Evil Never Dies (The Lizzy Gardner Series Book 6)

by T. R. Ragan

  “Did she complain about him?” Lizzy asked.

  “No. It was way worse than that. Poor beautiful Miriam fell in love with Wayne Bennett.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. It took Miriam about twenty-four hours to fall for the guy. As if she knows what love is, right? She’s eighteen. He’s way too old for her. I just figured it was a harmless infatuation. Think about it,” Tammy said, leaning forward, her voice lowering. “Tall, handsome, distinguished, smart, and compassionate. A well-respected man looked up to in the community, a man who wasn’t satisfied with making millions of dollars but who claimed to have a burning need to help others.” Tammy moaned in disgust. “If my sister had made a list describing her perfect mate, Wayne Bennett would have fallen at the top of the list.”

  They both watched Tammy’s son run around the apartment making airplane noises, his wooden airplane rising to the floor and then back to the sky, around and around. The kid stopped in front of Lizzy, his airplane held frozen in holding mode. “Are you gonna find Aunt Miriam?”

  “I don’t know,” Lizzy said. “I sure hope so.”

  The little boy took off again. When he was out of earshot, Lizzy said, “In your opinion, is it possible Miriam and Mr. Bennett formed an intimate relationship?”

  “Not only is it possible—it happened. Our father is an asshole, so Miriam moved in with me. She’s been living here with my boy and me for a while now. After she met Mr. Bennett, I would get daily updates. If he so much as looked at her, I heard about it. The first time he took her to dinner, I thought her head would explode from excitement alone.”

  “Did she know he was married?”

  “She’s a smart girl, remember? Of course she did.”

  “So she must have known it wouldn’t last forever.”

  “She was book smart, I guess, not exactly relationship smart. Like a lot of mistresses out there, Miriam thought she was special.”

  “So what do you think happened? Do you think he told her it was over and she left town?”

  “Nope. Not even close. I’ve heard rumors that Miriam had met someone else, a younger guy, so, in my opinion, I think one of two things happened. Miriam either threatened to tell the world about their relationship if he didn’t leave his wife, or she told him about this other guy and Bennett didn’t like it.”

  Tammy sighed and then wiped away a tear. “She can’t be dead. She just can’t be. He must be keeping her against her will somewhere, like maybe in his mountain cabin. I heard he had a vacation home in Lake Tahoe. All rich people have one of those—don’t they?”

  “You told me over the phone that you had a picture of them together. Can I see it?”

  Tammy laughed. “Bennett would not allow Miriam to take pictures of them together.” The look on Tammy’s face was a sly one. “He wouldn’t allow her to use her phone when they were together, either.”

  Lizzy frowned. “We need proof.”

  “Calm down, girlfriend. You see, Mr. Bennett had no idea who he was dealing with. Just because Miriam couldn’t pull out a cell phone or take pictures of them together, that didn’t mean her friends and family couldn’t.”

  Tammy picked up an envelope and dumped its contents onto the coffee table between them. Pictures of all sizes slid out, some falling to the floor.

  Lizzy scooped up the ones from the floor. “Did your sister know about this?”

  “You bet. It was her idea.”

  Lizzy examined one particular photo: a clear shot of Miriam and Wayne Bennett enjoying a candlelit dinner for two. “Do you know where this was taken?”

  “I sure do.”

  “How about date and time?”

  “Yep. I got it all.”

  Lizzy’s adrenaline kicked in. “I’ll need a list of friends and family, anyone who might have seen Miriam with Bennett. I will also need her last place of employment and anything else you can give me.”

  “I’ll make you a list right now.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Up until three weeks ago, when she discovered she was pregnant, Lorry Jo Raciti considered herself to be lucky in life. Not a perfect life, but a good one.

  She and her second husband had been married for ten years. They had three children who meant the world to her. The problems all started when she returned to the workforce. She was an assistant for a slew of engineers at a software company in Folsom. Going to work, interacting with other adults, getting respect—not to mention a paycheck—was a high she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  But she’d blown it. She’d let one of the engineers get the best of her: tall, handsome, great-smelling cologne—a drink after work and then instead of driving her back to work where her car had been left in the parking lot, he’d gotten halfway to their destination and pulled over to the side of the road.

  She had more than a hunch he wanted to kiss her.

  She wanted to kiss him, too.

  Under the pretense of getting some air, needing a moment to think about whether or not she would allow him one quick kiss, solely to get it out of her system, she got out of the car. He climbed out, too, and the next thing she knew, he took her hard and fast on the hood of his Camaro.

  It was exhilarating, intoxicating: the best sex she’d ever had.

  And that was it.

  Ten minutes of hot and heavy, mind-blowing sex ended up being ten minutes she would never forget for as long as she lived.

  Not because the man or the sex was unforgettable, but because she was pregnant.

  This morning, like any other morning, she woke up, kissed her husband, got dressed, and then made sure the kids arrived at school on time. Instead of going to work, though, she came here, to the American River. She had grown up in Sacramento, and this trail—with its views of the meandering river, leafy trees, and so much wildlife, a picture that would stay with her for days—was where she always went when she needed to unwind or to think things through.

  If she were going to keep this baby, she would need to tell her husband the truth. After the birth of their third child, he’d had a vasectomy. Her only other option, as far as she was concerned, was to have an abortion and never tell a soul.

  The sun’s rays hit the water in a way that made the river look as if crushed diamonds had been sprinkled over the top. Nature at its best—alive and welcoming.

  Although her earbuds were in place, it was only for show. When she wanted to think, didn’t want to say hello to people she passed, she wore the buds in hopes of being left alone. Since they weren’t connected to anything, she could still hear the water as it lapped gently against the shoreline. She could hear the birds chirping and the rustling of leaves and tiny feet against bark as the squirrels chased one another, circling a tree.

  Her thoughts progressed to the matter at hand, and she tried to imagine what her unborn child would look like. Boy or girl? Blonde or brunette? All of her kids were so different, in both looks and personality. Would this child have her blue eyes? She imagined her other children playing with the new baby, arguing over whose turn it was to hold him or her next. She had two girls and a boy. Her son would love to have a brother. Did her husband love her enough to make this work?

  She lifted her gaze to the sky and smiled as the tremendous weight of indecision lifted from her shoulders.

  Everything changed in that moment.

  She knew she had made a mistake. There was no getting around that fact. But she would do everything in her power to make her marriage work. Her mind was made up. Chills swept over her. She would keep this baby.

  The distinct sounds of someone approaching startled her. Lost in her thoughts, she’d momentarily become unaware of her surroundings. Before she could turn around, an arm circled her neck and a rag was stuffed into her mouth.

  She struggled for breath.

  And then she fought for her life and the life of her unb
orn baby. She couldn’t die! She kicked her attacker in the shin. Not now. Certainly not today.

  She clawed at his face, determined to leave a mark.

  It was such a beautiful day.

  Even now as she was dragged over the slope of a hill, the sharp edges of twigs and rocks digging into her back, she could see the morning rays of the sun peeking through the trees.

  Someone would help her.

  There were always so many people on this path. But this wasn’t Saturday or Sunday. Today was a workday.

  Help me, please.

  Her children needed her. She found the physical power to fight on. She kicked him again, kicked him hard, but she could already feel her strength leaving her.

  She thought of her husband. Would he ever know how sorry she was?

  She prayed he would never learn of her condition. But if he did, she prayed he would find it in his heart to forgive her.

  Well hidden beneath the leafy canopy of a giant oak, he had watched and waited. Every so often a biker would whiz by, a group of runners, or the occasional couple taking a morning walk. The pathway veered along the American River, a watercourse that ran from the Sierra Nevada mountain range, converged with the Sacramento River, and eventually emptied into the San Francisco Bay and then the Pacific Ocean.

  He loved to watch the kayakers and paddleboarders skim across the river from his balcony at home, but his newest plan had forced him out of his rut to try something new.

  He was in no hurry this morning, yet it wasn’t long before he saw a lone walker on the horizon. Yes, she was walking this way. He could see wires dangling on both sides of her face. She had buds in her ears. Not a smart move. No cell phone on hand, at least that he could see. She walked at a good clipped pace, would be upon him any minute now. As long as no other walkers, runners, or bikers showed up, she would be the chosen one—his next victim.

  From his spot on the hill, he could see just far enough both ways, far enough to see that the timing couldn’t be better. The moment the woman passed him, he headed out from under the tree and onto the trail, making quick work of catching up to her. His hand came around her face, and she opened her mouth to scream just as he knew she would. He shoved a rag into her mouth to muffle her cries as he dragged her into the cover, past the place where he’d been watching the trail, deep into the thickest part of rocks and trees.

  Damn.

  She was a fighter.

  She kicked and she hit.

  Even after he had her on the ground face up, his legs straddling her, the weight of him holding her down, his hands around her throat, she managed to rake sharp fingernails across his face.

  “You bitch.”

  He clamped his hands around her neck and squeezed until he thought the pads of his thumbs might go through her flesh and come out the other side.

  Her eyes widened, wild with fear. He felt her heart rate race, watched her cheeks redden. He grew hard watching her expression shift from anger to terror.

  Even as he stared at her, unblinking, he felt her arms go limp at her sides.

  Now she had stopped fighting altogether. Her legs had gone slack beneath him.

  His gaze became one with hers. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. She might not realize it as she took her last breaths, but she was special. He would remember her for the rest of his life. She was magnificent. Her eyes, as blue as the clear waters of Tahoe, had turned a stormy cerulean right before they lost their luster. On canvas, she would come alive.

  Overcome with joy, filled with orgasmic satisfaction, he finally released his hold on the woman. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he filled his lungs with the smell of fear, death, and ultimate control.

  He pulled out a two-inch blade and cut away her clothes, then sliced through flesh from left to right, then a clean diagonal cut from her collarbone to her hip bone, and then straight across. He finished his signature with one last horizontal cut.

  This time he’d made sure to leave a mark big enough so every crime scene technician who came within ten feet of the girl would see it.

  Taking a step back, he took a good long look at his bloody artwork. He stared at her, unsure of the mix of emotions he was feeling. He wasn’t ready to leave, but he had no choice. He tilted her head just so, fixed her hair as best he could, and then spared her one last glance before he walked away.

  Heading back toward the trail, he stopped to bury an item he’d brought with him—a mirror. He scooped out the rich soil, placed the mirror inside, covered it up, and gently patted the soil until it was hardly noticeable. Back on his feet, he inwardly scolded himself for leaving the object. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. It was a small but essential part of the composition—the mirror was the artist’s reminder to reflect and speculate, to look inside oneself to gain self-knowledge. With a heavy sigh, he peeled the gloves from his hands, rolled them into a ball, and slid them into his pants pocket. Hidden behind brush and trees, he heard talking: two women discussing their marital woes. He took a quiet breath, held perfectly still, and waited until they were far enough up the trail that they wouldn’t notice him.

  He crossed the path, admiring the vast array of trees, all different shades of green, some with silver-tipped leaves. Making his way toward the river, his latest victim all but forgotten for now, he found himself wondering why he didn’t do this more often. The great outdoors: blue skies and the fresh smell of fish, plant, and earth all mingled into one.

  Crisp air brushed his face and still he considered it to be fairly warm for the month of April. Halfway down the trail, he saw the very tip of his yellow kayak peeking out from under the brush. Upon reaching it, he leaned over and picked up his life vest. He slipped it on—you could never be too safe when it came to large bodies of water—and, when he was certain the river, at least as far as he could see in either direction, was devoid of people, he slid his kayak into the smooth water, carefully took his place inside, and began to paddle for home.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lizzy’s longtime therapist, Linda Gates, placed a cup of hot green tea on the side table next to the couch where Lizzy was sitting. Then she picked up her notebook and sat down in her leather chair. “I have an unusual request.”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a woman I’ve been seeing for a while now. She lost her husband and their three small children to a drunk driver.”

  Lizzy had no idea where Linda might be going with this. Not once in all their years together had she uttered one word about another client. But Lizzy sat quietly and waited to see what she had to say.

  “You might have read about it in the paper. Her husband wanted to give her a break, so he decided to take the kids to his parents’ house fifteen minutes away. They never made it.”

  More waiting.

  “She read about what happened to Jared, and she thought you might benefit from having someone to talk to. Someone who has dealt with a tragic loss of a loved one.”

  “Isn’t that what I pay you for?”

  “I agree with her. I think it might be helpful for you to talk to someone who has dealt with a traumatic and unexpected loss.”

  “I think it’s a stupid idea.”

  “Why?”

  “People all over the world are dealing with shit worse than mine or hers. She’ll never be the same, and neither will I. We all just have to keep on moving, get through another day and then another until it’s all one big blur again.” Lizzy lifted a shoulder. “We all heal in our own way and in our own time. You know that.”

  “I’ll tell her you’re not ready to talk to anyone.”

  “Tell her whatever you want, Linda. Tell her I’m sorry for her loss. While you’re at it, you might think about telling her the truth.”

  “And that is?”

  “That it might not get any better. That the days get longer and the nights get d
arker. Her best days could well be over.”

  “We don’t know if that’s true.”

  “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “I’m worried about you, Lizzy.”

  Lizzy uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again. She picked nonexistent lint off the couch.

  “You seem angry.”

  “No. Really?”

  “Who are you angry with?”

  “Everyone.”

  “You’re angry with me?” Linda asked without reproach.

  “Yes, even you. I’ve known you for what, eighteen years, and I don’t know anything about you, but you know everything about me. That’s fucked up. And, let’s see, I’m angry with my mother. She didn’t come to my wedding, which was probably a good move, since she could have been shot and killed had she made the effort. But she didn’t come. She’s alive and well. So, would it kill her to call me every once in a while? And then there’s my sister.” Lizzy waved a hand through the air. “I’m not even going to bother going there—the list is too long. But you know who I’m really pissed off at?”

  “Who?”

  “Myself. I hate me. I hate every choice I’ve ever made. I hate being around people. I hate seeing my reflection staring back at me, always judging. I hate the way food feels on my tongue and the way I never taste anything. I hate the ugly gray skies every time I look up. The six o’clock news makes me sick to my stomach. I hate the drizzly rain out there today. I mean, if you’re going to rain, you might as well pour. Give us some real water, not this half-ass shit. I hate my life. Most of all, I hate being so fucking angry.” Lizzy clamped her mouth shut. She was finished.

  A long, drawn-out moment passed before Linda said, “You have every reason to be angry.”

  “Well, thanks,” Lizzy said as she started to stand up. “Are we done?”

  “Not quite.” Linda straightened. “I’ve been married and divorced twice, and I never had children.” Linda put her notebook aside. “Not because I didn’t want them, but because I was born with a fixed number of eggs and the health of those eggs declined as I got older. I’m fifty-eight now. It’s too late for me.”