by Lisa Jackson
After ten, she picked up the remote and clicked on the television. There was still a little time before the local news and a crime drama she’d watched the previous season was being aired. Elizabeth half-listened while shaking out her clothes and draping the jacket, skirt, and blouse over a bedside chair. Her thoughts turned toward the next day, work in general and her upcoming meeting with Mazie’s daughter. Padding from the closet, she realized she’d switched off her phone’s ringer at the meeting and never thought about it again. She found the phone in her purse and discovered a number of texts and a phone message. The texts were from the Moms Group, the ones who knew she was going to a grief meeting with Vivian and wanted to offer encouragement. Nadia’s text simply said, Call me when you’re back, but Elizabeth didn’t want to rehash the experience, no matter how well intentioned Nadia’s motives might be.
The voice mail froze her blood—a message from Detective Thronson.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” the detective’s voice sounded in her ear. “I want to catch you up on the investigation into your husband’s death. Would tomorrow work for you? Let me know.” She finished the message with her cell phone number.
Oh. God.
Elizabeth knew the police would contact her. She’d been expecting a call from Thronson or one of her colleagues, but still, hearing the somber tone of the detective’s voice chilled her to the bone.
Telling herself she had nothing to fear, that she hadn’t caused Court’s demise, that she couldn’t be a suspect in his death, she couldn’t shake the cold that settled deep in her soul and caused goose pimples to rise on her skin. Rubbing her arms, she walked to the window, looked out to the night beyond and felt almost that someone or something was staring back.
“You’re freaking yourself out,” she said, but snapped the blinds shut. As much to clear her head as warm up, she suddenly decided to take a shower. She turned on the taps, stripped off her bathrobe, letting it pool on the floor, then stepped under the needle-sharp, hot spray. Dunking her head under the showerhead and letting the water pour over her, she imagined it washing away the problems crowding her mind. Slowly, she began to feel warm again, but even then a shiver ran beneath her skin, reminding her that nothing was right.
Ten minutes later, she was cinching the belt of her robe again, her wet hair starting to dry a little as she walked into the bedroom and glanced at the television where the crime drama was wrapping up the episode. She’d lost interest in the segment and ignored the program as she picked up her clothes and examined the jacket, wondering if it was time to take it and the skirt to the cleaners. She had some other outfits that needed to go as well, but she hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the money now, but every expense added up and she didn’t want to find herself in a position where she couldn’t afford the mortgage. Court may have given Whitney Bellhard the impression he had money, but in truth, he’d been a terrible spender. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she saw how many allowances she’d made for him. If she had it to do over again—
Her cell phone buzzed on her dresser, sounding almost angry as it vibrated across the wood top. Scooping the cell up, she glanced at the caller with trepidation but saw that it was Jade, not the detective. Pretty late for her to call. While Elizabeth weighed whether she wanted to hear more words of encouragement from her friends, the phone suddenly stopped ringing.
I’ll call her back tomorrow.
Grabbing up the remote again, she walked toward the bed, turning toward the set. The late news was just beginning, so she switched to her favorite newscaster, then tossed the controller onto the bed just as her cell began ringing again.
Detective Thronson again? No, no. It was too late for the policewoman to call. Right?
Crossing the room, she swept up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Jade’s name and number.
Again.
“Hey,” Elizabeth answered, bracing herself for more that-a-girls.
“Turn on the TV to the news! Oh, God. Oh, my God,” Jade shrieked.
“I’ve got it on. What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Elizabeth demanded in quick succession, her gaze moving to the screen.
“What station are you on? Elizabeth, for the love of God!” But Jade didn’t need to say anything else.
Elizabeth’s heart turned to stone as she watched the local reporter, an older man whose calm demeanor and lack of sensationalism appealed to her, as he stood in the Fitness Now! parking lot. A strobe of red and blue police lights flickered behind him where a slash of crime scene tape had cordoned off some kind of smoking wreckage.
“An unidentified male is in critical condition after the attack around five thirty this evening,” the grave reporter said. “No one saw the arsonist who appeared to have attacked the victim and then poured gasoline over him and his car. The incident was in plain sight of the building, yet no one witnessed anything out of the ordinary until a member just leaving the club saw what he describes as a fireball at the back of the parking lot.”
The camera zoomed in on the blackened, misting hulk that had once been a convertible.
Elizabeth dropped the phone from nerveless fingers.
“Authorities are hoping that someone saw something and can identify a suspect. Perhaps someone walking away with a bag or possibly a gas can? The police are on the scene but not identifying the victim pending notification of his family.” The reporter rambled on, asking for the public’s assistance while Elizabeth, her eyes transfixed, her pulse pounding, her mind silently screaming, No. No. No! stared at the screen.
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, a hand coming to her mouth in horror.
There, centered in the frame of the camera’s lens, the torched vehicle’s license plate was visible.
GOODGUY.
Chapter 21
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth!” Jade’s tinny voice sounded from the phone laying on the carpet.
Blinking, Elizabeth found herself on the bed where she’d slumped when her knees had given way. She couldn’t think . . . just couldn’t think.
GoodGuy in critical condition . . . burned by an attacker. . .
You wished him harm. You did. You wished him harm.
“Elizabeth!!”
Climbing to her feet, Elizabeth sank to her knees and crawled across the carpet to where the phone lay like a fallen soldier. Flopping down on her side, she placed the cell to her ear. “I’m . . . I’m here,” she said, not recognizing her own voice.
“Oh, good. Oh, my God. I just saw that horrible image and couldn’t believe it. I’m sorry to shock you. I just . . . couldn’t believe it!” Jade sounded completely undone.
“It’s my fault,” Elizabeth said, for once ignoring the self-imposed lock on her tongue.
“It is not. Don’t . . . say that.”
“I was mad at him. I chased him down and wanted to ram his car.”
“Well, you didn’t pour gasoline on him.”
“There’s some connection. I don’t know what it is, but there’s some connection. I’m weird, Jade. You know I’m damn weird! I saw Little Nate in trouble before it happened. You were right. You’ve been right all along. It’s my fault that . . . GoodGuy was attacked. I just know it.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re hysterical. I don’t blame you. I feel damn weird myself. But you didn’t do this,” Jade said tautly. “So, don’t say that you did. To anybody.”
“He’s not the only one, Jade. I wished Court dead, too. . . .”
“Stop it, Elizabeth. I’m coming over there.”
“And Mazie Ferguson. She was my mentor. She really pissed me off and she died in another car accident and now . . . and now . . . I’m getting all her clients. Benefitting! And then, oh, God, Officer Unfriendly.”
“Elizabeth, don’t take this the wrong way but shut up. I’m getting my keys now and heading out.”
“No.” Elizabeth insisted. “Please. Don’t come. I’m . . . okay.”
“You’re clearly not. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll
see you soon.” Jade hung up.
Elizabeth dropped the phone and just lay on the carpet, staring across the bedroom floor. The television was blathering on, but it was just so much white noise.
With an effort, she pulled herself to her feet and padded barefoot into the kitchen. She washed her hands and didn’t know why, then caught her ghostly reflection in the window, a haggard-looking woman with fear in her eyes. How could this have happened? How could GoodGuy, whoever the hell he was, have ended up in a horrific accident at Fitness Now!?
Not an accident. Someone tried to kill him. Probably did. The TV reporter said “critical condition,” but who knew if he’d survive?
She started up the coffeemaker without really thinking about it, filling the reservoir with water, measuring decaf coffee into the filter, and as a million questions peppered her mind, watched the brown liquid fill the glass carafe.
Who would torch his car? Torch him ?
What kind of sick mind . . . ?
You mean, like yours.
“No!” She pounded her fist on the counter and jarred herself out of her reverie. She would never have done or conjured up anything so insidiously evil as to pour gasoline . . . Oh, God. It was all too bizarre. Her entire life seemed to be spinning out of its normal rotation.
What the hell is going on?
How does it involve me?
As the coffeepot sputtered and hissed, she walked down the hall and pushed open the door to Chloe’s room—just to make certain her daughter was okay. Peering in, she found Chloe was fast asleep, the covers on her bed having slid to the floor. By rote, Elizabeth slipped the quilt and sheet over her daughter again, then kissed her on the forehead. Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes. Her sleeping child was so peaceful and serene . . . but what she’d said earlier about Court and the woman, presumably Whitney Bellhard, was disturbing. So were her fainting spells and quick temper.
“Oh, baby,” Elizabeth whispered, sending up a prayer that whatever bizarre events were happening to her, they wouldn’t touch her child, that Chloe would be safe. Then she slipped into the hallway again and shut the door softly behind her.
In the kitchen, she tried to shake off her case of anxiety, which of course was impossible, but she poured herself a cup of coffee. Though her fingers were still trembling slightly, she carried it into the living room. Before she could sit down, a soft knock sounded on the door.
Elizabeth opened it and Jade stood beneath the porch light. “I didn’t want to wake Chloe.”
“No problem. I just checked. She’s asleep. Come in.” Elizabeth held the door open. “How about a cup of coffee? Decaf?” She held up her cup. “Don’t ask me why, but I made a fresh pot.”
Jade stepped inside and lay a hand on the side of her bulging abdomen. “Abercrombie’s bicycling. No, thanks, but go ahead. Are you okay?” Her dark eyes were filled with concern. “I probably shouldn’t have called.”
“No, no! You should have. I’m glad you did. The news was on anyway and I was going to see it. God, how awful.” Elizabeth shuddered again as in her mind’s eye, she pictured the burned wreckage that had appeared on the television screen. “So, it was good that I had someone to talk to.” With her free hand, she started to pull the door closed behind Jade when she felt that chill again, the all-to-familiar sensation that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, the feeling that someone, somewhere in the dark night, was observing her. Her throat went dry as she closed the door and herded her friend into the living room. “You really don’t want some?”
“No. Seriously. I’m good.” Jade eyed her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. No.” Elizabeth lifted a shoulder and shook her head. “It’s all too weird. I just”—she glanced around the room as if expecting to find an answer that didn’t exist—“don’t know what the hell’s going on.”
“Sit down.” Jade took the cup from Elizabeth’s fingers, set it on one of the magazines fanned across the coffee table, and guided Elizabeth to the couch. Sitting down next to her friend, Jade said, “First, let me say this isn’t your fault. None of it is. That’s not how the world works.”
“How do you know?” Elizabeth asked on a short laugh.
“It just doesn’t. I don’t know how you knew about Little Nate, but you saved him. That’s all that mattered. You saved him. That’s who you are. You’re not causing people to be hurt . . . or anything else.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Tried to pull herself together. The truth was, she’d told Jade too much about herself already. Of all of Elizabeth’s friends, Jade was the only one who knew about her strange ability to sometimes see things that were going to happen a second or two or a few minutes before they occurred.
All of her life, or at least for as long as she could remember, Elizabeth had told herself it was intuition. Some form of primal communication that arose when she was near a coming disaster. Nothing all that spectacular. No ESP or anything remotely psychic. God, no.
But...
Dark memories assailed her, one in particular.
“The bridge is falling!” She was a young girl, screaming those words. Fear engulfed her. She had a vision of cement decking buckling, girders twisting, the groan of metal as it was wrenched from its anchors.
It was all so vivid.
“Elizabeth?” Jade asked, snapping her back to the here and now. Jade’s face was contorted in worry.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“You’re pale as death.”
“It’s nothing. Just something I remembered from when I was a kid.” Sighing, she said, “Look”—she reached out a hand and clasped her friend’s, squeezing tightly—“I know what happened to GoodGuy is not my fault. I mean, I was nowhere near the gym. But . . . it’s all so . . . shocking . . . so terrible. . . .”
“I know.” Jade linked her fingers with Elizabeth’s.
“I’m okay.”
“You say that—”
“No. I am.” Elizabeth was firm. She meant it. The darkness in her mind had receded and she was in control again. At least more in control. “Jade, I love you for coming by, but I’m okay. Truly.” She noticed her friend rubbing the side of her abdomen again. “Go home and take care of yourself and Little Nate and Byron. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re sure? You do look a little better,” Jade said, still uncertain as she critically examined Elizabeth’s face.
“I’m sure.”
It took a bit more convincing, but Jade finally headed for the door. Once outside, she took a final glance over her shoulder, a line of worry furrowing her brows as if she were concerned that she’d been given the bum’s rush.
“Bye,” Elizabeth called after her. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Jade waved.
Elizabeth waved back, watching her friend climb into her car and drive away, taillights glowing in the night. The air was fresh. Damp from the recent rain. She gazed up and down the street, searching the shadows, but saw no one.
Once Jade’s car disappeared around the corner, Elizabeth closed and locked the door and rested her forehead against the inner panels, her thoughts turning to GoodGuy again. It is my fault, she thought, now that she was alone. If he dies, it is my fault.
Snapping off the lights, she tried to dissuade herself of the notion that she was to blame but couldn’t. Feeling light-headed and weird, she went to bed. She hadn’t wanted to lie to Jade, but she needed time to process everything that had happened.
In the morning she turned on the news again and learned the top story was the horrific death of a man at Fitness Now!; a member by the name of Channing Renfro. A man had been seen near the vehicle minutes before it exploded into flames, and the police were calling him a person of interest.
In the passenger seat of Rex Kingston’s car, Ravinia tugged on the hem of the short black dress and wriggled her toes in shoes that felt a size too small though the woman in the shoe shop had haughtily told her that they were Italian leather and fit like a caress.
Okay.
If that’s what it was all about, that’s what it was all about. The shoes were black “kitten heels” with a flat black bow on the toe. Last night at the mall, she’d eyed an array of five-inch-heeled shoes and boots with a stirring of lust as she thought about the models she’d seen on television in such wear, but her overall pragmatism won out and she forewent them in a hurry, suspecting she would snap an ankle if she actually tried to walk around in something like that.
They were currently cruising through west LA in the late morning, heading toward Rex’s office. He’d given her the choice to stay in Costa Mesa and work her way over to Wembley Grade School in her search for Elizabeth, but the new clothes were for the upcoming rendezvous Kimberley Cochran had planned with her lover. Ravinia had been torn. Yes, there was urgency to find Elizabeth. Even without Aunt Catherine’s warnings, she could sense something going on, something coming. Was it Declan Jr., zeroed in on another one of them? Had he made his way south ahead of her? Or was she just being overly sensitive to her aunt’s fears and worries?
In any event, she’d chosen to go with Rex and work on his other case. If she helped him, then he would help her. He’d promised to drive back to Costa Mesa after the rendezvous. She could go to the school tomorrow. Symbiosis, she thought, gritting her teeth and giving her skirt another tug. She just hadn’t counted on helping him first.
“Pulling on it isn’t going to make it any longer,” he drawled.
She ignored that. “Where’s Casa del Mar?”
“Santa Monica. Right on the beach south of the pier.”
“The pier with the Ferris wheel?”
“Yup.” He pulled into the parking lot behind his office. “This’ll be quick.”
“I know. The contract.” She followed him in through the back door, aware that even the kitten heels were a balancing act. Fine. She could master it.
