by Mary Carter
The next page was a picture of Carrie Ann. Dead. From a stabbing. Tears welled in Grace’s eyes. Jake was next. It appeared Jake had been beaten to death with a baseball bat. The last page held an actual photo of Grace. The one Rafael had taken of her on La Rambla that second morning. She’d had good reason to be paranoid. Above her head someone had drawn a question mark.
Grace heaved and rushed to the toilet. Thankfully she hadn’t eaten anything, but the reflex continued, so she grabbed a towel and held it over her mouth to mask the noise.
Carrie Ann had been out to play a prank. Stan had other plans for all of them. Grace looked around the bathroom for a weapon. Anything to arm herself with. That’s when her eyes landed back on the leather case. And that’s when it hit her. The round tins. She approached them slowly, and then, filled with dread, picked one up. Shoe polish. Stan’s leather bag was filled with shoe polish.
CHAPTER 42
Grace and Stan sat on the roof deck. When Stan poured her a glass of wine, Grace tried not to down it all in one go, but she needed enough in her to stop herself from shaking. It had taken so much concentration to zip closed the leather bag, terrified the whole while that Stan was on the other side of the door, that he could hear it zip, that he would see drops of water near it, although she meticulously wiped the area with a towel and prayed she hadn’t moved the bag or otherwise drawn any attention to it. Her heart was hammering so loudly when she emerged from the shower. She hadn’t wanted to wash and condition her hair after that or shave, even though she did manage to find a razor tucked into her own bag. If she had found her razor in the first place, she never would have made the horrific discovery.
Killing animals. Drawing a noose around his father’s neck and writing the word die. And shoe polish. Lionel hadn’t shined his shoes before he hanged himself—which had never sat right with Grace; Stan had. Lionel hadn’t killed himself. Stan had murdered him. Grace didn’t know how it all had gone down, but she knew she was right. Stan was keeping the shoe polish as some sort of sick memento so he could relive the thrill. She was in the company of a true sociopath. And she would have to spend one more night with him. The festival was tomorrow night.
Did Carrie Ann know? No, Grace thought. Carrie Ann wasn’t evil. She was immature and self-centered and manipulative. But not cold-blooded. She was just as much a victim of Stan as Grace and Jake.
Grace wondered what had happened. How had Stan killed Lionel and why?
Stan had gotten away with the perfect murder. So why was he coming after Grace like this?
Was this all because he had some secret obsession with Grace that she had never picked up on?
Or was he trying to find out if she suspected? Because of what she’d said to him at his father’s funeral?
Lionel Gale’s funeral was the last place on earth Grace Sawyer wanted to be, but guilt had drawn her there. She didn’t know what to say to Stan, and quite frankly she didn’t want to talk to him at all. He was skulking in the corner of the room, and he had worn jeans and a heavy-metal shirt. To his own father’s funeral. Lydia seemed so out of it that Grace wasn’t even sure Lydia noticed. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Not many people were in attendance. By the time of the funeral Lionel Gale was one of the most talked about and detested men in town. But Grace had to show up. If she had managed to keep Carrie Ann with her, none of this would have happened. Or if she had told her mother the rumor that had begun on Carrie Ann’s lips. So here Grace was. But she still didn’t know what to stay to Stan. I’m sorry for your loss. It seemed so trite. Your father was a good man. She hadn’t known Lionel, and she didn’t want to lie. Instead, it just popped out. As she and Stan stood at the back of the funeral home. “Why do you think he polished his shoes?” Grace asked.
She’d never forget the look Stan gave her. “What?” he said.
“Never mind,” Grace said. It was a stupid thing to blurt out. “I’m sorry.” She turned to go. Stan grabbed her arm. It really hurt. She was forced to turn back to him.
“You noticed?” he asked.
“Yes. I just—I wondered why,” she said.
“Did you tell the police?”
“No. But I’m sure they noticed.”
“Are you kidding me? They’re complete idiots. They noticed nothing.”
“So was he like—a stickler for having polished shoes?”
“He had a shoe-polishing obsession,” Stan said. “I hated that smell.”
“I’m sorry,” Grace said.
Stan stepped closer. “That’s just it, Grace. I’m not.”
“What?” She couldn’t help it; she stepped back again. He was so intense. She wished she’d never come.
“I thought it was quite fitting. You’re pretty smart, Grace. You noticed.”
“Thanks,” Grace said. Of course it was odd that she said “thanks,” and it was even odder that Stan had said it like he was proud of her, and it was odder still that he thought it was quite fitting that his father had shone his shoes before he strangled himself to death.
I thought it was quite fitting.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Stan had asked.
“Do about what?”
“The things you noticed.”
“I just—wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s all.” And then Grace did turn and practically run away. So creepy. What was that conversation about, anyway? At the time she had no idea.
Now that exchange took on a whole new meaning. So what are you going to do about it? The things you noticed? Had Stan thought they were sharing a secret back then? The secret that he had killed his father? Was he worried she was going to say something about it in her song? If that was the case, then he had no intention of letting her sing at the festival.
Carrie Ann was here to play games. Grace was sure about that. Carrie Ann wasn’t a cat killer. Which meant Grace’s mother had sent Carrie Ann away for the wrong reasons, and she had sent her directly to the boy who had actually done the cruel deed. Stan was the sociopath. Carrie Ann was just the drama queen. And if he picked up on everything Grace had just put together then she was going to be in real trouble.
Stan topped off her wine and then he held her gaze until she smiled and looked away. She was still shaking, so she was keeping her hands underneath the table as much as possible and doing everything to hint about how exhausted she was. “Cheers,” Stan said, holding up his wine glass. Grace had no choice but to reach for hers and clink glasses. Stan’s eyes bored into hers. “Why are your hands shaking?”
She thought she saw a flash of distrust in him, as if he was just waiting for her to slip. Did he know that she knew? He had to at least suspect. She tried not to think about the sketch he had done of her with the grotesque question mark hovering above her head. Or Carrie Ann stabbed and bleeding, Jake beaten to death.
Maybe he’d left the leather bag there on purpose. Maybe he wanted her to find it because he never intended to let her go. She had read that people often had a deep psychological need to confess. It was how a lot of evil people had been caught. They couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Maybe all of this was Stan’s idea of a game. Maybe the clues weren’t meant to lead her anywhere but to the inevitable truth. Maybe the man hanging at the end of his game was going to be none other than her.
They were still playing the game. And there was no denying that her hands were vibrating like they had been electrified.
“I have a confession,” Grace said.
“A confession,” Stan repeated. “Does anyone else know?”
“Not a soul,” Grace said.
“Tell me,” Stan said.
“I’m an alcoholic.” Grace drank the rest of the wine and then put it down. “I haven’t been drinking much the past few days with you, so I’m going through withdrawal.”
“I never would have known,” Stan said. “That doesn’t seem like you at all.”
“I know, right? It’s the music business. The pressure. The late nights. The fact that I work in a bar. I didn�
�t even realize it myself until recently.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean—I haven’t even admitted it to Jake. I know it sounds silly, but I was going to wait until after this trip to deal with it. What with coming to Spain, and my birthday, and my mom, and Marsh Everett—it just didn’t seem like the right time to quit.”
“And then here comes Carrie Ann to push you over the edge,” Stan said.
“Right? Just makes me want to drink even more. But I’m looking forward to quitting. It’s just not worth it. The hangovers, the cravings, the huge memory gaps—”
“Memory gaps?”
“Oh yeah. I mean I think I blocked out half my childhood. I mean half of that is probably because I don’t want to remember it, but really—everything is just one big blur.”
“Maybe you blocked out something traumatic.”
“I think that probably applies more to you than to me.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you’re the one with the dangerous job, aren’t you? Kidnapped twice in the Congo. Now that’s traumatic.”
“I don’t like to talk about that.”
“I don’t blame you.” Grace picked up her glass again. “Let’s toast again. To not talking about our pasts,” she said.
There was a stage set up on the beach for the carnival and music fest. Grace searched the throngs of attendees, praying she would see the eagle costume sooner than later. The rest of the day and night with Stan had been torture. Grace told Stan she had a severe headache and after the roof deck she’d pretty much stayed curled up on the couch. Much to her surprise, when Grace left for the festival the next day, Stan had stayed back at the hotel and told her he would follow later. Of course it worried her, and she wondered what he was up to, but there wasn’t any way she could find out. The desire to get away from him outweighed all curiosity. Besides, it would give her a chance to find Jake and Carrie Ann and get the heck out of Dodge.
It was too bad she wasn’t here just to enjoy; the sun was warm on her shoulders and a band was already playing on stage. It was a block party–like atmosphere, and Grace wasn’t going to be able to enjoy any of it. She had just worked her way to the middle of the crowd, when suddenly a hand clapped over her eyes from behind. Whoever it was had a tight grip, and he or she was tall. She knew, even before she put her own hands over the one that covered her eyes, that it was Carrie Ann.
“Let go or else,” Grace said. She could feel Carrie Ann behind her, shaking with laughter. All doubts at what she was going to do flew out of Grace’s head. She lifted her boot and brought it down on Carrie Ann’s foot. She made contact. Carrie Ann screamed, and her hand immediately sprung off. Grace whipped around to find Carrie Ann doubled over in pain. When Carrie Ann’s eyes met Grace’s eyes, Carrie Ann smiled through her pain, threw open her arms, and said, “I forgive you. Surprise! Happy birthday!”
Grace stood still as Carrie Ann enveloped her in a hug. Grace placed her hands on Carrie Ann’s shoulders and pushed her back. She made sure to make eye contact.
“I’m furious with you, Carrie Ann, but now is not the time to hash it out.”
“I know,” Carrie Ann said. “Jake wanted me to hit Rafael over the head with something, but I just couldn’t. But I did handcuff him to the bedposts. As soon as Jake gets here, I’ll have to go and set Rafael free.”
“Where is Jake? We have to get out of here before Stan gets here.”
“Aw, you figured it out! Stan was right.”
“What did you just say?”
“Stan thought you were on to him.”
“Look at me, Carrie Ann. When did Stan say that?”
“Why are you freaking out? The drugs and kidnapping weren’t my idea, okay? I was supposed to disappear. But I have to admit, it was rather dramatic.”
Grace grabbed Carrie Ann’s shoulders. “When did Stan tell you he thought I knew?”
“I don’t know. Right before you came back from Cadaqués.”
“Oh, God.” So that’s why he had been quiet in the car. If he suspected she knew, why had he let her come here alone? Worse, what was he planning next?
“What is the matter with you? It’s over!”
“I don’t have time to explain. Where is Jake?”
“Probably getting into costume—”
“Where?”
“At Rafael’s apartment. He’ll be here soon. Let’s dance, or get a drink.”
“He’s in serious danger, Carrie Ann. We all are. We’ve got to get to the apartment.”
Carrie Ann grabbed Grace’s arms. “I really just wanted us to have an adventure. Like old times.”
“We have to go, Carrie Ann. Now.”
“Aren’t you going to sing? Haven’t we at least cured your phobia of facing scary things?”
“Stan wasn’t pulling a prank, Carrie Ann. Stan is unhinged.”
“Well, he’s always been a bit off.”
“No. He killed—”
“There he is!” Carrie Ann pointed past Grace. Grace turned around to see the giant eagle coming toward her.
“Jake.” Grace ran to him, threw herself at him, nearly knocking them both to the ground. He squeezed her back, then lifted her off the ground and twirled her around. His face was covered with white paint, and he was even wearing the eye mask.
“You went all out,” Carrie Ann said.
“There’s no time,” Grace said. “We have to find a safe place now.” She grabbed Jake’s hand, and then Carrie Ann’s, and began to pull them as quickly as she could through the crowd. She found a taxi and ushered them in. Stan knew where the apartment building was, so that was out.
“Carrie Ann, where can we go that’s out of the way?”
“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Old Barcelona?”
“Tell the driver,” Grace said. “I’ll explain everything when I feel we’re safe.” Carrie Ann repeated Grace’s request to the driver, and they pulled out into traffic.
“Grace, it was a joke,” Carrie Ann said.
“Not for Stan,” Grace said. “He’s a true psychopath.” She dug into her purse and brought out the sketches. She showed them to Carrie Ann. She turned to Jake. “I wish you could take that makeup off.” Jake reached up with his hand and rubbed. Only a little came off his cheek. “It’s okay. As soon as we’re safe we can get to a sink.”
“What is this?” Carrie Ann shrieked. “What is this?”
Jake leaned forward, trying to have a look. The taxi pulled up to a small alley. The driver pointed down the length of it and spoke.
“He said there is a private little courtyard down there,” Carrie Ann said. Her voice was shaking. Thank God she understood the seriousness of the sketches.
“Perfecto,” Grace said. She paid the driver, and they piled out. They headed down the alley and reached the courtyard. It consisted of a few trees and a couple of benches. It was tiny—postage stamp–size.
“Let’s help Jake get this off,” she said. They unzipped the back of his costume and helped pull the sleeves down. “Can you get the rest?” Jake nodded.
“Stan killed Brady?” Carrie Ann said.
“With my pink scarf,” Grace said. “My mother thought you had killed him. That’s why she sent you away.”
Carrie Ann’s hand flew over her mouth. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Jake had stopped undressing and was standing still, listening.
“You saw the rest of the drawings. I think he killed his dad.”
“His dad hanged himself.”
“Stan left me a note to come to the hayloft. I thought it was from you. When I got there—when I saw Lionel—his shoes had just been polished. They were pristine. The leather bag where I found these sketches was filled with tins of shoe polish.”
“He has a picture of me being stabbed, and of Jake being beaten—”
“I know. We have to get to the police.”
“Why? Why would he kill his father?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I think his father found out what Stan was doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Really, Carrie Ann? After all this time, you still won’t tell the truth?”
Carrie Ann’s face paled. “What?” Her voice cracked.
“It was Stan, wasn’t it? He was the one coming into your room at night.” Carrie Ann’s face said it all.
“Why did you lie?” Grace said.
“Because I was mortified! You already hated Stan’s guts. I didn’t want anyone to know. I just wanted to get out of there. I thought if I told you . . . I swear. I had no idea anyone else was going to find out. I had no idea Lionel would kill himself—”
“He didn’t. But I didn’t spread those rumors.”
“I didn’t either.”
“I know. I’m pretty sure Stan did.”
“My God.”
“His dad must have threatened him with something when he found out—so Stan turned it around on him.”
“This is sick, just sick. You were right about him all along.”
