Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  “Are you all right?” Chyna asked. “You look sick.”

  “Thanks,” Ned returned curtly.

  “Well, you do.” At that moment, he sneezed, then coughed a couple of times. “Okay. I don’t feel great. I woke up late, but I hadn’t felt like I’d slept all night, and I seem to have been losing ground ever since. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  Chyna nodded. “You’re definitely coming down with something. You’ve always been prone to getting the flu in autumn and this is how it starts out—sweating, sneezing, coughing. Maybe you should go to the emergency room at the hospital.”

  “I don’t feel that bad,” Ned snapped. Then he looked at

  Scott, sitting with a glass of iced tea in front of him. “Thanks for taking care of my little sister.”

  “It was my pleasure, although I’m not sure anyone finds me much of a threat with this damned walking stick.” Scott threw the stick, propped against the wall, a glare that seemed to say it had seen its last day as his companion. Chyna glanced at it, too, noticing tiny bits of rust-colored stain in the deep ivory engraving of Henry VIII. Scott’s mother would have a fit if he’d damaged her antique, Chyna thought. Scott went on, “And of course Chyna had Michelle.”

  The dog raised her head and looked around fearfully, as if someone were going to ask her to do something brave. Even Ned grinned and said, “It’s okay, girl. Your mistress is safe. You can go back to sleep.”

  “Don’t expect her to fall into an immediate snooze,” Chyna said. “She’s spooked again.”

  “I thought dogs were supposed to protect you,” Scott said.

  “A dog’s duty is first and foremost to be your best friend,” Chyna told him. “Some of them are asked to protect their owners. Mine are not. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Ned opened the refrigerator door, stared at the contents for a minute, then withdrew a can of 7UP. “Chyna, considering what happened here today, don’t you think you’d be safer staying with Bev and me?”

  Chyna frowned. “Ned, you don’t have room for me.”

  “Sure we do. We have three bedrooms.”

  “One of which you turned into a playroom for the kids. The second is their room, with bunk beds. Are you going to kick one of them out of a bed and give it to me? Or do you want me to sleep with you and Beverly?”

  Ned popped open the can and downed at least a third of it. Chyna knew this meant he had a sore throat and felt dehydrated. “You and me and Bev in one bed?” he asked after a noisy gulp that Chyna thought would end with his getting choked. “I don’t know about that. You two would talk about hairstyles and boys and giggle all night. I wouldn’t get any sleep.” Chyna made a face at him. “I guess either you or I could sleep on the couch.”

  Chyna tried for the least insulting words she could muster, but she knew she’d never had the finesse of her mother when it came to not insulting people. “Ned, thank you so much for your offer, but I’m not going to kick you out of your bed, especially when you’re getting sick, nor am I going to sleep on the couch, either. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but your couch feels like it’s filled with gravel.”

  “Bev’s mother gave it to us and she’d be crushed if we got rid of it, although I know it’s hardly the most comfortable piece of furniture in creation,” Ned said dolefully.

  “Mom did a good job of picking some furniture on the basis of beauty rather than comfort, too,” Chyna reassured him. “Those armchairs in the living room, for example. If that rock someone threw today had hit one of them, it would have ricocheted right back out the window.”

  “And hopefully it would have hit one of the Black Willow Crusaders on the head,” Ned returned fiercely. Then he sighed. “You really just don’t want to leave this house, do you?”

  Chyna frowned and said slowly, “No, even in spite of the ruckus today. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to desert Mom’s house. Or maybe I just feel her presence here.” She realized both Ned and Scott were staring at her uneasily. “I mean, I don’t think I see her ghost or anything,” she added hastily. “I don’t go around talking to her essence, not that I think her essence is hanging out here or…”

  She took a deep breath. “I sound like a lunatic. What I am trying to say is that there are things I need to do here, like … like clean out the refrigerator and pay that stack of bills I saw on her desk and gather up the personal papers she didn’t put in the safety-deposit box. I should also go through her clothing to see what needs to go to Goodwill and what maybe Beverly would like to have. I need to do at least a dozen things around here. After all, Mom wasn’t in the hospital or a nursing home for a long time. We made no preparations for closing up this house or…” Chyna felt her throat closing up. “Or disposing of her belongings,” she choked out. “Besides, Rex is here.”

  “Bev can help you with all that stuff,” Ned said. Chyna

  caught Scott flashing her brother a stern glance. Ned had offered his wife’s services but not his own, and clearly Scott didn’t approve. Ned didn’t seem to notice, though. “And I wouldn’t count on Rex to be your protector. He’s never here. But if you really don’t want to stay with Bev and me, we can’t make you.”

  “It was a kind offer, Ned, but it’s really more practical for me to stay here. Especially because I have Michelle. The children would never give you and Beverly a moment’s peace with a dog around.”

  “Yeah, they would go crazy over the dog. The poor thing would probably have a nervous breakdown.” Ned took a sip of his soft drink, then said, “If you’re determined to stay, I guess there’s nothing I can do. You always were the bravest woman I ever knew. And the most stubborn.”

  “Good heavens, Ned. I’m the smartest, the bravest, and the most stubborn woman in your universe. You’re giving me too many crosses to bear.”

  “You can bear all of them and probably more.”

  “Everyone has their limit.” Scott’s sharp voice grabbed everyone’s attention. “She’s not invincible, Ned, even if she seems to think she is.”

  “Well, I can’t make her come to my house if she doesn’t want to,” Ned flared. “What do you propose, Scott? That you stay here with her?”

  Chyna felt her cheeks flush at the possibility, particularly because Ned knew she’d had a crush on Scott since she was a kid. “I love it when everyone talks about me like I’m not in the room,” she said loudly to cover her embarrassment. “You two are making me more jumpy than that crowd did earlier. Quit worrying about me. Both of you.”

  “Spoken exactly like Mom,” Ned mumbled in annoyance.

  “Good. She was a wonderful example,” Chyna shot back.

  “If you’re talking about Vivian Greer being a good example, I couldn’t agree more.”

  Chyna, Scott, and Ned looked up to see Owen Burtram standing in the doorway with Rex. While Rex looked casual in khakis and a yellow cable-knit sweater, Owen wore gray

  wool dress pants and a black cashmere coat over a dark blue silk shirt. Every dyed hair was in place—in fact, it looked as if he’d used hair spray. Above a black eyebrow he had what seemed to be a small bruise that he’d tried to hide with a concealer too light for his skin tone, but otherwise he looked perfect, his expression carefully arranged to show just the right amount of both anxiety and compassion.

  “Chyna, dear,” he began in his loud but carefully well-modulated voice, “Russell and I just heard what had happened here earlier and we came to see if you’re all right.”

  Rusty Burtram, still wearing the jeans and parka he’d had on in the park across from McDonald’s earlier, leaned around his father and said, “Hi, Chyna. Scott. Ned.”

  The elder Burtram held firm, blocking the door into the kitchen, and Rusty disappeared behind him again. Chyna was on the verge of asking Rusty to enter the kitchen, too, when Owen began another soliloquy. “I do not know what has gotten into some of the members of this community, but it is a disgrace. Unforgivable. They have destroyed property, n
ot to mention frightened a poor, recently orphaned girl.” He paused to let the drama of this last image sink in, Chyna of course being the “poor, recently orphaned girl.”

  “I will be speaking to the mayor tonight about this deplorable occurrence. He and I are close friends,” Owen confided self-importantly. “I have a great deal of influence with him, and together we will see that people are punished for wreaking havoc at the home of one of the community’s finest families!”

  Owen sounded so ridiculously egotistical and pompous that Chyna almost burst into uncontrollable laughter. Ned had opened the refrigerator door again, behind which Chyna knew he was snickering. Owen looked at Scott, who stared back unflinchingly, his gaze clearly letting Owen know Scott thought the man was acting like an arrogant bag of wind. Owen haughtily swept his gaze back to Chyna, symbolically banishing Scott to a corner with his face to the wall.

  “Thank you, Mr. Burtram,” Chyna choked out past incipient giggles. “That is very kind of you. Very … solicitous.”

  “Nonsense! We simply can’t allow people to get away with this kind of heathenish behavior!”

  “Oh, well, I guess not…,” Chyna said faintly.

  Rex obviously sensed that Owen was not only making a fool of himself but also throwing everyone else into a tail-spin, including the dog, who was scooting farther under the table. “Owen, come take a look at the mantle,” Rex said, grasping Burtram’s shoulder and spinning him around. “I want to know if it can be fixed properly, and in your line of work you know much more about marble than I do.”

  “I know about marble for headstones, Rex,” Owen protested. “Not the kind of marble meant to be kept in a house or church.”

  “I’m sure you know much more about all kinds of marble than you think you do,” Rex insisted, propelling Owen toward the living room. “You can at least give me a few pointers. I’m absolutely clueless.”

  After they’d disappeared, Ned closed the refrigerator door, still grinning, and looked at Scott. “I’m leaving now. Chyna’s right—I’m coming down with something and I need to get home before I get too sick to drive. I know your car isn’t here. Can I give you a ride? I promise I’m not too bad off yet to drive a car.”

  Scott hesitated. Chyna didn’t want him to leave and she didn’t believe he wanted to leave now, either, but Owen would surely know Ned would offer Scott a ride home. An insistence by Scott on staying would be noticed by Owen and duly reported all over town.

  “Thanks, Ned,” Scott said, rising slowly. “I rode out here with Irma. I’m without a car. I’m going to get a new one, though. Maybe you can give me some pointers on the way home.”

  “Glad to,” Ned said heartily. He walked over to Chyna, started to kiss her, then drew back. “I don’t want to spread any germs I’m carrying, even though I could shake you for

  being stubborn enough to stay here. I love you. Take care of yourself, little sister.”

  “I will.” She gave him a bright, brave smile. “Those people won’t be back.”

  “Is that your second sight talking?”

  “It’s common sense talking. Although the police have already run them off once today, if they give it a second try, especially with Owen Burtram bringing all of his considerable influence to bear on the situation, I’m sure they won’t dare to bother me again.”

  Ned winked at her. Scott grabbed his walking stick, giving it another glare. He was frustrated and angry, Chyna thought, whether about needing the stick or nearly being forced from her home by the booming man in her living room she wasn’t sure. “If you need anything, call me,” Scott said, then grimaced. “Physically I don’t look like I could be much help, but my brain is still working.”

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done today, Scott. In spite of what you think, with all of those people out there shouting at me, I don’t believe I could have walked up that hill alone.” Scott’s smile bore a touch of gratitude. Gratitude and something else extremely pleasant Chyna wasn’t quite secure enough to acknowledge. “But you’ve managed to get the engraving on the top of that stick stained. You’d better clean it off before your mother sees it.”

  Scott jerked the walking stick to eye level, staring at the stained engraving. His face turned white and rigid. Certainly he wasn’t that worried about his mother’s reaction, Chyna thought. For a moment, he looked as if he were going to pass out. What in the world was wrong with him?

  And then with something close to horror, Chyna realized the stains buried in the engraving looked exactly like dried blood.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1

  Deirdre knew she’d dozed sometime during the morning. She could only tell time of day by temperature and a couple of muted sounds that penetrated her prison—birds chirping nearby and distant church bells. At first, she hadn’t been certain the bells she’d heard belonged to churches; then she reminded herself that she’d been taken on a Saturday night. She would have liked to believe the sound of the bells meant she wasn’t far from Black Willow, but churches seemed to be scattered every couple of miles throughout the whole county.

  Deirdre wondered if people were looking for her the way they looked for other girls throughout the years, the way they’d looked for Heather Phelps. How many Christmases ago had that been? Deirdre was too tired and cold to remember. She’d known Heather—not well, but enough to talk with casually on a few occasions. Heather had been smart and pretty. Very pretty, but shy and something of a Goody Two-shoes.

  Deirdre hadn’t known Edie Larson at all, but most people believed the same thing had happened to her that had happened to Heather. Then there was Zoey Simms.

  Deirdre could remember hearing her parents talk about Zoey when they didn’t know she was listening. Zoey had been the first girl to vanish from Black Willow a long time

  ago, when Deirdre was just a kid. Zoey had been Chyna Greer’s best friend who came to visit once a year. A lot of folks believed Chyna had done something to Zoey, but Deirdre remembered her parents saying they knew Chyna slightly and she’d been sweet and kind. They’d said Chyna would never have hurt Zoey and they’d get angry whenever anyone implied Zoey’s disappearance had anything to do with Chyna.

  And Scott Kendrick sure didn’t believe anything bad about Chyna, Deirdre thought, remembering how he’d looked at her yesterday. Was it just yesterday? It seemed like a week ago they’d come into L’Etoile and Deirdre had seen that look in his eyes when he gazed at Chyna—a look that said he admired more than her beauty. Deirdre had been wounded even though she’d always known Scott had no romantic interest in her, even when she wasn’t a kid anymore. That’s why she’d insisted on dressing up and going to the party when she really didn’t feel like it after Nancy Tierney’s death. Deirdre had thought the party might make her feel a little bit better about her lost friend Nancy and realizing with a jolt that afternoon that her dreams of someday having a romance with Scott were beyond ridiculous.

  Instead, Deirdre had been just as miserable at the party as she would have been at home. And to top it all off, she thought with macabre humor, she’d gone and gotten herself kidnapped. Deirdre couldn’t believe what an unfathomable nightmare this week had turned into, not only because of Nancy and Scott but also because, for the first time in her life, she doubted her mother’s wisdom. She had always told Deirdre that God was a benevolent being who loved all His children. Deirdre had clung to that belief when her mother died. She’d even managed to hold on to it when Nancy died. Now she wondered. How could He have let her mother suffer so much before snatching her away? How could He have loved Zoey, Edie, Heather, and Nancy and still taken each of them when they were so young? And how the hell could He love her, even though she’d always tried to be the good girl, just the way her parents had wanted her to be?

  Deirdre felt tears forming in her tightly bound eyes. She was so frightened. She was so hungry. She was scared almost witless, and she was cold as ice. With her stripped naked, the worn wool blanket her abductor had provided was next to use
less. What had the person hoped would happen? That Deirdre would get frostbite and not move around very much? Or was the reason something even darker? She’d read once that serial killers liked to take tokens of their kills. Her earlobe ached where one of her cubic zirconium studs had been ripped loose, but maybe he’d wanted more— clothing. Ludicrous as it seemed, she was embarrassed that the killer would remember Deirdre Mayhew in her mother’s old “party” dress and some cheap cotton underwear.

  A mouse ran over Deirdre’s bare, numbing feet and she moaned, her urge to cry making her gag beneath her duct-taped mouth.

  2

  Chyna stood up and began clearing soft drink cans from the kitchen table. When she turned around, Rusty stood staring at her in the doorway. They looked at each other for a moment before he finally gave her a tentative smile.

  “I’m really sorry about all you’ve been through today,” he said.

  “I’m fine.” Chyna heard the wooden tone of her voice. Her mind was filled with the image of dried blood on Scott’s walking stick. That and the vision she had when she clasped Rusty’s hand in the park earlier that day when she’d known she was watching Nancy Tierney pounding down that path in the woods. She could still see the girl’s navy blue running suit and shining ash-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail as she breathed rhythmically and kept her arms close to her sides, her form perfect for a professional runner. “I don’t think those people would have really hurt me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Chyna looked sharply at Rusty. “I mean, I think they only came here to scare you, but

  sometimes people get carried away and do things they wouldn’t normally do. And there could have been an accident. That rock could have hit you in the head..” His voice trailed off as his face paled.

  “I guess you’re right.” Nancy hit her head on a rock, Chyna wanted to shout at him. You saw it happen. Instead, she asked, “Would you like something to drink?”