Pretty Girls Die Last

by Lisa Mancini

  He hurried off to this office. Ursula checked the French doors to make sure they were locked. Once she was satisfied, she shut off all the interior lights and turned on the exterior security lights. The back yard, pool, and hot tub were brightly illuminated. For just a moment, Ursula thought she saw movement by the pool house but when she looked again, there was nothing. She shivered in the warm room and pulled the curtains shut. Thankful for the expensive security system monitoring their house and grounds, she went upstairs to her bedroom and turned on the TV. Larry walked in and shut the door behind him.

  “Well, it’s all set. He’s going to start following Anya around tomorrow. She won’t know it of course; he’s too good for that. But if anyone tries anything with that kid, Bruce will stop him. We’ll take care of that pervert ourselves.”

  Feeling satisfied with himself, he got into bed with his wife and soon fell asleep never knowing that down the hall, his niece had her own idea of how to stay safe. If he thought he knew her, he was very wrong. If anyone could take care of herself, it was Anya. But like most men, he was clueless and had the preconceived notion that he knew what was best for her. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  This morning Freya was going to meet Ivy Nixon; the woman she believed took Hannah. And this afternoon, she was accompanying Duke and Ramirez to Wainsbridge Academy to pick up Brandon. Texting her professor a heads up, she told him she had an assignment for the paper that she had to prioritize. Then, she took off for the long drive to Killington.

  Killington was formerly known as Sherburne. The town voted to rename itself Killington in 1999. It was known for its ski resort that was the largest in the eastern United States. Freya was not a skier. As a high school student, she tried cross-country skiing but never downhill. Not a born athlete, she quickly gave it up. Currently her only outdoor winter sport was shoveling snow.

  Ivy Nixon lived on River Road. Freya drove along the dirt road until she came to the house. A ski chalet what else? She got out and walked up the front stairs. Looking around, she didn’t see anyone so she knocked. A few seconds passed. Suddenly the curtain in the front window was thrust aside. A woman’s face peered out. Freya gave a little wave and a smile. The woman appeared anxious but opened the door anyway. Freya introduced herself.

  “Hi Ms. Nixon, I’m Freya Barrett from the Beacon. I’m writing a story about the return of Hannah Baker. I’d like to talk to you. Is that okay?”

  The woman looked defeated. Her face was lined with worry and she gave the impression that she lived in a profound state of sadness. Freya felt sorry for her and she didn’t even know her. But, she knew about her past and that was enough to make her sad as well. The woman nodded and opened the door wider and Freya walked inside.

  The living area was small but cozy and she could smell the scent of caramel. A wood stove stood in the center of the room and gave off a welcoming heat. Freya followed Ivy into the kitchen. She sat down at a large oak table overlooking the lovely scenery. Ivy poured her a cup of steaming cocoa. Freya inhaled the aroma.

  “Is this caramel? That’s one of my favorite flavors.”

  “It’s a white chocolate cocoa with caramel added to it.” The woman sat down. Sensing the inevitable, she asked, “Will I be arrested?”

  “Why would you be arrested?”

  The woman looked at her oddly. “Well, why are you here then?”

  Freya sipped her cocoa and waited. She knew that patience was a virtue for a reason. Sometimes, it yielded the best information. People often confessed to her when there was silence. She hoped Ivy Nixon would admit what she had done. She had the feeling she wanted to unburden herself to someone. Freya hoped she could be her confessor. She waited.

  A few moments passed. A clock hummed on the wall. A TV was heard in another room. Was that CNN? Finally, the silence became too much. Ivy spoke.

  “I live here alone. Well, I have a dog and a cat but you know what I mean. I’m divorced. I had a daughter.”

  She stopped then and Freya put her cup down and leaned forward. She looked at Freya and her face said it all. This was the face of a woman who’d lost her child. Freya knew the facts. But she wanted to hear from Ivy. She waited.

  Ivy continued. “My daughter disappeared five years ago. She was playing in the yard. I went out to find her but she was gone. It was summer and we were living in town then. We lived near the hospital and it was a good neighborhood. But the police never found her.” She stopped then, and Freya took her empty cup to the sink and rinsed it out.

  “Can I call you Ivy?”

  The woman turned around to face her. She seemed relieved to hear her voice.

  “Yes, call me Ivy. I want to show you something, come with me.”

  Freya followed her into a room that looked like an office. Ivy took a photo album off a shelf and handed it to Freya.

  “This is what I have left of her. This was her last school picture. She would have been 14 last month. I like to believe that whoever took her loves her like a daughter. But I know she’s dead. I feel it.”

  Freya looked at the picture. A red haired girl with freckles and wide set eyes. She had her mother’s eyes. Freya smiled and handed the album back.

  “What was her name?”

  Ivy smiled. “Ainsley. It means meadow in Gaelic. I thought it was pretty.”

  “They never found her. Who do they think took her? Any idea?”

  Ivy shrugged. “The police came up with lots of theories but her body was never found. My husband blamed me, I blamed him, and we split up. I moved up here to get away from everyone. I work from home. I’m a certified medical coder. The money is good and I make my own hours. After a while, everyone moved on and people left me alone.”

  Freya asked the question that brought her there.

  “Hannah Baker looks like your daughter. Is that why you took her?”

  She smiled then, for the first time. She exhaled and her body relaxed. She sat down and Freya sat beside her.

  “I’m moving to Seattle. Did you know that? I’m taking a job as a compliance officer at a hospital out there. I went to school there and always liked the area. But when I married, we moved here because my husband was born here. My house has already been sold. I leave after Thanksgiving.”

  Freya tried again.

  “Why did you bring her back?”

  The question surprised Ivy. But, in Freya’s mind, it was the only question worth asking. It was obvious why the child was taken – to replace the child stolen from her five years before. But, why did she return her? If she did plan to move across the country, why not take Hannah with her and start over? Other women have done that.

  Freya asked again.

  “Why return Hannah? Why not take her to Seattle and start over? Hannah liked you. She told me.”

  Ivy’s eyes glistened and she turned away and faced the wall. Freya remained quiet and waited. Sometimes in journalism, it was a waiting game. Sometimes, the best thing a reporter could do was be patient. Eventually everyone talked. It was human nature to engage. Only the truly sociopathic remained alone and isolated by choice. And Ivy was not a sociopath.

  Ivy turned back to Freya. She looked more composed. She crossed her arms and held them there, like a shield.

  “I gave her back because she wasn’t mine. I couldn’t make another parent feel the way I did after she was gone. Oh, I wanted to keep her and I know she loved me. I knew her mom was a doctor. I saw them in the park one day last summer. They were at a puppy obedience class. Her mother was such a bitch! Yelling at her, grabbing her arm, and even pulling on her braids. I thought to myself, that woman doesn’t deserve to be a mother. So, I followed them home and found out where they lived. Then, one day last fall, I drove through the neighborhood and there she was. All by herself, except for her puppy. I stopped and asked her about the dog and she answered. She seemed lonely to me. I told her I was going shopping and asked her if she wanted to come along?” Ivy laughed to herself. “She jumped
right in my car! Just like that. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Then I took her home and she was all mine for six glorious weeks.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Freya.

  Ivy exhaled. She suddenly seemed very tired.

  “She missed her dog and her toys. She even said she missed her mother. So, what could I do? I brought her back.” Turning directly toward Freya, she asked her a question.

  “So, how did you find me? I was so careful.”

  Freya explained how she tracked her down and the woman just shook her head.

  “A receipt? I thought I threw that out. Oh well, its water under the bridge now. So, what happens? Will I go to jail?” She suddenly resigned to her fate. Freya explained.

  “It’s not my job to be judge and jury. But, I think you’ve suffered enough. I’m not going to say anything.”

  “You mean you’re not going to write about this? What about the paper?”

  Freya had already made her decision. There would be no story. Sensationalizing a tragic event was not something Freya aspired to do. It wasn’t what being a journalist was all about. Ivy had suffered enough. And right now, Hannah needed time with her family. Fame would not benefit either.

  “Thank you, I appreciate that. I know I did something wrong and I’ll never do it again. I put those parents through hell. I hate myself for doing that but I swear I will never do that again.”

  “I don’t think you will either. So, that’s all behind us now. Focus on the future. My motto is – Go Forward.”

  “Go Forward. I like that.”

  Freya said good bye and drove to Wainsbridge. She had just enough time to meet Duke and Ramirez there. As she drove she thought about Ivy and what a terrible thing she had lived through. She lost her daughter. No, not lost, her daughter was stolen from her. And she was probably dead. What an awful thing to live through. But people do it every day.

  According to the statistics, over 2,000 children in America go missing every day. Some are kidnapped by relatives while others are taken by strangers. Over 80% are female and often sexual abuse occurs after being taken.

  Freya arrived at the academy and parked in the visitor parking lot. She texted Duke and waited. He texted her back.

  On my way. See you soon.

  She turned on the radio and listened to the weather report. Thanksgiving was next week and snow was predicted for the next ten days. Freya like shoveling as much as she liked root canals and pap smears. But she lived in New England and that went with the territory.

  Duke’s vehicle pulled into the parking lot with Detective Ramirez following behind. She hopped out of her Escape and joined them. They entered the side door leading to the administrative offices. No one knew they were coming.

  Ramirez would do the questioning and Duke would be the backup. Freya hadn’t met Brandon yet. She looked forward to seeing him taken in for questioning. Now that Molly Raju had filed a formal complaint, the police had what they needed. They walked into the waiting room outside the head masters office. Ramirez asked for Headmaster Gabriel. His secretary immediately got up out of her chair and went to look for him. Less than a minute passed before he appeared, face flushed and sweating heavily. He was dressed for the gym.

  Ramirez introduced Mott and Freya and then asked to see Brandon. She explained the complaint against him. Gabriel stammered and stuttered but eventually calmed down enough to have someone bring Brandon to his office. Five minutes later the boy appeared.

  He was the epitome of a spoiled rich boy. Rude, sarcastic and even petulant, but he agreed to come in for questioning if his lawyer and his father were notified. And he asked in that order, lawyer first, father second. Freya thought that was very telling. With her background in psychology, she couldn’t help but diagnosis him.

  An antisocial narcissist with a borderline personality disorder. A sociopath too, she surmised. He was a rapist, but a murderer? Well, they would find out very soon. She watched as Ramirez put him in the back seat of her car without hand cuffs. She caught him looking at her. He eyed her up and down and smirked, as if she weren’t his type.

  No, I’m too old for you aren’t I? You like 12 years olds don’t you?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Girls, I want your essays on Little Women handed in this Friday. As you know, we have a holiday next week and the entire week off from school. I’m sure you all have plans so I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving and a safe one too. And don’t eat too much. Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins!”

  Sister Grace Mary was petite and had a very pretty face with large brown eyes and small lips. The girls at St. Bernadette’s School often wondered why she became a nun in the first place.

  “She could have been a model or an actress. Especially with her face and figure. What a waste! No one becomes a nun anymore,” admonished Anya with a shake of her head.

  The girls rushed off to their last class of the day. It was their favorite too. French with Sister Veronique. Their classroom was decorated with pictures of France and especially Paris, Sister Veronique’s birthplace. The room was always bright and cheery. A tall, slim nun with a narrow face and lovely grey eyes stood before them.

  “Bonne après-midi jeunes dames. Veuillez prendre vos places. Aujourd’hui on apprend la grele mar yen francais.”

  “What?” whispered a clueless Anya.

  “She wants us to take our seats. We’re learning the Hail Mary today,” whispered Megan.

  The girls took their seats and the class began. Sister Veronique stood in front of the class with the blackboard behind her. The prayer was written in French in lovely cursive handwriting. She began to recite in French.

  Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grace.

  Le Seigneur est avec vous.

  Vous etes benie entre toutes les femmes,

  Et Jesus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est beni.

  Sainte Marie, Mere de Dieu,

  priez pour nous, pauvres pecheurs,

  Maintenant et a l’heure de notre mort.

  Now, speaking in English, she said,

  “Girls, I want you to form groups and practice saying it out loud to each other. No fooling around now. What I can’t see, God can.” The nun sat down at her desk and Anya, Arielle, and Megan formed a group.

  “So, did Molly take the day off to go the police station? I didn’t see her in chemistry,” asked Megan.

  Anya nodded. “Yeah, she and her sister filed a police report today. And then, the police were going to Wainsbridge to pick up Brandon. I wish I could see his face! I hate that bastard.”

  SHHHHH! Said someone from the back of the classroom.

  “Talk softer Anya. For Christ’s sake, the nun will hear you,” said Arielle.

  When the class finished, the girls went to their respective lockers. They regrouped at the bike rack. Arielle was sleeping over at Anya’s the entire week. Her dad was away on business. But she knew the truth. He was with his new girlfriend, and she didn’t like kids.

  “I’ve got to get home. My grandma’s here from Florida. Call me, okay?”

  Megan pedaled off toward her home and Anya and Arielle took route to Anya’s house. The girls peddled down the hill leading to their neighborhood. But something wasn’t right. Anya mentioned it to Arielle.

  “What guy? I don’t see anyone.”

  “That bald dude over there.” Anya pointed to a man with a bad head and wearing a flannel jacket. He looked like any old man.

  “What about him?”

  “I swear I saw him this morning on my way to school. And now I see him again. How do we know he’s not some pervert?”

  Arielle said nothing as they peddled into the cul-de-sac where they lived. Going directly to Anya’s garage, the girls locked their bikes inside and entered through the kitchen door, locking it behind them. Since the blue envelopes started arriving, Anya had taken extra care to make sure all the doors were locked at her house. Today was no exception.

  As soon as they got to Anya’s bedroom, she pulled
something from her tote bag. It looked like a crude handmade doll. She tossed it at Arielle who caught it and tossed it on the bed.

  “What the hell is that thing?”

  “That is a poppet.”

  “And that is?”

  “A small figure of a person used in magic,” answered Anya.

  Arielle rolled her eyes. Ignoring Anya she started to remove her books from her back pack and arranged them on the table she was using as a make shift desk. Arielle was accustomed to doing her homework as soon as she got home from school. As she sat down to work, Anya rushed over.

  “Aren’t you even going to ask me why I have one?”

  The look on Arielle’s face said it all. She was a non-believer. Arielle was not a religious child other than her Catholic upbringing. She had no interest in the occult and thought it silly. She didn’t voice that to her best friend. She saw no harm in her friend believing in magic as long as she didn’t try to use it to hurt anyone.

  “What do you need a poppet for?”

  Anya smiled. Now the center of attention, she explained her goal.

  “Well, I made it at school in sculpting class. It’s made from clay and cloth. I just need one final thing to make it perfect though. Then maybe you’ll understand.”

  She walked over to her closet and pulled a book down from the overhead shelf. It looked like a year book. As Arielle looked closer, she recognized last year’s Wainsbridge Academy year book. Anya opened it up to a page and showed Arielle. The page displayed the football team and its star quarterback – Brandon. Now it all made sense. She was going to hex him.

  Arielle watched in fascination as her friend cut the picture and very neatly removed the head of the boy from the photo. She removed a glue gun from her desk drawer, dabbed the back of the photo, and pressed it firmly to the head of the poppet. She held it fast for thirty seconds, stood back, and surveyed her work. She smiled in appreciation. Waving it in Arielle’s face, she spoke.