Second Nature (Crimson Cove Mysteries Book 2)

by Tara Brown

  “The guy in the hoodie?”

  He shrugged. “I don't know. I just know he was supposed to be watching you girls all the time. Keeping you safe. I hoped the killer would come for me at the cabin, but the only people who ever showed were you and Jake.”

  “And the blonde you kissed.”

  He furrowed his brow. “What blonde?”

  “I saw you kiss a girl. She brought you groceries in Milton.”

  He shook his head. “I had a delivery service meet me on the bridge once a week. I didn't have a blonde bring me groceries. It was some old guy.”

  “So you weren’t wearing a dark-gray hoodie and kissing a blonde?”

  “Might have been the PI. He might have been following you, and she was getting food.”

  I bit my lip and started the car. “Weird.”

  “What should I leave out of the story?”

  “Everything. Don't give them the letter or tell them you saw us covered in blood. As far as you are concerned, we never saw the body and neither did you. The fight was bad. You stole her car and drove it off the pier to spite her. You went to your family cabin to fish and chill and be alone, and when you went to townj you saw the news, naming you as a person of interest in the death of Rachel Swanson. You panicked because you had driven her car off the pier. You knew everyone had seen you fighting. And you had no alibi because you were alone all night. So you stayed hidden until Tom was caught for doing this. You are innocent.”

  “You think I should lie about all of it?”

  “Yeah. Your story sucks. Why wouldn't you call the cops if you saw someone murdering Rachel? Why didn't you fight for her and try to save her? How could you leave your sister behind to suffer through all of that? The cops won’t understand that you thought the killer was after you, and by leaving, you took the attention with you. They’ll find holes in your story.”

  “Good point.” He nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  “I’ll call Lindsey and tell her to put Vincent’s letters and pictures back in hiding. We won’t need to talk to the police.” I drove out of the driveway and noted the heavy level of guilt I had sitting on my chest. I hated lying, and we’d done a serious amount. We looked guilty. I just hoped we also looked scared as hell. Because that was the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The house of horrors

  I walked along the beach, listening to the waves and trying to understand any and all of the clues now taking up an entire wall in my dressing room and closet. Vincent had installed a lock, like the ones in his father’s office, to keep the wall safe. All our sins sat there, waiting for someone to come and take them, maybe use them against us.

  I wasn't entirely worried about that. I agreed with being cautious but the killer, who was my main concern, already had all of those clues. He had been dangling us like puppets with them.

  “The phones went off when we got to the second floor of Sage’s house, alerting us that Jake was in the attic. There’s just no way that was a coincidence. The killer was in the house with us, setting an alarm to go off on those phones so the song would be played simultaneously. The attic wasn't locked when we got there.” I looked at Lindsey as she walked beside me. “He must have snuck back out of the attic as we were in one of the bedrooms, and then left the house. Tom wasn't in Connecticut then. They arrested him as he got off the plane from Colorado the next day. The police are saying he planted the iPhones with the alarms before he left on his trip, and Jake doesn't remember anything to counter that. It was random luck we were there at the same time they went off.”

  “He knew you would go there then? He knew we would ping Rachel’s phone at that moment to find it at Sage’s, and then go there as the alarms were starting to go off? Is Tom psychic?”

  “Or is the killer watching us far more closely than we think?”

  “I think he’s one of us.” Lindsey looked as though she was swallowing a lump in her throat. “What other explanation is there?”

  “Rita might have alerted him. We never actually saw her message a friend for the location on the phone, and I was with her when she got the call from her friend who pinged the phone for her. Maybe she’s in on it.”

  Lindsey rolled her eyes. “You are still hating on her.”

  “No, I swear. I’m not. I’ll actually be disappointed if that's the case. I’m starting to really like her. And I think she’s right that she and Ash would make a good couple. She has all the things he liked about Rachel, and I don't think she has any of the things he didn't. When we talked about Rachel and the choking she looked disgusted and sort of scared, same face I made when I found out.”

  “I think she’s nice. I didn't at first. But now I see that her hating my snooping is because her family doesn't have the money they play at. Her dad lost almost everything with his insider trading. They’re broke. She is ashamed or protecting her parents. Either way, I get it.”

  “I knew it!” I kicked a small rock. “No staff. Who has no staff?”

  “Right. I don't know what her mom’s doing, but she’s been going back to Manhattan a lot. I suspect something is up with her, but it probably doesn't have anything to do with our shit. It’s something else. Whatever it is, Rita’s dad is looking really tired lately.”

  “Sorry to change the subject, but I forgot to ask you”—I walked to a log and sat down—“what happened in New York with Shuster Helmut? We got so caught up in everything.”

  “He denied knowing anything about the second dress. Said the dress had to have been copied, and he wanted to sue Rachel until I explained she had in fact been found dead, the very night his dress was first worn. Of course like a true diva, he was outraged. Sierra even threatened to ruin him. Said she would get all our mothers to smear his name if he didn't tell us the truth. And still he knew nothing about the second dress. He was genuinely pissed and hurt to think we would want to ruin him. I really think he’s been played as much as we have.”

  I scowled. “So Rachel or someone else had the dress copied? That's pretty crazy. I can’t imagine Rachel sewing, but I also can’t imagine her taking pictures in front of wood piles, so there’s that.”

  “Yup.” She nodded. “New York was a dead end.” She smiled wide. “But he does live in the Village.”

  “Of course he does.” I stared out at the choppy sea, noting the cold in the air. “We’re only a couple of minutes from Andrew’s. Want to pop in and say hi? I’ve been meaning to check in on him.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to as well.” We got up again and started walking. “His mom’s back from Silver Hills. After the whole Jake thing, she came home to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Well, we aren’t exactly safe in our own homes, are we?” I glanced behind me at the two men in suits following us.

  “Is Ashton home now?”

  I shook my head and grimaced. “Mrs. Miller won’t stay at the house. Obviously. So she and Emily are staying with Rachel’s parents. Ashton is staying at Jake’s and Sage is staying at Rita’s.”

  She cringed. “Awkward for you that Ash is at Jake’s.”

  “Yup.” I turned and walked up the beach toward the boardwalk. “Needless to say, I haven’t been going there much. Jake’s sleeping a lot and Ash is playing WoW all the time. We game together all the time. So naturally I’ve officially been blamed for ruining the star quarterback.”

  “They’ve sort of missed the season now. The quarterback hasn't been to a practice in two months. The running back has been skipping more than he should be so he can stalk my every move. The wide receiver’s fairly sick still and recovering from being held hostage and tortured. They must be pulling the second line—or whatever they call that—up.” Lindsey laughed and followed me along the walkway leading to Andrew’s yard.

  “I don't know.”

  We both stopped on the high point of the boardwalk, noting the fresh paint. “Guess we’re walking up through the tall grass.” She pulled me back. We crunched our way up the long sea grass bank to his house, bo
th pausing and staring at the paint spilled down the sides onto the grass and sand.

  “That’s weird. Whoever started painting it began in the middle and never finished.” Lindsey pointed. “And they spilled paint all over the sand and grass.” She pointed at the gray paint everywhere.

  “Yikes.” The paint was dry and unfinished. “My mom would have an aneurysm if one of our household staff left it that way.”

  “My dad would kill someone.”

  As we crunched along I nudged her. “So the message about hanging with us real son, I think that was to warn us. Like a code. Jake nearly hanged and Vince isn’t his dad’s real son.”

  Lindsey gave me a disgusted look. “He tried to warn us before he attacked?”

  “I-I don't know. I don't see how it adds up, but it’s weird we discovered Vincent isn’t his dad’s real son, and Jake was nearly hanged while dangling from a wall after receiving that message from the killer. Either it’s a coincidence or a very cryptic message.”

  “I told you there are no coincidences with this.”

  “Which means the killer is watching us and knows all of our next moves. Predicting what we will do before we even think about doing it. Who could possibly know all of us that well?”

  “Besides you and me? I don't know.” She shook her head as we rounded the corner of the large guesthouse and massive pool. We both stopped dead in our tracks. I tried to back up and pull us to a safe viewing place behind the guesthouse, but Lindsey was stuck, holding me in place, with her mouth open as a scream tore from her lips.

  Someone was floating in the cool blue water, facedown with a crimson red cloud all around them.

  The two security guards ran for us, shielding us as they called it in.

  I didn't turn away, not the way I wanted to. I stared at it, trying to see the connection or the clues. I would need them later when I calmed down. I would need to be able to draw it and describe it.

  Lindsey collapsed, gripping the security guard as he held us. The other guard jumped into the water and turned the body over, dragging her to the edge.

  “Mrs. Henning’s head maid,” I whispered.

  The words made Lindsey scream louder.

  I broke from the man holding me, running for the house. “ANDREW!” Something had happened to me in the last few weeks. I no longer ran from the things I was afraid of. I ran into the house, screaming at the top of my lungs, “ANDREW!”

  A smell cut me short.

  It hit heavy and hard.

  I retched as it crawled into my mouth and down my throat. I gagged and heaved, backing up as the rot of a pile of bodies hit me like a bat in the face.

  Stumbling back onto the deck, I started throwing up everywhere.

  The guard grabbed me, dragging me, puking and all, away from the house. He ran inside, screaming into the phone about the heap of death on the rec room floor.

  “What is it?” Lindsey shuddered, clinching her arms around herself in the corner.

  “Don't look!” I shook my head, staggering to her and wiping my mouth. I didn't cry. She did but I couldn't. I wasn't sad. I couldn't be sad. I was so disgusted and confused that sad was an impossibility. “Don't look!”

  She covered her eyes and wailed, making so much noise it actually scared me. It became like white noise, constant and fuzzy.

  The sirens and the screaming of the voices didn't drown out the sounds coming from her.

  It seemed like no time had passed before Vincent was there. It was sudden and frightening. He lifted her into his arms and ran. I didn't even see where they went. He just grabbed her and took her away, beckoning for me to come too.

  But the sick and twisted curiosity that had claimed my sanity some time ago, took over. I turned back to the house, ignoring the paramedics on the deck who were declaring Andrew’s mother dead, ignoring the guards shaking their heads while speaking to the police, and ignoring the man telling me to stay outside.

  No, I walked right back into the house, plugging my nose and looking at it all.

  Jake’s household staff was mixed with Andrew’s on the floor. I winced when I saw his butler, a man I knew Jake adored.

  The heap of them, all entangled and atop one another looked like the bottom of the Barbie bag at Rachel’s. It was where the broken and mangled Barbie’s sat. The ones who Rachel had decided to cut the hair off of, the ones who had lost an arm, or even the ones whose makeup had started to peel off from overuse.

  I walked past it, hugging the edge of the room, entering the hallway. I recoiled in horror when I got to the kitchen and saw the crusty dark bloodstains on the cupboards and floors. The marble was smeared, not wiped down.

  It was a house of horrors.

  I walked to the front door, needing to leave but not wishing to go back to the rec room.

  My eyes darted to the stairs where Andrew was being led down to the front door. His hands were in cuffs and his eyes were dead, like fish eyes.

  They darted to me, flickering on me for a moment, but they didn't liven. Not even when his lips turned up into a creepy smile.

  He wore the trademark dark-gray hoodie.

  It made sense.

  Somewhere in my frozen mind, it made sense.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  All Hallows’ Eve

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into him. His Batman costume suited him and made me think things I shouldn’t. I poked Jake’s good shoulder, his right one. “No padding?”

  “That's all me, baby.” He winked.

  “You’re an idiot.” I rolled my eyes and let him force me to waltz. It wasn't pretty, but he was very good at dancing, even with a bum shoulder and healing broken toes, so I looked like I might be too.

  “Perhaps. But Andrew is behind bars where he belongs. Tom has fessed up to our dads about mailing the stupid blackmail letters to Vincent, Rachel, and your mom from places he visited so Andrew wouldn't out him for having an affair. I hate to get cocky, but I think we might be on track for an awesome year.”

  I pulled back. “Andrew wasn't working alone, and he’s not talking to the police. We aren’t on track for anything. There’s still part of the team missing. You guys all got complacent at the end of summer when we hadn’t heard anything from the killer, and then bam, here we are.”

  “The girl whore wore the same dress as Sierra. She’s all that's left of Andrew’s psychotic breakdown team. And no one’s scared of girls.” He mocked me from behind his mask. It was hard to take him seriously when he looked so sexy. “Did I mention how hot you look in your Catwoman outfit?”

  “Yeah, and you made that dirty joke in the limo about what bats eat. It was gross and Vincent laughed and you pounded knuckles, and I rolled my eyes and Lindsey didn't say anything.”

  The way Lindsey was staring off into space now while Vincent talked to the guy next to them was upsetting. She was Princess Peach and Vincent was Mario. I’d almost laughed at first, seeing him in costume, but Lindsey had threatened me that it would be my fault if he never wore one again.

  “She’ll come around. She’s just traumatized. That was some scary shit.”

  “I’m glad she didn't see the half of it.”

  He pressed his lips into the side of my head and muttered, “I’m sorry you did. I wish I’d been there.”

  I pulled back, giving him a crazy look. “Dude, you shouldn't even be here. The doctor hasn't cleared you.”

  “God, I wish I could just close that steel trap of a mind of yours for one night.” He sighed and spun me. “I got my early acceptance into Princeton today—let’s talk about that.”

  “Of course you did. Did you even apply?” I laughed bitterly.

  “Yes, by being born.” The dance ended, and he wrapped an arm around my waist and led me over to where Lindsey and Vincent were standing. He was chatting up a guy from the football team they all called Sergio. It wasn't his name, but he answered to it. I didn't know why.

  Lindsey’s eyes darted to mine.

  When w
e got close she reached for me, taking my hand and walking away from the guys. Vincent’s eyes lingered on her as he spoke, the way they always did. I had to wonder if Jake trusted me more than Vincent trusted her because his eyes stayed on Sergio’s as he laughed and nodded at whatever was being said. Or maybe he just didn't care about me the way Vincent did.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “No. I keep thinking something else is going to happen. It’s Halloween. If I was a serial killer I might pick Halloween to be my D-Day.”

  “New Year’s.”

  She gave me a look. “What?”

  “New Year’s. I would pick New Year’s. Everyone is drinking. No one is expecting the Spanish Inquisition. Everyone is dancing and having fun. And they even have a goal: midnight. It’s like a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off—” I cut myself off and looked down, not wanting to meet the horrified look on her face. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” It wasn't, but lying was a comfort for her. “I was thinking, it must have been Andrew in the hoodie outside my pool house. He was the only one missing from the beach that night we did the vodka blood pact. And he’s about the size and shape of the person I saw. He would have been able to slip in and around all our houses. The staff would have let him in. And he’s always been overlooked because of the weed smoking. People see him as a total pothead.”

  “That makes sense. I bet that was how he was able to walk around Ashton’s PI team too. They were watching us all the time.” I nodded. “Or maybe Andrew knows Lucinda or maybe he hates us because his dad was bankrupt and ours aren’t and so he was trying to break them all.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Yeah. His dad was bankrupt. Maybe he killed his dad to get the life insurance. Maybe he just went crazy or always was. There’s no real point in trying to find the answer to Andrew. We need to focus on ourselves and getting past this.”