The Perfect Disguise (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Ten)

by Blake Pierce

  “Everything okay?” Kat asked.

  “What’s Blabber?”

  “It’s a gossip website,” Kat told her. “You should be either flattered or terrified.”

  “I’m going with terrified,” Jessie said. “Between this and the paparazzo I just saw outside, I’m starting to really worry that we’re not safe.”

  Her phone buzzed. She was about answer and start shouting when she realized it wasn’t a call. It was a text from Detective Bray with the current address for Petra Olivet. Apparently she was real and living under an assumed name at the L.A. County Social Rehabilitative House for Women in Elysian Park. Jessie thanked her, then forwarded the text to Trembley, suggesting that they make that their first stop tomorrow.

  She sat down, poured herself a glass from the half empty bottle of the red wine on the table, and peeled back the foil from the plate. In front of her was a salmon filet with crispy skin, roasted rosemary potatoes, and asparagus spears.

  “I noticed the door was open,” she said as she took a bite of fish.

  “Oh yeah,” Kat said, looking up. “That was my fault. I was responsible for one thing—taking out the potatoes on time. I forgot and some of them got burned. The kitchen was a little smoky so we aired it out.”

  Jessie nodded and took a bite of asparagus, swallowing it and her frustration at the same time. Kat noticed anyway.

  “Don’t freak,” she said. “I know how worried you were about security, even before the gossip hounds started in on you. That’s why I set up a system.”

  She turned her laptop monitor so that Jessie could see it and pulled up a tab with multiple camera angles showing their apartment floor, as well as the downstairs lobby.

  “I was going to surprise you,” Kat said. “The management company here might not shell out for decent security. But I found these mini-cameras online and set them up at various high-traffic spots, as well as outside our door. I was watching when you came in. A little quick with the gun, weren’t you?”

  “Sorry. Even without the guy downstairs, I see an unlocked door to a place where I’m sleeping and automatically think the worst.”

  “Look, Jessie. I know this place doesn’t meet your security standards. But with the cameras, the new lock I have coming tomorrow, and the two of us badasses, I think it’ll do until you find someplace more secure.”

  Jessie nodded. The measures Kat had taken were about one-tenth of what she thought were sufficient. But she was in no position to be picky right now.

  “What do I owe you for the cameras?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Kat told her. “They’re a legit business deduction since I use this place as my office. And I probably should have invested in some halfway decent security measures anyway, considering the scum I investigate these days.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to check out any new places for me and Hannah today. It kind of got away from me.”

  “Want to talk about it?” Kat asked.

  “Not really,” Jessie confessed.

  “Good. Because I don’t think it’s healthy for you to fixate on this case anyway, whatever it is. You already showed up late for dinner after one day of consulting. At this rate, I’m worried if you’ll get home before bedtime tomorrow night, especially if you’re investigating what I suspect you’re investigating.”

  “What do you think I’m investigating?” Jessie asked.

  “Let’s just say I’m guessing you spent some time today wandering fake city streets.”

  “How did you…?” Jessie started before Kat cut her off.

  “I pay attention to what’s going on in the world, Jessie. And this is pretty big news. You don’t have to talk about it. Just don’t let it consume you.”

  “I’ll do my best, dear,” Jessie retorted with a grin before changing the subject. “How’s the peeping going?”

  “Pretty boring actually. My suspect showed up again today at the park where he deals. But all his sales were to legitimate adults—no minors and definitely not my client’s kid. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. I get paid whether they conduct a transaction or not.”

  “Sitting in a car all day in the middle of the summer does not sound like a good time to me,” Jessie admitted.

  “It’s not so bad. I keep the A/C on. I listen to podcasts. But I do get a little stir crazy. I actually had an idea, if you’re feeling breezy.”

  “Breezy?” Jessie repeated, immediately tensing up.

  “Yeah, if you’re willing to loosen the reins a little, I mean.”

  Jessie didn’t like the sound of that but didn’t voice her concern.

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “How do you feel about letting Hannah come along with me tomorrow?”

  “Um.”

  “Hear me out,” Kat appealed. “Nothing’s going to actually happen. Even if both the dealer and the kid show up, all I’m doing is taking pictures. We’ll never get out of the car. But she’ll feel like she’s part of this exciting stakeout, at least for a while. Plus, it’ll give her something different to do. And with all that ‘sitting around’ time, maybe she’ll break down and share a thought or two.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. How she feels about Garland’s death or Ryan’s stabbing or her and her sister almost being murdered by her sister’s ex-husband. You know, stuff like that.”

  “I don’t know,” Jessie said reluctantly.

  She wanted to say yes, to give Hannah an outlet to discuss all the feelings she was clearly holding in. But she had hoped that she’d be the one her sister would open up to. Moreover, sending her to the scene of a potential drug deal seemed unwise for any number of reasons.

  “Plus,” Kat said, lowering her voice and looking in the direction of the bedroom where Hannah was, “maybe she’ll open up about whether you’re right to be concerned that she might be a sociopath.”

  “You don’t think you’re getting a little ambitious with the list of stakeout revelations you’re expecting?”

  “Hey, you know better than me how being stuck together in a tight space for an extended period with nothing to do can lead to unexpected heart-to-hearts. Maybe this will be the straw that breaks the Hannah’s back. Worst-case scenario, she’s bored in a park for six hours. Plus, I can send her to get lunch for me.”

  “Ah, the truth comes out,” Jessie declared.

  She thought about it while she nibbled on an asparagus spear. If there was anyone she trusted to get Hannah to open up, it was Kat, herself an expert in navigating trauma. And even though it was an inherently sketchy situation, Hannah would be in the care of a former Army Ranger. Not letting her go felt selfish.

  “I guess it’s okay with me if you can convince her.”

  “Good,” Kat said, “because she already said yes.”

  Jessie, realizing she’d just been played, jabbed her fork into a potato.

  “You are a very sneaky person, Katherine Gentry.”

  “Thank you,” Kat replied, a Cheshire grin on her face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Jessie’s eyes popped open. The nightmare was over.

  She was in bed and the early morning light was streaming in through a crack in the curtain. Hannah was asleep in the twin bed across the room, breathing softly, occasionally whimpering to herself.

  Jessie lay in bed for several more minutes, trying to focus on the tasks of the day. But the nightmare kept creeping back in. Despite all her therapy, all her attempts to better understand the traumas that had defined her life so she could banish it, the pain was still there, constantly simmering just under the surface, ready to bubble up and boil over any time she took her eye off it.

  She couldn’t help but wonder about Corinne Weatherly. What had sent her down the road from promising, up-and-coming actress to a vindictive, bitter, grasping narcissist trying to salvage her career with a horror movie reboot? Was that just who she was destined to become? Or had she also suffered so
me trauma that had twisted her into something her younger self would find unrecognizable?

  Jessie decided that if she was going to get an answer to that question and uncover the motive for her murder, she’d need to look backward into Corinne’s personal and professional history. She was especially interested to see what role Miller Boatwright had played in her evolution. After all, it was his name on that mirror. And it was a white rose from his movie lying in her hand. That had to mean something. He might be her killer. He might not. But he was involved somehow.

  An hour later, after leaving a note for the still-sleeping Hannah and wishing Kat good luck with her that day, Jessie met up with Trembley at the station. She’d wanted to stop by the hospital to visit Ryan but there wasn’t time. Trembley was unusually quiet as they drove to the Social Rehabilitative House to meet with Petra Olivet.

  “What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

  He looked over at her, seemingly unsure whether to come clean.

  “I just feel like I dropped the ball a little yesterday,” he said. “Especially with Boatwright, I think I let his star power intimidate me a bit. I keep playing the interview back in my head and I don’t like the memory very much.”

  Jessie tended to agree but didn’t feel the need to rub salt in the wound. She would have been far more troubled if he’d been unaware of it.

  “Don’t sweat it, Trembley,” she said. “It’s a new day and a chance to start fresh.”

  Trembley nodded, then seemed to remember something and quickly switched topics.

  “I did a little research on our gal Petra after you texted me that Bray had found her,” he said excitedly. “Want to hear what I found?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, so Detective Bray deserves major credit for finding this girl at all. She had a brand new identity created on her behalf. The only reason Bray found anything was because the last name of the person paying for her stay at the hospital was Stanard, which is Petra’s mother’s maiden name.”

  “Very cloak and dagger,” Jessie mused.

  “That’s not the half of it,” Trembley replied. “But first things first. I reached out to a few industry friends last night and eventually found my way to an actual crew member from the film Petra worked on with Corinne. It was her ill-fated attempt to recapture that romantic comedy magic. The movie was called Clumsy Hearts. The thing was a mess from the start. Her co-star bailed at the last minute and they had to get a replacement who she had no chemistry with. The shoot went over schedule and over budget. And Corinne was a tornado of abuse the whole time. The guy I talked to wasn’t there the day she went after Petra but heard it was brutal. He was told the girl quit that day; that she left the set sobbing. I can’t formally confirm the suicide attempt. But what is clear is that ten days later she was admitted at the Social Rehab House under the name Beth Stanard. Her full middle name is Elizabeth. She’s been there ever since.”

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t moved out of town,” Jessie said.

  “Me too,” he agreed. “That’s something I hope she can explain for us, assuming she’s up for explaining anything.”

  Jessie looked at Trembley, who had a broad, proud smile on his face. She decided a little positive reinforcement was in order.

  “That’s great work, Trembley,” she told him.

  “Thanks,” he replied, sounding like a little boy being praised for getting an A on a test.

  She didn’t love that the dynamic between them made her feel like his teacher, or worse, his mom.

  *

  From a distance, it didn’t look like a hospital.

  L.A. County Social Rehabilitative House for Women was nestled into a canyon amidst the hills of Elysian Park, less than a five-minute walk from Dodger Stadium. It was set back from the main road behind a thicket of trees that obscured the size and nature of the facility.

  They parked in the gravel lot and walked toward the main entrance. It wasn’t yet 9 a.m. and the temperature was already in the high eighties. The whole campus looked like a 1920s-era hacienda-style resort.

  The once-white stucco buildings had long since turned a dirty tan. Willow trees draped themselves over the roofs as if about to dust them. While there were bars on the windows, Jessie didn’t see any perimeter fencing, which only made her more curious how they secured less voluntary residents.

  She found out quickly. They had to be buzzed in through the main entrance and then again from the entry vestibule into the office proper, where a nurse sat behind thick glass.

  “May I help you?” she asked disinterestedly.

  “Yes,” Trembley said, holding up his badge and ID. “We have an appointment to speak with Beth Stanard.”

  “One moment please,” the nurse said, checking both her computer and a paper file before looking up, seemingly satisfied. “Please place your weapons in the drop box to your left. They’ll be returned upon your departure. Someone will take you back directly.”

  They had barely sat down in chairs with splitting cushions when an orderly was buzzed into the office. She unlocked a thick metal door separating it from the waiting room and beckoned for them to follow her.

  Trembley looked like he wanted to ask her a question but Jessie shook her head. The less they spoke to people other than Petra, the less they revealed their hand. She’d learned the hard way that in places like this, it was often hard to know who could be trusted.

  The orderly led them down a long hallway with cement walls and thick windows. They emerged in what looked to be some kind of recreation room. There was a television in one corner, a ping-pong table by the window, and several card tables where various residents were doing crafts or playing games.

  The orderly proceeded through the room and unlocked a second door that led into a wing labeled as the “long-term care unit.” They stopped at a nurses’ station, where the orderly handed a sheet of paper to a nurse behind the counter and walked back the way she came. The nurse looked at the paper, then glanced down the hall at a fifty-something woman in scrubs leaning against a wall, scrolling through her phone. She had thin gray hair and tired eyes.

  “Lenore,” the first nurse called out, “Beth’s visitors are here.”

  Lenore looked up, saw Jessie and Trembley, and smiled.

  “Beth is excited to see you,” she said warmly, walking over.

  “That’s better than the alternative,” Jessie said as she shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Jessie Hunt. This is Detective Alan Trembley.”

  “I know who you are, Ms. Hunt. You’re a true crime celebrity. I’d follow you on Instagram if you had an account.”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said, equal parts amused, astonished, and embarrassed. “I had a little issue with my social media being hacked. So I just got rid of all of it.”

  “I know all about that, girl,” she said. “Your crazy ex tried to make it seem like you were in the KKK or something. I can’t believe anybody fell for that.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Jessie told her.

  “Probably right. People are stupid,” Lenore said emphatically. “So why don’t you, me, and the strong silent fella there go over the ground rules.”

  “Sounds good,” Jessie said. She liked Lenore more with each passing second.

  “Beth’s a little on the fragile side,” Lenore told them. “Sometimes she’s just fine, chatting away about this or that. Then something might set her off. Lots of times I have no idea what it was. But she’ll get scared or paranoid or just kind of go a little bit catatonic. If that happens, your chat is probably over. She tends to take a few hours to come back from that sort of thing. So my best advice is, don’t upset her too much.”

  “Does she know we’re here to talk about a murder or who the victim is?” Trembley asked.

  “Lord, no, young man. Hell, I didn’t even know for sure what this was about until right now and I wouldn’t have told her if I did. She knows Jessie Hunt wants to talk to her. That’s about it. That’s what’s got her giddy. She watches TV too,
you know.”

  “Shall we see her then?” Jessie asked, anxious to get started.

  “Let’s do that,” Lenore said. “She’s waiting in the safe room.”

  “The safe room?” Trembley repeated.

  “Yep. It’s larger than her residence room so she won’t feel as closed in. We use it for visits, group sessions, that sort of thing. The floor and walls are made of cork so they’re a little on the soft side, in case someone has an outburst. And it’s surrounded by Plexiglas windows, so the staff can monitor residents and anticipate…unwanted behaviors.”

  “Will we be in there alone?” Trembley asked.

  “That’s up to you. If you prefer, we can make it happen. But you’ll have to sign a liability waiver, in case she scratches your eyes out or something.”

  “Has that ever happened?” Trembley wondered, trying to sound blasé.

  “Not with Beth…yet,” Lenore told him, clearly enjoying messing with him before getting serious. “I’ve been here for four years and I’ve never known her to even raise her voice, much less do something violent. She’s a damaged young lady, but that damage tends to express itself internally, not out in the world. She’s here for her own protection, not ours.”

  Nonetheless, they signed the waivers and rounded the corner, where Beth Stanard was standing in the safe room, staring right at them. She had on a loose-fitting hospital gown that exposed her pale, white arms and lower legs. Her light blond, curly hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was painfully thin for her size. Jessie guessed that she was about five foot seven and barely over one hundred pounds. She had dark shadows under her light blue eyes. Freckles dotted her cheeks. She was smiling and Jessie could tell that she didn’t brush as often as she should. Her teeth were stained and looked like they had the remnants of breakfast in them. She looked to be in her late twenties.

  “Ready?” Lenore asked as she unlocked the door to the safe room.

  Jessie and Trembley nodded and stepped inside. Jessie was just glancing back to make sure that Lenore wouldn’t be joining them when she heard a grunt and a rustle of papery fabric. She turned quickly back around to see that Beth was charging toward her with a maniacal gleam in her eyes.