“How was Olivia different?” I asked. “Can you give me an example?”
“Sure can. She cried. And not just after sex. Sometimes during, sometimes at the start. She’d seem fine at first. We’d be talking and laughing, and then we’d start having sex, and she’d lose it. It was weird, you know? Kinda bugged me. I asked her why she cried about it, and she always gave me the same answer. She said I wouldn’t understand.”
He wouldn’t understand.
Three simple words, which meant a lot more than he realized.
And now for the hard part.
“Did you and Olivia always use protection?” I asked.
“Hell yeah, we did. I don’t care how great it feels without a condom. I don’t eff around unless I’m wearing one. Even if a chick swears she’s on the pill or has one of those IUD thingies in, I glove up every single time.”
“Did Olivia ever say anything to you about being pregnant?”
He raised a brow. “You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“Are you saying she got knocked up?”
I nodded. “When she was sixteen.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“She wrote a poem about it, and this morning, one of her friends confirmed Olivia had terminated the pregnancy.”
“Which friend?”
“Does it matter? All you need to know is there’s a good chance her friend is telling the truth. She has no reason to lie about it.”
Shawn tipped his head back, smacked a fist onto the dashboard, and said, “No. No way. She wouldn’t get pregnant without telling me. No way.”
He seemed to be mumbling the words to himself, trying to come to terms with what I’d just told him. He continued the one-sided banter for a minute and then started the truck and glanced in my direction. “I can’t do this … I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m outta here.”
I watched him tear out of the parking lot thinking he wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t do it anymore either. I couldn’t face Olivia’s parents. I couldn’t tell them the same thing I’d just told Shawn. Not tonight.
I attended the reception, staying just long enough to see who was there, and then I ducked out and headed home. Tomorrow was another day, a day where I would reveal the awful truth.
Chapter 41
I made myself a vodka soda with a splash of lime and then sat on the edge of my bed, running my hand through Luka’s fur and thinking about my agenda for tomorrow. Aside from talking to Olivia’s parents about the pregnancy, I still needed to follow up with Casper’s ex-girlfriend, Brandy Jacobsen. But there were other far more pressing avenues to investigate first, starting with a trip to the cabin and ending with finding out as much as I could about high school teacher, Scott Bartlett. Earlier, I’d called Hunter and asked her to see what dirt she could dig up on him. I hoped it was juicy enough for an arrest.
And then there was Casper who had been extra jumpy at the funeral service. I wondered if it was over his failed brawl with Shawn or if there was something else. Every time I saw him, he seemed even more off-kilter than the time before.
Was he a guy experiencing extreme grief over his fiancée?
Or was there something I hadn’t realized yet?
I was pulled out of my deep contemplation by a shadow slinking around the front of my RV. A shadow in the shape of a person. Someone was out there, nosing around. Luka noticed too, and his ears perked up. He hopped off the bed, standing guard at the front door.
I reached for my gun.
I hunched over and crept up to the door. I motioned for Luka to get onto his dog bed. He didn’t budge. I whispered at him a second time, swishing my arm through the air and stabbing a finger at his bed to emphasize my desire for him to move. He still wouldn’t budge, so I set my gun down, wrapped my arms around him, and eased him out of the way.
Gun back in hand, I inched the door open and peeked out.
It was dark and quiet, eerie almost.
I saw no more shadows.
Heard no movement.
But someone was there, wheezing like an asthmatic in desperate need of an inhaler.
“Who’s there?” I asked. “Show yourself. And you should know, I’m armed.”
A short, overweight, bald man rounded the side of my RV and grinned. “Oh, hey, Georgiana. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya. Was just checking to see if you’re doing all right.”
I sighed and lowered my weapon. “Hey, Peppe. Knock on the door next time. Don’t sneak around, okay?”
“Boss said not to disturb you, just to check in. I was going to call instead, but my phone died, and I left the charger back at the house. I went out to pick up a pizza, and I figured since you live right by the pizza joint, I’d just drop in, take a look around.”
He was a man of many words—too many words—but his intentions were good, and a part of me couldn’t help but find the ordeal a bit funny.
“Thank you for checking on me, Peppe,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Nobody bothering you on your case or nothin’? Cuz, if they are, just point me in the direction, and I’ll have a talk with him … or her, if it’s a lady.”
“Everything is okay. I mean it. I appreciate Giovanni for sending you over here, but he knows I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He knows. But you mean a lot to him, and he means a lot to me, and if something happened to you on my watch … well, it wouldn’t be so good, you know?”
“Have you been following me again?” I asked.
“I haven’t. I swear. We made a deal on the last case you had, and a deal’s a deal.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but the sentiment was still sweet.
“Giovanni went home to help Daniela with an issue she’s having,” I said. “Is everything okay with the family?”
Peppe cocked his head to the side, aware I was pushing him for information. “What did Giovanni tell you?”
“He said some people aren’t keen on the changes Daniela has been trying to make concerning the family business.”
“Some people, huh? Yeah, some people are having a hard time with it. There’s no need to worry. He’ll clear it up and be back here soon. Hey, you want some pizza? I ordered two large ones and a liter of Coke. Got one with extra cheese.”
I glanced at the time on my watch. It was almost eleven. Still, a slice of pizza was tempting at any hour—not to mention the fact it was smothered in cheese.
“I think I’ll head off to bed,” I said, making the tough decision. “Big day tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “All right. Sleep well. I’ll see you around.”
Yes, something told me he would.
Chapter 42
“I don’t care what you’re doing right now. Get your ass over here, Detective Germaine. Now.”
I was idling at the side of the road, phone pressed against my ear, listening to Blackwell bark orders at me. I assumed the irritation he’d levied my way was because I’d avoided the police station ever since our first meeting, and I hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. I wanted to ignore him now, but something told me I shouldn’t, so I made a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.
For now, Olivia’s parents would have to wait.
I arrived at the station about forty-five minutes later, taking my time to center myself as much as possible before I faced him for a second time. Inside Harvey’s office, Officer Higgins sat with his head bowed while Blackwell tore into him about something I didn’t understand. The one-sided argument lasted until Blackwell caught me peeking through the blinds. He told Higgins to get out, and Higgins rushed past me, whispering a quick, “Good luck,” as he went by.
It seemed I was next in line for a knock-down-drag-out, but I was determined to talk before he did. I sat where Higgins had just been and said, “I’m guessing you want to have a conversation about me hanging up on you yesterday, and I wanted to tell you the reason why I—”
He flipped a hand in the a
ir and said, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to your attitude problem later on. For now, I need you to head to your office.”
“Why? What’s in my office?”
“It’s not a what, it’s a who. Two of them, in fact. A couple of high school girls are waiting in there for you. They’re refusing to talk unless they talk to you. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Did they mention why they’re here?”
Blackwell crossed his arms in front of him and raised a brow. “Don’t you think if I knew what they wanted I would have led with that information?”
Noted.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll go talk to them.”
“And you’re to report right back to me after you do. We’re not finished here. We’re just getting started.”
I made my way to my office, stopping for a moment at the front desk to chat with a somber-looking Hunter.
“Not having the best day, I take it?” I asked.
She leaned over in her chair to peek around the side of her desk, staring down the hall to make sure Blackwell was still in his office with the door closed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever have a good day again. Not while Ivan the Terrible is around.”
“I suppose everyone knows about Harvey’s retirement by now.”
“Yep.”
“Any word on his permanent replacement?”
“Not yet.”
“How’s the information on Scott Bartlett coming?”
“I’ve found nothing on him so far, aside from the incident at the previous school. If he is guilty of more than kissing a student and engaging in flirty conversations, it’s either been buried, kept secret, or there are no more incidents.”
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“What’s the story on the girls in my office?” I asked.
“They came in about an hour ago, asking for you. Blackwell tried talking to them first, and they said if they couldn’t talk to you, they were leaving. He got them a couple of sodas and snacks to keep them occupied until you arrived.”
No wonder he’d been so anxious on the phone.
He thought they’d leave before I showed up.
“Guess I’ll go see what they have to say,” I said.
Hunter nodded, and I walked to my office, hoping they were there to tell me what a scumbag Scott Bartlett was—one could hope, at least.
“Hey there, I’m Detective Georgiana Germaine.” I took a seat at my desk. “I heard you wanted to see me.”
Both girls had a fair complexion and long, braided, blond hair. They wore the same shade of blush lipstick, and looked like they hadn’t had a hamburger in the last decade.
Blondie One looked at Blondie Two like they should play rock, paper, scissors to determine who would talk first. When Blondie Two bit her lip, Blondie One cleared her throat and said, “I’m Sunny, and this is my bestie, Jasmine, and we’re here to talk about Mr. Bartlett. We, ahh, heard what you said on the intercom, and we have some stuff to say.”
I wanted to wave my hands in the air and shout. “Jackpot! Bartlett, you’re going down, buddy.”
I resisted and folded my hands over the top of the desk instead. “What information do you have?”
“You said we could remain anonymous, right?” Sunny said. “We don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
“I understand. Are you both in his math class at school?”
“We were last year. We’re not anymore.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing major or anything,” Sunny said. “He’s just a flipping weirdo.”
Jasmine nodded. “He is.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“He gets voted favorite teacher at school every year because he’s so nice. He goes out of his way to help his students get a good grade in his class.”
I bet he did.
Lure them in and then set the trap.
“Did he go out of his way to help you?” I asked.
Sunny nodded. “He gave me extra days to turn in my homework, let me retake tests until I got a better grade, and always told me to come see him if I needed help with anything, whether it was math related or not.”
“Doesn’t sound like a weirdo to me.”
Sunny crossed one leg over the other and took a sip of her soda. “It’s just, after a while, after I got to know him a little better, he started to say things that gave me the creeps. Nothing major at first. Stuff like how nice my hair looked or telling me my backpack was dope.”
“And then?”
“His comments got a lot racier. The first time was when he told me the jeans I was wearing made my butt look amazing. And then one time he told Jasmine he could tell she was cold in class because the thin bra she wore under her shirt allowed him to see everything.”
Disgusting.
“Did he say or do anything else?” I asked.
“He suggested I stay after school one day so he could work with me on one of my assignments. I was the yearbook photographer last year, and before we got started, I was showing him some photos of the cheer team that I’d taken. He looked over my photos and said I should send some photos to him—to his cell phone. I thought it was odd, but I asked him which ones he wanted anyway.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I’d misunderstood. He wanted photos of me—photos of my body but not my face. He said I looked like a model, and he bet I could pose like one too. I just laughed it off. When I got home, I was taking things out of my backpack, and I found a note he’d slipped into my bag. It had his phone number and a comment—surprise me, can’t wait—or something like that.”
“The note—do you still have it?”
Sunny shook her head. “Nope, sorry.”
“Did you send him any photos of yourself?”
Sunny shared a nervous look with Jasmine.
Jasmine nodded and said, “Go ahead, it’s okay. Tell her.”
“Jasmine was at my house when I found the note,” Sunny said. “At first, we were laughing about it, and then we did something stupid. We decided it would be funny to put bikinis on and pose like we were doing our math homework in bed. We took a bunch of photos and sent some of them to him.”
“Did he message you back?”
“He didn’t, and we freaked out. I thought he’d written down the wrong number or given me someone else’s number by mistake. Then next day, I was walking out of his class, and he put his arm around me and whispered in my ear.”
“What did he say?”
“He said his favorite snack was peaches and cream, and that’s when I knew he’d received the photos we’d sent.”
“How did you know?”
“The bikini I wore was orange. Jasmine’s was cream. It creeped us out, and we decided not to send him any more photos, except I did. I sent one more, and I was … umm, I mean to say, I wasn’t wearing a top in the photo.”
My heart sank.
“And did he respond to it?” I asked.
“Not by text. He made flirty comments during class, comments no one would understand except me. In the topless photo I sent, there were cherries on my panties. Over the next couple of weeks, he sat at his desk, eating cherries while we worked. He’d never done that before. Every time I looked up, he was staring right at me. I didn’t get it. Why would he do that, but he wouldn’t ever text me back?”
I knew why.
He was sneaky, and clever, and he thought he was insulating himself.
“Mr. Bartlett didn’t message back because not doing so added a layer of protection for himself,” I said. “And he told you not to include your face in the photos so if he ever got caught, he could say he had no idea who sent the photos or why. Could have been a sixteen-year-old or a thirty-year-old. Without the face, it would be hard to prove what he knew and what he didn’t. Did anyone else ever hear him make inappropriate comments to you?”
Sunny thought about it. “No, but—”
“If they didn’t, it’s his word against yours.”
It wasn’t my intention, and it was awful to hear she questioned whether I was on their side or not.
“None of this is your fault,” I said. “And I want you to know … I want you both to know, I’m here for you. Scott Bartlett preys on young girls because he’s a scumbag, and he thinks he can get away with it.”
Sunny pulled a tube of lip gloss out of her pocket, smoothed it over her lips, and said, “Whatever. What happens now?”
“What happens now depends on you. I’ll start building a case against him, but it will be hard to do much more than that unless someone is willing to go on the record.”
Sunny stood up. “Guess we’re done here then.”
“Wait,” Jasmine said. “Do you think Mr. Bartlett is doing the same thing to other girls?”
I leaned forward. “I know he is, and he’ll keep doing it until someone has the courage to stop him.”
“I will,” Jasmine said. “I’ll tell my story.”
A frustrated Sunny threw her hands in the air. “We talked about this before we came here. We agreed not to give our names.”
“I’ll give mine and leave you out of it.”
“How’s that going to work? We sent those photos together. Any other version of the story is a lie.”
Jasmine stared out the window at nothing. “I don’t need to talk about the bikini photos. There’s something else. Something about Mr. Bartlett I haven’t told anyone.”
Chapter 43
Sunny sat down, looking shocked by what Jasmine had just said. Then she leaned forward and grabbed Jasmine’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t told anyone,” Jasmine said.
“Why not? You can talk to me about anything.”
“I was embarrassed. I’m still embarrassed. But I’m not going to let anyone else become his victim. No matter how I feel or how much I don’t want anyone to know what happened to me, it’s not right to keep quiet.”
I waited for Jasmine to tell her story, but she didn’t at first. She stayed quiet, fidgeting with her hands, too nervous to get the words out. Whatever she’d come to say, I felt confident she’d say it, but since she was still working up the courage, I decided to give her a minute.
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