by Claire Kane
“It was just a dream, right, Victor?”
And yet, Victor was gone. Not just dead, but gone. She’d felt clearly that he’d finally passed into Heaven, wherever that was, and knew it was time to get on with her life. Living with his ghost had been strange enough that she wasn’t sad to not have to deal with his random appearances or the fact that he could read her every thought and feeling.
So why did she still miss him so much? She’d dumped him for good reasons.
She scrubbed vigorously at her scalp, as if she could scratch out the memories. She had more important things to think about now.
The hot water ran out in just under five minutes, leaving Lacey a sodden, freezing mess. She hastily finished rinsing off, then practically leapt out of the shower, wrapping an extra towel around her against the cold made worse by the fact that it was only a couple of weeks before Christmas. She deflated at the sudden reminder that she hadn’t gotten anything for Nainai yet. Rather than dwell on it, however, she dressed as quickly as she could, then ran for her room, pausing only to crank the thermostat to as high as it would go before diving under her thick bedspread.
Maybe she’d still be able to salvage some sleep.
ONE
“Tell me, Miss Ling,” a friendly-looking woman in a blazer festooned with embroidered candy canes and mistletoe said, “what is your interest in this position? I really should have asked that at the beginning of the interview; I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Lacey had seen this question coming a mile away; it was a standard question for any job she’d ever had since college. Behind her, a floor-to-ceiling window looked out over the elevated freeway running along the Seattle Pier, and directly onto the best clam chowder shop in town. Though it was barely past four o’clock, the sun hovered just above the horizon, a testament to the approaching winter solstice. The sounds of rush hour were muted by the window and by the Christmas music playing softly from somewhere down the hall. The office Lacey found herself in felt surprisingly cozy and matched its occupant. The whole setting put her at ease, and her toes curled in delight. She knew she’d aced this interview, and could practically see the job offer in the other woman’s eyes. One more perfect answer, and it was in the bag.
She straightened slightly and looked the woman in the eye. “I’ve been researching Bowler and Bowen for some time now. They’ve got some excellent reviews, and—” suddenly, something caught in her throat, gagging her. She tried to clear it, but even as she did, her mind seemed to go mushy.
“Excuse me,” she rasped, coughing into her shoulder.
“Take your time,” her interviewer said sympathetically.
Lacey straightened again. “As I was saying,” she started, yet her thoughts refused to come. The polished answer seemed to blur, but her mouth carried on working anyway. “Yeah, so B and B totally made me think of ‘Bed and Breakfast,’ and it sounded like a totally sweet place to work.”
Her mind reeled at the words coming out of her mouth. What was she saying? And why did the room suddenly look so dark? She struggled to correct herself, but was stunned to hear her voice continue, “So it’s like, totally a place that could be great for late nights—the whole ‘bed’ part of B and B—and then breakfast. So you go to sleep, working super hard in your office, and then wake up and your secretary feeds you breakfast. Who wouldn’t want a job like that?”
The interviewer’s jaw was virtually scraping the floor. Lacey felt herself freeze, and wished she could crawl into a hole. Something insane had just happened, and already she could hear herself being politely thanked and invited to leave. Instead, the PR woman composed herself and hastily jotted some notes.
“Thank you, Miss Ling,” she said, standing and extending a hand to shake. “I must say that’s one of the most unique answers to that question I’ve ever heard. Your honesty was… stunningly refreshing.”
Lacey managed not to groan and hide her face, but instead smiled professionally and stood as well, shaking hands. The interviewer gestured at the door. She didn’t have to ask twice. The happy woman did Lacey the favor of stepping into the hall with her. “It was a pleasure to meet the great Lacey Ling. I must say, seeing your resume come across my desk was actually quite the little thrill. We don’t often get celebrities applying for our firm.”
Lacey cocked her head and smiled. “Thank you, but I’m not all that much of a celebrity. I only did the morning news.”
“But you did it so well,” the lady said. “I’m surprised you left them. Surely some other station must be dying to bring you on board.”
Lacey hesitated, hardly missing the implications of the compliment. She kept her smile even, her eyes shining. If only you knew, lady, she thought.
“If nothing else,” her hostess continued, “I’m sure someone is looking for an investigative reporter to dig into the recent disappearances.”
Lacey frowned. “Disappearances?”
The PR woman’s eyebrows shot up. “On campus? U of W? You really haven’t heard? Oh, well, maybe you wouldn’t have. I only know because my best girlfriend’s daughter attends, and she’s heard the rumors. Some sorority girls, or models or something. It may be nothing, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”
Lacey’s brow wrinkled in thought. She worked on campus but hadn’t heard anything yet. Maybe it was time to start nosing around. Lacey smiled one last time. “Thank you again for the interview.”
“Thank you. It was a pleasure. We’ll contact you if we decide to select you. You did have some superb answers. Have a wonderful day and a very merry Christmas.”
Lacey took the hint and made to leave. She hadn’t gotten three steps away before the interviewer called to her again. She turned, and the woman had produced a small notepad and a pen from somewhere.
“Miss Ling, one last thing,” the woman said, before blushing. “May I… may I have your autograph? And the secret for how you keep your hair so lovely? You’re just so beautiful all over. I could only wish for a face like yours, but I must know how you keep your hair.”
Lacey sighed inside, but graciously penned her signature in the notepad and gave the woman some basic hair tips anyone could pull off the internet.
And with that, Lacey Ling walked away from an unexpected and inexplicable failure of massive proportions. She wandered toward her car, still somewhat in a haze, but her concern over her bungled interview was already giving way to the idea of shady business brewing in the city. First her horrible dream about Jessica. And now some disappearances. And from the same campus Lacey now worked at? Speaking of which, her shift was set to start all too soon. Glancing at her watch, she hurried her steps; Mrs. Jones, her boss, considered tardiness for work was a cardinal sin.
*
“A double mocha latte for you,” Lacey said, carefully sliding the mug and saucer onto a table between a couple of guys who looked to be new freshmen at best; nothing particularly unusual for the morning crowd, whose murmurs mingled with the buzz from the TV. Lacey refused to even glance at the screen, since someone had set the channel to KZTB.
It still hurt to think that, despite the TV station’s pretty-sounding promises to bring her back after the incident with her previous boss, nothing resembling a job offer had materialized. Her savings had gotten slender quickly, and out of desperation, she’d picked up some part-time work at a coffee shop near the campus of the University of Washington.
Only telephone sales would have grated at her more than her new job.
“And a peppermint espresso with extra whipped cream and a candy cane for you,” she said, placing a second saucer on the table and ignoring the way the guys at the table openly stared at her. She’d learned quickly to wear baggy turtlenecks to work. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”
One of them snickered, and the other one blushed and swallowed hard before pasting on a cocky expression Lacey was sure he’d practiced in the mirror. “Yeah.” He whipped out his phone, and before she could think, she heard the click of a camera shutter. “
How about your number? Or just your digits.” His friend stifled a guffaw in his fist.
Lacey maintained her professional composure. This job is only temporary, the former news reporter reminded herself. “Yes, I have some numbers for you. One moment.” She stepped nimbly over to the register and rang up their tab, printed the ticket, and walked it back to their table. “There you go,” she said, placing the ticket on the table. “No charge for the extra whipped cream.”
“I meant your phone number, you dumb chick.”
“That,” she said with a smile, “is reserved for men. Get back with me when you figure out how to treat a lady, and maybe we’ll talk.”
The guy’s face flushed, and his friend muttered, “Burrrn.” She knew she’d just killed any chance of a tip, but in this case, she was fine with that.
“And this breaking news just in,” said a voice from the TV. Lacey recognized the voice. She knew the anchorwoman personally; she’d once competed for that same position.
“Seattle PD reports what appears to be a homicide near Seneca and Western, this morning. They say the body was found in a dumpster, with multiple stab wounds.”
Lacey whipped around, nearly bumping into a patron who was making her way past. She apologized quickly, then strode over to the TV, her attention now riveted on the screen. A crime scene played out before her eyes—flashing lights, police tape and all. The anchorwoman continued to speak.
“No suspects have yet been taken into custody, but investigators say the victim is Jessica Simcox, a twenty-five-year-old female. She had reportedly been returning home from a photo shoot for a local modeling agency when the incident occurred.” An image appeared on the screen, freezing Lacey’s blood. The Botox-enhanced lips, the flawless makeup, the bleached hair with stylish highlights. It was unmistakably Jessica.
Lacey stumbled backward, colliding with a table. Something clattered to the floor and broke.
“Hey! What’s your problem?”
Lacey spun, mortified, and noticed a girl in a nice outfit sporting a glower and a large, dark stain on her blouse. A shattered mug of coffee lay at her feet.
“So sorry,” Lacey hastily said vacantly. “Let me get something to clean that.” With that, she all but ran for the back room. When she returned, the girl she’d spilled coffee on was just stalking out the door. Mrs. Jones shot Lacey a glare from behind the till. Lacey gave an apologetic nod, and hurried to clean the mess. She stooped, dabbing at the spill and doing her best to ignore the TV.
“This is creeping me out,” she overheard a girl at the next table say. “First Brittany, then Shayla. Now this other girl on the news?”
Lacey paused and peeked over the table just in time to see a redheaded girl nod. “I’m locking my windows at night. My roommate is starting to freak out a little, too.” She knew the girl and her companion by sight, if not by name, and she’d served them often enough to know the redhead liked a caramel mochaccino with extra whipped cream and caramel sauce, while her petite, brunette friend took her coffee with a little cream and sugar, and a bagel.
The brunette bit her lip and stared into her coffee. “D-do you think they’ll figure it out?”
The redhead nodded. “I’m sure they will. Stuff like this just doesn’t happen without someone doing something about it.”
Lacey couldn’t help but be curious. Formal news was one thing, but scuttlebutt had its own value; she’d gotten plenty of leads from “word on the street.” Quickly wrapping up her cleaning, she stood and stepped over to the two friends, adopting her most relatable, innocent air.
The girls noticed Lacey immediately and looked up at her expectantly; the brunette peered at Lacey with a hint of a shy smile on her lips. Still shaken, Lacey glanced over her shoulder. Her boss had retreated to the back room, probably for daily inventory; Lacey knew she had at least twenty minutes. “Uh, hi, girls.” Lacey smiled. “How are your drinks this morning?”
The girls responded encouragingly, and Lacey took the cue to continue. “Apologies if I was eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about… things.”
The girls shot glances at each other, then looked back up.
Remembering her conversation at the PR firm, Lacey said, “Sounds like I’ve missed some news lately.” Her heart beat hard, as she tried to talk low. “Have there been other murders?”
The brunette recoiled slightly and looked at the floor, but the redhead shrugged meekly, and said, “We hope not. I mean, a couple of girls from our sorority have gone missing.”
“Missing?” Lacey repeated, eyes widening as she crouched next to the table. “For how long? Who are they? D-do you know them?”
Again, the redhead spoke. “We know of them. They come here. They’ve been missing for, like, a week.” She glanced at the brunette. “Emily, didn’t Brittany say something about maybe going home early for Christmas?”
The other girl, Emily, nodded. “I think her parents were taking her to Cabo or something.”
“Oh,” sighed the redhead. “She is so lucky.”
Lacey sensed the subject getting away from her. “You said they’re both your sorority sisters,” Lacey repeated. She gestured at the TV, where the news had moved onto a weather report. “Was the girl on TV in your sorority as well?”
The brunette shook her head. “No.”
Lacey pursed her lips. “You seemed to think that murder could be related to your girlfriends’ disappearances; why’s that?”
The redhead grimaced. “We don’t know if they are. It’s just all really freaky, with the timing and all. And, like, the girl on TV—she’s drop-dead gorgeous. So are Brittany and Shayla. Our sorority sisters. Maybe there’s some kind of psycho perv out there.” She shuddered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I think we’ve had too many late nights,” she said, locking eyes with her tablemate. “Don’t you?”
The brunette nodded vigorously as she sipped at her drink. “Yeah. I should be thinking about finals.”
“Or about Bret,” the redhead retorted. Her friend’s face flushed, and she swatted at the redhead.
“Okay,” Lacey said, sensing she wasn’t likely to get anything else out of them. “I just, well, I’m in a bad neighborhood. It got me thinking. Thanks for your time.”
“Sure,” the redhead said. “Nice meeting you.”
The brunette grinned suddenly, an impish glint in her eye. “You know, you’reactually just as pretty as that girl on TV. Maybe you’re next.” She made a spooky noise, then the two girls laughed. Lacey forced herself to laugh along with them, hiding the fact that her insides were quivering. She thanked the girls again, then headed for the back room to put away her cleaning supplies. All she’d gotten was the hunch of a pair of college girls, but she knew well enough that even a hunch should never be totally dismissed. She pursed her lips and pulled out her phone. She may not have a job at KZTB any longer, but she still had connections.
A few seconds later, a text message to an old friend marked her official entry into the investigation of the murder of Jessica Simcox.
TWO
Lacey stepped out of her black Lincoln MKZ into the cracked parking lot of her new apartment complex. Thankfully, she already owned her expensive ride. And the high-priced security system with GPS tracking. She glanced back at it; the elegantly sleek lines and shine of pure luxury didn’t quite fit in with the random beaters nearby, one even spray-painted. Another had its front bumper off and hood up, nobody nearby working on it. Gazing a little farther down the row of cars, she caught sight of an Escalade, though it would do well without the ridiculous rims and window tats.
Pulling her purse up higher on her shoulder, she headed toward her bottom-floor apartment. A swirl of smoke caught her attention, leading to a man in a tank top. “'Sup?” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Lacey gave a curt hello and hurried on her way, hearing her neighbors shrieking at each other all the way through the stucco walls. Something about not locking a door. Before locking,
and chaining, her own front door, the sound of an ambulance whined in the distance.
“Nainai,” she called toward the backroom. “I’m home.” She didn’t expect an answer—her grandmother was usually asleep when she got home—but it made her feel better all the same. She slipped off her shoes and turned her thoughts carefully back to the morning news. She hadn’t been able to get it off her mind since first hearing about it, and she had difficulty believing the other disappearances were merely coincidental. A healthy dose of paranoia and over-analysis, she found, had helped propel her as a good investigative reporter. Yet before she could do much investigating, she still had to deal with the home front.
Surveying her tiny new living room, she sighed at just how much work moving was, even after hiring someone to do the hauling. Knowing that moping was useless, she reluctantly grabbed a box cutter and went to work on the nearest box.
She had barely gotten the thing open, and was fishing out some plates, when her phone buzzed once; a text. Lacey nearly dropped her load, but managed to safely stash the plates on the counter while she scrabbled to unlock her phone. Cathy Higgins, her old editor from KZTB, had texted her back. This place sucks without you, the message read. I wish they’d come to their senses and hire you back.
Lacey tapped out a reply. I’ll be fine. Have you happened to hear anything more about that Simcox murder?
She waited a moment before another buzz. Not yet, Cathy said. Why?
Lacey bit the corner of her lip, hesitating. Who was the witness? she finally typed.
Right away, the reply came. You know that’s confidential.
It was. Cathy would never be caught texting confidential information. She could lose her job. So Lacey pressed Cathy’s contact picture on the phone’s screen, and it started ringing.
The answer was quick, Cathy’s voice an excited whisper. “Hey, Lacey.”
“So spill,” Lacey said, raising her brows expectantly.