by Sarah Fox
“Let’s see.” Brett tried a new search, this time using Willa’s name.
We spent a few minutes skimming through the results.
“No, she was never seen or heard from again,” I said in answer to my own question. “And the robbery took place sixteen years ago. That’s plenty of time for Willa to have built a new life.”
“Definitely,” Brett agreed. “So this could be our killer. Does she look familiar to you?”
I examined the photo on the screen. According to the caption, Willa was twenty-four at the time it was taken, only weeks before the robbery and her disappearance. She had fair skin, long white-blond hair, and gray-blue eyes. She was model-thin and stared into the camera with an aloof confidence. Nothing about her seemed familiar.
“No. I don’t recognize her at all. You?”
“No.”
My excitement fizzled away, but I didn’t let myself get too dejected. “Let’s search again, this time using both her name and the headline.”
Brett typed the terms into the search bar and clicked the first result that appeared on the screen. The headline danced across the top of the page in bold letters and under it was a small picture of models on a runway, Willa Stiles in the foreground, the text of the article running beside and beneath the photograph.
“This has to be the page Christine was looking at.” I read quickly through the article.
It repeated the same information we’d read in the previous one, but when Brett scrolled down the page, something we hadn’t seen before appeared. It was a picture of Willa’s boyfriend, Frankie Penz. And not just any picture. A mug shot.
My excitement made a comeback. “This is it. This must be the mug shot Jamal saw when Christine was using his computer. And Willa Stiles must be the person Christine recognized. The murderer.”
“But who is she now?”
I sat back in my chair as I realized that we were no further ahead with that. “I have no idea. I guess we can eliminate some people based on Willa’s height and skin color. But that still leaves several possibilities among the cast and crew, not to mention the people living here in Wildwood Cove.”
“If she’s connected with the movie, maybe someone among the cast and crew would be more likely to recognize her.”
“True. Could you send the head shot to Alyssa and ask her if Willa looks at all familiar?”
“I could.” Brett didn’t sound too keen on the idea.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not all that eager to have more contact with Alyssa. It might encourage her to keep calling and showing up on my doorstep, but I’ll ask her anyway.”
“Hopefully she’ll be out of our hair for good in a few days, but for now we need whatever help we can get. And I’ll ask Jamal the same question. Maybe between the two of them we’ll get our next lead.”
I was about to get up when Brett touched my hand.
“Momentary change of subject here, but can I take you out for dinner next weekend? There’s a nice restaurant in Port Townsend I’d like to take you to.”
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Does there need to be one?”
“No.” I smiled at him. “That would be great. Just not on Saturday, because that’s the night everyone’s coming over to watch the original version of The Perishing.”
“Friday, then?”
“Perfect.” I stood up and took his hand, tugging him to his feet. “Now let’s go crack this case.”
Chapter 26
As soon as I was seated in Brett’s truck, I sent a text message to Jamal, and Brett sent one to Alyssa. Neither of us received an immediate response, so we drove to Brett’s house and decided to stick to our original plan of taking Bentley for a walk. Once on the beach, Brett let Bentley off the leash and the goldendoodle bounded joyfully to the water’s edge. He danced about on the wet sand, but when a breaking wave gave him a good splash, he shook himself off and bounced back our way.
Brett threw a ball for him, and Bentley wasted no time charging off to retrieve it. I zipped up my jacket as the damp wind whipped my hair about my face, and I was glad for the warmth of Brett’s hand holding mine. Above the beach, trees swayed and bowed with the fierce gusts of wind, and only the occasional brave bird wheeled about in the darkening gray sky.
“Looks like the storm will be another big one,” Brett commented as we walked along the beach.
“Which probably means another power outage,” I said. “At least this time I have new batteries in my flashlight.”
I checked my phone as we neared my house. “I’ve got a response from Jamal,” I said, my hopes rising at the sight of the notification. But they quickly plummeted when I read the message. “He says Willa Stiles doesn’t look familiar.” I went on to read the second message he’d sent. “But he says he’ll show the photo to Nicola, since she’s an artist and might be able to see what Christine saw.”
Brett checked his own phone. “Alyssa doesn’t recognize her either. She wants to know why I asked.” He returned his phone to his pocket without sending a response. “I’ll fill her in later. Maybe.”
While Brett threw the ball for Bentley again, I tapped out a reply to Jamal, asking if I could be there when he showed the picture to Nicola. His idea was a good one, and if Nicola could put a current face to the photo, I wanted to know about it right away.
Sure, he wrote back a moment later. Meet you by the craft services tent? There’s no filming today, but I think Nicola’s hanging around town somewhere.
I’ll be there as soon as I can, I responded.
“You want to come?” I asked Brett once I’d filled him in.
“Definitely. I don’t like the idea of you meeting with anyone from the movie on your own.”
“I think Jamal’s okay, but you’re right that I should be cautious. And I’m always glad to have your company.”
To save time, we decided to drive into town in my car. We made a brief stop at my house so I could grab an old towel for Bentley, and Brett wiped away the worst of the sand and water from the dog’s fur before bundling him into the backseat of my blue hatchback. When the trailers came into view on Wildwood Road, I kept an eye out for Jamal while I searched for a legal place to park. I turned onto a side road and had just pulled up to the curb when Brett’s phone rang.
“Alyssa?” I guessed, not without a dose of wariness.
“No. A work call.”
I shut off the engine and waited while Brett spoke with one of his clients.
“From the last storm?” Brett said. After a pause, he glanced my way before saying, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked once he’d ended the call.
“That was the Rigsbys, an elderly couple I do yard work for regularly. There’s a large broken branch on one of the trees in their yard and it’s threatening to come down at any second, right onto the roof of their glass greenhouse.”
“Yikes.”
“I would have put them off for half an hour or so, but I’m afraid that if I don’t show up soon, Mr. Rigsby might try to take care of it himself. He’s like that, but it’s not something he should be doing at his age and with his health problems.”
“It’s all right,” I assured him. “I’ll be in a public place, so I’m sure I’ll be okay meeting Jamal and Nicola on my own.”
I could tell Brett wasn’t in love with the idea of leaving me, but I didn’t give him a chance to suggest that I put off the meeting. That wasn’t something I wanted to do.
“Do you want me to drive you to your place so you can pick up your truck?”
“That’s all right. It’ll only take me a minute to walk there.” He opened the car door and Bentley bounded to his feet in the back. “I’ll get in touch as soon as I’m done so we can meet up again.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
By the time I’d climbed out of the car and had shut the door, Brett was already on his way home, Bentley trotting at his side. I headed in the o
pposite direction, the craft services tent my destination, its flap tied down for the production’s day off. As I approached, I noticed a couple of people walking down the opposite side of the street, but otherwise I couldn’t see anyone nearby. I checked my phone again, but Jamal hadn’t sent me any more messages.
I composed a quick one of my own to send.
I’m here. Are you on your way?
I paced slowly up and down the stretch of grass outside the craft services tent, checking my phone every few seconds. Five minutes passed, feeling more like five hours, but finally a new message popped up on my phone.
Sorry. Had to get away for a bit to think about stuff. I’m at the vacant house on Maple Lane.
That wasn’t a place I wanted to go back to without someone I trusted at my side, not when the murderer might be worried that I was closing in.
How about I meet you out front and we look for Nicola together? I suggested.
This time his response came back quickly: Sure.
Glad to no longer be waiting around by the tent, I struck off along Maple Lane at a brisk pace. The abandoned house was about halfway along the curving street, but no one was waiting for me on the sidewalk or anywhere within sight. I hoped Jamal was sitting on the front steps or was otherwise just out of view, but when I reached the house he was still nowhere to be seen.
I checked my phone again, but I had no further text messages. I was about to send one to Jamal, asking where he was, when a flicker of movement caught my eye.
Nicola had just emerged from around the back of the abandoned house. She didn’t spot me, and as I watched her, she approached a side window and stood on tiptoe, cupping her hands around her eyes as she peered through the glass.
Maybe Jamal had called or texted her and had asked her to meet us here.
“Nicola?” I said, walking toward her.
She jumped at the sound of my voice. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t appear at all pleased to see me.
“Looking for Jamal. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
She regarded me with suspicion. “How did you know that?”
“I arranged to meet him here. Then we were going to look for you.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Some of her suspicion morphed into impatience. “He didn’t tell me anything. What’s going on?”
I hesitated, suddenly unsure if I should tell her about the fact that I thought Christine’s killer was Willa Stiles in disguise. Doing so with Jamal and Brett by my side would have been one thing, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled over me during the last few moments, and I wanted to proceed with caution.
“We wanted to ask you some questions about Christine,” I lied. “Did Jamal tell you to meet him here?”
“Yes. I texted him to see if we could talk, and he said he was here. I wanted to see if he was okay. His dad and I…”
“Are in a relationship,” I finished for her.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You know everyone’s business, don’t you?”
“I heard the two of you weren’t doing a great job of hiding it.”
She frowned and tugged on a lock of her turquoise hair. “We wouldn’t have tried to hide it if not for Jamal. But we weren’t sure how he’d take it. I’m only a few years older than him, so we were worried he might find it weird. But rumors got around, and Pearl told me that Jamal heard about us from someone. He’s a good guy, and I wanted to talk to him about it.”
“You and Del are still together?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“The other day you seemed frightened when he was heading our way.”
She averted her eyes and tugged on her hair again.
“You think he killed Christine.”
She whipped her head back my way. “Of course I don’t think that.” As much as she tried to make her denial sound firm, there was still a waver of uncertainty in her voice. She heard it as much as I did and dropped her hand from her hair. “Del isn’t the killer. He can’t be.”
I figured she was trying to convince herself as much as me.
“Why would you suspect him?”
“The night Christine died, Del was supposed to meet me on the beach so we could spend some time together. That’s why I left the pub early. I didn’t really have a headache.”
“But Del never showed up,” I guessed.
She nodded, albeit reluctantly.
“Did he tell you why?”
“He said he got held up in a meeting with Howard.”
“Howard Eastman, the assistant director?” When she nodded, I asked, “Did you ask Howard if that was true?”
“Of course not. It would be weird for me to quiz Howard about Del’s whereabouts. Besides, I didn’t want anyone else getting suspicious of Del.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced toward the street. “I need to get going.”
“You didn’t find Jamal here?” I asked before she could leave.
“No. He’s either not here now or he’s hiding because he decided he doesn’t want to talk to me after all.”
“You looked for him inside?”
“I only stepped inside the back door. The place is too creepy for me. But I called out to him and got no response. He’s not answering my texts anymore, either.” She glanced at the side window one last time. “I really need to get going. I’m supposed to meet up with some of my colleagues.”
She struck off across the front yard to the sidewalk.
The uneasy feeling that had never quite left me now grew stronger. I noticed for the first time how hidden most of the house was from the view of other properties. Tall trees and bushes ran along the sides and back of the lot, so thick that I could barely make out a decrepit fence in the midst of the branches and foliage. The trees and long grass—left untended in the back unlike in the front yard—danced in the strong wind.
I remained in place by the side of the house, watching Nicola until she disappeared from sight. Even then I didn’t move for several seconds, wanting to be sure that she was truly gone. I didn’t know whom to trust, and although I thought she’d told me the truth about why she was poking around the vacant property, I couldn’t be entirely sure that was the case.
When Nicola didn’t reappear, I picked my way through the overgrown side yard toward the back of the house. The toe of my sneaker hit something solid and I paused. Parting the grass with my hands, I saw a wrench on the ground, abandoned beneath the gas meter. I picked it up, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to have the tool on hand for protection.
As I continued around the corner to the sagging back porch, the ever-strengthening wind rustled through the trees and shook the bushes, and I had an unnerving awareness of the fact that the noise from the growing storm would cover the sound of someone creeping up on me.
Haunted by that thought, I glanced over my shoulder every few steps, but no one lurked behind me. I carefully made my way up the porch steps, tightening my grip on the wrench. Nicola had managed to get the door into its frame and I soon discovered that it wasn’t eager to come out again. I had to put up a good fight to get it open, but eventually succeeded. Before stepping over the threshold, I checked over my shoulder again and then sent a quick text message to Brett, letting him know where I was. Still uneasy, I kept my phone in one hand and the wrench in the other as I stepped into the house.
I remained near the door, listening for any sounds that might indicate someone else was there. I heard the whistling of the wind rushing through a cracked windowpane in the kitchen, and the house moaned beneath the force of the storm’s gusts, but the place was otherwise eerily quiet.
“Jamal?” I called out.
My voice sounded unnatural and extraordinarily loud in the creaking house.
“Jamal, it’s Marley!” I called again when I received no response.
I crossed the kitchen’s dirty floorboards to a door that stood ajar. I opened it and
found myself staring into what at first seemed like a pit of darkness. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I made out the top of a set of stairs leading down into the cellar. I felt around the wall for a light switch but didn’t find one.
I paused and held still.
Had I heard something? Something other than the wind?
I strained my ears, waiting to hear the scuffling sound again.
Nothing.
Maybe I’d imagined it.
I was about to check over my shoulder when there was a loud bang behind me. I gasped and nearly jumped two feet in the air, spinning around and holding up the wrench to protect myself from whatever was there.
It took me a few seconds to realize that I was still alone in the kitchen. The house wasn’t falling down, and no one was about to attack me. But the back door was now closed.
The wind must have slammed it shut.
I let out a breath and closed my eyes until the racing of my heart began to slow. Shaking my head at my jumpiness, I turned back to the cellar stairs and opened the flashlight app on my phone, shining the light downward. At the bottom of the stairway was a dirt floor, but I couldn’t see anything else. I flashed the light from side to side and was about to give up when the glow from my phone illuminated something white for half a second. Training the light back on the object, I realized it was a sneaker.
I leaned forward and caught sight of a denim-clad leg.
“Jamal?” I called out, this time with alarm.
The leg didn’t move. I shifted my grip on my phone, intending to call for help.
Before I had a chance, something struck me hard in the back and I went flying into the darkness.
Chapter 27
I hit the stairs twice before smacking into the packed dirt floor, wrench and phone flying out of my hands. Pain radiated from all points of impact, but the alarm bells screeching in my head drowned out everything else. I knew I needed to move, so I scrambled to my hands and knees, my fingernails digging into the hard dirt as I tried to steady myself.