by Bush, Nancy
“This is it,” she said as Wes parked.
“Yep.”
They both climbed out of the car and headed inside.
Chapter Ten
Lucky circled the parking lot of Twin Oaks Elementary in the Nissan, searching for the source of that noxious aura. She’d left the California plates on the car as Mr. Blue had said they were good, but knew they would be more memorable than Oregon ones, in case anyone was watching. Still, the Nissan was a better choice than the truck, which was definitely too identifiable. If a cop ever attempted to pull her over, however, no matter what vehicle she was in, she was going to make a run for it for all she was worth. Her fake ID wouldn’t hold up for long; technology was just too advanced. Right now, she had Mr. Blue’s .38 in her glove box, too, so, with all those strikes against her should she be caught, she was one of the safest drivers on the road.
She’d dressed in a pair of black slacks, her only pair as she tended to wear jeans, T-shirts, and casual jackets or jogging gear as a rule. She’d had to buy herself a blouse, light gray and conservative, at Macy’s. She’d thought about how she would approach the school and had changed her mind. She wasn’t going to apply for a job, after all. She was going to present herself as a parent who was moving to the area and wanted to preview the school. No worry this way that someone might actually try to look up her employment record.
She gave a last check to her appearance in the rearview: the swept up light brown hair, fake pearl earrings, heavy face makeup, eyeliner and mascara, pale pink lips. She forced a smile at herself and recognized the cautiousness in her hazel eyes. She didn’t think that could be helped.
On her way to the school, she’d turned down the street that would take her past Stefan Harmak’s house. Maybe tonight she could find a way to sneak in with the .38. The thought of shooting him in cold blood bothered her more than she cared to admit. She didn’t mind taking the sick fucks out, but she definitely preferred a more indirect method. Not that she couldn’t do it. She could . . . she had . . . but generally only if they attacked her first.
As she’d drawn close to the Harmaks, she’d seen that the newspeople had dispersed for the moment. More pressing stories were always developing. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t be back, though. Stefan’s mother’s car was in the drive and as Lucky drove by, her heart jolted a bit to see the woman herself come outside with Stefan walking behind her, head down, in jeans and a sweatshirt, both of them heading toward her vehicle.
As soon as Lucky could, she turned onto the nearest street, pulling into one of the driveways, then backing out. She’d then faced back in the direction she’d come just in time to see Stefan’s mother’s car shoot past. Were they going to Twin Oaks? That was the direction they were taking. Even with her different look, Lucky had worried that she might run into Stefan at the school, so she’d followed them, hoping that wasn’t the case.
It wasn’t. Stefan’s mother turned before she reached the school and, at a distance, Lucky had followed them. Stefan and/or the police hadn’t found his van yet, apparently, as she’d had the impression he didn’t want to be anywhere near his mother and yet they were carpooling.
They drove to a nearby Albertsons grocery store. Lucky had stayed back, watching through her windshield. Stefan’s mother climbed out of the car and stared back in at her son through the open driver’s door, clearly pissed. It appeared she wanted him to get out of the car and go in with her, and she wasn’t moving until he did. With great reluctance and a slamming of the passenger door, Stefan stalked after her but stayed about ten feet away.
Lucky had smiled faintly, pulled out of the parking lot, and driven directly to Twin Oaks, reasonably sure that Stefan was otherwise engaged for the time being.
Now she walked toward the front of the school, mentally practicing what she would say. There was a guard at the door as she entered, which made her heart flutter a bit, but he just smiled at her as she made her way to the front counter and offices.
A woman at the desk with flyaway dyed brown hair and a harried look glanced up at her. “May I help you?”
Lucky launched into her rehearsed tale. “My name’s Alicia Trent and my husband and I are moving to the area. Our son, Joshua, is a fourth grader, and he’ll be finishing up at his school in Phoenix in December. I wanted to learn something about each elementary school.”
“What would you like to know?” She shot a worried look toward the guard and there was something about it that made Lucky realize he was a new addition. Possibly because of what had happened to Stefan.
“Could you tell me a little about the principal and your teaching staff?”
“Amy Lazenby, our principal, is absolutely great. Everybody loves her. But I’m not sure she could see you right now. She’s really busy.... Umm . . .” Her eyes tracked back to the guard again. “Our assistant principal, Dave DeForest, might be available. He could tell you about the fourth-grade teachers.”
She swiveled around in her chair and looked at one of the closed doors behind the counter. “Just a minute,” she said, then got up from the chair and, walking as if her knees seriously hurt, moved with an effort to the door and gave it a light knock. There was a soft rumble from an impatient voice within and the woman shot Lucky a smile, holding up one finger, before disappearing inside the room.
Lucky wasn’t picking up the noxious sensation she had earlier. Maybe her quarry wasn’t even here today. Maybe it had come from one of the kids’ fathers instead of a teacher. All she knew for certain was that it had emanated from a man bent on ill deeds; she knew that feeling—scent—well.
Her eyes traveled over the flyers and posters and notes stuck into the bulletin boards that lined the walls surrounding the central desk. She realized a “Fun Night” was scheduled that very evening, a fund-raiser of some kind with a Halloween theme. As the woman made her way back to the counter, Lucky read the nameplate on her desk—MARYANNE. “Would Joshua’s potential teacher perhaps be at this ‘Fun Night’?” Lucky asked her as she reseated herself with a long sigh.
She glanced at the poster. “Oh . . . yeah . . . Most all the teachers attend, if they can. The kids love it. We’re just, umm . . . It may have to be canceled.”
“Oh?”
But Maryanne didn’t elaborate. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry, Dave is busy right now, too. You could wait . . . or maybe come back later?”
“Do you have some paperwork I could look at? A listing of staff, maybe . . . or a calendar of events . . . ?”
“Oh, sure.” She yanked open a drawer and fingered through some files. “I might need to print off another yearly calendar.” Muttering to herself, she slammed the drawer closed, got up again, and made her way slowly toward a back room whose door was open. Lucky could see a bank of file cabinets as Maryanne disappeared within.
Dave DeForest’s office door suddenly opened and he called out impatiently, “Maryanne?” Then louder, “Maryanne?” When his gaze fell on Lucky he stopped short.
“Could I help you?” he asked, his whole manner changing as he came toward her with a smile.
Yeah, asshole, Lucky thought, knowing the paunchy man with the receding hairline liked what he saw. “Are you Mr. DeForest? I’m Alicia Trent. I’m doing a little research on your school in case my son goes here.”
“Ah, yes.” He, too, looked at the guard, a line drawing between his brows. Thinking a moment, he stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels slightly. “I’ve got a little bit of time, as it turns out.”
“Wonderful.” Lucky smiled with an effort. He wasn’t the man she sought. She was reading nothing from him other than the fact that he found her attractive and suddenly had lots of time to spend with her. But he was just the kind of male she couldn’t stand: bullying, self-important, convinced he was God’s gift to women. She didn’t need her sixth sense to pick that up.
Once more she launched into her tale about her mythical husband and fourth-grader, finishing with “. . . so, we’re deciding between two hou
ses, and one of them’s very close to Twin Oaks.”
“Well, whichever house you decide on, you can still choose us as your son’s elementary school. We’re all part of the same school district and we have some flexibility. On this side of town, Twin Oaks and several other elementary schools feed into Brandyne Junior High and Rutherford High School. All great schools. On the other side, the elementary schools feed into Sunset Junior High and Laurelton High. The only issue is the bus route. If you buy on the other side of town, and want to come here, you’ll have to drive your son.”
“So, it doesn’t matter where we buy, as long as it’s in Laurelton.”
“Well . . . we like to think Twin Oaks is the best, of course,” he said with a slow smile.
“Of course.”
“May I say, you don’t look old enough to have a fourth-grade son,” DeForest said.
Lucky eyed him sharply, worried for a moment before she realized he was just paying her a compliment, awkward as it sounded. Before she could respond, Maryanne trundled back with a sheaf of papers. “Gotta have that surgery or I’ll be in a wheelchair before Christmas,” she muttered. “Here’s the school calendar. I don’t have a full staff listing at hand, but I wrote down the names of the fourth-grade teachers. All of them are wonderful.” She slid a look DeForest’s way. “Your conference call is finished?”
“Yes. I was looking for you,” he said coolly.
“I was getting Mrs. Trent what she asked for. My knees, you know.”
DeForest didn’t look like he much cared, though his gaze practically caressed Lucky. Horny old dog, she thought. She’d been down this road too many times to count, but sometimes horny old dogs could be useful to her.
“Can anyone attend Fun Night?” Lucky asked. “If it comes off?”
“Oh, it’s definitely on,” DeForest declared, shooting Maryanne a dark look. “We’re very old-school here, so to speak. It’s one of our primary fund-raisers, along with our silent auction in the spring, but the kids just love Fun Night. You can buy tickets at the door,” he told Lucky. “Bring your son, and husband,” he added as an afterthought.
“We don’t know that it’s really going to—” Maryanne began, looking at the guard.
“We had a strange thing happen,” DeForest cut her off, his attention on Lucky, “and it got some parents worried. There was talk of postponing Fun Night.”
“What happened?” Lucky asked, her pulse running light and fast.
Maryanne and DeForest exchanged looks and then he said reluctantly, “Someone pulled a prank on one of the aides. Tied him to a basketball pole, out in the playground.”
“It was on the news,” Maryanne said.
“That was at this school?” Lucky asked, pretending to be shocked.
“It was a prank. Nothing more,” DeForest assured her quickly.
“Do they know who did it?” she asked.
Maryanne shook her head and rubbed her knees. “That’s why we have the guard now. Amy wanted to be sure everyone was safe. You know, with the way things are now. If one of those psychos should come in here, I’d be a sitting duck with these knees. Couldn’t help myself, let alone the kids!”
“Let’s not get hysterical,” DeForest said. “It was just a prank. We brought the guard in just to calm fears so we could still have Fun Night. I hope this doesn’t put you off, Mrs. Trent.”
“No. It’s all about protecting the kids,” she said with a nod.
“Here, here,” DeForest said.
“Let’s face it. There are some dangerous sickos out there,” Lucky added, getting into her role.
“You can say that again,” Maryanne declared.
“I hope you’ll come,” DeForest said.
“I might. But I’d be by myself. My husband and son are still in Phoenix.”
A smile spread across DeForest’s fleshy face. “Don’t let that stop you. I’ll be by myself, too.”
Maryanne’s head jerked around and she murmured, “I thought Patti was coming with you.”
“She’s not sure,” he said stiffly.
Lucky left them eyeing each other like adversaries. She hadn’t picked up any vibes, but maybe her quarry was still in the building, just too far away for her to feel him. Or, maybe he was a parent. Either way, she thought she might show up for Fun Night and see if she could pinpoint him. If Stefan Harmak decided to attend, of course, things could get too risky. You have to get rid of him once and for all, she reminded herself. From the news reports she’d seen, it didn’t appear that he’d revealed that he’d been abducted by a woman, which gave her extra camouflage—except if she were to come face to face with him.
Climbing into the Sentra, her gaze traveled to the closed glove box and the gun that she knew lay within it. Though shooting him wasn’t her preferred way to kill Harmak, it might be the most effective way to get the deed done.
Tonight, she thought.
The girl behind the circular counter at Stafford Animal Clinic had long brown hair tucked behind her right ear to show a line of silver studs marching along the inside shell of her ear. There was another stud beneath her lower lip that glimmered under the floodlights above the counter. “Can I help you?” she asked, just as loud, frantic barking broke out somewhere in one of the back rooms.
September and Wes showed her their identification and the girl’s eyes widened. Wes said, “We’d like to speak to someone about an ex-employee named Ben Quade.”
“Umm . . . there was no Ben Quade. We had a Bill Quade for a while, but he quit. Well, actually, he was kinda let go.”
“Do you know why?” September asked.
She looked behind her, to the closed doors beyond. “Umm . . . I don’t want to get anybody in trouble, but . . . he was caught trying to steal something.”
“Ketamine hydrochloride?” September tried.
“Oh, you know.” The girl relaxed. “Good Dr. Amato caught him and told him to get out. Bill was pretty pissed and dropped some F-bombs and left.”
“Dr. Amato is one of the vets here?” September asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Is he here now?” she pushed.
She nodded, said, “I’ll go get him,” and went through the door to the back offices. A few minutes later an Asian man came through the door, wearing blue scrubs and a white lab coat. “Can I help you?” he asked, frowning.
Wes said, “We have a victim who died from a mixture of drugs, one of which was ketamine hydrochloride. She was dating a man named Dan Quade whose brother apparently worked here.”
“Bill?” The doctor’s face flushed scarlet. “I caught him in the act. He never got away with any of it. Believe me, I checked the inventory afterward and nothing was taken, so it didn’t come from our clinic.”
“You’re certain,” September said, which made him nod at her fast and hard.
“Bill was verbally abusive when he left. Said he knew where to get the stuff without having to steal from me. He kicked a hole in the wall on his way out! Luckily, he didn’t hurt any of the animals.”
“Did he ever mention his brother?” September asked.
“I didn’t listen to him much,” the doctor said.
“Did you know what he meant about where he would get the ‘stuff ’?” Wes asked.
Dr. Amato drew a deep breath through his nose. “He was a bad hire. If Zach hadn’t recommended him, I would have never allowed him to be a part of our staff, even for the short time he was here.”
“Who’s Zach?” Wes asked.
“Dr. Swanson,” the girl put in. “He’s nice.”
Dr. Amato’s lips tightened. “My partner,” he bit out. “His son was friends with Mr. Quade, apparently.”
“Could we speak to Dr. Swanson?” September asked.
“When he gets back from Barbados, I’ll have him call you,” Amato said tightly.
Clearly, the doctor was nursing some seriously bad feelings. “Do you have an address or phone number for Bill Quade?” she tried.
“In his fil
e, unless he’s moved. I’ll get it,” he said.
He left and then returned a few minutes later with a Laurelton address and a cell phone number. They thanked him for his help, and as soon as they were out of earshot Wes said, “Think the doc was telling the truth?”
“Why?” September asked. “Did you think he wasn’t?”
He shrugged as he pulled out his cell phone and plugged in the number Dr. Amato had given them. “He sure didn’t want the blame blowin’ back on him, but he seemed like the type who would know his inventory.” He listened for a few moments, then clicked off. “Didn’t go through,” he said. “Maybe a prepaid that he ditched.”
“Should we go to the address?” September asked.
“Yeah.”
The apartment building was a U shape with three levels, all of the doors opening to the outside like a motel. They parked in a visitor’s spot, then walked up the stairs to the second level, reaching the door that had been Bill Quade’s unit and finding it ajar. Wes knocked lightly on the panels and the door swung inward on its own. “Hello? Mr. Quade?”
They could see through the living room to a hallway, and there was the sound of a toilet flushing. Then a man stepped into the hallway and glanced at the two of them standing in the doorway. “Hey,” he said.
“Are you Bill Quade?” September asked.
He stilled, as if suddenly connecting on who they might be. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Detective Rafferty and this is—”
“Fuck!” he yelled. “I didn’t take the goddamned stuff. Ask that fuckhead Dr. Amato! I didn’t kill her!”
“You’re talking about Carrie Lynne Carter?” September clarified.
“I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even get the stuff!”
“How did you know what killed her?” Wes asked.
That stopped him and he looked scared.
“May we come in?” September asked.
“No. Hell, no.” He grabbed a coat off the couch and came toward them fast. They moved back to allow him onto the balcony. He looked to be in his early twenties with tousled, curly brown hair and a scruffy beard. He wore a pair of dirty jeans that looked like they were about to fall off his hips, a T-shirt that said I Hate You, and was shrugging into the jacket, which was giving him some trouble.