Last Girl Standing

by Lisa Jackson

  McCrae said uncomfortably, “Mrs. Quintar was dating Principal Kiefer.” And now they’re married.

  “But she hadn’t settled on Ron at that time. That was later. You know they broke up and got back together after Bailey died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, before all that, she was playing the field. So was Ron, come to that. Dated both Clarice Billings and Anne Reade for a time.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Well, he was awkward as hell. Basically just called them up and asked them on dates, and if they said no, he pinned them down on when they were free and kept at it till he basically wore them down and they said okay. Didn’t get the signals or didn’t care. I’ve talked to both Billings and Reade. They both said he was hard to say no to. Never thought he’d get back with Bailey’s mom, but after Bailey’s death . . .” He shrugged. “You just never know, do ya?”

  “You’re not suggesting that Joyce Quintar was ever with Tanner. . . ?”

  “Nah . . . I don’t think so.” But he didn’t sound so sure. “It was just, Carmen was a good girl, and if she was with him at the barbecue, but she’d thought that he’d been with Bailey’s mom and she felt guilty enough . . . she might take her own life.”

  McCrae grimaced. He didn’t want to debate what had happened to Carmen again.

  “I was going to tell you that, when you talk to Tanner again, you might want to ask him about Mrs. Quintar—er, Kiefer now—but that’s what I mean about feeling bad about talking about him. The reverend suspected something, I think. The moms were friends, but after the barbecue where Carmen died . . . there was a falling out between them. Maybe over Tanner? I just . . . when I’d heard he’d been attacked, I wanted to say my piece.”

  McCrae could hear Bailey’s voice in his head: Carmen said she saw something . . . I think it had to do with Tanner . . . she didn’t have a chance to tell me what . . . but she didn’t kill herself . . . she would never do that . . . She’d repeated variations on that theme all the time he’d known her since Carmen’s death.

  “I’m just saying, Carmen followed Tanner around like an imprinted duckling and coulda heard and seen a lot of stuff. Tanner wasn’t . . . discreet. I heard afterward he was with some of the girls the night of the barbecue. He was a great kid, great athlete, but he . . . was red-blooded, y’know? He was Carmen’s hero but he . . . mighta showed her a side she couldn’t accept.”

  “I don’t think she committed suicide.”

  He inclined his head. “You’re the cop.”

  “You think this has some bearing on what happened to Tanner two nights ago?”

  “I’ve just been thinking a lot. Bailey, rest her soul, thought there was something more. I ran into her a couple of times after I left West Knoll, and both times Carmen’s death was the first thing she talked about. She didn’t feel justice had been done.”

  McCrae thought about how Tim Hurston had hijacked Bailey’s case and used it to increase his own profile in his long-term bid for political gain. I feel the same, he thought.

  “There he is,” Coach muttered. “Jonah Masterer.”

  A tall man strode into the bar and ordered a martini. He then turned to survey the crowd, leaning against the bar, elbows on it, like he owned the place. When one dark-haired woman from a group of ladies drew near him to try to catch the bartender’s attention, Masterer moved in to talk to her. Whatever he was saying brought a smile to her lips, even while she shook her head.

  “He’s a type. Dark hair, good-looking . . . seems to have money. Tells ’em about his little girl as a warm-up.” Coach was dry. “When I saw him hitting on Delta, I wanted to smack him, so I left the bar before bad things happened.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “You gonna talk to him?” Coach asked hopefully.

  McCrae was dealing with a coil of jealousy winding through him. Its inappropriateness was slightly worrisome. “Maybe later.”

  “You didn’t even order a drink,” Coach said, when McCrae got to his feet.

  “Can’t tonight. Thanks. Good to see you.”

  He left Sutton staring after him, a little deflated. McCrae suspected the older man really wanted to see the slick and apparently charismatic Masterer get his comeuppance. McCrae would’ve liked to see that, too, but he would be better served to talk to Delta about the man in more depth.

  If she would ever answer . . . he thought as he dialed her one more time.

  * * *

  There were several messages on Delta’s phone that she’d let go to voice mail while she was interviewing with Amanda. She listened to them now while standing in her kitchen, her eyes on Owen, who was already in pajamas and munching on apple slices with cinnamon, his after-dinner snack. The first was a hang-up, the second from the funeral home where she’d sent Tanner’s body after the autopsy. She’d asked that he be cremated, but they’d informed her that a Doctor Lester Stahd had gone to the place and threatened a lawsuit against them if they moved forward with Delta’s request, so that hadn’t happened.

  Sighing, she’d just finished listening when her cell started ringing. She looked at the screen and saw it was McCrae. She wanted to answer so badly her arm shot out to grab the cell before she could stop it, as if it had a mind of its own. She hesitated, battling herself, then clicked on.

  “Hey, there,” she greeted him.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “My house.”

  A pause. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still doing all right.”

  “I’m okay.” Another long pause, and then she heard herself say, “You want to come over?”

  She thought he was going to say no. She could almost feel that he wanted to say no, but his voice responded, “I’ll be there in about forty-five.”

  She clicked off, set the cell on the kitchen counter, then slid it away from herself and ran upstairs to take a quick shower. As soon as she was finished and redressed, she joined Owen in the family room. He’d been quiet since learning of Tanner’s death, asking few questions, and she’d hovered over him so much whenever they were together that he’d snapped his hand at her as if swatting at a fly. She’d tried to give him some space, but now felt guilty for inviting McCrae.

  “You want anything else?” she asked him.

  “No.”

  “The . . . detective . . . um, policeman, who’s been looking into your dad’s—”

  “I know what a detective is.”

  She sat down next to him on the couch. “Okay, well, he’s coming by to make sure we’re okay.”

  “He’s trying to find who killed Daddy.”

  The matter-of-fact way he spoke brought Delta up short. He’d seen the news. He knew the facts. She just didn’t have any idea what he was thinking.

  “Is it okay that he’s coming over?”

  Owen shrugged. “Will he kill the man who did it?”

  “Well, no . . . that’s not . . . he’d arrest him and put him in jail . . . or her . . .” Delta fumbled.

  Owen froze for a moment, thinking that over, then he nodded gravely, put aside his unfinished plate, and snuggled closer. Delta hugged him hard.

  Chapter 22

  Zora got home, looked in the refrigerator, grabbed a yogurt, and then drank some wine. And then drank some more. And then the bottle was three quarters empty. She tried to imagine herself at Delta’s with Owen, and the image made her feel better, for a time . . . But it was also a lie. Owen was Tanner’s child. And Delta’s. Not hers.

  He was never going to be hers. And she couldn’t steal him away. She’d never get away with it. She was crazy to even think it. Crazy! And even if Delta killed Tanner, which she could’ve, Zora was thinking more and more, the boy’s grandparents were in the way.

  She sobbed softly into one of the den pillows. She was never going to have a child. Never. It was so unfair. She’d spent the day with Delta, and all she could think about was how unfair it was that Delta had Owen. Maybe Delta did kill Tanner. She did not deserve that littl
e boy.

  After a few minutes, Zora lifted her face and brushed back the tears, worried that her cheeks were probably blotchy. Brian, of course, was locked in his office, probably talking to Miss Billings or Anne Reade or Amanda . . . whoever the hell he was in love with.

  She lurched to her feet, then sank back down. Maybe before she confronted him, she’d have one more glass . . .

  Ten minutes later, she was still sitting on the den couch, staring at a blank TV. What time was it? Too late for the news? Brian usually taped it.

  It took her an inordinately long time to find the remote, turn on the television, and work her way through the menu until she found the recordings. She pressed the PLAY button and started watching the local news. Ellie’s channel . . . ? No, a different one. Brian didn’t watch Channel Seven as a rule.

  A reporter came on, and he was yammering away about Delta. Zora blinked, ran the recording back, listened again. They were talking about Delta’s book . . . about the plot . . . and . . . ? What was that?

  She ran it back one more time, replayed.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, blinking hard, trying to sober up. Did they say her book had gone viral, basically, racking up thousands of purchases? Thousands and thousands?

  “Brian,” she called, forgetting for a moment how upset and hurt she was with him. “Brian! Brian!”

  “What?” he demanded, slamming out of the office and stalking to where she leaned against the aperture to the den. She needed the support, but she didn’t want him to know that.

  “Did you see this . . . this news?” She pointed to the screen with the remote, but she’d stopped the recording. Now she tried to start it and fumbled around, dropping the remote to the wood floor, where its plastic back flew off.

  “How much did you drink?” he demanded, bending to rescue the remote.

  “But . . . Delta’s book . . . she’s making money . . . lots of money . . .”

  Brian snapped the remote’s plastic cover back in place and reversed the picture. The whirling images made Zora’s head hurt. She really had drunk too much.

  And then Brian played it again.

  “Thousands and thousands,” Zora murmured.

  “People think it’s a road map to killing Tanner.”

  “Uh huh. She killed him, and now she’s making a killing.”

  She hadn’t meant to be funny, but that was kind of funny. She giggled and then remembered how sad she was. “You don’t love me anymore.”

  “I don’t think Delta killed him.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him, realizing he was looking kind of . . . weird. “What?” she asked.

  “When you sober up, we’ll talk.”

  “Talk to me now.”

  “You won’t remember it.”

  “Yes, I will.” She sat down on the couch and folded her hands in her lap, looked at him and concentrated.

  Well, she did have some trouble concentrating; that was true.

  But what she heard was that he’d been secretly seeing Judy, her therapist, who was “helping him understand the issues in their relationship”! Was that even okay? Them sharing the same therapist? Zora thought she could probably sue the old hag. It was Judy who’d helped him realize he never really wanted children. Judy who had helped Brian go over his youth and all the years in between. Judy who had reminded him that he’d had a crush on Miss Billings and had suggested he get in touch with both Clarice and Anne Reade and “explore what might have been.”

  “You’re having an affair!?” Zora really, really wished she were sober.

  “No.” His face darkened.

  “Does she want you to sleep with them? Maybe a ménage à trois? Did she say that was okay?” Her nose felt hot. She was close to tears.

  “I knew you’d do this. You’re taking this the wrong way, like always.” He tightened his lips. This was Brian’s seriously angry face. “This is about my journey on the path to happiness.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Zora leaned her head back against the cushions.

  As he was wont to do, Brian’s anger, such as it was, dissipated as if it had never been. He sat down beside her on the couch.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “We only get one chance to go around in this life. I’ve been fooling myself, and so have you. And I want to go back to teaching, and I don’t need children, but you do.”

  Her heart clutched. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we need a break, Zora.”

  “I don’t want a divorce!”

  “We’ll take it one step at a time. I’ve been thinking a lot about Tanner, since this whole thing started. And Delta. I don’t think they were ever happy, and maybe if they’d recognized that, it all wouldn’t have ended so tragically.”

  “You think Delta killed him.”

  “No. I think someone else had it in for him.” He gave a bark of sardonic laughter and said, “If Delta wanted to kill him, she would’ve done it years ago, when he really embarrassed her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He grew serious, and Zora worked hard to concentrate. “I saw Tanner in the woods the night of the barbeque with Amanda. So did Carmen. Carmen was looking right at him while Amanda . . . pleasured him.”

  “Pleasured him?”

  “Amanda’s blond head was bobbing up and down in the dark, y’know?”

  Zora hadn’t gone into the woods that day. Something she still regretted. She could picture Amanda going down on Tanner, though. She’d done the same thing.

  “Carmen was staring at them, watching them. She was . . . transfixed.”

  “Oh, God. That’s what she saw,” Zora realized. “Bailey said she saw something.”

  “Maybe that’s why she went in the water. Following after Tanner. She wanted to prove she was just as daring, somehow.”

  Zora shook her head, seeking to clear the fog. “Did you tell anyone?”

  “We were all dealing with the shock of Carmen’s death,” he excused himself.

  “You were a teacher,” she rebuked. “And Woody and a bunch of us were smoking dope, too.”

  “Damn it, Zora. Should Clarice and I have turned you all in? Anne didn’t even know what the smell was.”

  “Your girlfriends?”

  He glared at her. “And you just married me for my inheritance.”

  “That wasn’t . . . that isn’t . . .”

  “Sure, it is. And, yes, I should have said something about what was going on in the woods. Maybe everyone’s lives would’ve turned out differently. Mine, too. All I know is I don’t want to be unhappy anymore. I don’t want you to be unhappy, either. We need to end this marriage.”

  “No.”

  His face darkened, and he threw up his hands and stalked to his office. She heard the door slam with finality.

  He was looking for excuses, just like always. She felt a huge ache in her heart. Well, he was right about one thing: she was unhappy. But she couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.

  She sank back in the cushions, furious and overwhelmed and . . .

  She must’ve fallen asleep, because she woke up suddenly. Thinking something had jogged her awake, she went to Brian’s office, but the door was open, and he wasn’t there. She heard his voice in the kitchen and tiptoed down the hall as far as she dared. It was quiet, except for him on his cell.

  “. . . told her about . . . divorce . . . no, she’s drunk . . . No names. Shhh. Come on . . . It’s time to start the next chapter of our lives . . . Sure. I’ll be there soon.”

  Zora shrank back into the shadows, her anger bubbling upward. She wondered if she could slip back into the den or if she should brazenly face him? She felt pretty damn sober now. She heard him open the door to the garage, all quiet like . . . trying not to have her hear.

  He was going to her.

  She ran back to the den and found the black flats she’d worn to the movies, squinching her toes into them, then hung by the curtains in the dining room and watched through the window till she saw his ta
illights start to pull away before she broke for the garage door herself, yanking it open. Her heart was racing as she leaped into her own car and pressed the button for the ignition, throwing her Mercedes into reverse, damn near slamming into the garage door, which he’d apparently pushed to go down while she’d hit the button to have it rise at the same time, confusing the mechanism.

  “Shit!” she shrieked, standing on the brakes. She managed to just avoid disaster, taking a moment to push the button and reverse the door so it rolled upward once more.

  She then backed down the drive and into the road, throwing the vehicle into DRIVE and speeding to catch up to him.

  She’d been afraid she’d given him too much time, but she caught him faster than expected. He was staying within the speed limit to wherever he was going, and she had to hang back once she had him in her sights. She didn’t want to tip him off.

  He could talk all he wanted, but the bottom line was he was in love with someone else. He didn’t care about her. He never had.

  Why had he brought up Amanda? Just to tell her about Carmen? To ease away from the fact that he was leaving her?

  Or . . . was it something more? Was she wrong about his lover? Could it be Amanda? Maybe she was the one he’d wanted from afar . . .

  No. Impossible.

  Still, she stretched out her right hand and searched blindly through her purse for her cell. As soon as she grasped it, she placed it on top of her purse, then, darting glances at the glowing screen as she drove, she punched in Amanda’s number. When Amanda didn’t answer, Zora stayed on the line, letting it go to voice mail. Maybe Brian was right about one thing. Maybe it was time to bring it all out in the open. Tanner was gone, and Carmen, too, and if her death was Amanda’s fault, well hell. Zora didn’t feel like playing nice anymore.

  You cheated with him, too.

  She closed her mind to that. It had only been one night, and they hadn’t even gone all the way. Amanda was the one who’d done all the damage. And what did it matter now anyway? Brian was wrong. Delta maybe did kill Tanner. Okay, maybe not, but somebody did. Somebody took his life and Bailey’s and Penske’s . . . and maybe it wasn’t Amanda, but she sure as hell was responsible for something.