by Linda Ladd
The older one met the boy and his sisters about a week later. She hadn’t dared get in trouble again. Even Stepdaddy was harsh with her, now that he thought she had tried to harm his precious son. He warned her to stay away from him and his children, or else. So she kept away and to herself.
When she finally could, she went to the boy’s house and climbed into the Winnebago. The others were playing the game, and he was dressed in his Freddy costume. They were glad to see her and gathered around, and she was so touched by their friendship that tears welled up and she began to weep.
Then she told them everything, and the story spilled out in all its dirtiness and ugliness, and they sat staring at her, shocked, and then angry, when they saw the healing stripes on her legs and back.
“Your own Momma did that to you?” one of the twins said in disbelief. “She really did hit you with a whip?”
But it was the boy who was the most angry. He took her hand and held it and then he said, “We’re gonna get Sissy for this. And your Momma, too. We’ll make a quest right now, a way to hurt them back, to make them pay for what they did to you.”
“Momma will tell your parents, and she’ll whip me again. She’s turned everyone in the family against me. They all hate me. And I hate all of them. I wish I could kill them.”
The boy looked at her then at his sisters. “Okay, let me think of the best way to do it.”
She stared at him, wondering if he truly meant it. “You mean kill them, really?”
“Yes, that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She stared at him, a little shocked that he said it so casually. And then she thought how it would be without Sissy and Bubby and her Momma and Stepdaddy. “I would be all alone.”
“No, you’d have us.”
“How could we kill them?”
“We’d make it look like accidents. People get killed in accidents all the time. I read about it in the papers, and it’s on the evening news, too.”
“But how? We’re just kids. I don’t know how to kill anybody.”
“Neither do I, but let me think on it. I don’t make the A-plus honor roll every time for nothing, you know.”
His little sisters laughed and clapped and said they’d like to see her Momma dead and gone forever. The older one frowned, not sure she really wanted to kill her mother, after all, even though she did hate her, sometimes she loved her, too, sometimes she just wanted Momma to love her back and be nice and tell her she was pretty.
“I don’t think I want to kill them, but I want to pay Sissy back.”
The boy looked disappointed for a moment, then he said, “Then let’s scare the hell outta her. I just got a good idea. It can be our next quest—a quest of vengeance against your sister.”
So the four of them sat there and planned it, and the more she heard about it the more excited she became. It could work. It really could, and so she walked home with the videocassette and a bundle of clothes in her backpack, and strange, dark joy in her heart.
That night when her parents went out to play bingo, the older one got out the videotape and took it into the den. She shut the door and told Sissy she couldn’t watch it, and just as the boy had predicted Sissy barged in and said she could, too, or she was going to tell Momma on her.
“Okay, I guess I have to let you, but you’re gonna be scared,” she said. She pushed the cassette in, and The Nightmare on Elm Street began to play. By the end of it, Sissy was scared to death, her blue eyes round and terrified, and the older one smiled to herself, thinking that she hadn’t seen anything yet.
“I told you not to watch it.”
By bedtime, they were both drowsy and Bubby was already in his bed fast asleep. They went into their room and lay down, and it wasn’t long before Sissy was snoring with her mouth open. But the older one stayed awake, waiting. At one o’clock her parents came home, and she could hear them downstairs for a while until Momma came upstairs to kiss Sissy good night. Then all got quiet but the older one lay there, grinning, and waiting for the hands on the clock to point to three.
“Nightmare time, dear little Sissy,” she whispered. She rose from her bed and softly raised the window. She looked outside and could see the boy on the ground below. He waved, and she could see his teeth shining white in the moonlight. She quickly dressed in the boy’s Freddy Krueger costume, pulled the orange-and-blue striped sweater down over her nightgown, put on the mask and then the horrible glove with blades for fingers. She tiptoed to the door, listened, but knew her parents were sleeping behind their closed door on the second floor.
Then she began to chant Freddy’s little rhyme in a hoarse whisper, just like the boy had instructed. She waited until Sissy sat up in bed, and then she switched on the flashlight beam right under her chin. Sissy let out the most bloodcurdling scream imaginable, and the older one swiped down at her with the deadly glove. Sissy leapt from the bed and tore down the hallway, screaming bloody murder, and the older one laughed to herself, tore off the costume, and tossed it all out the window to the boy. She flung out the videocassette, too, shut the window, and climbed back into bed.
Sissy was back minutes later, in Stepdaddy’s arms, trembling and bawling, and the older one sat up and rubbed her eyes as if half asleep. “What’s the matter with Sissy?”
“She says you made her watch a Freddy Krueger movie and he came up here to get her.”
“Huh? Who’s Freddy Krueger?”
Momma looked at me. “Did you do that to your sister?”
“No. Where would I get a movie like that?”
They had no answer, and Stepdaddy finally said, “She just had a nightmare, is all. She’ll be all right.”
But after he’d taken Sissy downstairs to rock back to sleep, Momma frowned and searched through the older one’s bureau drawers and under her bed. The older one pretended to sleep, but inside she was laughing so hard she could barely stand it.
Eight
I spent the next hour interviewing my share of the contestants. I got very little from them, except for a splitting headache. The wound on my arm was bothering me, too, a little, but not as much as the half a dozen shallow women vying for Black’s glittery Diamonique crown and scepter. They all had airtight alibis, in fact, a lot of the girls spent their off times at the various competitions together, either shopping or dining out, probably on lettuce and ice water, judging from their string bean figures.
At the moment, my interviewee was a particularly spaced-out lovely by the name of Betina Long. She wasn’t the usual blond goddess but a dark-haired little thing with big, luminous brown eyes and teeth as white as Santa’s beard. She kept them on display throughout our interview as if I was a contestant judge asking her questions about her life’s aspirations instead of a fellow dead beauty pageant queen.
“How well do you know the deceased, Ms. Long?”
“Pretty well, I guess. We sorta followed the same circuit. She won more than me, though. Judges pretty much like her type better, you know long legs and ash-blond hair.” Any more wattage from her teeth and my headache was gonna go from ouch to banshee scream. I guess she’d just been programmed to smile widely after every sentence she uttered. Or maybe she was just practicing.
“Okay. Did she ever confide in you about a stalker or personal problems concerning other contestants?
Beaming at me, she said, “Oh, yes. She mentioned a stalker, and she told me once that she hated her sister worse than anybody in the whole wide world.” More beam.
Uh-oh. “Her sister?”
“That’s right. Her name is Brianna Swensen, and they lived together for a while until Hilde kicked her out because they fought all the time. Like cats and dogs, Hilde told me.”
Smiling again, a long, sustained one. It made me want to frown, so I did. Maybe she’d get the hint.
“Did she say what they fought about?” I glowered at her, hoping to receive one in turn. She lit up like a particularly pleased lava lamp.
“She just said that Brianna got jealou
s when she won. Quit entering the pageants because she was tired of losing to Hilde. Hilde just had a more relaxed walk, and a much more natural smile. People say I do, too.” She demonstrated.
I couldn’t stand it, so I said, “I always heard that smiling constantly puts wrinkles in your cheeks.”
Her smile went limp, and my headache thanked her.
“Did Hilde ever intimate that these fights with her sister became violent?”
“No. Well, she did say that Brianna had a temper and threw stuff at her sometimes. I think she said Brianna threw dinner plates and mugs, stuff that would break so Hilde was always buying new ones at Pier One.” The smile was back, so much for antiaging fears. No wonder, this kid couldn’t be much more than twenty-one. Aging was definitely on the back burner.
“Okay. Anything else you might deem pertinent?”
“Deem pertinent? You use some big words, don’t you?”
I stared at her, considering how I could make my words short and succinct and preschool level. I spoke slowly in my inside voice. “Do you know anything else that would help me, Ms. Long? Like who killed Ms. Swensen?”
She showed me her teeth again, then laughed, a little trill, really, very melodious and Kelly Ripa. “You’re pretty funny for a policeman.”
I let the “man” part pass. I probably did look like a male to these girls. After all, I didn’t have on lip gloss to make my lips all pouty. That alone might take away my claim to womanhood.
After a while, the cellular gods heard my plea for a ring tone to deliver me from this last smiling beauty goddess, and I left Ms. Long still chattering about the ramifications of the broken nail on her right forefinger and answered my phone. I could see Bud, where he conversed with a buxom, auburn-haired, short-shorted contestant across the room. He had a few more girls to talk to, and he looked all business. He was all business. He was intense, to be sure, but I had a feeling he wasn’t going to last long on the case, especially after Charlie had time to figure out Bud was sleeping with the victim’s sister.
I glanced behind me and watched Black stride off toward Ms. Cardamon while the beauteous Jude headed solo for the penthouse elevator. So far, so good. He was avoiding her snare. I tried to fathom if I felt threatened by the model and didn’t care for the idea. Then I thought about last night. Nah. Black couldn’t be that enthusiastic in bed if he was lusting after wife numero uno. My caller ID was flashing Buckeye Boyd’s number, so I picked up in a hurry, eager to hear the autopsy results.
“Hi, Buck. Got a cause of death?”
“The victim was strangled. The only mutilation was to the mouth. And he didn’t do the cutting with finesse. It appears he just hacked off her lips with a pair of scissors. From the jags on the edges, I’d say he used the little manicurist type and took his time doing it. I’m keeping the lips for evidence, so I’d highly recommend a closed casket.”
“Did he leave trace?”
“We’re not having much luck on that front so far. He’s adept enough to use bleach and clean up after himself, so I doubt we’ll find anything usable. Maybe down on the hillside when you were chasing him and hard on his heels. They haven’t found any shell casings, though. My conjecture, for what it’s worth, is that he’s killed before and knows how to protect himself. There weren’t prints or DNA on the shower curtain, no hairs, either.”
“What about the blood on the deck?”
“It’s the vic’s.”
“Was she sexually assaulted?”
“There was no trauma or vaginal bruising to indicate she was raped, but we’ve taken samples that might bear out sexual intercourse, consensual or otherwise, I don’t know. Like I said, he washed her up pretty good. Probably destroyed any physical evidence he left. We’re ready to release the body. Has Bud said yet where the sister wants it to go?”
“Hold on.” I’d been watching Bud excuse himself from the woman he was interviewing and wend his way in my direction. When he reached me, I said, “Buck’s ready to release the body. He wants to know if Bri’s made her wishes known about the service.”
“She wants to bury her here at the lake. That’s all she’s said, so far.”
“Buck, we’ll have to get back to you.”
“Okay. We’ll finish up the last of the tests as soon as Shaggy gets back.”
“He’s still out? You gotta be kidding me.”
“Sounded sick as a dog on the phone this morning. Said he’d probably be in tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Some kind of stomach bug, I think. I gotta ’nother call, see ya later.”
We hung up, and I sat down next to Bud. Black was at the microphone now, announcing the pageant’s postponement. The news was met by a low whisper of girlish dismay, at least until the moment he mentioned a free week for all of them at Cedar Bend Lodge. Mollified big-time, the models went back to their primping.
“What’s the score with the girls, Bud? Any leads?”
“A couple of them knew the guy she used to live with, said he was a real asshole. Apparently, he came on to the majority of them, one time or another. They’re sayin’ that’s why Hilde moved out. After a couple of the other girls told her he was cheating on her.” He shook his head, sighed heavily. “Looks like we’re gonna have to take that trip down to sunny Florida, after all.”
“Black’s offered his private plane for the trip, and I’m fairly sure Charlie’ll give his okay, especially when it saves the department money. You thinkin’ Charlie’ll pull you off?”
“I can be objective, Claire.”
“Yeah, I know that, but Charlie may not see it that way. And he’ll jerk your badge if you don’t back off, just like he did mine last year.”
Bud frowned, his entire body set with tension. He was bummed out and exhausted and looked like he was going to explode if I said another word. So I didn’t mention Betina Long’s unflattering description of Brianna’s relationship with her dead sister. I’d tell him later when he could handle it.
He said, “What’s next?”
“I’m going downtown to interview the photographer. I expected him to be hanging around today, but Ms. Cardamon said he’s only slated to show up on the day of the pageant.”
“What’s his name?”
“Eric Dixson. Cardamon says he owns a shop down on that tourist strip near Bagnell Dam. I’m heading down there as soon as we finish up here.”
“Want me to come?”
“I can handle it. Finish up with the girls you haven’t interviewed and then go home and check on Bri. Maybe she’s remembered something significant now that’s she’s had time to rest and think things through.”
Bud nodded, and I watched him head back toward the knot of contestants still in line for interviews. Black was standing at the entrance watching me and talking on his cell phone. He hung up when I reached him.
He said, “Where you headed next?”
“I’ve gotta talk to Eric Dixson, the guy you hired to shoot the runway. You know him personally?”
“I met him last year when we contracted for his services. You don’t have your car here. I’ll take you in the Humvee.”
“You just want an excuse to drive it.”
“You bet. Patricia can handle the press release changing the date, so let’s get out of here before any reporters turn up. I’ve got a feeling this is gonna turn out to be a public relations fiasco.”
A few minutes later, we stood outside under the massive front portico, watching Rob the cute valet rumble up in Black’s latest purchase, a massive black-and-chrome vehicle that looked straight off Iraqi battlefields. Black’s newest fun toy. Actually, I loved it, too. It was as cool as hell. I’d hinted blatantly for my very own for Valentine’s Day, but Black didn’t take the bait. Probably afraid he’d never see me again. We climbed aboard, and Black took the driver’s seat before I could beat him to it. Today I guess I get to be the navigator.
Black looked a bit incongruous at the wheel, all decked out in yet another exp
ensive suit, navy blue this time, but his shirt was crisp and white and showed off his dark tan in a big way. He poked on a pair of designer sunshades probably worth the sum total of my entire wardrobe and then glanced over at me. “So, tell me, Claire, what’s your honest impression of Jude?”
I wasn’t exactly expecting that query, but I played along. “She’s okay, I guess. Maybe I won’t have to kill her after all.”
Black laughed. He pulled out, and we drove down the entry road to Cedar Bend’s massive stone entrance gate. He hung a left and headed toward downtown Camdenton. “She likes you, too. Couldn’t wait to meet you, as a matter of fact. She wants us to have dinner with her.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“That’s what I told her.”
Good answer, but the idea of breaking bread with Jude, or anything else, made me want to squirm. I changed the subject to something more pertinent. “Buck’s ready to release the body.”
“Yeah? I’ve been meaning to ask you, does Brianna know about the mutilated mouth?”
“No. I left that to Bud, and he says she can’t handle that yet. He’s going to try to convince Brianna to make it a closed casket.”
“Good, maybe she’ll never have to know the gory details.”
“Hope so.”
We were quiet for a while then, each thinking our own brand of morbid thoughts, the powerful engine a smooth purr underneath us. I did like this giant vehicle about as well as anything I’d seen in the last ten years. Maybe if we solved this case, Charlie would get one for all his deputies.
“Did the contestants give you anything useful?”
“Very little. I’m gonna have to take you up on the flight to South Beach.”
“I’ll order the Lear to stand by.”
“You don’t have to go with me, if you’re too busy.”
“I have the time. I have business to take care of down there, anyway.”
“Okay, let me guess. You own a hotel on South Beach, right? Five Star, six, maybe. On the ocean, fabulous views, top of the line, where Clintons and Bushes and other presidential types stay when they’re in town.”
Black turned and gave me the grin, the one that usually did me in. I did go into melt mode, I have to admit. “No, I don’t own a hotel there. But I’m looking to buy one. This will give me a chance to stay there a few nights and see if it’s worth the price they’re asking.”