by Etta Faire
"What?" she asked.
I stepped to the side of the entrance to let other customers go around me and stuffed a finger in my ear. "I think it's time we talked about my birth mother and my adoption. I have a lot of unusual questions…”
The Walmart greeter smiled politely at me.
There was a long pause on the other end. My mother was talking to someone else in the room. "No. No. I put the margarita mix in the cabinet above the stove." Her voice was quickly back to the phone again. "Look, honey. Brenda's here. Can I call you back about this?"
Brenda was her best friend, and she was always there. They were rediscovering their youth, which meant they rented Redbox and went to happy hour together.
"No," I snapped then realized how loud I was being. I softened my tone. "There's always something. I’d like you to take a photo of everything you can about my birth, now while you're thinking about it, every document you have. I know you said I came with a blanket. I want a photo of that too."
No answer, just the rumbling sounds of the ice dispenser from her fridge spitting out ice. I knew I was being a buzz kill on her and Brenda's margarita night, but I didn't care.
Just the thought of margarita made the room spin a little. I leaned against my cart and continued. “It’s important. Please tell me everything you remember. Right now on the phone. About the lawyer. About that day. How did you meet the lawyer? Where were you when you signed the papers? How did you get me?"
I felt "the face" over my phone connection. My mother was not happy.
"Carly Mae. This is not the time for this. Brenda and I rented a movie and I need to go. Besides, I've told you everything I can about your adoption. It was a closed and private one. Your birth mother did not want to be found. Period. End of story. In fact, I'm pretty sure this is the very thing she was trying to avoid. So, in order to get you, I had to agree that I wouldn't discuss the details. I will send you all the documents I can again, though."
She'd never sent me a thing before. She only said that for Brenda's benefit and we both knew it.
“Stop lying,” I said louder than I’d meant to.
She quickly said "good-bye" before I could say anything else. I knew she'd casually forget to send me anything, and then pretend later that she'd done it.
The old man in the dark blue vest sitting on the stool beside me tried not to give me a sympathetic look when I threw my phone in my purse and showed him the list. We both knew he'd been listening in.
"Hi," I said, pointing to the paper by his face. "Where can I find... let's see, a recorder, mace, and a really sharp Swiss army knife?" His eyes traced my face and my outfit. I could feel him mentally taking notes about my appearance to tell the police later if any adopted mothers happened to turn up dead. He was a bright man.
Later, in the parking lot of Walmart, I scribbled everything I could into the pages of the plain black journal. I was a writer. I could make this believable. I looked at the clock on my cell phone. It was already 6:30, and I hadn't even finished half a page yet. Thankfully, the library stayed open late on Fridays.
I still had Destiny's number in my phone from when she'd texted me during our drinking session in the alley that day, so I sent her a text:
Found Jackson's journal today. Interesting entry for March 18th. We need to talk. Call me.
I left it short and vague. It was better that way, more believable. I bit the tip of the pen as I tried to remember every detail I could for the diary pages. The injection. The way she tried to get Jackson to sign papers. The fact Candace and Heather were there with Jackson and Destiny on the night he’d been poisoned.
The details alone would be enough to bring authenticity to my project. And no one would have any problems believing my ex-husband kept a diary. He seemed like just the kind of narcissist who recorded every bowel movement. I made a mental note to add in a bowel movement for believability.
As soon as I finished, I threw my foot on the gas and headed over to the library. If I was going to make this ruse one-hundred-percent believable, I had to have a witness. I knew from the many click-bait articles I'd written over the last four years in my mother's basement that even the craziest of stories would be believable if you tied someone credible to the details.
Once again, I was the only person in there. "Sorry about the noise, Mrs. Nebitt," I yelled from the copy machines in the hallway by the bathrooms and the front door.
She didn't even shush me.
"I found Jackson's diary and I need to make copies of it because there's no way I'm giving Destiny Bowman the originals to Jackson's diary. That I just found. His diary.”
She never looked up from her faded 1998 computer monitor, and I wondered if she even heard me.
I was just about to walk over to the counter and tell her how my murdering ex's death seemed suspicious when my phone rang. At least that got the older woman's attention. I looked down. Destiny was calling me back.
I rushed out the automatic doors without even saying "good-bye" to Mrs. Nebitt (she didn’t notice, I’m sure), cursing myself under my breath for not having the recorder I picked up at Walmart opened and ready for action. I should’ve known there was no way Destiny was going to text me back and leave a trail of evidence like that.
"Carly Mae?" she said in a sweet, calm voice. "What's this all about?"
"You know what this is all about." I tried to talk as slow as possible while fumbling with my key fob. I needed to get my recorder ready. I only hoped the woman wouldn't confess anything too damning until I was ready.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I finally got my car door open. I ran my hand along the floor mats in the backseat, looking for my Walmart bag. "According to Jackson's diary, on the night of March eighteenth, you were in the VIP lounge with Candace and Heather. You were trying to get him to sign something."
Damn it. Why did I spill my beans so easily? If she confessed now, I was screwed.
There was a long pause where I pictured Destiny making "the face."
"You're lying," she finally said.
"Really? Here's an excerpt." I grabbed one of the pages of my fake diary, enunciating every syllable into my phone. "Destiny picked up my arm and tried to get me to sign a paper, saying, 'Do you know how hard it was to get him here? I had to promise him a surprise.'"
It was a good five seconds before her whispered voice said, "That is crazy. Did I tell you Jackson was going crazy there toward the end? If he really thought that’s what happened, no wonder he killed those girls.”
“I think this diary proves he didn’t. He mentioned something about a syringe.”
“Never happened. But, I want to see this diary. I get off work in ten minutes. Meet me in the back of the Starlight when you get a chance, alone. I'll be looking for you. Bring this alleged diary you're talking about.”
She hung up, and I let myself stop searching for the stupid recorder. I rested my head on my steering wheel, listening to the sound of my breathing in the stagnant warmth of my car, trying to calm myself down.
Heather and Candace used to be the only two people who could connect Destiny to Jackson's death. And now they were dead. Jackson was dead too. And here I was, announcing I was the one person left who could make that connection. She wanted me to bring that diary, all right, so she could get rid of me and all the evidence in one fell swoop.
Was I really going to meet that killer in a dark alley alone with nothing but a little canister of mace and a recorder? I kicked myself for not looking harder for the Swiss-army-knife section.
Chapter 24
Messages
It was dark when I pulled into the alley. I turned my radio down and listened to my wheels crunching through the pebbles and trash along the street. My heart raced and I found myself hitting the door lock a few times for no reason. The recorder was in my lap, ready to go, right next to the mace I'd bought. Still, I felt anything but prepared.
I was late. I knew I would be. The library was in Potter Grove
and the Starlight was in Landover. I pulled up to the backdoor and grabbed my phone to let Destiny know I was there, so I would have a trail of my own evidence. I pulled my copied diary pages from the passenger's seat and placed them over my lap to cover the recorder and the mace.
The backdoor opened and I fully expected a large blonde with pigtails to sashay out in a tiny bathrobe, but it was Bobby Franklin, Shelby Winehouse's fiancee. He lit a cigarette and nodded to me.
"Hey Bobby," I said, reluctantly rolling down my window. ”What're you doing here?" I bit my lip and cursed myself for asking such a dumb question. He was the bouncer on a smoke break. I was the one who needed to explain myself. I wondered if I should ask for Destiny or tell him some sort of lie. I wondered briefly if he was here to “take care of me.”
“Actually, I was waiting for you,” he said, and I almost screamed.
He looked up at the full moon, his face a pale hairy beach ball in the moonlight. I put my car back into drive with my foot on the brake, ready to take off if I needed to.
He reached into the zippered part of his windbreaker and I threw my foot on the gas, pulling forward, stopping when I saw in my rearview mirror that he was waving an envelope at me.
He sauntered back over to my car. “Jumpy much?” He chuckled, like he knew he was creepy and relished it. He held the envelope out to me. “I was asked to give this to you if you showed up out here. No clue what it is," he said, even though I hadn't asked if he'd opened it.
I pulled the envelope through the little opened slot of my window, the other hand on my canister of mace.
“Thanks,” I said, my heart still racing.
He walked away, across the alley, not even caring what was in my envelope. His pace picked up as he made his way down to the next street over. Every three seconds or so, he'd look up at the moon. I looked too. It was just a moon.
I watched as he rounded the corner, tugging on his shirt like it was suddenly strangling him. I thought I heard howling as I rolled my window up. It was really getting weird in Potter Grove.
I realized I was holding my mace so tightly my palm hurt. I opened the envelope.
Don't text. Don't call. It's not safe. Meet me at Bear Rock Drive-In. We can talk there.
Bear Rock Drive-In went out of business probably 20 years before I ever stepped foot in this town. There was no way I was going there alone to meet the woman who attempted to murder my ex-husband.
Of course, he’d been her husband at the time, and I’m sure he gave her (along with plenty of other people) good reason to murder him, but something in the back of my mind wouldn’t let me think she could do it. She probably wanted to tell me who the only other voice was in the VIP room that night, though. And I was guessing she had to be extra cautious about it.
I called Rosalie, just so someone would know where I was headed, in case I didn't make it back.
"What in the hell do you mean you're going to meet Destiny outside the Bear Rock?" Rosalie only cussed when she was upset. "Carly Mae, no. This is not a good idea."
"I know. But I think I've got Destiny scared. I'm pretty sure I can coax a confession out of her. I've got mace and..."
"You’ve lost your flippin' mind. You suspect this woman killed Jackson and then you're gonna tell me not to worry because you have mace."
“I don’t think she killed Jackson, not because she couldn’t, but because she wouldn’t have unless he signed his paperwork. But I think she knows who did, and I think she wants to tell me, but she’s afraid. Or maybe she killed him. I don’t know,” I said, or I tried to say. Rosalie was still yelling about mace and bad ideas, and hadn’t heard me.
I hung up on her. She was right. But I was still going.
I pulled down the dark road to Bear Rock, which was just as remote as the one up to Gate House. No streetlights, no street signs, just some friendly dead trees and abandoned furniture along the way to let you know where your dead body would likely be tossed later.
The only thing left of the old drive-in quickly came into view as soon as I turned the corner, the snack shack. Destiny's convertible was right next to it just like she said. I thought about texting her, but her note said not to. Of course, it might’ve said not to because she wanted to kill me without there being too many traces back to her. I sat and watched her car, but I didn't see any movement.
After about half an hour of waiting her out, I decided to just drive by and see if anyone was there. I wouldn't even get out of the car. I'd just do a quick drive by to check.
I turned off the music and listened to the plinking sounds of gravel rolling through my wheel wells. I didn't see Destiny, or anyone, as I drove by her convertible. I clutched my pepper spray, and pulled my cell phone from my purse, punching in 9-1-1, ready to send if I needed to. I slipped the phone into my back pocket.
Pulling up next to Destiny's car, I looked over. I couldn’t really see anything.
This wasn't good. And I got the sinking feeling that I was being set up, and Destiny had the upper hand. Every brain cell I had screamed at me to turn the car around. But I didn't listen. Instead, I waited, engine still on, doors locked, mace in my hand... checking in between the dark silhouettes of the nearby trees, checking for any signs of a setup. After waiting five full minutes, I peeked over at the car next to me, but it was too dark to see anything through both of our windows.
She probably had her seat reclined and was asleep in there.
I put my hand over my horn but then put it back down again. "Just leave and call the police, Carly," I said out loud. A great plan, except that the sheriff was Caleb Bowman. I'd have to explain way too much to that awful man if I went that route. A forged diary, a text to my dead ex-husband's stripper, a channeling, why we were meeting here… And all because the woman had fallen asleep?
It was a two-second run. Three steps. That's all. I'd run over, check, and run back. I kicked my car door open and ran to hers, tugging wildly on her door. It was locked. I knocked on the window then cupped my hands around my face and put my eyes as close to the window as I could. Not much, just a purse laying on the passenger's side seat. And a note, on the driver's side floor that I couldn't make out from this side of the car. I took a deep breath and ran over to the driver's side window, squinting into the darkness of her vehicle to read what it said:
Meet me at Canyon Rock Drive-In. Don't text. Don't call. I want to talk to you about something -- Carly Mae
I barely knew what happened. The pain was immediate. No air. Something tight wrapped around my neck, choking me from behind. My vision fogged into darkness, and I tried to breathe but couldn't. I kicked wildly, but the thing around my neck got tighter, and tighter. I reached my hand behind me, running it up my back. Clamping my finger down as hard as I could while keeping my eyes closed, I depressed the mace button, spraying and spraying. Foam dripped down my own hand, tingling and numbing it instantly. But the noose-like thing around my neck that threatened to snap my bones loosened enough for me to breathe in a gulp of my own pepper spray. I didn't think. Coughing and hacking, I just ran straight ahead, not caring where I was headed or how I was going to make it back to my car. I took off to the only coverage around me, the snack shack. A lopsided, half-torn-down, pile of graffitied-up plywood that smelled like pepper spray. Everything smelled like pepper spray. My own eyes stung and watered so much I couldn't see. I didn't dare wipe them with my hand, though. I knew that would make things worse. I looked around. Noticing a board by my feet, I picked it up and swung it around to check every direction for whoever it was who had choked me.
Had Destiny been set-up too? Or did she just want me to think she'd been?
I rubbed my neck, fully expecting to feel blood or a bone jutting out or something. Everything ached and I could hardly swallow, but I seemed to be okay. Blinking through pepper-spray-induced tears, I looked in every direction, checking my surroundings but not seeing or hearing anything. Just those damned cicadas laughing at me in the distance.
I took a step forward. M
y car was still running, and my driver's side door was open, thank God. I needed to try to reach it. But, I suspected, Destiny (or whoever the strangler was) was watching my car too -- or was hiding in it.
Quickly, I reached in my back pocket for my phone that I'd already punched 911 into.
"Damn it," I muttered a few times when nothing was there. I must've dropped my phone somewhere in my run or while I was being choked.
I stared at my car, knowing it was my only hope.
I waited half a minute, until my eyes were clear enough to focus forward, and I knew I had a straight shot to Destiny's car, which was the only straight shot I could see. I mentally counted to three then took off to her passenger's side, still carrying the board at the ready to smack someone harder than they ever thought a woman my size could do.
I stopped and looked around then inched my way toward the back of her vehicle, checking in all directions the whole way, my nose dripping, eyes running. The fact I didn't see or hear anyone was not comforting. My heart thumped out the score from Jaws with each careful step I took. I tripped over something squishy yet lumpy, and I looked down. An outstretched hand under Destiny's car.
Screaming the rest of the way, I bolted into my own running car, locked the doors then smacked every inch of the back seat with the board. Only after I didn't feel or see anything did I throw my car into reverse and pull away. I'd watched enough horror movies to know I had to smack that back seat first.
I drove straight to the police station, wondering what on earth I was going to say to Caleb Bowman, especially with my name all over a note in a possibly dead woman's car.
The good news was I'd probably just cleared my ex-husband's name, but only because I'd thrown my own name under the suspicion bus.
I didn't realize I was still screaming when I rushed through the doors of the police station until Justin ran out from the back and asked me what was going on. I collapsed into his arms, surprised he let me.