Pretty Girls Die Last

by Lisa Mancini

  “What’s up?”

  He exhaled. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Read this.”

  She took the paper from him and read the typed sheet. She looked at Duke.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s the lab results of the stuff found at Mike Chancellor’s house. It matches the poison found in Brandon’s blood stream.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. It looks like Mike did it. He claims he’s innocent but every guilty person says they are innocent too.” He shrugged and took a sip. “Hey what happened to the Diet Coke?”

  “I’m trying to give soda up. It’s not good for you anyway.”

  They both turned to look at the driveway as a car pulled in. It was Ali. Dexter stood up in his cat tower and stretched. Ali always brought him treats. He looked anxiously at the door. Freya opened it and yelled out to her.

  “Hey, you’re early.”

  Ali walked in carrying two grocery bags and set them on the counter. She immediately gave Dexter a rub and handed him a cat nip mouse. He grabbed it, jumped down from the cat tree, and ran off toward the living room.

  “I was excited, so I came early. Why? Is there a problem?” she asked, looking at Duke.

  Freya assured her there was no issue and asked Duke if he wanted to stay and help. To her surprise, he accepted the offer. She handed him a pink apron and he put it on. Both girls laughed and the bake off began.

  Less than forty-five minutes later, the cakes were in the oven and the sugar work underway. Spinning sugar was much harder than it looked and much messier. Freya had spun sugar in her hair, on her apron and all over her gloves. She removed them to wash her hands and take a little break. She observed Duke and Ali at work.

  Ali was a natural baker, Freya hated to admit, and even Duke was a natural. Okay, so baking was not her thing. You can’t excel at everything, right? But, it was fun and she like spending time with her best friend. Now that they were in college, they were no longer the inseparable twosome they once were. She rationalized that as a sign of maturity and growth. After all, she hated being suffocated by people. Realizing that reminded her about Erik again and her mood dropped. She was seriously considering breaking up with him. Ironically, his truck roared into the driveway. Oh no.

  Duke looked toward the back window and then at Freya. Like the mind reader he sometimes appeared, he removed the apron and waved goodbye.

  “Well, ladies, it’s been fun but I’ve got to go.”

  He went out the front door as Erik opened the back door. It all happened so smoothly, it almost made Freya feel like she was having an affair. But she wasn’t.

  “Well, what’s going on? I didn’t know you baked.”

  “Apparently I don’t bake very well. Ali is the star baker. We’re attempting to bake a birthday cake. Ali is a wiz at spun sugar. Look at the butterflies she made.”

  Erik examined them and nodded his approval. Ali smiled and went back to her sugar work.

  “I saw mail in your box, so I brought it in for you.”

  She took the pile and sifted through them. Mostly junk mail except for one envelope with no return address. She didn’t recognize the writing. Then, all of a sudden, she felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

  She walked into her bedroom, shut the door behind her, and sliced open the envelope. She removed the contents with a pair of tweezers, and read the typed message inside.

  Hi Freya,

  You didn’t think I’d miss an important day like your birthday, did you? Happy birthday! I’ve been keeping up to date on your career. I love your articles in the Beacon. You’ve done very well in such a short time, but that’s talent isn’t it? Or is it luck? Well, either way, you’ll find out soon.

  Your greatest fan,

  Abby

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  With Christmas a few weeks off, St. Bernadette’s School for Girls, choir practice was daily now, in preparation for Midnight Mass. Both Anya and Molly were sopranos and Megan a contralto. Only Arielle was absent from school that day. Her gymnastics competition was in Stamford. Her team was ranked first in New England.

  The girls were alive with gossip about the recent arrest of Mike Chancellor for the attempted murder of Brandon. And Brandon was no better. His coma continued and word had it that he wouldn’t last through the month.

  “I hear Brandon is in a coma,” whispered Molly.

  “He’s braindead, a vegetable, and soon will be buried. Forget him. I hate that guy anyway. He got exactly what he had coming,” remarked Anya.

  “Shhh! The nuns will hear you!” Megan grabbed Anya’s hand and squeezed it. “What’s wrong with you? Where’s your empathy?”

  Anya rolled her eyes. “Meg, for Christ’s sake, are you serious? That guy harassed our whole school, raped underage girls, sold drugs, and cheated on every test he ever took. He drank, partied, and cheated his way through life. I haven’t received any more anonymous threatening notes since he was poisoned. So he must have sent them. I checked with Arielle. She hasn’t gotten any notes either. And you want me to feel empathy? No! I won’t allow myself to feel that for him. Where’s our empathy? Where’s Molly’s empathy? And what about Syd?”

  Megan backed down immediately. She was no match for Anya.

  “No, I agree! He is a monster. But, still, the way you talk sometimes, you have so much anger. I just wish you’d….” Megan stopped. Walking towards her was Sister Evangeline and she looked very upset. Oh no, the nuns heard us!

  The girls turned around to see the nun before them, panting and red faced. She took a deep breath and grabbed Molly’s shoulder.

  “Dear, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  Molly gasped. “Oh my God! What’s happened?”

  “I’m afraid your father was attacked while he was leaving his office today. Two men beat him up. But they were stopped before they could do any real harm. The security guard and a couple of your fathers co-workers intervened. Your father has been taken to Mercy Regional. Your mother called and asked if your sister could drive you both over there now. You’re excused for the rest of the day.”

  Molly immediately began to cry and the nun put her arm around the troubled girl. “There, there, God was watching him. He’s always watching. He made sure no harm was done. Now, dry your tears and get your things. Your sister is waiting for you in my office. Megan can you walk your friend over there? I need to speak with Miss Andersen a moment.”

  Anya braced herself. What could it be now? Did she find out that I’ve been going to the Magick Shop downtown? Or did she hear me say those things about Brandon? Either way – I don’t care what she thinks.

  To Anya’s surprise, the nun was kind. She actually complimented her on her recent Teen Time show. The subject was teen rape. Anya interviewed a local psychologist who gave advice on how to handle the aftermath of an attack. Then, she interviewed Duke Mott from the Agatha Falls police department about rape prevention. He even demonstrated how to physically defend yourself from a frontal assault.

  Then, her piece de resistance; Molly Raju. She interviewed the girl and let her explain how her attack affected her life. Anya was sensitive yet curious, asked all the right questions in the most professional and compassionate way. The show was outstanding, according to Sister Evangeline.

  “Anya, you have true talent. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up on 60 Minutes one day.”

  The nun walked off leaving a very shocked but happy Anya Andersen. A few moments later Anya looked up to see her friend Megan running down the hall towards her. Her chubby face was bright red and she was perspiring.

  “Anya! OMG! It’s on the local news. Brandon Cambridge is dead! He died this morning.”

  And before either girl could say anything, an announcement was heard overheard on the loud speaker.

  Attention – attention please. We have an announcement to make. We have received word that Br
andon Cambridge passed away at 7:15 this morning due to complications from cardiac arrest and stroke. He was a student at Wainsbridge Academy.

  We realize that some of you knew him socially and others may have only learned about him from what you read in the papers. Regardless, we ask that you offer up a prayer for his soul. Only God can truly know what is in a person’s heart and we ask you to keep your commentary to yourself.

  Please give Brandon’s family the peace they need to accept his passing. Thank you. Please return to your classes.

  Ding dong, the rapist is dead! whispered Anya to herself. She didn’t care what the nuns said. In her opinion, he was a rapist and a killer. He had it coming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Freya reread the card. It was from her old nemesis Abby. Well, bring it on. She returned it to its envelope and slipped it into her knapsack. She told Ali and Erik she wasn’t feeling well. Ali got the hint immediately and left. But Erik took longer to get the message. Finally, she convinced him it was a female thing. As she watched him back out of her driveway, she glanced at her birthday cake sitting in the middle of her table.

  Ali had decorated the top with butterflies made from spun sugar. Written in purple icing were the words, FREYA 21! It was beautiful. She wondered if she should cancel her plans. Maybe having a party right now was not the best idea.

  Picking up her cell, she dialed Ramirez’s number and left a message asking her to call immediately. Should I call the FBI? Thinking that was best, she called Agent Margo Bent’s number too and left a message. She was brief. Abby was back. She’s contacted me. Call me. That should do it.

  She was just about to clean up the kitchen when she heard a tap at her back door. It was Duke.

  She opened the door without saying anything.

  “What’s happened? You look nervous.”

  She told him what happened.

  “Did you call the FBI?”

  “Yes, yes I already did that. And I called Ramirez too.”

  “She’s in Stamford right now at a conference but she’ll be home Monday. I’m here. You could have called me,” he said dejectedly.

  “Duke, this all happened minutes ago.”

  “Why did Michaelson leave in such a hurry?”

  Duke never referred to Erik as Erik but by his surname. Maybe it was a law enforcement thing or maybe it was to keep the distance between them. Either way, the men disliked each other. Both were jealous of the other and resentful of Freya’s attention. She wasn’t in the mood to prop up any man’s ego right now so she told Duke she was tired.

  “Oh no, you’re not going to be alone tonight. I’m sleeping on the couch. I’ll be right back,” he said as he rushed out the back door and across the street. He returned a few minutes later with a paper bag.

  “Is that your lunch?” she asked sarcastically.

  “No, my toothbrush and shaving stuff. Why? Did you expect me to bring an overnight bag?”

  Freya didn’t answer. To Duke she looked like a lost child. She could never be described as a damsel in distress. But she looked so upset he had to do something. Before he lost his nerve, he embraced her.

  Freya was not expecting a hug. She was not a hugger. And yet, it didn’t feel unnatural or wrong. She stood there, letting him embrace her and she returned the embrace. She could hear his heart beating through his flannel shirt. She could smell soap on his skin. She could feel his hand as it slowly ran down her long hair. Then, they looked at each other and kissed.

  It expressed all of the pent up longing they had secretly hidden from themselves and others. Freya’s hands ran up Duke’s back to grab the hair over his shirt collar. She felt one of his hands rub the small of her back. They separated for a moment to look into each other’s eyes.

  “I never realized your eyes are green with tiny gold flecks,” he said softly as he bent to kiss her again. The kiss went on for a few more seconds until the buzzing of a cell phone could be heard. Freya let go first.

  “My phone- it could be the FBI.”

  Reluctantly, he let her go and she grabbed her phone. It was Margo Bent. Freya had met the agent last year when she was investigating the murder of Joey Taylor, a local teen-age girl who had been strangled and left for dead in the Old North Woods near Freya’s childhood home. Initially, the women did not get along but had eventually become friends. Agent Bent told Freya more than once that she would make a great agent. Flattered by the idea, she chose instead to remain a journalist. She quickly explained about the card she’d received and listened to the agent’s response. The news was worse than she thought. Abby was free.

  According to Bent, Abby Vale was a very wealthy woman with influential family connections. Interpol tracked her to a London apartment after living in Denmark. But last week, they lost her. The FBI suspected she had somehow slipped into the U.S under an alias and in disguise. She’s in disguise. That’s just great.

  Bent told her she’d contact local law enforcement on her behalf. She would need around the clock police surveillance. Abby was close. She might try to attack Freya in her home. So, she wanted her to sit tight for the time being. Freya thanked her and hung up. She relayed her conversation to Duke. Now, even he looked nervous.

  “Fine, now we know. Well, I’ll make up the sofa for the night. Where do you keep your sheets?”

  “You can stay in my spare bedroom. It’s across the hall from my room. I’ll show you.”

  Freya gave Duke a brief tour of her home and then the two settled on the couch to watch TV. The evening news focused on the death of Brandon and the arrest of his best friend for his murder. With all the Abby business, Freya had forgotten the boy passed away that morning. She recalled the arrogant young man with the smug look on his face. Rapist, murderer, and only 17 years old. What a world.

  After the news, she flicked through the channels until she came to the Travel channel. There was a Dead Files marathon on. This is exactly what I need right now. They watched for close to an hour until Duke spoke.

  “Freya? About what happened in the kitchen? Um, what about Erik? Are you two still together?”

  Hmmm, that’s a good question. But she didn’t want to discuss one man with the other so she changed the subject. Freya knew exactly how she felt about Erik and Duke, for that matter. But, right now, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss her romantic future.

  “I’m starving. Let’s go to Gill’s and pick up a couple grinders. I haven’t had a hot Italian in a while. How about it?”

  Gill’s Delicatessen opened in 1964 and was still going strong. Family owned and operated the restaurant was famous for its grinders and cold salads. Gills had the distinction of using cabbage in its sandwiches instead of lettuce. Freya’s favorite was the Hot Italian, which featured hot ham, salami, provolone cheese, tomato, cabbage, hot peppers and oil.

  Duke agreed. On the drive there, they talked about the weather, the upcoming holiday, and their jobs. And when there was silence, that was okay too. They both felt comfortable enough with each other that they didn’t need to speak to fill in any gaps. The gaps were okay. On the drive back to Freya’s house, she told him about her upcoming book tour plans. He congratulated her and she was happy to be able to share her news. Erik was not always happy to hear about her job or her writing. He was funny like that.

  They ended up eating their grinders on Freya’s couch and watching episodes of the Dead Files long into the evening. Eventually, fatigue won out and they stood up, stretched, and walked toward the hallway.

  “I’ll leave the night light on in the bathroom. It’s to the left of your room. Good night.”

  She walked into her room and shut the door behind her. She heard the door across the hall close too. As she lay there in her bed waiting for sleep to come, she relived her kiss earlier with Duke. It felt different from her kisses with Erik. Not that Erik wasn’t a good kisser. But, with Duke, there was a comfort level that didn’t exist with Erik. Erik was so intense. Sometime, too intense. She realized what she had to do. Tomorrow
night would not be easy. She rolled over, turned out her light, and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The storm continued without pause. The wind blew and the snow squall did not abate. But Freya continued to set the table for her dinner party. Storm or no storm, the party was not being cancelled. Ali arrived early with her boyfriend Lincoln. She had four wheel drive and never let the weather influence her one way or the other. Jake texted that he and Lorna were on their way and Lou never said no to a free dinner, so she had at least half of her guests on their way. Enid, Donal, and a few of the reporters from the Beacon completed the group.

  The lasagna was in the oven and the garlic bread heating up beside it. The wine was resting at room temperature and the champagne was on ice. Her house immaculate, her cat in his tree and the decorations finished, she sat back on her leather sofa and switched on the local news.

  The attack on Azban Raju was the lead story. He was attacked on his way home from work by two men wearing white hoods and carrying baseball bats. The attack was interrupted by a security guard and a couple of fellow employees. One of the attackers was caught but the other ran off. The police took the man into custody but no more information on his identity was mentioned in the news broadcast.

  The company he worked for, Norton Electronics was a high security campus. Two men dressed like the KKK were sure to be noticed. The news report showed the security film of the attack and sure enough, the attackers were dressed like clansmen.

  Freya wasn’t shocked. Since the election of Donald Trump, hate crimes were on the rise in New England. Maine, Connecticut, and Massachusetts had recently reported anti-sematic and racist symbols showing up in their bigger cities and even their smaller towns. Neo-Nazi groups took to the streets openly now. Even in Burlington, Vermont, one of the most progressive cities in the United States, a white supremacy group had paraded down the popular Church Street near the University of Vermont campus.