Sucker Punch

by Sammi Carter

  “Probably not,” Elizabeth agreed.

  Wyatt’s only response was a low growl.

  “Does that bother you?” I asked him.

  “Hell, yes.” He put his bottle back on the table with a bang. “Son of a bitch attacked my sister. I want his ass in jail where it belongs.”

  I wasn’t sure which surprised me more, Wyatt’s dissatisfaction with Nate or his defense of me. I know he loves me—that’s never been a serious question. But our relationship hasn’t always been easy, and I haven’t always been sure that he likes me.

  I nudged him with my shoulder. Pain shot up my neck, but I ignored it. It didn’t seem to matter so much right then.

  “Until Nate can find him and lock him up for good,” Wyatt said, “I want you to be careful. Don’t go out alone, okay?”

  “Wyatt—”

  “I’m serious, Abby. For once, don’t argue with me.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said, “but I can’t promise that I won’t go out alone. I live alone, remember? Besides, like you said, Alexander’s probably long gone. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  And I believed that I was. It just goes to show how wrong you can be.

  I was still too sore the next morning to work and too bruised to put myself on display in the shop, so I spent the day lying around the house. I watched a few daytime talk shows, but that got real old, real fast. I tried reading, but I’d read every book on my shelves at least twice. The first time someone knocked on my door, I raced toward it eagerly. But when I checked the peephole and saw John Haversham standing on my porch, I decided Regis and Kelly weren’t so bad after all. I ignored him and went back to the TV.

  The second time Haversham came by, around noon, I avoided him again. And the three calls he made to my home number also went unanswered.

  I’m sure some people would consider the attack on Colleen and me newsworthy, and I might even talk to him when I wasn’t so loopy from the pain medication. But not now.

  When I needed a break, I called Colleen to check on her. She was sore and bruised, as well, but Doyle was taking time off work to stay with her and she didn’t sound concerned about having him around, so I told myself not to worry. I tried Jawarski’s cell phone twice, but he didn’t answer either time. I even called the police station for an update on the investigation into the attack, but all I got for my trouble was a brisk assurance from Nate that they were working on it.

  Finally, just after sunset, I decided I couldn’t stay locked up in my apartment any longer. Haversham or not, I needed fresh air. I needed to see people and eat food that hadn’t been delivered by friends or family. And I needed some nice, thick foundation to help disguise the bruises on my face so I could go back to work. I couldn’t take another day of this.

  I wasn’t up to walking with Max tugging at the leash, so I waited until Liberty came to get him, then slipped into boots with traction and a hoodie so I could hide my bruises and avoid the stares of curious passersby. After tucking a couple of twenties into my pocket, I made my way down the stairs and set a course for Walgreens.

  A stiff wind had blown into the valley during the afternoon, and I shivered in the cold. The fresh air didn’t clear my head completely, but it did chase away some of the clouds that had been hovering in my brain since the attack. I probably wouldn’t feel normal again until the medication left my system.

  Determined not to let the weather drive me back indoors just yet, I pushed through the rising wind. I’m not a fan of foundation and other heavy makeup, but at the rate my bruises were fading it would be weeks before I dared show my face. If I had to wait that long, I’d need intense therapy. Lots of it.

  Inside the drug store, I pushed a cart resolutely toward the cosmetics aisle. I’m not a complete novice when it comes to makeup, but I stopped obsessing about my appearance when I divorced Roger and came home to Paradise. That’s not to say that I don’t want to look good, just that I don’t feel the need to plaster my face with chemicals to do it. Give me a little eye shadow, some blush, and lip gloss and I’m good.

  When I reached the pain killer aisle, I decided on a quick detour. I’d walked away from the clinic with enough pain medication to last for a few more days, but I couldn’t work if I was taking it. Just as I started down the aisle, a hand brushed my shoulder. I cried out in surprise and spun around quickly.

  “Did I startle you?” Paisley asked. “I’m sorry.”

  Relieved to see a friendly face, I managed a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m a bit jumpy, I guess.”

  “I’m not surprised. Being attacked the way you were. It’s horrible.” She studied my face and grimaced. “Gee, he didn’t mess around, did he?”

  If I hadn’t known how bad I looked, I might have been hurt by her reaction. “No, he didn’t.”

  “Are you okay? I mean other than the bruises and all? You’re not seriously hurt?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not. Just sore.”

  “Thank goodness for small favors. Do the police know who did it?”

  “Not yet. But I think the fact that Alexander disappeared early the next morning says something.”

  “Alexander?” Paisley’s mouth fell open in stunned silence. “You think he attacked you?”

  “I think it’s a strong possibility.”

  Paisley shook her head in disbelief. “That’s just unbelievable. He seems so . . . normal.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot of criminals do.” My stomach growled so loudly, I knew she could hear it. Guess I was hungrier than I thought. I was also weaker than I’d expected, and I knew my outing wouldn’t be a long one. I mumbled something about talking to Paisley later and started away.

  She came with me. “Did you say that Alexander’s gone?” When I nodded, she frowned and asked, “Are you sure about that?”

  “Nate told Wyatt and Elizabeth that Alexander had checked out of his hotel. Why? Have you seen him?”

  “No. In fact, he wasn’t at the theater today, but—” Paisley broke off with a shake of her head. “Nate has to be wrong. All of Alexander’s stuff is still at the Playhouse. I can’t imagine him leaving town without it.”

  I put the small bottle of ibuprofen back on the shelf and picked up the economy-sized bottle. “You’re sure he left things behind?”

  “Positive. Vonetta was complaining just this morning that he left his day planner in the rehearsal room again. And when I took it back to his office, all of his pictures were still on the desk.”

  I wheeled the cart slowly away from the painkillers and toward the makeup aisle. “I can’t imagine him leaving those pictures behind,” I said as we walked. “But I guess it’s possible that he forgot them.”

  Paisley cut a questioning glance at me. “No. There’s no way. Either he ran off and left them on purpose, or he didn’t leave by choice.”

  Frowning thoughtfully, I stopped in front of the makeup display and studied the choices spread out in front of me. But my mind wasn’t on the makeup any longer. “If he scurried off in the night, that could mean that he’s the one who attacked us. And if not . . .”

  “Then maybe he’s another victim.”

  I didn’t want to think about that possibility, but Paisley had a point. I wanted to believe that Alexander was the one who’d attacked Colleen and me, and I wanted to believe that the attacks and the murder were related, but assuming anything might be a mistake. “Is that where his day planner is now? In his office?”

  Paisley nodded. “Why? Do you want to look at it?”

  “If I can. Is Vonetta there now?”

  “She went home about an hour ago,” Paisley said, “but that’s okay. We can go anyway.” She pulled a key from her pocket and dangled it on her finger.

  “Vonetta gave you a key?”

  “I was part of the production team. I needed it for when she couldn’t be there, and I haven’t given it back yet. What do you say? Do you want to go?”

  Forget the makeup. A chance to look through the theater without other people hovering was
too good to pass up. I grabbed the ibuprofen from the cart and hurried to the cash register.

  The wind had grown stronger in just the few minutes I’d been inside. We’d probably have snow by morning, but tonight bits of garbage and twigs blew down the streets and made it hard to see. I kept my head down and waited for a couple of cars to pass, then followed Paisley across the street to the Playhouse.

  While she fumbled with the key in the lock, I stood on the sidewalk feeling a bit like a burglar. I didn’t know how Vonetta would react if she learned that we were here without her, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Liberty would be back with Max any minute, so I promised myself that I’d look through Alexander’s office quickly and get back home.

  I felt a bit uneasy going into the Playhouse after hours without Max, but if someone had helped Alexander disappear, his pictures and day planner might soon follow. If he had gone away on his own, they might hold a clue nobody had noticed yet. I didn’t want to miss this opportunity.

  After what felt like forever, Paisley finally got the key to work and we stepped inside. “Lock it again,” I said when it looked as if she was going to walk away. “I don’t want anybody sneaking in behind us.”

  Every building has its noises, and the Playhouse is no exception. But an unfamiliar building can sound downright freaky when it’s deserted. Especially one where there’s been a murder. Cutting through the auditorium or walking backstage would be the quickest routes to Alexander’s office, but I wasn’t in any hurry. I would have made myself get up on that stage for the play, but walking into the auditorium in the dark . . . it wasn’t going to happen.

  I jerked my head toward the rehearsal hall, and Paisley trailed me down the long hall. Judging from the look on her face, she wasn’t any more eager to cut corners than I was. All around us boards creaked and walls popped as the building adjusted to the lowering temperature outside.

  “This place is creepy when nobody’s around, isn’t it?” She spoke barely above a whisper, but her voice sounded unnaturally loud, and I realized that I was straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. A footstep. A hush of movement.

  My heart hammered in my chest. Every groaning board, each gust of wind made me almost jump out of my skin. The attack had terrified me, and I was skittish as a result. And I sure wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

  Inside the rehearsal hall, I fumbled for the lights. When I finally found the switch, I flipped on all four panels to chase the shadows from every corner, but Paisley grabbed my arm and whispered, “Don’t turn them on. We don’t want anyone to know we’re in here snooping around.”

  My stomach dropped and an icy finger traced a line up my spine. I really didn’t want to walk through the darkened Playhouse with only a few emergency lights to show me the way, but I wanted to alert the killer even less. Reluctantly, I turned off the lights again and took a couple of deep breaths to slow the pounding of my heart.

  What if Alexander wasn’t the killer? What if the real killer was here, hiding somewhere, waiting for another chance to finish the job he’d started? And, by the way, what was I doing, prowling around a deserted theater with only Paisley for protection?

  I’d completely ignored Wyatt’s warning, which is what I do, but I was putting Paisley in jeopardy. If I’d been thinking clearly, I never would have decided to sneak around like this. I blame the painkillers.

  We inched through the shop area and finally reached the small room that had been serving as Alexander’s office. I motioned Paisley inside, shut the door, and turned on the overhead light. “Nobody will be able to see the light with the door closed,” I told her before she could protest.

  Paisley was right, Alexander’s possessions were all over the room. The cluster of pictures and the day planner on the desk. A sweater on a hook near the door. A pair of boots below that. His copy of the script, beginning to show signs of use. A digital camera on a shelf.

  “See what I mean?” Paisley asked, hands on hips as she gazed around the office.

  I really hoped that he’d run after the attack, but I had to agree. “It does seem odd that he left so much behind.”

  “Yeah. Wouldn’t you think he’d at least take the camera? And the sweater. He could have taken those without making anyone suspicious.”

  But I was focused on something else. “If the boots are still here, that meant that he was wearing his street shoes when he left.”

  “Does that mean something?”

  A gust of wind blew something against the side of the building. I swallowed my nervousness and said, “Maybe. Doesn’t it seem odd? I mean, if you were going to hide between a couple of buildings in the middle of February waiting to attack somebody, wouldn’t you put on boots first?”

  “I might.”

  I shook my head quickly, ignoring the stab of pain in my neck. “You’d have to. Otherwise, the snow would make the bottoms of your shoes wet and you wouldn’t have any traction. That’s not a chance you’d take if you wanted to catch someone off guard and kill them, is it?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to kill you. Maybe he just wanted to frighten you.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” I sat in Alexander’s chair and opened his day planner, and Paisley’s thoughtful expression morphed into eagerness.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Anything unusual.” I checked the front of the planner first and found more pictures of Alexander with minor celebrities—most of whom looked familiar, but none of whom I knew by name. I found several credit cards and a few receipts. Nothing suspicious in any of those, at least not that I could see, although it seemed really odd that Alexander would leave the credit cards behind.

  I leafed quickly through pages in the day planner. I found a few notations, but nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of doctor’s appointments, some phone numbers, but that was about it. I didn’t expect to find a notation to “buy potassium cyanide,” but I was hoping for something that would tie the case up in a big red bow for me.

  After a few minutes I sat the planner aside and moved on to the pictures on the desk. While Paisley rummaged through the desk drawers, I glanced at each photograph briefly, then removed the backs of the frames to see if there was anything incriminating there. It was a stretch, but since I had no idea what I was looking for, I might as well be thorough.

  I was about halfway through the row when a face in one of the pictures caught my attention. Alexander stood in front of a group of people, proudly pointing toward the marquee. Laurence Nichols was in the picture with him, beaming at the camera with that charismatic smile that had captivated his fans. Between them stood two young women. I didn’t think either of them could have been older than twenty. Alexander had an arm slung around the shoulders of a pretty brunette. Laurence clutched a grinning blonde to him, one hand on her butt in a gesture that seemed both provocative and possessive. But it wasn’t any of those faces that caught my eye. It was a young man standing at the edge of a crowd behind them that made me look twice.

  He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. A kid. But the look of hatred on his face froze everything inside me. “Look at this,” I said, holding out the frame to Paisley. “Is that kid in the back who I think it is?”

  She took the photograph and studied it for a minute. When she found the kid, her eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Jason Dahl?”

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “If it’s not, it’s his twin brother.” She handed the picture back to me. “I didn’t realize he knew Alexander and Laurence. He never mentioned it.”

  “No, he didn’t, did he?” My mind was racing as bits and pieces of the past few days came back to me. Jason had been there immediately after the murder, and also after every attack. He was young and strong, and he had easy access to anything Vonetta had here in the theater.

  Who was he looking at with such hatred in the photograph? Alexander or Laurence? Jason had been carrying around a bitter hatred of one of them f
or the past . . . what? Seven or eight years, I calculated.

  Eight years. What had Colleen said about the play she and Laurence worked on eight years earlier? One of the young women in the chorus had found out she was pregnant right before the play wrapped. Another had committed suicide a few months later.

  I had a feeling I was looking at both of those young women right that minute.

  Chapter 31

  My heart was thumping so loudly, I could hardly hear myself think. Of everyone involved in the play, Jason was the last person I would have suspected of killing Laurence. He’d seemed so innocent, so eager to please.

  This was it. This was the connection. But how did Jason factor in? Colleen would be able to tell me.

  “Where’s the nearest phone?” I asked as I shot to my feet.

  “In the box office.”

  “Good. I need you to do something for me. I don’t want to stay here much longer, but I need a photocopy of this picture. And can you find Colleen’s number? Call her and ask about the two young women in Breckenridge. Ask her what they looked like, and ask her which one got pregnant, and which one took her own life. Got that?”

  Paisley bobbed her head. “Yeah. Okay. What about you?”

  “I’ll finish going through the desk, just in case there’s something we’ve missed. We can meet up front in five minutes.” Liberty would be wondering where I was, and I didn’t want to make her worry, but I didn’t want to abandon the search now that we were here.

  Keeping one eye on the passing time, I dug through desk drawers and checked two drawers of a file cabinet, but if there were any other clues in that room, I didn’t know what they were.

  I was contemplating whether to move on to Laurence’s office or call it quits when I heard someone moving around outside the door. Probably just Paisley, I told myself, and returned a stack of folders to the filing cabinet.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the doorknob turn. I opened my mouth to tell Paisley that we needed to leave when it hit me that something was wrong. The doorknob was turning, but slowly. Too slowly. And I knew with a sudden, awful certainty that the person on the other side wasn’t Paisley.