by Gregg Olsen
The words were harsh and Kendall’s eyes must have betrayed her judgment of the mother.
“I loved her. I did then. I did before. But a kid on drugs, that’s a whole different animal, Detective. Do you have kids?”
Kendall nodded. “Yes, a son, but he’s young.”
Lynn thought a moment. “Give him time. He’ll find a way to break your heart like my Tami did mine.”
“Where is she now?”
“That’s the funny part. She’s fine now. She lives over in Purdy. She’s got a job. A husband. A baby. Although not in that order. You can’t have everything. She’s even taking classes at Tacoma Community College.”
“So you’ve repaired your relationship?”
Lynn’s coffee had cooled and she took a long drink. Her eyes welled up with tears.
“That just it,” she said. “We haven’t. Not completely, anyway. All those years when she was strung out on God knows what, well, she blames me for that. Sometimes she won’t even look me in the eye. Everything is my fault. I’m the one who stuck that needle in her arm. I’m the one who shoved that meth up her nose. For some reason, it’s all on me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault. This one’s on me. I didn’t do the right thing by her. And now that I can, she doesn’t want me around.”
A cat jumped up onto the woman’s lap. It was gray, the exact same shade as the velvet of the couch. Kendall was pretty sure that her black slacks were going to be covered with cat hair when she got up.
“It’s just me and Jeepers now.”
“What do you think happened to Katy?”
Lynn petted Jeepers and he purred like a mini-chainsaw.
“I don’t know. I thought for a long time that maybe her parents weren’t the perfect couple they pretended to be. You know, the type with all the money, all the answers, never a problem that couldn’t be fixed. Tami told me a few things about them that gave me pause, but I put that out of my mind.”
“What kinds of things?” Kendall asked.
“Nothing that dramatic. I think Roger Frazier was having an affair with someone in his office and Katy found out about it. She might have confronted him. It’s all a little fuzzy. My own life turned into such a mess after that I never really had time to worry about other people’s problems.”
“Did Brit Frazier know?” Kendall asked, leaning in.
The cat jumped down and Lynn got up.
“Like I said, I don’t know for sure what happened. All I know is that I’ve turned into a cat lady without a husband or daughter.”
She went over to the desk on the other side of the living room and wrote down an address.
“I drive by the place once in a while. Looks nice. Like I told that producer, Juliana. Tell her I said hello, will you?”
Kendall didn’t say a word, but inside she thought Juliana sure got around.
Chaz Masters didn’t put up much of a fight. Not that he could anyway. Brenda didn’t even need to convince him that it would be fun if she tied him up with two leather belts and the terry cloth tie from a robe that hung on the back hook of the bathroom door. He passed out and she went about scouring the place for anything she might need—setting the spoils on the kitchen table. She took his cell phone. She found $255 in cash in his dresser drawer, another hundred in his wallet. She moved quickly about the house, room by room. She returned to the bathroom where she picked up all the pill bottles that might help her situation later. It appeared that Chaz had hurt his back and she was glad about that. He needed painkillers and lorazepam to sleep.
All good.
She heard him moan and turned to the bedroom.
“You ready for another round?”
He looked at her beautiful naked body. There hadn’t been a first round, but he was so high he didn’t know that.
“Yeah,” he croaked. “Untie me so I can play with those.”
She ran her fingertips over her nipples.
“These?”
He smiled.
Brenda pulled a dry-cleaning bag encasing a white shirt from his closest and climbed on top of him, pretending to writhe with ecstasy over his limp penis.
“What?” he asked as she placed the bag over his head.
“Relax,” she cooed, stretching the plastic over his face. “This is the best sex you’ll ever have.”
Chaz’s feet twitched and his blue eyes stared up at her from behind the “Fresh in an hour” logo. The bar owner with plans for an exciting start to his vacation struggled only a moment. It was quick, easy. Just the way she liked it.
Brenda climbed off the dead man, a little surprised that he’d managed an erection during the last moments of his life. Better late than never, she thought. She watched it return to its unimpressive, flaccid state. The power of the kill turned her on. She didn’t understand why that was so. It was as if the taking of a life was the ultimate rush. Seeing the life force ebb from his eyes made her wet. Her fingers traveled downward and she made herself climax.
Only two things felt better than sex. Fame and revenge. She was set on both.
As she found her way out of the bedroom, her eyes caught a small figure of a shark on her dead lover’s desk. Its eyes were flat and unblinking. It made her think of someone.
It gave her an idea too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cosmo’s was both a deli and restaurant with twenty tables and a miniscule but well-stocked bar. It was adjacent to the Staples and across the street from a very busy Starbucks—hardly the best location in town unless you needed coffee and office supplies with your tiramisu.
Juliana Robbins sat at the bar working her iPhone and sipping a glass of red wine.
“Detective Stark! I’m over here,” she called from her perch.
Kendall wondered if her cat-hair-covered thighs were some kind of indicator that she was a cop or if her little-bit-longer-than-usual blond hair was another signal. Feminine, but not overly so.
“Juliana?”
“That’s me. Sit down. They are getting a table. I’m so excited to be meeting you. I had a feeling that I’d like you the instant I saw you. And you know what, I was totally right.”
Kendall wasn’t sure how to answer that greeting. “Nice to meet you too.”
A waitress offered Kendall a drink and she ordered a glass of wine
“Look,” she said. “I want to be up front with you. I don’t want to do your show. I don’t like anything about TV and how it exploits others, but I understand that the department and Katy’s family are all for this. So here I am.”
“I get that,” Juliana said. “I’ve run up against the naysayers before. You have to see proof and that’s what will happen once Pandora and Ogilvie do their parts. You’ll see.”
Juliana was dark with black eyes and black hair. She had the exotic looks of someone from the Middle East, though her accent was completely American. Not East Coast either. She wore a short, trendy skirt, and a blouse that was cut a little low for Port Orchard.
“Where are you from?” Kendall asked as the wine came.
“Well, I live in New York, but I’m from the Bay Area.”
The mention of the Bay Area made her think of Steven just then. Thinking of Steven made her think of Cody, who was being taken care of by a sitter. She wished both Steven and Cody were with her now instead of this chirpy young woman from Spirit Hunters.
“You believe in all this Pandora stuff, don’t you?”
“Absolutely, Detective. I totally do. You will too. Pandora is the real deal. She’s not some phony that looks for signs about things in a person’s life and then rifle shoots to get some answers. There’s none of that kind of chicanery.”
The word chicanery made Kendall think of her mother just then. She’d been gone for more than two years and every now and then a word, a smell, a thought would enter her mind and remind Kendall of what she was missing. Chicanery was a mom-word of the highest order.
“I saw some things online,” Kendall sai
d.
Juliana was ready. She’d heard that before. “Let’s get real. Do you believe everything you read on the Internet?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Good, because no one with half a brain would. If you’re referring to the post made by the woman in Nova Scotia, then let me enlighten you. After we taped the show, she told producers that she wanted twenty-five thousand dollars for her time. Even Pandora doesn’t get that kind of shooting fee. No one on cable does. When we told her that she didn’t get a dime, that she’d signed away her rights—and by the way we were very clear with her on that as we are with all show participants—she went ballistic, swore revenge.”
Kendall sipped some more wine. She knew she’d been drinking more lately and promised to stop at a single glass.
“I saw the video, Juliana.”
Juliana shook her head. “Totally fake. Our guys looked at it and could pick apart how it was edited, how voices were dubbed in to make Pandy and Wyo look bad.”
Kendall didn’t react. She was too busy watching Juliana as she tried to spin some garbage out of what was completely at odds with what appeared to be incontrovertible.
“The mom from Nova Scotia must have had some serious talent in post-production to create such a masterpiece as the one she posted. Looked pretty real to me.”
“You can do anything with a smartphone and an app these days, Detective. That’s just the way it is. But let’s agree to disagree on Pandora and what she can do until after the show.”
“Fine. Let’s focus on what you need from me. I’m not going to wriggle my way out of this, so I might as well know what’s in store.”
A waitress came, and since the restaurant was empty, they had their pick of tables. Juliana decided she wanted to stay in the bar, so they moved to one of three tables along the window. Heavy curtains dimmed the light. They ordered.
“I brought the case files,” Kendall said.
Juliana perked up. “Perfect. Let’s go over what you have.”
“We might want to stop at the appetizer section because there’s not a whole lot there.”
“Don’t be so negative, Detective. We’re Spirit Hunters! We get stuff done. You’ll see.”
When the waitress appeared, Kendall ordered the lasagna, her husband’s favorite dish. He was on her mind. The young producer ordered a wild mushroom risotto and when they were served, she immediately announced it was the best she’d ever had.
“And I live in New York,” she said to the waitress. “Repeat that to the cook and tell him that I’m a fan for life.”
Kendall showed Juliana what she’d brought and the producer made a big show of how thorough the investigation had been and how Pandora and Wyatt would find the truth—without the documents.
“I brought you copies,” Kendall said as she poked at the congealed cheese—Steven’s favorite part.
“Oh, and I appreciate that. But I can’t take copies. That’s not protocol.”
“I don’t follow. Why did you ask our PIO for me to bring the docs then?”
“I need to see them because I need to make sure that we don’t have any loose ends. Wyo does his own investigation. Just like Pandy, he needs to find things out for himself. They are a team. A true team. We want our viewers to enjoy the discoveries they make along the way—not watch them being spoon-fed information from those who already know the substance of the story.”
“So, Wyo”—the nickname stuck in her throat a little—“is going to do an investigation of his own, start to finish?”
“That’s right. He’s interviewed Katy’s friends, her parents, and just about anyone else you can think of associated with the case.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. He’s found out some amazing stuff already. You’re going to love the show.”
“I can’t wait,” Kendall said, without a trace of insincerity. At least she hoped so.
“I’m excited too.”
“I understand I’m scheduled to be interviewed tomorrow morning. What’s the purpose of that? Wyo has already done all the legwork needed to tell Katy’s story, hasn’t he?”
Juliana shook her head and pushed the remainder of her risotto aside.
“This tastes like glue,” she said.
“I thought you liked it.”
“I was just being nice. Force of habit. It’s who I am. Now back to you and your interview. It is absolutely essential that you appear on the show. Wyatt will ask you general questions about the town, the investigation. You’ll be his safety net. If there are things that aren’t computing, he’ll go to you for the answers.”
“I don’t know. Seems like you don’t need me.”
“Now, Detective. That’s silly. You’re going to make the show. You are the kind of pretty, no-nonsense cop that our viewers will just eat up for dinner.”
The idea of any of this didn’t appeal to Kendall Stark, but somewhere at the bottom of the list was the idea the Spirit Hunters viewership would gobble her up like a plate of pasta.
“What’s the format? Who does what?”
“I basically coordinate everything with the sound and camera team. They’re locals who we’ve never worked with before, so that’s a challenge. Wyatt will be doing your interview.”
“What about Pandora? When will I see her?”
“You won’t. Not unless you want to get up at three in the morning. She’ll do her walk through the Frazier home with another cameraman tailing her, capturing everything that happens, everything she’s feeling.”
“Will she go into Katy’s room?”
“Maybe. Honestly, with Pandora you never know what she’s going to do. One time she ran off location screaming into the woods and we didn’t find her for three hours. I’m not kidding.”
“Why would you? So, back to Pandora’s part. I’ve been wondering how much she’ll know about the case. Before she does her walk through the house and then the big reveal.”
“Nothing. I’m dead serious. We tell her nothing. Zip.”
“Are you sure that Wyo doesn’t tell her what’s up?”
Juliana made a face. “I wish it was that easy. But if this show lasts another season it won’t be because those two get along. Oil and water. I know it looks like they are all buddy-buddy at the reveal but they aren’t. Pandy is very possessive of her spirit guides and she doesn’t like the way Wyo talks about them. No matter how many times he’s seen her in action, he’s still a skeptic. Like you.”
Kendall nodded. “Just like me.”
“The world’s full of those who refuse to believe what they can’t see for themselves,” Juliana said.
Kendall didn’t take the bait. “Can I be there at the reveal?” she asked.
“We’ve never had a cop there before, but I don’t see why not. I’ll check with my executive producer.”
Juliana’s phone beeped and she looked down. “Just a sec. I have to take this,” she said, leaving the bar for the alcove by the restrooms.
Kendall sat there. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. A few beats later, Juliana returned.
“Something’s up and I have to leave.” She put three twenties on the table. “Can you wait for the receipt? Let the waitress keep the change.”
And she left.
The change was three dollars. Kendall took the receipt and put down a ten. She waited for a few more minutes for the waitress to return with some buttered noodles.
“For Cody,” the waitress said. “That woman you were with was a complete trip and a half.”
“No kidding,” Kendall said. “But a trip to where?”
“Who knows, but I overheard enough to ensure that I’ll tune in when the stupid show airs. I don’t know what channel it’s on but I bet it’s a pretty high number.”
“It is,” Kendall said. “Way up there in the eight hundreds somewhere.”
“No kidding. Didn’t know the channels went past five hundred.”
Kendall smiled. “Neither did I.”
The
blue Acura was a nice ride. The best car she’d ever driven. Brenda knew about cell phone triangulation and drove a half hour out of her way to Mason County, where she made the first call to her old friends in Kitsap County. She was pretty sure that the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Department didn’t have the most advanced methods of tracing a call, but to be more safe than sorry, she decided to call Kendall at home. That was foiled when the operator said she didn’t have a listing for anyone named Stark in the Port Orchard area. Brenda asked for Birdy Waterman’s number and that one was listed. The operator put her through.
“Elan and I aren’t home right now,” Birdy’s voice said. “You know the drill. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you. If you have our cell numbers, try those. Bye.”
“I hope you and Detective Stark are enjoying your moment in the sun,” Brenda said. “It’s me, Brenda. I’d say come and find me, but I don’t stay still very long and neither one of you are that good. I’ve only started. Who is Elan? I like that name.”
She turned off the phone and tossed it out of the open car window. It was time to go home to Janie.
Poor thing. She must be so thirsty, she thought.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pandora used her real name when she signed in at the W in downtown Seattle. Carol Kirkowski didn’t like to make a fuss about who she was; she preferred the chance encounter with a fan that let her play up the fact that she was the psychic Pandora of TV fame. Her chance came where it almost always did—at the front desk.
“You look a lot like that ghost chick, I mean lady,” the young clerk said. “The one who talks to dead people on TV.”
“I get that a lot,” she said, a self-satisfied smile on her lips. She presented her credit card and the man, a chin-stubbled twentysomething with two gold hoops in one ear, took it.
“Someone close to you isn’t feeling well,” she said.
He looked up at her. His eyes were wide open. Stuck open. He couldn’t even blink. It was her.
“You know about my aunt?”
Pandora signed her birth name. “Sometimes it’s like just a bunch of noise in my head and sometimes the signals come in very clear. Your aunt is very ill, Kevin.”
