Marcy hung up again and pressed the phone to her chest. Still no answer, and her phone battery was beginning to die. "I don't know who she was with, Claire." She looked at her friend anxiously. "What if—"
"Calm down," Claire said firmly. "I'll find her. You just spoke to her. How far could she have gotten?"
Marcy stared at the phone in her lap. She was trembling from head to foot. "You're right," she whispered. "How far could she have gotten? You'll find her and then we'll get her the help she needs." She looked to Claire. "Because she's sick. She really is."
Claire patted Marcy's hand. "I know. She has to be. We'll get her the help she needs." She pulled into the hotel parking lot.
"I can get out here," Marcy said. "Please, find her."
"I want you to go inside," Claire said as Marcy climbed out of the car. "I want you to go to that hotel room and lock the door. I want you to stay there until I come back. Do you understand me?"
Marcy swallowed hard, fighting to gain control of her emotions. Sweat trickled down her temple, and she brushed it away. "I'll wait inside. I'll try to keep calling her cell."
"Good." Claire leaned over to see Marcy from the driver's side. "Now I'm not going until I see you go inside."
Marcy ran barefoot across the parking lot, down the walkway, and pulled open the hotel room door, bumping right into Jake.
"There you are," he muttered, pulling her into his arms. "Where have you been? I was just getting ready to call Chief Drummond."
Marcy closed the door behind her and threw herself into his arms. "Jake, you're not going to believe this."
* * *
Claire drove up and down the empty streets directly around the diner, looking for Phoebe Mathews, and then systematically moved her search grid. She called both her available patrol cars to join in the search and verified with the dispatcher that the APB had gone out so state and local police in the area would be looking for her. Of course, she had located Marcy's SUV right where Phoebe had said it would be, so they no longer had a vehicle to look for. That was going to make it more difficult to find her.
Claire drove around for an hour before she returned to the hotel where the Edmonds were staying. The door opened the moment she tapped lightly on it.
"Please tell me you found her." Marcy gripped the door, white-knuckled, her beautiful face pale in the poor light.
Claire's heart went out to her. After all that had happened to Marcy, and now to have her sister disappear like this. Surely she had to be as worried as Claire was, considering the murder of the two women. But she didn't voice her concerns aloud; it didn't seem necessary when she met Marcy's gaze. "We didn't find her, but we will." Claire tried to sound confident. "She'll turn up."
"That's right." Marcy gave a little laugh, now holding tightly to her husband's hand in the doorway. "Phoebe is always doing crazy things like this. She'll turn up."
Chapter 14
Phoebe woke up slowly, like after a hard night of drinking. She was confused. Dreamy. She thought she was lying on her side in what felt like a small, enclosed space. The air stank of exhaust. Plastic. Whatever she was in was in motion. A car?
She opened her eyes, but could see nothing. Her head swam and her stomach lurched and she closed her eyes again. Where the hell was she?
Flashes of what had happened that night flitted through her head. Disjointed thoughts.
All the crap with Marcy. The ice cream with Jake after he and the kids had gone to the movie. He'd been such a sweetheart. He was so good with Katie and Ben. So nice to her. They would have been so happy together. She would have made him a happy man. She would have made him love her.
Then everything had fallen apart. The botched carbon monoxide leak. She'd researched it on the Internet. It should have worked.
She should have just hired someone to stage a robbery and shoot Marcy. Right in that beautiful face of hers. People did it all the time.
Now the police were looking for her. They knew.
She opened her eyes again, trying hard to remember what had happened. How she'd gotten here.
She remembered talking to Marcy on the phone. Marcy, who had been babbling about how they would get her help. How the money she had taken from the bank accounts didn't matter. Money Phoebe had blown on manicures, drinks for guys she didn't know... coke. God knew what else.
And her sister was going to get her help? Right.
But after the phone call, what had—
Suddenly, in her mind's eye, Phoebe saw a car pull up. Someone she knew. She'd remembered smiling, leaning on the door. Flirting. She'd hung up on Marcy. There was nothing to say.
The guy had offered Phoebe a ride. She was going to ask him to run her out to Route One. She'd be able to hitch a ride from there.
He'd slipped his arm around her and then—
That son of a bitch! He'd put something over her mouth and nose. Something that had...
Phoebe opened her eyes again. The motion beneath her, around her, had changed. She was in the damned trunk of his car!
Why the hell would he—
Suddenly, she was afraid. More afraid than she had ever been in her life. He seemed like a nice enough guy. But he wasn't. He wasn't because he was the guy who had killed Patti and April.
Phoebe's heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she grew light-headed. What was she going to do? What the hell was she going to do?
The car had slowed when the motion changed. An old road, maybe.
Then the car stopped, and she held her breath. She heard a dog bark. She didn't know what she should do. Did she pretend to still be knocked out?
A car door opened. She heard his voice. He was talking to the damned dog.
Her mind raced. She was shaking all over. Maybe if she pretended to still be asleep, she might be able to get away when his back was turned. But maybe she should just come out of this damned trunk swinging. The element of surprise.
She went to move her arms and legs in the confined area and realized they were tied together.
Tears filled her eyes. She was usually one tough broad, but this...
The trunk popped open and she squeezed her eyes shut, lying motionless.
"Out of the way, buddy. Good boy. Don't want to step on you."
Phoebe felt his hand touch her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to scream. He was wrapping her up in something. Something crackly. She felt it brush her bare leg, and she realized it was some kind of plastic.
Was he going to suffocate her in it?
But he just wrapped her up and then lifted her into his arms. She opened her eyes just a little.
"Waking up, are you? You feeling all right? I know, stomach's a little upset, but that passes."
He was speaking so gently to her. So kindly. People never talked to her that way.
She looked up at him, half scared out of her mind, half pissed. She didn't try to fight her way out of his arms because what would be the point? She couldn't run, couldn't even crawl, trussed up like a turkey the way she was. "What are you doing with me?" Against her will, her voice trembled.
"Now, don't get upset. I just want to talk to you."
She studied his face. He looked like such an ordinary guy. Not a killer. And yet she knew... she knew he was.
"Please," she whispered, fighting tears.
"Now, don't get yourself all upset," the Bloodsucker said, carrying her through the dark barn. He didn't need the lantern because he knew his way in the dark. He walked to the picnic table, then around it to the chair that was now enclosed by a little wall he'd built on three sides of it. The wall was hung with plastic for spatter and could easily be removed and burned. Then he could just replace the plastic again.
The Bloodsucker knew this wasn't Marcy he held in his arms, and he fought the disappointment He'd known it the minute she'd leaned into the car, opened her mouth, and spoke. He'd had a moment of indecision then; take her, or leave her. But he needed someone so desperately. Ached so for her that he told himself
he could pretend Phoebe was Marcy. He could make it work because he was clever. It worked in the movies. Spencer Tracy had just pretended Katharine Hepburn was all those heroines and look at what had happened with them. In real life, theirs had been a true, lasting relationship. A relationship built on mutual love and respect.
The Bloodsucker lowered Phoebe into the chair that he had already covered with plastic. "Now, sit right there," he ordered. It wasn't like she could go anywhere—not with her arms and legs taped.
Keeping an eye on her, he went to the table, picked up the lighter, and lit the lantern, casting light on the table and a circle around it, including the chair. He looked at Phoebe. She was staring round-eyed at him. He picked up a roll of tape and she flinched.
"Don't be afraid," he said, coming to her, reaching out and stroking her hair. "Don't be afraid, Marcy, dear."
Marcy? Phoebe thought wildly. He thinks I'm Marcy? "No," she whispered, shaking her head. She tried to stand up, but he pushed her back in the chair. "I'm not Marcy."
"Hush," he said, picking at the roll of duct tape, trying to find the end.
She attempted to stand up again, but he shoved her back, harder this time.
"I'm not her," Phoebe said frantically. "You... you've made a mistake."
"I said shut up. Shut up or you'll ruin everything," he snapped. The tape made a horrendous tearing sound as he pulled it off the roll, wrapping it around her waist, around the chair. Then he grabbed her left arm, twisted it so the pale side of her arm faced upward. He slapped it onto the chair arm, yanking the right arm with it and began to tape her arms down with more duct tape.
Phoebe bucked wildly, rocking the chair. "Let me go! I'm not Marcy! You've got the wrong woman!"
He grabbed the back of the chair and steadied it. "I know that," he sneered. "But you could just play along, couldn't you! Just once, you could think of someone else instead of yourself!" He shouted in her face, spittle flying.
She pulled back against the chair, panting hard. Scared half to death. "You wanted Marcy," she whispered, suddenly realizing what he was saying.
He walked to the table and began to step into some kind of plastic jump suit.
Her gaze moved from him to the tray on the table. A tray covered by a white towel. Phoebe knew what he had done to the other two women. She knew what was under that towel.
"Please," she said frantically. "If... if you want Marcy, I... I can help you. I can help you have her. I... I swear I can."
He was pulling something that looked like a shower cap over his head. He glanced at her with interest.
"I can. I can. I'll do it," she said. "I swear I will. You know I will."
"And why would you do that?" he asked, seeming truly perplexed.
"Because... because you want her. And... and because you deserve to have what you want. My... my hair's not really even blond anymore. Hasn't been since I was thirteen. I bleach it. Look." She lowered her head. "Look at the roots."
"You would give me Marcy because I want her?"
She watched him step into a plastic shoe cover, her chest suddenly swelling with hope. "I would. For you. For you, I'd do anything."
"Liar!" He snapped on the other shoe cover, jerked the towel off the tray, and grabbed something shiny off it.
Phoebe recoiled in horror as he came toward her with the scalpel. "Well... for me, too," she said quickly. She stared at the scalpel, shaking all over. "Because I hate her. I've always hated her."
"Why?" he asked, actually fascinated that one sibling could do such a thing to another.
"B-because I always wanted to be her. Never could be. She—she was always so smart. Such a good person. P-people always liked Marcy. Loved her."
He lifted the blade to let it catch the light, thinking of the warm blood. Of its scent. It wouldn't be Marcy's blood, just like April's hadn't been, but there was no reason why he couldn't enjoy it anyway. Drink the power. "But not you?" he questioned. "You never loved her?"
She shook her head.
"And you would give up your sister's life in exchange for yours?" He stood in front of her now.
She nodded, tears running down her cheeks. "Please. Just let me go. I'll take you to her. I... I'll help you get her in the trunk, if you want. We can do it together."
The Bloodsucker lifted the blade. "You know," he said. "I actually considered letting you go. Letting you go because you're not who I wanted. I know how black your blood will be."
She stared up at him, blue eyes wide with terror.
"But you deserve to die," the Bloodsucker snarled.
The blade bit into Phoebe's wrist, searing her flesh, and blood bubbled up. She threw her head back and screamed. Not just in pain, in fear, but in bitter frustration. All these years she had wanted to be Marcy, and now at last, she was in her chair.
* * *
Phoebe Mathews's body turned up two days later in a dumpster at a condo construction site on the edge of town. Claire hadn't gotten her first cup of coffee down when she received the call from the station.
After hanging up from the call, Claire dressed slowly in her police uniform, watching herself in the mirror. No need to hurry now. Phoebe was dead, her body dumped like the last two women's. A tear ran down Claire's cheek as she sat on the edge of the bed to slip on her shiny black shoes, and she wiped at it angrily. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind now; what glimmer of hope she had clung to was gone. She knew she had a serial killer on the loose in her town.
Claire rose slowly from the bed and reached for her Beretta to strap it around her hips, dreading having to leave her bedroom. She had a serial killer stalking women in her town, and she was going to have to go to Marcy this morning and tell her that her sister was dead. Murdered. Bled to death by some sicko son of a bitch and dumped in a trash heap.
Her gun fastened properly, Claire strode down the dark hallway to kiss her sleeping daughter good-bye. Her whole life, Claire had dreamed of being the police chief of Albany Beach and now...
The job sucked.
* * *
The following morning Marcy sat at the kitchen table with her coffee and stared at the newspaper headlines. There was a high school graduation photo of Phoebe smiling at her, as beautiful and vivacious as she had ever been.
Somehow, Marcy managed a bittersweet smile. It seemed as if it was only a few days ago that this graduation photo had been taken, and she and Phoebe had had their whole lives ahead of them. And now...
Jake walked into the kitchen. "You don't have to read that," he said quietly, leaning over to brush his lips against hers. "We ought to just stop the paper."
"No," Marcy said, surprised she wasn't crying. No tears left, she supposed. "It's all right." She pointed to the counter. "Coffee's made. Hazelnut. Your favorite."
"You want another cup?" Jake asked.
"Please." She handed him her mug. "The headlines say the police are almost certain the same man killed all three women," she said, staring at Phoebe, who stared back at her.
"They'll catch the bastard, now. I have every confidence in Claire."
Marcy nodded. "Me, too."
Jake brought her the mug, filled to the brim with aromatic coffee, and sat across the table from her with his own. "I was thinking. What would you think about taking a vacation? Getting out of Albany Beach for a few weeks?"
"Until Claire catches him, you mean?"
"No, of course not," he protested. "Well, maybe, but not just because of this." He gestured to the newspaper.
Marcy cupped the warm mug in her hands and stared into the pool of black coffee, not wanting to sound like a nut job, but needing to tell Jake the truth. "This is going to sound crazy, but for weeks I've felt like someone was watching me, and now..." She looked up. "It's the strangest thing, but the feeling is gone. I'm not afraid anymore."
"You think he was watching you? Maybe both of you?"Jake didn't act like he thought she was crazy.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"Think about the vacati
on idea. We could take a month, six weeks even. We could go west like we always talked about. Maybe rent one of those motor homes you drive."
"It's tempting," she thought aloud. "But I've got all that work to be done if I'm going to open the restaurant by Columbus Day."
"We'll leave the real estate agents and the bankers to deal with it and shoot for a later date." He dismissed her argument with a wave. "I just feel like we need some time to be alone. Just you and me and Ben and Katie. Besides, it would be so unlike us to take off like this that I feel like we ought to do it." He grinned. "Mesa Verde? Rafting down the Colorado? It would be such an adventure."
Marcy lowered her gaze to the newspaper in front of her again. Her sister stared back at her with those big blue eyes of hers, full of wonder... and a sense of adventure.
Leave all her worries behind and take a trip to the Grand Canyon, Marcy thought. It was certainly the kind of thing Phoebe would do. Would have done...
Marcy looked up. "Okay."
"Okay?" He sounded shocked.
She smiled across the table at Jake, her faithful, beloved Jake. He had never even known Phoebe had been in love with him. "Okay, let's do it. We leave the day after the funeral, so you better get cracking." She got up from the table and carried the newspaper to the trashcan. Without bothering to read the article on her sister's murder, she tossed it. She and Phoebe had shared enough unhappiness in their lives. This wasn't the way she would remember her.
* * *
The Bloodsucker stared at the face of Phoebe Mathews on the front page of the newspaper. Smiling.
She wasn't smiling anymore.
Of course, when he picked her up, he had thought she was her sister, Marcy. He had wanted her sister. All those months Marcy had lain in that hospital bed like Sleeping Beauty, he had wanted her.
And now Marcy was gone. Gone with her family on an extended trip. That's what Loretta had told him.
She had slipped right out of his hands.
In a way, he had to concede, she had outsmarted him, and if there was one thing the Bloodsucker admired, it was intelligence. So Phoebe had been his consolation prize.
She'll Never Tell Page 25
