Expecting to Die

by Lisa Jackson

  Let Kywin explain to his boss why the police were talking to him, she thought, as she and Alvarez walked up the sharply inclined road to the main parking lot, where Alvarez’s Subaru sat baking in the intense sunlight.

  As they slid into the interior, Alvarez asked, “Next stop? A&B Painting?”

  Pescoli nodded. A&B Painting was the establishment where Kywin’s brother, Kip, worked.

  CHAPTER 18

  Bianca hunched down in the passenger seat of her dad’s vintage Corvette. She was usually confident, but today, after last night’s meeting of the Big Foot Believers, when she’d felt as if she were on display in front of what seemed to be the whole damned town, she felt unsure. She’d always thought she would love fame and the spotlight, but not like last night. It had been cool in a way, yes, to be the center of attention. Well, almost. Actually Barclay Sphinx had been the star of the night, but she still felt a little weird about it.

  Which made this trip with Lucky all the more awkward, so she’d put on dark glasses and avoided eye contact with anyone else who happened to be driving around. Lucky was behind the wheel, taking her to meet with Barclay Sphinx. His side window was down, and he rested a tanned arm on the ledge and drove with one hand on the wheel. As much as she wanted to hide, her father was on display, grinning, joking, on top of the world.

  But, of course, he wasn’t nursing a sprained ankle, a split chin, and a few other bruises. Nor had he been chased by a monster and found a dead body floating in the creek.

  Through the dark lenses, she hazarded a sideways glance at him. He was so pleased with himself, his hair blowing around in the breeze, his head moving faintly to the beat of a song from the eighties or nineties that was blasting from the speakers, some old Bon Jovi song. He sang along. “. . . had a job on the docks . . . down on his luck . . . someday . . .”

  Bianca wasn’t so pleased with herself. In fact, she felt kind of rotten because it seemed like she was sneaking around. Okay, sure. She did a lot of things behind her mother’s back. It wasn’t that big of a deal as a rule. Usually she felt that the less Mom knew about her life, the better. It just made things easier, but then she wasn’t usually in collusion with her dad, keeping secrets from Mom. Even though Lucky denied that there was anything underhanded going on, she knew otherwise.

  “Don’t be so suspicious,” he’d said when he called and told her to get ready, that they were going to meet with the producer. “This is a good thing.”

  “Mom won’t like it. You heard her.”

  “Oh, she’ll come around. It’s just her nature, what with her being a cop and all, to be overprotective. And come on, her hormones are all out of whack with this pregnancy. I’m surprised they still let her work. She’s big as a barn. Just get ready and I’ll swing by and pick you up. I’ll be there in half an hour. Let me handle Mom.”

  So here she was, driving with her father to a meeting with Barclay Sphinx at the Wilderness Motel. “It just feels like I’m lying to Mom,” she said, reaching down to scratch her calf where the damned ankle brace rubbed. “You know, sneaking around behind her back.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?”

  “Very funny,” she said.

  “We’re not sneaking around, okay? You’re with me. I said I’ll handle your mother, and I will. But I can’t bother her with this. She’s in the middle of that homicide investigation, and she’s pregnant, and you all just moved into that new house. She has a lot on her plate right now.”

  He was equivocating, making excuses, dancing around the truth, and they both knew it.

  Nonetheless, Lucky wheeled into town, switched lanes, and stopped for a red light, his car idling loudly. On the other side of the highway, Bianca saw another car at the light and wouldn’t you know, Emmett Tufts was driving with Rod Devlin riding shotgun. Lara and Maddie were in the backseat. She slid lower in the seat, didn’t want them to see her and didn’t understand why.

  Lucky turned down the radio. “Now’s the time. The opportunity. We—you might not get another one. Barclay called me this morning. He’s had a change of plans and has to drive to Oregon for something, he didn’t say what, but he’s leaving town today, and he needs to nail down a few details, the biggest one being if you’re going to be in his show. It’s a ‘go,’ that’s what he said, his exact words, ‘a go,’ but he has to figure out the first few episodes, what the story line is. He’s already got a team on the way.”

  “A team?”

  “I think a production crew. He’s got the basic story in his head, but they have to completely work it out. He outlined it the other night, didn’t he?”

  “So it’s a script.”

  He lifted his right hand off the steering wheel, flattened it, and tilted it up and down. Maybe yes. Maybe no. “It’s your story. Remember?”

  She did, though she wasn’t all that keen on reliving one of the scariest nights of her life. She remembered running down the hillside, the beast racing behind her, and then tumbling into the creek to find . . . She closed her mind to the thought of Destiny’s body submerged in the water, pale hair floating around her face....

  “He wants you to be a part of it. The star.”

  The light changed and he hit the gas, tearing around a corner and speeding along the road. She turned her face as they whipped past Emmett Tufts’s black Mustang. Two miles later, they pulled into the Wilderness Motel, a two-story U-shaped building. Out front, near the awning that covered the space by the front doors, stood a nine-foot-tall wooden sculpture of Big Foot. The creature seemed to be walking toward the front door, looking over his shoulder as if to see if he was being watched, but definitely heading inside the Wilderness.

  Fitting, Bianca thought, and probably the reason Sphinx had chosen this motel out of a half dozen in the area. A text came in and she checked her phone. Maddie. Well, well, her “friend” hadn’t contacted her in a while.

  Vigil Friday night for Destiny. 7p.m. First Christian. Main St. Everyone’s going. Wanna come with?

  Bianca texted back: OK

  Honestly, she didn’t know how she felt about it.

  Have u heard from Lindsay?

  It was kind of an odd question, as Bianca didn’t know Lindsay that well. They’d spent years together in school but had never been close. No. Why?

  Her mom called looking for her. Asked if anyone had seen her since last night.

  She’s missing?

  I guess. Her car too. Gotta go.

  Bianca stared at the phone. It had to be a mistake. Lindsay was probably just with a friend or a boyfriend or something. Her mom was probably panicking for no reason. Right?

  But she had the same weird feeling that she’d experienced the other night, right after the dream, that something malevolent was happening.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” Lucky asked, almost to himself, bringing Bianca back to the here and now.

  “Who?” she asked just as she spotted Michelle’s Cadillac parked in the shade of a solitary pine. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh.’” His good mood vanished as he drove under an awning at the front entrance and headed toward some empty parking spots on the far side of the building that were still relatively close to the front doors.

  “Michelle’s not supposed to be here?” Bianca asked.

  He sent her a look. “She wanted to come, of course. She loves all things Hollywood and has a thing for Sphinx, which is probably good. But I thought it was best if it was just you and me. There might have to be some negotiating, and I thought it best if I handled it.” His lips pinched in irritation, something that didn’t happen much when he was dealing with his wife, but happened a lot when he and Mom got into it.

  Bianca checked the mirror on the visor and cringed a little at her image. She’d worn as much makeup as she could, but her face was bruised and her chin . . . crap, would it ever be the same?

  Probably not. There was a good chance she’d have to use any money she made from this reality show for plastic surgery. And a car. She
could see herself in a sporty little two-door rather than borrowing her mother’s old SUV or catching rides with her older brother in his pathetic excuse of a pickup. A car would be really nice, and her face fixed. She smiled for the first time that day.

  Lucky parked near a solitary pine tree in the lot, then snapped his keys from the ignition. “Okay, let’s go!” He was out of the car in an instant and around the back, to help her climb out. Which was totally unnecessary.

  Together, they walked across the lot to the front doors. Bianca still limped a little, but she thought it was more from the stupid splint than her injury and wished she could get rid of the thing.

  As the sliding glass doors opened to the motel lobby, she shook off her doubts. This was cool. It was all cool. What was she worrying about? To hell with what Mom thought. She was going to sign the contract, and her dad, as her parent, would sign as well, so it would be legal.

  Mom wouldn’t like it, but that was just too damned bad. It was her life and she was going to star in Barclay Sphinx’s reality show.

  * * *

  If Kywin Bell had been reticent to talk to the cops, Pescoli thought, his brother was downright inapproachable and rude. “What the hell are you cops doin’ here?” Kip demanded. Then, “Wow, are you pregnant or what?”

  “You’re the first person who’s noticed,” Pescoli said dryly.

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  He stared at her a moment, then went back to stacking paint cans on shelves in the windowless room at the back of A&B Painting and Supplies, a paint store housed in a long, squat strip mall only a few blocks from the sheriff’s office. A&B was at the far end of the building, its only neighbor a shoe repair store.

  A plump woman with short white hair spiked around an apple-cheeked face and a name tag that read ARLENE, presumably the “A” of A&B, was helping a customer with paint chip choices when Alvarez and Pescoli ID’d themselves to her. She immediately excused herself, leaving the customer with several swatches in shades ranging from apricot to brilliant orange, and escorted the cops to this, a windowless “climate-controlled” room where all six-foot-five inches of Kip Bell was arranging plastic tubs and paint cans.

  Kip, like his brother, took after his father, Frank, a real lowlife whom Pescoli had escorted to jail several times, the last for knocking around his ex-wife, Wilda, and shoving her into a wall. Though they were long divorced and Wilda remarried, they still had contact because of the kids and, like as not, when Frank and Wilda got together, things were going to get ugly. Wilda was large for a woman, tall and strong, and Frank was taller and heavier yet. Kip’s hair was a dark blond, a little longer, at least on top, than his brother’s, and he had several inches and over fifty pounds on Kywin.

  “We just need to ask you some questions,” Alvarez said as Arlene retreated.

  Kip took a glance at Pescoli’s belly. “Shouldn’t you be like packin’ for the hospital or somethin’?”

  Her smile was ice. “Or somethin’. Y’know, Kip, less than a year ago you were charged with dealing. Opioids, I believe. Those are killers, y’know, and I think anyone who sells that crap should be put away for life.”

  “Hey, I’m working here. This is legit. I’m clean, too. What kind of shakedown is this?”

  Alvarez gave her a questioning look, too, but Pescoli knew from experience that she needed to be the alpha dog right from the start if she wanted anything from Kip Bell.

  “I need some questions answered,” she stated flatly.

  “What questions? Uh. Wait. The murdered girl. The friend of Kywin’s. That’s what this is about.”

  “You knew her, too.”

  “Her name, maybe.”

  Pescoli glanced down at his shoes, scuffed black leather and extremely large, possibly a size or so bigger than his brother’s work boots.

  “You were seen at parties with her.”

  His eyes narrowed, then slid to the side. “Someone’s lying,” he said, and went back to arranging the cans, matching numbers and color dots, lining them up on heavy-duty metal shelves.

  Pescoli felt he was the one who was lying. “Some people called your brother her protector.”

  “Kywin? Like he could ‘protect’ anything.” He stopped what he was doing and, towering over them, asked, “Was there something specific you wanted to ask me? Cuz, if not, I got work to do here. Arlene and Bruce, they don’t like me loafin’ around, y’know?”

  Bruce. The “B” in A&B Painting and Supplies.

  “Okay. Let’s start with the last time you saw Destiny Montclaire.”

  “I barely knew her!”

  “That’s established.” Pescoli waited, her expression hard.

  He finally exhaled heavily. “I dunno. Maybe . . . maybe that night at the Midway? Lots of kids were there.”

  “A week ago Friday,” she said.

  “Yeah . . .” From there, Pescoli asked him the same questions she’d asked Kywin and his answers were nearly identical to his brother’s, as if they’d rehearsed their story. He didn’t know who would want to hurt Destiny, who had slept with her and could be the father of her unborn child or anything much about her. “She got around,” he admitted finally. “Lots of guys, you know . . .”

  “Had sex with her.”

  “Yeah. As I said, I didn’t know her. All of the guys in my brother’s group did. They’re the ones who bragged about bagging her.”

  “Give me a few names.”

  “Ask Kywin. He’s the one who knew her, and that’s his crowd.”

  “How about him? Did he sleep with her?” Alvarez asked.

  “Probably. Hey, I really don’t know. Look, I’m only hanging out with all of ’em cuz it’s summer. I’m a sophomore at UNLV. This job, here, at A&B, I got it when I was in high school and Arlene lets me fill in during the summer. They’re busy, y’know, with the good weather. That’s all I know.”

  “Where were you last weekend? Your brother was up at Reservoir Point,” Pescoli said. Bell was a huge man, physically capable of snapping a small woman’s neck, and surely able, should he don an ape/ Sasquatch suit, of scaring the bejeezus out of anyone who came across him on a shadowy evening or a dark night. Including her daughter.

  “Man, you really don’t give up. I worked here, late, then hung out with friends.”

  “Who?”

  “I dunno. Let’s see. My bro, of course.”

  “Sure.”

  “And Tophman and the rest. We ended up at Austin Reece’s place. His dad has it all set up. Awesome man cave with a huge TV, bar, pool table. Couches and recliners everywhere and then, outside, off the deck, a kick-ass pool.” He gave Pescoli a cold stare. “I didn’t leave in the middle of the night and go to Reservoir Point.”

  “What time did you go home?”

  “The next morning. Left around six, came home, showered, then went to work again. Had to be there by seven.” He sent them both a belligerent, defiant look this time. “Check with the other guys if you don’t believe me.”

  “We will,” Pescoli assured him.

  Alvarez added, “And come down to the station. We’ll need your DNA.”

  “Shit, I told you I didn’t even know her.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Alvarez said.

  “You damned cops. Always tryin’ to bust my balls.”

  “Just do it,” Pescoli advised and after a few more questions, they left.

  “Prince of a guy,” Alvarez said on the way out.

  “You should meet his father.”

  Once inside the sweltering car, Alvarez pulled out of the long, squat building’s parking lot and rolled down the window. “They’re all going to alibi each other for both weekends,” she said.

  “Let ’em. I still want to talk to Austin Reece in person, at his place.”

  “He’s lawyered up. His father, being an attorney, refused to let him talk to us without legal counsel present.”

  “Well, let’s drop in and find out. I’d love to see th
is awesome ‘man cave.’ Gee, if Santana wanted one of those things when we’d been building the house, I think I would have shot him.”

  Alvarez snorted as the baby gave a sudden, big kick. Pescoli sucked in a breath, then tried to call Bianca, but her daughter didn’t pick up. Nor did she respond to a text. Pescoli frowned, but told herself not to borrow trouble. Maybe Bianca was sleeping or taking one of her marathon showers, though she wasn’t supposed to get the cast wet.

  “Problems?” Alvarez asked.

  “Don’t know. Probably not.” She called the station and told Zoller to let her know when either of the Bell boys came in and offered up DNA samples. Clicking off, she asked, “Who do you think the father of Destiny’s baby is?” as she stuffed her phone into a pocket.

  “Maybe whoever she met after she left Donny. So far, Donny seems to be the last person to see her. And he admits they fought. Maybe she told him about the baby, and he had no way of knowing that it wasn’t his, right? She might not have known. So they get into it. He sees red, strangles and shakes her so hard he snaps her neck and kills her.”

  Pescoli turned the scenario over in her mind. It was possible. “Or he was in a black rage that she was seeing someone else.”

  “Or, it was someone else, the real baby daddy. Someone who was jealous or had another bone to pick with her. Something that didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she was pregnant.” She paused. “Or, it could have been completely random.”

  It didn’t seem that the attack was the result of the girl being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Doesn’t feel that way,” Pescoli said, squinting through the windshield. “It feels like it was done by someone she knows.”

  “Someone strong as . . .”

  Big Foot? “Don’t say it,” Pescoli warned.

  “. . . an ox.”

  “I have to think the baby was the reason. We don’t have any other motive for someone to kill her.”

  “No obvious motive,” Alvarez agreed as she wheeled into the parking lot of Northern General Hospital. “But then maybe we’re being blinded by the obvious. Maybe there’s something else. Another reason someone wanted her dead.”