The Gossip

by Nancy Bush

  “She is fine,” he agreed. He didn’t want anyone at Ridge Pointe or anywhere else questioning her mental acuity in the last few years.

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “You want me to do something?” he asked.

  “No, Thad. I want to do it all myself. Just stay in your hole and do nothing.”

  “It was just a question,” Thad snapped. “I wasn’t being an asshole.”

  “Yeah? You sounded like one.”

  “I love Gram. I can help.”

  Lorena threw back her head and laughed. “Sure. We both love her. Maybe you don’t care if she runs through all her money, but I do.”

  “I care.”

  “Fine.” She flipped her wrist at him, a dismissive gesture that made him burn inside. “There’s just not that much money left,” she added, making his heart clutch. “We’re going to have to do something, and I’m just not sure yet what that is.” She slid him a beady, birdlike sideways look. “How’s your computer ‘job’ going?”

  He’d bragged to her about his dealings on the Internet, his appropriation of others’ funds. He was sorry about that now. Especially that she knew he’d made money, and lost it. Her attitude, which had been pleasant and coy when he’d been flush, was hostile and belittling now that he was having to start over.

  And Gram is running out of money?

  “It’s going,” he said shortly.

  “Maybe you could get it going a little faster, before we have to sell this place,” she suggested. She turned to the hall tree where she’d hung her coat. Snatching it up, she headed toward the front door where, from his angle, he could just see through the sidelight out to the drive that led to the house. Rain was falling, puddling on a dip in the concrete. The budding irises and daffodils had disappeared, their stalks lying like dead soldiers across the walkway.

  After she was gone he stalked through the house and into the kitchen. He had a microwave in the lair and a hot plate, but if he knew he was alone in the house he preferred to eat upstairs. Memory Care for the old lady? His mind was in turmoil over the loss of money. He hated that his mother was currently in charge of the finances. An error on Gram’s part. She’d corrected the will, but putting his mother in charge of her day-to-day finances? Bad idea. Very bad idea.

  Maybe he should go to Ridge Pointe and talk to her again. He hadn’t been there since she’d signed. He didn’t think she was completely batshit crazy yet. Maybe she would listen to him, turn that duty over to him, not Lorena.

  Or maybe it was too late.

  “Shit.”

  He needed to make sure Gram didn’t go to Memory Care.

  He suddenly longed for Rayne. To be inside her. Pumping away. Furiously making love, or hate, or whatever you wanted to call it, to her. On the heels of that desire came the memory of her flying head down, hurtling over the cliff.

  And then Bibi . . . climbing atop her . . . smashing in her face with his fist. He’d wanted to squeeze her head and pop it like a pimple.

  Would the police put the two deaths together? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t worried about it all. Had been on too much of a high, but now . . .

  What if they link you to both kills? What if there’s no money left? What if you lose THIS HOUSE!

  He heard whimpering. Sounds issuing from his own throat. He inhaled and exhaled several times and brought himself under control. He knew that Rayne’s death was being treated like an accident, but Bibi . . . did they know it was a homicide? Maybe. But there wasn’t any way to trace it back to him, was there? He’d never even met Bibi till the night he killed her. And Rayne, though she’d blabbed about their relationship to her, hadn’t given up his name, except to Bibi . . .

  What if Bibi knew everything and had told someone else before he killed her?

  Thad chewed on his lower lip until it bled. He let out an oath upon the realization of what he’d done. Was his freedom in jeopardy? Was the end of the world as he knew it upon him?

  What if you only have a few weeks left?

  He lurched in a panic back to the foyer, the floor a circle of dun-colored marble except for the carved pinkish rose mosaic in its center. Sheer walls rose dramatically skyward. A curved stairway ran up to the third level, the mahogany rail spiraling dizzily upward, its beauty only marred by the blight of the old lady’s attached stairlift, something he planned to remove as soon as the house was his.

  But what if that day never came? What if it was never his? What if he was arrested, thrown in prison, locked away forever?

  He started shaking all over. He could imagine the wagging tongues, the recriminations, the humiliation he would suffer. What about those other bitches? He could see them. Little girls tittering . . . laughing behind their hands . . . whispering in each other’s ears while they rolled their eyes his way.

  Loser!

  Ugly nerd!

  Mr. Toad . . . Mr. Toad . . . MR. TOAD!

  Shrill laughter filled his ears. Shrieking laughter. Little girls pointing fingers at him. He tried to bring himself back to reality. That was all a long time ago. A LONG TIME AGO. He was different now. He was Chas. Women wanted him. Couldn’t get enough of him. Loved him.

  Rayne’s face swam before him. She was smiling. Very soon you’ll be getting what you deserve, Mr. Toad. Very soon . . .

  He came to find himself in a fetal ball atop the rose in the center of the marble circle. Luckily, Lorena was still gone, unable to see his fear and weakness.

  He climbed to his feet, swaying a bit, still tortured by the vision of his possible future, a future Rayne and the bitches wanted him to endure.

  He could see them gossiping about him, laughing at him, infecting others to laugh at him as well.

  Rayne was just one of them. He’d had a half-formed plan to get down on his knee in front of her and pretend he was asking her to marry him. That was supposed to be her ending. Where he purposely shattered her dreams by telling her it was over and that she was a stupid cow he’d only used for sex. But instead he’d flipped her into the air and she spun down the hillside. He’d gone from breaking up with her to killing her. Better than the humiliation he’d planned. Much better.

  But the other bitches were just as guilty. Just as shallow.

  And he knew where they lived today. If he played his cards right, he might be able to replicate the romantic steps he’d taken with Rayne. He could have sex with them—even pretend to pop the question this time!—but in the end he knew he would have to kill them.

  Things have to be in the right order, he reminded himself.

  He would have to be careful, but it could be done. Nothing like killing Bibi. Not a hurried, clean-up murder. No. They would be more like Rayne’s sad ending . . . an elegant romance that would ultimately culminate in a sweet, savage death.

  His fear slowly came under control again and he concentrated on what he would do to those other mean girls. His cock rose in response.

  One of them lived in Portland. The first one he would stalk and woo.

  And the other?

  She was right here in River Glen.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Three days after Bibi’s death Mackenzie, who’d packed up her emotions into a mental box, determining to deal with them later, strolled into the reception area of Good Livin’. Patti Warner was seated behind the desk as was a much younger woman who looked like she was still a teen. Her name tag read: GISELLE.

  “Hi, Giselle,” Mac said, a smile in her voice. “I was wondering about joining the club.”

  Giselle smiled right back, then looked over at Patti, who was embroiled in something on her phone that had her brows drawn together. “Well, hi. So glad you’re here. You won’t be sorry. The club’s got everything! Umm . . . Patti will help you, just as soon as she’s free. You can take a seat over there.” She swept a hand to include the row of navy upholstered chairs grouped around a square, rough-hewn table that sported a dull, metallic vase bursting with an eye-popping bouquet of yellow daffodils and cobalt hyacin
ths. Patti glanced up at her as she clicked off and Mac held her breath. She’d purposely borrowed a pair of Stephanie’s aviator glasses, the prescription mild enough that she could navigate without too much effort. She was going to have to get a pair of plain glass ones for herself if she kept this up.

  Patti didn’t react to her except for a practiced, welcoming smile. “I can sure help you.”

  There wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm in her greeting, but neither was there any recognition and since Mac had no intention of actually joining Good Livin’, she counted it as a win.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, throwing a look at the same row of chairs before turning to the monitor on her desk.

  “Okay.”

  Mac dutifully took one of the navy chairs and positioned herself behind the flowers in a way that allowed her to still see a section of the counter where Patti was seated. She hadn’t spoken with Taft since he’d fired her. He’d paid her for her work, but there was a big silence between them. Fired her might be too harsh a term, but that’s what it felt like. She’d thought about telling him that fine, she didn’t need him, she was striking out on her own, following her own path of investigation, showing herself to Patti and Seth, but he would have undoubtedly told her to back off and she didn’t feel like hearing it.

  In the meantime she’d called Detective Haynes at the station, asking for more information on Bibi’s death, and if Rayne’s fall had definitively been ruled an accident. She’d half expected to be told it was police business and to butt out. That’s what Ricky would have said. But Haynes told her both investigations were ongoing, and that Bibi’s husband, Hank Engstrom, was still considered a person of interest in his wife’s death.

  “So, that one is a homicide?” Mac had pressed, her antennae raised.

  “Laughlin, I’ll let you know as soon as I can,” he’d answered.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Fair enough.”

  At least Haynes hadn’t just blown her off. They’d gotten along well when she’d been a part of the department, even though their paths had crossed infrequently. She’d dealt with the minor miscreants like Doobie Gillis, while he’d worked the investigations. She’d added Hank Engstrom to her list of people she wanted to interview.

  Mac had half moved her belongings to Stephanie and Nolan’s as Stephanie had insisted when she’d learned Mac was moving out by hook or by crook. The baby wasn’t due for seven more months and she wanted Mac to take the spare room and be with her, especially since Nolan was working long hours based on the varying stages of development of the Laidlaw homes that were under construction, homes that dotted the triangular region of River Glen, Laurelton, and Portland. Mac had packed her bag of clothes and ensconced herself in the baby’s room, which housed a twin bed and a chest of drawers and was still a shade of pink from when Stephanie and Nolan had moved in. They weren’t changing it till they knew the sex of the baby. Stephanie and Nolan hadn’t ordered a crib yet, but when they did, Mac figured she’d move to the couch in the den, though Stephanie insisted the twin bed was staying. In truth, Mac didn’t know how long this arrangement would last but it was fine for now.

  To say her stepsister was glowing was inadequate. Stephanie radiated joy as if she’d swallowed sunlight. She didn’t want anyone other than Mac to know yet, but Mac couldn’t see how she would keep the news from Dan the Man. One look at her and you just knew something wonderful had happened to her. Mom had been sad to see Mac leave, but she had encouraged her. She’d seen firsthand how difficult it was for her daughter and husband to get along. She hugged Mac before Mac left in her loaded car, telling her she was continually delighted that she and Stephanie had become such good friends. Dan’s reaction was a little different. He didn’t seem to know how to feel. He had a tendency to look like he’d smelled something noxious on a good day, to Mac’s mind, and when he heard she was moving in with his daughter and her husband, he questioned whether they really had room for a vagabond.

  “Steph’s got a husband,” he’d reminded Mac.

  “Oh, right. What’s his name again?”

  He opened his mouth to answer her, but then he caught himself, offering instead a tight-lipped smile. “You know.”

  Maybe it was small-minded on her part, the urge to needle Dan, but she wasn’t going to dwell on it. She was imperfect. And sometimes she reveled in it.

  “Hi,” Patti said as she swept over. She wore a long skirt and a white blouse with bell sleeves that looked like they were made for getting in the way, natural dust rags. “So, you’re interested in joining,” she greeted her with a faint lift of enthusiasm in her voice.

  Mac had worked out what she planned to say beforehand. “A friend of mine mentioned Good Livin’. Rayne Sealy? I don’t know if you know the terrible tragedy that befell her, but . . .” Mac trailed off as Patti’s face tightened into a hard mask. “Are you okay? Oh, that’s right. She worked here briefly. You knew her?”

  Patti breathed heavily and then pulled herself together. “Yes. I knew her. A tragedy. Like you said.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive,” Mac said, watching her. No love lost here. “I was thinking about Rayne and I’ve been meaning to get into shape. I think she’d like that.”

  Patti eyed her sharply. “Rayne?” She sounded incredulous.

  “Well, she was employed here, at a fitness place . . .”

  “Not for a while. How well did you know her?” she asked sharply.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  Patti snapped back into her professionalism, as best as she could and it was clearly an effort. “Rayne wasn’t very serious about her commitment to health. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she was a . . . was a . . . was a . . . she wasn’t a good employee.”

  Mac thought she might be seeing the true Patti now. She nudged her a little further. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, either, but Rayne and I had our difficulties. I liked her a lot . . . until she, well until I caught her with my boyfriend. Maybe that’s TMI.”

  “Oh, God.” Patti shook her head in disgust, holding Mac’s gaze. “She went after my boyfriend with everything she had!” Her voice had started to rise and now she glanced over her shoulder. “I really don’t like gossip, but I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you’re even trying to be nice about her. I can’t. I’m sorry. She’s just . . .” She sighed. “Taking a selfie and falling over a cliff? That sounds just like her. But I am sorry she’s dead. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” She lifted her hands as if Mac had accused her of feeling otherwise. “I’ll get you the paperwork. There’s a onetime initiation fee and then we charge monthly to a credit or debit card.”

  Mac strolled back toward the counter as Patti slipped around the side and into a back room. She returned a few moments later with a sheaf of papers, which she handed to Mac. “You can fill it out here, or turn it in later . . . ?”

  “I’ll come back.” She hesitated, glancing at Giselle, who was looking through some papers, but had one eye on the front door. Maybe waiting for someone? To Patti, she added, “Hope it worked out for you and your boyfriend. It didn’t for me.”

  “Oh, it did for me.” She was loudly positive about that. She shot Giselle a look that the other woman didn’t see, and Mac wondered if maybe Seth wasn’t as tied into the relationship as Patti would like. Remembering how angry Seth and Patti had been at the Waystation that first time she’d seen them there, and the second, too, it seemed like there might be trouble in paradise.

  “Well, that’s good,” Mac said with a smile. She’d just started to turn on her heel when she saw Seth approaching outside the glass entrance doors, taking the front steps two at a time. He was in sweats and apparently coming to work.

  “There he is now,” Patti declared.

  Mac tried to duck her head and sneak out with a faint smile of greeting and nothing more as she didn’t want to brace him in front of the two women at the desk. Seth, however, did a double take on he
r. In fact, his eyes did such a thorough inventory Mac had insight into what was feeding Patti’s insecurity. It worried her that maybe he remembered her, but he moved right on by and up to Patti. Mac glanced back as she passed through the glass doors and Seth was now chatting up Giselle while Patti’s lips were frozen into a hard smile.

  Mac was almost to her SUV when Seth suddenly came back outside.

  “Hey,” he called.

  Mackenzie looked up and around, as if expecting him to be hailing someone else. Her pulse sped up. Maybe this interview was going to happen sooner than she expected. She’d wanted to talk to him, yes, but Seth Keppler was an unknown quantity. She regarded him politely as he moved her way across the parking lot. She hadn’t really paid that much attention to his physique, more to his hipster look, but now she saw the muscles stretching the fabric of his body-hugging jacket.

  “You were talking about Rayne,” he stated flatly.

  “Um, yeah. She told me how great Good Livin’ was.”

  “You had a falling-out with her. What’s your name? I don’t remember you.”

  “Well, I don’t know you, either. Rayne and I were more acquaintances than friends.”

  “You look familiar.”

  Mackenzie nodded. “I’ve heard that before. I remind people of their sister or someone on TV. Happens all the time.”

  “No . . . I’ll think of it,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  She almost dropped the act right then and there. She wanted to know if he was Rayne’s latest boyfriend. She could believe he was cheating on Patti, although she seemed to have a pretty tight leash on him. But Seth was the kind of guy who would look for a way to slip that leash.

  She smiled and climbed into her RAV. He was now going to know her vehicle, have her license number, if he cared to memorize it. Could he look her up from that? She suspected an enterprising crook could learn a lot with a minimum amount of trouble.

  She watched Seth return to Good Livin’ before she pulled out of the lot.

  I’ll think of it.

  It put her nerves on edge.