Chloe was sitting on a dirty floor, chained to a brick wall with chipped burgundy paint. Her face was bruised, battered, and streaked with tears.
I heard a string of gasps ring throughout the room and, if I was being honest, my own was added to it.
Chloe opened her mouth and, for the first time, I heard her voice. It was soft, weak, light, and as scared as possible. She seemed so young, almost a child, as she spoke.
“My name is Chloe Covington, and I’ve been taken.” Tears streamed down her face. “My kidnapper has requested half a million dollars to be delivered to him by the end of the day. If he does not receive that amount of money, he will kill me.”
Her face twisted painfully as she spoke of her own death.
“Please,” she said. “Please, Daddy. Don’t let him hurt me.”
A deep voice, obviously electronically altered, sounded from off camera. “Do you believe me now?” It said. “I’ll be in touch.”
The screen went black, and everyone in the room proceeded to lose their minds.
This was all real to them now, and they were going to finally start acting accordingly.
I heard screams, I heard people rushing around and, from beside me, I heard a scuffle that concerned me greatly.
The lights flashed back on, revealing the people and their terror.
“She’s obviously been beaten,” I said. “Do you think Daniel is capable of actually hurting her?” I asked, turning to Priscilla, but she was gone. Only a few pieces of her jewelry lay across the floor, sure signs of a struggle.
Oh no. That was the scuffle.
Had she been taken, too?
13
I paced back and forth, trying my best to keep my mind focused.
Things had gone from crazy to full blown insane since the tape of Chloe being held in that room was played in front of all her snobbish guests.
All of the sudden, all the preparation and pompous aloofness that had coursed through the common area was replaced with a sense of dread and fear.
Some people tried to leave, to give their condolences to Mr. Covington and hit the pavement before either the Harbor Heights police department or-even worse- the paparazzi started showing up.
Turned out Sheriff Black was finally starting to pay attention, though. He forbid anyone from leaving the premises and employed Chloe’s personal detail to enforce the decree until backup showed up.
In the interest of making up for lost time, Sheriff Black decided to enlist Darrin to help matters along. You know, since he hadn’t brushed the whole thing off as some spoiled rich girl’s wedding day temper tantrum.
Sheriff Black had commandeered one of the back rooms to focus on the case, and that was where Darrin was now, pow-wowing with Sheriff Black and Mr. Covington.
Though, if you ask me, that meeting of the minds was a bit one-sided.
It had been half an hour though- half an hour of me pacing outside of this room and trying to make sense of all the pieces of this messed up puzzle.
“What’s going on?” A familiar voice asked, pulling me from my self-imposed analysis.
Aiden strode toward me. He was dressed in his best suit, and his hair was slicked back, the way it was the night we went to the senior prom together.
I shook my head. Maybe drilling myself about the ins and outs of this situation wasn’t the best thing in the world for me. After all, even reincarnated bodies could (probably) get wrinkles. But losing myself to memories of Aiden would do something far worse.
“Are you guys okay? I couldn’t get Peggy to answer the phone.”
“Fine,” I answered, walking toward him. “You know Peg. A crisis comes, and she jumps to action. She’s playing den mother, trying to calm everyone down with calories and promises that everything will work out.”
“Both of those things are empty,” Aiden muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We all do what we can,” I answered. “Where’s Mayor McConnell?”
“There’s a kennel on property,” Aiden said uneasily. “I know that’s probably not where you’d like him to be, but they wouldn’t let me inside the building with him, and people out there were starting to talk. I was worried.”
“I totally understand,” I said, though I probably couldn’t have said the same thing for Mayor McConnell. I could just see him now. In his last life, he was one of the club’s bigwigs, and now he was in a cage somewhere, probably drinking tap water from a dish on the floor. “I wouldn’t worry about it, anyway. I doubt there’s a prison in the world that can hold that dog, let alone a kennel.”
“Things are starting to get crazy here, aren’t they?” Aiden’s eyes narrowed, looking around the room. He may have been trying to play it off with vague talk, but I could tell he was looking for potential suspects.
What was it about Aiden and Peggy? Before I was killed, the two of them were satisfied to frolic around Second Springs thinking the whole world was sunshine and daisies. Now here they were, trying desperately to play a real life version of Hart to Hart.
“It’s best to leave it to the police, I think,” I said, moving my head to block his line of sight. “This sort of thing can get dangerous.”
“You would know, Miss Private Detective,” he answered.
“I thought you couldn’t get her to answer the phone,” I said, alluding to just how he might have gotten that information.
“It was a text from earlier,” he shrugged. “The point is, I’m not qualified for this and neither is Peggy. I get that and, whether she’s willing to admit that or not, I think Peggy gets that, too. But what about you?”
“What about me?” I asked, tilting my head and trying to read him. I used to be able to tell what Aiden’s was thinking just from the way his hair was parted. But, like everything else in my life, that had changed too. While not exactly an enigma, Aiden was more of a mystery to me now.
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he answered. “I’ll admit, the whole private investigator thing surprised me. I had pegged you as the prototypical small town girl.”
“Not so much,” I answered. A sense of pride filled me, but also protectiveness. I wasn’t just a small town girl, but no one was. All girls- all people- were more than one thing; regardless of where they lived.
I was glad he was seeing that in me, at least.
“I’m learning that, and goodness knows the town learned it, what with your involvement in solving that case a few months ago. What I want to know is, what are you going to do about this?”
Oh. Aiden wasn’t eyeing suspects for himself. He was doing it for me. But why?
“I’m going to make it right,” I answered flatly, remembering what my Dad told me on the phone earlier.
“I figured as much,” he answered. “I know the type, and you seem like it.”
His glance at me, so knowing, so intense, made me think for a moment that he knew the truth about who I was.
That, of course, was impossible. But if it hadn’t been. If the look in Aiden’s eyes did signify that he knew that his dead fiancé was standing in front of him right now, I think it would have made me feel better. It definitely would have made me feel less alone.
“But Peggy,” he continued as if reading my mind.
There was Peggy to consider.
“I want to get her out of here. I mean, I want to get you out of here, too. But since you seem intent on getting to the bottom of this…”
“Right,” I answered, blinking hard.
“She’s not you and Darrin,” he answered, trying to explain himself. “She doesn’t have a knack for this sort of thing, and you said yourself how dangerous it could be.”
“That’s definitely true,” I said. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. Sheriff Black has forbidden anyone from leaving for the time being. It looks like all of us are stuck here, whether we have a knack for it or not.” I shook my head. “Though, I think Peggy might surprise you if you give her a chance.”
“What would that chance cost?
” he ran fingers through his hair. “I’ve already lost one woman I love. I’m not sure I could take going through it again.”
I bit my lip. Stupid me had thought he was trying to control her, or even that he valued Peggy in a way he hadn’t valued me before. But he was valuing her because of what happened to me. That broke my heart for more than one reason.
“So what can I do for you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
“I want you to tell her to stop,” he said, nodding his head firmly. “She’s doing this primarily because she misses her friend.”
“Rita Clarke,” I said, trying to keep the recognition out of my eyes.
“Right,” he answered. “But she also thinks she’s good at it.”
“I wouldn’t say good, but I definitely wouldn’t say bad,” I responded, torn about what it was I was supposed to say. I wanted to keep Peggy safe, but my father wanted the same thing from me. He kept me from being a police officer, and I died anyway.
“Well, Rita Clarke was good. She was the best, and she still ended up dead.”
“Aiden, you can’t let that-”
“Please,” he said, grabbing my hand and staring at me with those eyes that would melt me no matter whose body I was in. “I’ll keep her close by me. I’ll do my best to keep her out of the fray, but if I can’t, I need you to put a stop to this. Tell her she’s awful. Tell her she’s hurting the investigation. Whatever you have to. Just please, I can’t do this again.”
I stared at him for a long time. Was he really wrong to want to keep Peggy safe? Hadn’t I just done the same thing?
“Fine,” I answered. “I’ll do what I have to.”
“Thank you so much,” he sighed and let go of my hand. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“Maybe,” I answered.
But, if I was, why did I feel so bad?
14
A few moments later, Darrin came bounding out of the room. He was calm and put together; the exact opposite of the blustering, red-faced Sheriff Black- who came walking out after him.
“So we’re clear?” Darrin said, looking at the pudgy man. “We all know what we need to do?”
Sheriff Black just glared at him and nodded.
“What’s his problem?” I asked, moving toward Darrin.
“He doesn’t like the idea of having another sheriff in on his investigation.”
“You mean the investigation that he didn’t even believe was warranted until he was faced with concrete, undeniable proof? I’ve seen better deduction skills from a bag of hair.”
“I agree,” Darrin answered, motioning me forward. I kept pace with him as we walked through the common area (this time uninterrupted by either Niles, Debra, or any of the now terrified guests that filled the area) into the courtyard. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s agreed to let me help with things, especially given Priscilla’s disappearance.”
I shuddered. Priscilla had disappeared from right beside me as if she had just slipped away when the lights went down.
Which very well may have been what happened. Debra warned me that Priscilla was a liar. What if she was telling the truth? What if the things Priscilla told me about Daniel’s affair were just falsehoods to throw me off her scent and, once she made her move in letting everyone know what happened to Chloe, she ducked out to parts unknown?
However, that wouldn’t explain the photographs. Priscilla and Chloe were obviously closer than anyone watching their television program would believe. It was right there, captured in Polaroid.
Did that mean she wouldn’t kidnap her? Was the Priscilla in those pictures real, or was that just an intricate ruse to get close to Chloe and take her for ransom? If so, what for? Priscilla was a television star. Certainly, she couldn’t have been hurting for money and, if she was, couldn’t she just do some public appearances or something?
No. That didn’t make any sense. My gut was telling me that Priscilla had been taken, but it was also telling me that Daniel wasn’t the type of person to lie to his fiancé. And weren’t those two things mutually exclusive?
There were too many questions here. I needed more information, and there was only one way to get that.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, looking at Darrin. “Please tell me that Sheriff Black isn’t against the idea of me helping out.”
“He might be if I told him about it,” Darrin answered. “But, as it is, he’s given me enough leeway I doubt he’ll ask who’s assisting me.”
“And you?” I asked, blinking hard. “Are you against the idea of me helping you?”
“Why would you ask me that?” He narrowed his eyes.
“I think you know why,” I said. “You have been dodging me for the last two months.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he answered, shaking his head. “I’ve been busy.”
“Nope,” I chirped. “I’m not some self-conscious teenager waiting for her boyfriend to text her. And I’m not going to be given excuses as though I was. Do whatever you want, but own what you do. That’s what my father always told me. You don’t owe me anything Darrin, except for the truth. If we’re going to work together, I think I deserve that.”
“You sure you want to do this now?” he asked, leveling a stare at me that made me uneasy on a number of levels.
“Did I stutter?” I asked, trying my best to bounce that stare right back at him.
“Fine,” he sighed. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me away from the house. The grounds were immaculately kept as Darrin pulled me toward a nearby tree line.
He let go of my hand as soon as we reached it, spinning toward me and resting against a tree bark.
“I don’t know how to take you,” he answered flatly.
“Okay,” I answered, leaning against a tree myself. “Do you intend on telling me what that means at some point?”
“You think you’re the reincarnation of the former sheriff’s dead daughter.” He shook his head. “Obviously, I thought you were lying to me at first, but I’m good at reading people. I’ve made a career of it. Remember, I am the be-”
“Best detective in Washington D.C.,” I finished, rolling my eyes. “You should sew that onto a pillow or something, maybe have it embroidered on all your shirts. Given the number of times you mention it, it’d probably save time.”
“The point is, I’ve watched you. I’ve watched you very closely. You’re not lying to me. You actually believe this. Which leaves me two options. Either you’re completely crazy, or you’re telling the truth.” His eyes seemed to look past me, as though he was surveying the entire situation like some sort of field that stretched out in front of us. What was he looking at? Who was he hoping would be off in that distance?
“At first, I thought you were crazy, which lends itself to its own set of issues. I mean, if you are crazy, then the fact that I’m leaning on you like this makes me crazy, doesn’t it? But you know things,” he said, narrowing his eyes, but still not looking at me. “There’s no denying that you know things that you have absolutely no business knowing. It’s driving the detective in me crazy.”
“And if I’m not crazy?” I asked.
“What?” He finally glanced back up at me.
“You said there were two options. If I’m not crazy, it means I’m telling the truth. Why not consider that?”
“Why not consider the idea that you are Rita Clarke come back to life?” he asked, his lips quirking up at the edges. “Because I don’t want to end my career by flipping through the pages of the National Enquirer. I work with fact, not fiction. Besides, if people could come back to life, I’d like to think there’d be someone else out there who’d let me know.” His eyes took on that distant quality again, and I knew what he was thinking about.
His fiancé died a few years ago, around the same time that I did. I couldn’t imagine his pain. I couldn’t imagine Aiden’s pain for that matter. But it did raise an interesting question. Why me? Why not bring back Darrin’s fiancé or one of many of people who die
around the world every day? What made me so special?
“You two need to get to work!” A middle-aged woman with a weed whacker yelled at us from over the roar of the machines small engine.
Funny. I hadn’t heard it before.
The woman had short hair and a severe face. Her lipstick circled at least two inches beyond her lips, and her shorts were both way too tight and way too small.
“You’re not being paid to make googly eyes at each other in the woods,” she shouted.
“What?” I asked, taking in the entire picture. “There are no googly eyes.” I looked up at Darrin quickly before averting my eyes, which were absolutely-in no way whatsoever- googly.
“You need to get to work,” she said. “This place isn’t going to take care of itself.” She reached the weed whacker toward me. “Honeybean.”
“Charlie,” I muttered under my breath.
“We don’t work here,” Darrin said. “At least, not in the yard.”
“He does raise a point. I mean, she does,” I said. It was so hard to keep track of Charlie’s ever changing visages.
Darrin shot me a quizzical look.
“I see,” Charlie answered, pulling the whacker closer. “Though, I think you might be wrong about the googly eyes. Sometimes you can’t see things like that, especially when they’re so close to you.” Charlie winked at me. “Of course, you’d know all about that. Wouldn’t you, Honeybean?”
“You do know honey doesn’t come from beans, right?” Darrin said, and I chuckled.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Charlie said and walked away, super short shorts and all.
“That was strange,” Darrin said, watching the pushy woman walk away.
“That was life,” I answered.
“Listen,” he said, turning back to me. “I meant what I said before. I don’t know how to take you, but I do know one thing. You’re an amazing detective and, whether you’re ready to tell me the truth about you or not, I think this investigation would go a lot smoother with your help. I hope I can still count on it.”
Twice Layered Murder Page 8