The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  Bug looked from Alice to Stacy and made a bored face, saying, “Yeah, whatever. Are you coming or not?” he asked Alice.

  “So you wanna come to a party?” Alice asked Stacy.

  “No, I don’t. You go, I’ll … just hang here.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Why do you have to be such a Miss Pain-in-the-Ass Goody Good all the time? Come, it’ll be fun.”

  Stacy pocketed the phone and went for the door. “Listen, I better go. Thanks for … y’know, everything.”

  Alice’s shoulders dropped and she frowned in disappointment. “Sure, whatever. You want some … I dunno, maybe some crack or something? I could get you some.”

  Stacy put her hand up, saying, “No, seriously…”

  Alice said, “Well, I got nothin’ else. I’d give you something to eat but all I got’s a can of tuna, but seriously, it’s been open like, two weeks and even I wouldn’t eat it.”

  Bug had already drifted back out into the hallway, eager to get away. He leaned back in through the door, a hand on each side of the frame, saying, “C’mon, Alice, let’s go.”

  “Nah, you keep it,” Stacy told her. “But thanks anyway.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Oh, wait. You got any plastic bags, you know, trash bags or something?”

  Alice looked at her like she’d gone nuts. “Ah, yeah. Over in the kitchen. Second drawer, I think. There’s some shopping bags over in the corner there,” she said, pointing.

  Stacy found two trash bags in the kitchen drawer and three plastic bags filled with trash down behind the sofa. “Got any old clothes you don’t want?”

  Bug leaned in the door again. “Are you comin’ or not?”

  “I’m coming, you idiot. Just wait. Take anything you want,” she told Stacy. “I gotta go.”

  “Yeah, sure. This is great. Thank you.”

  Alice hovered in the hallway, peering back in every now and then until Stacy had what she needed. Alice closed and locked the door behind them then went to the elevator where Bug pressed the button.

  Stacy told them to have a good time, then took the stairs back to the lobby. There was no sign of them when she stepped out, so she pushed through the front door, trotted straight to Curta’s car, and got in. The clock on the dash read 10:32 p.m.

  She had less than twelve hours but it may as well be a week. She fired up the car and pulled out, heading across to East 55th, to the McDonald’s Wayne had said they were taking Tyler to.

  The four dollars’ worth of gas had easily gotten her this far. Keeping an eye on the gauge, she drove slowly to East 55th, where the sign outside indicated the restaurant would close in twelve minutes.

  Stacy drove a little farther down the street and parked a block away. She lifted the bags she’d taken from Alice’s place, along with Gayleen’s wig and dress, got out, locked the car, and hurried back. She entered the restaurant with seven minutes to spare. A guy in a greasy McDonald’s uniform watched her head straight for the bathroom at the back. He was probably just looking forward to closing up and going home and not having to deal with some vagrant that was going to hold him up.

  Closing the stall, Stacy picked out the dress and put it on, adorning it with several of Alice’s scarves (still with price labels and security tags attached, she noticed) and wrapped them around her neck and across the lower part of her face. Then she tore a hole in the largest trash bag and pulled it on over the top. When she checked in the mirror, she looked exactly how she’d intended—homeless.

  Outside, the sound of the wall-mounted TV set covering a football game went abruptly quiet. It was immediately followed by the voice of one of the waitresses announcing that the restaurant was closing, and, after thanking the empty booths for their patronage, she advised all customers to make their way to the exits.

  Stacy stuffed the bags with the items she wasn’t wearing, slipped on a pair of sunglasses, and shouldered her way out of the bathroom. She was just about to head for the door, when she turned to the girl slouched behind the counter and said, “What can I get for a couple of bucks?”

  The girl tossed a glance at the cabinets. “Couple of dollar burgers?”

  “I’ll take ’em,” said Stacy.

  The girl stuck them in a bag, folding the top over and running her fingers along the crease. Stacy dug in her pocket and counted the money onto the counter. The girl scooped it up, and gave her the change, saying, “Thanks, but I’m sorry, you’ll have to take it out. We’re closing.” Stacy thanked her, wished her a great evening, and went to the door just as a young guy crossed in front of her, opening it for her and ushering her out before locking up behind her.

  Outside, the rain was pattering down—the kind of rain that gets into everything, saturates everything right down to the skin before you know what’s happening. She pulled one of the small plastic bags from her pocket and dropped both shopping bags between her feet while she tied it over her head. Head down and blinking against the rain, she hurried across the parking lot, eating the burgers as she ducked into a grassy area between the restaurant and the neighboring car wash. It was the perfect vantage point. From here she could see the front doors and either way down the street. She found a bench under a couple of straggly trees that leaned overhead, providing a minimal shelter, and settled in.

  Tyler would arrive at nine in the morning. The plan was to keep the place in sight. With nowhere to park nearby except the McDonald’s parking lot or the Burger King across the street—which cops would likely patrol—that meant she’d have to sit outside. Last thing she could do was miss him again. The second she saw him arriving, she’d cut straight back to the car, then return and park where she could see them leave. Then she’d follow. It would be split-second timing. She’d have to be in exactly the right place at the right time.

  She wasn’t holding her breath.

  If there was one thing she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours, it was that the best-laid plans never worked out the way they should. But right now, she was too tired to think straight, so this was what she had.

  She tore the second trash bag down the seam and laid it out on the bench with one of the shopping bags as a pillow. Then she lay down with the upper half of the bag over her, arms around herself for warmth, and prayed to God that He’d keep Tyler safe.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DAY TWO: 6:14 AM—ELIZABETH

  Elizabeth jerked awake to the ringing of the phone on the nightstand next to her bed. She’d tossed and turned after a night of terrifying dreams, all of which ended with Stacy May Charms slowly falling backwards, arms spread wide, crying out in anguish as she disappeared over a cliff, or out over a building ledge, the blue sky clouding over behind her. In every one, Elizabeth dashed forward, crying out her name, but always just a fraction too late to save her.

  When the phone stopped, and immediately began ringing again, she heaved out an irritated breath and reached across to pick it up, rubbing her eyes and blinking hard at the screen as she drew it across in front of her.

  The instant she saw the number she sat up with her knees drawn up, wide awake. She cleared her throat, then hit the button, saying, “Detective Delaney. It’s a little early, isn’t it?”

  Without preamble, he said, “What was our agreement, Elizabeth?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You told me you’d bring any information straight to me.”

  “I haven’t had any information to bring,” she replied.

  “And what about the six phone calls you received from Stacy May Charms? I’m assuming it was her that called you. Or are the phone records wrong?”

  His words hit her like an ice pick to the chest.

  The calls! But how …?

  “You’ve been monitoring my phone?” she asked, horrified.

  “We’re the police, Elizabeth. Do you think we’re stupid? We checked the incoming calls on your line and picked up the number last night. When we ran a check, it turned out to belong to a man who claims Caitlin O’Hare had stolen it from
him. Caitlin O’Hare, for your information, was a cellmate of Stacy May’s. Tell me it’s a coincidence, and I’ll come over there right now and arrest you for obstruction.”

  “I was going to call you.”

  “When?”

  Elizabeth had never heard him so angry. She felt like a schoolgirl caught smoking behind the gym.

  When she stuttered while her brain scrambled for an answer, he barked, “So what else haven’t you told me?”

  The fury in his voice made her wince. “I told you, I didn’t get anything. I spoke to Nyla Guthrie who told me Stacy’s friend—the one that died—and I quote, ‘had it coming to her.’ Then I spoke to an economist who told me all about herself before advising me that there’s no such thing as fairy dust—which I’m rapidly beginning to believe. And then I spoke to Cissy Pettameyer, who turned completely psychotic when I wouldn’t shortlist her for the next program selection. Satisfied?”

  “And what did you and Stacy May have to chat about the six times she called?”

  “We talked once. I was at the Ohio Business Awards last night. I had my phone off.” A pause. No reply. “I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted, hating the near-break in her voice.

  “And?”

  “Stacy thinks someone’s after her son. I told her Tyler is safe, and that the home he’s in is a loving and caring environment, and that she had nothing to worry about.” There was a tense silence during which Elizabeth realized the severity of the situation. “And I didn’t tell you because—”

  “—because you took it upon yourself to withhold information—information I distinctly asked you to hand over to me. In other words, you’ve ignored me, and because of your own arrogance, you could have endangered a child’s life, just so you could keep the whereabouts of a known fugitive from the police. Do I have that right?”

  He had every right to be angry. The disappointment in his voice hurt the most. “Look, I’m sorry—”

  “Let me tell you how this is going to run from now on.” His voice was low, serious. Elizabeth dug her teeth into her upper lip and raised her eyes to the ceiling with her breath held, waiting.

  “You will not make any further inquiries into the whereabouts of Stacy May Charms or the circumstances surrounding her flight. Do you hear me?”

  “But—”

  “I’ve called the wardens of both Carringway Prison, and the Ohio Women’s Reformatory, requesting that they refuse any requests from you for admittance to question any prisoner in their facilities. Do you understand?”

  Elizabeth let out the breath she’d been holding. “Yes, I do.”

  “And if I find out that you have acted against my instructions, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of the police in the course of their duty. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Then I’ll bid you a good day, Mrs. McClaine.”

  He hung up, leaving Elizabeth shocked to the core and holding the dead phone to her ear. She reached across and put it back on the cradle, considering her situation for a moment before leaning forward with her forehead pressed to her knees.

  What the hell had she done?

  *****

  Elizabeth took her time over breakfast, still smarting from the tongue-lashing Delaney had given her. She kept telling herself that she’d done nothing wrong, that what she’d done wasn’t just in the interests of Stacy May Charms, or the Charles McClaine Foundation, but in the interests of the governor’s program. Of course she was going to do what she could to correct the situation.

  But every time Delaney’s voice rang back through her mind, she cringed, knowing he’d been right. She should have told him about the threat to Tyler straight away. What had she been thinking?

  The newspaper lay folded on the table next to her. She lifted it and shook it out. The whole saga had been run on the front page under the headline: “Early Release Comes Earlier for Stacy May.” Beneath it was the Instagram photograph of Stacy making her getaway. The article began, “Police were left red-faced when Elizabeth McClaine’s first successful candidate for the governor’s early release program went on the run minutes after her release…”

  Sickened by a welling sense of dread and humiliation, Elizabeth tossed the first few pages on the floor and flicked to the business page. Taking up a quarter page was an article about the business accomplishments of Clay Farrant. Above, the picture showed Clay holding up his award for Top Businessman, Governor Straussman on one side with his arm around Clay’s shoulder in a father-like pose, Christine Wentworth on the other side with a triumphant smile.

  “Jerk,” she muttered, and closed the paper, setting it aside and wondering where that prick of jealousy had risen from.

  When she looked up, Holly was watching her over the table, a piece of toast in her hand, jelly smeared across one cheek. “Are you sad, Mommy?”

  “No, I’m not sad, sweetie. Mommy has a lot to think about today.”

  “When can we go buy a dress for the dance?” she asked, turning the toast to study it before deciding where to take the next bite.

  “Not today. Let me check out some stores online, okay?”

  “Okay.” She didn’t sound happy, but knew well enough this wasn’t the time to argue.

  When the front doorbell chimed through the house, Katy appeared from the kitchen, saying, “Finish your breakfast, Mrs. McClaine. I’ll get the door.”

  She disappeared through to the front entrance where Elizabeth could hear voices. When Katy returned, she was carrying a large square box, cellophaned across the front, swathed in pink ribbon, and containing twelve dark red long-stemmed roses.

  Katy gave her a meaningful smile and handed the box across. “These are for you.”

  “Who from?” she said, taking them and lifting the lid to find the accompanying card, although she had a sinking feeling she knew without even looking.

  The card read: Lovely seeing you last night. How about dinner? Clay.

  “Terrific,” she said without emotion, and tore the card from the paper, crumpling it up in one hand while she put the flowers to one side. Last thing she needed in her life was another womanizer.

  Katy hovered a moment, obviously confused by Elizabeth’s reaction. “Shall I put them in water?”

  “No. Take them home,” she told her. “I don’t want them.”

  Katy frowned in surprise. “I can’t take them, Mrs. McClaine. They were sent for you.”

  “Can I have them?” Holly asked, reaching for them.

  Elizabeth put her hand on her daughter’s, saying, “Katy’s taking them. She works very hard and I think she deserves them more than us. I’ll buy you your own flowers when we get the dress. Okay?”

  Holly put her elbow on the table, head slumped against her hand, lip jutting. She’d lost interest in her breakfast.

  Was there anyone who wasn’t mad at her right now?

  Holly put her toast down, then got up without a word and took her plate to the kitchen, leaving Elizabeth sitting at the table, hands clasped to her lips, and feeling like the worst mother in the world. When the phone rang, she called, “I’ve got it,” and leaned across to pick it up.

  “Elizabeth,” he said.

  Her shoulders dropped. “Clay,” she said in a tone that still sounded chilly despite the warmth she’d tried to inject into it. “Nice of you to call.”

  “Did you get the flowers?”

  “I did, and thank you. But you really shouldn’t have.”

  “So how about that dinner I mentioned? Friend of mine just opened a new restaurant on the other side of town—best seafood you ever tasted.”

  “Well, I’d love to,” she lied. “But I have so much going on at the moment.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he said.

  She gave it a beat, then got up and walked across the dining room to look out the window over the sprawling yard out back. The rain from last night had let up and blue sky was appearing between the cloud breaks. “I, ah … I’m lying. I
don’t have much going on.”

  “You found Stacy?” He sounded surprised.

  “No,” she said bluntly, her mind seesawing with indecision before pressing ahead, while a voice somewhere down in her gut warned her against it. “I had a call this morning from the detective heading the search.”

  “Oh. Good news, then?” he asked.

  “Not really. He’s told me not to pursue any inquiries into Stacy’s flight, ‘or the circumstances surrounding it.’ His words.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Ouch is right.”

  Another brief silence.

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

  Outside, a flock of birds was descending onto the lawn where Katy had thrown the crusts from breakfast.

  “I don’t know. He threatened me with arrest.”

  “You’re kidding. I can’t imagine the governor being thrilled to hear that. I overheard him saying he’s keen to get this program back on track. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Well,” she said, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten. “Now that you mention it…”

  “Just say the word, Elizabeth.”

  She made a pained face, then said, “No. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Now, c’mon, don’t do that to me,” he said, the grin coming through in his voice. “Tell me what you were gonna say.”

  “Like I said, it doesn’t matter,” she said, bending at the waist with her head in her hand and silently cursing herself for even thinking of it. She straightened, saying, “Seriously, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “You want me to put a word in the governor’s ear to get your investigation running again? Is that it?”

  She drew in a deep breath and rocked her head right back. “I’d do it myself, but you know…”

  “It would be better coming from someone else. I get that. I don’t know when I’m seeing him, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  She clutched the phone close to her ear, feeling like a teenager waiting for a boy to ask her for a first date. “If you can’t, it doesn’t matter,” she added hastily.

  “I’ll give it my best shot. But ah, you know, the primaries are coming up. There’s talk of Straussman stepping down, letting some young blood in.”