by Nancy Bush
Then he came back for Jackie. Her hair was a mess and her makeup was smeary. He patted her hair down a little bit. It still held that “I’ve been rode hard” look. Still, that was as good as it was going to get.
They headed out to the car, him guiding her with his right hand, her purse over his left arm, the garbage bag beneath it, his fingers dangling the heels. It was tricky stuff because Jackie wasn’t walking too well. One leg was a little wiggly. Had to move slow. He held the outside door for her, inwardly begging her to hurry, hurry, hurry the fuck up!
At the car, he opened the Civic’s back door and dumped the shoes, garbage bag, and her purse inside—thought better about the purse and hung on to it. Then, he helped Jackie into the passenger seat, belting her in. “Don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said with a wink. He tucked the purse into the footwell, positioning it so it was easy for him to grab from the driver’s side.
As they drove out of the motel, he saw the security camera. He ducked his head as they passed under it, but was afraid maybe he hadn’t been quite quick enough. And Jackie sure didn’t know how to hide her identity.
Stuart sighed, his gut gnawing at him. What about the guy in the next room with his smug attitude? He’d sure got a good look at him.
Immediately he shook his head. Nope. There was nothing to worry about. Things had been going his way, like they always had and they always would. He was a winner. He got things done. He was the man, not that old fart!
And then he knew what he would do with Jackie.
He drove through Seaside and onto Highway 26, heading east.
“Got just the place for you, babe,” he said. No one had found Denny Mulhaney yet, so why not add Jackie to the mix?
She said, “Wha—”
“You just keep saying that. He’s not much of a conversationalist, either,” Stuart said, relaxing a tiny bit. He was going to have to get rid of this stolen license plate. Find a new one. Maybe get rid of the Civic entirely.
But it was amazing how good he felt. Once he got rid of Jackie, and the car—God he wished he could hang on to it, but ah, well—he would be home free. He would take the Civic back to the For Sale lot and switch to his Trailblazer. With P. J. failing him, he might have to come up with a new plan for achieving his goals, but overall, he was golden. Nobody could touch him.
Except...
What the hell had P. J. meant when he brought up Julia Ford?
I’ve got one more play, he’d said.
Somehow that sounded like a bad, bad idea. What was in P. J.’s mind? Did he think he could use Julia to wangle his money back . . . ? Talk her into opening the vault, or whatever the fuck he thought she could do? Not likely. Whatever the case, Julia was on Stuart’s kill list no matter what the man . . . the old man thought.
Forty minutes later he turned onto the road that led to Mulhaney’s burial ground and nearly ran over a couple of early morning hikers who screamed at him, one of them lifting her pole at him like an insect trying to ward him off.
He slammed on the brakes and Jackie’s forehead hit the dash. What the fuck had happened to the seat belt? Damned thing had jammed before. Shit. What good was it?
Immediately the hikers came to help. They rapped on the passenger window as Stuart, pulse roaring in his ears, pulled Jackie back into position.
“She okay?” one of the women asked. Middle-aged. Looked like the kind who just was itching to call 911 over any goddamn thing.
“Whaaaaaaa . . .” Jackie said, looking at them.
“Hit her head,” Stuart called back to her. He wanted to run the nosy fuckers over. Jesus. Jackie had barely touched the damn thing, and now they probably thought she needed help. Shit! What was he going to do now? “Nothing serious.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “She’s okay.”
While they eyed him through the windshield, he leaned over and kissed Jackie on the cheek. Pay attention, fuckers. We’re in love. To his delight, Jackie chose that moment to lean into him.
He nodded to the hikers. See?
They seemed satisfied, sort of, and he surreptitiously straightened Jackie in her seat, then patted her hand and waved off the hikers, before backing out the way he’d come in. The hikers stood in the road, watching him disappear. Once on the highway, he continued east toward Portland, taking his time. Half an hour later he doubled back, returning to the road. The hikers were nowhere to be seen now, luckily, but as he drove carefully and slowly, the Civic bumping down the ruts, he tried to remember exactly where he’d dropped off Denny. Here, in the sun-dappled woods, where old-growth Douglas firs and scraggly pines dominated, everything was looking the same. Where the hell had they ditched the body? He began to sweat. Worried. Thinking for a millisecond that it might have been found by hikers or tree huggers, like the two he’d just seen.
Calm down. Think. He’s here, damn it.
It took him a while to find anything that looked familiar when he spied a stump that he thought he’d seen before. He decided to search on foot and had to leave Jackie in the car while he scoured the forest. Nervous at leaving her alone, swatting at a fly that buzzed around his neck, perspiring despite the shade of the forest floor, he tromped around the woods searching, feeling the pressure of time ticking by. Then he found the familiar, slight mound. Looked better than he’d thought, and nothing had been disturbed since they’d dropped Mulhaney. He let out a pent-up breath. So far so good.
And now for Jackie.
He hurried back to the spot where he parked and sucked in a shocked breath when he spied her, standing outside the car.
Holy. Shit.
She was a silent statue, staring at him across the vehicle’s hood. A slight smile curved her lips. For a split second he saw his life flash before his eyes.
He stood frozen. A deer in the headlights as she slowly lifted her hand. He saw the gun. Waited to be shot point blank.
“Wha—” she said.
He closed his eyes. Braced for the shot.
And nothing happened.
He opened his eyes again, his gaze dropping to her hand. No gun. His fucking imagination had nearly given him a heart attack.
“Jesus,” he muttered, then grabbed the motel blankets and sheets from inside the car, intending to bury them, too. He hooked his arm through Jackie’s and half walked, half dragged her to Mulhaney’s grave. He laid the blankets atop the slight mound, then made Jackie lie down atop them. He thought he saw worry in her eyes.
“We’re just going to pick up where we left off,” he whispered, unbuckling his jeans and getting between her legs, pulling off her panties. When he was settled atop her, he kissed her lips.
“Wh—” she started to say, but he wrapped his hands in the scarf, twisting again.
“No time to talk,” he crooned, kissing her straining neck, as he twisted and twisted. Die, bitch, just fucking die!
She feebly clawed at his hands again, but there was no real energy left as her eyes rolled back into her head. Stuart gave her the rocking and rollicking send-off she deserved, aware he was going to have to pull out the shovel and get to work, but what the hell? Almost better than working out at the gym.
Chapter Twenty
Georgie was waiting for them when Jules and Sam arrived at Joanie’s, but so was Rob Illingsworth.
Jules had to contain her urgency as Joanie grabbed her before she’d taken one step from the truck. They were parked on the side of the house that led directly to the back deck, and Joanie practically dragged Jules toward the water. “Jackie’s missing,” Joanie declared. “She was supposed to come home after a concert last night, but she never did. Rob took their boys camping, but Jarrod, the younger one, got sick and threw up, so they came home about eleven.”
She shot a glance at Rob, who was standing between Joanie’s house and his, looking over the water.
Sam had gotten out of the driver’s side and walked to Rob. “What time was she supposed to be back?” he asked tensely. He seemed to realize he was giving away his e
motions and cleared his throat, visibly forcing himself to relax.
“Midnight or so?” Rob looked worried, but there was anger in his stance and fire in his eyes.
“You think she’s with Stuart Ezra,” Sam guessed.
“What makes you say that?” Rob demanded.
Joanie said, “Stop, stop. Girls, go back in the house.” Xena, Alexa, and Georgie had come onto the deck, and she shooed her daughters inside, but Georgie planted herself by Jules.
“Can we go now?” Georgie half whispered to Jules. “I just want to go. Now.”
“Why don’t you get in the truck?” Jules suggested.
Georgie looked like she wanted to say something more, but she did as she was told and, visibly fuming, headed to Sam’s truck.
“What makes you say that I think Jackie is with Stuart?” Rob demanded of Sam again, a little quieter this time. He was squinting against the afternoon sunlight, his lips compressed.
Jules answered, “I heard them together once. Outside the Ezras’ house.”
Rob stared up at the sky and said, “Fuck.” Then he looked toward his own house. The faces of his two boys showed in the window. When they saw their father staring at them, they backed away. “Jarrod’s better now. If we’d stayed camping, we might not have known. She coulda kept her secret a while longer and the boys might never have found out,” he added bitterly.
“Except Jackie’s supposed to be around to watch the girls today,” Joanie reminded. “It’s Saturday. Let me call and see if I can beg off, postpone some appointments. Won’t be easy. Everybody wants their interior designer available on weekends. . . .”
“I’ve called her cell phone a dozen times,” Rob said.
“I called it, too,” Joanie threw over her shoulder as she walked away, slipping through the slider door, holding her cell phone to her ear. “But maybe this time she’ll pick up.” She disappeared into the house.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Rob said, almost to himself.
On the south of Joanie’s house, the opposite side from the Illingsworths, the slider for Hap’s place opened and Martina walked out onto her deck. “What’s going on?” she asked, walking over to the rail. She wore a black bikini with a white overshirt, and was carrying a cup of coffee in one hand.
“Nothing,” Rob said shortly, gazing across Joanie’s deck to the one where Martina stood.
“Bullshit, nothing!” Martina wasn’t buying it. “I’ve got ears, y’know. And it’s not as if we live miles apart, for God’s sake. Jackie’s missing. I heard Joanie bitching and moaning about how late she was. So I came out here earlier and told Joanie to just leave, that I’d look after her little darlings.” Perturbed, she took a swallow from her cup. “As I said, ‘bullshit.’”
Jules almost felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Why were they all just standing around, arguing about Jackie’s cell phone and whereabouts? The memories of the boat and Stuart and the water filled her head. Stuart . . . they had to find Stuart. . . . Where was he? They needed to find him, call him. Without freaking out anyone else. “Could I get everybody’s number?” she suddenly said. “I’ve lost my phone and I need the numbers.”
“Good idea,” Sam said, catching on. She could feel his eyes on her, worried, his jaw tight. They were both filled with urgency.
“I’ve got them,” Martina said. “I’ll be right over.”
Jules had hoped Rob would step up, but he seemed to be going through his own inner turmoil, just staring at the water in the canal, which was spangled in sunlight and moving slowly toward the sea, sliding past grassy lawns and canoes tied to docks, splitting the two rows of homes where families lived and hid and laughed and lied.
Sam’s cell rang, and he said, “Griff,” and walked a few steps away to stand on the thick grass near the dock.
“For God’s sake!” Joanie exploded from inside the house. “I’ve got to leave,” she declared angrily, sticking her head back through the slider. “Can somebody watch the girls?”
At that moment Tina, who had already started toward the group, walked up Joanie’s deck stairs. “I said I can do it, Joanie. No big deal.” Then, seeing the look on her neighbor’s face, added, “Oh, for the love of God. I’m not going to eat them.”
Joanie threw up her hands and snapped, “Thank you,” her feelings for Martina crystal clear.
“Drama queen,” Martina muttered under her breath, out of Joanie’s earshot as she sauntered across the deck, passing Jules. “Something’s definitely off with her.” Then she stepped onto the grass and sidled up to Sam, who was speaking in monosyllables to Griff, keeping his voice low, giving nothing away. Tina waited until he ended the call, then opened her phone. She went through her call list one by one, saying the name of each Fisher aloud and giving the number as Sam inputted them into his cell. When she came to Stuart’s number, Sam’s eyes lifted to briefly meet Jules’s. She felt his tension. Knew he wanted to get the hell out of here as much as she did.
“Anything else?” Martina asked.
“No.” As he finished inputting the last number, he said to Jules, “Let’s roll.”
Across the canal and a few houses north, Bette Ezra suddenly stepped onto her dock. Clad in workout gear, she shaded her eyes and looked over at them. “You guys having a powwow out here or something?” she called.
Rob, who’d turned his anger inward and had returned to his own deck by now, glared over at her. “Where’s your husband?” he demanded.
“Stuart? I don’t know.” She dropped her hand from her eyes and gazed over at him, puzzled. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Did he come home last night?” Rob sneered.
She didn’t answer, but the way she stiffened made Jules realize that Rob’s query had hit pay dirt. The dogs, as if sensing all was not right, rushed outside to stand on either side of Bette, hackles stiffening as they growled at Rob. He flapped a hand at them and stalked angrily into his house, slamming the slider behind him.
“Thanks for the numbers, Tina,” Martina singsonged as Sam and Jules hurried back to the truck.
Sam lifted a hand to her. “Yes, thanks.”
“Hey, remember, I’m not the enemy here,” she called as Sam and Jules slammed into his truck.
“Should we talk to Bette?” Jules asked, leaning past Georgie who’d scooted into the middle, to meet Sam’s eyes. He nodded. “What did Griff say?”
“Tell you later.” He shot a glance at Georgie, who was staring through the windshield at Martina. She was watching Tina in a fixed way that got both of their attentions. “Something wrong?” he asked Georgie as he did a quick three-point turn and they started the twenty-minute trek that would take them back over the bridge and around to the other side of the canal.
Georgie kept her eyes on Sam’s ex till the last moment, twisting around in her seat to look out the back until Martina was out of sight. “Uh, no . . . I just . . .”
She seemed to come to herself and suddenly turned on Jules. “You left me at Joanie’s last night. Just left me! You know I don’t like her!”
“What?” Julia was taken aback. This tirade seemed to be coming out of left field. “Now wait. You didn’t mind last night. You said you wanted to be with Xena,” Jules sputtered, momentarily surprised out of her fear and anxiety by the unexpected attack.
“Joanie’s a bitch.”
“Georgie!” Jules couldn’t believe it. She might not remember everything about her stepdaughter, but she’d never heard Georgie talk that way about another adult.
“Well, she is,” she said stubbornly, then bit down on her thumbnail, worrying it with her teeth. “So’s Tutti, sort of, but not as bad.... She’s just, she used to be terrible, but now that she’s with Devon and Sean’s dad again, she’s better.”
“What are you saying? Tutti’s with her ex?” Jules asked. She would have loved to share eye contact with Sam over this news, but Georgie was leaning forward between them and Sam seemed to be concentrating on driving.
“Uh-h
uh. They’re like sneaking around.... I guess like Jackie and Stuart, huh?” she suggested daringly.
Jules felt weary all over. There was so much on her mind—Stuart, the boat, and Joe kept replaying in a loop—and she could feel the results of a sleepless night, a night full of lovemaking, and Georgie being difficult now was trying her patience. She held on to her tongue with an effort.
“Tutti thinks the boys don’t know,” Georgie was going on. “But she’s always leaving them alone, so she can be with their dad, which is fine with them, but geez, both of their parents are acting stupid. They just want their parents to leave them alone.” She sniffed. “They should just get remarried and stop acting so dumb. It’s embarrassing. And it leaves Devon and Sean to get into all kinds of shit . . . er, stuff . . . that drone, y’know.”
“I know the drone,” Jules remembered.
“What have they been doing with it?” Sam asked.
When Georgie didn’t immediately answer, Jules looked at her. She sensed there was more to come. “Georgie?”
Georgie was once again staring through the windshield, this time into the middle distance, obviously thinking hard. Finally, she said, “Okay, I’ve decided to tell you, but you can’t do anything to get Devon and Sean in trouble. I promised I wouldn’t tell.”
“What?” Jules demanded.
“Well, they took some pictures of . . .”
Jules wanted to yank the words out of her throat. “Of what?”
“Of Martina, okay?” Her head swiveled to Sam.
“What kind of pictures?” Sam asked carefully.
“Naked ones. I mean, it wasn’t really their fault,” she rushed on. “She was on her deck, completely butt-ass naked. There’s that screen they put up sometimes for privacy—you’ve seen it,” she said in an aside to Jules. “But the drone flew right over and there she was.”
Sam groaned, sounding exasperated.
“Where are these pictures now?” Jules demanded. “On their computer?”
“On their phones.”
“Holy sh . . . Have they sent them to anyone?” Sam shot out.