Odette C. Bell - Ladies in Luck - An Unlucky Reunion

by Odette C. Bell

  It was her turn to look up sharply.

  We were just about to cross the road as Annabelle paused, one foot in the gutter. “That she could have something to do with these murders?”

  Annabelle voiced the rather dark thought that had just popped into my mind.

  It was one thing to call Nancy borderline psychopathic; it was another to suggest without a scrap of evidence that she was behind the murders.

  . . . .

  Maybe I did have evidence? The postcard, the yearbook, the threatening glances she kept on giving me, the fact that she had been able to turn on and off her empathy for James Wood like the twist of a faucet—it all had to mean something.

  “Now, I know you can’t go around saying things like that without evidence. Innocent until proven guilty in this country, right?” Annabelle continued, her tone dropping as her voice lowered into a whisper.

  I didn’t say anything; I couldn’t say anything.

  “All I’m saying is that I know the people in this town and I remember my classmates,” Nancy left it at that.

  “But… what about last night?” I shook a little. “I’m not sure if you know, but the police went around to the motel because Denver found… something in her room. Nancy burst out on the two of us and she was a hysterical wreck,” I pointed out meekly.

  Annabelle did not look surprised and she did not look moved. Clearly she already knew about that snippet of news, and clearly she had already dismissed it. “You want to know what they found in Nancy’s room? Fine, it ain’t no secret around this town. Fingers.”

  I didn’t understand.

  Then Annabelle brought up her hands and waived her fingers. “Three of them. One from James and one from Hank, and a third from an unknown person, possibly another corpse the police haven’t found yet.”

  I gasped and slammed a hand over my mouth.

  “Now what else did they find? Photos of Nancy up on the walls, held there with these little blue tacks. Scrawled over them were threats in something that looked like blood but turned out to be oily lipstick.”

  “Oh my God,” my voice shook as I spoke.

  “She is now in protective custody.”

  “So she can’t… be… ,” I couldn’t say a murderer. I couldn’t push it out.

  Annabelle didn’t move and she didn’t say anything.

  She was obviously trying to point out mutely that my train of thought was illogical.

  Just because Nancy was in protective custody didn’t mean she couldn’t be the murderer. Just because there were fingers and a whole bunch of photos of her savaged over her motel room walls did not mean she hadn’t put them there herself.

  “Sometimes people just ain’t right in the head, you know?” Annabelle shook her head and shuddered at the same time. “This whole business is so goddamned terrible. I can’t believe it has come to Wetlake.”

  “I’m sure the police are doing everything they can,” I said, finding myself parodying none other than Denver Scott. Hell, I was almost using the exact same self-assured voice too.

  “I’m sure you’re right. Look, forget what I said; I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  I nodded. “How about I buy you a drink, something stiffer than a cup of tea?”

  Annabelle smiled in a sideways move. “I think I’d enjoy that. And frankly, it would be nice to have some company that doesn’t want to pass the time yapping about these darned murders.”

  I didn’t think she was taking a dig at me, but I blushed nonetheless. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

  “Oh no, honey, I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about every other person around these parts. You would think these murders are the most exciting thing that has ever happened to Wetlake. You would think we didn’t have anything to show for ourselves other than dead bodies in the bushes and fingers in peoples’ rooms. And I mean, just look at you, you went away and you made a name for yourself. Now that is something to be proud of.”

  Feeling a little awkward, I managed to nod and smile, and we finally made our way across the street.

  Though I thoroughly wasn’t in the mood considering what I’d just found out about Nancy, I still forced myself to buy Annabelle a drink. Before I knew it, a good chunk of the afternoon floated on by.

  Chapter 11

  Annabelle had to leave at three o’clock to do some shopping, but she kindly offered to let me stay at her house that night. After a short phone call with the mechanic, I realized I sure as hell wouldn’t be getting out of Wetlake any time soon. There was something drastically wrong with the engine, apparently, and because it was a hire car, the mechanic would have to relay with the company upstate.

  Though a tight feeling of apprehension had settled deep into my stomach at the prospect of spending yet more time in Wetlake, at least I was thankful I had somewhere to stay that wasn’t Thorne’s and that wasn’t the motel. Annabelle lived out of town, in a gorgeous place—she’d shown me photos—and she had more than several spare rooms. She also offered me wine, popcorn, movies, and the inside gossip on Thorne Scott.

  She planned to pick me up in town at about five, which gave me two hours to kill.

  I shuddered suddenly at that rather indiscreet saying, considering recent events, and quickly pulled my jacket further around myself as I walked across the street.

  I didn’t get far.

  In fact, just as I was about to walk up onto the opposite pavement, a car slammed on its brakes and pulled into the curb beside me.

  I jumped, my heart pounding fast in my ears as I shot backwards.

  I needn’t have worried that it was the Wetlake Killer ready to do some murdering on the way home though.

  Someone jumped out of the car.

  That someone was Denver. “Patti? Where the hell have you been? Are you okay?”

  Genuine concern contorted his features, and he ran forward with solid, frantic steps.

  I looked up at him sharply, blinking back my surprise.

  He looked like… I’d been missing.

  Shit.

  Something hit me with a clap, and unfortunately, it wasn’t lightning.

  “When you didn’t show at the police station, I went driving and I found your car. Fuck, what happened to you?” He was right by my side now, and though he wasn’t reaching out to clamp his hands on my shoulders, as his fingers twitched, I knew he wanted to.

  His raw display of emotion stilled me, and it stopped me from readying a sarcastic response. Instead, with pale cheeks and an ashen look, I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I’m fine,” I stuttered, “nothing happened. I’m fine.”

  He stiffened. He looked ready to get monumentally angry, a severe tension rippling up his shoulders and neck and locking every muscle in place. “Where have you been? People have been out looking for you. Fuck, if you were fine, why didn’t you give me a call?”

  I wanted to snap at him, to defend myself, but again I was practically bowled over by how fraught he seemed. He wasn’t taking a dig at me, and neither was this an attack; Denver was shocked and overwhelmed and quite likely justifiably pissed off.

  I put a hand up quickly and shook my head. “My car broke down. And then my phone ran out of battery. And then I couldn’t remember how to get to town. I kind of got lost. And I walked along the road, and then Annabelle came and picked me up. She took me to town and she sorted out with the mechanic to go back for my car. And I… could have called after that.” I admitted quietly. “But I don’t have your number,” I hazarded.

  I looked up to see Denver the perfect picture of rage. He looked ready to snap. “Do you know how any people have been out looking for you?”

  I shuddered, drawing my shoulders in, sick at the thought of how many police officers and agents had wasted their time looking out for little old me while I’d been enjoying a drink in the local pub.

  I shook my head, staring at my shoes.

  I didn’t know what to say, and for a long time he didn’t say anything either.

  “I di
dn’t think you were this kind of girl,” he snapped, bitterly. Very bitterly.

  I looked up sharply. Though I was feeling genuinely ashamed for what I’d done, my eyebrows crumpled down. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Wasting people’s time. Being stupid.”

  “Look, I understand how dumb that was. I just… I didn’t think. I was so relieved when Annabelle picked me up and it wasn’t some ax murderer that… I forgot,” I admitted rather lamely.

  “You forgot,” he repeated in the world’s most sarcastic tone.

  I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them again, his expression hadn’t softened any. If I thought that I could patch things up with Denver just by simplifying our communication and finally figuring out what I really wanted, I knew that wouldn’t work anymore.

  One look at his eyes told me how he really thought about me now, and it wasn’t as a potential date.

  I’d screwed things up, big time.

  And what’s worse, I’d taken his and everybody else’s attention away from catching the murderer.

  “Jesus, Denver, look, I’m so sorry.” I pushed my suddenly sweaty fringe off my forehead and latched my hand onto my hair as I raked my fingers through it.

  He didn’t say anything.

  I could handle him shouting at me, but this silent I’m-so-disappointed-in-you act was remarkably worse.

  “What’s wrong with your car?” he suddenly asked.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It ‘something with the engine. Something big. It just cut out on me. I couldn’t turn it on.”

  “It’s a hire car,” he pointed out gruffly.

  I shrugged my shoulders again, not knowing what else I could say. “I don’t know. The mechanic said it wasn’t something simple though. He said I was lucky I turned the ignition off when I had.”

  Denver’s already dark expression became a whole lot darker. “Which mechanic?”

  “Hold on,” I looked up hesitantly, “you don’t think—”

  “Answer the question,” he snapped back.

  “The one next to the bakery.”

  “Right. When are you heading out of town now?” he rounded on me again.

  I shrugged my shoulders one more time, feeling every inch the apathetic teenager. “I guess I’ll be going when they fix the car. It’s not like I have another one, and you certainly can’t hire anything around here. I suppose I’m stuck here, for now,” I swallowed as I spoke, probably giving away every indication to the trained Federal Agent that I was stupendously nervous. I wasn’t nervous because I’d done anything dodgy; I was simply quaking in the face of Denver’s rather deserved rage.

  “Where are you going to be staying?”

  Though my gaze had drifted down to my hands as I rubbed my thumbs quickly over my knuckles, I looked up carefully now.

  His expression had changed, hadn’t it? Yes, it was still as hard as diamond, but there was a flickering unease in that stiff frown of his.

  “Denver,” I tried to say softly, realizing that even though I hadn’t done anything with Thorne last night, I should still apologize.

  “Where will you be staying?” he snapped again.

  “Nothing happened between me and Thorne. He just offered me somewhere to stay, and I was tired and hysterical enough to say yes. No, hold on, that sounds bad. He was being genuinely nice. I slept on his couch. Nothing happened.”

  “Do you think I care? I want to know where you’re staying for the purposes of our investigation.”

  I usually wasn’t the kind of girl to get emotional, but I found myself closing down at that. I crunched my arms hard against my middle, turned my face to the side, and hoped that the hot tingling feeling in my cheeks wasn’t a prelude to tears. Though I was usually emotionally stable, these were not usual circumstances. “Annabelle has offered for me to stay at her house,” I answered quietly. “I’m sure absolutely everybody in this town has the address.”

  “Right.” Denver reached into his pocket and drew something out of his wallet. He handed it to me in the roughest way he could.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s my card,” he said stiffly, “now my number is on the back. Charge your phone the first chance you get, understand?”

  I nodded mutely.

  “And don’t do this again,” he said, his voice pregnant with warning.

  Though I was trying to act genuinely sorry, I had to narrow my gaze at that. “Look, I’ve just been stressed out. I know I should have gone straight to the police station when I got back to town, but… I forgot. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “I have to get back to the investigation.” He turned sharply on his foot.

  “Denver,” I called out to him.

  He walked back to his car. He got in, he turned on the ignition, and he drove away without so much as a wave.

  Oh crap. Way to go Patti Smith. I hadn’t just ruined it with Denver; I had turned him from a valuable ally into a simmering, bubbling pot of rage.

  Feeling guilty and ashamed, I found myself walking around town until I spied a handy wooden bench.

  Sitting down, I drew my arms around my middle as I kicked my feet over the cool, long grass.

  Looking up, I could see the glorious mountain ranges that pulled up behind the town.

  Staring at the way the sun glinted across those ragged rocks could take your breath away.

  Wetlake had always been startlingly beautiful, but like anything else worthwhile, you had to sit down and take the time to truly appreciate it.

  Well right now I had the time, but my mind wasn’t there. It wasn’t on the murders; it wasn’t on what I’d found out about Nancy; it was solidly circling around the topic of Denver.

  Though I spent a great deal of energy pretending I wasn’t attracted to the guy and didn’t care what he thought, now that I’d spectacularly lost him, I couldn’t deny how I felt any longer.

  He was rough around the edges, very rough, but he had a certain diligent charm about him.

  Swearing to myself occasionally and realizing there was no way I could fix this, I sat there and waited for the hours to tick on by.

  I wanted to head up to Annabelle’s. I wanted wine and popcorn too, and I wanted a bed that wasn’t a couch and that wasn’t in the creepiest motel around.

  Once it hit half past four, I figured I had time for a short walk before Annabelle was scheduled to pick me up.

  As I traveled through the pleasant, picturesque streets of Wetlake, a slight peace descended on me, but it was only slight. There was only so much peace I could have until I left this town and both its Scott brothers far, far behind me.

  As I walked through a particularly hilly section of town that had enormous, old, beautiful houses replete with giant oak trees and white picket fences, I heard a car pull up gently behind me.

  I didn’t turn around until somebody called out my name.

  “Hey, Patti, it’s Thorne.”

  I twisted my neck, and sure enough, there was Thorne getting out of his squad car.

  “I just wanted to double check you’re okay. We were quite worried there for a bit when you disappeared between my house and town.” He shot me a small, slightly disapproving smile, but one that was nonetheless friendly.

  Instantly I started to blush, and I pushed my hair out of my face. “I am so sorry for wasting everybody’s time.”

  He brought his hands up quickly at the strength of my sudden reaction. “I’m not going to shout at you, Patti. I’m just here to say I’m glad you’re safe and to check to see if you need a hand.”

  What a difference.

  One Scott brother would rake you across the coals, while the other would offer his hand in help.

  “Thank you, thank you for letting me stay at your house, and thank you for being so goddamn nice,” I added, being unashamedly honest.

  Was it just me, or did Thorne glance at his feet to hide a blush? “That’s what country boys are meant to do, right?”

&n
bsp; I snorted. “Well you’re doing a very good job of being the quintessential, charming, rural man.”

  He didn’t so much as blush again as get a certain kind of look in his eye. The kind of look that sent a certain kind of shiver down my spine.

  Oh Christ, I was doing it again. I’d spent the entire afternoon thinking about Denver, yet one look at Thorne and that alluring good-boy nature, and I was melting once again.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I wanted to kick myself.

  “Your brother seemed kind of… mad,” I brought up Denver, even though I shouldn’t have; at the mention of his brother’s name, that light in Thorne’s eyes extinguished in a flash.

  “When is my brother anything but an irritated jerk?”

  “He kind of had a point this time. Sorry, I just didn’t think. My car broke down, my phone wasn’t charged, and even though it sounds pathetically paranoid, I was going nuts thinking someone would drive up behind me and kill me in the woods.”

  Thorne managed a commiserating smile. “It’s not nuts. And I understand. When the brain gets stressed, it does strange things. I’ve seen it before, and there’s no point in getting angry with people. That’s why we train police officers; to make sure they can control their natural instincts in times of danger. So there’s no point beating yourself up, Patti, even if Denver Scott tells you you should,” he added, lips moving stiffly around his brother’s name.

  I’d spent the entire afternoon feeling extremely sorry for myself, but a few sentences exchanged with the dreamy Thorne and suddenly that weight was lifting from my shoulders.

  People did do dumb things when they were stressed, right? And I had been extremely stressed.

  “I heard about your car, and Denver mentioned you are staying at Annabelle’s. I hope everything will get sorted out for you soon.” He nodded at me.

  I gave a small, awkward nod in return.

  So Denver and Thorne obviously got on well enough to share information, or at least about me.

  I didn’t know how I felt about that.

  Still, I couldn’t deny that my short talk with Thorne was making me feel one million times better.