“I’d figured that out. Berk said in this state hogs were revered.” He grinned at her.
“Revered? Well, rooted for, but revered depends on a winning season. Anyway, SueAnne wasn’t as comfortable around guys as she pretended to be. Staying with Hog made her feel secure. It was as if they’d grown up together. They probably would have gotten married eventually, although I’m not sure SueAnne had the grades, or the ambition, to get accepted at U.A. She wasn’t much of a student.”
“What do you think she wanted to do after graduation?”
“Go to cosmetology school. She loved doing people’s hair. Or maybe she’d have worked in a dress shop. I guess some people would have put her down for being interested only in clothes and hairstyles—things like that. But she was the world’s sweetest person. And loyal. She’d do anything for her friends. I can hear her now saying, ‘You’re smart, Vicki. You have to go to college. But I don’t. Hog says he doesn’t care. I can move to Fayetteville with him and get a job there.’ Hog is only going to college to play football. He hopes to become a pro.”
“He’ll end up making more money than we ever will.”
They kept talking about careers and school and ordinary things until Vicki began to feel almost normal. It was what she needed. If she’d have hung out at The Pit, all the talk would have been about SueAnne and who might have killed her.
Here she was thinking about it again. The fact was lying there, beneath the surface of everything they talked about, everything she did, waiting to zap her. She was quiet for long enough that Scott must have read her mind.
“Mom says it will be hard to catch whoever killed SueAnne unless he does it again.” He broke a stick into little pieces while he talked. “My mom is the new assistant district attorney here. I don’t know if you knew that.”
Vicki stared at the river. “Yes, I did. Does she think it will happen again?”
“She says that even though there were no visible signs of murder, the way they found SueAnne, the way she was dressed, flowers in her hair and everything—well, it smacks of the psychotic killer.”
“A serial killer?” Vicki thought the idea belonged in some movie or TV series, not in their peaceful little town.
“I guess that was what she meant. She flew out to California this summer for some workshops. One of them was on the psychology of the serial killer.”
“That’s pretty ironic, isn’t it? Your moving here just in time for her to get in on this?”
“You mean, like she was getting ready to investigate this case? I guess so, but scientists don’t believe in coincidence.”
Vicki bit her lip. She felt as if she was going to cry again. “I—I think I’d better go home.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Vicki. I’m sorry.” Scott helped her up. “I shouldn’t have brought up the subject again.”
“You didn’t upset me, Scott. I was thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s just that—well—I don’t think I can handle any more today.”
“Will someone be home?” He had trouble starting the jeep.
Vicki had seen the subtle exchange of keys. She knew it wasn’t Scott’s jeep. Berk didn’t have time to fill him in on its personality.
“Pull up on the key,” Vicki suggested. “A car this old always has some idiosyncrasies.”
“You’ve been in this car before?” Scott grinned, knowing she had.
“Berk’s a sweet guy. He’s given me some rides. I’m not ever going to have my own car unless I buy it myself.”
They bumped back to the highway and turned right into town. Vicki directed Scott to her house, only three blocks from the high school.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said as he came around and helped her from the seat. She couldn’t remember the last time a guy had done that for her. Maybe never. He kept her hand in his for a few seconds. Long enough for her to be aware it was on purpose.
“I’d like that, too. Don’t plan on winning the pool, though.”
“You know about it?” He had to laugh.
“Everybody knows everything about everything in this town, Scott. Get used to that, and be aware of it.”
“We could split the proceeds,” he teased.
“Find out how much is in it.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed again. She ran to the house laughing. Then turned. “If it’s a lot, I might not be able to resist your offer.”
She might not be able to resist, prize money or no. She definitely wanted to see Scott Lawrence again—again and again. It was the only good thing that had happened to her in a long time.
Unlocking the front door, taking the precaution to lock it again securely, and being aware of why she was careful, she shivered and ran up the front stairs to her room. Scott had not only helped her feel a little better, he had given her something new to think about. Something to dwell on instead of the terrible loss the whole town had suffered. Instead of the possibility of what happened to SueAnne happening again to someone else.
Coincidence—or not—Scott had shown up just when she needed a new friend, not a love interest, although that might come later. But a new friend. Someone to talk to. Had he been sent to her just in time? By whom? God? The Stars? The Universe?
“Hey, you,” she whispered, looking out her window at the clouds gathering to the west. “Whoever up there is in charge of good things happening. Thanks.”
Chapter 5
Scott returned Berk’s jeep, resisting giving Berk any details about Vicki. The time they’d spent together seemed private, rather like a treasure he wanted to enjoy alone, for a time anyway.
“She just needed a ride home,” Scott said, handing Berk the keys.
Berk looked at his watch. “It took two hours to drive her across town—this little burg?”
Scott shrugged. “I’m a slow driver.”
“Sure you are. I’m betting she took you to one of the favorite make-out places around here.” Berk grinned. “You owe me.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Scott must have had a silly grin on his face the rest of the day. At dinner his mom said, “You all right, Scott?”
“Yeah, Mom, fine.”
His father smiled. “Want to tell us about it?”
“Not yet.” He went to his room and looked over his homework, trying to remember if he even had any. School was dismissed for the afternoon, for the funeral, but he must have assignments from the morning classes. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t seem to matter. He’d catch up later. He spent the rest of the evening listening to a couple of new Tangerine Dream tapes and daydreaming.
Reality returned at school the next morning. When he walked onto the grounds, people stood in small clumps whispering. There was no horsing around, no yelling, pushing, no trading of wisecracks. What was wrong?
Not wanting to walk up to a clique of strangers, he finally spotted Berk and two other guys standing near a huge oak tree.
“What’s up, guys? Bomb scare? World War III? Another sports hero with AIDS?” That was the mood, but Scott tried to keep his question casual.
“Just as bad. Belle La Fouche seems to have disappeared.” Berk filled him in.
“Like—like SueAnne disappeared?”
“You got it. The last time anyone saw her was at The Pit yesterday. You know, when she insulted my manhood.” Berk reminded him, as if Scott was going to forget someone like Belle in a hurry.
“Careful,” suggested one of Berk’s companions. “If that gets out, you may be a suspect in her disappearance.”
“Me kidnap Belle La Fouche?” Berk chuckled. “I wouldn’t have the guts, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I wouldn’t know what to do with her. She is too hot for me to handle.”
“Yeah, you’d bring her back in about fifteen minutes.” The shortest guy in school, Scott guessed, grinned at Berk. And his standing beside the tallest reminded Scott of some old comic movies he’d seen in a film class in his junior year. Abbott and Costello—he remembered
the team. They were pretty silly, but even remembering some of their routines couldn’t make him want to laugh this morning.
Why hadn’t his mother told him another girl had disappeared? Because he had breakfasted alone, he realized. Dad always left for work early, but his mom must have been called out before Scott got up.
A choking panic filled him as he searched for Vicki and didn’t see her. But he’d watched her until she was inside her house, and he was sure she’d locked the door behind her.
“What’s the matter, Lawrence?” Berk noticed Scott’s reaction.
“Have you seen Vicki this morning?” He tried to be casual, swallow his fear. If Belle could disappear, so could Vicki. Just as she said yesterday, if one eighteen-year-old girl could die, any of them could.
“I did,” Abbott said. “She got here the same time I did. I hardly recognized her. She had on a plain T-shirt, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her when she wasn’t smiling.”
“Catch you later, guys.” Scott didn’t wait to be introduced to Berk’s friends. He wanted only to find Vicki. She might not want to be with him, and classes would start in a few minutes, but he just wanted to see her, to know that she was all right.
By noon he was ready to turn the school inside out. How could he care so much about anyone in so short a time? But he did. He cared a lot. He’d gotten a tray in the cafeteria, not even looking to see what was on the menu. Now he stood beside a greasy table and let his eyes roam the crowd.
“I’m right behind you. Thanks for caring.” She walked around and tossed a wrinkled brown bag on the table. “Berk said you were looking for me. I didn’t read your mind.” She smiled, but the sparkle didn’t reach her eyes. And her T-shirt was solid baby blue, no message. Scott knew that reflected her mood. “I almost stayed home today, but then I realized that being alone would be worse than trying to act normal.”
“I think I would have come looking for you at noon,” Scott admitted. “Would that have bothered you?”
She shook her head, studying his face, then stared at the brown bag as if she didn’t recognize it. “No. I’d have been flattered.”
“You heard about Belle?” He knew she had.
“Yes. Maybe your mother was right. You have any inside information?”
“Just that Mom wasn’t at breakfast. I didn’t notice it at the time.”
“Close family,” she teased.
“We’re all pretty independent. Mom and Dad are both on call.”
“A reactor blows up or someone is murdered, out they go to the scene.” Vicki ripped open the bag, revealing a sandwich and an apple. It was an angry gesture.
Scott figured she was still reacting to yesterday’s funeral. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing she would usually say.
“Hey, maybe there’s some logical answer to where Belle is.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.
Her voice broke. “Her parents called me last night. They were desperate. Occasionally, Belle hung out with SueAnne and me.”
“Berk says we may have seen her last at The Pit.”
“No, she went over to the photographer’s studio. They had already called David Altman. He said she left there after about an hour of retake photos. That would have been about five o’clock. She never got home for dinner.”
Vicki took one bite out of her apple, then tried to pack the lunch back into the torn bag. Watching her made Scott lose his appetite, but when he realized he had a corn dog and baked beans straight from a can, he didn’t much care.
“Shall I call you after I get a chance to talk to Mom?” Scott didn’t know if his mother would have any more information than Vicki did, but it was a way to keep in touch with Vicki.
“Oh, would you, Scott? And maybe—” She didn’t finish the sentence, but twisted the brown bag tighter and tighter around her uneaten lunch.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I didn’t sleep last night. I’m going home.” Vicki stood up. Scott jumped up, causing silver to clatter on his tray.
“You want me to walk you home? I’d like to.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. I rode my bike, and it’s not that far. I need to be alone, and you don’t need to miss your classes, too.” She moved close to him and looked up into his eyes. “Thanks, Scott. I’m not good company. I wish we had met before—before—”
“I’m glad we’ve met now. Listen, I’ll call you as soon as Mom gets home. It might be late, though.”
“I’ll be there.”
He watched her leave, feeling helpless and sad for her. And, to tell the truth, scared. He should have insisted he walk her home. No matter how much she protested.
His mother was late to dinner. Dad had gone back to town to get barbecued chicken, slaw, and a six-pack of Coke. Scott remembered he’d skipped most of his lunch. He and his father devoured the spicy chicken without saying much.
The air was hot, way too hot. The storm that had threatened the night before still hung out on the western horizon as if stuck, or waiting for the right moment.
When his mother came in her face was serious, and dark circles underneath her eyes made her look extra tired. What time had she been called out? Maybe not this morning. Maybe last night. She melted into a kitchen chair and kicked off her heels.
“I’m going to start wearing sensible shoes tomorrow, I promise you. No one in this town cares how I dress. They just want me to do something, and there’s nothing I can do.”
“About Belle La Fouche?” Scott asked.
“I guess you’ve heard all sorts of rumors at school.”
“We haven’t heard much. Just that she didn’t come home last night.” Scott didn’t probe, but gave his mother an opening if she needed to talk.
She did. “That’s all I know. Except that she hadn’t fought with her family or her boyfriend. This is not like her, and no one saw her after five o’clock.”
“David Altman was the last one to see her?” Scott prompted a little.
“Yes. He took more photos of her for the annual. He said she seemed in an extra good mood. That the photo session was delightful—his word. And that she bounced out of there looking forward to a date that evening. Her steady, Mack Truck Murphy, confirmed that. They were going to a movie after football practice.”
“I called him Anvil Shoulders.” Scott tried to lighten his mother’s mood.
She did smile and peeked into the oil-stained bag on the table. She pulled out a chicken thigh, nibbled it. “Yeah, that’s him. Nice kid. He’s awfully worried. He stopped back at the office twice today. I couldn’t tell him anything. Why do people think I can work miracles?”
“They need a miracle,” Dad said quietly. “You or the police are the only ones who can provide one.”
“Do you think it’s what you said, Mom? A serial killer. The same thing that happened to SueAnne?” Scott asked outright.
“We won’t know until she shows up.” Mom closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead as if asking for a miracle herself. Then she ran her fingers through her short dark hair. “All we can do is wait. Belle seems to have vanished into thin air.”
Scott waited.
“She didn’t take a bus, a train, a taxi, a family car, a friend’s car. She just disappeared without a trace.”
“Just like SueAnne?” Scott said, not really needing any comment from his mother. It was obvious.
Like an echo, however, his mother answered, “Just like SueAnne Groober.” She paused.
“Dear God, don’t let her come back the same way,” she whispered.
My Southern Belle
He had a room ready for her this time. What a joy it was to decorate—all in blue—her favorite color. The anticipation, the delicious anticipation of her, her visit. He could hardly wait. And she hadn’t let him down. Her time with him was special. He remembered the old song titled “My Blue Heaven.” He’d call the two weeks that.
He had a splendid idea. It was all falling in place. SueAnne was “My Yellow Rose of Arkansas.” He�
�d take geographical liberties with the song. And Belle was “My Blue Heaven.” He’d have to choose carefully to make each time as special, as memorable. But could anyone be as lovely as these two Southern Belles? Oh, he loved it, “My Southern Belle.” Another delicious idea. Sweet Sue and Southern Belle.
He was disappointed that Belle hadn’t lasted as long as SueAnne. She was very angry at first and fought him, but in the end she was weak. He was going to start another room immediately. But he’d take his time choosing his guest. The first two had set a precedent, a pattern that would be hard to continue. And really, shouldn’t each one be better, he thought. More glorious than the last? Yes, oh, yes.
Chapter 6
Belle La Fouche, after being gone for two weeks, appeared on the courthouse lawn, lying under a huge sycamore just starting to shed yellow leaves.
It was six A.M. when a trash collector found her, and an autopsy revealed that she’d only been dead for two hours.
Of what? Of undetermined causes. There wasn’t a mark on her. She wore a blue formal and a smile on her face. Her long, mahogany hair was festooned with blue cornflowers to match the color of her dress. On her feet were the navy blue sandals she’d worn to last year’s prom with the blue dress. Her mother swore the dress was packed away in the back of Belle’s closet, but when she went to look, it was gone.
Vicki had gotten angry after Scott called her that night when Belle disappeared, really angry. Then when Belle’s body showed up on the courthouse lawn, she got mad all over again. She had been told that anger was a stage of grieving. That seemed logical, because she was angry that someone had killed SueAnne, that her best friend had died for no reason. Or no reason that anyone knew about. What reason could there be for murder? And now Belle had suffered the same fate. Who would want to kill two young women, two beautiful girls who were just getting ready to start their adult lives?
The Photographer II Page 3
