Storm Vengeance

by Pamela Cowan

“Well, I guess, in a way, I am,” Tristan said, a thin smile curling her lips. “Just not the way she said.”

  “I know, but think about it. Why would she make up such an elaborate story? Why make it seem like you were out to get her?”

  “So that if she attacked me, she could claim it was the other way around.”

  “Exactly. I think you’re in danger. I think she’s sick of you following her, and this is her elaborate plan to get rid of you. She’ll either accuse you of something, maybe hurt herself and claim you did it, or she’ll hurt you in self-defense. Either way it will fulfill her desire to get rid of you.”

  “It won’t do her any good. If she gets rid of me, her parents will just hire someone else. Or, if she runs out of people willing to babysit her, she’ll end up in some loony bin somewhere.”

  “Professional term?” Storm asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Storm shrugged. “I don’t know what we should do or what’s safe. If I tell her I found out who you really are and why you’re following her, that could trigger her into some sort of violent outburst. Maybe we should think about calling the police.” Storm unconsciously held her breath.

  Tristan flipped her cigarette away and reached into her purse for her pack. She found it and lit up another cigarette before answering. “Give me some time. Let me talk to her. She told me she wanted to get to know you because you were the same age she was when your father hit her with the car.”

  “You mean hit Lauren.”

  “Of course,” she said and waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, she was pissed that you were pretty and she was deformed.”

  “Deformed?”

  “I know. I know,” said Tristan, putting her palm out in a stop gesture. “Lauren’s perfect. But the real Lauren was deformed by the accident. She had a weird dent in her cheek beneath one eye. Some sort of infection from the plastic surgery. They were going to do more work on her, but, you know . . . I’m sure she wasn’t looking forward to that.” It was Tristan’s turn to shrug. “She also had a bad limp and some ugly scars on her legs. Rhiannon even cut her legs with a box knife once to mimic Lauren’s surgery scars, but she didn’t cut deep enough, or they did a good job stitching her up. There’s hardly any noticeable scars on her legs now.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And this is the woman who wanted to get to know me because she hates me for what my father did?”

  “Her thinking is twisted, certainly, and, sure, I think she hated you in the beginning but as far as I can tell, that seems to have changed. In our sessions she seems to think of you as a friend, a really good friend. In fact, you might be doing her a lot of good. If she finds her own life improving, she may be able to give up the Lauren persona.”

  “I’m happy to hear she likes me. Her not liking me could be a serious problem, which is why I called you. She hasn’t said anything nice about you in our ‘sessions.’ In fact, aren’t you worried that she may start to believe her own story? What if she decides you did attack her with a baseball bat?

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I know how unpredictable she is, and I’m always on guard.”

  “Can you really be on guard for crazy?”

  “You’re a probation officer. You have to be on guard for all kinds of people, crazy, angry. You do it.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “And this is mine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  FOUR DAYS LATER the news was on every local station and in every paper. Two people had been found dead in a home in Beaverton. Police were not releasing any further information, pending an investigation.

  Storm desperately wanted more information, including exactly what the final ruling would be on whether it was a murder-suicide, or whether they were looking for a killer. The constant churning in her stomach was indicative of the fear she had that she’d left something undone, forgotten something. She had broken two of her own rules: leaving bodies to be discovered and allowing herself to kill someone she shared a connection with. If she was caught and sent to prison she had no one to blame but herself.

  A week went by, then another. Finally she heard through the grapevine that police believed the Prentices had killed each other. The sense of relief made her buoyant.

  She called Lauren and arranged a meeting. She’d told Lauren they should avoid each other for a while, given they didn’t know what the police might have on either one of them. Therefore she hadn’t yet given Lauren the news: she’d turned in her resignation and was planning to move to New Mexico.

  It was sort of funny, but Lauren would know about that before Tom. She wanted to surprise him, so she’d made arrangements with Raylan, his business partner, to keep up the pretense that he was going to take on the project. Instead, on Valentine’s Day, she was going to tell Tom that she’d arranged for movers and he’d better get in gear and help her find a house in New Mexico.

  Once she’d made the decision, she knew it was the right one. Getting away from her job and the stories of abuse and injustice would quell the need to play vigilante. She could go back to what she’d been two years ago, a woman with a good marriage and two great kids. Blessed with a life that held much more than she’d ever expected, it was time to appreciate it and leave the hunt, and her crazy partner, in the past.

  Storm and Lauren met in the late afternoon at the Wolf Creek Trailhead near Timber, a small town with about 150 residents west of Hillsboro.

  The sun was low in the sky, streaks of pink clouds seeming to melt along the horizon. Theirs were the only cars. Lauren had arrived first. Storm pulled in beside her and got out. The air smelled of damp pines, exhaust fumes, and mushrooms. Storm got into Lauren’s car.

  A steady stream of cars went by on the highway, the wind stream created by the big trucks buffeting the car so that it shuddered each time one passed. They sat with the windows up to muffle the tire sounds.

  “Good news,” said Storm. “I’m hearing that they believe it was a murder-suicide, and that means we’re probably in the clear.”

  “I know, it was in the paper. I wasn’t surprised. We did everything right.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Storm, turning in her seat so she could better face Lauren. “I mean, is there such a thing as the perfect crime?”

  “Any crime you get away with is perfect, don’t you think?” asked Lauren.

  “Perfect enough. But you know, the odds are that if we keep doing what we’ve been doing, eventually we’ll mess up.”

  “I don’t agree. I think you’re smart and you plan every step.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you saying that, but I know I’m not that smart, and even the best plan can fail.”

  “Fail schmail. We only have one thing left to deal with, and that’s your father.”

  “Has your investigator found him?” Storm asked. She could feel the pulse at her throat and swallowed hard.

  “Nope. Still no luck, but I have confidence that he will. When he does, you have to be ready.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be possible now.”

  “What?”

  “The thing is, I’m moving out of state. I told you before that my husband’s work would probably require us to move, and it has. I’ve already turned in my resignation. Without my job, I won’t have access to the databases and other resources we need. I’m afraid our partnership is over.”

  “Bullshit,” Lauren spat out the word. “This is total bullshit. You told me in the basement that you’d help me find and kill your dad. I believed you, and that’s why I let you live. That’s why I let you go.”

  “Don’t bring up the basement. I still haven’t forgotten it, or your little trick with the hammers.”

  “Hammers? You really want to bring up hammers. You almost screwed up the whole scene using that hammer on the Prentices. Don’t talk to me about hammers.”

  The women’s voices rose in volume and pitch as each tried to drive home their message. Fin
ally, Storm got out of Lauren’s car, slammed the door, and walked away, not toward her car but down one of the trails. She walked briskly, her back rigid, her expression grim. A moment later she heard the crunch of gravel and spun around to see Lauren hurrying up the trail to catch her.

  “I told you we’re done,” said Storm.

  “I know why you’re freaking out. Why you think you need to move. It’s that private investigator, isn’t it?” asked Lauren. “That guy I told you my investigator ran into. You’re worried he’s been sniffing around and knows too much. I can find out more about him. We can eliminate him as a threat.”

  “We don’t kill innocent people,” Storm reminded her.

  “I never said anything about killing him. We could maybe just hire him away. I could pay him to stop investigating. Enough money and anyone will do anything.”

  Storm nodded. Though she didn’t completely agree, she had seen the lengths that people, including many of her clients, would go to for the all-important dollar. “That might work, but it might also backfire. He may not have that much interest in me. You said he’s asking about Howard, right?”

  “Mostly, and anyone involved with him.”

  “Right, and as far as most people know, I was one of Howard’s victims. If we try to pay this guy off, don’t you think it would look very suspicious?”

  Lauren paused. “Yeah, I guess it would.”

  They continued their walk and eventually came to a narrow river. Storm leaned against a boulder and stared down into the clear water burbling over smooth stones.

  Storm climbed up on one of the boulders and sat cross legged. The dying sun cast very little warmth, but the rock must have been in direct sun all day. It was still slightly warm and Storm felt comfortable and relaxed for the first time in days. The sound of the water added to the sense of peace.

  “I don’t like the idea of you moving away,” Lauren said softly. “I’ve never had a friend like you. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Lauren.” Or Rhiannon.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Probably the end of February or early March. We still have to find a house to live in, hire a property manager, all kinds of stuff.”

  “Maybe we can fit in some more lunches before you go.”

  “Of course. That would be fun. You know, we don’t have to be stalking people to be friends.”

  Lauren smiled. “No, but it sure gave us something to talk about. What do we talk about now?”

  “The stuff normal women talk about, men, celebrities and shoes, the holy trinity, what else?”

  Lauren laughed. “Yeah, we’re normal women.”

  “Is there such a thing as a normal woman?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ON FEBRUARY TWELVE, two days before Valentine’s Day, Storm came home from work to a house redolent of melted butter and cinnamon.

  “Mmm,” she said, hanging her purse and jacket on hooks near the back door as she walked into the kitchen. “Something yummy seems to be going on here.”

  “We’re making Sleepy Holes,” said Joel. He was kneeling on a chair at the breakfast bar, sliding cupcake liners into what looked like every cupcake pan in the house. Lindsey was dipping marshmallows into melted butter, then rolling them in a sugar cinnamon mixture before dropping them onto circles of flattened dough. Tom was opening another roll of buttermilk biscuits. He’d peeled away the paper and was digging the end of a spoon into the cardboard. The roll popped and everyone jumped.

  “Hate that sound. Always makes me jump,” Tom said, with a twist of his lips that was more grimace than smile.

  “It wasn’t a gun daddy. A gun’s a lot louder,” explained Joel.

  Storm looked away, unable to meet Tom’s eyes. The fact that their children knew the sound a gun made was not comforting.

  Storm washed her hands and helped fold the dough around Lindsey’s prepared marshmallows. Then they placed them, seam-side down, into two of Joel’s six pans.

  “Ten minutes at 350, right?” Storm asked.

  “Yeah, they usually take another few minutes. Set the timer for ten, though, and we’ll check them every couple minutes after that.”

  “We should make extra to take to Grandma and Grandpa’s,” suggested Lindsey.

  “Sounds like a great idea,” Storm said.

  “They’re way better warm, though,” said Tom. “How about we take all the stuff we need and make some fresh ones in Grandma’s kitchen?”

  “That sounds like fun,” said Storm. “But who has to do the dishes?”

  “Not me,” said Lindsey.

  “Me neither,” Joel shrieked, crossing his arms dramatically.

  “Wow, I’m deaf,” said Tom. “I think you’re on dish duty buddy. It’s what you get for using that voice in the house.”

  “Not fair!” yelled Joel. Jumping off the stool, he ran toward his father and then scampered around him. In his hands he’d hidden several paper cupcake liners and, as he went by, he tossed them in the air. They fell like strange confetti, pastel pink, blue, and yellow paper falling on Tom’s lap and onto the floor.

  “Oh boyo, you’ve done it now.”

  Dipping his fingers into the melted butter and then the cinnamon sugar, Tom ran after his son. They pounded down the hall, Joel sliding and screaming, Tom bellowing and scraping his sugar crusted fingers in the air like claws.

  Shaking her head at the familiar chaos, Storm looked at Lindsey, who was rolling her eyes, and said, “Sometimes it seems like the circus arrived and never left.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “I wonder if I should sneak out the back door and go for a run?”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “You sure? It’s pretty cold out there?”

  “Cold is better than being around them, and I’ll wear my jacket.”

  “Sounds good to me. Just give me half a minute to change.” Storm moved down the hall toward her room, tugging her shirt free as she went. Then the cell phone in her purse rang, the new one she only used with Lauren.

  “Darn it.” She spun on her heel and went in the opposite direction, dug around in her purse until she found the small black phone, the one Lauren had picked up for her.

  “Hi, what’s up?” she asked, using her talking-to-a co-worker voice.

  “Hi. It’s Lauren,” said Lauren.

  As Storm rolled her eyes, she realized where Lindsey had picked up the habit. But really, who else would be calling on this phone?

  “What do you need?” asked Storm, walking back down the hall to her bedroom.

  “I don’t need anything,” said Lauren.

  Storm could hear a lilt in Lauren’s voice. She sounded happy, almost buoyant.

  “That’s nice. So why did you call?”

  “To tell you the good news.”

  “So, go on and tell me.” Storm switched on the light and closed the bedroom door behind her. It was getting dark early, probably a storm brewing. She cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder as she unbuttoned her shirt and kicked off her shoes.

  “Remember the PI who was looking around, asking questions about you?”

  “Of course. I told you to leave him alone. I told you that asking him questions or trying to buy him off would just peak his interest. What the hell did you do to him?”

  “You really don’t trust me at all, do you? I didn’t do anything to him. I just asked my guy to ask around and find out who hired your guy.”

  “Quit calling him my guy,” said Storm, shifting the phone to her other ear, then unzipping her slacks and awkwardly kicking them off. “I didn’t hire him.” She opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of striped Lululemon running tights and a black tank top. “Look, I’m trying to get dressed. I have to put the phone down a minute. Hold on.”

  Storm got into her running clothes, pulled on socks and shoes, and even took the time to run a brush through her hair and gather it into a ponytail before getting back to Lauren.

  Sh
e’d stopped being a vigilante the minute she’d told Big Ed she was quitting. At least that’s how it had felt. That, plus knowing that Lauren was not who she pretended to be, made Storm sorry she’d ever met the woman. She didn’t want to see her or talk to her. But what she wanted didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping fake Lauren from getting upset and doing something that could get both of them locked up.

  Taking a deep breath, Storm picked up the phone and forced herself to smile. “I’m back. Sorry I took so long. Just got home and was getting out of the monkey clothes when you called.”

  “That’s okay. Everything’s under control.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, like I was trying to tell you. I found out who hired that investigator.”

  Though she hadn’t been interested in what Lauren was saying, she now had her full attention.

  “Really? Who?” Storm had decided it had probably been a friend of Celine’s, the poor woman who had witnessed Howard kidnap a friend of hers. The one Lauren had taken to a rural property and buried under gravel. What Lauren said next was a complete shock.

  “He was hired by a man named Jackson Wallace.”

  “What?” Storm turned and sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly too weak in the knees to stand. “What did you say?”

  “Jackson Wallace,” Lauren repeated. “He’s this guy whose girlfriend disappeared last year. He’s trying to find out what happened to her. I guess you knew her.”

  Knew her. Yes, Storm knew her. Nicky, her best friend. One of the few people in her life who made her laugh and made her care. Memories of her brutal ending flicked through Storm’s mind, filled her senses. She saw the dark, fear-filled eyes, heard the thud of the bat, the crunch of breaking bone, the muffled screams, felt the hot spatter of blood across her face, and smelled her own fear. Storm scrubbed at her bare arms where gooseflesh crawled. Nothing could warm the frozen center that she felt was her true self. Nothing but rage and burning revenge. She’d sought that heat, not knowing how much it would cost.

  “Did you say something?” asked Lauren.

  Storm coughed. “No. No, I didn’t say anything.”