The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  My face heats up, and I hope it’s not as red as it feels. “No, of course not. I just …”

  “Don’t worry. If she doesn’t have a rock-solid alibi, we’ll bring her right in,” he says. “We’ll make sure you’re protected.”

  Somehow I don’t feel safer knowing that. After all, they haven’t done a great job at figuring out what happened to Rosalie and Teryn so far — they thought I killed them. And I’ve found out more about what’s really going on than they have. But I won’t mention that, because maybe they’ll arrest me for insulting them or something.

  Apparently they can do that. I’m finding out all sorts of things I never knew the police could do, along with a few things they can’t do.

  Like find the right people who’ve committed a crime.

  Garfield takes my phone from Chambers. “I’ll get this into processing,” he says. “Meet you outside?”

  Chambers nods, and stands as his partner walks from the room. “Sit tight, Ms. Bauman.”

  “Wait. You’re not leaving me here again, are you?”

  “Only for a minute. I’ll have Officer Koch come in to take your statement, and then you’re free to go,” he says. “She can take you back to your car, if you’d like.”

  “All right.” I assume Officer Koch is the woman who let me use her phone. “Will you let me know what happens with Hannah? I’m going to have my number switched to another phone, so you can still contact me.”

  “We’ll keep you as informed as possible,” he says, which doesn’t answer my question.

  He leaves the room, and I lace my fingers together and squeeze hard. I will not cry. Not anymore. And even though I’m being let go, and the detectives are going to talk to Hannah right now, I have no faith in their ability to stop any of this.

  So I’ll have to do it myself.

  Chapter 19

  It’s almost seven by the time I make it home with my car, a replacement phone, and a gut full of raw, thrumming nerves. Jill’s already gotten Alyssa fed, bathed, and in her pajamas, and I let her stay up half an hour past her bedtime so I can see her longer. I don’t tell her what’s happening — I just say that I had a work emergency, and apologize half a dozen times for not being here. I feel terrible lying to my daughter.

  But she’s far too young to understand any of this, and she’ll only be frightened.

  Jill stays the whole time while I tuck Alyssa in, read her an extra story, and spend a long time hugging her. When I come out from the bedrooms, she has a bottle of chilled wine and two glasses set out on the coffee table. “I think you can use some of this,” she says.

  “Absolutely. You’re a lifesaver,” I breathe as I collapse on the couch and scrub a hand down my face. “God, what a nightmare. Thank you so much for helping me with all this.”

  Jill frowns slightly as she pours the wine and hands me a glass. “I’m sorry about Jeff,” she says. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t go down there. I was trying to find another lawyer for you, and … you know, I almost sent Danny.” She snorts and rolled her eyes. “If I’d done that, you’d probably still be there.”

  “It’s fine. I got out of it,” I say, sipping the cold, sweet wine with relief. “Thank you for trying, though.”

  “No problem.” Jill lifts her own glass and drinks. “And you really didn’t answer any questions?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t give them a chance to ask. I had plenty to tell them.”

  “Yeah, about that.” She scooches closer, her eyes wide. “Now you have to tell me. Something about that Hannah chick being batshit nuts?”

  Laughing feels good after all I’ve been through today, even though nothing about Hannah is funny. I’ve only told Jill a tiny bit about the whole mess, because I didn’t want Alyssa to hear it.

  So I give her the story.

  By the time I finish, we’ve both drained two glasses of wine and Jill is pouring herself a third. “Holy God, she is one screwed-up princess,” she says after a moment. “Do you think she killed her parents, so she could get their money?”

  I give a startled blink. I hadn’t even considered that, but if she really killed two women just because they used to date Brad, maybe she was capable of parent-cide too. “I don’t know,” I say. “They did say it was arson, and they never found the culprit.”

  “I’ll bet she did. And then she hid out in the wacko hospital until things died down, so she could carry out the rest of her dastardly plans.” Jill chuckles and gulps more wine. “Oh, boy. Or maybe I’m just drunk.”

  I shrug. “Who knows? There’s so much crazy in all this, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Yeah, Wolfsbrook has our very own homicidal maniac.” She sits back, raising an eyebrow. “So how did you get the cops to let you go? You never said.”

  A hot surge of guilt murders the nice buzz I’d been building. I haven’t told Jill about the texts — or about Joan. But now that I’ve confessed to the police, maybe it’s time I came clean with my best friend. She deserves to know, even if she thinks I’m awful for doing it.

  “The thing is … someone’s been threatening me,” I say in a faltering tone.

  “What?” Jill looks horrified. “How? Since when?” she says.

  “I’ve been getting anonymous texts. It started the day of Rosalie’s funeral,” I admit softly. “The last one was Tuesday, when I went to see Brad. When Teryn died.”

  “Oh, my God. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t.” I take a slow breath, shaking as I let it out. “Whoever it is, probably Hannah, they know something I did. Something I’m ashamed of.”

  Despite my resolution to stop crying about all this, tears prick my eyes. I blink them back. Damn it, I’m going to be strong. I have to be.

  “Honey,” Jill says gently, giving my free hand a squeeze. “Whatever it is, I doubt you need to be ashamed of it. You can tell me.”

  Yes, I do need to be ashamed. I can’t let myself off the hook for this. I did this thing, and I have to own up to it, because it was wrong. But what I don’t have to do is keep beating myself up over it. I can feel bad without letting it control my life.

  And I can tell Jill without going to pieces. So I do.

  I keep my explanation short. She listens, her lips twitching a few times. And when I get to the end of the story, she bursts out laughing.

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry!” she stammers, still giggling. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny that she’s dead. Not even a little. It’s just … a fan club, for Brad?” Another full-throated laugh bursts from her, and she claps a hand over her mouth. “It’s mostly the wine, I swear. And I’m a horrible person for laughing. Okay, I’m going to stop now. Promise.”

  I try not to, but I can’t help smiling. “It was kind of funny.”

  “Kind of?” Jill spurts with a giggle. Then she sobers and looks at me. “Celine, you can’t blame yourself for that. You really can’t.”

  “I have to,” I say. “If I hadn’t told Brad —”

  “Then she would’ve found some other way to humiliate herself,” Jill says firmly. “Come on. She was in college, and still writing gushy ‘do you like me’ notes with glittery stickers and doodle hearts. She was just doing it online instead of in a notebook. One way or another, people would’ve found out.” She shakes her head. “You couldn’t have known that she’d kill herself over it. No one could know that, except her.”

  Maybe she’s right, but I’ll never know for sure. At least I feel better for confessing.

  Jill sighs and picks up the mostly empty wine bottle. “Crap. Do you mind if I crash on your couch tonight?” she says. “I don’t think I should drive. Neither should you, after the day you’ve had.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” I throw an arm around her, and she hugs me back. “You’re the best,” I say. “Let me grab some stuff for you.”

  I get up and gather extra pillows and blankets, and a t-shirt and shorts for Jill to sleep in, and bring them out to the living room. We stay up talking a whil
e longer, until the wine is completely gone and we’re both too exhausted to keep our eyes open, and then I head for my bedroom while she settles on the couch. Once I’m changed and under the covers, I fall asleep almost instantly.

  What seems like five minutes later, I’m startled awake by an unfamiliar sound. It’s the replacement phone. I haven’t bothered changing any of the settings, and the default ring tone is some obnoxious, cheerful techno-pop style tune.

  I scowl and blink at the alarm clock as I fumble the phone off the nightstand. It’s just after eleven, and I have no idea who’d be calling me this late. The display on the screen is just a phone number that gives me no clue, but at least I know it’s not the mystery text number.

  I tap answer and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I murmur.

  “Ms. Bauman? It’s Detective Chambers. Sorry to wake you.”

  Suddenly I am awake. My heart pounds in my throat, and I sit up too fast, making myself dizzy. “Is something wrong?” I say.

  “Not exactly.” The detective sounds terse and tired. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve questioned Hannah Byers and investigated her alibis, and she checks out. We have no cause to hold her.”

  But she did it! I manage not to say that out loud. “Okay, so … now what?” I say as my mouth goes dry.

  “We’re not without suspicion, and we’re continuing the investigation into her,” he says. “But now we’ll also have to interview Mr. Dowling, get a list of his exes, and start talking to all of them. This is going to take time.”

  “Meanwhile, there’s still someone threatening me,” I say.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. We’re hoping to get something from your phone,” he says. “All I can tell you is that if you don’t feel comfortable around Ms. Byers, you should avoid her for the time being. And call us if you see anything suspicious or find any proof.”

  Avoiding Hannah isn’t exactly going to be easy, since she’s just gotten herself a job at my office. But it doesn’t matter. The police aren’t going to help me. I’m on my own.

  “All right. Thank you, Detective,” I say. “I appreciate the information.”

  “We’ll let you know when we get the results from your phone,” he says. “Goodnight, Ms. Bauman.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I hang up and toss the phone on the nightstand, falling onto the bed with a sigh. I’m not getting back to sleep anytime soon.

  Chapter 20

  This morning I realize that I’m grateful Alyssa has started school. I feel bad about that, but knowing that she’s safe while I deal with the nightmare that’s invaded my life is a tremendous relief. I can’t imagine having to drag her around through all of this. She would be so scared.

  Before we leave the house, I take a few pictures of her with the new phone. I’m going to need them soon. Hannah isn’t the only thing I have to handle today.

  Once I drop my daughter off for the day, I head straight for the real estate office, hoping Hannah isn’t there yet. When I arrive, only Maxine’s car is in the lot. Good. I need to tell her what’s happening and insist that she fire Hannah. I can’t be around her.

  As I’m walking inside, I change my mind about telling Maxine — but for once, it’s not because of my fear of confrontation. I decide that I want to confront Hannah. Put it all out there and see how she reacts. I need to know the truth, because if the police aren’t going to do anything, I have to protect myself.

  Maybe she does have solid alibis. Maybe she’s really innocent, and there’s someone else entirely I have to worry about. But there’s definitely something wrong with Hannah.

  Maxine’s office door is closed. I knock, and then open the door without waiting for her to respond. She’s at her desk, on her computer, and she leans aside and blinks at me. “Come on in, Celine.”

  “That’s what I was doing.” I ignore the sarcasm in her voice as I walk to her desk. My hands are clammy and trembling, but I’m not going to give in to the fear. I need to grow a spine, right now. “Will Hannah be here today?”

  “Yes, she’s coming in this afternoon,” Maxine says, looking at me curiously. “I want her to go with you while you stage the new listing, so she can see how it’s done. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “It’s fine.” I’m surprised that my voice doesn’t shake, that I sound calm and confident. “Listen, I have something to do this morning,” I say. “I’ll be back later to get Hannah. If you see her before I do, could you remind her that she’ll need to wear something she doesn’t mind getting dirty? I want her to be hands-on, all the way.”

  Maxine arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I’ll do that,” she says. “Are you all right, Celine?”

  “I’m fantastic.” I flash her a brittle smile to prove it. “Oh, and tell Sabrina that if I don’t have my half of the commission for the Quintaine sale by the end of the day, I’m going to sue her. The closing wrapped up days ago. See you in a few hours, Maxine.”

  I turn and walk from the office, leaving my boss with her mouth hanging open. I’m flushed and my pulse is racing, but I feel good. I am officially Getting Things Done.

  Now I have another massive item I need to tackle, and this one’s going to hurt.

  I drive to the hospital. By now I know the way to Brad’s room easily enough, and I navigate halls and elevators and corridors like a pro. He’s expecting me this morning, since I told him I’d come back, and he’s in the wheelchair watching a news show on the overhead television when I come into the room. He grabs a remote from the bed and turns the TV off, facing me with a smile. “Hey, pretty woman,” he says.

  My heart constricts as the old term of endearment leaves his lips. But I don’t cry. I walk to him and hug him in the chair, so he doesn’t have to get up, and then take a seat while he maneuvers around to face me. When he’s close enough, I take his hand. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Oh, no.” His face falls. “It’s about Hannah, isn’t it?”

  “No. She’s not going to be a problem,” I say, hoping I sound confident enough. I’m determined to make sure she isn’t a problem. “This is about my daughter.”

  I can’t believe I came right out and said that. But there’s no easy way.

  The rest of the color drains from Brad’s already washed-out face. “Your … daughter?”

  “Yes. Her name is Alyssa.” I’m still holding his hand as I ease the phone from my pocket and open the pictures, flipping to the best one. The one that shows her smiling face — and her beautiful green eyes. “She’s four, almost five,” I say, watching Brad for a reaction as I hand the phone to him. “This is her.”

  He reaches out, takes the phone and straightens it as he draws it closer. Then he lets out a sharp gasp and starts shaking. His eyes glaze over with tears as he pulls away from me to grip the phone with both hands. “Her eyes,” he whispers. “Oh, God. She’s …”

  I swallow as my own tears start to flow, but I make no move to wipe them away. I’m not ashamed of this. “I didn’t know that night,” I say softly. “Not until about a week after the accident. Then my period was late, and I started feeling sick, and …” A smile drifts across my face. “She was born October 12. Not quite nine months later — she was a few weeks premature.”

  The phone falls from his hands to drop in his lap, and he raises his stricken features to meet my eyes. “I’m a father?” he rasps.

  “Yes. I’m sorry,” I say. “Not that I have her, but that I couldn’t tell you. And when you woke up, you were already dealing with so much …” My voice trails off, and I clear my throat. “I’m not asking for child support or anything like that. I don’t want you to think of this as manipulation, or emotional blackmail, or whatever. It’s just … you deserve to know.”

  His chest hitches, and the tears finally spill from his eyes. “Celine,” he says thickly as the corners of his mouth relax in what’s almost a smile. “She’s so beautiful. Just like her mother,” he whispers. “I hope … you’ll let her meet
me. I’d like to get to know her, if that’s okay with you.”

  I forget how to breathe.

  I expected him to be miserable, horrified, maybe even angry. At best, I thought he might ask me to leave so he could think about the enormous bomb I’d dropped on him. But he wants to meet her. He wants to see my daughter. Our daughter.

  I stand up, intending to hug him. But my legs give out and I drop to the floor, landing on my knees in front of him with a wrenching sob. He reaches for me, alarmed, and I shake my head and look up at him.

  “She’s amazing,” I say. “Healthy, happy, so smart. You’re going to love her.”

  He smiles, though he’s still crying. “If she’s part of you, then I already do.”

  It’s too much, and I lose it completely.

  I lay my head in his lap, shaking with the force of my emotions. He holds me awkwardly, comforts me, and for a long time after I’m done, I don’t want to move. It’s not fair that he had to miss so much of her life. But it means more than the world to me that he’s willing to try now.

  Eventually I get off the floor and take my seat back. I can’t stay much longer, but I spend a few minutes telling him more about Alyssa and assuring him that we’re doing fine, and we can take all of this slowly. By the time I have to leave, both of us are almost easy with each other.

  There’s one more thing I have to let him know. “The police are going to come and talk to you,” I say, after briefly mentioning Hannah. “Probably today. They need a list of all your ex-girlfriends.”

  He grimaces. “Ugh. That’s a long list,” he says. “Why?”

  “Because of Rosalie and Teryn.” If he doesn’t already know, the detectives will tell him anyway, so he may as well hear it from me. “They think their deaths weren’t accidental, and that maybe the same person was involved.”

  Brad recoils like he’s been punched. “You mean they were murdered?”

  “That’s the theory,” I say. “They’re looking at —”

  “Hannah. It must have been her,” he nearly growls. “That psychotic bitch. I can’t believe she’d …” He trails off with a shiver. “I knew she was crazy,” he mutters. “But honestly, I never thought she’d actually kill anyone. Do you think it was her?”