by R. J. Noonan
“At times. She was a typical teenage girl in some ways. Some days she loved her home, her dad, her horses. Other times, she hated her father, me, the state of Oregon, the rain, the materialistic culture of the United States. She kept asking us to send her backpacking in Europe, but she would have been such an easy target. Pampered and naïve. It wouldn’t have been safe.”
After a final sip, I lowered my teacup gently. “Thanks for the tea. This is a nice ritual.” Outside the windows, the day had shifted, and the sky beyond the peaks of the tall Douglas firs was pasty gray, the color of pending rain. Another buzz from my pocket. Still, I didn’t want to break the mood. “Did Lucy enjoy having tea with you on days like this?” I asked.
“Sometimes. But you know how kids are with their authority figures. Do you have tea with your mother?”
“Not too often,” I admitted, thinking of the many ways I tried to avoid my mother’s nitpicking. “But back to Lucy. What about friends?”
“There was always some friend or another hanging around.”
“Who would you say was her best friend?”
“You need to ask Kent. I learned to stay out of Lucy’s business. Whenever I tried to be a surrogate parent, she cut me off at the knees.”
“You must remember someone.”
“Why would I? Those conniving little brats drove me crazy. They would keep me up all night, blasting music or talking in her room. Useless kittens.”
“Why didn’t they use the game room or one of the guest cabins?”
“Lucy and her friends couldn’t be trusted. The only thing you could count on them for was to make noise and leave a trail of debris wherever they went.”
I wasn’t surprised by her rancor toward Lucy, though I hadn’t expected her to be so open about it when we were investigating Lucy’s death. I tried to picture Martha with her blonde bob and perfect eyebrows reaching into the engine of the Karmann Ghia to cut the brake line. The motive was there, though I wondered if Martha would know what she was looking at inside an engine. Then again, there was probably some online tutorial that showed how to cut the brake line in an old car.
“We found some indication that Lucy had a boyfriend,” I said, careful not to give away any specifics. “Do you know who he was?”
“Not a clue. Believe me, I would have pushed her into the fella’s arms if she’d brought him around.”
“You sound quite fed up.”
“I am, though I know Kent and I are partly to blame for her failures. She took nothing seriously, and why should she? I’m afraid we’ve spoiled our Lucy girl. When she stopped going to her tutors and announced that she was dropping her online classes, Kent felt that he couldn’t stop her, and I knew not to step in. Believe me, I’ve had to sit on my hands and keep quiet while Kent gave her whatever she wanted. A little whining and pouting and she got her way. He can’t say no to her. So he let her sleep all morning and ride horses in the afternoon. He let her hang with kids who were clearly bad influences. He let her drop out of school and life. And you know what? Lucy was never happy with what we gave her. It was never enough.”
I thought of my younger sister, of her secret nights out and her loud group of party girls. Would Hannah slide down like Lucy if our parents weren’t always poking and prodding us toward success, achievement, accomplishment?
When my cell phone buzzed for the third time, I knew I’d better answer. “I’m so sorry but I have to take a call,” I said, rising from the table and striding toward the great room. I expected to see that the call was from the precinct or my mother.
Instead, it was the medical examiner, Dr. Viloria. I strode toward the wall of glass and answered.
“Mori, I think you and your supervisor need to get over here, ASAP.”
I blinked. “Is something wrong?”
“Science is never wrong, but in this case, the truth is going to ruffle a few feathers.”
She sounded like a bad fortune-teller. “What, exactly, are you saying?”
“We ID’d the driver, and it was not Lucy Jameson.”
That was good news . . . and a little surprising. “Are you sure?”
“That part I’m sure of. You can inform the family that the deceased was not their daughter.”
“Wow. Okay.” Hardly a brilliant response, but my thoughts were racing ahead. The Jamesons would be so relieved. Their trauma was over.
But it was their car that crashed.
If Lucy wasn’t driving, who was?
And where the hell had Lucy been for the last day?
“There’s more.” Dr. Viloria’s voice brought me back to earth. The Jameson house. The sounds of Martha moving behind me, shuffling feet, clinking china, running water. “We’re still running tests, but it looks like the crash victim was a young woman named Kyra Miller. One of the Lost Girls.”
11
The smell of wood smoke hung in the air as Lucy poked at the small fire with a stick. When she first started hanging with the Prince and the urchins, she wondered why they always had fires going, day and night. Now having spent a few solid days camping out with them in Stafford Forest, she understood the cold. Bone-deep and chilling, it settled in and clung to you until you went on a wild running streak or worked up a sweat chopping wood. Which she’d done, like, once in her life when the Prince had dared her to get off her ass.
Across the fire, the Prince looked up from the stone where he was sharpening his knife. Poised there on one knee, a dark jumble of curls falling over one dark eye, he was staring.
She glanced up to see what had caught his attention, but his eyes were on her. “You’re so beautiful.”
Hiding a smile, she reached up to brush her short, dark hair over her ear. Her pixie cut had been intended to diffuse her beauty, all that feminine energy that scraped at guys’ libidos, reducing them to animals. But the Prince had vision; he could see through the mask.
Then again, anyone who lived with a cluster of unbathed urchins would need to have a second sight to see past the odors and the grime. “I just look good to you because I had a shower yesterday,” she said.
“Maybe. You smell better than the rest. But don’t tell True I said that.”
“Why. Is she your girlfriend now?” Lucy couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice, and she hoped he didn’t realize she was jealous. Sort of. “That’s such a stupid thing, girlfriends and boyfriends.”
“So . . . what then? What’s the alternative?” he asked.
“I don’t like labels, and I don’t believe in love.” It wasn’t completely true, but sometimes she felt that way. “People aren’t really capable of being that selfless.”
“You adorable nihilist,” he said.
“Don’t be condescending. What do you believe?”
The Prince rose and slid the knife into a sheath on his belt. “I believe in free love,” he proclaimed. “Love everyone equally.”
“Sounds good to me. Want to give me some of that free love?”
“Sure thing. Come on over here.”
He was teasing her—she knew that—and yet, for a second, there was a wash of warmth at the prospect of kissing him, touching him, feeling the rough bristle of his beard against her body, his calloused fingertips on her skin. She wanted to command that sort of attention from him, but not because she loved him. She wanted him because he was the leader, because he was older and mysterious. Because he had power. He had the keys to the truck that held the supplies and food. He had the juju to keep the others in control. She knew she held some sway over him, but he was the one in charge, meting out orders and punishments.
She served the Prince—everyone here did—and already she’d carried out a few of his orders that didn’t sit well with her. Things that made her want to cry at the time. Things he called “necessary,” though they seemed wrong to her.
But those raw moments lessened with time. Besides, he didn’t order her around every day. The Prince gave most of the jobs to True, who did anything he asked because she was totally into hi
m. True tried to hide it, but she was definitely interested. Oh, God, for all Lucy knew, they might have been hooking up whenever Lucy went home, but she didn’t think so. You could never tell with the Prince, but clearly, he hadn’t chosen his princess yet.
“We could get it going right here and now,” Lucy said, poking at the fire, “but I don’t think you’re ready for me.”
The Prince lifted his chin and smiled down at her. “No?” He wasn’t a tall guy, but he was built, solid and strong. That’s what hiking and mountain climbing and survival shit did to a body.
“Not feeling it,” she lied.
“Seriously?” He moved closer to the fire and sat down. “Probably all for the best. The girls will be back soon.”
“Are they getting food?” Lucy asked. “There’s nothing good left and I’m starving.”
“The church pantry isn’t open today. They’re collecting water from the rain catchers.”
Lucy wished the girls were off getting food at the local church—one of their regular chores. It was hard for Light to make the walk, five miles there and back, but they liked to bring her along because her skinny frame and pale complexion tore at the nuns’ hearts. There’d be peanut butter and canned tuna and thick, salty beef stew when Light went along. Of the four, Light was really the only one who was nice to Lucy. The others—True, Pax, and Light’s older sister, Melody—those three resented Lucy’s presence at the camp. On the other hand, Lucy knew she had allies in Wolf and Eden, who worked at her father’s ranch. Yeah, it was hard work, shoveling up the hill of beans the alpacas produced and grooming and feeding the horses, but they owed her for the setup. They would never cross her.
“And we’re going to need more firewood,” the Prince added.
“Just chop a tree down.”
“Lucky Lucy. You can run home to the safe lap of luxury while the rest of us forage for food and firewood. Have you made a convert out of Blossom yet? Is she going to play the game and get your old man to send her off to some trade school? Step into the money pond the way Genesis and Clarity did?” Genesis and Clarity were the Prince’s names for two urchins who had traveled with the Prince’s clan for a while. The Prince had names for everyone; it was one of his things.
“Those mercenary bitches,” he went on. “Be nice to the big author and he’ll set you up for life.”
“Don’t give me your anticapitalist bullshit,” she said. “You take stuff from him, too.”
“Yeah, but I don’t suck up for it. I don’t suck up to anyone.”
They were interrupted by a bird call—Guardian’s signal—from beyond the ridge. Guardian was standing watch. Always standing watch. Lucy suspected that the tall, dark-skinned dude just liked being alone. One of those hermit types.
“Someone’s coming.” The Prince was on his feet. “Not the girls. Wolf?” He nodded at the young man coming over the rise. “You’re back early. Did you get fired?”
Wolf looked spooked, his eyes wild, his mouth strained. “I asked for time off to find Lucy, and Andy just told me to go. It’s bad. The cops are at the ranch, and they’re closing in on Andy. Only you can save him, Lucy. You gotta get back there and show them you’re alive.”
Lucy squinted at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The cops think Andy killed you. There was a car crash last night, a really bad one, and the driver died. This lady cop was talking about how you and Andy had a fight and you took off in the car. They think Andy is responsible for the crash. It was one of your father’s cars. That little one.”
“And they think I’m dead? Wait, wait! They think Andy killed me?” Lucy let out a squeal. “Oh, my God, that’s hysterical.” She laughed again.
“Not so funny for Andy.” Wolf wasn’t laughing. “He’s going to jail if you don’t get over there. He’s real upset. Might get fired. And if he goes, I’m out of a job. Eden will be fired, too.”
“Daddy won’t fire Andy or anyone else.” Lucy brushed off his concerns; Wolf could be such a fatalist. “Just chill while this blows over.”
“Yeah, let’s think about this,” the Prince said. “We know that Lucy is still in the realm of the living. So that leaves the question of the driver. Who died in the crash?”
Lucy clapped her hands together in prayer position. “Please, God, let it be Martha.”
Wolf shook his head. “No. Martha’s fine. We know who was driving. There was only one other woman who was at the ranch last night. You told us she wanted to stay when you tore out of there.”
The realization stabbed at her chest. “It can’t be. Blossom?”
Wolf nodded somberly.
“No. You’re wrong,” Lucy protested.
“I sneaked over to the house to look for her.” He shook his head. “She’s gone. She was in that car. Maybe stealing it? I don’t know. She’s gone. I just know—I can feel it in my gut.”
In that moment, Lucy knew Wolf was right. No need to steal the car; Blossom had been handed the keys plenty of times, sometimes by Lucy herself. A whimper escaped her throat at the unfairness of it all. Another lost friend. She curled up, hugging her knees, watching as the Prince strode over to the stump, lifted the ax, and hacked away at a log. Chips flew as he grunted and pounded repeatedly.
In the stillness that followed, Lucy’s mind churned. If the cops thought Lucy was dead, did her father believe that, too? If Blossom had crashed the car, then why were they blaming Andy? Had they caught him perving around with her? If the cops searched the ranch, would they find their way out here to the camp?
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” The Prince tipped his head forward so that dark curls masked his eyes. “I never thought I’d see Blossom again. She was free to leave. But I didn’t think she’d get herself killed.”
“Same,” Wolf said in a dull voice.
“If the cops are coming around, we need to be careful.” The Prince rubbed his chin. “You need to go back, Lucy. Let everyone know you’re alive. That will smooth things over, at least for your father. And Andy.”
“Andy’s a big dork,” Lucy said. “Did you know he raped a girl?”
“That’s not what really happened,” Wolf said. “I talked to him, and it was his girlfriend, only she was—”
“That’s his side of the story.” Lucy sat up and poked the fire once again. “Maybe he hooked up with Blossom. You never know.”
“But he didn’t kill you,” the Prince said. “Go back and make that clear.”
“But I don’t want to go back.” The last thing she needed was to walk into a media circus—more hype for the brilliant writer and his charming wife, while she would get dumped on. “Not yet.”
“Come on. We could use some more of Juana’s cooking,” Prince said. “When the food is good, everyone’s happier around here.”
“Nope.” Lucy stood her ground. “Not doing it.”
“Then at least clear Andy’s name.” Wolf had a way of holding onto an argument like a dog with a bone. Right now it was pissing Lucy off. “Talk to someone in the media. There’s this chick from one of the news stations who wants to meet you. Natalie Amichi from KATY News. She’s real nice.”
“There you go,” the Prince said. “You can talk to her. Save Andy’s ass and get your face on TV. Be a celebrity. Go home, Lucy.”
“I don’t want to answer a bunch of questions for some reporter,” Lucy snapped. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Maybe I will. The real question is when are you going home?”
“Not now, so get it out of your head.” Lucy wasn’t convinced this was the right time to go home. She wasn’t going to face the mess there just to score some food and money for this pathetic group. “I like the idea of my father and Martha stewing for a while.” They could suffer through the attention. Let them suffer.
12
I ended the call with Dr. Viloria and took a breath as I turned toward Martha Jameson. “Good news,” I said. “I’ll need to speak with your husband about this, too.”
Her brows lifted as she placed a small wrought-iron teapot on the granite counter. “About Lucy?”
When I nodded, she gave a gentle sigh of relief and texted her husband. I don’t know what she wrote, but it brought him running toward the house a minute later. His hair was still wild, but the coloring in his face had returned to normal and there was a mellow look of compassion in his eyes. Maybe he’d passed out and finally gotten some rest.
“Mr. Jameson . . .” I pressed my hands to my heart. “I’m happy to tell you that Lucy wasn’t driving that car. Early results are in at the lab, and the woman who died in the crash was not your daughter.”
He spread his arms wide and opened his mouth, staring at me with tears in his eyes. “Thank you. Oh, thank God.” He stepped closer and put his hands on my shoulder. “Thank you so much for taking care of us. When I snapped before, it was . . .”
“I understand,” I said.
He squeezed my right shoulder and then turned to his wife. “Martha, our girl is okay.”
She nodded and then flew into his arms like a young bride. “I’m so relieved,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.
I looked away from their sweet embrace, a bit tentative about their complete relief. Just because Lucy hadn’t been driving the Karmann Ghia didn’t mean that she had made it through the night unscathed. She was still missing from the ranch. And yet, they seemed to assume she was fine.
“I understand your relief,” I said, “but there’s still some concern for Lucy’s welfare. She disappeared around the time of the crash, and no one has seen her since. I want to issue an AMBER Alert.”
Martha patted her husband’s shoulder and eased out of his embrace. “I know it sounds bad, but it’s not unusual for Lucy to disappear for a day or two. Whenever things go wrong, Lucy takes off. Escape is her coping mechanism, I guess.”
I kept my teeth set to keep the obvious retort from flying out: You could have told me that last night.
“Yes,” Kent agreed with a sigh, “our Lucy is quite the escape artist.”