“A consensual sexual relationship?”
“She never said different, did she? She didn’t lie about that shit, anyway.”
Sam made notes. “She was twelve years old.”
“She looked older.” Todd was defensive. “She said she was older.”
Sam tapped his pen against his chin, regarding the man. Why was it so important for him to say that? Assuming that Todd was stalking Lola, a girl who didn’t even know his name, then Todd wouldn’t have had any real idea how old she was anyway. Say he’d assumed she was sixteen or seventeen. What kind of defense was that? Todd was still far too old for her.
Did harping on that point mean that Todd was trying to justify the relationship to himself? Was it the kind of thing a guy said when he got snowed by a younger girl playing dangerous games with older men?
Near as Sam could tell, it only meant that Todd was trying to present himself as somewhat of a decent person. It fell pretty far short of the mark, though. And it utterly failed to make Sam think badly of Lola.
Unless…
Unless she really was some kind of preteen temptress.
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. When he was younger, he’d watched Hannah do all kinds of inappropriate things. Hannah had been older than twelve when she did most of it, but she’d still been young.
But Sam didn’t like to think of Hannah.
He cleared his throat. “How did you meet Lola?”
Todd shrugged. “At the mall. We used to hang out there, in the arcade. A whole bunch of us. She was one of the people who sometimes showed up. We ran into each other a few times, and we both knew there was something between us. Something really electric, you know? A lot of people don’t know what it’s like to feel that way. To really be in love with someone. It makes you whole. It makes you feel like you got the inside track. Everyone else is in black and white, but you and your girl are in color.”
It was a funny thing to say, considering he and Lola both seemed to have dressed mostly in black.
Todd rubbed his chin. “But her parents, man. They found out about us, and they wouldn’t let us be together.”
“Her parents found out that you were having sex with their twelve-year-old daughter? Maybe that upset them.”
“We weren’t doing it yet,” he said. “We didn’t, like, consummate things or whatever until after they were dead.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, unsure of how to interpret that. If Nicholas Todd had raped Lola, would she have said anything? He flicked his gaze over the beefy man. For Lola’s sake, he hoped it was all part of Todd’s elaborate fantasy.
“Anyway, Lola would sneak out to see me,” he said. “And it was her idea. One night, she started talking about it. And she wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t let up on it, not until I did it. I did exactly what she wanted. I did it all for her. And this is how she repaid me. Getting me locked up here.” He grimaced again—maybe it was a smile. “If I could get my hands on that lying cunt now…”
“What?”
Todd’s voice went gravelly. “I’d wrap my hands around her pretty little neck and squeeze until she turned purple.”
*
“How’d you get this number?” said Nissa Carlos. She was Lola’s best friend from high school—according to the yearbook anyway, which had featured a picture of the two of them with their arms around each other, with the caption, Best Friends: Nissa and Lola.
“The Internet,” Sam chirped. He was always amazed that people didn’t seem to realize their phone numbers were a matter of public record. If a person wanted a number unlisted, she had to pay for that privilege. “I only want to ask you a few questions about Lola.”
“I’m not talking to you. You’re not the first jackass to try to get me to spill dirt on her, but what none of you seem to understand is that Lola is my friend. I’m not going to backstab her like that.”
“No backstabbing.” Sam was smiling really widely, even though Nissa couldn’t see him. He was convinced that people could hear a smile. “I promise. Look, I’m doing this with Lola’s blessing, all right? I’m not out to hurt her. I’m out to find the real story. The true story.”
Nissa snorted. “Now I know you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“That’s not Lola’s bag,” said Nissa. “Lola’s not one to clear the air and tell the truth and shit like that.”
“No? What do you mean by that? Do you mean that Lola’s deceptive?”
“Stop twisting my words, fuckhead. I meant that she wouldn’t have anything to do with you, and that’s all,” she said. “I’m hanging up now. I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“Don’t hang up. I only want to ask a few questions. How did you meet Lola?” Sam knew that there was something tantalizing about an unanswered question. He always threw them out, even if a person said they didn’t want to answer any questions. It was hard to resist giving an answer if you knew it.
“Just at school,” said Nissa. “We had classes together. But I didn’t even know her back when all that stuff went down with her parents. I met her years later.”
“No, I know that,” said Sam. “She was sixteen. Four years had passed. She wasn’t the same girl.”
“Right.” Nissa didn’t seem to have suspected that Sam would agree with her. There was an edge of curiosity in her tone, the wariness peeling back a bit.
“Did she still wear goth clothes?”
“What? Who says she ever wore goth clothes?”
“So, that’s a no?”
“We weren’t those kinds of kids,” said Nissa. “We weren’t freaks like that, okay? We weren’t the smartest and the sweetest girls in the school, but we were mostly normal.”
“What kinds of things did you do to together?”
“I don’t know. Stuff. Look, I still talk to Lola. All the time. So if you’re making all this shit up about having her blessing, then I’m going to know, okay?”
“Fine,” he said. “Call Lola, then. If she says it’s okay, then call me back.”
Nissa was quiet. “You swear you’re not lying.”
“Swear,” he said. “So, did she ever talk about Nicholas Todd?”
“You are a liar,” said Nissa. “Fuck you.” She hung up.
Sam sighed.
*
“Lola,” said Sam into his phone, “can you tell your friend Nissa that I’m not the Big Bad Wolf? She won’t talk to me.”
“Sam?” Lola’s voice sounded distant. “You know, I really don’t want to talk about this stuff on the phone.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I only want you to tell Nissa that it’s okay for me to interview her.”
“No, I mean it.” She sounded preoccupied. “I don’t like talking on the phone. It’s impersonal, and I can’t tell what people are thinking. It’s too easy to be fooled over the phone.”
“I’m not trying to fool you.”
“And if you were trying to fool me, that’s exactly what you’d say.”
Sam was sitting in his office chair, and he propped his legs up on the desk. “Lola, come on. I thought we were on the same page, here. I thought things were going to go smoothly between us. I’m on your side.”
“Let’s meet and talk face-to-face, all right?”
“I’m not trying to get into an in-depth conversation. I’ve already said what I need to say.”
“Can you meet me in an hour or so? We can go out for drinks and food or something. I’ll text you the name of the restaurant.”
*
Sam stood uncomfortably at the door to Barley and Hops in Frederick. He was pretty familiar with the place, a bar and grill that used to be a second home for him and Daphne, back when they were together. He used to meet her here three or four times a week for happy hour after she got off work. He hadn’t been back since the breakup.
The thing was, Daphne had introduced him to this place. He’d always sort of considered it hers. When they’d split up, he’d gone to the house in Harpers F
erry and she’d stayed in Frederick. They’d never talked about it, but he’d ceded all of the things that she’d brought into the relationship back to her. The friends they’d had that were her friends before they were his friends. The music she’d introduced him to. The places she’d taken him. Those things belonged to Daphne, and he felt as if he needed to steer clear.
But this was where Lola had texted him to meet up, and when he’d tried to suggest that they meet somewhere else, she’d shut him down right away. Apparently, Lola had been wanting to check this place out for a long time, and she wouldn’t consider going anywhere else.
Not that it made sense. Lola lived in Hagerstown, which was a good thirty-minute drive from Frederick. Why hadn’t she picked someplace closer to her apartment? Why had she wanted to come here of all places?
Besides, it was stupid. He didn’t need to talk to Lola right now. He could be at home, going through his list of people to call and interview. He wanted to have more information before he came back to Lola. He wanted to have incidents and accusations for her to confirm or deny. Right now, he was gathering information.
But he hadn’t denied the meeting outright. After all, he’d only talked to her once, and it would be good to feel her out some more, get more of an idea of who she was. Thus far, what he’d uncovered seemed to point more in the direction of the version of events on websites than the official version. He wasn’t convinced that Lola had killed her parents, but he did think there was more to the story than she was letting on. He thought she was hiding something.
A black VW Jetta pulled into the parking lot. Lola got out. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut sweater. Her blond hair didn’t look messy but artfully styled. She was wearing makeup. She waved at him and then sauntered over. Her movements were careless, but he couldn’t help but notice how her hips swayed from side to side. It was… suggestive. Was she doing that on purpose?
Lola laughed her deep, rich laugh. She tossed her cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. “Do I look good, Sam?”
Had he been staring at her? Damn it, he had. He flushed, jamming his hands in his pockets.
Lola leaned close. “It’s okay if you’ve got a little crush on me, you know. I might have a little crush on you too.” Then she swung open the door of the restaurant and left him standing outside.
He clenched his jaw. What was it about Lola that made him so on edge? Squaring his shoulders, he followed her inside.
She was already talking with the hostess. “…so, maybe not a booth, but not something out in the middle of the floor either. If you can tuck us in a corner somewhere, that’d be great. We’d probably like some privacy, right, Sam?” She winked at him.
He looked away.
The hostess looked annoyed.
Lola drew back. “Hey, did you just roll your eyes?”
The hostess sighed. “No, ma’am.”
“I think you did.” Lola tossed her hair. “You completely did. It’s not like I was asking for something unreasonable, you know?” She turned to Sam. “You don’t think I was being unreasonable, do you?”
Sam twitched. Great. Now Lola was going to make a big scene, wasn’t she?
Lola turned back to the hostess. “I happen to know what I like, okay? And I’m not afraid to ask for it. And this is your job, lady. So, I really don’t think it’s appropriate if—”
Sam grabbed Lola by the arm. “Maybe we should go somewhere else, huh?”
Lola shook him off. “Don’t put your hands on me.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry.
“That is not cool.” Lola’s nostrils flared. “I don’t like it when people touch me like that.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” said Sam. “That was out of line.” He cast a glance around the restaurant. Everyone was looking at them, even the people at the bar, which was at the back of the restaurant and was usually pretty noisy. But he could see the people standing there, draft beers in their hands, staring at him.
Lola had gone back to the hostess. “So, anyway, I think you owe me an apology too.”
The hostess seethed. “I’m really sorry.”
“Like you mean it,” said Lola.
Sam cringed, glancing back up at the people at the bar. He wanted to die. He hated being part of an exchange like this.
And then it was abundantly worse, because he recognized someone standing over in the bar.
Daphne.
She was holding a wine glass, and her mouth had made a tiny “O.” She looked stunned.
Sam shut his eyes. “Lola, it’s really not a good idea for us to be here.”
“Why not?”
He looked back up at Daphne. She’d set down her drink, and she was coming across the restaurant for him. Her face was frozen in an unreadable expression.
Lola went back to the hostess. “You know, maybe I was being too picky. People always tell me that I’m too… mouthy, I guess. I don’t mean to be. It just comes out. Anywhere you can seat us is fine.”
Sam’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t stop staring at Daphne, who was close enough now that she could hear what was going on.
Lola reached back and grabbed Sam’s hand. “Come on, Sam. It’s fine. She’s going to seat us.”
Daphne stopped short. “I don’t believe you.”
Sam swallowed. He yanked his hand away from Lola.
Daphne pushed past him and out of the restaurant.
“Oh my God,” said Lola. “Was that…?”
Sam ignored her. He went after Daphne, out into the cold, winter air. “Daphne!” he called.
She was halfway across the parking lot. She whirled. “I can’t believe you would bring someone here.”
He hurried over to where she was standing. “It’s not like that, Daphne. It’s work. It’s for a new book.”
She laughed. “Well, that makes me feel better. As we all know, if it’s about the book, then it’s got nothing to do with anything else.”
He hung his head. He deserved that. He knew he did. “Look, I tried to get her not to come here, but she insisted.”
“She’s a tramp, Sam. And how old is she? Eighteen?”
“She’s Lola Ward,” he said. “She contacted me. She wants me to tell her story. Since the thing with Rachel fell through, this is my only chance to hang on to my advance.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I know she’s kind of a lot to take. But she’s been through hell, and—”
“I’ve been through hell, Sam,” said Daphne. “I spent ten days tied up in a hunting cabin by a psychopath. And I don’t act like that.”
She had a point.
Daphne shook her head. “I’m sure she thinks you’re great.”
“Baby, it’s not like that.”
“Don’t call me that.” She started to shake. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
Damn it. He remembered when she used to love it when he said that. He remembered when he could put his arm around her and she’d press tight against his body, so warm and soft. He remembered the way she’d look up at him, adoration all over her face—like she trusted him, like she knew he was there to protect her from everything.
“You are great,” said Daphne. “At the beginning, you’re great. You always want to be Prince Charming, Sam. But you’re really shit at happily-ever-afters.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave.”
“Forget it,” said Daphne. “I’ll leave. I can’t be here anymore.”
“Daphne.”
She turned and started walking towards her car.
He went after her. “Wait. Look, let’s talk about this. Maybe if we just—”
“Nothing to talk about.” She didn’t even look at him. She walked faster.
“There’s good stuff with us, Daphne. I still love you.”
She paused at the door to her car. “No, you don’t. I don’t think you ever did.” She glared at him. “I don’t even know if you understand love.”
>
CHAPTER THREE
“So,” said Lola. “You and Daphne having problems?”
Sam stood over the table. It was in the corner, just as Lola had requested. She was sipping a beer and perusing the menu. Sam clutched the back of one of the chairs. “Why did you want to come here, Lola?”
She looked up at him. “I told you, I wanted to check it out.”
He pulled the chair out and sat down. “You know things about me.”
“I researched you,” she said.
“You knew,” he said. “You knew about me and Daphne.”
She set down the menu. “Okay, I knew. Seriously, you think I would have been flirting with you so much if I thought you were happily married?”
“Why’d you do it? You trying to fuck with me?”
She furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”
He chuckled. “Don’t play games with me. You set this up. You wanted Daphne to see us together.”
“I did not.” She looked at him with huge, innocent eyes. “How would I know that Daphne was here? And why would I do something like that?”
“You tell me.”
She sighed. She reached across the table and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re sounding really crazy and paranoid, Sam. I know it must be rough going through a divorce—”
“We’re not. We’re only separated. Daphne and I are still very much legally married.”
“Well, but you had an affair with Rachel Fletcher while you were trying to write a book about her, didn’t you?” said Lola.
He leaned across the table. “How do you know that?”
“I know things,” she said. “I know all about you, Sam. I wanted to know all about you before I asked you to write my story. So I looked into you. It’s no different than what you’re doing to me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you,” he said.
She took a drink of her beer. “You said you’d be on my side, but you’ve been asking some strange questions about me. Why’d you want to know if I wore goth clothes in high school?”
He tapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Oh, no, Lola, don’t turn this around. This isn’t about what I’m doing. I’m doing my job. I’m finding out what I can so that I can write a book about you. But you don’t have any right to start prying—”
The Girl on the Stairs Page 4