by Terry Odell
She stood, exhaustion making her knees wobble, to wash the coffee pot as her last task of the day. A light knock came from the back door.
Scott? And if it was, so what? She’d send him home. Too little, too late. She went to the door. Not Scott.
“Lorna? What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you were gone. You know, hiding.” The words weren’t coming out right.
Lorna sidled past Ashley. “I probably shouldn’t be here. But I had to find out how everything went. I thought I could help with cleanup, since I’d said I would, but it looks like I’m too late.”
“It’s done. I was on my way home.”
Lorna dropped her gaze. “I … um … I wanted to talk. You … um … you said you were in a … problematical relationship once. I thought you might be willing to give me some advice. About starting my life again. I know it’s late. But I don’t want to be around during the day. You know, in case someone sees me and tells Thad. Will you? Over coffee?”
Ashley’s heart went out to Lorna. It wasn’t really that late—not even ten. She could put off sleep for half an hour. “All right. But I’m coffeed out. I think I drank an entire pot of your Irish Cream.”
Lorna grinned. “I’m glad you liked it. I know this great, quiet place we can talk.” She wrapped her arm around Ashley’s waist. “My car’s right outside.”
Ashley was half-aware of being helped inside Lorna’s car. This was more than a post-rush crash. There was something wrong with her brain.
Her stomach roiled. Was she sick? Food poisoning? The flu? Oh, God, had she infected everyone who’d been at the bakeoff?
“Lorna, I don’t feel so well. Maybe we can talk another time.”
The words felt like someone else was saying them. They were in her head, but she wasn’t sure they were coming out her mouth. Lorna didn’t respond. She merely started the car and drove away.
Before they’d gone far, the motion of the car lulled her, drew her under. Then someone was shaking her shoulder.
“We’re here. Time to get out.”
“What?” Ashley blinked into darkness. Lorna leaned into the car, her face illuminated by the dome light.
“It won’t be long now.” She tugged on Ashley’s arm. “I’m so glad you drank all that coffee. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to talk you into having enough. You’ll just fall asleep. Like the others.”
“Others?” Ashley stumbled along. The chilly night air seemed to help clear a brain that had turned to meringue.
“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t have a thing for Thad. I found your address in his desk. And your name. With a heart around it. And all those nights working late. He couldn’t keep it in his pants. Felicity. Elaine. You.”
“Me? Thad? Who?”
Lorna tugged harder, leading Ashley farther from the car. Where were they? It was too dark. Her legs. She was walking. Why couldn’t she feel them?
“He was one of your work crew.” Lorna’s voice floated in from far away. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even bother to know his name before you slept with him. Or maybe you knew him by his work name. Sparky.”
“Sparky? Slept? No. Never.”
“As if I believe you. But even if you hadn’t yet, you would have. Everyone jumped into bed with him.”
Fear counteracted some of the drug’s effects. Heart pounding, she struggled to remain conscious. “What did you give me?”
Lorna snorted. “One of the perks of all those beatings. I got a lot of prescriptions for painkillers. I don’t remember exactly which one I used in your coffee. Oh, and by the way, it was decaf. Couldn’t risk the caffeine counteracting the effects of the drugs. And I didn’t think you’d go for cocoa.” They’d stopped moving. “I think this is good. Sit down.”
Ashley felt herself being lowered to the ground. Asphalt. She was in an alley. Not far from a Dumpster, she assumed from the stench of garbage. But where? How long had they been driving? Was she in Pine Hills, or somewhere else? The lone street light seemed miles away.
“How? Why? Felicity? Elaine?” Ashley formed the words carefully, forcing them past her thick tongue.
“Sure, why not? It’s not like you’re going to tell anyone. Thad had a key to your bakery. The contractor had given him one so he could get in early to fix some electrical work he’d purposely screwed up—for that bitch—and he never gave it back. It wasn’t hard to arrange a meet between him and Felicity. I sent her an e-mail from his phone telling her he wanted to meet there. Then I texted him from my disposable cell phone that she wanted to discuss one more sabotage job. I waited until they were both there. I went in, and said I knew everything. But we should be able to discuss it like rational adults, over hot chocolate.
“I left Felicity, but got Thad into his truck and drove him to a vacant lot and waited until he was out of it. I took his wallet, phone, and then drove his truck to Salem. I spent the night in that parking lot, freezing my ass off in the truck. Next morning, I caught a bus back to Pine Hills.”
Ashley tried to process the information. Lorna was a killer. Apparently a cold-blooded killer. “Elaine?”
“Another one of Thad’s conquests. She was thrilled I’d volunteered to fetch and carry for her on a last-minute photo shoot. Of course, there was no shoot in Bend, and she never got there. She had a weakness for cocoa, too, it seemed.”
Ashley’s heart thudded. Poor Elaine. She had just started to like working with the woman. “But if Thad was dead … why kill Elaine? He couldn’t cheat on you anymore.” Drugs or no drugs, Lorna’s laugh sent icicles down Ashley’s spine.
“You don’t get it. Thad was mine. Anyone who cheated with him has to be punished.”
“But … I … never …” The world faded. She fought the overwhelming fatigue sucking her into its depths. She had to stay awake. To stay alive. To tell Scott—no, not Scott. Her brain wasn’t that addled yet. Detective Kovak and Randy. Dare she close her eyes, pretend she was asleep? Long enough for Lorna to leave. Lorna wasn’t going to stick around to make sure she was dead, was she?
***
Scott lugged his television set down the hall to his apartment. If he was going to be spending his nights alone—and it most definitely looked like he was—he might as well be able to catch a few games. Maybe watch a movie. Maybe not, as he remembered the night he and Ashley had almost watched one at her place.
As he connected the television and recorder box, he wondered how her bakeoff was going. He hadn’t heard her come back. He’d almost gone to the bakery. To watch. To see how things went. Not to talk to her. Not because he still felt something ring in his chest when he saw her. Or thought of her.
Maybe in a few weeks—or months—he’d be able to look at her without remembering what an asshole he was. Maybe he’d find the right words and they could start again.
But he knew she’d never accept him until he got over the aftereffects of the robbery. Talking to her hadn’t been a catharsis as much as an exercise in humiliation.
Get over yourself. You’re a coward, like you were at the bank. A total fuckup.
Because he’d downplayed everything when he’d recounted it for Ashley. Ignored the debilitating fear, the total helplessness he’d felt. The fear that still had him waking up in a cold sweat. There was no way he could consider a relationship. Who’d be able to put up with someone consumed by fear? He couldn’t deal with it, how could he expect someone else to?
Regroup. Move forward. Forget the damn past.
From now on, he’d focus on the work. He’d go in, do his job, go home. Leave the station, leave the job behind until the next day. The way he had tonight. Kovak and Detweiler were doing the detective thing. He’d simply packed up and gone home. Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to have been there today to begin with.
He’d been a fool to accept the job at Pine Hills. Thinking he needed to be on the job. Monday, he’d make it clear he was strictly civilian. No consorting with the sworn officers.
But could he? Should he be working there at all?
Maybe it was time to think about a totally unrelated line of work. Truly sever connections with his past.
He checked the time. Almost ten. Maybe he could catch the tail end of the bakeoff. Show his support.
Shut up. You want to see her.
Just see her. Just pop in. Just for a minute. Heck, maybe she and her friends were out celebrating. He wouldn’t believe they’d be drowning sorrows. She’d worked so hard, overcome so much. It had to have been a success.
Fuck. He grabbed his keys and his jacket. He’d already proven he was a jerk. How much worse could it be if he groveled, too?
Approaching the bakery, he could see the lights were still on. His heart pumped. She was there. He almost turned around.
Coward, coward, coward.
He slowed as he passed the bakery. The shop was empty. So, the event was over. Which meant Ashley was likely in there alone. Again, the temptation to go home almost overwhelmed him.
Before he could change his mind, he swung around to the rear parking lot. Ashley’s car was there, the sole car in the lot. He parked next to it, inhaled, counted to ten, then exhaled.
Forcing himself to keep breathing, he practiced saying, “I’m sorry. I’m a jerk,” as he made his way to the back door. Which was ajar. His heart thumped, but for a totally new reason.
Damn.
Relax. She was probably carrying things to and from her car. He’d arrived between trips. His gut said otherwise.
All he could see was Ashley lying dead on the floor. Like Felicity Markham. Like Rina. He blinked the images away, but couldn’t do anything about the sweat filming his body or the blood pounding in his ears.
Was she even in there? If he called Detweiler or Kovak and there was nothing wrong, he’d feel like an idiot. Without a weapon, he didn’t want to open the door. But what if Ashley was inside? What if something had happened? Waiting for backup might be too late. Backup? What the hell was he thinking? He was a civilian. Civilians didn’t call for backup.
Crap. He stepped out of the doorway and flattened himself against the wall. “Ashley?” he called, keeping his tone relaxed. Friendly. Just someone dropping by.
Silence. Fuck. He went to his car, grabbed the tire iron from the trunk and went back to the door. She might be in the bathroom. How would he explain holding a tire iron?
This is why you can’t be a cop anymore. You’re overthinking everything. Do your job.
Which, as the private citizen he was, would be to call the police and report the unlocked door and his concern. They’d send a patrol officer over.
Hell, he could have been in and out in the time he’d spent debating the options with himself. He yanked the door open, tire iron lifted. “Ashley! Are you in here?”
Again, silence greeted him. The aroma of chocolate filled his nostrils. No blood. No decomp.
So where was she? He called out again. More silence. He stepped inside, through the small mudroom, through the kitchen. Nothing out of place. No body on the floor. Nothing but crumbs and crumpled napkins. Her office door was open. And her purse lay on her desk.
His heart rate kicked into overdrive. He called Dispatch. A uniform would be there within five minutes. He called Kovak. And Detweiler. Scott backed out of the bakery. And waited. Helplessness washed over him. Threatened to pull him under. Red and blue lights flashed in the distance.
He clawed his way back from the depths of his despair. He’d been a cop for over ten years. One lousy day wasn’t going to destroy everything he’d learned. He scrubbed a hand across his face and stared Brody straight in the eye when the officer exited his patrol car.
And Brody, thank God, gave no indication this was a waste of his time. “Dispatch said you found an unlocked door.”
The young officer’s face showed apprehension. Probably remembering what he’d found the last time he’d been to the bakery. No time for that now. Scott reported to Brody the same way he’d done countless times when he’d been a patrol officer, describing what he’d found. As Scott spoke, Brody’s control slipped into place.
“No woman leaves her purse behind. Not willingly,” Scott said.
“I’ll check.” Brody disappeared inside the bakery. Scott tried to distance himself. This was another case. One of hundreds he’d investigated.
None of those, however, involved someone he loved.
And where the hell had that come from? He’d known her a week. He didn’t fall in love, and when he did, if he did, it would take a lot longer than a week.
So why did he feel like puking? Like his life would be over if something had happened to Ashley?
“No sign of foul play.”
Scott snapped to reality at Brody’s words. “That’s her car.” He pointed. “Wherever she is, she’s with someone else. And I doubt very much she left willingly. Let me see her purse.”
Brody hesitated. “Part of the scene. I can’t move it. Not until the detectives get here.”
“You have a camera, don’t you? Shoot it in situ first. I’ll take the blame.”
Brody left and came back wearing gloves and carrying Ashley’s purse. Without comment, he handed Scott a second pair of gloves. Scott snapped them on, less efficiently than usual. If Brody noticed Scott’s hands trembling, he had the decency not to say so.
“Damn,” Scott said when he looked inside. “Her phone is here. So much for tracking her.”
A car wheeled into the lot, pulling up beside the men. Kovak got out, and Scott filled him in.
“That her purse?” Kovak asked.
“Yes,” Scott said. “It was on her desk in her office.” When Kovak lifted his eyebrows in Brody’s direction, Scott defended the officer’s actions. “I asked for it. Brody took pictures before he brought it out.”
“Anything helpful?” Kovak asked.
Scott shook his head. “Like a note saying, ‘I’m at the Wagon Wheel having drinks with friends?’ No, looks like ordinary female stuff.”
Kovak pulled on a pair of gloves and took the purse to look for himself. Scott got the feeling his own privacy was being violated. He shook it off.
When Detweiler arrived, he went straight to the back door of That Special Something and unlocked it. Scott and Kovak exchanged a puzzled look, then followed. Detweiler was inside the shop’s office, pressing buttons on a DVR box. “Security camera. After Sarah had trouble, I insisted she install one. If we’re lucky, whoever took Ashley didn’t know it was there. It’s got a fairly wide-angle lens, so it should pick up the area outside the bakery.”
Kovak clapped Scott on the shoulder. “Someone grabbed Sarah. He knows what you’re going through. We’ll get her back.”
Knows what I’m going through? I don’t even know what I’m going through where Ashley’s concerned.
He focused his attention on the small monitor as Randy reversed the recording until a car pulled into the lot and parked next to Ashley’s. A figure, female from the looks of it, dressed in black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt got out of the car. Randy slowed the recording and they watched her move, head lowered, toward the back door of the bakery, but she went out of frame before she got there.
“Fast forward,” Scott said, restraining the urge to shove Detweiler out of the way and take over the machine. He stared at the monitor, afraid to blink.
“There,” Kovak said. “She’s coming out. With someone else.”
“Ashley,” Scott said. The first woman was supporting her. Ashley’s gait was irregular, but to Scott’s relief, she was walking. They watched another minute, until the car drove away. Scott squinted at the timer on the monitor, then at the clock. “That was twenty minutes ago. Can you get a plate on the car?”
“Not here, not with this machine,” Detweiler said. “But we should be able to zoom in and enhance the image back at the lab.”
Scott was halfway to his car before Detweiler said anything else.
***
Ashley struggled to clear her head. She had to get rid of Lorna. Once she was gone, Ashley could figure ou
t how to escape. Get help. Do something. She’d had a lot of the drugged coffee, but spread out over several hours, diluted with the cream and sugar she added, it shouldn’t be so bad. Should it?
My God, what if she’d regifted Lorna’s coffee herself? Or shared it? Or served it to customers? Lorna was truly sick if she’d risk a random poisoning.
Ashley refused to think of that. Or Felicity. Or Thad. Or Elaine. Or anyone else Lorna thought Thad had slept with. Right now, she was all she had, and she wasn’t going to die. Her first priority was staying awake. Whether it would make a difference in the long run was another question. One she couldn’t deal with now.
Forcing her brain to stay alert, she feigned sleep. Eyes shut. Breathe. Slowly. In, out. In, out. Don’t fall asleep. Stay alert. Think about something. Anything.
Step by step, she ran through a recipe. Finding each ingredient. Setting it on the counter. Repeating until each component was lined up. Then, measure. Slice.
Chop. Sift. Put each container away. Crack the eggs. Separate them. Make sure there’s no yolk in the white. Put the whites in the mixer.
A car door slammed. An engine started. Ashley listened to the car drive away. And waited, heart pounding. Was it a trick? Was Lorna coming back?
When she was afraid she’d drift off if she kept her eyes closed any longer, Ashley braved a peek through slitted lids. Nothing. But did that mean Lorna was gone, or just not standing over her? It made more sense for Lorna to leave. Why risk someone coming by and seeing her?
Ashley held her breath, straining to hear anything that would indicate someone else was there. When she heard nothing, she gave a quiet groan. Nothing happened.
Now or never. She opened her eyes fully, and lifted her head. Which was a mistake. Pain speared behind her eyes. This time there was nothing quiet or fake about her groan.
She worked her way up to her knees. No sign of Lorna’s car. Staggering to her feet, she tried to get her bearings. She’d been right. She was in an alley. Nobody would find her here.
She staggered down the alley. Her stomach churned. She fought the nausea. No. If she’d ingested the drug, maybe some of it was still in her stomach. She leaned against a brick wall. Would throwing up help? The point became moot as whatever was left in her stomach took the reverse route.