Pursued

by Patricia H. Rushford

  6

  “Come on, Jennie, wake up,” Lisa insisted. “Allison and B.J. have already gone. They said to tell you thanks. Allison had to go shopping for the party.”

  Somewhere between two and three in the morning, Jennie had managed to fall asleep. That meant, according to her fuzzy calculations, she’d only slept about four hours.

  “Good,” she groaned. “You leave too so I can go back to sleep.”

  “You don’t have time for that. We have to develop a game plan for how we’re going to catch the guy who’s been stalking Allison.”

  Memories of the gunman and the early morning phone call zapped into Jennie’s mind, ridding her of all desire for sleep. She bolted out of bed. Sometime during the night, whether it was the call itself or the realization that the caller knew her name and had held a gun on her and Lisa, Jennie had made a decision. Like it or not, she was involved and intended to solve the mystery of Allison Beaumont’s stalker and put him behind bars.

  She told Lisa about the one a.m. phone call.

  “So it was him.” Lisa looked pleased with herself. “I knew it. I guess that blows your theory about Bethany.”

  “B.J.,” Jennie corrected. “And no, it doesn’t. It just means she could be working with someone.”

  “Why are you so sure she’s involved? Just because she’s had a rough life doesn’t mean she’s a criminal.”

  “I know that. But Gram says in an investigation you have to suspect everyone—even Allison. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has set things up to make themselves look like a victim. Look at all the publicity this has gotten her.”

  “You really think that’s all this is…a publicity stunt?” Lisa frowned. “Now that I think about it, Allison has gotten a lot of attention. You think she hired someone?”

  “It’s possible. What we need to look for is motive and opportunity. Allison has always wanted to sing. This could get her the attention she needs to launch her career.” Pleased with the direction her thoughts had taken, Jennie pursued the idea. “If Allison is guilty she has to be working with someone. Who’s she dating now?”

  “I’m not sure. With all the Rose Festival activities I don’t think she’s had much time for guys.”

  “Well, we’d better start our investigation with Allison and B.J. We need to ask questions and keep our eyes open.” Jennie picked up a hairbrush and began working out the snarls in her hair. “Let’s start with B.J. What do you know about her? She made any close friends here?”

  “I don’t think so.” Lisa pushed one of the chairs back into its corner and plopped into it. “She’s only been around for about three weeks. And she’s not exactly winning any points with people.”

  Jennie nodded, then sighed. “Okay. Call Allison. Tell her we’ll help. See if we can stay at her house tonight. We’ll help her get ready for her party tomorrow and have a look around.”

  “I thought you weren’t going.”

  Jennie grimaced. “Much as I hate the idea, I think it’s probably the best way to find clues and dig up the latest gossip—and find out who Al’s friends and enemies are. At the same time we need to learn all we can about B.J.—who she talks to and if she has any guys hanging around.”

  Lisa bounced out of the chair and started pacing. “I hate to think that guy last night could be someone we know. Or that one of my friends would pull a gun on us.”

  “There are a lot of kids we don’t know all that well,” Jennie reminded her as she set the hairbrush aside and headed for her bed. She pulled up the sheets, adjusted the comforter, and tossed the pillows into place. “Besides, remember that discussion we had in political science when Barry Owen’s father talked to us about gun-control legislation? About half the class thought people should have a right to bear arms. A few even admitted they had purchased guns to protect themselves.” The thought of some of those kids carrying guns sent chills shuddering down Jennie’s spine. She’d seen firsthand what a bullet could do and didn’t want anything to do with them.

  “You’re right. I’d forgotten about that.” Lisa grabbed Jennie’s arm. “I just remembered! Allison’s dad has a gun collection. I saw it last year at her party when he took some of us on a tour of the house.”

  “All the more reason to stay there tonight. I’d like to have a look at it.” Excitement soared through Jennie, lifting her mood and her spirits. She imagined herself waiting until everyone in the house was asleep…then she’d sneak down the wide circular staircase, into the massive kitchen, and down the basement steps. She’d use the key to the wine cellar, which she would have confiscated earlier from the butler.

  Jennie would glance around her to make certain no one had followed, then step into the damp, dark cellar and brush away the cobwebs. There in the beam of her flashlight would be…a skeleton. No…no…no. This is a modern mansion, not a haunted castle in Ireland. The gun case, McGrady, get back to the gun case. Jennie imagined a massive gun case covering the back wall. In the lower right-hand corner where an antique gun should have been—the one Billy the Kid had used—there’d be nothing but an indentation and an I.D. plaque.

  She’d gather all the suspects into the living room and then bring the missing gun to Mr. Beaumont’s attention and confront Allison. It would be Allison, Jennie decided, not B.J. It was always the least likely suspect.

  You did it, didn’t you, Allison? she’d say. I suspected you all along. What I couldn’t figure out was who was working with you. Now I know that too. There’s only one answer. Only one person had the key to the gun case. Only one person knew the old gun still worked. And only one person had the ammunition. It was you, Mr. Beaumont. You wanted your daughter to succeed. You—

  “Jennie?” Lisa’s voice interrupted her fantasy. “Earth calling Jennie…come in, Jennie.”

  “What…?”

  “Where were you? I hate it when you space out like that. It gives me the creeps.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about the gun case. Lisa, do you remember much about the gun the guy was using last night?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Just that it was silver and had a long barrel. It reminded me of the kind of revolvers they used in old cowboy movies.” The phone rang. It was Aunt Kate—calling to remind Lisa about her tennis lessons. A few minutes later Lisa left, promising to call Allison and set things up for that night.

  Jennie finished cleaning her room, took a shower, dressed, then headed downstairs for a late breakfast. Mom was just finishing the dishes. “Good morning. I saved you some scrambled eggs and bacon.”

  “Thanks.” Jennie placed the cooled breakfast into the microwave and turned it on.

  Mom plopped a piece of bread into the toaster, then asked, “Want some toast?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Jennie asked, grinning as she nodded toward the toaster.

  “Oh.” Mom laughed. “Habit. You don’t have to eat it.”

  “Do we have any freezer jam?” Every year her mother would buy fresh fruit and make her own jam, which was way better than anything storebought.

  “Sure.” She retrieved a plastic container from the fridge. “Your favorite. Raspberry.”

  The microwave beeped and Jennie rescued the steamy, slightly overcooked eggs and sat at the kitchen table.

  “Jennie…”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes. She’s going to ask about last night. Might as well get it over with. “Look Mom, about last night—”

  “Oh, yes, wasn’t it awful…I mean, imagine a burglar right here in our own quiet little neighborhood. It’s a good thing no one was hurt.”

  “Aren’t you going to yell at me for being outside?”

  “No,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “But I would like to know why you went out without telling me.”

  Jennie debated about whether or not to tell her the truth. Then decided she’d better. The last time she�
��d lied to her mother, she’d nearly gotten herself, Gram, and Ryan killed. Mom joined Jennie at the table, and Jennie dutifully filled her mother in on the details of the case while she ate.

  “Anyway,” Jennie concluded, “it looks like the guy Lisa and I saw last night is Allison’s stalker. I’m going to let the police know about the call after breakfast. Lisa and I thought we’d hang out with Allison for the next few days, see if maybe we can help.”

  “I can’t believe this. I remember when we used to be able to leave our doors unlocked at night. Now you can’t turn on the news without hearing about something horrible. And now…a stalker in our own neighborhood. And poor Allison. She must be frantic.”

  “Lisa and I were planning on spending the night with Allison to help her get ready for the party tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

  Mom blinked and gave Jennie a blank stare that seemed to say, Are you crazy?

  Well, that’s it, McGrady. Looks like you won’t be going to the party after all. Part of her was relieved that she wouldn’t be going, but part of her had been looking forward to working on the case.

  “Yes, Allison’s mother already spoke with me this morning,” Mom said. “Even though the Beaumonts assured me you girls would be well cared for, my first inclination was to say no. I didn’t want you anywhere near that family. But that wouldn’t be fair to Allison or to you. She really needs friends around her right now, doesn’t she?”

  Mom caressed her cup, then a moment later, set it down on the table so hard the coffee sloshed out. “Besides that, I am not going to let some criminal turn us into frightened rabbits who are afraid to cross the street without a police escort. No criminal is going to dictate our lives.” She pulled a couple napkins out of the holder and mopped up the brown liquid before it could run onto the floor.

  “Mom?” Few things got her mother riled, but when they did, Susan McGrady went into action. The way she went from mild-mannered bookkeeper to political activist reminded Jennie of Wonder Woman. “You’re not going to do anything weird, are you?”

  “Of course not. But I am going to call the police and schedule a neighborhood meeting. We need to be prepared.” She placed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Jennie, I won’t keep you from spending time with Allison, but promise me you won’t do anything foolish.” Annoyed at the direction the conversation was taking, Jennie asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I don’t want you trying to capture this guy by yourself. If you notice anything unusual, tell the police.”

  “I’m not stupid.” Jennie pushed away from the table, scooped up her dishes, and took them to the sink to rinse them off.

  “I know, but you do have a knack for getting into trouble.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Mom rose from the table and set her cup in the dishwasher. “I’m sorry if I seem critical. It’s just that you’re the only daughter I have. If anything ever happened to you…” she put an arm around Jennie and hugged her.

  Jennie hugged her back. “We’ll be fine.” When she drew away, she decided to change the subject before Mom changed her mind. “Listen, I cleaned my room. Did you want me to do the laundry or anything?”

  “Maybe when you get back.”

  Jennie frowned. “Back from where? I’m not going anywhere until late this afternoon.”

  “Don’t you remember? You have an appointment with Gloria at eleven. That gives you…” Mom checked her watch, “about thirty minutes to get ready.”

  Jennie groaned and headed upstairs to her room. The last thing she wanted to do was see a counselor. Just thinking about it brought back a rush of feelings Jennie didn’t want to deal with. Anger at Mom for giving up and pushing her to accept Dad’s death. Anger at Michael for asking Mom to marry him. Frustration that she had so little time. And fear that she, even with Gram’s help, might not be able to find Dad.

  A few weeks ago Mom had insisted that Jennie see the same counselor she had been seeing. Gloria had said Jennie needed to “work on grief issues over losing your father.” They wanted to send her to a counseling camp for teens with similar problems. Problems, ha. The only problem Jennie had was with the counseling.

  So far, except for her first appointment with Gloria, Jennie had managed to escape counseling camp, but sometime this summer, she’d have to go. She’d promised Mom, and it was either that or risk being grounded for the rest of her life. The same was true of the individual counseling sessions. Jennie hoped Gloria would realize that she didn’t need help and that the counseling camp would be a waste of time.

  Since she stubbornly refused to acknowledge her dad’s death, Jennie doubted that her reprieve would come anytime soon.

  An hour and a half later, Jennie backed out of her parking place and drove away from the counseling center. She’d decided to be totally honest this time around. No games, no pretending. She even told Gloria about the box in her closet marked “Dad’s Things,” which she took down and examined whenever she got to feeling lonely or depressed. And the journal in which she wrote letters to him.

  To Jennie’s surprise, Gloria had said, “What a wonderful idea! It helps keep his memory close.”

  Her response had softened Jennie a little. At least Gloria didn’t think she was totally bonkers. In fact, Jennie realized, when it was time to go, the session hadn’t been too bad. Gloria had praised her for being honest about her feelings. The thing that impressed Jennie most was that Gloria hadn’t tried to convince her Dad was dead. In fact, Jennie wondered if maybe she had convinced Gloria that Dad really was still alive.

  When Jennie got to the main road, instead of heading home she made a left. Since she was only a mile or so away from the Lakeside development where Allison lived, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to drive by.

  Jennie turned on to Lakeview Drive and checked the addresses. She’d only seen Allison’s house a couple of times, when the kids had carpooled to youth meetings. She had no trouble spotting the Beaumont home, though. The mansion-like structure was set back from the road on a knoll overlooking the lake. Some six acres of perfectly landscaped lawn set it apart from the other homes, making it look like an island in a sea of green. Jennie felt suddenly shy and, instead of pulling into the driveway, parked across the street.

  You don’t belong here, McGrady, a voice in her head insisted. She glanced down at her faded cutoffs and dark green University of Oregon t-shirt, then looked at the house, the yard…heck, it wasn’t even a yard, it was an estate. Intimidating, she decided. As much as she loved her little car, driving the five-year-old Mustang into Allison’s driveway would be like…

  “Stop it, McGrady,” Jennie said aloud, shaking her head. “You’re being ridiculous. Just because they have money doesn’t make them any better than you.”

  It didn’t, of course. Still, something about people who lived in glamorous houses made Jennie uncomfortable. Before she could formulate a reason for her discomfort, an off-white van drove up behind her and made a left turn into the Beaumonts’ driveway. Tricia’s Flowers, the bold, black letters read. A bouquet of roses had been painted behind the letters in shades of red. The driver pulled up to the front door, got out, and retrieved a box from the back of the van before knocking on the door. No one must have answered because he left the box, hopped in his van, and drove away.

  Jennie waited until he was out of sight, then drove up to the house. Looking around and seeing no one, she crept up to the front door and, feeling brave, nudged the lid off the box with the toe of her sneaker.

  Nestled in lavender tissue paper and lying in a crisp white box lay a beautiful bouquet of pink rosebuds, with sprays of baby’s breath and delicate ferns. Jennie hunkered down in front of the box and picked up the flowers to get a closer look at the card tacked to the pink bow.

  “Hold it right there,” a voice behind her thundered.

  7

  J
ennie clutched the roses to her chest and turned, fully expecting to be looking down the barrel of another gun. Instead she found herself looking at a garden rake. Well, not at the rake exactly, but at the guy leaning on it. He was tan, no—make that bronze—with penetrating blue eyes and long golden hair, which he’d pulled back into a ponytail.

  “Who are you?” she managed to croak out as she zeroed in on a spot behind him and tried not to stare.

  “I think that’s my line.” His mouth parted to reveal a perfect set of white teeth. “Name’s Rocky. I work here. You, on the other hand, appear to be trespassing.”

  “Jennie. I-I’m Jennie, a friend of Allison’s.”

  He shifted his gaze from her eyes to the package she held in her arms. “Friend? I don’t think so.”

  Jennie’s mouth dropped open. He suspected her. He thought she’d delivered the flowers and that she was the stalker. “I…this isn’t…”

  “Save it. Beaumont ought to be back any minute now. You can explain it to him.”

  Rocky let the rake fall into a large juniper and stepped onto the porch. He wasn’t much taller than Jennie but still seemed to dwarf her. She backed up, trapping herself between him and the house.

  Rocky took hold of her arm and was about to usher her inside the house when a silver Mercedes pulled into the driveway. Mr. Beaumont stepped out of the car and walked toward them. Her heart pounded a thunderous rhythm in her brain as she watched him approach. Nice going, McGrady. You just couldn’t stay out of it, could you? That package could be from the stalker, and now it’s got your prints all over it.

  “What’s going on here?” Mr. Beaumont asked, shifting his gaze from Rocky to Jennie.

  “I caught her trying to deliver these flowers.”

  Mr. Beaumont frowned. “Is this true?”

  “No…of course not.” Jennie closed her eyes and shook her head. “This is crazy. I’m Jennie McGrady. Allison stayed at my house last night. She seemed pretty shook up. I was just driving by to see how she was doing when I saw a van drive in with these. I thought I’d check it out…”