember? She was crazy; she was screaming at him, and then she jumped to her death. It wasn’t Wanton’s fault. I know you think it was, but he’s our friend and my boss, and we have to believe him.”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes, of course, we must. He’s done so much for you, for us, really. Creating this great career for you, making you who you are.”

  “Exactly. I have known him for twenty-five years, Carol. He might be a pig, but he’s no murderer.”

  Carol nodded again. “Of course. Silly me.”

  She rose to her feet and seemed like she was about to leave when she paused. She turned her head and looked at him.

  “Did you know her?”

  “Did I know who?”

  “The girl who allegedly jumped to her death? I mean, she worked here, right?”

  John’s eyes grew wide; then, he shook his head. “Her name was Samantha. I knew who she was, yes, but I didn’t know her personally.”

  Carol nodded pensively. “Did you sleep with her?”
>
  John wrinkled his forehead.

  “Why on earth would you ask me about that?”

  Carol looked down at her fingers, then shook her head.

  “Just wondering.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Carol, what happened, happened once. I did as you told me to and had her transferred to another department with Richard’s help. It’s over; I told you this. Now, will you please just let me get ready for this meeting?”

  She nodded while smiling, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Of course. See you tonight.”

  Chapter 37

  “Any more mashed potatoes?”

  I looked at my kids around the table. Alex was staring into his plate and had barely eaten anything, maybe because I had yelled at him for getting in trouble at school again. They were threatening to suspend him, and I had to go talk to the principal tomorrow and try to convince her to let him stay. His behavior had improved ever since he was enrolled in the gifted program, and he got more challenges, but he still had trouble remaining calm in the classroom. He got bored so easily, and that’s when he usually got himself in trouble. I was getting frustrated with him because he knew better.

  “You’re too smart for this,” I had told him.

  Now, he was mad at me and refusing to eat his dinner. I tried not to pay any attention to him.

  “Christine?”

  I held up the bowl of mashed potatoes. She shook her head.

  “Olivia? You want more?”

  Olivia didn’t react. She sat looking down, and I tilted my head.

  “Olivia?”

  “She’s on her phone,” Christine said in a whiny tone.

  “No phones at the table,” Alex yelled. “You know the rules!”

  Olivia lifted her glare and met Christine’s. “You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you?”

  “Why should you be allowed on your phone if I’m not?” Christine said.

  “You’re such a…”