by Bush, Nancy
“Does it look like Champs gave him the ketamine?”
“The deputies weren’t sure. Champs is kind of like a mystic. Believes in all sorts of herbal remedies. He could be the dealer, or he could be someone Quade found it convenient to blame. At least Quade’s admitting he gave it to Carrie Lynne, for recreational use only. He just happened to then move on to the next girl and Carrie Lynne used it to take her life. I don’t like the guy, but I believe him.”
“What about Champs?”
“I’m gonna keep an ear to the ground. Keep checking with Clatsop County.”
“Okay, is that it?”
“Uh-uh. We’ve got another missing person. A sixth-grade girl spent the night with her dad—part of a custody arrangement—but when he dropped her off at the mom’s, Mom wasn’t there. He left without checking and the girl called it in. Wasn’t Mom’s usual MO.”
“Maharis on it?” September was walking through fits of wind-driven rain to her car, her coat practically ripped from her fingers where she was holding it together with her right hand.
“Yeah, but get this. The girl, Molly Masterson, goes to Twin Oaks.”
That caught her up short. “It’s barely been a week since Stefan was left tied to the pole.”
“Which is another thing. Stefan had gunshot residue on his right hand. Latest theory is he might have shot himself by mistake, maybe wrestling for the gun. If we catch our vigilante, it may be hard to prove murder.”
“When we catch her, Wes. And I’ll worry about proof then.” She climbed into the Pilot. “Jesus, Wes. Is that all? I was going to say we haven’t heard from Keith Collier yet, so I might have to track him down.”
“Maybe you won’t have to,” he said breezily. “I could have all our cases wrapped up by the time you get here.”
“Bull. Shit.”
She hung up on his rolling laughter.
Lucky followed Ugh to school and waited in her Sentra while he went inside. She’d trailed him to a cul-de-sac the night before and had waited impatiently for him to come out, hoping he was just making a stop off before he went to a bar. She’d been afraid to turn into the cul-de-sac in case someone saw her and so she’d parked outside of that tight circle, settling in to wait along the cross street. She had dared to take a stroll along the sidewalk in front of the houses and duck into a park across from the house Ugh’s Lexus was in front of, but she couldn’t see through the curtained windows, so she’d had to go back to her car. Fairly early in the evening she’d seen the Lexus come out of the cul-de-sac, and she’d thought maybe he would head for a bar, but instead she followed him all the way to his driveway. She’d thought about sneaking along the neighbor’s fence again, but too many cars were passing by at that time and a woman with a German shepherd was out walking her dog, so she stayed put. By the time she dared to sneak along the hedge and spy on him, the Lexus was parked by the station wagon and the house was dark save for a light in the back that might have come from the kitchen.
He was in for the night. He’d clearly met up with whoever lived at the house and that had been enough. A woman? The one he’d been flirting with in the school parking lot on Monday? Someone else? Someone young?
No. She didn’t think so. She sure as hell hoped not. If he’d actually hurt someone on her watch . . .
She inhaled and let out her breath heavily. She was going to have to intercept him, but where? Not here.
Did she dare just go to his house? Show up with some sweet dreams in a thermos and dressed in her short, short skirt and say what? Hi, Mr. Harding. I’m here to give you what you want....
It would be so much easier if he would just hit a bar. Alone. Without the woman from the parking lot or anyone else.
Discouraged, she turned back to the Creekside Inn.
The service for Stefan at Rigby House, a venue for memorials, meetings, and octogenarian birthday parties, was blessedly short. Apart from the Rafferty clan and a smattering of the Twin Oaks staff, it was very poorly attended. September sat between July and Evie, who’d insisted on going, though March, clearly annoyed and baffled by his daughter’s request, had tried to talk her out of it. Throughout the service, Evie clutched September’s hand, and September squeezed back, silently letting her know that she understood.
Auggie made an appearance but stayed in the back of the room, acknowledging September with a nod. She would have liked to meet with him and tell him about Evie, but that was for the future. Clearly Evie hadn’t confessed what she knew about Stefan to her father; September hoped she’d been more forthcoming with her mother. Time would tell.
Verna cried throughout the service, while Rosamund, tucked close to Braden in a black sheath that showed her growing bump, looked properly serene, stoic, and sympathetic, playing the part for all it was worth.
“She glows,” July muttered in disgust. “Look at me. I’ve never looked worse.”
July’s skin was several shades paler than normal and her blue eyes were a bit sunken. September decided not to say anything one way or the other, so July snorted. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“You don’t look that bad.”
“Gee, thanks.”
As soon as it was over, September was outside, dialing her cell phone. She called Jake’s mother, who told her the surgery was over and went well.
July caught up to her, her own baby bump barely visible, though she did look like it was a hellish pregnancy. “You okay?” she asked.
“Best day of my life.”
“What the hell does that mean?” she asked crossly.
“Jake’s through his surgery and he’s going to be okay.”
Graham’s head was not in the moment. Teaching was such a painful task, and the blank stares of his students, as if they were all stoned, generally made him want to slap them silly and scream at them to wake up. Today, however, it felt like all those eyes, row upon row of them, were staring him down, like they knew.
It had taken him well past midnight to get Claudia Livesay in the ground. The wind had been fierce and those sudden buckets of rain chilled him to the bone. Afterward, he’d stayed in the shower until he’d run the water heater out of hot water. Even then he was shivering—from the cold and so much more.
When he’d gotten to school the news was already out. Ms. Livesay wasn’t home when Molly got dropped off by her dad! The girl had to call 911 herself! Where was she? Did something happen to her?
Mrs. Pearce grabbed his arm when their third-period classes were letting out. “Oh, my God, Graham. What do you think happened?”
The girl with the rosebud lips had filed out of her room behind the rest of the children, throwing a worried look over her shoulder at her teacher.
“What’s her name?” he asked, lost in his own world.
“What? Whose?”
He tried to focus on Pearce. Her forehead was puckered, her lips pinched. “Umm . . . Molly’s mother. I can’t think of it.”
“Claudia. Livesay. She goes by her maiden name. You know it,” she chided. “Oh, my. I feel just awful for Molly. Where is she? I mean, you don’t just leave your child unless something terrible’s happened, right?”
He’d moved on from her as soon as he could, but then it was lunchtime and the staff was abuzz with rumors. But even in the midst of it, while he felt like he was having an out-of-body experience, deep inside he was laughing his ass off. They were all so gullible and unaware. Maybe even a little titillated by Claudia’s complete lack of responsibility.
But later, he’d made the mistake of walking to the front of the building where there was an impromptu meeting being held by Principal Amy Lazenby, the battle-ax of all battle-axes with her short gray hair and mannish style. A pair of diamond stud earrings winking in her fat ears, a gift from her boyfriend, someone had said—though he didn’t believe for a minute that she had anything to do with men and vice versa—didn’t help cut that image, either.
And David DeForest’s simpering wife was there, too. Graham could feel her gaze touch on h
im, even while she clung to her husband’s arm.
“We should get the police here,” DeForest was saying, and his wife agreed on a gasp, “It’s like someone is targeting Twin Oaks!”
Lazenby said, “Hopefully, Ms. Livesay will have already returned home. The Laurelton PD and Detective Rafferty, whom I’ve personally met, are on the case. I’ve asked them to let us know the moment Claudia Livesay is found.”
“Detective Rafferty? The one in the interview?” Patti DeForest asked.
Lazenby nodded.
“Is she the one who was Mr. Harmak’s stepsister?” Patti pressed.
Graham’s heart clutched at the mention of the police. “Who is that?” he asked.
“One of the Laurelton PD detectives,” DeForest snapped, dragging the attention back to himself. “I say we have a meeting. Get the parents involved, too. Talk to the people who knew her. Who are Ms. Livesay’s friends at the school? Does anyone know?”
Mrs. Pearce was hurrying up to join them and caught that last remark. It was the break before their last period class. She looked at Graham. “You walked out with her the other day. What were you talking about?”
“Molly,” he said shortly. “She’s in my last period class.”
“How did she seem?” Pearce asked.
“Fine.” Graham was irked and a line of sweat had formed down his back.
“Molly was talking to her friends about how you might come over and have dinner with them,” Pearce went on blithely. “I didn’t know you knew the family so well.”
“I don’t.”
He wanted to smash her teeth in. She had a bland look on her face, but he knew she was paying him back for not paying attention to her. “Molly has tried to set me and her mother up before. Man, I hope Claudia turns up soon,” he added dolefully for good measure.
They all expressed the same desire and the meeting broke up. Graham went back to social studies class and felt a pang of loss that Molly wasn’t in her seat. He had to learn the name of that other girl. The one in Mrs. Pearce’s homeroom. She’d looked so lonely.
But first things first. He needed to make sure his grave-digging the night before wouldn’t give him away in the light of day.
As soon as school was out he hurried to his car. HER car, really, but he was beginning to think of it as his.
As if she knew she’d crossed his mind, his cell phone rang and he saw it was Daria. Reluctantly, he put it to his ear, hoping to hell she wasn’t coming home early.
“Hello,” he said stiffly.
“Well, what kind of a greeting is that?”
“I’m in the car. Can’t drive while I’m talking to you.”
“Turn on the Bluetooth, dummy,” she teased. “It looks like I’m going to be here for at least tonight, maybe tomorrow, we’ll see.”
“I thought you weren’t coming back until Friday.” He tilted the rearview mirror, checking his appearance. He’d been a little scattered this morning. Hadn’t been able to think.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to get away tomorrow, but I’m working on it. They’ve got me at an extra breakfast meeting tomorrow morning, and it really annoys me that they think they own me for every damn hour I’m here. I told them that it was for only one meeting, but they don’t listen. . . .”
Graham tuned out. He’d heard it all a thousand times already. As he readjusted the mirror, his gaze touched on the backseat. His heart stuttered. Was that a smear of blood on the black leather? Had Claudia bled through the blanket?
He glanced in the mirror again. His blue eyes were wild.
“. . . I told James that this was the last time—”
“I gotta go, Daria. Sorry.” He snapped off the phone. His hands were shaking.
With an effort, he stifled the panic and took a long, shuddering breath. No reason to worry. None at all.
He just had to get home and clean the backseat. That’s all. And make sure the body was buried deep enough.
And then . . . then he would make the most of his night, just in case she did come home tomorrow.
Keith Collier strolled into the station late Wednesday, apologizing for not answering his voice mail. He had a slacker mentality, September thought, viewing him with disappointment, so she was pleasantly surprised when he gave a much more detailed description of the female avenger, even to offering up ways to improve the composite drawing already done with changes in jawline and cheekbones. He worked with the sketch artist for nearly an hour and then pointed at the drawing and proclaimed: “That’s her.”
“That’s her?” September repeated.
“Yeah. That’s her.”
September gazed down at the picture. The girl in the picture was pretty, with large eyes and wide lips and a ponytail resting on her shoulder. Keith had wanted to put the baseball cap back in, but September told him the public needed to see her without the distraction of a costume.
She thanked Keith and as he left, she said to Wes and George, “Let’s get it out there toute suite.”
“Hope it works better than Jilly’s picture,” Maharis said glumly from Gretchen’s desk.
“Yeah,” September agreed, as she headed for the break room for her coat and messenger bag. She hoped it did, too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucky watched Ugh drive into the lot of Bad Dog Pub a little after seven P.M. Once again she drove past the bar and looked for a spot on a side street. It took a while to find a place where she could fit the car in with its nose out, facing toward the road, just in case she was in need of a quick getaway.
Her pulse was running light and fast. She’d practically willed this meeting with him, but now that it was here, she was feeling light-headed and jazzed.
Her thermos of sweet dreams was in the glove box along with the stun gun and several other gifts from Mr. Blue. Beneath the passenger seat was an empty placard with twine looped through two holes. It was questionable whether she would actually be able to get him to write out his sins, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. Her mission, by necessity, often had to be altered at a moment’s notice.
She was in her black and pink plaid skirt, the pink sequined flats with white anklets, and the pink blouse. She’d plaited her hair into one long braid and tied a pink ribbon around the end of it, and she’d dusted on a light coating of makeup, emphasizing her lips with bubble-gum-pink lip gloss.
Now, throwing on a long, black raincoat, she walked into the bar, carrying only a small wallet in her pocket that held her fake identification, ID that said she was Alicia Trent. She had to leave her stash of “self-defense” equipment in the car, but she intended to wangle Ugh out of the bar anyway.
Inside the door, she turned directly to the restrooms, which were marked POINTERS and SETTERS. It took her a moment before she got it, so tense were her nerves. She went into a stall, took off her coat and folded it over her arm. Then she flushed and walked back out, checking her appearance. If she didn’t get carded it would be a miracle, though maybe she looked like she was play-acting. Maybe that wasn’t what he was looking for.
Tough. She was here. So was Ugh. It was time to make contact.
The bouncer proofing patrons at a podium said, “ID,” in a bored tone. She handed it over and he did a serious check on it, but she knew it was probably good enough for him. If the police caught her, and a background search were done, well, that was another story, but here she felt confident he wouldn’t find anything amiss.
Her eyes searched past him and she located her target sitting at the end of the bar. A television tuned to a news program hung from the ceiling directly in his sight line, but his attention had been drawn to his right by a couple seated at a nearby table. The guy looked pretty young but the girl beat him by a mile with her baby face, slim build, and tiny stature; she couldn’t be more than five feet. Height was another thing Lucky had against her. Five foot seven was just too tall for a man like Ugh.
She would have to give the performance of her life.
“Okay,” the
bouncer said, eyeing her short skirt and length of bare leg.
As she moved in on Ugh, his odor enveloped her, chokingly thick. She had to fight down an urge to gag and steeled herself with a cold mind and laserlike focus.
“Hey,” she said, moving up beside him, startling him. He reared back as if caught in a nefarious act.
“Hey,” he said after a moment.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone I knew. . . .” She glanced around the room, feigning confusion.
“He’s not here?” Ugh asked, his interest rising.
“Apparently not.” She turned to meet his gaze directly, her stomach quivering.
“His loss.”
She smiled. “I guess so.”
“What are you drinking?” he asked.
Swiftly she glanced at his drink and saw that it was a mug of steaming coffee. She didn’t catch a hint of rum or whiskey and thought maybe it was devoid of alcohol. “I’m not really much of a drinker,” she said. “Maybe some white wine?”
He signaled to the bartender and ordered her a glass of Chardonnay. “That okay?” he asked.
“Perfect. I see you’ve got coffee.”
“Nothing can take the place of good strong java,” he said, his gaze all over her face and body. She was glad she’d smashed her breasts down.
Laying her coat on the bar, she searched the pocket for her wallet as the bartender came back with her glass of wine.
Ugh’s hand reached out and dropped over hers. “My treat.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“But you’re not drinking.”
He picked up the mug with his free hand and leveled a gaze at her. “That’s not how I take my pleasure.”
His smile was pure evil, at least to Lucky’s way of thinking. It was an effort not to react with revulsion. He hadn’t lifted his hand from hers and her skin felt like it was moist and blistering beneath his touch.
Pulling back her arm, she eased away from his touch, but covered up the move by turning more toward him. “I really was supposed to meet someone else, but he’s not the most reliable guy.”