Murder Among Friends (The Kate Austen Mystery Series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  My mind was a jumble. The thoughts whirled about like dust in a windstorm. I couldn’t hold onto any of them. Only one thing was clear. I had to get Anna.

  Outside, with the wind and rain lashing at my face, I scurried toward the car. The pavement was slick, and thick with water. Halfway across the lot I stepped in an ankle-deep puddle and almost lost my balance. Oil and mud splattered my slacks, oozed into my shoes. At the car, I fumbled in my purse for the key, and then had trouble fitting it into the ignition. Finally, the car started and I pulled into the street, making a left turn across two lanes of traffic. Pushing the accelerator to the floor, I made it through the stop light just as the yellow flicked to red, then zig-zagged lanes impatiently, passing every car in my path. By comparison, Sharon would have qualified as driver-of-the-year.

  Stay calm, I repeated to myself, mantra-style. Stay calm. You’re going to park in Claire’s driveway, knock on her door, plead an appointment if she asks you in, but linger long enough to chat about the girls’ morning and thank her for inviting Anna for a visit. Smiling and cheerful, that’s the image you want. No point raising her suspicions or letting on that anything has changed.

  It took seemingly forever to weave my way through the traffic and onto the freeway. Conditions there were no better. Cars slowed and moved at a snail’s pace as three lanes narrowed to two. Cal Trans in its endless endeavor to improve our roadways. I forced myself to take the slow, deep breaths I’d learned in Lamaze class, then thought of Anna again and felt tears prick at my eyes.

  I was still working on my breathing when I pulled into Claire’s. Her car was gone. I rang the bell anyway, then knocked. How could they not be back from lunch?

  I checked my watch. It had been over an hour since I’d called and left a message. Even if they’d gotten a late start, they’d have to be back soon. I returned to the car to wait, wishing I’d thought to call Michael before rushing over to Claire’s. But I didn’t want to leave now, not when they would be returning any minute.

  Inside, the car was damp and stuffy. And finger-numbing cold. Rain drummed against the roof, and the windows began to fog over. I shivered, turned on the engine for heat, and tried to ignore the sense of unease that rose, like molasses, in my throat. I didn’t want to think the unthinkable. Didn’t want to give in to panic. I turned on the radio, listened to a song about heartache, a commercial about headache. I checked my watch again. Maybe they’d taken in a movie or stopped to do some shopping.

  Then, in a white flash of terror, I remembered that I’d told Claire about Eve Fisher. Told her about the paper of Eve’s I’d found by Mona’s phone. And I remembered too, Claire’s pointed interest in our meeting. Lord, please, no. Don’t let Claire recognize Eve’s name, don’t let the paper be what alerted her to Mona’s suspicions.

  I raced to Claire’s door again and started pounding, as if by sheer will I could make Anna appear. Next door, an older woman I recognized as one of Mona’s neighbors pulled up and began unloading groceries. She waved to me.

  “You haven’t seen Claire, have you?”

  “They left, all three of them, right after you dropped your little girl off. Figured they were late for a party or something the way they took out of here.”

  Lord, please. Please. I tore back to the car and made it to McDonald’s in record time. One o’clock on a rainy Saturday. The place was jammed. Shrieking kids and screaming babies, and parents yelling to be heard over the din.

  I jostled my way to the counter, ignoring the scowls directed my way. “I’m looking for a friend,” I said, “a little taller than me, large boned, short brown hair. She had two little girls with her.” I realized I’d just described half the people there that afternoon.

  The man in front of me gave me an angry look and angled his body so that I had to speak over his shoulder. “One of them had red curls,” I said, then stopped short. Not any more, I reminded myself. Claire had cut Jodi’s hair short, probably dyed it as well since it appeared darker and less red, thus radically changing her appearance. Now I knew why. I reached into my purse and pulled out Anna’s picture. “This is one of the girls,” I said, leaning past the man who was making every effort to nudge me aside.

  The woman behind the counter couldn’t have been more than a girl herself. She had a flat, bovine face marked with acne. She glanced at the picture, shook her head indifferently, then turned back to her customer. I started to work my way down the counter when I realized the futility of it. No one was going to remember who’d been here, and what difference did it make anyway? Disheartened, I called Claire’s once more in the hope they might have returned, then drove home.

  My house felt empty and cold, like a crypt. A sudden, suffocating helplessness rolled over me. I took a deep breath, then another. Stop it, the voice of reason admonished. Get a hold of yourself.

  I called Michael and left a message, using the word “urgent” so many times I lost count. Then I shed my wet shoes and socks, and put a kettle of water on for tea. Max had greeted me with more than his usual enthusiasm and was bounding from one side of the kitchen to the other, but when I opened the door for him to go out, he refused.

  “The rain won’t hurt you,” I grumbled, but I wasn’t in any mood to force the issue. Sooner or later he’d decide the need was greater than his disdain for inclement weather.

  When the water was hot, I poured a cupful, dropped in a tea bag and sat down at the table. I felt useless sitting there, doing nothing, but I wanted to stay by the phone for Michael’s call.

  Anna’s coloring book was lying open on the table where she’d left it that morning. The mighty and ferocious Tyrannosaurus Rex rendered harmless by Anna’s strokes of purple and pink. A lump rose in my throat. She hadn’t wanted to go to Jodi’s, and I’d forced her. Reprimanded her when she’d complained that Claire was creepy. I bit my lip, fought the tears, tried to reassure myself with the memory of all those times I’d been sure something terrible had happened, and it hadn’t

  I sipped my tea, which, despite the deep golden color, tasted like stale tap water. Max sidled up next to me and whimpered. Scratching the fur behind his ears, I tried to comfort myself as well. My imagination had gone into overdrive was all. This wouldn’t be the first time. They may have been stuck in traffic, or decided to take in a movie. Besides, it wasn’t like Claire was a stranger. The police would have no trouble getting her picture, her license and social security numbers, her bank account. She couldn’t simply vanish into thin air.

  And hadn’t I made some rather sizable deductive leaps anyway? Even if Jodi was the missing Madelaine McNevitt that didn’t necessarily prove Claire was the kidnapper. Nor did it mean that Claire was a killer. There were Brandon and Oscar to consider as well. Brandon and Oscar, two less than exemplary characters whose association with each other seemed suspect at best.

  Finally, Max settled at my feet. I took another sip of tea, rocked back in my chair, and looked at the phone. Why didn’t Michael call?

  Outside, the sky had darkened. I watched the trees bend in the wind, listened to the branches scrape against the house. I heard a rustling sound, turned, saw nothing. I managed a smile at my own spookiness. I rubbed a bare foot against Max’s fur and turned back to watch the heavy drops of rain pound against the patio. In the glass, I caught a reflection of something behind me. I turned again, and saw Claire standing in the hall doorway, my heavy kitchen cleaver in her outstretched hand.

  Chapter 31

  Claire stepped towards me slowly, without speaking. Her eyes were dark and intense, her expression flat. The hand that held the cleaver was as steady as her gaze.

  “Where’s Anna?” I asked, in a near whisper.

  A thin smile, cold as ice, played on her lips.

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s going to be fine, Kate. Just fine.”

  Claire’s voice was like a fingernail against chalkboard, it sent a shiver down my spine.

  Where is she? You didn’t hurt her, did you?”


  Another steely smile. “That’s not really what you should be worrying about right now.”

  I swallowed. My throat felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. “How did you get in, anyway?”

  “The key under the brick out back. You told me about it yourself not too long ago. But that’s not really what you should be worrying about either.”

  Max pushed himself out from under the table and started prancing around the room with excitement, his tail wagging so hard his whole rear end shook. Terrific. A dog who would fiddle while Rome burned, or in this case, while his devoted mistress was chopped to pieces.

  “Did you and that Eve woman have a nice chat?” Claire asked, ignoring the canine festivities taking place at her feet. “Did she bend your ear with her pathetic, woeful tale about the baby who was kidnapped from the park?” Claire took a step closer. The metal blade glistened in the light.

  I was still sitting at the table, afraid that any sudden move on my part would trigger the same in Claire. But I had to do something.

  “Put that thing down,” I said, looking at the cleaver, “and let’s talk.” I tried for the even, unruffled tone of a television heroine, but I missed it by a mile.

  Claire shook her head. “Talking never does any good. Never did, never will. People only hear what they want to hear.”

  “We can work something out, I’m sure of it.”

  She shook her head again.

  “If you try anything, I’ll fight back and we’ll both be hurt. What’s the good in that?”

  Claire held up her other hand. She was grasping what looked like a rectangular plastic box.

  “Recognize this?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a stun gun. A most useful device.” A snicker rose from her throat. “Kind of like my American Express card—I never leave home without it. A tad uncomfortable, I’ve been told. But I don’t imagine it’s as bad as this.” She raised the arm holding the cleaver.

  An involuntary shudder worked its way down my spine. I felt a deep, nauseous fear in the pit of my stomach. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Come on, Kate. Let’s not play games.” She gazed at her reflection in the shiny metal blade. “It’s not like I enjoy this, you know.”

  She was thinking, perhaps, that I did?

  Claire sighed, lifted her eyes from the blade. “I was actually quite fond of Mona. But when I spotted that newspaper article on her desk, and then saw the way she looked at me. . .” Claire shrugged. “I had to do something.”

  “So you killed her.” No game playing there.

  “I thought it would be such an easy solution, but nothing in my life is ever easy.” Claire sighed again. “Who else would wind up with a baby who happened to be a twin? Without that, I’d have been home free.”

  Probably true. I swallowed and tried to concentrate. Keep them talking, I was sure I’d read that somewhere. “You didn’t know she was a twin at the time?”

  “How could I? The baby was alone in the buggy, tucked under a yellow blanket. I didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. Not that it mattered either way.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. Things have always gone right for you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “True enough. Nothing’s ever worked out for me. I was always the kid who ate lunch alone, the last one chosen for a team, the partner no one wanted. I was thirty-one years old and I’d been on two dates in my entire life, both of them arranged by one of my aunt’s co-workers.”

  Claire’s voice grew more agitated. Deep red splotches colored her face. “It was pretty obvious I was never going to find a husband. And I’ve got some medical problem, the doctors said I probably wouldn’t be able to have children. Then, at the park that day, it was like a sign from God. This woman pushed the carriage down the path and parked it under a tree, not five feet from me. I was so envious I could feel it, kind of like acid eating away at my insides. The woman was young and pretty, all the things I wasn’t, and she had a baby, which I never would.”

  “You could have—”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed and she cut me off angrily. “Do you know what that woman did? She left her baby, that precious little child, all alone. Didn’t even check on it before walking off into the bushes with some stud. Oh, I watched them for a while, kissing and pawing at each other until I couldn’t stand it another minute. It was so unfair.”

  Claire was waving both arms about as she talked. I inched back, out of the ever-expanding path of danger. “But that wasn’t the mother,” I said, “it was just the baby sitter.”

  “You think I was going to take the child back when I learned that? Laurie McNevitt was no saint herself, either. She should never have trusted a woman like that with her baby. Never. Besides, she still had the other child, she didn’t need two.”

  Claire’s words were rendered all the more horrible by the reasonableness of her tone.

  Just then the phone rang. “Don’t answer it,” Claire ordered.

  I held my breath, waiting for my chance to lunge for the phone. But Claire positioned herself so that I couldn’t. After four rings the machine clicked on. Michael’s message was brief. “Call me when you get in.”

  Claire looked agitated. A shadow passed over her face. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. Not you, not Mona, not even Brandon. But you do what you have to do.”

  “Brandon?”

  “See what I mean, how things never work out for me? I thought getting rid of Mona would be the end of all this. But Brandon found out, too. He had that newspaper article and. . .” she swallowed, “... and the death certificate for Jodi Jorgensen. He’d overheard Mona talking to someone about it on the phone, but since she hadn’t mentioned any names, he didn’t know who she was talking about. After Mona died though, he saw his big chance. He went through her things searching for more information.”

  Claire’s expression grew tight, her features sharp and scrunched together. “I looked everywhere for that damn newspaper Saturday night, and I couldn’t find it. Brandon, though, he found it right away.”

  Her breathing was becoming shallow and quick. She paced two steps to her left, then to her right. Her eyes were fiery and intense, but they never left my face.

  “He wanted money,” she said indignantly. “I don’t have money, not the kind he wanted.”

  “So you killed him too?”

  “I had to. I told you that.” Her voice was pitched high and plated with a frantic uneasiness. “I get no pleasure from this, you know. It’s not what I wanted to have happen.” With a sudden jerk of her wrist, she glanced at her watch. “Get your shoes on. I want to get this over with.”

  The stagnant, brassy taste of fear filled my mouth, rose into my nose and down my throat I looked around for a weapon, anything to defend myself. A coloring book and a cup of lukewarm tea. It wasn’t much. “Where are we going?”

  “For a drive. You’re going to have an automobile accident, Kate. I’m sorry you can’t go peacefully into the night the way Mona did, but it should be over fairly quickly.”

  My eyes were focused on Claire’s hands. I probably had more of a chance against the cleaver than the stun gun, but I couldn’t figure out how I was going to get either one.

  Claire tossed me my shoes. “Lace them up,” she said, “then tie them together. No tricks, I’m going to check.”

  My mind still frantically searching for a plan, I did as she said. The shoes were cold and clammy on my feet, and they squished when I stood.

  “Take your purse,” Claire said, extracting the car keys and then tossing it to me. “We want this to look authentic.”

  She stayed far enough away that it was impossible to swing the purse at her. And with my feet hobbled, I couldn’t move more than a few inches at a time anyway.

  She held the door. “After you.”

  Outside, we made our way toward my car, Claire at my elbow, her stun gun readied. My eyes searched desperately for some neig
hbor or gardener or encyclopedia salesman making his rounds. I would even have welcomed a messenger of the Lord. But the day was dark and blustery, the kind that kept sensible people indoors.

  Claire opened the door on the passenger side and shoved me in. I felt the panic surge through me. This was it. Once I was in the car with her, she’d zap me with the stun gun and it would be all over. Quickly, and without thinking, I reached for the doors and locked them. Then I started fumbling with the knots in my laces.

  But I wasn’t fast enough. Claire was around the car in an instant. She inserted the key, opened the door and raised the arm with the stun gun. Holding my purse out in front like a shield, I leaned on the horn. And held my breath. Claire yanked the purse from my grip and tossed it into the back.

  “That was stupid,” she said, scowling.

  The only thing stupid about it was that it hadn’t worked.

  Just then a jogger rounded the comer. I prayed that he wasn’t tuned in to his Walkman, then hit the horn again. I also started screaming—loud, raw screams that I’d never in a million years imagined myself capable of.

  The man looked up, perplexed. I kept screaming, and started waving my arms as well.

  Claire stood by the door, frozen in a moment of uncertainty.

  From behind us, the heavy bass of a car stereo pulsated with a deafening beat. The jogger said something, but I couldn’t make out his words. Finally, he started toward us. Claire pivoted, and dashed the other direction, into the street.

  There was a screech of brakes, a heavy, sickening thud, and then silence, broken only by the steady, throbbing beat of a rap tune.

  Chapter 32

  For a moment everything was still, like a freeze-frame photo. My ears rang with the nerve-shattering screech of tires and the horrifying, almost silent thump, of metal against flesh. Then, seconds later, Michael’s car and two blue-and-whites pulled onto the street.