Wicked

by Jana DeLeon

  “Thank you.” Shaye lifted her right arm to push the strap of the backpack up, and the dog growled. “I see you have a couple of new friends,” Shaye said and pointed at the dog and the gun.

  “The pistol was Frank’s. I never could stand the thing but with everything going on in this world, I figured it was high time I took it out of the closet and learned to shoot it. I’ve been taking lessons over at the gun range.”

  “Maybe you should consider a lighter one,” Shaye suggested. If Mrs. Hester got off a stray shot, it could penetrate right through the wall of a house.

  “The young man who’s teaching me keeps saying that. I suppose it would make it easier to hit things the first time. Not like a burglar is going to stand still while you get it right.”

  “Probably not. And the dog?”

  “Oh, he’s a big pain. Got gas worse than Frank used to have. I’ve had to get up and leave the room over it. But my hearing’s not what it used to be and he’s got ears like a bat, which is sometimes a good thing and sometimes not. I got this new medication that gives me insomnia. Nothing like roaming the house all night with this pest yapping at every creaking floorboard.”

  Shaye nodded, afraid to say anything. She didn’t have the time for Mrs. Hester to launch into a detailed explanation of her medication problems or the dog’s gas. “Well, I best get going or I’m going to be late.”

  “We wouldn’t want that. Do you want to use my front door? It will be a sight easier than scaling the front gate. I put locks on it a month ago. Caught kids back here swimming in my pool. Parents have completely dropped the ball.”

  “I’d love to use the front door,” Shaye said, hoping no camera crews were parked in front of Mrs. Hester’s house. It was the one element of her plan that she couldn’t be sure about.

  Shaye followed Mrs. Hester through her kitchen and into the formal living room to the front door.

  “You take care, honey,” Mrs. Hester said, “and you feel free to climb over that wall any time you need to. Maybe just call first.”

  “Definitely.” Shaye peered out one of the side windows that framed the massive door, and her shoulders relaxed when the only vehicle in sight was Jackson’s undercover car.

  She opened the door and hurried outside to jump in the car. Jackson had started it up as soon as he saw her come out of Mrs. Hester’s house and she ducked down low in the passenger’s seat as he pulled away from the curb. She remained low and silent for several minutes, then finally crept up to a seated position.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were praying or maybe meditating,” Jackson said.

  “After my impromptu visit with Mrs. Hester, a little prayer might be in order.”

  Shaye told him about her adventure with Mrs. Hester, the .45, and the Chihuahua and he shook his head. “I don’t know whether to laugh or pray myself. You’re lucky she didn’t accidentally fire one off.”

  “I know. I need to tell Mom to maybe avoid the pool until Mrs. Hester gets a lighter gun. I don’t think a bullet could make it through the stone wall, but if she shot straight up…”

  “Like we need more dangers to worry about. Now we have Mrs. Hester playing John Wayne.”

  Shaye looked over at Jackson. “I really appreciate you doing this.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’ve already told you that you’re welcome to borrow my car if you need to be in stealth mode. You’re certainly not going to remain out of sight in your SUV. Everyone knows it and it’s too easy to spot.”

  Jackson had acquired the older nondescript car specifically for stakeouts and had used it once when helping her follow a suspect. Shaye understood the benefit of having a vehicle that no one looked twice at, but didn’t see the point of getting one herself as she had no way of keeping people from finding out she owned it. Once it was “Shaye Archer’s vehicle” and not “some random car,” the entire point of having it was moot. Borrowing Jackson’s car was the perfect solution because no one was paying as close attention to what Jackson did.

  “I knew they’d find out eventually,” Shaye said, “but I was really hoping for more time.”

  Jackson looked over at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “I know,” she said. “And I realize how foolish it sounds, but somewhere out there, a killer has Ethan and I promised Tara I’d keep looking for him.”

  “How long are you staying at Saul’s?”

  “As long as I need to, unless they find me there. Then it’s off to plan C, then D. Until Ethan is found, I’ll keep up the disappearing woman routine.”

  “And when this is over?”

  She blew out a breath. “I’m going to have to face the music sooner or later. Given the nature of my work, the sooner I talk enough to make them go away, the better.”

  Jackson looked a little surprised. “You’re going to talk to them?”

  She nodded. “I thought about it a long, long time, and I think the only way to get them to go away for good is to give them everything I’m ever going to. They’ll hang around a while after that, hoping that I have some public breakdown, but eventually they’ll move on and I can get back to my life.”

  Whatever that was.

  Everything Shaye had ever known had been tossed upside down and sideways. With her memory returning and all the secrets of the past exposed, she had to figure out how everything fit into her life now. What mattered and what didn’t. What needed to change and what needed to stay the same. It was an enormous amount of emotional baggage to be considered. She’d decided that taking it one day at a time was the best and only solution for a problem so big.

  When Jackson pulled into the motel parking lot, Shaye let out a breath of relief that no camera crews were visible. She’d hoped that the media hadn’t found out about her relationship with Saul, and so far, that looked to be the case. As she stepped out of the car, Hustle burst out the front door and rushed over to hug her. Then he shuffled awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed at the obvious show of emotion.

  “I swear,” Shaye said. “You’ve gotten taller.”

  “Gonna eat me out of house and home, too,” Saul’s voice sounded behind Hustle, and he stepped up to give her a hug as well. The motel owner was an old client of Shaye’s and had helped her with a recent case that ultimately ended with Saul becoming Hustle’s foster parent.

  “The Internet said it’s a growth spurt,” Hustle said, somewhat defensively.

  Saul laughed. “Well, if the Internet said it, then it must be true. Let’s get you all inside.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Jackson said. “I’ve still got some things to review before I can call it a night.”

  “Let me give you a ride back to the station,” Saul said.

  “Thank you, but I’ve already called Uber. I’ll meet him a couple blocks over, just in case.” He tossed Shaye the keys. “Keep it as long as you need it and call me if you get anything.”

  “Thanks,” Shaye said, hoping that single word conveyed how much she appreciated what Jackson was doing.

  Jackson grinned and waved at them before heading off down the street. Shaye turned around and followed Hustle and Saul inside. Saul went behind the desk and grabbed a key card, which he handed to Shaye.

  “I put you at the end on the corner,” Saul said. “You’ve got a view of the front and side of the motel. Gives you a way to check for them reporters, but Hustle and I will be keeping watch as well.”

  “I really appreciate it,” Shaye said. “Please won’t you let me pay you?”

  “Your money is no good here,” Saul said, then motioned to Hustle. “Show her the room and help her get set up. You’ve got the night off from desk duty.”

  Hustle perked up. “What about history?” He was taking online courses to get his GED and Saul was overseeing his studies.

  “You can take the exam tomorrow afternoon,” Saul said.

  “Whoop!” Hustle let out a yell and Shaye laughed.

  Hustle insisted on taking her backpack and they started off down the hall.
>
  “The painting looks great,” Shaye commented. One of the first tasks Saul had assigned the teen was painting the outdated hotel. Hustle, a budding artist, had picked ocean colors and the effect was not only updated but relaxing.

  “Thanks,” Hustle said. “I started on the murals in the lounge. If you have time, you should check them out.”

  “Of course!”

  They stopped in front of her room and Shaye opened the door and stepped inside. Saul had given her one of the large rooms with a kitchenette and separate living area from the bedroom. Hustle placed her backpack on the tiny dining table and turned to look at her.

  “What can I do?” he asked. “If you make me a list, I can pick you up stuff at the convenience store. Saul didn’t tell me why you’re here, so I don’t know what else to offer.”

  “I’m working on a case—a missing college student. All I’m really doing here is using it for my base. Reporters are staked out everywhere they expect me to be, so hopefully relocating here allows me to stay under the radar long enough to resolve this case.”

  “A missing student, huh?” Hustle frowned. “How old?”

  “He’s nineteen. A shy, smart kid with no parents but one really good friend who found me.”

  “Sounds kinda like someone I know.” Hustle grinned.

  It hadn’t been that long ago when Hustle had asked Shaye to find his friend. Another street kid named Jinx. Now Jinx and Hustle were both off the streets and thriving. It made Shaye happy every time she thought about how things had changed so much for both of them.

  “Except for the shy part,” she said.

  He laughed and a wave of happiness coursed through Shaye. This boy had been through so much, and to see him so relaxed and laughing was better than any gift she’d ever been given.

  “So you’re using Jackson’s car to sneak around?” Hustle said.

  “That’s the plan.”

  He looked her up and down. “You going like that?”

  Shaye looked down at her yoga pants, tee, and tennis shoes. “Yeah. What’s wrong with this?”

  “Nothing, except you don’t look street. Aren’t you trying to blend?”

  “It’s exercise clothes.”

  “Designer label exercise clothes. I mean, the wrinkled look is a nice touch and not your usual gig. Mostly you look like you’ve ironed everything.”

  Shaye cringed at the thought of ironing. “I sometimes run out of time to do my laundry so I take it to the cleaners.” “Sometimes” meaning most all of the time.

  “Uh-huh. Regular folk don’t exercise in fancy, ironed clothes and their tennis shoes don’t look like they just came out of the box. You need cheaper stuff.”

  “I have a ball cap?”

  Hustle sighed.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t risk a run to the mall and Amazon is good, but I don’t think they can deliver to me tonight.”

  “Give me your sizes. I’ll pick something up when I’m getting food.”

  “You’re going to buy me clothes?”

  “Someone has to. You ain’t gonna get far looking like that. I’m surprised you made it as long as you did before them reporters was on you.”

  Shaye pulled her wallet out of her backpack and handed Hustle two hundred bucks. “Just get me a couple of microwave pizzas, some chips, and a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Oh, and some sodas.” Then, feeling slightly guilty about the awful dietary choices, she threw in, “…and maybe a salad if they have it.”

  “And you think that’s going to cost two hundred bucks?”

  “You said you were buying clothes. Even non-designer clothes cost money. Tell you what, you fix me up with everything I need and if you do it for less than that, keep the change.”

  Hustle shook his head. “That would be robbery. Okay, I’m out. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Don’t leave here looking like that.”

  “I won’t.”

  After Hustle left, Shaye pulled out her laptop and logged in to the motel Internet. It had taken a bit of searching, but while she was waiting for Jackson to come get her, she’d located the names of two of Brett’s high school teachers and run down phone numbers for both. She grabbed her cell phone and called the first number, an English teacher named Matilda Wycliffe.

  A woman answered on the second ring and Shaye identified herself as a counselor with the university and explained that she’d like to ask some questions about a former student of hers.

  “Yes, of course,” Matilda said. “I hope no one is in trouble.”

  “Nothing like that,” Shaye said. “I’m just a little confused about something and was hoping you could help clear it up. It’s about a student named Brett Frazier.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember Brett well. How can I help you?”

  “All indicators seem to point to a high level of intelligence, yet Brett seems content with being assumed a typical jock. I’ve tried to contact his parents, but they appear uninterested in returning my calls, so I thought I’d take a chance and see if one of his former teachers could shed some light on the duplicity.”

  Matilda sighed. “So he’s still on that course, is he? I’d rather hoped when he went off to college, he’d see the folly, but apparently I was wrong about his strength of conviction.”

  “So he is above average intelligence?”

  “Definitely. And beyond that, he’s very clever, which is why he manages to fool most people.”

  “But why would he want to fool people? I assume he started doing it in high school?”

  “His junior year. One of the senior boys, another member of the football team, lost his starting position because he didn’t have the grades needed to attend practice. And no practice meant no playing. Brett was in some senior-level courses and this other boy blamed him for ruining the curve. Although there was never a formal complaint, you hear about things, and then when Brett showed up to school with a black eye and a busted lip, I figured the rumors were true.”

  “Then the dumbed-down Brett appeared?”

  “Almost immediately. His grades slipped to solid Bs, and the only time he participated in class was when he was called on. Even then, he gave the right answer almost grudgingly.”

  “Did anyone talk to him or his parents?”

  “Several of his teachers and the school counselor tried, but we couldn’t get anywhere. Whatever that boy threatened Brett with must have been worse than what he’d already gotten, because he clammed up and refused to engage.”

  “And his parents?”

  “I’m afraid they were as interested then as they appear to be now. All calls went unanswered, even when we left very detailed messages. Even when the counselor said Brett would lose any chance at academic scholarships if things didn’t change. I understand that the family is well off, but why pay for an education if you don’t have to?”

  “It doesn’t make much sense.”

  “How are his grades in college?”

  “Quite good, actually, but his behavior is completely different from what his grades show. Even the way he talks makes him appear of average or quite frankly, below average, intelligence. So I got curious and decided to poke around. I thought maybe some sort of personality disorder or perhaps something simpler, like a father who was a football star and didn’t want a chess champion for a son.”

  “I don’t really know anything about his father, but it’s as reasonable a theory as any.”

  “Well, I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me. It’s not a bad situation but the inconsistency of certain things nagged at me until I had to see if I could get to the bottom of it.”

  “I can appreciate that. If you’re a keen observer of human nature, it’s hard to ignore when things don’t add up. I hope Brett continues to do well in his studies. He wouldn’t be the first successful person to act a complete fool.”

  Shaye laughed. “That’s certainly true. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wycliffe.”

  Shaye ended the call, not certain whether to be ha
ppy that the English teacher had reinforced her idea about Brett or unhappy that Ethan might have been living with his abductor. But in thinking about it, everything made more sense if Brett was the perpetrator or working with someone. It was Brett who said Ethan left for soda, but Thomas said he never made it to the store, and there certainly hadn’t been any evidence to the contrary on the tapes. It was possible that Ethan had never gone for soda at all, but had been drugged by Brett and then transported out of the dorm in the middle of the night.

  By the same token, George had claimed he stopped by the store that night to pick up some accounting, so he placed himself in the vicinity of Ethan’s disappearance and could have accosted the student in the empty lot behind the store where there was no camera coverage.

  Granted, Shaye’s suspicion and Mrs. Wycliffe’s confirmation weren’t exactly hard science. Before she pressed Jackson to look into Brett and George, she’d see what the science teacher had to say. It would be a man’s point of view and might differ or offer more insight than Mrs. Wycliffe’s.

  Five minutes later, she placed her cell phone on the table and began making notes. The science teacher had given her almost the same story as Mrs. Wycliffe. Two independent educators with the same opinion wasn’t a consensus, but it was enough to convince Shaye that there was far more to Brett Frazier than what anyone could see.

  She was just about to call Jackson when there was a knock on her door. She opened it up to let in Hustle, who was loaded down with bags.

  “Good Lord,” Shaye said. “It looks like you bought up the grocery store.”

  He sat the bags on the kitchenette counter. “Nah, but I added a couple things to your list. If you get to leave before you use it all, then take it back to your apartment. Not like your refrigerator was overflowing last time I looked.”

  “It’s really bare now. You might find a water or a beer. Thanks for getting all of this.”

  Hustle grinned. “You wanna see your disguise?”

  He looked so pleased with himself that Shaye couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t wait.”

  He grabbed one of the plastic bags from the counter and tossed it to her. “The whole thing was twenty dollars.”