by Ronica Black
She scrolled down the recent serial killer articles to a few links that read The Highway Murders. She’d been following it closely, unable not to. She’d done all the research she could and more than once she’d thought about picking up the phone to call Patricia about it.
She eyed the phone once again. I could just call her and ask again for information on the Gillette murder. I’m only trying to help.
As if on cue the phone rang, startling her. “Erotique Studios.”
“Ms. Erin?”
“Yes, Tyson?” Erin recognized the deep smooth voice of the head of security at La Femme. She’d told him a thousand times to call her Erin, but he refused, sticking with his impeccable manners instead.
“I’ve been trying to reach Ms. Adams but I haven’t been able to.”
Erin closed her eyes, remembering the ringing of Liz’s cell phone during their tryst in the office. Liz had tossed it across the room before lowering herself to feast between Erin’s legs. Erin flushed again and squeezed her legs together when they throbbed in response to the memory.
“What is it?” she asked Tyson.
“The cops are here.”
“At La Femme?”
“Yes, ma’am. They seem to be staying a little longer today.”
Erin glanced at her watch. It was nearing three. Too early for the patrons to arrive at the club. “What do they want?”
“They’re asking the girls questions.”
“Do they have a warrant?”
“No. But they aren’t searching. Just hanging out and talking to the employees.”
“Thanks, Tyson. I’ll let her know.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Ms. Erin?”
“Yes?”
“Does Ms. Adams really have a sister?”
Erin sighed. “You’ll have to ask her that question yourself.”
Liz had done her best to keep everything away from La Femme. The murders, Kristen Reece, and Tracy Walsh’s involvement. She didn’t want anything spoiling the spirit of the club. Even though La Femme was full of new employees, Erin knew that they’d all probably read the papers, along with Tyson. But Liz was adamant about not discussing what had happened with her head of security or anyone else. What was done was done, she said.
Erin ended the call but kept the receiver to her ear. She buzzed Liz’s line.
“Hey,” Liz answered, her voice extra deep as it often was after lovemaking. “You calling for more?”
Erin grinned as her skin erupted in flames once again. “No.”
“You sure?”
“I need to talk to you,” Erin said.
“You sound serious.”
“Tyson called. He said he’s been trying to reach you.”
She heard Liz sigh in frustration. “When I want to talk to him, I will.”
“Oh, so you know he’s been calling?” Erin was a little surprised by Liz’s tone. She waited for an explanation, but Liz offered no clues as to why Tyson was suddenly annoying to her.
“He probably left you a message or two.”
“He never leaves messages,” Liz said. “He knows better.”
For a brief instant Erin wondered why. “Well, you should’ve called him back, because the cops are at La Femme asking questions.”
Silence.
Erin continued. “They don’t have a warrant but they seem to be sticking around this time.”
More silence.
“Liz?”
“I’m here.”
“What do you want to do?”
“What can I do?”
“We can go down there.”
Liz’s voice hardened. “No, that’s what they want. Let them ask questions. It’s still early. The evening crowd won’t arrive for another few hours so they aren’t hurting business. Let them sit there.”
“You sure? I thought you’d be furious.”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault.”
Erin thought long and hard, hating what Liz must be feeling. “I’m doing some research on Joe. We’ll find this bastard…”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“I don’t want you anywhere near this, Erin.”
“But—”
“No, it’s dangerous.”
“I’m a cop.”
“Not anymore.”
“Liz—”
“No, Erin, no. I won’t have you involved.” Liz didn’t wait for another protest. “I’ve got to go. We’ll leave here around five and head over to the club.”
“Liz, wait—”
But the line was dead.
Erin sat dumbfounded and then softly replaced the receiver.
Arcane, Alabama
Twenty-two years ago
Shh, don’t cry, little birdie.” She held the soft bundle up to her face and rocked with it in the darkness. The feathers were like silk and she rubbed them on her cheek. The scabs on her skin had finally fallen off and her face no longer showed the pain she still felt.
The doctor had said she was lucky no bones had been broken.
Why did she feel broken?
She rocked with the bird she’d found by the big hickory tree in the front yard. It had been flapping helplessly in a circle. She’d tried to save it. Plucked it up and brought it inside to feed, but it was no longer breathing. Still, she had to keep it. She had to keep it safe. It had been with her in the woods. She was sure of it. It had helped to save her from the bad man.
She stroked the feathers, now moist from her tears. “Don’t cry,” she soothed. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
She began to hum. A light clicked on in the far corner, Lizzie’s corner.
“What are ya doin’?” Lizzie sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes.
Jay quickly wrapped the bird and placed it under her covers. “Nuthin’.”
“Why was you hummin’?”
“I wasn’t.” She continued to rock, clutching her pillow instead.
“Are you okay?”
Jay wiped her eyes. “Go back to sleep.”
Lizzie turned off the light and lay back down.
Jay stared into the grays and blacks of night. Outside the window the big hickory swayed in the wind. In the distance she heard the muffled sounds of approaching thunder. Lightning flashed soon after, quick camera-like flashes that illuminated her hands, her chest, the long strands of her hair. She focused on herself in the reflection of the window. Her hair hung long and dark. She fingered it, stroking it much like she had the bird. Only the soft silk of her hair didn’t comfort her, it tortured her.
Instantly she was back in the woods. The man was grunting and tugging on her hair. He held her by her hair. Clenching, knotting, pulling, pushing.
She couldn’t get away.
He was pulling her hair so hard she could feel some give way as it was torn from the roots. He had her. Had her by the hair.
“No!” she screamed. She ran from the bed and pounded against the glass pane, slamming, banging, trying to destroy.
“Jay, Jay!” Lizzie was at her side, dragging her away.
Jay fought her, still screaming. More lights came on. There were voices, the sound of running feet on old wood floors. Her aunt Dayne grabbed her by the shoulders. She shook her, yelling over her. “Jay!”
Uncle Jerry held her arms down.
“No!” she screamed.
“Let her go!” Lizzie cried. “She’s scared.” She pulled their aunt from her, then started in on Jerry. He let go when Lizzie began to scratch him.
Jay collapsed in Lizzie’s arms, trembling. She felt Lizzie stroke her hair.
“Leave us alone,” Lizzie commanded. “She’s just scared.”
Jay heard her aunt and uncle eventually leave the room, Dayne still voicing her concern. When all was quiet they walked to Lizzie’s bed and climbed under the covers. Snuggled close, Lizzie again stroked her hair.
Too exhausted to care, Jay let her eyes drift closed.
Her hair, he had her by the hair.
Chapter Eight
Love and Rockets sang “So Alive” as the go-go girls moved seductively on their platforms, wearing miniskirts and crop tops, their hair big and makeup wild. Eighties night was in full bloom, and had it been a different time or she in a different profession, Patricia would’ve actually enjoyed it. Instead she sat at the bar, chewing on her swizzle stick, swallowing her libido and a down-deep yearning for irresponsible fun. Around her, women poured into the club, tired from a long day at work but excited about meeting friends and ready to dance the night away.
“Get you another?” The bartender’s bored tone let on that she had way more interesting things on her mind than Patricia’s club soda.
“No, thanks.”
The bartender, whose name was Madelyn but who preferred to go by Mad, held her eyes a moment longer than necessary and then moved on. She was young, too tan for early spring, and had dyed dark red tousled hair. Her tank top was white, her breasts ample and showing through nicely. She was a hot-to-trot femme, very confident and very promiscuous, which hadn’t been hard to find out. She’d even looked Patricia up and down a few times with interest just before Gary whipped out his badge. As always, Patricia and her colleagues weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms. The mood in the near-empty nightclub had changed dramatically then. The laughter of the bartenders and maintenance crew vanished, replaced by whispers and stares.
Like the rest of the employees, Mad answered their questions with attitude and indifference. No one knew Jay, no one had ever even heard of her. Ms. Adams didn’t have a sister. What were they? Fucking stupid?
Patricia watched Mad a moment longer and thought of Tracy Walsh. She too had been a loyal bartender for Elizabeth Adams, but her loyalty had spilled into obsession and she became easy prey for Kristen Reece. Under Reece’s influence, she became a killer. Patricia still couldn’t stamp out the image of a crazed Walsh breaking into her house, trying to kill her. The thought made her mouth dry. She licked her lips and eyed her drink.
“Wow, what else can that mouth do?” Mad was back, and resting on her elbows, still looking bored with her job but trying to intrigue the cop who’d been sitting there for hours.
“You aren’t supposed to talk to me, remember?” Patricia finished her club soda.
“Says who?”
“Your boss.”
“Adams?” Mad twirled the mangled straw around inside Patricia’s empty glass. “Adams never said I couldn’t talk to you.”
“Then what’s with the attitude you gave us?”
“I don’t like cops.”
Patricia laughed. “Who does?”
“You’re cute, though.”
Patricia looked into her dark brown eyes. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean it. If you weren’t a cop…”
“Yeah, and if you didn’t work for Adams…”
“Touché.”
They both smiled.
“Let me know if you need another drink.” Mad slipped Patricia a business card. “Or anything else.”
The card read “Mad for Women” and had two phone numbers listed. Patricia gave a small, amused grin and surveyed the crowd once more. Her body still tingled from the bartender’s flirtatious hints. She forced herself to think rather than feel, and wondered if she was suddenly distracted because of her frustration over the case. As she looked around she recalled the dozens of women who threw themselves at Adams, wanting her at any cost. Erin had given up everything to be with that woman. Everything, including Patricia.
Jealousy ran hot through her blood. It still stung and she wondered if it always would. What was it about Adams? Patricia had been intimate with her once a long time ago, had even attempted a relationship. While the sex was beyond intense, she wouldn’t ever sacrifice anything of herself for the woman.
The crowd parted slightly near the bottom of the VIP staircase. Patricia slid off the bar stool and stood on her tiptoes expecting to see Adams, but the woman of interest was shorter and blonder. Erin McKenzie moved through the crowd with ease, smiling slightly and looking downward at the attention. Patricia smiled herself, remembering her former colleague’s modesty.
“Hi.” Erin was suddenly standing before her.
“Uh, hi,” Patricia stammered, Erin’s wanting to talk to her unexpected.
“Come on.” Erin clasped her hand.
Patricia nearly melted as she was led to the back wall of the club. A few women stood fully engulfed in one another, making out. How long has it been since I’ve been touched? The truth thorned as she remembered the way Erin kissed. Hungry. Needful. Hot. She forced back thoughts of that night over a year ago, when they’d lost themselves in one another for an amazing but brief few minutes.
“What are you doing here?” Erin asked and reality slammed back in.
Patricia stared. “What do you mean?” They had to speak loudly over the music. She knew the song from her high school days, Oingo Boingo singing “Dead Man’s Party.”
“Are you here to harass her, is that it?”
Patricia shook her head. Erin was not only accusing but protective. Patricia hated Adams all the more. “I’m here enjoying the evening.” She looked toward the bar where Mad gave a wave. Patricia returned it.
“Yes, I saw that you made a new friend.”
“Oh, I see. You and your significant other don’t like me talking to the hired help.”
“Please. If we minded we would’ve interfered.” Erin glanced down, as if she’d said too much. “Look, we both know you’re not here for entertainment, so don’t lie to me, Patricia.”
“Don’t lie to you? You’ve got some nerve saying that to me, after your bullshit about Jay.”
Erin had disclaimed all knowledge of Jay Adams during the Seductress Murders investigation, putting Liz before her job and the case. Patricia still couldn’t believe she’d done it, or understand why.
“Look, if you’re here to ask questions, you’ve done that, so move on.”
Patricia stared into the beautiful green of Erin’s eyes. She’d gotten lost in them once. “What’s happened to you?” she asked, thinking aloud.
“Me?” Erin replied with disbelief. “I’m not the one accusing innocent people of murder. I’m not the one harassing an innocent woman.”
“I’m doing my job. You know, the one you left. For her.”
“I was fired.”
“That didn’t happen without cause. You made your choices long before that.”
“Yeah, and I see how well the department’s doing without me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Erin’s tone softened. “The Highway Murders. Joe Gillette.”
“What about the Highway Murders?”
“You don’t have a single lead, do you?”
Patricia didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“I’ve been doing some investigating of my own.” Erin hesitated. “If you’ll just give me a chance, maybe I can help.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“What do you have to lose?”
“I don’t believe this. First you yell at me over your way-less-than-noble lover and now you’re trying to worm your way into an investigation after you’ve lied and kept things from the department.”
“Worm my way?” Erin’s face clouded with hurt. “I thought we were friends.”
Patricia breathed deep, forcing herself to calm down. “Mac, I will always care for you. I will always be your friend.” It was true. She knew Erin was a good person. More sensitive than most. Even if she couldn’t have her, she would always be there for her.
“Then why are you here? Honestly?” Erin demanded, her voice high in pitch.
Patricia met her eyes. “We’re trying to find Jay.”
“We don’t know where she is.”
Patricia didn’t respond. She took in the large diamond engagement ring on Erin’s f
inger. Just how well did Erin really know Adams? Did she really truly trust her enough to marry her? The Elizabeth Adams Patricia knew was far from trustworthy, on all levels. Hardly marriage material.
“What makes you so sure Liz doesn’t know?”
Erin looked away. Before she could answer, a familiar voice cut into their discussion. “Detective Henderson.”
It didn’t matter how many times Patricia heard the low, even tone, it always sent shudders of hate and excitement right through her. Both emotions bothered her. She wished she felt nothing at all.
“Liz.” She offered a brief, disinterested glance. “Long time no see.”
Liz looked past her to Erin. “Am I interrupting?”
“Would it matter?” Patricia snapped.
“We’re fine.” Erin’s expression was one of incredible guilt. “We were just discussing some things.”
Patricia caught the tight look Liz gave her.
“Enjoying your evening?” Liz asked, patronizing as always.
Patricia forced a smile. “I am, yes.” She glanced around at the scantily clad bodies dancing on the elevated platforms. “What is it, hooker night?”
Liz laughed. “No, it’s desperate, lonely author night.”
Patricia caught her breath. The comment stung. Deep.
Erin whispered something to Liz, obviously unhappy and embarrassed. But Liz kept smiling.
“Since you’ve been here for hours, it seems safe to assume you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself.”
“You know, there’s one thing I can’t figure out,” Patricia said.
Liz’s stare was something colder than ice, something harder than stone.
“Why the stab wounds to the groin?”
Liz’s posture stiffened even further. “Leave,” she breathed out.
“I think maybe Jay was the victim of a sexual assault. Because that would definitely explain it.”
“My sister is no business of yours.”
“She’s every bit my business. She’s involved.”
“You’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
“Well if it isn’t Jay, then who? You? We all know how you feel about men.”
“That’s enough,” Erin interjected, looking more frightened than worried.
“Fine.” Patricia shrugged. “I guess someone just happened to hate this particular man? Someone who has sexual issues? I don’t know, I just don’t buy it. No, I think I’ll dig deeper into Jay. Something tells me there’s more to her story.”
