by Joanne Rock
“My mother admitted she sent you those text messages.” Bailey’s voice broke in the middle of it, the latter half of the sentence garbled by tears.
“What? You’re kidding me.” Megan sat up straighter on the floor of her bedroom, watching a mutant zombie explode on contact. “Why would she do that?”
Megan had been so sure J.D. was behind it, or one of his friends. Everything about the harassment felt like something a guy would do. Not a friend’s mother.
“She wanted you to move out of town so your father would leave the town board or some lame shit like that. I don’t know. She’s superpolitical and wanted to run the town or something.” Bailey hiccuped. Sniffled. “I wouldn’t have known except I listened outside the kitchen door when the cops talked to her for a third time. This morning. She kept saying over and over that she used the phone that J.D.’s father gave her. Like that matters? Why didn’t she take some responsibility for bullying a kid? And my friend?”
Maybe because Mrs. McCord knew that the phone had done more than simply send a few ugly texts. She was sleeping with J.D.’s father, after all. Maybe Mrs. McCord was worried the phone—and those texts—would show she had created the creepy website and was trying to protect her own ass? Maybe J.D.’s father gave it to her purposely because it had belonged to J.D. or something. Perhaps trying to hide evidence of his evil kid’s wrongdoing? It was all very, very messed up.
Megan obliterated the zombie village in a relentless attack, all the while wondering what to say. Maybe she’d watched too many cop dramas. How would she know why Mrs. McCord did anything?
“That’s messed up, Bailey. I don’t know if this helps or anything, but keep in mind that’s her. Not you. My mom is a loser of the first order, right? She adopted me with my dad and then left him because it was too much work. She never calls. She never comes by. And that’s a good thing because I don’t need that kind of mother, one who walks away. Realizing that helps me love my dad more when he’s smothering me with helmets and sunscreen. He cares. And your mom obviously cares about you or she wouldn’t have stuck around for eighteen years.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Bailey snorted, then sniffled again, her voice small. “How can you defend her? She said you should do us a favor and die, didn’t she? She could, like, go to jail.”
Megan cocked her head to the side, thinking. She had been so hurt by those texts, but maybe more so because she’d been afraid they’d been from Bailey. A person she’d trusted. Knowing an adult had sent them was a relief in a way. And made her realize how pathetic the texts were.
“Maybe Mr. Covington told her what to say. I don’t know. Whatever mistakes she’s made, she’s going to pay for them. With the cops and with your dad. Maybe she’ll realize what she did was wrong and feel bad about it.” Megan’s game ended and a screen popped up adding points to her overall total. A few online players started gabbing and arranging another round, but she ignored them. “Do you think the cops are any closer to figuring out who posted that webpage?” Had Mrs. McCord done that, too?
The sooner something happened on this case, the quicker Megan would be able to have a life again. She could see Wade outside of work. She wanted to tell him about the bulletin board at the police station with its ad for a program to finish high school and earn freshman college credits, plus a scholarship for cop training. She’d shoved it in her purse, but she didn’t want to give it to him at work. She wanted to see him again. For real.
“I don’t know. But it sounds like J.D.’s dad turned out to be as much of a prince as his son, because he screamed at my mom when she broke up with him.”
Megan sighed. Bailey had gotten a restraining order against J.D. when they’d split since things had gotten physical between them a couple of times. Mostly shoving, Bailey said. The police were keeping an extra eye on Bailey’s house.
“How’s your dad doing with all this stuff going on?” Megan asked.
“He’s moving out. He invited me to go with him if I want to go back to his hometown of Juneau, Alaska.”
Hey, Bruiser12?
A chat window opened on the video game screen. Someone obviously wanted to talk to her privately.
Megan typed a question mark back.
“Juneau?” That was like the end of the earth. And cold, too. She felt terrible for Bailey. This whole mess was turning out to be worse for her than it had been for Megan. “I’m sorry.”
A response filled the chat window.
It’s Sylvia. From guitar. Meeting Ms. Finley for a send-off for her audition and to jam. You’re invited! Darcy’s Doughnuts on the exit just north of Heartache. Noon tomorrow.
The chat box closed as SweetSylvia signed off.
Megan would kill to have some rehearsal time before the talent show. And it would be really cool to wish Ms. Finley well before her big audition. Sylvia had graduated two years ago and she’d been in Nashville for the last few months. Megan had chatted with her online a few times after Ms. Finley shared some of Sylvia’s demo tapes.
“It all sucks.” Bailey sniffled again. “Thanks for being cool about my mom. I’ve been embarrassed to tell you, but I know you’re anxious for your confinement to be lifted, and with this new evidence, the cops will probably tell you it’s safe to go out, right?”
A bright side for sure.
“Well, I was embarrassed for the world to see I supposedly went to Slutsville Academy and gave blow jobs on the street for bargain prices, but I’m determined to survive it.” Thinking about the website—and the fact that her father knew all about it—still made her want to throw up. “It helps having friends who don’t judge me, so I’m glad I can be that friend for you, too.”
“My mom is calling me.” Bailey’s voice trembled. “I’m going to that talent show to see you and I’m going to cheer really loud.”
“That’d be great. And Bailey? Thanks for telling me the truth.”
“That’s what real friends are supposed to do, protect each other. I’ll see you later.”
“Later.” Disconnecting the call, Megan clutched the ugly phone for a second and thought about how good it was to have a friend after how horrible things had been at school. But her life was changing now. She had the talent show coming up. And now she had this chance for a jam session with musicians she really respected. That is, if she could sneak out for an hour or two tomorrow.
She didn’t know where they could play at a doughnut shop, but maybe there was a back room or the weather would be nice and they could take the guitars outside. Either way, Megan would find a way to escape her house and play the music that had been her lifeline during the nightmare of the last few months.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, Zach reviewed the police records with Sam in the mayor’s office, hoping to find enough evidence to make an arrest in Megan’s case now that Tiffany McCord had confessed to sending the texts.
Surprised the hell out of him. He’d known she was an ambitious woman who wouldn’t mind running the town, but he never would have pegged her for threatening a teenage girl. But she’d denied creating the website she’d referenced in one of the texts she sent. She claimed she merely knew of the website because Jeremy Covington—her secret lover, by the way—had shown it to her. Tiffany claimed not to like Megan because she’d dated Bailey’s boyfriend at one time. Tiffany hoped that rattling Megan would hasten Dan Bryer to leave town as a protective measure, and she thought that would be a good thing since she and Dan were frequently at odds on the town council and Tiffany needed a power base for when she ran for mayor.
Meglomaniac much?
Zach found her to be seriously messed up, but he didn’t believe she’d posted the website about Megan, and he knew she wasn’t the person who’d attacked his sister. And Zach still thought that whoever hassled Megan was the same person who’d hurt Gabriella.
He wanted an arrest
that would satisfy his need to throw Gabriella’s attacker behind bars. Because something told him there was a commonality there. Even though Megan’s ex-boyfriend J.D. couldn’t be guilty in both cases, his father was old enough. Could Jeremy Covington have stalked Zach’s sister? The guy had been masked. Sam hadn’t been able to identify him.
Right now, Zach’s sister was in the front office with the town secretary, an old friend from school, since Sam wouldn’t let her stay at the house by herself. The press conference had gone as smoothly as could be expected, although a few members of the local media had wanted more details on the drug that the former mayor had purchased for his wife. Thankfully, Dan Bryer had been present and had reminded the townspeople of privacy laws regarding Mrs. Finley’s illness, and something about his forceful speech had made the more gung-ho media members wind up their questions. The public in attendance had seemed satisfied with the answers and their former mayor’s actions. After the press conference finished, Zach had stayed to work on the case with Sam without outside distractions.
It was better than thinking about Heather leaving town. She’d attended the press conference and kept her goodbye light. Fast.
Superficial.
He didn’t mind that she’d left town to pursue her dreams nearly as much as he minded that she wouldn’t think about a future that involved him. She’d opened up a door to let him into her life, but if he didn’t walk through it on her terms, she didn’t have a backup plan that included both their dreams. Nor was she interested in discussing it.
“Damn it.” He whipped his pencil across the room, watching it sail end over end until it hit the opposite wall and landed with a bounce on the hardwood.
They’d been working for almost an hour, but he was so tired of looking at bits of evidence that didn’t add up.
“You’re not the only one pissed off about this,” Sam reminded him from his seat at the small conference table. He pointed to the bunch of papers scattered in front of him.
“It’s not just the stalker.” Shoving back from his desk, Zach pounded a fist on the wall behind him, no closer to real answers or concrete evidence in either case. “Heather left.”
“I heard she was going to leave as soon as her father was cleared.” Sam used a magnifying glass to check out some old black-and-white photos.
Zach stared at him. “You knew?”
“I get my ice cream at the Tastee-Freez, too.” He laid down the magnifying glass. “I know it sucks that she left, but for what it’s worth, I don’t see her staying away for long. Her sister-in-law is lobbying hard for her to remain in town and play at their new restaurant.”
“Really?” Zach frowned, wondering why Heather never mentioned it.
Maybe because she’d known all along she didn’t want that kind of small-town gig.
“Yeah. But her brother owns that bar in Nashville. My money is on her coming back and spending half her time in Nashville like Mack does.”
“I don’t think she likes letting her family give her any help.” Zach wondered if she’d said one word to any of them about her health condition.
He hated that she had no support for that.
“Maybe this audition will give her the confidence she needs to see that she’s actually helping them.” Sam waved a sheaf of papers at him. “Take a look at this.”
Zach picked up a foam basketball he kept in a corner of the office and shot it into the hoop over the closet door on his way to the conference table.
“That’s fairly astute psychology about Heather’s confidence, Samuel.” Zach clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I hope to hell you’re right.”
Not that it meant Heather would suddenly fall into his lap and be his for the rest of his days. Because at this point, Zach knew that’s what he wanted.
Heather. Forever.
Sam rubbed his jaw. “I’ve been looking for commonalities in the incident reports from roads that back up to Jeremy Covington’s quarry—everything from traffic mishaps to lost kids and drag races.” He slapped a hand on one fat manila folder. “These are from the interstate.” He patted another folder. “These are from local reports from the quarry road.”
“And?” Zach took a seat at the conference table, his focus shifting to the investigation. “Anything stand out for you? These are a lot of incidents.”
“Deserted roads attract more vagrants, illegal campers, dumping, drag racers, that kind of thing. But even after weeding out that stuff, we have a significant volume of reports.”
“Several accidents.” Zach thumbed through some of them. And frowned. “A lot of young female drivers.”
“An inordinate number.” Sam leaned back in his chair and grabbed the foam basketball that Zach had left behind. He pitched it over his head and caught it a few times. “I double-checked the stats on that type of thing.”
“The reasons are that the sign was out for that sharp curve. Drivers out of gas. Hitting a large rock.” The wording on some of the reports set off warning bells.
“Right.” Sam nodded. “Gabriella went up there because she thought she was meeting a friend. She missed the curve because the sign was down, and next thing you know, she’s totally vulnerable up there.”
Zach’s chest hurt. “Thank God you were there.”
“She was underage and had no business driving.” Sam had followed her that night because he’d been worried but had told Zach he’d been scared to try to make her pull over because he didn’t want her to panic and get in an accident.
She’d gotten in an accident anyway, which hadn’t been the worst of the ordeal. A masked man had been waiting, as if he knew exactly where that accident would happen. As if he’d taken the sign down.
“Heather ran out of gas on the interstate the night after the wedding,” he remembered, his skin going cold. “She hit a rock and told me she was glad to see me because she heard someone in the woods.”
“So what if our guy isn’t just a stalker, he’s also a scattergun shooter, seeing who ends up alone and vulnerable in a place he knows well. Which puts Covington or anyone who works at the quarry front and center.” Sam pointed to a third folder. “I’m starting another file of cases where a girl was sexually assaulted or feared being sexually assaulted by someone she met on the road.”
There weren’t many, Zach noted. And the MOs were different. It was too dark to describe the guy. Or the guy wore a cartoon mask. Or a hoodie. There were no weapons involved.
“These span over a decade.”
“Carefully under the radar. And not necessarily stalker victims.”
“That we know of.” Zach stood, a bad feeling making his gut sink. “I’m calling Heather. She’s on her way out of town right now. Your guys are watching Megan Bryer?”
“I don’t have that kind of manpower,” Sam admitted with a wince. “But her father was going to keep her close to home other than work and school. You really think Jeremy Covington could be our guy?” Sam paused. “There aren’t many people who’ve worked at the quarry for more than five years besides him. And there was less internet stalking back when your sister received those messages. Yet the quarry was hardwired for service even then.”
Sam frowned. “Maybe if we read the messages, we’d find something to link old cases and new cases. Syntax. Turns of phrase. Something.”
But Zach had other concerns as he listened to Heather’s cell phone ring and ring before going to voice mail.
“My sixth sense or whatever it is that makes the hair on your neck stand up is tingling like mad.” Zach stared at his cell phone and redialed. “She’s not answering.”
“I’ll call Megan.” Sam pulled out his phone. Punched in numbers.
And waited.
Zach’s sixth sense buzzed louder.
He swore.
“We still don’t know who our guy is,” Sam poi
nted out, stabbing numbers on the office phone, obviously trying a different line.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll know when we catch his ass, if we have to put cameras all over that quarry. Why the hell isn’t she picking up?” Heather’s phone went straight to voice mail again.
“You really think someone’s after her?” Sam asked. Then he put his head down to speak into the desk phone. “Dan, hello. It’s Sam Reyes from the sheriff’s— Excuse me? Sir, slow down.”
Zach didn’t wait to find out what was happening at Megan Bryer’s house. He called Bethany Finley’s house. When no one answered there, he searched online for a number for Diana Finley. And called.
“Mrs. Finley, it’s Zach Chance. I’m worried about Heather and can’t reach her, but I remember she talked about stopping in Nashville to pick up her friend Sylvia. Do you know how to reach Sylvia or what her last name might be?” He clicked the call to speaker so Sam could hear what she had to say.
“Sylvia Hauf. I don’t have a number or an address, but she was a year ahead of my granddaughter, Ally, in school, and she was one of Heather’s best students.” She paused. “Mayor, can I tell you something without you thinking I’m a crazy old woman?”
“I know you’re not crazy or old, Mrs. Finley. Please do.”
“That Jeremy Covington practically salivated on my Heather when she walked by him at Erin’s wedding. I know you’re looking for a troublemaker at the quarry, and if you ask me, it’s that man right there.”
Zach wanted to ask her how she’d seen that when she’d hidden in the house all day, but getting ahold of Sylvia Hauf and finding Heather was more important.
“Thank you, ma’am. And if you hear from Heather, please call me.”
“Likewise, young man. I’m counting on you to be sure she’s safe.”
“I won’t let you down.” He disconnected the call and did a quick internet search for Sylvia Hauf. “I need a phone and address on this woman,” he said to Sam when the sheriff got off the phone with Dan Bryer. He showed Sam his cell so he could see the social media profile of Heather’s former student.