Her Last Day (Jessie Cole Book 1)

by T. R. Ragan

  “You must be Ben Morrison,” she said, offering her hand as he approached.

  His fingers were as big as sausages, his handshake firm. She could feel the hard texture of his skin on the palm of his hand where he’d been burned.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he told her. “I just pulled up when I saw you crossing the street. Is this where you live?”

  Although she wasn’t the trusting sort and didn’t usually invite strangers into her home, she was worried about Higgins. She was also interested to know what Ben Morrison had to say about Sophie. Besides, she thought fleetingly, he was a well-known crime reporter in the area, and a family man. She opened the door wider. “I need to check on the dog. You’re welcome to come in.”

  He nodded and followed her inside. As they walked up the stairs, she told him about Higgins and the hit-and-run.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, they both stopped and stared. The place looked as if it had been ransacked. The synthetic stuffing had been removed from the couch and was littered about the floor, making it look as if it had snowed inside her house. An empty cereal box and assorted garbage made a trail from the kitchen.

  Cecil was napping on the windowsill.

  Higgins was nowhere to be seen, but Jessie followed the path of chewed-on shoes and debris through the hallway and into her bedroom. “Higgins,” she said. He was lying in a corner of her closet. He gave her a guilty look. Although there was a small fenced-in area in the backyard, it had been too hot to leave the dog outside. Instead she’d set up a place in the kitchen, complete with newspapers, blanket, water, and food. She’d used furniture to block his exit.

  Jessie looked at Ben Morrison and raised both arms. “You said you wanted to do a story about me and my family. Well, this is my life in a nutshell. Chaos. Come on,” Jessie said to the dog. “Let’s take you outside.”

  Higgins growled as she leaned over to pick him up.

  “Here,” Ben said. “Let me take him outside for you.”

  She backed away. “Be my guest. I’ll grab his leash and a plastic bag.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jessie had picked up most of the garbage scattered about and was shoving the last of the stuffing back into the couch when Ben returned with Higgins. She used duct tape to cover the torn fabric, then held up the tape and said, “My go-to repair tool.”

  He smiled. “I can see that. I took Higgins around the neighborhood,” he told her. “He’s basically walking on three legs, but overall I think he’ll make a quick recovery.”

  “Thank you for doing that.”

  “I’m sure you’ve already figured out that this dog has been abused. He’s fearful and untrusting, and I think I know why he seems to have a problem trusting you specifically.”

  His statement took her by surprise. She straightened and plunked her hands on her hips. “Why is that?”

  “There’s a lot of foot traffic out there, but the only person he showed aggression toward was a brown-haired woman who was about your size. He had no problem with men, children, or other dogs. My guess is he associates his abuse with petite, dark-haired women.”

  “Interesting.”

  “My wife and I adopted an abused Labrador when we were first married. He was afraid of small children. We did some investigating and found out he’d been raised with children who kicked him and threw rocks at him. Higgins,” he said, petting the dog, “got it much worse than that. He still has the scars to prove it.”

  “I thought those patchy spots were from malnutrition,” she said.

  “Some of them are, but if you look closely at his backside, you can see he’s been whipped. Probably with a belt. He also has scars that appear to be burn marks, most likely from cigarettes.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides. “That’s horrible.” She wanted to go to Higgins, but it was easy to see that he was truly fearful of her. “How did you help your dog recover?”

  “Patience, time, and lots of love.” He removed the leash. “Where should I put this?”

  She took it from him and put it aside. She then led Higgins into the kitchen to give him his pills and some food and water. He ate half the food and then plopped down on the blanket, exhausted.

  “Go ahead and have a seat,” Jessie told Ben.

  She brought him a glass of cold water and then took a seat across from him. “I need to be straight with you. I’ve thought about what you said about wanting to do a story on my family, and I’m not sure it would be a good idea.”

  Before he could respond, she added, “My niece, Olivia, recently started high school, and I’m not sure how I feel about her mother’s life being put out there again for public consumption.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but—”

  “The truth is, I’m not sure how you could help. I’ve been to every place Sophie ever set foot in multiple times. I’ve talked to teachers, friends, the postman, and acquaintances—anyone who ever said two words to her. And yet I’m no closer today to finding out what happened to her than I was ten years ago. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.” Jessie leaned forward and tapped a finger on the coffee table. “Sophie was twenty when she disappeared. She hardly had any friends. I don’t even know who the father of her child is.”

  As soon as the words were out, she berated herself for saying too much. She didn’t know this man.

  “In your line of work, I’m sure you’ve handled a few cold cases over the years,” he said.

  “Yes, I have,” she said, wondering what he was getting at.

  “Then you know there’s nothing better than having a fresh pair of eyes to look things over. My helping would have nothing to do with critiquing an old investigation or making anyone who worked on the case look bad.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I get that.”

  “The thing is,” he went on, “most people investigators talk to are more likely to open up about an old case rather than a new one. Witnesses and friends tend not to be so secretive about something that happened a decade ago. Many people don’t like to cooperate with authorities because of fear or disdain. But after the years pass by, things change. People grow up. Sometimes they grow a conscience. Minds muddled by drugs grow clearer.”

  Jessie met his gaze and wondered if she could trust him. Everything he said made sense. She found herself warming up to him and changed her mind. Besides, she really could use some help. She thought about Parker Koontz and Arlo Gatley and the stacks of files on her desk at the office. She needed him a lot more than he needed her.

  “This isn’t about dragging your family’s name through the mud,” he said. “I’m not interested in casting dark shadows of any kind on your family. My plan would be to start by retracing every detail of the last day your sister was seen.”

  “You said on the phone that you might have known Sophie. Is that true?”

  “I have amnesia—”

  “Yes. I did a search on the Internet. Retrograde amnesia. You were in a car accident.”

  He nodded. “The doctors had hoped I would regain memories by now, but that hasn’t happened. Not until I saw your sister on television. It felt as if a switch had been flipped inside my head. I know I’ve met her,” he continued, “but I have no idea when or where.”

  “Maybe your sudden interest in Sophie has more to do about discovering your past than mine.”

  He seemed to ponder that. “Perhaps.”

  “If this is about finding Sophie, then why bother doing a story about my family?”

  “I needed to sell the idea to my boss so I could continue to collect a paycheck, and your story makes good copy.”

  She raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “You and your sister were born and raised right here in the neighborhood,” he explained. “Your mother leaves. Your father starts drinking. One sister goes missing and the other never stops looking.”

  “I appreciate your brutal honesty, but I’ll need to talk to Olivia about this before I make my final decision.”

&
nbsp; “Talk to Olivia about what?”

  Jessie looked across the room and saw Olivia standing at the top of the stairs. Jessie sighed. “This is Ben Morrison with the Sacramento Tribune. He’s interested in helping us find out what happened to Sophie.”

  Olivia looked from Ben to Jessie. “You said yes, right?”

  “Don’t you think that might be a problem at school?” Jessie asked her. “Your friends will be reading about Sophie’s life, which means they’ll be asking questions about you, too.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Olivia said with a shrug. “My closest friends know everything anyhow.”

  Ben pushed himself to his feet. “I should go and let the two of you talk in private.”

  Jessie stood, too.

  Ben looked at Olivia. “It was nice meeting you, Olivia.”

  “You, too,” she said.

  Jessie walked him out and then joined Olivia in the kitchen, where she hovered over the dog.

  “I don’t know why you would even think about turning down his offer,” Olivia said. “Don’t you want to find out what happened to Sophie?”

  Olivia had stopped referring to Sophie as her mom years ago, and Jessie had never pressed her about it. But there were times like now when she wondered what was going through that head of hers. “Of course I do,” Jessie said. “But you’re older now, and I worry about people talking, saying unkind things. How would that make you feel, hearing things that may or may not be true about someone you love?”

  “I guess I wouldn’t like it if people were talking crap about her, but I’m tough. I can handle it.” Olivia pushed herself to her feet and looked Jessie in the eyes. “I want to know—no, I need to know why Sophie left and whether or not she’s ever coming back.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Erin could hardly move. Her breathing quickened.

  Don’t panic.

  She was on her back, faceup, arms at her sides.

  When she tried to lift her head, her forehead smacked against wood. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take calming breaths. But it was no use. She wanted to scream for help.

  But then what? Would that alert the freak?

  No. No. No. Don’t scream.

  She bit down on her lip and counted to five. The sound of her heartbeat pounded inside her head.

  How had she come to be there?

  The freak had been angry with her. She remembered that much. He’d said something about a box. That was the last thing she’d heard him say before everything went black. Had he hit her over the head? Drugged her? She had no recollection whatsoever.

  She used the tips of her bare toes to feel around and get an idea of the length of the box. If she pointed her toe, she touched wood. Damp wood. She could raise her knee only a few inches before making contact. The wood was soft. She jerked her knee upward, quick, to see if she could make a dent, but the wood wouldn’t give. She cried out in pain. Shut up. Shut up.

  She stopped to listen. Was he coming?

  Suddenly she recalled waking up once before. She’d thought she was having a nightmare. Every time she fell back asleep, Grandma Rose would appear and remind her of her first track meet. “Go for it,” Grandma had whispered in her ear. “Set goals or you’ll have nothing to strive for. And don’t forget to imagine it—see it in your mind—and it will happen.”

  Go for it, Erin thought. Go for what?

  She looked left, then right. Tiny pinpricks of sunlight had found their way through crevices in the wood. Daytime. Was she inside or outside?

  She sniffed the air, concentrating, trying to figure out the smells. Horse manure and straw.

  Outside.

  There were other smells she couldn’t quite figure out. Every once in a while she’d hear grunting. Pigs?

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  How had she let this happen? She was smarter than this. She’d thought she could outsmart him, but she’d failed. He’d known exactly what she was going to do, and he’d been prepared.

  Think, Erin. Think.

  Stay positive. Stay strong.

  She could breathe. That was a good thing. If the wooden box had been constructed of brand-new wood instead of old, she probably wouldn’t have had enough oxygen to stay alive for long. The light coming through was also reassuring since it meant she hadn’t been buried alive.

  She couldn’t hear anyone moving around outside, so it wouldn’t do her any good to scream out and risk drawing the freak’s attention. Besides, she didn’t want to waste her energy. She’d watched a show with her mom once about getting out of crazy situations, like if you were trapped in a car that was sinking in water or an attacker came at you in a parking lot. She would have kneed her abductor in the groin if she hadn’t had the Taser. What a waste of effort that had been. In all situations, though, there was one common denominator: never panic. Not panicking wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Neither was getting the image of Garrett’s bloated face and bulging eyes out of her mind.

  She worked on keeping her breathing even as she tried to think.

  “Start out slow. Finish fast.” Those had been the last words she’d heard Grandma Rose say before she woke up.

  Start out slow. Finish fast.

  The coins! As he’d dragged her from the cell, before she’d blacked out, she’d felt the coins beneath the straw. Knowing he would take them away if he saw them, she’d quickly shoved one coin in each ear.

  Had he taken them from her?

  There wasn’t much room to maneuver in the box. It was a tight squeeze, but if she bent her elbow and slid her forearm slowly across her stomach, she could move her hand up toward her face. She put her left finger inside her right ear and squeezed her eyes shut when she realized there was nothing there.

  It’s okay. Try the other ear.

  She took a calming breath, then moved her right arm in the same fashion, breathing a sigh of relief when the tip of her finger made contact with something hard. She pulled the coin from her ear, taking her time, careful not to drop it as she transferred it from her left hand to her right. It felt about the size of a nickel.

  The wood was damp. Could she dig her way out of the box?

  She used the coin to poke and dig at the wood near her right hip. After a few minutes, she felt a tiny divot. Making a hole could take days, she realized. How long could she survive inside this box?

  As she scraped and dug, she thought about Mom and Dad and how they’d all been arguing about school right before she’d gotten in the car and taken off. She didn’t want to go to college. At the very least, she wanted to take a year off. But they wouldn’t budge. Why did she always have to be so stubborn? It felt as if she’d been fighting with her parents since the day she was born. She couldn’t even remember what they fought about most of the time. If she could find a way out of this, if she could escape the madman, if she could get back to her parents and her siblings and their chaotic lives, she would never argue with them again.

  See it. Imagine it. Make it happen.

  In her mind’s eye, she imagined making a hole big enough to dig her way out. She watched herself climb out of the box. The sun shone in her eyes and warmed her back. She imagined her legs moving and her arms pumping as she ran from this place.

  She could do this.

  Coin against wood.

  Scraping, scraping, scraping.

  EIGHTEEN

  In the morning Jessie called the hospital to check on Parker Koontz. According to a nurse on the fifth floor, his condition had not changed. Although she wouldn’t elaborate further, she was adamant that his current condition would have prevented him from making a phone call.

  Next on the list was a visit to the coffee shop on Sixteenth Street where Adelind Rain had said she’d met a barista by the name of Fiona Hampton. According to Adelind, Fiona had also been stalked by Parker Koontz.

  Jessie hopped into the car and started the engine, hoping Fiona would be willing to talk to her. So far her research had proven everything David Roche had said about Par
ker Koontz was true. He was a well-respected, hardworking attorney who volunteered his free time to worthy causes.

  So why the hell had the man shot blanks at her?

  He had a clean record, and nothing she could find so far indicated he might be suicidal.

  After finding a parking spot on the street, Jessie got out and walked a half block to the coffee shop, glad to see it wasn’t too busy. She ordered a large coffee and grabbed a granola bar to go with it. As the man behind the counter poured her coffee, she asked him if Fiona Hampton worked there.

  “Here she comes now.” He gestured behind her.

  Jessie looked over her shoulder. The woman coming through the door caught more than a few people’s attention as she removed the scarf from her head, revealing a shock of white hair that matched her skin.

  “Hey, Reid,” Fiona said before connecting gazes with Jessie. “What? Haven’t you ever met an albino before?”

  “Chill,” Reid said. “The lady was just asking about you.”

  “Oh.” She looked Jessie over. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I was hoping you would answer a few questions about a man named Parker Koontz,” Jessie said as she dropped her change into the tip jar.

  Fiona sighed. “Sure. I guess. I’m early,” she said. “I can spare a few minutes.”

  Jessie slipped the granola bar into her purse and then grabbed her coffee from the counter.

  After Fiona put her things in the back room, she led Jessie to a table. “So, what’s going on? Did that creep go after you, too?”

  “No. I’m here because Adelind Rain told me you were once stalked by Parker Koontz.”

  “Ah. I see. Is she okay?”

  “She quit her job and moved away.”

  Fiona whistled through her teeth.

  “So it’s true that he stalked you?”

  “Yep. That guy is one sick puppy.” She pointed a finger at Jessie. “Hey, wait a minute. I thought I recognized you. Are you the one who shot him at the park?”