Evil Never Dies (The Lizzy Gardner Series Book 6)

by T. R. Ragan

  As he pondered which brushes he would use, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. The name that flashed across the screen squashed every bit of thrill humming through his body.

  Gillian.

  The only woman he knew who could kill a buzz in the blink of an eye. Why did she have to call today? She’d always had excruciatingly bad timing. It often seemed as if she had a sixth sense. And yet he knew he must answer the call. To do otherwise would only prove pointless—she would not stop calling until he answered.

  “Hello,” he said, failing miserably at hiding his disappointment.

  “Thank goodness you answered. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “And why is that?”

  The poor, nervous female always sounded as if she were standing on a cliff, ready to jump. “Oh, you know me,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?”

  He wanted nothing more than to tell her he’d just been about to walk out the door and had to get off the line, but that would never work. She often talked about paying him a visit, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen.

  His gaze fell upon the painting that had been hanging on the wall of the cellar when he’d first moved into the house. The artist had used oils. The artwork was layered, which could mean the painting dated back to the nineteenth century, at least. It was merely a fisherman on a boat, but there was something very dark about the painting. Perhaps it was the bloated grayish clouds or the tumultuous waters. No, he thought, it’s the fish. A single fish at the end of the line, its tail whipping upward in vain as it tried to escape, instinctively knowing death was near.

  “Are you there?” Gillian asked, pulling him back into the real world. She’d been talking nonstop, and he had no idea what she’d said.

  He forced himself to answer. “Yes, I am here.”

  “Your classes are going well?”

  He nodded, then remembered he was on the phone and said, “Yes,” letting the s out in a long, drawn-out hiss.

  “Are you taking your medications?”

  He placed a finger on a pressure point near his left temple, trying to stop an irritating twitch under his eye, because if he didn’t stop the twitching, he might completely lose it and then he wouldn’t be able to speak at all. “I am taking my medication,” he lied. “I am doing everything you’ve suggested I do, and I am feeling quite well. Thank you for asking. I no longer think it’s necessary for you to keep checking up on me—”

  “Does that mean you’ve been journaling?”

  “Of course,” he said. Journaling wasn’t a new idea. But, of course, Gillian believed she’d dreamed up the idea of writing down one’s thoughts as a form of therapy.

  “The last time we talked, you mentioned that you had invented a new coping mechanism for when you’re feeling a high dose of anxiety. You told me you had written it all down in your journal and that you would read me a bit of it next time we talked. Do you think you could do that now?”

  “No. Now is not a good time.” His attention was back on the painting, back on the fish. Something about the picture—the frantic movement of the water and the trout—made him shiver with anticipation. It was a speckled trout. The fear in its eyes was palpable. He could almost feel the sting of the hook and the bite of the barb cutting through his own soft flesh just inside his mouth.

  “Well, I’m disappointed. Have you at least been trying to meet people?”

  “Not really. No need.”

  “What about the woman you told me about . . . Lola, wasn’t it?”

  “We still talk,” he lied. Lola was merely a figment of his imagination, thought up to make Gillian happy. How stupid could she be to think that he actually knew a Lola, a name he’d come up with after listening to a song on the radio?

  “Wonderful news. When can I meet her?”

  “I don’t know why you try so hard to pretend we’re friends,” he announced, already at his wit’s end. “We’re not.”

  “We’ve been over this. You know I’m only trying to help.”

  She made him feel as if he were suffocating. Who does she think she is? He could feel his anger building, starting at the arches of his feet, ready to work its way up to his core and burst into outrage.

  To make matters worse, Claire shouted something from within her small confines. Despite being bound, she also managed to make a loud thumping noise against the floor.

  “What’s going on over there? Are you having work done?”

  “It’s the neighbors,” he said quickly. “They’re always in the middle of one renovation or another.”

  “Why is it always so difficult for you to talk to me?”

  “Do you want the truth, Gillian?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Because I don’t like the way you make me feel.”

  “How is that?”

  “Small and insignificant.”

  “If that’s true, then there must be others who make you feel small and insignificant.”

  Endorphins rushed to his brain. Only you, Gillian. Only you. “Gillian,” he said through clenched teeth, “do I need to remind you that, thanks to my parents naming you trustee, you control my finances, my wealth, and now you’re trying to control my personal life, too? So, no, you’re not like anyone else.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have upset you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Finally, after a string of awkward apologies, she allowed the conversation to end. The moment he disconnected, he was overcome with relief. He felt a tremendous desire to sag against the wall and take a moment to collect himself. Instead, he pulled the key from the hook on the wall, opened the door to the wine cellar, and headed straight for Claire, eager to set her straight on who was in control around here.

  And this time when she screamed, it was a shrill sound filled with fear and anxiety. It was downright primal, instantly filling him with heavenly rapture. In that instant, he found himself wishing he could keep Claire here with him forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hayley had been surprised to hear from Kitally that Salma was still in the hospital after having a caesarean. Standing right outside Salma’s room, she waited for a young man to exit before she headed inside. Salma looked over at her and gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about making a mess of your car.”

  “No big deal.” Hayley gestured toward the exit. “Was that your boyfriend?”

  “No. That was my brother. He wanted me to know that my family will not accept my baby unless I agree to never see my boyfriend again.”

  “Their loss,” she said. “I saw your daughter in the nursery. She looks healthy.”

  Salma’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t know why I’m getting all emotional,” she said, clearly embarrassed, “but I want to thank you guys for everything you’ve done for me and my baby.”

  “Not a problem,” Hayley said, antsy now. Too much praise and way too many emotions. Back to solid ground. “Have you chosen a name?”

  “Not yet. I’m going to wait until the perfect one comes to me. I know you’re not a mom, but how old was your mom when she had you?”

  “My mom?” Hayley had to think. “She was young . . . maybe seventeen.”

  “What was it like for the two of you?”

  Snippets of her life with her mom came flooding into her mind’s eye, but Hayley stopped the flow. “You know what?” she said. “I loved my mom more than anyone in this world, but if you’re looking for advice, all I can say is think of your kid when you make decisions. She didn’t ask to be brought into this world. It was you and your boyfriend’s doing. Don’t be selfish. Put your daughter first.”

  “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure my daughter has the best life possible.”

  Hayley wished her mom had vowed to do the same and hadn’t let
outside forces intervene, but such was life. “I know you must be scared,” she said. “As a single mom, it’s not going to be easy for either of you, but the best thing you can do for your daughter is to be there for her when she needs you.”

  “I think that’s good advice.”

  Kitally came into the room just then, out of breath. “You didn’t give her the gift yet, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  Kitally snatched the bag from Hayley’s hand and gave it to Salma.

  Salma reached inside and pulled out a pink frilly baby dress. There were other clothes in the bag, too—soft cotton bodysuits and booties. “Oh, the dress is darling. Thank you so much for everything.”

  “So,” Kitally said, “are we ever going to meet the father of the baby?”

  Salma blushed. “I can’t say. In my culture, women don’t really even date men, let alone men outside their religion. And they definitely don’t get pregnant by them.”

  “Did he know you were pregnant?”

  “Of course. But I haven’t told him where I’m staying. My brothers have threatened to do him harm if they find out who he is, so I’m not telling anyone his name, either.”

  “I see. That’s too bad.”

  Silence hovered over them like a dark cloud until Kitally said, “Have you named your daughter yet?”

  “She doesn’t want to force it,” Hayley said.

  “I feel as if I’ll know what her name is after I’ve spent more time with her,” Salma said. “Does that make sense?”

  Kitally screwed up her face. “Not at all. I think Lucy would be a cute name.”

  “God no,” Hayley said, “not Lucy.” Then again, what did it matter? After looking through the wall of glass at all the babies, Hayley didn’t understand why women gushed over them. With their big heads, nonexistent necks, and wrinkly skin, not one of them was the least bit attractive.

  Kitally kept at it. “How about something different, like Hermione or Minerva?”

  Hayley rolled her eyes.

  Salma merely ignored her, and then said, “Have you two had any luck locating the Ghost?”

  “Not so far.”

  “I tried calling the girl I lived with, the one who was evicted from her apartment, but she hasn’t returned my calls. I wish I could remember her name.”

  “If it comes to you, let us know,” Kitally said. “I’ll be back tomorrow to visit.”

  “We better go,” Hayley told Kitally. “We have work to do.”

  “Yeah, we need to hurry so we can get back in time for your date.”

  “You have a date?” Salma asked Hayley.

  “No. I’m just going to a concert with Tommy. He’s just a friend.”

  Kitally looked at Salma and winked.

  Hayley couldn’t remember the last time she’d been inside a mall. The Fashion Plus store where Miriam Walters worked before she disappeared was lit up with fluorescent lights so bright she squinted.

  Halfway across the store, she lost Kitally to a striped sequined dress. The mannequin had drawn her as if it were a magnet. Leaving her behind, Hayley walked to the back of the store where customers could pay for their merchandise. Apparently it was a slow night. There were three people behind the counter, shooting the breeze.

  “My name is Hayley Hansen. Is there anyone here I can talk to about Miriam Walters?”

  A tall girl with black hair and straight-cut bangs looked Hayley over before she asked, “Why?”

  “I work for Lizzy Gardner Investigations. We’re looking for Miriam.”

  “Is she missing?” another girl asked, this one wearing a purple leather miniskirt and boots.

  The other cashier, a skinny guy with a long pointy nose, said to Hayley, “She’s new here. Don’t pay her any mind.”

  “Hey, don’t be rude. Is Miriam the short geeky girl with—”

  “That’s Monica. She quit. This lady is talking about Miriam, a tall gorgeous girl who sold tons of clothes just by wearing something in the store.”

  “Oh.”

  “Miriam and I were close,” the black-haired girl said. “What do you need to know?”

  Kitally joined them, and Hayley introduced her before continuing. “We need to know if Miriam ever talked about going away for a while.”

  “You think she might be hiding out somewhere?” the skinny boy asked.

  Hayley shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

  “She liked her life here,” the black-haired girl said. “She was a hard worker, and she was excited when she got into that program for brainy teenagers, whatever it’s called.”

  “Opportunity Knocks,” Kitally said.

  The boy nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. After she was accepted into the program, that’s pretty much all she talked about. I don’t remember hearing one word from her about leaving the area.” He saw a group of girls enter the store. “Excuse me while I help these people.”

  The other employee, the one in the miniskirt, pulled her cell out of her pocket and wandered into the back room, texting as she went.

  The black-haired girl leaned forward and said in a low voice, “There is no way Miriam left town without kicking and screaming.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Miriam was pregnant and in love with some ultrahot guy she’d just met.”

  “Pregnant?” Kitally asked. “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t have any proof. I just know what she told me.”

  “So, you never saw an older man named Wayne Bennett come around here?” Hayley asked.

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “You already know about him? He came around for Miriam before the hot young guy. The old guy would pretend to be shopping around for his wife. We all knew it was a lie. I never understood what Miriam saw in him. I don’t care how much money he had—the man was way too old for her, and there was something skanky about him, too.”

  “So when did the other man—the hot guy—come into the picture?”

  She tilted her head as she thought about it for a second. “I would say she met the hot guy about six weeks before she disappeared. They were perfect for each other. They were both good-looking and smart—a perfect match.”

  “So you think Miriam was pregnant with the hot guy’s baby?”

  She nodded. “Miriam told me it was definitely hot guy’s baby.”

  “How could she be so sure?”

  “With the old guy, she used protection with a capital P.”

  “So you don’t know the hot guy’s name?”

  “Sorry. No idea. I don’t even know if she ever told me his name.”

  “Did the police ever question you about Miriam?”

  She shook her head. “I heard they came in to the store, but I only work here three days a week, and I certainly wasn’t going to go out of my way to call them.”

  “Could I get your name and number in case we have more questions later?”

  The girl found a business card, scribbled down the information, and handed the card to Hayley. “There you go.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  As they exited the store, Kitally said, “I wonder if Bennett was jealous and so he killed her?”

  “Who knows?”

  As they walked, every store window with a set of four-inch heels or a gaudy jewelry display sidetracked Kitally. It was like a disease. Hayley was dying for a smoke, but she really did want to quit, so she tried to think about something else. And that’s when she saw a girl with white spiky hair walk into the shoe store across the way.

  It was the Ghost. It had to be.

  “Kitally, come on.”

  “Just a minute, I want to—”

  “We’ve got to go right now. I just saw the Ghost walk into that shoe store over there.”

  Kitally turned and looked to see where she pointed. “Are
you sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Let’s make sure it’s her first, then we’ll call the cops. After that, I’m not letting her out of my sight until they get here. I’ll make a citizen’s arrest if I have to.”

  They walked over to the store, Hayley leading the way. “Pretend you’re looking for a pair of running shoes,” she said.

  “I would never buy a pair of running shoes. They’re ugly.”

  “This is pretend, Kitally. Pretend you love running shoes for two minutes. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “OK, OK. Chill.”

  They headed inside. The store wasn’t very wide, but it was deep. For a second or two, Hayley worried that the girl had already escaped unnoticed.

  Kitally picked up a shoe on the display rack and pretended to admire it. “This is the ugliest sneaker I’ve ever seen.”

  Hayley looked around. A mother and her son were rummaging through shoes nearby, left to their own devices by the gaggle of teenage clerks gathered at the back of the store.

  The tall spiky-haired girl they were looking for was hard to miss. She wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  “I like that shoe over there,” Kitally said as she headed to another display and then picked up one of the shoes. “Genuine leather, and look at the cool zipper on the side.”

  “Those are men’s shoes,” Hayley pointed out.

  “Cool.” Kitally’s smile disappeared. “I see the Ghost,” she told Hayley. “It’s definitely her, straight across from us, right along the far wall. Don’t turn around.”

  “Can I help you?”

  Perfect, Hayley thought. Now you take an interest in us.

  “No, thanks,” Hayley said, using the clerk’s appearance as an excuse to turn toward the Ghost. There she was, just as Kitally had said. “We’re just looking around.”

  The Ghost looked up just then. There was a flash of recognition in her eyes, and then she was tearing for the front of the store.

  “Shit!”

  Hayley took off after her. No way would she let her get away. She’d tackle the skinny bitch if she had to and then grab her wallet and take a look at her ID. At least then she would have a name. Maybe an address, too.