The horrible darkness was beginning to edge back into her brain, and she tried to push it away. She would not let herself sink into another debilitating depression. She would not allow herself to be swallowed up like that again.
She would get Boyd out of her head, once and for all. No texting. No stalking. No even thinking about him.
Her feelings for him had been too strong, and he’d lied to her, used her. So she was done with him.
She blew out the candle, and the room went dark and lonely.
Realizing her eyes were finally getting heavy, she carefully set the blade back on her nightstand and slipped into unconsciousness.
Chelsea opened her eyes again when she heard her apartment door swing open. It was much later now. Moonlight streamed in through her bedroom window, bathing everything in the room in a bluish hue. Harry scrambled off the bed and scurried beneath it.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. She turned to her other side, her heart hammering in her chest. She’d been having another nightmare.
“Chelsea?”
A slice of light appeared beneath her bedroom door. Elizabeth had turned on the living-room light.
She heard Elizabeth muttering something to herself from the living room.
Chelsea squeezed her eyes closed.
There was a soft knock at her bedroom door.
“Chelsea?”
The door cracked open.
“Yeah,” Chelsea said, her words sounding thick.
“Mind if I turn on the light?”
“Whatever.”
Light flooded the room, and Chelsea squinted at the sudden brightness. She watched Elizabeth’s gaze travel around the room, taking everything in. She was holding a Styrofoam container in her hand.
She sat on the end of the bed. “I just got back from the hospital. I brought some chicken and dumplings from the cafeteria. Have you eaten?”
Chelsea’s stomach rumbled at the reminder.
She shook her head.
“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll heat some up?”
Chelsea crawled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom on shaky legs.
As she ran hot bathwater and peeled her clothes off, she glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror. She hated what she saw staring back at her: a pale, haggard-looking woman with dark circles beneath her eyes.
She looked afraid.
And defeated.
Was she?
A minute later, she was in a hot bath with Epsom salts and a thick washcloth, scrubbing the awful night off her skin. As she soaked, she watched the steam rise from the water and tried not to think.
Twenty minutes later, her face washed, her teeth brushed, and wearing fresh cotton pajamas, she headed to the kitchen, passing the dirty dishes and half-full coffee cups that had been abandoned in various places around her apartment. She plopped down on a chair at the small bar and reluctantly told Elizabeth what she’d learned.
She cried as she talked and watched Elizabeth sip her coffee, the expression on her face morphing through a litany of emotions: concern, understanding, anger, concern again. But she didn’t say one word. Finally, Chelsea stopped. She had confessed the whole awful story about last night. What she’d done. How Boyd had reacted.
After she finished, the kitchen was silent.
She looked at Elizabeth’s pink scrubs. Tonight’s had baby otters all over them.
After a long moment of silence, Elizabeth tilted her head and finally spoke. “Well, the good thing is that it’s over.”
Yeah. It was. There was absolutely no question about it.
“Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to realize without a doubt that something was bad for you.”
Yeah, I guess, Chelsea thought. A shiver ran through her.
Elizabeth went to the couch and grabbed an afghan. She draped it around Chelsea’s shoulders. “Shake off the dust, and forget about that loser, okay?”
Chelsea nodded.
“It’s over, and things are going to start looking up again. You are going to be just fine. Better than fine.”
Chelsea wanted to believe it. But she had a feeling. A very strong one . . . that her friend was wrong.
CHAPTER 20
THE SUN WAS in its death throes as Lang sped along the quiet, winding road. He checked his handwritten directions to Katherine’s house to make sure he was on the right route.
The address didn’t show up on his phone’s GPS, and the street signs—the few that he’d seen—were poorly marked. From the darkened storefronts, abandoned gas station, and boarded homes, it was clear the area had long been forgotten by most folks, which was a little surprising since the college was less than two miles away.
He made a quick call to Springfield, requesting updated information on Boyd Lawson. When he hung up, he downed more coffee. He was exhausted, and his back and knee were aching worse than ever. He cracked his window, letting cool air—and the pungent odor of wet manure—flood into the vehicle.
When he’d spoken to Katherine on the phone, she had seemed surprised to hear from him about the killings, but she’d agreed to meet. He’d been pleased she had, because his gut told him that meeting her would be important to the case.
He spotted the large horseshoe on a tree right next to a gravel path. It was where Katherine had told him to turn. His car bounced over the uneven path, fields of dense woods closing in on either side of his car. About twenty yards in, the path opened onto a large clearing where a gray, weather-beaten barn squatted. About a hundred feet from it was the charred remains of what appeared to be a farmhouse that had burned to the ground.
A double-wide trailer home sat a few yards from the barn. A gold Honda Accord was parked in front of it. Katherine had told him she’d be in her office in the barn, so he pulled to a stop beside it, next to a rusted-out tractor.
He parked and looked around, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. The landscape surrounding him felt oddly familiar. He was trying to place it when the two white Dutch doors to the barn creaked open, and a woman that he presumed to be Katherine appeared.
The evening wind gusted, sending crisp leaves dancing at his feet as he stepped out of his car. Katherine pulled a blue jacket tight and smiled at him.
“You found me,” she said.
“Thank God. If I got lost out here, I don’t know if anyone would have ever found me.”
She smiled and gestured for him to follow her back inside the barn. It smelled musty but with the sweet scent of old, decaying hay. A red door separated a room from the main area, and Katherine opened it, motioning for Lang to enter.
The office inside was clean, tidy, and surprisingly nice, considering its location. A large desk sat against one wall with a computer monitor and laptop situated on the wall opposite of it. A black-wood credenza held a large laser printer. A floor heater was buzzing next to the desk, but the place still felt cool and a little dank.
“This is quite a setup. You’d never know this was in here.”
“Thanks. It was my mom’s office.”
Katherine was in her late thirties, a bit willowy, and had jet-black hair that was styled into a pixie cut. Before coming, Lang had learned she had spent eight years in the air force in an administrative position and now worked for herself.
Katherine opened a folding chair that had been leaning against the wall and offered it to Lang, then walked around her desk and sat in the high-backed leather swivel chair.
“Sorry,” she said, pointing to his chair. “I don’t typically get visitors.”
“What is it you do again?”
“College textbooks. I compile and edit them.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, it can be. I probably have the equivalent of six or seven bachelor’s degrees by now. For whatever that’s worth. Which apparently isn’t much.” She smiled, but it didn’t last long. “But that’s not why you’re here. You said there’ve been new developments in the Springfield case?”
Matter-of-f
act and to the point. Lang liked that.
“That’s correct. I’m trying to fill in any gaps from the last investigation.”
“So, why questions about Chelsea Dutton?”
“Well, for one, I wanted to see if you could think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her.”
She frowned. “Like I told you over the phone, I didn’t know her well. And I never heard from that other detective you mentioned—”
“Duplechaine.”
“Right. I wasn’t living here when my folks took Chelsea in.” She wrung her hands, then dropped them on her lap. “I think I may have seen her only a few times.”
“So that would be a no. You don’t know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her? A family member? Friend of the family? Friend? Anyone?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“Can you tell me a little about her? The little bit that you saw?”
Her eyes flitted to the wall behind him for a moment. “She was shy, quiet. My mother told me she had had a tough life. Had been passed through a bunch of foster homes, and that’s always hard on a kid. Mom worried a lot about her.”
“How do you mean?”
“She seemed a little codependent. Followed my mother everywhere. Mom didn’t think that was healthy.”
“She was about eleven years old at the time, right?”
Katherine looked up, seeming to think about it. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Ten or eleven. To be honest, my parents didn’t talk to me much about her or any of the other foster kids. I think they tried to focus mostly on me when I was around. Like they were worried I might think I was being ignored or replaced. They were very sensitive about things like that.”
“Did you? Feel ignored? Replaced?”
Katherine gave him a slightly bashful look. “Well, at the time, I would’ve said no. But looking back, maybe a little.”
“That’s understandable.”
Her eyes grew a little distant as though she was remembering something. “Yeah. I guess.”
“And she lived here, what, six months?”
Katherine nodded. “Yes. Until the fire.”
On the phone, Katherine had briefly told him about the house fire that had claimed both of her parents’ lives. “I was sorry to hear about your parents.”
Something dark passed in front of Katherine’s eyes. She shrugged. “Thanks. But it was a long time ago.”
“Still, I know it must have been tough on you.”
“Yeah. I still miss them a lot.”
“Did you see Chelsea at all after your parents died?”
“No.” She cleared her throat. “Like I said, I barely knew her, so she never really entered my mind after that.”
Lang asked her a few more questions, all of which turned out to be dead ends. Then they sat in silence for a moment.
“Anything else you think might help before I go?”
“Maybe. My mom kept very detailed records on all the foster kids. Any new prescriptions, problem behavior. That kind of thing. They were stored out here, so they survived the fire. I could get Chelsea’s for you if you want.”
“That would be great.”
She stood and went to a file cabinet, opened one of the bottom drawers, and rooted around. A moment later, she was holding a pink manila folder.
The label read “Chelsea Dutton.”
She handed it to Lang, and he opened it to find a bunch of loose pages and a spiral notebook.
“I remember when those murders happened,” Katherine said, her arms crossed across her body. “I was stationed in Germany at the time and read about it on the Internet. It took me a while to realize she was the survivor everyone was talking about.”
Lang nodded. He shut his notebook and stood to leave. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Jones.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry I wasn’t more help.”
Katherine walked Lang through the musty barn and back outside. As he limped to his car, he tried to process what he’d gotten from their conversation. At face value, it seemed to be nothing. So why had Duplechaine wanted to speak with her? Did he know something that Lang didn’t? Or had talking with Katherine maybe been a lead that, in the end, Duplechaine decided wasn’t worth the time and effort to follow?
His gut was still telling him the visit had been important. Maybe the file she’d given him would prove to be of help. While he’d been inside the barn, night had fallen, leaving just enough light for the tall oak trees to reflect off what appeared to be a pond far in the distance.
He lingered on the view again before stepping back into his car.
WHEN LANG PULLED up to his motel room, Janie was in the parking lot, leaning against her Toyota Prius, staring down at her phone.
Dammit, Victoria, he thought.
But when Janie looked up and smiled at him, he knew he couldn’t be angry. At Victoria or Janie.
Victoria stuck her nose in his business because she cared. Moreover, he realized he was happy to see Janie.
He climbed out of his car and walked toward her, trying his best to mask his pain. He’d been driving way too much lately, which only served to intensify it.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.” He smiled.
He took her in. She was such a beautiful woman in all the important ways. She was different from the women he’d dated when he was younger. Different from his late wife. But in many ways, better suited for him. Her looks were the icing on the cake. Her strawberry-blonde hair was casually pulled up in a high ponytail, and she was gripping her phone between her hands. “I won’t interfere,” she said, her eyes warm. “I’ll stay out of your way. I’m only here to help.”
Without saying a word, he pulled her into a hug and held her tight.
“I miss you,” she murmured.
“I don’t know why,” he replied. He honestly didn’t.
“Well, that’s the thing. You don’t need to.”
He realized he’d missed her more than he’d thought.
She pulled away and looked him over.
“I can see you’re in pain. Are you eating right? Resting?”
“Eh. You sound like Victoria. Why don’t we talk about something else?”
He grabbed her bag and led her into his motel room. For most of the night, they held each other in bed. Janie filled him in on everything going on with her. She asked about the case and all the notes pinned to the wall. He explained everything that had happened since he’d been in Boston, and she had a bunch of questions. She was very familiar with the killings. Lang had been staying at her apartment the night they happened.
He’d always thought Janie would have made an excellent detective. Her deductive skills were top-notch. He was sure they rivaled some of the best in the business.
After they’d grown silent, he lay facing her. “I don’t know why you put up with me.”
She propped herself up on an elbow. “Are you kidding? You have excellent values. A great heart. You make me laugh. I like who I am when I’m with you,” she said softly. “And on top of it all, you’re very easy to look at.”
“But I barely have a job. And I don’t have much money.”
“I can give a flip about money, Robert. You know that. Don’t get me wrong. It’s great to have the security of money. The freedom it affords me. But I’d give it all up to just have you.”
He could feel a smile creep across his face.
“But don’t make me chase you too long, okay?”
“Okay.”
Neither of them was the mushy sort, so they left it at that.
Before falling asleep, he started reading through the folder Katherine had given him. Delores Jones had kept meticulous notes.
September 3
Nothing different. Chelsea still stays holed up in her bedroom unless forced to come out. She seems angry. And almost afraid we are going to hurt her. Pediatrician recommended medication. I’m checking with her caseworker as she has had bad results with similar medications in the past. She is very frig
htened at the prospect of just taking a vitamin. You would think that she thought we were trying to poison her. Poor girl. It just shows what she’s been through.
September 5
This morning Chelsea turned a corner with us. She’s never been receptive to touch. But this morning, she hugged me. I take this as a very good sign. I think we’re winning her trust. We’re going to keep doing what we’ve been doing. We haven’t heard back regarding a decision on the medication yet. If it were my choice, at this point, I lean toward not medicating, at least until we see where this new behavior goes.
September 8
Chelsea has been following me around the last few days and helping with chores, like cooking and baking. She even helped muck out the barn yesterday. I’ve racked my brain trying to think if we’ve done anything different to promote this new behavior. We haven’t. It’s definitely trust. It just took her some time. Very excited about this.
Lang’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. Sergeant Thatcher from the Springfield PD. He closed the notebook and took the call.
“Hey, got that information on Boyd Lawson you asked for,” Thatcher said. The sergeant gave him a rundown on what he’d learned about his stints in rehab, then said he’d been pretty clean from a law-enforcement perspective over the last few years, aside from two speeding tickets. He worked for a car-detailing company called Fine Brush. Lived in Marblehead. Married to a Lisa Lawson—
Married?
Lang shook his head, wondering if Chelsea knew.
CHAPTER 21
WHAT THE HELL had she been thinking? Boyd wondered, his stomach twisted in knots.
Sneaking up to his house and spying in the window?
He splashed more Scotch into his glass, then slid the bottle back into the bottom drawer of his desk.
Why the hell would she do such a thing? She wasn’t the stalker type. In fact, she was the most levelheaded chick he’d ever known. Yeah, he knew she’d had issues since the murders—and rightfully so—but shit.
What if Lisa had seen her?
How in the hell would he have explained it?
Like he didn’t already have enough problems without Chelsea going completely batshit on him. The nonstop texting had been bad enough. Lisa still randomly checked his texts and voice mail messages. It was a deal they’d made in front of their couples’ therapist six months ago. Honesty and trust, the therapist had said, were the foundation of all strong relationships, marriages especially. And Lisa had lapped up every bit of it.
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