“Excuse me?”
“It’s no secret you’re ex-trailer trash. You lucked out in the looks department, latched on to a rich dude, and turned your life around. But don’t pretend you’re better than me.”
“Stay away from my son.”
She thrust her sunglasses back on and dismissed me like hired help. I wanted to knock her off her high heels, but assaulting Cecile Clayworth in the most public place in town wouldn’t do much to help our floundering business. Instead, I marched home and got ready for my non-date.
TWENTY-THREE
STEPHEN SHOWED UP AT MY DOOR WEARING A BLUE button-down shirt and dress pants. A bit overdressed for what I had planned, but Stephen was always overdressed. What surprised me were the roses he held out in his hand.
Hadn’t I been clear that this was not a date? Granted, I hadn’t been completely honest about my intentions to grill him for info. But I’d thought Stephen knew that this wasn’t a romantic thing — just a thank-you dinner.
“Are you allergic?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“The roses,” Stephen said. “You’re frowning at them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. They’re beautiful. I was just trying to remember where our vase is.” I took them from his hand and did the obligatory sniff-and-smile.
“Thank you. I’ll be right back.” I quickly brought the flowers into the kitchen to ask Mom to put them in water. She was on the phone. I could only hear one side of the conversation but it seemed like someone was insistently trying to set up a last-minute appointment. Mom explained that we were closed for the day, but the person must have been begging. Mom finally agreed to do a one-on-one. I felt bad, leaving her in the lurch, but I had to go.
Stephen walked me to his Lexus. “Where are we headed? The Captain’s Bistro?”
“I was thinking Yummy’s,” I said.
“Okaaay,” he said with slight disappointment. “If that’s what you want.”
It’s not that I was craving Yummy’s, not by any means. But if I wanted to jog Stephen’s memory of the night Victoria was killed, Yummy’s was the place to be.
“You’ve been here before,” he said, after we were seated in a dimly lit corner booth.
“Yeah, I’m a regular. How’d you know?”
“You didn’t look at the menu.”
I smiled and pointed to my head. “I’m flipping through it right now.”
He laughed. “I guess you do come here a lot. What’s good?”
“My brother likes the burgers. I’m partial to the chicken fingers.”
“How is your brother?”
Before I could answer, a waitress came over and took our order. After she left, I turned back to Stephen, who seemed genuinely concerned.
“Perry’s not doing so well.”
“But I heard the police set him free,” Stephen said.
“They did, but he still remains their top suspect. They just didn’t have enough to hold him at that time.” I unexpectedly found myself fighting off the urge to cry. All day I’d been wearing a mask of confidence for my mother and Perry, and now that I was away from them and talking about it, I was close to breaking down.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, dabbing at the wetness around my eyes with my napkin. “This summer has really sucked.”
“I don’t mind.”
“How is your summer going?” I asked, changing the subject so I could regain my composure.
Stephen shrugged. “Not that great. With the campaign going on, it’s just nonstop politics at the house. Going to fancy dinners with my parents. Being forced to schmooze. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. My parents are out at another fund-raiser tonight. I was supposed to go, but this is a nice change of pace.”
I thought about telling him the terrible things his mother had said to me that afternoon, but decided to keep them to myself. He seemed to have enough parental problems at the moment.
“To be honest, I can’t wait to go away to college next month. Get away from it all. My parents are very … single-minded.” He suddenly stopped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about that.”
“I don’t mind. It’s good to vent.”
“No, that’s personal, family stuff. And this is a nice night out. I’m sorry. I’m being a downer. Let’s talk about something happy.”
“Like how the town thinks my brother is a murderer?”
Stephen chuckled. “Okay, okay. Your life isn’t much better right now.”
“You got that right.”
The waitress came by with our food, and Stephen quickly dug into his burger.
“I heard that you were working on the case with the police,” he said. “Is that true?”
“It was true. But not anymore.”
He sighed in relief. “I’m so glad.”
“Why?”
“You were putting yourself in danger doing that.” He pointed at me with a French fry. “That one death has turned into three.”
I appreciated everyone’s concern for my well-being, but I didn’t need another person telling me to stop. I took a deep breath, sensing the moment was right for my segue. I had to get the information I came for.
I cleared my throat. “Speaking of that night, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did you see anything suspicious when you were here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were here the night Victoria Happel and my brother left together. The night she was killed.”
“I was? How do you know?” His eyes lit up. “Oh, wait, did you just pick that up in your head?”
“No, nothing psychic. It’s on the security tape that my brother is on. You were, uh, drunk and your mother brought you home.”
He rolled his eyes at himself. “I forgot that was the same night. How embarrassing.”
“We all have our bad moments,” I said. “Believe me, I’ve had mine. Remind me to tell you how I dumped a soda over Tiffany Desposito’s head right over there.”
He smiled a little at that, then shook his head. “Sorry I can’t help, but I didn’t see anything weird that night.”
“Did you see Victoria talking to anyone other than my brother?” Like Anthony Toscano, the killer with a badge, or his son, Gabriel, the liar with the victim’s name tattooed on his body?
Stephen shook his head. “To be honest, I barely remember that night. I spent the rest of it throwing up in the bathroom. I remember our housekeeper picking me up off the tile floor and helping me to bed.”
“Ouch,” I said, grinning.
“Yes, one of my mother’s proudest moments, I’m sure.”
I giggled.
He leaned forward, putting his arms on the table. “Now about this drink dumping. I have to hear this.”
We spent the rest of dinner sharing school gossip and talking about different colleges. Surprisingly, I didn’t have a bad time. Then the check came, and I realized I hadn’t gotten any information that could help me clear Perry, and wasn’t any closer to finding out if either of the Toscanos saw or spoke to Victoria that night.
Stephen paid the check even though it was me who had asked him out. We strolled to his car, and he opened the door for me.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked, after he settled in on the driver’s side. “Do you need to get home?”
I had an idea. Stephen’s alcohol-induced haze had made his memory of that night foggy.
But objects don’t forget.
I swirled to face him. “Can we go to your house? You said your parents were out.”
“Um …”
I could see him trying to figure this out, thinking he didn’t picture me for that kind of girl.
“I’ve never seen the mansion,” I added. “I wasn’t invited to any of your parties in school.” I smirked. “Not cool enough, I guess.”
Stephen winced. “Sorry if I ever treated you badly.”
“You didn’t. You never teased me like the others. You just ignored me. But you can make up for it now,” I said, grinn
ing.
“Okay then,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot. “We’re off for a tour of the Clayworth house.”
Minutes later, Stephen parked in the circular driveway and walked me to the front door, which was flanked by two white pillars. I’d seen his house before from the street, but it was even more impressive up close. Stephen used his key, and I politely looked away as he punched in a code on the security system.
The entry hall had marble floors, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a breathtaking grand staircase that curved down from the second floor. My footsteps echoed as I followed Stephen down the hall. He opened a set of glass French doors that led to a formal living room, then a formal dining room, and a kitchen big enough for a whole catering staff. All the while he talked, pointing out paintings, sculptures, and items of interest. He motioned toward a large bay window, through which I could see the pool and expansive backyard where all those parties I wasn’t invited to took place.
“Do you want to see my room?” he asked sheepishly.
That was exactly what I came for, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I wanted evidence, not a hookup. Weighing my words, I said, “Sure … for a minute.”
I followed him upstairs and down a long hallway. His room was huge, with a window overlooking the pool. Perry’s pigsty, this was not. Stephen’s bed was made, his computer desk clean, his dresser dust-free. It looked more like a hotel room than a teenage boy’s room. The benefits of having a housekeeper, I guess.
I let my hand graze the surfaces as I roamed around the room. I made small talk so Stephen wouldn’t suspect that I was psychically casing the joint.
“Your room is so nice,” I said.
“My mother’s neurotic about keeping everything orderly and organized. If I walk out of my room for a few minutes and leave a book on my desk, it’s magically put away by the time I get back.”
“That’s not so bad,” I said, my fingers lingering over his keyboard. “At least you don’t have to clean it yourself.”
He leaned against the wall, his feet crossed at his ankles. “Yeah, but I can’t even have posters up.”
“You can plaster your dorm room soon enough,” I said, smiling, though on the inside I was anything but happy. This search was ending up a bust. I had glimmers of a few visions, but they were all irrelevant and mostly from the housekeeper cleaning. What I needed was a vision of that night at Yummy’s.
Stephen babbled on about how much he was looking forward to college and getting out of Eastport. Meanwhile, I racked my brain. I needed something he had held on to that night in the restaurant. I tried to remember what he was wearing in the security video, but came up blank. I couldn’t exactly ask him, either, without seeming suspicious. Then it hit me.
The only thing I remembered from the security tape was Cecile Clayworth’s beautiful green dress. Cecile’s wardrobe was so extensive, there was no way she’d worn that dress again in the past week. It might not have been sent to the cleaners, either.
“Is there a bathroom on this floor?” I asked, interrupting some story about his graduation party.
“Sure, down the hall on your right.”
“Okay. When I come back will you show me your pictures from graduation?”
Scrounging those up ought to keep him busy for a few minutes.
I scurried down the hall, guessing that the door at the end led to the master bedroom. I peeked in. Bingo. Now where was her closet? I pulled open a door and had to clap my hand over my mouth to prevent a gasp.
Cecile Clayworth’s walk-in closet was like a dream. One entire wall of shelving held shoes. The other walls had racks of clothing … organized by color.
It didn’t take me long to find the emerald green dress I’d admired on the security tape. I let my fingers slip along the fabric as I opened my mind. Nothing surfaced at first, so I continued along the material until I reached the belt where Stephen’s arm had been wrapped around his mother.
Then it came. Like a bullet.
I saw Stephen, obviously drunk, stagger up to where Victoria Happel sat on a bar stool. The noise level was deafening and I couldn’t hear the words, but I figured he was hitting on her. Victoria rolled her eyes and put her hand up in his face, then turned away. Stephen’s already ruddy cheeks turned bright red. He leaned closer and spoke in her ear, insistently.
The sights and sounds dimmed as feelings of anger boiled over and took control of the vision. Furious thoughts stirred in my mind.
She’s going to ruin everything.
I’ve worked so hard to get to this point.
That little slut is not going to take it all away from me.
The emotions were so strong, I found myself gasping for air.
“What are you doing?”
I dropped the dress and whirled around. Stephen stood in the doorway of the closet, looking at me steadily.
“Nothing,” I said, crossing my arms. “It’s a beautiful dress.”
“It’s my mother’s. What are you doing in her closet?”
I struggled to come up with something, anything that made the tiniest bit of sense. “She came to see me today,” I blurted. “Told me to stay away from you. She said I wasn’t good enough to date you. I didn’t believe her.”
I paused for dramatic effect. “But now I look at your big house with your mother’s fancy walk-in closet. Any one of these dresses cost more than my whole wardrobe. And I’m thinking maybe she’s right. I can’t compete with the rich girls. I don’t belong in this world.”
Pass me the Academy Award. I don’t know how I did it, but hysterical-girl tears sprung from my eyes as I ran out of the room and down the grand staircase.
He followed me. “Clare, wait!”
“I’m going to walk home!” I yelled.
“It’s too far! Wait!”
But I was out the door before he could catch up. Rather than walk down the street, where he could easily find me, I darted into the woods. I called Justin from my cell, hoping like hell he’d pick up, and he did.
“Clare?”
“Justin, I’m in trouble.”
TWENTY-FOUR
IN THE WOODS, CRACKLING TWIGS, INCESSANT insect chirping, and other night noises were freaking me out. I huddled behind a tree in the darkness, alternating my eyes from the road to the brightly lit front door of the Clayworth house. Stephen had called out from the driveway, then shrugged and plodded back into the house. He hadn’t come back out since.
How much of a stone-cold killer could he be if he didn’t follow me out here? But the vision … the emotions in it were so strong. Stephen had been so angry at Victoria. Angry enough to kill.
But something about the vision nagged at me. My instinct was telling me I was off. I was missing something, seeing something wrong.
A black car slowed and pulled to the shoulder of the road. I moved a little closer, saw Justin on the driver’s side, and ran for it.
Justin pulled a U-turn after I jumped in the passenger side. “Twice in two days I’m breaking the law for you,” he said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have called someone with a license, but I was scared and my first instinct …” I trailed off because I didn’t want to finish that sentence out loud.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll always come to your rescue. But I would like to know why I’m picking you up at night from the woods next to the Clayworth house.”
“I had a sort-of date with Stephen tonight.”
He clenched his jaw but remained silent.
“Not a real date,” I continued. “I was using him.”
“You’ve developed a habit for that,” he muttered.
I ignored his comment and explained, “He was at Yummy’s the night of Victoria’s murder. He might have seen something that could help Perry.”
“Like what?”
“I was hoping to find out if Gabriel interacted with Victoria when he was there.”
“And?”
Justin ran a red light, bu
t I was in no position to complain about his driving skills, so I continued. “Stephen said he didn’t see anything. I got a vision, though, while I was in his house.”
“What did you see?”
“Stephen talking to Victoria. I assume he was hitting on her. She rejected him. Then I felt strong humiliation and anger.”
Justin pulled into my driveway. “Those are normal feelings when you get rejected by a girl.”
“Not to this degree. I have never felt emotions so strong from a vision.”
But Justin wasn’t listening to me anymore. He was glaring at something over my shoulder. I turned and looked out the car window. Gabriel sat on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, obviously waiting for me.
“You two normally work together this late?” Justin asked.
“We’re not working together at all anymore.”
I got out of the car and Gabriel rose, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His black hair was a mess, as if he’d been pulling his fingers through it.
“Your mom said you were out,” he began, walking toward me, “but I decided to wait for you. I’m sorry about the argument yesterday. I wanted to talk to you —”
He broke off as he saw Justin get out of the car.
“He’s your date?” Gabriel asked.
“No,” Justin said. “I’m the first one she called when the date went bad.”
I think the correct term for this was “pissing contest,” and though I was flattered, I didn’t have time for it.
“Both of you,” I said, hooking a thumb toward the house. “Inside. Now.”
Mom was on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. “How was your dinner?” she asked, and then her mouth fell open as she watched both Justin and Gabriel come in behind me.
“Not one of my best,” I said. “How was that last-minute reading?”
She groaned. “After all that begging on the phone, she never showed.”
“Huh.” I motioned to my two boys. “We have stuff to talk about. We’re going upstairs.”
Mom didn’t exactly give me permission, but she knew I wasn’t going to have an orgy in my room or anything. I led them to my bedroom and closed the door. I sat in my desk chair while the boys sat on the bed. They looked kind of silly, sitting there next to each other, on top of my purple comforter. I suppressed a smile, and filled Gabriel in on what I was doing out with Stephen Clayworth and the vision I had gotten in his house. Of course, I left out the part about my suspecting Gabriel prior to the vision. I still wondered about his tattoo, but was now convinced the murderer had to be Stephen, and not Gabriel.
Clarity Page 16
