Girl Eight

by Melinda Woodhall

  Doc climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. He looked over his shoulder as he pulled out of the lot and saw that the men were still standing in the same place, watching him drive away.

  Their questions had stirred ugly memories, and as Doc steered the van toward home he couldn’t stop thinking of that fateful night twelve years ago. The night that had turned a doctor, a man who had sworn to save lives, into a killer.

  A muggy darkness surrounded the Old Canal Motel as Doc approached. Buzzing lights overhead lit up the corridor of Building D, lighting the way to Natalie’s room. She’d told him she would be waiting in Room 407. She said she wanted to talk to him about her son. The boy she’d called Vinny. The boy she claimed was also his son.

  Doc knocked on the door with a trembling fist, hating the fear that consumed him and made him weak. But more than that, he hated the woman on the other side of the door. The woman that was threatening to ruin his life and destroy his marriage.

  His pulse quickened as the door opened to reveal a thin woman with limp brown hair and scared eyes. Doc knew she wasn’t yet thirty years old, but time had taken its pitiless toll.

  Long gone was the fresh-faced sixteen-year-old he’d last seen twelve years before. Natalie Lorenzo’s face now told a tale of drug addiction and rough living, and the spark that had once warmed her light brown eyes had been replaced by a grim determination.

  “Hi, Adrian. Come on in.”

  Natalie stepped back and motioned for him to enter, but Doc paused, turning back to search the dark night behind him, wanting to make sure he hadn’t been seen. Satisfied that no one lurked in the night, he walked into the room, his eyes sweeping over the sparse furniture and unmade bed with disdain.

  The musty-sweet smell in the room made him suspect that the sweat and bodily fluids of countless men had been left on the thin sheets and threadbare carpet. It was a motel meant for illicit trysts and quick transactions.

  Doc looked Natalie up and down, wondering if she made a habit of bringing men into the disgusting room in an attempt to fleece them out of money as she was trying to fleece him.

  “Everyone calls me Doc, now. But let’s not waste time with pleasantries. I’m assuming you asked me here to demand money?”

  He noted the cheap red dress she wore and the second-hand purse sitting on the table, as Natalie frowned, wrapping her arms around her body, protecting herself from his disapproving gaze.

  “Yeah, things have been rough for me and Vinny,” Natalie said, sticking her chin up in a defiant gesture. “The state’s taken him cause I can’t afford to take care of him.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “You’re his dad, that’s what. You’re the guy that took advantage of me when I was just a kid, and then left me knocked up and alone. It’s time you did the decent thing. Vinny needs a dad, and yes, we need money. It’s the least you can do to make up for…everything.”

  “You can’t prove anything. Why would anyone believe you, a loser who lives out of a cheap motel? Probably a whore, too.”

  “There are tests now, you know. Tests that can prove what you did. Prove you’re Vinny’s dad. I think the police might be interested to know you knocked up a minor.”

  Natalie narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

  “And your pretty little wife will need to know, too. I think Terri needs to know the kind of man she’s married to.”

  Doc jerked his head back at his wife’s name. How did she know?

  “Yeah, I know about your wife. I asked my social worker at the clinic about you. She told me some very interesting things about you and Terri.”

  Doc clenched his fists as he stared into Natalie’s defiant eyes. Just when he’d found Terri, a woman worthy of his love, the only one in the whole world that mattered to him, Natalie Lorenzo was threatening to ruin everything.

  And from the look on Natalie’s face he knew he wasn’t going to be able to convince her to leave him and Terri alone. Why even try?

  “I’m sorry,” Doc said, and for a minute, he meant it. He didn’t want to have to do what he was about to do. But he had to save Terri from the devastation this woman could bring. He had no choice.

  “I should hope so,” Natalie said, her voice softening. “But as long as you make it right, then I’m willing to forgive you.”

  “How much will it take to make it right?” Doc asked, his hand moving to the big pocket in his jacket as if he were going to pull out a wad of cash, or maybe a checkbook. Instead his fist closed around a coil of rope.

  “It’s not just the money.” Natalie turned away, walking toward the table. “Vinny needs a male influence in his life. He needs a father to help him grow into a good man. I have a picture of him here in my wallet -”

  Doc moved quickly, pulling out the rope and wrapping it around Natalie’s throat before she could understand what was happening.

  She grabbed at the rope, her fingernails scratching and clawing wildly, gouging deep gashes in her own neck. Blood dripped onto the red dress, spattering the floor.

  “I don’t want to have to do this,” Doc muttered between gritted teeth as he forced her onto the bed, still holding tight to the rope. “But you gave me no choice.”

  Once Natalie’s body had gone limp, Doc sat back and surveyed her still form. Her face was so red it looked almost purple.

  Suddenly nauseated, he pulled up the bedspread, covering the grisly sight.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Natalie wouldn’t be telling tales to anyone now. His secrets were still safe. Terri still loved him.

  As he left the motel room he furtively looked into the darkness beyond the corridor, fearful of being observed. But he was alone. All was quiet. Everything would be okay.

  Doc shook himself, pulling his mind back into the present, knowing that unless he did something soon, everything would not be okay.

  It seemed as though Natalie still had the power to destroy his life from beyond the grave.

  He tapped Ace’s number into his cell phone with shaky fingers. He needed to tell him about Leo Steele and the man named Barker. And he needed to make sure the men didn’t get the chance to talk to Penelope Yates.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Frankie Dawson sauntered into the dimly lit bar and surveyed the near-empty room. It was not yet nine o’clock, and the Saturday night crowd wouldn’t descend on the bar scene in downtown Willow Bay until closer to midnight. A few of the high-top tables near the front window were occupied with couples, and a group of men clustered around a dart board on the far wall.

  A solitary woman sat at the bar, staring down into an empty highball glass. Her jet-black hair was slicked back into a high ponytail, and huge silver hoops hung from her ears. A figure-hugging knit dress revealed an athletic body decorated with a spattering of tattoos.

  The woman looked around as Frankie approached the bar, and he immediately recognized Penelope Yates from the public pictures on her Facebook page. She looked older in person than she had in the edited photos, with fine lines etched around her eyes and mouth. She studied him with wary eyes before turning back to her glass.

  “You want a refill? I’m buying.”

  After another long look, her eyes taking in his lanky frame, disheveled hair and patchy stubble, she shrugged.

  “If you’re buying…”

  Frankie motioned to a short, plump man in a red vest and black pants watching the dart game. The bartender hurried over and produced a toothy smile.

  “Hey man, she’ll have another…whatever it is she’s drinking, and I’ll have a bottle of bud light.”

  “You got it. One whiskey sour and a bud light coming up.”

  Frankie reached into his front pocket and scooped out his last loose cigarette. He hesitated, then looked over at Penelope.

  “You smoke?”

  She shook her head, the silver hoops jangling from side to side, then glanced over at him, watching him light up.

  “You know those things will k
ill you, right?”

  “Yeah, so will a bus, but I still ride on them if I need to get somewhere.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she said, but he could see the corner of her mouth turn up in a half smile.

  Frankie relaxed. It didn’t really matter if she was laughing at him or with him. If he’d gotten her to laugh, he could get her to talk.

  “You live around here?”

  Frankie already knew that Penelope Yates lived in a building just around the corner; her condo was on the second floor, Unit 201.

  After getting her address off the internet, he’d decided his best bet was an old-fashioned stake out, so he’d sat on a bench across the street, smoking his way through half a dozen cigarettes. He’d only had one cigarette left in his pocket when she’d walked past him on her way to the bar.

  “Yeah, I do live around here. Why do you ask?”

  “Looks like an interesting neighborhood.”

  She turned to face Frankie as the bartender delivered their drinks. Her eyes were an unusual shade of gray, and when she spoke, he caught a flash of straight white teeth, along with the scent of alcohol and something sweet on her breath. An unexpected ripple of attraction ran down his spine.

  No harm mixing a little business with pleasure, is there?

  Frankie took a sip from his bottle, wondering how to ease into questions about her past without arousing her suspicions. Subtlety wasn’t his strong point.

  “You can skip the small talk, whoever you are,” Penelope said, draining a big gulp from her glass. “I saw you skulking around my building earlier. What are you, some kind of stalker?”

  An embarrassed flushed spread over Frankie’s face.

  “Hell no, I’m not a stalker.” He straightened his back and looked around to see if anyone had overheard her.

  “Then why are you following me around?”

  “I’m not…following you.”

  “Whatever.” Penelope rolled her eyes and shook her head. “But whoever you are, and whatever you want, I’m not interested.”

  “Listen, you got this all mixed up.”

  Penelope snorted, turning back to her drink, and Frankie suspected the only way he could hope to get information from her, now that she’d busted his cover, was to tell the truth.

  Or I could just crawl back with my tail between my legs and admit I’ve royally screwed up. Barker would fucking love that.

  But Barker wasn’t his real worry. If he messed this up Leo would be disappointed in him. The lawyer had saved his ass more than once, and Frankie couldn’t let him down again. This was too important.

  “All right, I was following you, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Let me guess, you’re a model scout, and I’d be perfect for an assignment you’re working on?”

  Anger overrode his embarrassment, making his voice hard.

  “Yeah, real funny, but the reason I’m here is no joke. You remember a woman named Natalie Lorenzo? You remember what happened to her? Is a woman getting killed funny to you?”

  The color drained from Penelope’s face. She stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Frankie Dawson. I’m working on an investigation for a lawyer by the name of Leo Steele. We want information about Natalie.”

  Frankie squared his shoulders and took another sip from his bottle. He watched his words sink in, saw Penelope’s eyes water.

  “I shouldn’t even be talking about this.”

  “Why not? You have something to hide?”

  Frankie regarded her trembling hands with curiosity.

  Why the hell is she so scared?

  “I still have nightmares, you know? I’ve been trying to forget Natalie for the last twelve years, but I can’t escape the…the…guilt.”

  Penelope’s hand shook as she drained the remains of her whiskey sour. She looked into the glass, staring at the melting ice with haunted eyes.

  “Guilt?”

  “Yeah, I’m the one that found her…only not in time. If I’d looked for her sooner…if I’d said something…”

  Her words faded away, and she picked up her empty glass and looked toward the bartender. Frankie saw the glass quiver in her hand, and a wave of remorse flooded through him. He shook his head, knowing he was screwing the whole thing up.

  Penelope isn’t a suspect, she’s a witness. Stop being such a jerk.

  “Hey, it’s not your fault some sicko killed her.”

  “Maybe not, but I knew she was desperate. She needed money for an apartment so she could win back custody of her son.”

  Penelope swallowed hard and waved to the bartender.

  “I just didn’t know she’d be desperate enough to start turning tricks again. I mean, she’d been clean for a while. I thought she was going to make it.”

  Frankie considered her words as the bartender approached.

  “Same again?”

  “Yeah, man, we’ll be sitting over there.”

  Frankie pointed to an empty table by the window, then steered Penelope across the room before she could protest. He didn’t speak again until they were sitting across from each other.

  “So, what makes you think Natalie was turning tricks?”

  Penelope’s pale eyes were bright with tears as she regarded him, searching his face as if trying to decide if he could be trusted. Finally, her shoulders sagged and she leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

  “Well, that’s what the cops thought. I just assumed they knew…somehow. Although I was surprised. The last time we spoke Natalie said she’d made up her mind to do the right thing. That she was going to get her kid back. She even said she’d found his father.”

  The bartender set another glass in front of Penelope, and Frankie waited for her to take a drink. He figured she needed the alcohol to help her deal with the memories. He’d seen the crime scene photos; the horror of what Penelope had discovered in the motel room that night was still fresh in his mind.

  “Did Natalie tell you who the kid’s father was?”

  “No, she didn’t want to. She said it was someone I knew, and that she wanted to talk to him first before telling anyone else. I don’t think he even knew he had a son.”

  “So, you never figured out who it was?”

  “No, she never had a chance to tell me.”

  “But she said it was someone you knew?”

  Penelope banged her glass on the table in frustration.

  “Well, yes, but like I said, I never found out who. Why does it matter anyway? The cops didn’t seem that interested back then. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

  Frankie watched as Penelope looked around for the bartender.

  Another drink or two and she’ll be too wasted to remember anything.

  “Do you remember Helena Steele?”

  She inhaled sharply, then turned toward him, her face stricken.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Helena Steele was killed a few weeks after Natalie. And the guy I work for, Leo Steele, he’s her son. We think the guy that killed Natalie might have killed Helena, too. We want to find the fucker that killed them.”

  “Helena Steele was killed by her husband. He went to jail for it.”

  “And did that make sense to you?” Frankie asked, keeping his voice low, reasonable. “Cause it doesn’t make sense to her son.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Can you think of anyone that might have hurt either Natalie or Helena? Anyone at the community center that was acting weird?”

  Penelope shook her head before putting a hand in front of her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  She lurched up from the table and hurried toward the ladies’ room, her stiletto heels clattering against the concrete floor. Frankie settled up at the bar, stuffing the receipt for the drinks in his pocket. He’d need it to get Leo to reimburse him for the drinks.


  After a few minutes of hanging around outside the ladies’ room Frankie decided he’d have to go in after her. He pushed the door open with one hand and called out in a cheerful voice.

  “You need any help in there?”

  A terrible retching sound convinced him to quickly close the door again. He leaned against the wall and waited. Finally, the door swung open and Penelope stepped out, her red eyes the only sign she’d been sick. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin in a defiant gesture that made him smile.

  You go, girl. Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

  “I need to get home. I’m not feeling well.”

  “I’ll walk you. Make sure you get home okay.”

  Penelope didn’t respond, so Frankie followed her out, ready to catch her if she stumbled. He walked behind her down the sidewalk and around the corner. When they got to her building she paused at the front door before punching in her door code and letting him follow her inside.

  “I’m on the second floor.”

  “Yeah, I know. I googled you.”

  Penelope snorted, shaking her head and trudging up the carpeted stairs with Frankie right behind her.

  “You know, you shouldn’t let strange men into your building. Especially at night.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing. You are strange.”

  It was Frankie’s turn to laugh, and he wondered if Penelope Yates had a man in her life. She wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean much.

  “Anyone waiting for you up there?”

  “No, I live alone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “A pretty girl like you?”

  “Wow, you really do need knew material,” Penelope said, pulling a key from her purse and fumbling it into the lock. “But I’m an old maid. I don’t even have a cat to keep me company, that’s how pathetic I am.”

  “You don’t look pathetic to me,” Frankie said, staring into her tired, gray eyes. “Far from it from where I stand.”

  Penelope looked down at her hands, her cocky demeanor falling away as a cautious smile appeared.

  “Thanks for walking me home. Sorry I got carried away with the whiskey sours. You may not believe me, but I don’t usually drink. At least not anymore. Guess I can’t hold my liquor like I used to.”