Deadly Visions Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  “Hello?”

  “You sound hungover.”

  “Hi, Autumn.”

  “It’s after eleven,” she scolded. “Why are you still asleep?”

  I groaned and rolled over, forgetting about the phone cord. It stretched across my back, pinching the fabric of my T-shirt. “I’m not. I’m up.”

  “Uh-huh. What did you get up to last night? Another round with Emmett at The Pit?”

  “What are you, my mother?”

  Autumn paused, gauging the tone of my comment. “I’m just worried about you. What are you doing today? Can we have lunch?”

  I checked the alarm clock. “Can we make it a late lunch? I have to go buy a phone and stop by the cop shop. I can meet you after.”

  “One o’clock?”

  “Perfect. Oh, hey. What’s your phone number?”

  I bought a pay-as-you-go phone from the nearest wireless store, unboxed it in the street, and programmed Autumn’s number into the Favorites tab. There was no one else to add, other than Bill and Emily, who wouldn’t be pleased that I had the means to call them on a whim. Autumn’s number looked lonely in the contacts list. I clicked the screen off, shoved the phone in the back pocket of my jeans, and set off toward the police station.

  The door was propped open and secured with a pair of handcuffs. It was hot and stuffy inside. Two floor fans warred from opposite sides of the bullpen, blowing paperwork out of their neat stacks. Officer Scott sat at his desk, fanning himself with a case file. The legs of his uniform pants were cuffed up to his calves and beads of sweat gathered like a soggy crown on his scalp.

  I lounged against the chest-high front desk. “Scott, do you actually walk your beat anymore or have you been reduced to full-time desk jockey?”

  He grumbled through his mustache, flapping the hem of his polyester shirt as he joined me near the door. “Believe me, I’d rather be out there than in this hellhole. Damn AC unit’s busted again. At least there’s a breeze outside.”

  I took a recruitment brochure from a sheaf on the desk and fluttered it in his face. He snatched it out of my hand with a scowl, only to resume the action himself.

  “Two days in a row,” Scott said. “I told you yesterday, kid. I can’t tell you anything about Holly’s case. Did you try the Millers again?”

  “Actually, I’m not here about Holly,” I told him, arranging the display of brochures so that each pamphlet was skewed at a different angle. “I was wondering if Officer Hart was around.”

  “Hart?” Scott smacked my hand away from the brochures, gathered the stack, and tapped them into an organized pile. “She’s not on duty today. What do you want with her?”

  “Oh, we were going to pull a bank job. Thought it’d be nice to have someone on the inside, you know?”

  Scott was not amused. His mustache bristled. I rolled my eyes, took out my new phone, and scrolled through the settings for the number. Then I filched the pen from Scott’s shirt pocket and jotted down my contact information in the margin of a spare brochure. I handed it to him.

  “Can you make sure she gets that?” I gestured to his moist brow with the pen. “Preferably before you liquefy and become one with the earth?”

  He snatched the pen away, folded the brochure in thirds, and returned both items to his shirt pocket. “Should I be worried that you’re making friends with my deputies?”

  I grinned. “Scott, we both know that no answer of mine could ever quiet the voice in the back of your head.”

  “Get out of here, troublemaker.”

  I skipped out of the station, pausing outside the door to bask in the breeze that was unavailable to Officer Scott. “You’ll give it to her, right? I’m not going to have to stop by again later to make sure you did it?”

  “I’m going to throw it in the garbage as soon as you’re out of sight,” he growled.

  “Old age has made you grumpy.”

  He chucked an empty business card holder through the door. I dodged it, laughing, and dashed away before he could follow me into the breezy spring afternoon.

  The wind chimes announced my presence at Oak and Autumn, but Autumn was engaged in a serious discussion about tailoring pants with a customer, so I browsed through the accessories at the opposite end of the shop. Autumn stocked a plethora of jewelry, headbands, and watches. I tried on a few headbands, appreciating the way the pretty floral patterns kept my hair away from my neck. Then I spotted a pair of earrings nestled in a little white box. They were simple studs with pale pink stones set against gold backing. I picked up the box for a closer look.

  “Do you like them?” Autumn asked, resting her chin on my shoulder. She had finished with the customer, who paid for her items at the checkout counter and left the store with a nod of thanks in Autumn’s direction.

  “I was thinking for Holly,” I told her.

  “She doesn’t really wear a lot of pink.”

  I set the box down where I had found it.

  “I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t get them,” she added hastily.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Bee, really.” She took the box to the checkout counter, dropped it into a periwinkle mesh bag, tied it off with a matching blue ribbon, and handed it back to me. “Here. For when she comes home.”

  I balanced the little boutique bag in my palm. “If she comes home.”

  “When,” Autumn repeated. She took my shoulders and steered me out of the shop, leaving her assistant to watch the store. “Let’s talk lunch. Are you hungry?”

  She walked me to a small restaurant in the courtyard near the center of town. We sat on the patio beneath a wide pink umbrella that shielded all but my ankles from the prying sun. As the waiter took our drink orders—Autumn forced a blackberry gin cocktail on me before requesting water for herself—a man walked up behind Autumn’s chair and leaned down. I opened my mouth to warn her, but she giggled when he planted a kiss on her cheek. I stared as he drew out the chair next to Autumn’s and sat down.

  “Bee, this is Christian,” Autumn said. “My boyfriend. Christian, this is Bridget, my AWOL best friend.”

  Christian was an attractive guy, tall and lean with voluminous honey-brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. His artfully distressed jeans and white V-neck shirt appeared to be straight off the rack at Oak and Autumn, and a modest gold cross hung from his necklace. If I had to peg him, he was a church boy with an edge, but his rough grip spoke of hard work, so I let the cliché of his appearance slide. Autumn beamed as we shook hands.

  “Autumn’s told me all about you,” Christian said. He had a pretty smile to go with his pretty face. No wonder Autumn had snatched him up. In Belle Dame, most of the men were fans of camouflage and trucker hats. Christian’s laid-back brand of handsome was definitely from out-of-town.

  “So it was a short conversation?”

  Christian laughed as he crossed his ankle over his knee and took Autumn’s hand to play with her fingers. “She mentioned you hadn’t been around for a while. Are you always traveling?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Never thought of settling down?”

  “The very idea of settling makes me nauseous,” I admitted, nodding to our server in thanks as he set a purple cocktail on a bar napkin in front of me. “I like to keep moving. Besides, I’m only twenty-five. I’ll be avoiding mortgages and marriage for as long as possible.”

  Autumn looked down to where her free hand rested on the curve of her baby bump.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with getting started early,” I added for her benefit rather than Christian’s.

  Christian unwrapped a straw, stuck it in Autumn’s water, and offered her the glass. “I totally get it. Commitment isn’t everybody’s thing. I didn’t think it was mine until I met Autumn.”

  “Sap,” Autumn accused, but she lifted their entwined fingers to kiss the back of his hand.

  “What can I say? I’m smitten.” Christian smiled at her before looking back at me. “I can’t lie though. I’m dying to
see more of the world. Where have you been so far?”

  This was the type of small talk that I was accustomed to. I’d perfected the practice with the numerous temporary families that I’d picked up along the way. I could talk about the places I’d been for hours, which had the added benefit of avoiding all personal discussion.

  “Where haven’t I been?” I ticked off the list on my fingers, squinting into the sunlight as I tried to remember my travels. “All the major cities. London, Barcelona, Berlin, Rome, Paris—”

  “Paris!” Christian interrupted. He squeezed Autumn’s thigh. “Wouldn’t it be great to go to Paris someday, baby? It’s the city of love.”

  “It’s the city of light actually,” I corrected. “La Ville Lumiere.”

  “Semantics,” Christian said. “Did you love it there? Are the French as rude as they say?”

  “Not if you don’t butcher the language.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  I glanced across the table. Both Christian and Autumn waited for my answer with expectant expressions. I looked down at my menu, suddenly engrossed in the lunch options. “Not long. I was just passing through.”

  “Well, did you at least do a few of the touristy things?” Christian pressed. “You know, the Eiffel Tower? The Louvre? Disneyland?”

  “Bridget’s not into the classics,” Autumn said, nudging my shin underneath the table. “She has more adventurous tastes. The catacombs are more her style.”

  Christian’s face lit up. “The tunnels beneath the city? Cool. Bridget, is it true what they say? Is the place haunted?”

  My hand trembled as I lifted the gin drink to my lips. “I didn’t go to the catacombs.”

  “Really?” Autumn tipped her head in confusion. “I could’ve sworn you sent Holly a postcard from there.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I picked up random postcards from pretty much anywhere.”

  “Oh.”

  “Enough about me,” I said, shooing a fly away from the table. “Catch me up on what’s been going on in Belle Dame. You guys ever heard of this band The Outskirts? Apparently, they’re playing a show this Friday at The Pit. I didn’t know the locals kept such talented company.”

  Autumn excitedly pat her boyfriend’s knee. “That’s Christian’s band!”

  “Is is?”

  The server passed by again, dropping a basket of crusty bread and a plate of olive oil in the center of the table. Christian offered the basket to me and Autumn before helping himself.

  “Yeah, it’s a bit of a passion project,” he said. “You know how it is. Reality by day, pipe dream by night.”

  “What kind of music do you play?” I asked, glad to delve into Christian’s life instead of my own.

  “Like a weird modern bluesy rock kind of sound,” he answered. “Think B.B. King meets Hozier. How’d you hear about us anyway?”

  “I found one of your flyers.”

  Christian tore his bread in half and swirled each piece around in the oil. “Glad to hear those went to good use. I spent hours taping them to every window in town last week. You should come out. It’ll be a good time.”

  “Please, Bee?” Autumn asked. “I’ll be there. You can keep me company.”

  She had either forgotten that Friday was also my birthday or she was seizing the opportunity to keep my mind off of the morbid anniversary. Either way, it was difficult to say no to her pouting lips and pleading eyes.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  At a quarter to six, I walked to the new high school, where friends, families, and fans of the women’s varsity softball team clustered in the parking lot to grill hotdogs on the tailgates of their pick-up trucks and play cornhole on the curbs. The ballpark sat behind the main building, adjacent to the football stadium. The athletics department boasted its superior funding with sleek concrete stadium box seats and multiple concession stands. The bleachers—painted red, black, and yellow—had already begun to fill up. The players warmed up on the field, throwing and catching passes to create a hypnotizing rhythm as the neon green balls smacked against leather gloves.

  I joined the crowd as everyone filed into the bleachers and scrambled for seats behind the plate. I let the regulars get ahead of me. It didn’t matter whether I got stuck with a distant view. Holly wasn’t here for me to watch anyway. I headed toward an empty block of seats near third base, but halfway there, I spotted Bill and Emily near the mouth of the home team’s dugout, chatting with a man in black slacks, a polo shirt, and a UCLA cap. I changed direction and intercepted them with a smooth smile.

  “Bridget,” Emily said, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. She cast a glance at Bill, who was fighting to keep his expression neutral in the presence of the scout. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, I expect.” I turned to the stranger, offering my hand. “Bridget Dubois. I’m Holly’s older sister. Is UCLA fighting for her too?”

  “Jack Pearson,” the scout replied. “How many other universities are recruiting Holly?”

  I shrugged, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Quite a few. University of Florida came to see her play last week. After all, she is the best player in the state.”

  “I was looking forward to seeing her in action tonight,” Pearson said, shielding his eyes to gaze across the field at the other players. “Shame she’s not around. We’re interested in a few girls from Belle Dame, but I gotta say I feel like I’m missing out tonight.”

  “She’ll be back,” I promised. “Maybe you can catch her when Belle Dame wins the championship this year.”

  Pearson grinned and clapped my shoulder. “With a sister like you in her corner, I don’t doubt it. You look like you used to play. What university did you go to?”

  “Unfortunately, I broke my collarbone at the end of sophomore year,” I told him, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Never recuperated, so my college fastpitch career ended before it started.”

  “That’s a damn shame,” Pearson replied. “I bet you had an arm on you.”

  “I sure did. It runs in the family, by the way.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll take note. Would you excuse me? I need to catch the coach before the game starts.”

  “No problem.” I waved and smiled as he ducked into the dugout.

  Bill seized my arm and yanked me out of Pearson’s line of sight. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Emily glanced at the gathering crowd. “Not here, Bill!”

  I dug my thumb into the pressure point at Bill’s elbow, which got him to release my arm in a pinch without making a scene. “I’m talking Holly up. It’s not like the two of you know anything about impressing a scout.”

  “She’s got a point, Bill,” Emily said.

  Bill rumbled like an angry dog. I slipped in front of him, edging him out of the conversation to speak with Emily instead. “You said you’d be in touch.”

  “I said maybe,” she replied, glancing over my head at her husband.

  “I’m not trying to cause any trouble,” I told her. “I just want to know what’s going on with my sister. Can you at least tell Officer Scott to share the details of her case with me?”

  Bill’s reply was hot on the back of my neck. “No.”

  I turned to face him. “Bill, what have you got to lose here? You and I are on the same team, as much as I hate to admit it. We both want to find Holly, so I don’t understand why you’re trying to hinder that process by keeping me out of it. Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, does it?” Bill’s face reddened, and I pat his arm in a condescending manner. “You should get your blood pressure checked.”

  He stepped up to me, so close that a few passers-by shot anxious glances in our direction. “I don’t trust you, Bridget. You can act as high and mighty as you like, but I remember—”

  “Don’t you get it?” I interrupted. “Whether Holly chooses to play ball in college or to gallivant around the world with me, she has to be here to make those decisions.”


  I stormed off, stomping up the metal bleachers to get away from Bill and Emily as quickly as possible, but ran smack into Emmett’s chiseled chest.

  “Hey, you showed!” he said with a winning smile. “Come sit with us.”

  “Not now, Emmett.”

  I shoved him aside and continued to the top of the stadium, too preoccupied with Bill’s man-of-the-house syndrome to consider Emmett’s feelings. Everyone else in Belle Dame was willing to put the past behind them, but Bill dredged it up at every chance he got. I barely watched the game as the players took the field for the first inning, instead training my eyes on the back of Bill’s red and black baseball cap.

  Belle Dame suffered without Holly to guide them. The girls struggled on the low end of the score through all seven innings, making easy mistakes in the outfield and getting unlucky at bat. By the end of the game, the crowd in the bleachers had already thinned out, and the players wore slumped shoulders as they dutifully high-fived the opposing team. Then, the girls lined up in front of the dugout for a talk with the coach, an after-game ritual that I remembered from my own time on the team. They left a spot open at the front of the line. For Holly.

  10

  Echoes

  I waited outside the dugout with the rest of the players’ families and friends as the coach wrapped up her post-game speech, thankful that Bill and Emily had already cleared out. Coach K, as the players called her, had been managing the women’s fastpitch team since before I played for Belle Dame. During my time, we didn’t hear her losing speech often because we didn’t lose often. From the look on their faces, the current team wasn’t used to getting beaten either.

  “It’s only one game,” Coach K continued, looking each of her players in the eye. “Don’t take this loss too hard. We’re all having a tough time right now.” Although she didn’t mention Holly’s name, her gaze flickered toward the empty spot in the line-up. “All right, everyone. Get in here.”

  The girls gathered in a tight circle around Coach K and stacked their hands in the middle of their pile-up.