by Karen Rose
“Then I am confused. How did you cheat? Specifically now, Jenna. I need details.”
“Steven was here. Long story.” She massaged her temples. “He held my hand.”
Casey was staring at her as if she were a french fry short of a happy meal. “And?”
Jenna closed her eyes, remembering the heat all over again. The almost-painful tingle that started at her fingertips and shot straight down to her core. “He looked at me.” And she’d felt helpless to look away. She didn’t want to look away. He’d wanted her. And God help her, she’d wanted him. She would have willingly kissed a man she’d barely met. And then what?
Jenna looked over to find Casey staring, her blue eyes rife with concern. Jenna looked away. “I held his hand and he looked at me and I think I would have done anything he asked. Anything.”
Casey gently grabbed Jenna’s chin and brought her face around. “And?”
“I wanted to . . . you know . . . just holding his hand, Case.” Jenna looked into her best friend’s eyes and made herself say the awful truth. “And I never felt that way with Adam. Never,” she whispered.
TWELVE
Monday, October 3, 7:35 A.M.
“JENNA,” CASEY CALLED FROM THE DOORWAY of the faculty lounge, “wait up.”
Jenna stopped, her head still pounding from sheer fury at listening to Blackman’s lecture a second time, practically commanding her to give “young Rudy” a passing grade.
Casey caught up, huffing and puffing. “Where’s the fire, Marshall? Slow down. You’ve got twenty minutes till the first bell. Besides, doesn’t that hurt your ankle, walking that fast?”
“Yes, but the throbbing in my ankle takes my mind off the throbbing in my head,” Jenna answered curtly. “Keep up, Thumbelina,” she added, her voice as sour as her disposition. “I’m in a really pissy mood this morning.”
“No shit,” Casey muttered, then was blessedly silent until they stopped in front of Jenna’s closed classroom door. Casey leaned against a locker and looked up, her eyes worried and her forehead covered in a sheen of perspiration. “Look, Jen, I don’t mind a morning run, but you could at least have let me change into my cleats.” She stood on one foot and rubbed her ankle. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”
“Nothing.” Jenna dug in her purse, looking for the keys to her classroom. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night and Blackman hit me with a guilt trip this morning about Rudy Lutz’s grade.”
“That’s what I wanted to discuss,” Casey said with an emphatic nod.
Jenna pulled the bag of dog biscuits from her purse and handed them to Casey. “What, Rudy Lutz’s grade? I didn’t know you had the pleasure of his highness’s presence in your class this year. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that in the middle of the hallway. Where are my keys?”
Casey pursed her lips. “Not Rudy. I wanted to talk about why you couldn’t sleep last night.”
“I don’t want to talk about that, either. Especially not here. Go away, Casey.” She shoved her hand in her purse again and muttered a curse when something sharp poked her finger. She brought out a metal nail file and put it in Casey’s outstretched palm. “Don’t tell me I left my keys in Blackman’s office. I don’t want to go back there. Dammit to hell.”
“Really, Jen. I’ve been thinking about Adam and...you know.”
Jenna glanced up, totally annoyed. “What part of not here don’t you understand?” she snarled.
Casey lowered her voice to a whisper. “Listen, Jen, you shouldn’t even try to remember how things were between you and Adam. I don’t even think you have rational memories of how he was before, so I’ll remember for you. You were perfectly satisfied. You told me so.”
Jenna went still. “I did?”
Casey’s curls bobbed in a hard nod. “You did. I swear it.” She grinned. “It was the night we were trying to discover the best recipe for Long Island Iced Tea. You gave all kinds of juicy details.”
Jenna dropped her eyes to her purse, suddenly feeling worse even though she hadn’t believed it possible. She remembered the night of the Long Island Iced Tea marathon. She remembered the juicy details and that she truly had been satisfied. That was the problem. What she’d felt just holding Steven Thatcher’s hand had nothing to do with satisfaction.
It was greed. Pure, unadulterated craving. Throw-common-sense-to-the-wind desire. It was as different from any previous experience as...As Häagen-Dazs Rocky Road to store-brand vanilla. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Adam deserved a hell of a lot more than being store-brand vanilla. She felt like a dirty traitor even letting the comparison form in her mind. Her hand closed on her keys and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Here they are,” she said thickly. “Casey, don’t you have someplace to be?”
“Of course. I probably have thirty-two panting tenth graders looking for the dirty parts in the Lady Chatterley’s Lover I left on my desk.” She smirked. “They’ll be surprised when they find out it’s only the cover of Lady Chatterley on a copy of The Iliad.” Her brows snapped together. “What?”
Jenna’s body had gone still with dread. When she put her key to the lock, the door creaked open. It was already unlocked. With her fingertips she gave it a tiny push.
“Holy shit,” Casey swore on a shocked hiss. “Jenna!” Jenna was speechless. Her beautiful classroom was a shambles. Vandalized. A disaster area. She found her voice. “Call Blackman. Let’s see what he says about his golden boy now.”
Monday, October 3, 9:30 A.M.
The red-eye from Seattle had been uneventful. Neil landed in Newark at six in the morning where he’d reset his watch to Eastern time, grabbed a three-dollar bagel and a two-dollar cup of coffee. Then he’d changed planes and landed in Raleigh two hours later and five bucks poorer.
“Would you like a smoking or nonsmoking room, sir?” the man behind the motel counter asked politely and Neil wanted to scream “Smoking!” but didn’t.
“Nonsmoking,” he made himself say. He’d quit ten years ago, but there didn’t pass a day that didn’t have him fighting the craving. Especially stressful days, which was pretty much every day of his life. He signed the ledger and took the key.
The room was nondescript and mostly clean. He dropped his overnight bag on the bed, then pulled out an envelope. He drew out four photos and laid them on the dresser, edge to edge.
Four young girls. He didn’t need to look at the neatly typed labels on the back of each photograph to remember their names. Laura Resnick. Trudy Valentine. Emily Barry. Gina Capetti. All sixteen years old. All cheerleaders. All brunettes.
All dead.
He studied each photo, seeing the girls as they’d been before meeting William Parker. Beautiful, vibrant smiles. Eyes shining with anticipation over their bright futures.
He didn’t need to look at the “after” photos. He still saw their faces every time he closed his eyes. But he looked anyway, their eyes wide-open, blank, staring upward. Their heads shaved bald.
The photos blurred before his eyes, the smug smile and cold eyes of William Parker materializing in his mind, uninvited. The fatigue was catching up with him. He’d lie down for a little while, get over the jet lag. Then he’d find William Parker. It was time to honor his promise.
Monday, October 3, 12:15 P.M.
“Jenna, what is this word?”
Jenna tossed the putty knife to the lab table where some creative individual had superglued all of her glassware to the tabletop. She walked over to where Casey stood looking up at the spray-painted Periodic Table with a quizzical expression. Jenna looked up, squinted, and tilted her head.
“I don’t know. But here”—Jenna pointed to the chart— “some Einstein connected the Fe in Iron, the U in Uranium, and the C in Cadmium. They missed the K, so I’d only give them partial credit.”
“But you’d have to give them an A for coming up with a new swearword,” Lucas said, sweeping up piles of broken glass. “Feuc. It sounds old-Englishy, like it could have come
out of Beowulf.”
Casey reached up and yanked one corner of the ruined ten-foot-wide Periodic Table from the wall. “So tell me again why Blackman didn’t call the cops?”
“Because there’s no indication of who did this,” Jenna said, mimicking Blackman’s nasal tone. She sighed. “At least there wasn’t a threatening note this time.”
Casey and Lucas stopped what they were doing. “What threatening note?” they said together.
Jenna bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to say that. Must be the cleaning fluid making me dizzy.”
Lucas dropped the broom, walked over, and grabbed her chin. “What threatening note, Jen?”
Jenna winced. “The one that was on my car windshield on Friday afternoon.”
“Was there text included, or did they just make all those comic-strip cursing characters, like ampersands and asterisks?” Casey asked, tongue in cheek.
Jenna sighed again. “It said, ‘Put him back on the team or you’ll rue the day you were born.’”
Lucas squeezed her chin. “What else?”
She rolled her eyes. “ ‘You bitch,’” she added. “They misspelled ‘rue.’ That’s it, I swear. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. Steven gave it to the police and they took it in for prints, but Officer Pullman called me this morning and told me they didn’t get a single print.”
“Who’s Officer Pullman?” Casey said.
“He took the report,” Jenna said.
Lucas’s eyebrows had shot to the top of his forehead. “Who’s Steven?”
Jenna closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat. “He’s Brad Thatcher’s father.”
“He’s Rocky Road,” Casey added slyly. “Yum, yum.” Lucas frowned at Casey. “Yum, yum?”
“Hey, I just call ’em like I see ’em,” Casey said. “He looked pretty good to me on CNN.”
“Hmm,” Lucas mused. “So you’re on a first-name basis with a parent. Interesting.”
Jenna opened one eye. “Is it illegal?” She almost hoped it was, so she could have a decent excuse for canceling dinner on Tuesday night, which by turns she’d been dreading and anticipating with a furor that scared her.
“No. No. Perhaps a bit sticky, but a young Jedi like yourself can navigate.” He let go of her chin and patted her head. “I have every confidence in you.”
“Gee, thanks, Obi Wan,” Jenna grumbled and went back to scraping glue from the tabletop.
Lucas looked at Casey. “She almost sounds like she wants it to be against the rules.”
Casey looked disgusted. “She does. She—”
“Casey!” Jenna looked up in alarm. “Shut up.”
Lucas looked hurt. “I thought I was one of the girls.” Casey leaned toward him and whispered, “Hormones. Approach with caution.”
Lucas shot her a sympathetic glance. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing. Lucas, it’s really nothing.”
Casey pulled the rest of the Periodic Table from the wall and scampered backward to keep from being covered when it fell. “It’s not nothing. She’s convinced she’s being untrue to Adam’s memory because she drools over Steven Thatcher.”
Jenna scowled. “Last time I ever tell you anything.” “Hmm. Seems to me the situations are very different,” Lucas said. “Adam and this Steven.”
Jenna narrowed her eyes. “If you want to be one of the girls, you might as well jump in. Don’t tell me it’s different because Adam was sick. We had a very healthy sex life. I never drooled.”
Lucas shrugged. “You women always blame men for your lack of orgasm.”
Jenna choked while Casey laughed so hard she turned red. Lucas, however, remained totally serious. “Seems to me, you’re the one who’s changed, Jen. I remember when Marianne turned thirty. Rowl,” he growled in his throat and Jenna laughed too.
“You’re impossible, Lucas.”
“That’s what Marianne used to say. Now she just says, ‘Yes, yes, yes!’”
Casey held her stomach, still chortling. “Stop, Lucas, you’re hurting me.”
“I think Jenna’s increased sex drive is all her fault. The real tragedy is that Adam died before she fully matured.” He backed up, then turned, startled. “Kelly. How long have you been there?”
Kelly Templeton’s eyes were wide. “From yes, yes, yes. You said we could talk extra-credit on my test during lunch, Dr. Marshall.”
Jenna covered her eyes, mortified. “Kelly, just go, and don’t mention a word of this. Please.”
“Eight points partial credit on my test?” Kelly asked, her tone smug.
Jenna frowned and peeked through her fingers. “I don’t give unearned grades.”
Kelly pursed her lips, then smiled. “Yes, yes, yes. I could make quite a cheer out of that.”
Jenna sucked in a breath. “That’s extortion.”
Lucas chuckled. “Sounds like free commerce to me.” Jenna glared at Lucas, then considered Kelly. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the opportunity for eight points extra credit on the next test. It’ll all come out in the wash.”
“Make it twelve points and you have a deal,” said Kelly with confidence.
Jenna stuck out her hand. “Deal. Now go away. And never say yes to me again.”
Kelly laughed as she turned for the door. “I never thought I’d be looking forward to thirty.”
Casey sucked in both cheeks. “Whoa, that girl has a future.”
Jenna shook her head. “As what I don’t want to know.” “But the important thing is, will you partake of Rocky Road?” Casey wanted to know.
Jenna considered it. Maybe Adam had been Rocky Road all the time, but her taste buds were just too dull to appreciate him. Maybe she wasn’t such a louse after all, just a slow bloomer.
Casey plunked her fists on her hips. “Well?”
Jenna sighed. “Maybe a taste. Just to see how it goes.” Casey patted her arm. “Good girl.” Then she winked at Lucas. “I’ve never known Jenna to stop at one bite of Rocky Road.”
Lucas chuckled and picked up his broom. “Some things are not made for moderation.”
Monday, October 3, 12:45 P.M.
The Pineville Public Library looked like something out of colonial times. Neil just hoped they had Internet access. He needed to track down the Parker family. One Parker in particular.
He found the fifty-something librarian sitting at her desk, her hands neatly folded. Her nameplate said Miss Wells. “What can I do for you today?” she asked pleasantly.
“I’m visiting and I need Internet access. Can I use one of your computers for a few hours?”
“Of course you may,” she said and he realized she’d corrected his grammar, probably through reflex. She stood and gestured him to follow, leading him to a large table with eight desktop computers. “Take your pick. They do have software that blocks access to certain sites.”
Neil felt his lips twitch. “I’m not looking for porn, ma’am.”
Miss Wells’s face heated to the color of cherries. “I never...I mean . . .” she stuttered. “Well, please just take one. I’ll sign you in. What is your name, please?”
“Neil Davies. D-a-v-i-e-s. It sounds like Davis so everyone forgets the e.”
She gave a professional little nod. “Very well, Mr. Davies. Can I get you anything else?”
“How about local newspapers from the last two weeks?” He watched her pleasant expression change. Harden. Her mouth thinned to a straight line. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll find all the little tidbits you’re so hungry for.” She looked away. “Parasites.”
“Excuse me?” Neil asked.
“Reporters,” Miss Wells spat. She looked back, her eyes flashing. “We can’t turn around anymore without running into one. Turning a tragedy into copy. Go right ahead,” she added bitterly. “You won’t be the only one.”
“I’m not—” Neil started to say, then stopped. Perhaps being a reporter would be a decent cover. “I’m not going to write a story on the missing girls,” he sa
id earnestly and watched her eyes go from angry to merely suspicious. “I’m doing a piece on local families,” he added, inspired.
Miss Wells nodded uncertainly. It didn’t really matter if she believed him or not. The papers were public record, but he did prefer to be on good terms with the librarian.
“Very well,” she finally said. “They’re in the back room. I’ll be right back.”
Twenty minutes later, Miss Wells brought him a stack of the Pineville Courier. “We have the paper copies going back two months,” she said. “Beyond that you’ll be squinting at microfiche.”
“Understood,” Neil said, his fingers itching to begin. “Thank you.”
Three hours later he was deep into the microfiche and still hadn’t found the face he sought. Another man might have given up by now. Another man who didn’t see the faces of four innocent girls crying for justice every time he closed his eyes. He blinked hard and gritted his teeth.
William Parker was in here somewhere. He knew it. He just had to find one picture. One.
Miss Wells sat in the seat next to him. “Perhaps if you told me what you’re looking for,” she murmured in her librarian voice. “I’d be happy to help you.”
I’m looking for a monster, he wanted to say. But, of course, did not. Instead he made his mouth smile ruefully and said, “Thanks anyway, but I think this is an ‘I’ll know it when I see it’ situation.”
“Very well. But you might want to take a break. You’re starting to develop a twitch.”
A twi-itch, he thought with amusement. Only in the South could a one-syllable word become so elongated. Neil stretched. “That’s a good idea, Miss Wells. I’ll walk around your library.”
She stood up with him and pointed to the far wall. “The high school has put together a collection of pictures of local events. Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
He wouldn’t, he knew. But his back ached and his eyeballs felt like they’d been carved out with a melon-baller. He definitely needed a break.
Miss Wells resumed her post at the front desk and Neil walked to the far wall she’d indicated. The high school students had done a good job, capturing a number of different aspects of local life including agriculture—a dried tobacco leaf; commerce—an aerial view of the Research Triangle; society—the first high school dance of the season; and of course sports. He bent forward and stared at the photos gathered in collage fashion. And froze.