Renee just nodded. Davey was coming back in the room, bearing glasses of iced tea. “Sarah is here,” Renee said.
Davey nodded gravely. “Of course she is.”
Tyler watched as she walked into the parlor. Sarah. Whom he hadn’t seen in a decade. She hadn’t changed at all. She had changed incredibly. There was nothing of the child left in her. Her facial lines had sharpened into exquisite detail. She had matured naturally and beautifully, all the soft edges of extreme youth falling away to leave an elegantly cast blue-eyed beauty there, as if a picture had come into sharp focus. She was wearing her hair at shoulder length; it had darkened a little, into a deep sun-touched honey color.
He stood. She was staring at him in turn.
Seeing what kind of a difference a decade made.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey!” she replied.
They were both awkward, to say the least. She started to move forward quickly—the natural inclination to hug someone you held dear and hadn’t seen in a long time.
He did the same.
She stopped.
He stopped.
Then they both smiled, and laughed, and she stepped forward into his arms.
It was impossible, of course. Impossible that they had really known what the depths of love could be when they hadn’t even been eighteen. Then he’d felt as if he’d known, right from the first time he’d seen her at school, that he loved her. Would always love her.
That no one could compare.
And now, holding her again, he knew why nothing had ever worked for him. He’d met so many women—lots of them bright, beautiful and wonderful—and yet nothing had ever become more than brief moments of enjoyment, of gentle caring, and never this...connection.
Sarah had called on him because a friend had been murdered, and he was the only one who could really understand just what it was like. This didn’t change anything; whether he loved her or not, she would still be determined to push him away when it came to relying on him, sharing with him...
Back then, she hadn’t even wanted him near.
They drew apart. It felt as if the clean scent of her shampoo and the delicate, haunting allure of her fragrance lingered, a sweet and poignant memory all around him.
“You are here,” she said. “Thanks. I know this is crazy, but...Hannah. To have survived what happened that October, and then...have this happen. I understand you’re in some kind of law enforcement.”
“No. Private investigator. That’s why I’m not so sure how I can really be of help here.”
“Private investigators get to—investigate, right?” Sarah asked.
“Why don’t you two sit down?” Renee suggested.
“Sit, sit. Have tea!” Davey said happily.
Once again, Tyler sat. For a moment, the room was still, and everyone in it seemed to feel very awkward.
“I’m glad you came,” Sarah said. “Not that I really know anything. I belong to a great writers’ group that brings us down to the FBI offices once a year for research, but...I really don’t know anything. I don’t think the FBI is involved. New York police, high-crimes or whatever they call it division... I just—The killing...sounds way too familiar!”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah. Though psychopaths have beheaded and sliced up victims many times, I’m sorry to say. And, of course,” he said, pausing then to take a breath, “well, we were there. We saw the killer die back then.” He looked over at Davey and smiled tightly, still curious about how Davey had sensed so much of what had gone on. “We were all there. We saw him die. Davey was a hero.”
“My dad. My dad was with me,” Davey said.
“In all he taught you, and all you learned so well!” Renee said, looking at her son, her soft tone filled with pain for the husband she’d lost.
“The police may already have something,” Tyler said. “When a murder like this occurs, they hold back details from the press. You wouldn’t believe the number of crazy people who will call in and confess to something they didn’t do, wanting what they see as the credit for such a heinous crime. I have friends in Boston who have friends in New York. Maybe I can help—all depends on whether they want to let me in or not.”
“Sarah has friends, too!” Davey said.
Sarah looked at him. “I do?”
“Kieran!”
“I haven’t talked to her in a while,” Sarah murmured.
“Who is Kieran?” Tyler asked.
“A friend, yes,” Sarah said, looking at him. “She and her brothers inherited a very old Irish pub on Broadway—downtown, near Trinity and St. Paul’s. The oldest brother manages, Kieran works there sometimes.”
“You worked there!” Davey said.
“I did—I worked there through college,” Sarah said. “Anyway, Kieran is a psychologist who works with two psychiatrists, Drs. Fuller and Miro. They often work with the police—they’re geniuses when it comes to the criminal psyche. And her boyfriend is a special agent with the FBI. So, yes, if I asked for help...”
“That’s excellent,” Tyler told her. “And it could really help, as far as finding out whatever information there is forthcoming. Other than that... I’m not law enforcement.”
“But people hire PIs all the time,” Renee said.
“When someone is missing, the family might hire someone. In murder investigations that go cold...”
“We can hire you!” Davey said happily.
“We’re not her family,” Sarah said.
“That doesn’t matter. We were her friends,” Davey said. He was quiet a minute and made one of his little frowns. “She was mean to me sometimes, but she was my friend, too. Mostly she was nice to me.”
They all fell silent.
“I’ll figure something out, and I’ll keep you posted. I do have a legal standing as a private investigator, but it’s a lot nicer if the police want me involved.”
Sarah nodded. Again, they were all quiet.
“So, what’s happening in your life, Tyler?” Renee asked. “It’s so very long since we saw you. Davey has missed you.”
“I know what Tyler has been doing! I follow his page,” Davey said. “He dated a model! Pretty girl, Tyler. I think, though, Sarah is prettier. But I saw the pictures of you.”
“She’s very nice,” Tyler said. “She’s—in Romania now. Shooting a catalog, or something like that.”
“You must miss her,” Davey said.
“We were casual friends.”
“BFFs. That’s friends with benefits,” Davey told his mother, certain she wouldn’t know.
“Davey!” Renee said. “Please, Tyler came as a favor. Let his private life be private.”
Davey had lowered his head. He was chewing on a thumbnail, something he did, if Tyler recalled rightly, when he was nervous—or hiding something.
“You’ve got to be able to help somehow,” Sarah said, as if she hadn’t heard any of their exchange. “I’m so frustrated. I feel so worthless. And I feel terrible that I didn’t keep up with her. I mean...we were friends once. I don’t know what that night did to her. We all dealt with it differently. But...” She paused, inhaling a deep breath. “Sean suggested there was something—”
She broke off again. He knew what she was going to say. In the confusion with police and parents—and the horror that seemed almost worse when it was over and the garish lights were on—both Sean and Hannah had suggested there was something weird about Davey.
That it was downright scary, the way he had known something was really wrong.
“We talked. Davey told me. I think the police understood, but others didn’t. My uncle taught Davey to watch people—to have excellent situational awareness, like an operative or a cop. Because people can be so cruel and mean. My uncle wanted Davey to be able to protect himself from that. Davey knew when kids wanted to—to make fun
of him. He was good at avoiding such people. He was amazing at looking out for bullies. He saw that man...Archibald Lemming. He’d noticed him earlier. And he’d seen him go into that particular haunted house, and that was how he knew. But...”
“I told them,” Davey said, nodding grimly. He brightened. “But they lived!”
“You were a hero,” Sarah assured him.
Davey’s smile faded and he looked grim. “But now Hannah is dead. And I’m afraid.”
“You don’t need to be afraid, Davey,” Sarah assured him quickly. “You’ll never be without one of us.”
“Or my girlfriend!” he said brightly. “Megan,” he reminded Tyler.
“Trust me, young man. Megan’s mom and I will make sure you two aren’t in any danger. Someone will be with you,” Renee said.
“Can we still kiss and all?” Davey asked.
“We’ll look away,” Renee promised. She shook her head. “We’re trying to keep it real—they have ten-year-old minds in grown-up bodies.”
Davey giggled. Then again he looked grim. “It’s scary. Sarah has to be with somebody, too.”
Sarah smiled and reached over and patted his hand. “Davey, I won’t be out late at night. I won’t be anywhere without friends.”
“You live alone.”
“You could come stay here,” Renee said.
“Aunt Renee,” Sarah said, “I need to be near the universities. And here’s the thing. We know Archibald Lemming is dead. What happened to Hannah is tragic, and one of those horrible events in life that happen to mirror another. I’ll be careful. But I’m always careful. I grew up as a New Yorker, remember? I’ve been savvy and wary a long, long time. Besides...” She paused and looked over at Tyler. “This must be...random. The act of some horrible, twisted thing that parades as a human being. Tyler...Tyler went to war. He knows very bad things happen.”
“We followed you when you were deeped,” Davey said.
“Deployed,” Aunt Renee said.
“We were afraid you wouldn’t come back,” Davey said.
“Well, I am here, and I will find out what I can to help see that this man who killed Hannah meets a justice of his own, I promise,” Tyler said.
He rose. He did need to get checked into his hotel room. And he needed to find out if the people he knew had been able to pull any strings for him.
“You have my number?” Sarah asked him.
He smiled at her curiously. Of course he did. They had been texting.
“Same number, right?”
She shook her head. “Well, it’s the same as about five years ago?”
Tyler frowned. “But...you have my number?”
“Has it changed?”
“Never. It’s the same one I’ve been texting you on.”
“I—I didn’t get a text. Davey told me you were coming.”
Davey was up on his feet and running out of the room.
“Get back here!” Sarah commanded.
Davey hadn’t quite made the door. He stopped and turned around.
He looked at Sarah.
“He needed to come. Tyler needed to come. I...”
“You pretended to be me,” Sarah said. “Davey! You must never do things like that!” she added with dismay.
“Davey, I should cut your texting time with Megan!” Renee said firmly.
Davey sat down, crossing his arms over his chest, his lips set stubbornly. “Tyler is here. He needed to be here.” Then he threw his arms out dramatically. “Do what you will!”
“Just don’t do it again! Ever!” Sarah said, horrified.
She looked at Tyler. “I’m so sorry. I never would have twisted your arm, made you come here. I mean, it was on national news, you’d hear about it, but...”
“I need to be here,” Tyler said softly. “Davey is right. I’ve got some things to do. I’ll be back with you later. We may need help from your friend.”
“Kieran,” she said. “Kieran Finnegan. And she’s living with a man named Craig Frasier. He’s—he’s great. I don’t know if the FBI will be investigating this, but...”
“We’ll talk to him.”
He wanted to hold her. To pull her to him. But she was already trying to back away. She hadn’t done it—hadn’t contacted him. Davey had. And Tyler needed to remember that.
“I’ll be in touch later tonight,” he said.
He didn’t hug her goodbye. But as he went to the door, Davey raced to him. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay. You’re right. I need to be here. The police might already have a lead on this madman, okay? But I’ll be here.”
He nodded to Renee and Sarah, then headed out of the house. He imagined Sarah might follow him, tell him that the years had been wasted for her, too, that she knew, just seeing him again, that...
Didn’t happen.
He drove into the city and checked himself—and his car, which was as expensive to park as booking another room!—into his hotel. He had barely reached his suite before his phone rang.
And this time, it was actually Sarah.
“Tyler,” she said excitedly. “We’re in!”
“What?”
“This makes me feel worse than ever, but...I just got a call from a lawyer. Tyler, Hannah left a will. She has me listed as next of kin. She didn’t have much money—barely enough for her funeral,” Sarah said softly. “But that means that I can hire you, that it can all be legitimate, right?”
“I can work the case—even work it as if you’ve hired me. That’s not the point. I have to form some relationships, step carefully, keep in with the police. We need everyone working together.”
“But I am next of kin. You will stay, you will—”
“I will stay,” he promised her softly.
And a moment later, he heard her whisper, “Thank you. Thank you!”
And then...
“Tyler?”
“Yes?”
“I am so sorry. I don’t know why...I lost everyone. I should have been her friend. I really should have been her friend.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Time doesn’t change things like that. You were her friend. And...you’re still my friend, Sarah. I still love you. I will see this through, I promise.”
And he hung up before she could say anything else.
Chapter Two
“Survivor’s guilt,” Kieran Finnegan said softly.
Kieran was a good friend. While the hectic pace of her life—she worked as a psychologist for a pair of psychiatrists who worked frequently with the police, FBI and other law enforcement agencies, and helped out at the family pub—often kept her in a whirlwind where she didn’t see much of her friends, she was the kind of person who was always there when she was needed.
Sarah had called her that morning.
It was Sunday noon. Hannah’s body had been discovered the morning before; last night, Tyler had come to Aunt Renee’s house.
And while Finnegan’s on Broadway was doing a sound weekend business—they had a traditional roast entrée every Sunday that was very popular—Kieran was sitting down with Sarah. Of course, Finnegan’s was in good shape that day as far as staff went, and since Sarah had once worked there, she could probably hop back in to help at any time herself, just as Kieran would do if the need arose.
Kieran had assured Sarah she would be there to spend some time with her, talk to her. As a very good friend would do.
That made Sarah feel all the worse about the lousy friend she had been herself.
“Survivor’s guilt?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Honestly, I don’t think so. I mean, what happened years ago...all of us survived. We survived because of Davey, though, honestly...some of the guff he had to take afterward! People wanted to know what kind of a medium
or seer he was. ‘Down Syndrome Boy Sees Evil.’” She was quiet for a minute. “Well, I have to admit, I was young and easily irritated, and Hannah...” She bit her lip and shrugged. “I was annoyed. She liked to have Davey around for the publicity, but then wanted me to leave him home if we were going out for the night or clubbing. She would use him when it seemed he was drawing a lot of attention, and then be irritated if we were spending any real time with him. But now...”
“From what I’ve gleaned through the media, her murder was brutal,” Kieran murmured. “And far too similar to the method of the massacre at the theme park. Here’s the thing. You’re experiencing terrible guilt because Hannah is dead, and she was your friend—even it was a while ago. You both survived something horribly traumatic. But now she is dead. And you are alive. And all that happened before is rushing back. But, Sarah, you’re not guilty of anything. Hannah survived that night—along with your other friends—because of Davey. You felt protective of Davey. That was only right. So quit feeling guilty. Hannah did choose to live a dangerous lifestyle. That doesn’t mean what was done to her isn’t every bit as horrid and criminal. But she may have put herself in danger. You have done nothing wrong. Of course, you could learn to be a bit more open to the possibility there are good people out there, and good things just might happen—and most of your friends truly love Davey.”
Sarah leaned back and picked up her coffee cup, grinning. “Do I have a really big chip on my shoulder? I’m not sure whether I should enter therapy or say ten Hail Marys!”
“Do both!” Kieran suggested with a shrug. She let out a sigh. “Sarah, if you weren’t really upset, you wouldn’t be human, and I’d have to worry about you. Or rather, you would be a sociopath and I would have to worry about you.” She shook her head. “Craig was saying that it was uncanny—the remarkable resemblance to what happened before.” She hesitated. “In the actual killing, that is. Archibald Lemming found himself an amazing venue in which to carry out his bloodlust—what better than a haunted house? But it isn’t him.”
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