by Sarah Cain
“Here. Put this on,” Jenna said. She pulled a red satin dress out of her bag and threw it at Alex. She recognized the dress. It was the same one Jenna wore in the prom photo.
“I think you should let me go. Before it’s too late.” Alex kept her voice even and glared at Jenna, trying to keep herself calm. She couldn’t show weakness. She had to seem confident, like she knew she was going to be rescued. She had to believe it or she’d fall apart. “Please, Jenna.” Alex tried to make herself as small as she could. If Jenna got near her, Alex could kick out and maybe knock the heavier woman off balance. It was a crap plan, but that was all she had.
She wished her head didn’t ache so much. Her mouth tasted like it was full of old socks. The tape had loosened on her wrists, but it still bound them together. Alex didn’t know how much longer she could fend Jenna off.
“Don’t make me hurt you, Alex. Put on the dress.”
“But I’m so dirty.”
“You shouldn’t have tried to get out.”
“I can’t with my hands tapped.”
When Jenna took a step toward her, Alex cringed a little.
“Lie on the ground,” Jenna said. “Put your arms above your head and don’t move.”
Alex considered charging Jenna, but she still felt unsteady. She lay on the ground and held up her arms. She felt a quick tug and heard the sound of metal snipping through the tape before she realized Jenna was cutting her hands free with a pair of scissors.
Jenna stepped back. “Okay. Get changed.”
Alex stripped out of her clothing and stepped into the red dress, her hands clumsy and swollen. She managed to pull it up, though, and fasten the halter top. It hung on her, the upper half ballooning away from her body, the hem too short. She might as well have been naked for all the coverage the dress provided.
“Bitch,” Jenna said. “You’re too skinny! Get back down on the ground where you belong.”
Alex tensed, keeping her eyes on Jenna. Was it worth trying to keep Jenna talking? She had to try. “Why did you kill Ollie Deacon?”
“Ollie Deacon?” Jenna rocked back and forth. “What difference does it make?”
“Why him and not Frank Greer?”
Jenna scowled and tapped the flashlight against her hand. “I know what you’re doing. You’re wasting my time.”
“I’m trying to understand. Tell me why you killed Ollie.”
Alex watched Jenna, the way she rocked back and forth, tapping her flashlight. She wanted to get on with whatever she planned to do, but a part of her wanted to talk. Maybe she hadn’t ever talked about all of this—the prom, the kids, her anger and hurt. Jenna had crossed a line, but maybe she had been forced over it. Cruelty could easily break a fragile mind.
“Tell me, Jenna,” she said.
Jenna smacked the flashlight down against her hand. “I had to pay him to go to the prom, and he didn’t even buy me flowers.” Smack. The flashlight came down on her palm again. “I mean, I got him a boutonnière, and he couldn’t even get me a lousy wrist corsage. He was there that night, and he just got fucking stoned. Ollie Deacon was a useless piece of shit.” Smack. Smack.
“He became a cop.”
“He was a lousy cop, too. I followed him for a week, and he didn’t even notice me. He deserved to get shot.”
“You must have been pretty clever.”
Jenna glared at Alex, her eyes wide and furious. Crazy eyes. Alex waited for them to turn into cartoon pinwheels, but they remained focused and malevolent.
“I didn’t have to be clever. I’m fat.” Smack. “When you’re fat, people look right past you like you don’t deserve to be there. Nobody noticed me. I shot Ollie on a street corner right in front of his house, and six people said I was a black guy. How do you like that? Do I look black to you? Somebody even thought I was a clown.” Smack. Smack.
So much for eye witnesses. Alex wanted to be outraged, but right now, she couldn’t manage it. All she could do was huddle with her back against the wall and wait for Jenna to come to her.
“Is that how you killed the other guys? You just went up to them and shot them?”
“I didn’t kill them. Johnny did. I helped, though. We followed them. Some of them for weeks. Nate. Ricky. Chris. They were so stupid.”
“You were clever.”
“I didn’t have to be clever. You know why it was so easy to become my mother? Because she was an old, fat woman.” Smack. Smack. Smack. “All I had to do was cut my hair and change the color. I put on her dress and played with some makeup, and it was so easy. They didn’t even check the bones because who would believe it? My mother was only thirty-five anyway.”
“You killed your own mother.”
“My mother was a bitch. I couldn’t do anything right. It was always, ‘If you’d just eat salad, Jenna,’ or ‘Don’t wear that, Jenna. It makes you look chunky.’ Like I didn’t already know that.”
“Maybe she was just trying to help.”
“Maybe she was just being a bitch. She made fun of my stories. She always was after me to do something practical. Everything I did was wrong!” Smack. Alex thought Jenna would break her hand with that flashlight.
“I don’t understand. You killed your mom. You killed Ollie. Why did you wait to kill the others?”
Jenna blinked. “Isn’t it obvious? Danny’s wife died.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He thought I was dead. So when I heard about his wife and little boy, I knew it was a sign. We needed a clean slate. We could start all over again out here. Together forever. With our son. Our beautiful boy.”
“Wow.” Alex tried to comprehend what Jenna was telling her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Of course I had to tell Johnny about what happened that night. It upset him something fierce, because I raised our son right.”
“I’ll bet you were a wonderful mom,” Alex said.
Jenna caressed the flashlight. The red faded from her cheeks, and she patted her hair. She was still scowling, but she looked less fierce, as if the storm was passing.
“I was a wonderful mother. I did everything for my Johnny. Everything. He still nurses, you know. Still sleeps with me. We have an unbreakable bond. Completely unbreakable. He’d do anything for me. He loves his mommy.”
Alex shuddered but gave her a tentative smile. “I bet he does. So why don’t we sit here and talk until he gets back?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. We have to get ready, but I don’t think I can trust you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t keep you down here any longer,” Jenna said.
Alex didn’t wait to hear any more. She launched herself at Jenna, knocking the larger woman backward. All she had to do was get to the top of the stairs and out of the upstairs door. Alex took the stairs two at a time until she came to the top. The door was locked.
Hurling herself against the door, Alex screamed, “Help me!” She pounded it with her fists and rammed it with her shoulder again and again until she collapsed on the top step. When she looked down, Jenna stood at the foot of the stairs watching her with that strange smile. She patted the flashlight against her left hand.
“You’re pretty funny, Alex. Where do you think you’re going? Do you think I’d be so dumb that I’d leave the door unlocked?”
“Please.” Alex’s throat was raw.
“‘Please, please, please,’” Jenna said. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Unless you keep doing stupid shit. I need you.”
“Need me. For what?”
“You’re gonna be my maid of honor, of course.”
“What?” Alex’s legs were trembling. Jenna wasn’t kidding. She really believed she was getting married. Jenna continued to regard her with a cool, amused smile.
“You should be flattered, Alex. It’s a great honor, you know. I don’t even like you.”
“Who’s the lucky groom?”
“You have to ask?”
Alex nodded. Yeah, she had to
ask, though she knew the answer.
“It’s Danny. We’re going to get married as soon as he gets here.”
“Danny!” Alex almost started to laugh but realized tears were blurring her eyes. It was too bizarre the way Jenna veered in and out of reality. “How do you know he’s even coming?”
“Our boy is going to bring him home, and we’ll be a family. At last. It’ll be a happy ending. A beautiful ending.” Jenna frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Now you have to cooperate, because I have a lot to do and not much time.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll kill you,” Jenna said in a matter-of-fact voice. “So let’s not make this unpleasant. I have a wedding to plan!”
55
Despite the early morning traffic on the Washington Beltway, Ted Eliot was back home by nine o’clock. He’d already called in sick. Now all he wanted was to crash for the rest of the day and night.
He wished he could go back two weeks and start over, though that was surely not long enough. He needed years, not weeks. How did you erase a mountain of bad decisions? He’d wanted to get away from his father, and now he was tethered to him tighter than ever.
But there was something more going on. Something was wrong about those properties—at least some of them. There was some kind of cover-up going on.
Ted dragged himself up his front walk and unlocked his door. He didn’t care about his father’s schemes. He had no interest in exposing him for the fraud he was. Ted didn’t want to play any role in his father’s life at all. He wanted to get away.
He stepped inside, and someone grabbed his arms from behind. Cuffs snapped on his wrists as a bag dropped over his head.
“Hello, Ted,” said a soft voice. “We have things to discuss. Have a seat.”
Ted struggled to stand, but strong hands shoved him back into the chair.
“Who are you?” he said. He couldn’t see anything with the bag that smelled like old cigars tied over his head. His neck itched, and he could hear his heart rattling. What was this new insanity?
“We need to talk about Greg Moss,” said the voice.
“Greg Moss?” Ted’s bowels went cold.
“Tell me who killed Greg.”
“We think he was murdered by someone he knew from high school.”
“Was he? Was he really? What happened to his phone? His computer?”
Ted swallowed. No one knew about the phone and computer disappearing. It was privileged information. Only someone connected to the case could know about it.
“Who are you?”
“Right now, I’m the person asking the questions. All you have to do is answer.”
“Who sent you?”
“What did I tell you? I’m asking the questions, Ted. Let’s not make this more unpleasant than it has to be.”
If this guy was willing to break into a cop’s house, things could get nasty indeed. Ted didn’t want proof of intent. He could hear the determination in the speaker’s silky voice.
“His phone and computer were gone. But we know he was getting messages before he was murdered. Weird messages. Bible quotes. He told people. We believe the other victims were getting similar messages.”
“What else?”
“He was shot with a nine-millimeter semi. I’m betting a Glock because they’re common and light. All the other vics were shot with a nine millimeter.”
“The Glock’s a cop gun.”
Ted swallowed hard. “It’s a common gun. Lighter than some other models.”
“And it matches the gun used to kill the other victims.”
“The model is the same. We don’t know if it was the same gun. We can’t make a ballistics match for any of the victims.”
“I see.”
Ted listened to the ensuing silence. The person behind him shifted, the floorboards protesting slightly, and he became aware of the heavy breathing growing uncomfortably close. Ted was sweating, the rank smell of stogies filling his nostrils. He had been running all his life, trying to be something; he could no longer remember what. He no longer cared.
“And Dan Ryan. Is he a part of this?” The voice spoke with a strange urgency.
“No. He just stumbled into it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. He wasn’t involved.”
He heard the voice give an audible sigh. Of relief or frustration? Ted wasn’t sure.
“And Frank Greer?”
Ted almost jumped. “Frank Greer? I don’t know Frank Greer.”
“That’s kind of hard to believe. Greg said you were going to help him with people like Frank.”
“What? No. Greg and I were friends, but that was a while back. I got straight. He never—”
“He never asked for a favor?”
Of course he had. Over and over. Favors on favors until Ted reached his breaking point. Wasn’t that what you said when you finally snapped? You reached your breaking point? Sorry, old friend, but I’ve made one too many compromises.
“Yes. I did him favors. But he never asked for anything . . . major.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“He wasn’t stupid.”
But Greg was greedy, and once he got his claws into something, he never let go. Ted took a breath. Was this person going to shoot him? Did it matter? Did he care?
Again, that suffocating silence. Ted closed his eyes. In a way, he would welcome permanent quiet. This had become too much of a burden to carry.
At length, there was another deep sigh.
“Okay, Ted. I’m choosing to believe you for the moment. I hope it’s not a mistake. For both our sakes. I’m gonna unlock those cuffs and put you in the closet for now. Pretty ironic, huh? Don’t disappoint me.”
Ted heard the click of the key turning in the lock as the cuffs slipped off his wrists. He was propelled out of his seat, into the hall closet, and shoved in among the coats. By the time he had managed to yank the bag off his head, his inquisitor had gone. Like magic. He didn’t know who he was or where he had come from.
All he knew for certain was that he was a very dangerous man.
And he could easily make Ted disappear.
56
“We’re here, Dad.”
Danny didn’t answer. He stared up from the trunk at Johnny Jeffords and tried to get his bearings. He was soaked with sweat. The trunk was like a small tin oven, and he had been cooked on the drive to wherever they were. Swaying evergreens rose up around them, and the sky had grown overcast. Strange things peered at him from behind the trees. He cowered back until he realized the figures were resin elves. What the hell is this place?
“You look like shit, Dad.” Johnny reached out a hand to pull him out of the trunk. Danny shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to regain his faculties. He needed to find Alex.
“I hope love is blind. Mom’s been waiting a long time to see you.”
“Your mom’s a psycho, just like you.” He couldn’t summon the wit to parry with this kid. He could barely put one foot in front of the other.
“You better be nice to my mom, because I’ve got your friend.”
“If you hurt Alex, I’ll kill you.” Even he didn’t believe his rasping voice.
The trees shivered and swayed, and Danny blinked at the brightly colored pinwheels spinning in the air. As they approached a dark-green ranch house, he stared at the red ceramic toadstools and elves that littered the front lawn and hid behind trees. Yard junk, Beth would have called it. Eccentric, he would have countered if he were feeling kinder. He wasn’t feeling kind, but the fog in his head was lifting as the air cooled his body. Thunder growled in the west, and Danny could smell rain in the air.
Johnny ushered him into the house, and Danny looked around for any sign of Alex. But there was nothing. It was a simple ranch house, decorated in yellow and green and smelling of floral air freshener. Danny heard a cuckoo clock ticking in the cluttered living room.
“Your mother doesn’t seem to be at home,” he said, st
aring at the paintings and embroideries of big-eyed puppies, kittens, and children that adorned the living room walls. It was Jenna Jeffords’s precious world where romance novels came true—at least in her own mind. Disney tunes should have been playing in the background to complete the ambiance.
“Come on,” Johnny said.
“Interesting artwork,” Danny said.
“Mom did the paint-by-numbers herself.”
The cuckoo clock chimed the hour, and two fat wooden children emerged from one miniature door to chase a black-and-white puppy around into another. Danny stood gaping. It earned him another smack on the side of the head as Johnny dragged him out to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
“You drink some first,” Danny said.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s still sealed.”
“You first, Son.”
Johnny twisted off the cap and downed half of the bottle. He wiped his mouth. “Less for you now,” he said and handed it to Danny.
“Thank you.”
Johnny squinted at him, maybe to see if Danny was being sarcastic. When he realized Danny was sincere, Johnny actually smiled. He pulled out a second bottle. “You better take this.”
His mouth was parched, and the cold water brought tears to his eyes, but Danny sipped from the bottle, not wanting to cramp up. He needed to stay alert.
Johnny led him out the back door, and they set off down a dirt path. The wind was rising, and the dark clouds were rolling in, obscuring the sun. A fat drop of rain plopped down, followed by another and another.
“Where are we going?” Danny asked.
Johnny pushed him in the back. “To find Mom.”
“What about Alex? Is she alive?”
“Last time I saw her.”
The rain was falling in sheets by the time they reached a clearing where a dark-green utility shed stood. Beyond them, the river churned and bubbled, its brown water filled with debris. The thunder now seemed to roll across the sky as lightning flashed in shining forks.
