Getting to her feet, Anna headed toward the door. “Taylor? Is that you?”
Then it hit her: She can’t hear you, stupid.
Anna saw the door open, and she stopped dead.
Sally Justice paused in the doorway. She looked exactly like she did on TV. The makeup and ash-blond hair were perfect. She wore beige slacks and a black tunic. She didn’t look surprised to see Anna there in her daughter’s living room. She had that unflappable Sally Justice look. “Well, I heard you were here,” Sally said, closing the door behind her. “But I had to come see for myself. Where’s my daughter?”
“Taylor stepped out. She should be back soon.” Anna stood there between the living room and the front hallway. She folded her arms in front of her. For the last ten days, she’d thought of so many things she wanted to say to Sally Justice. But right now, she was at a loss for words.
Slowly shaking her head, Sally glared at her. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I won’t allow you to associate with Taylor in any way, shape, or form.”
“Your daughter invited me here. And she’s over twenty-one. She can do what she wants. And don’t use that tone with me, Sally.”
“Oh, really?” Sally asked haughtily.
“Yes, really,” Anna whispered, glaring back at her.
After so many nights of Sally’s on-air abuse, Anna could barely contain her rage. And she was convinced Sally’s campaign against her and Russ had contributed to his suicide. Hell, Sally may as well have pushed him off the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Now, here she was, in person, giving her this self-righteous look. More than anything right now, Anna wanted to slap that nasty old woman across her perfectly made-up face. She wanted to hurt her.
“You don’t want to piss me off,” Sally said calmly. “You think I’ve made things tough for you recently? I have a whole staff of people who work for me. I can delegate—and destroy you—with just a couple of phone calls. You’re out of your league here, Anna. I’ve been a network star for over a dozen years. And you’re just a second-rate local TV newswoman—a nobody.”
Furious, Anna started shaking. “Don’t push me, because it’s all I can do to keep from punching in your Botoxed face. You can add assault and battery to the list of crimes you’ve accused me of on your putrid TV show. At this point, I have nothing to lose. I’m serious, Sally. You’re on the air in two and a half hours, and you’ll have a tough time explaining a black eye to your viewers.”
“All right, let’s put our differences aside for just a minute,” Sally said. “This is my daughter we’re talking about.”
“Said the woman who told malicious lies on the air about my dead mother, the same woman whose people paid my poor brother to lie about me.” Anna shook her head. “Don’t give me this shit about the sanctity of family, Sally, because it won’t wash—”
Anna fell silent at the sound of a key in the lock.
Sally stepped aside as the door opened.
A visibly stunned Taylor almost balked in the doorway. Then, after a second, she merely looked annoyed. She stepped in, closed the door, and set down her shopping bag. “Mother, what are you doing here?” she asked—and signed.
“I’m looking out for you,” Sally shot back. “And obviously, you need looking after, dear.” She pointed at Anna. “What’s she doing here?”
“She’s my friend. I invited her here. And I didn’t invite you, Mother. Now, this is my place—”
“Which I paid for!” Sally yelled, signing clumsily. Then she seemed to lose her patience, because she stopped signing and kept talking. “That gives me the right to be here—that, and the fact that I’m your mother, and you’ve obviously lost your mind. This woman is not your friend, Taylor. She can’t be trusted. When I heard she was here—”
“Who told you that Anna was here? Do you have people spying on me or something?”
Sally let out an exasperated sigh. “When that creep called the show last night and he said he liked to follow deaf girls around, I got worried. So I asked one of my private investigators to watch your place. It’s Jim Larson, you know him. He’s just watching the place. That’s all. I was concerned.” She scowled at Anna for a moment. “Well, about an hour ago, he called me to say that Anna Malone had just gone into the building, and maybe I might be interested. I’d just as soon that Bud character was paying you a visit. You know how I feel about her. How can you betray me like this?”
“I already told you,” Taylor said, signing. “I think what you’re doing to Anna is unfair and vicious. She doesn’t deserve it. You’re just being vindictive—all because, a few years ago, she showed how you drove that innocent man in Spokane to commit suicide. And what happens? You did the exact same thing again with Dr. Knoll! How many lives will you destroy for the sake of your TV ratings?”
“Are you delusional, dear?” Sally asked, hands on hips. “You don’t actually believe Courtney’s husband was innocent, do you?” She nodded toward Anna. “And you think this one’s your friend? Well, she was supposedly friends with Courtney, too—and with that Beebe woman I interviewed the other day. She’s using you, honey. Mark my words. You want to hear something funny? This one . . .” She pointed to Anna again. “Just before you walked in, this one was talking to me about family. Isn’t that a laugh? I don’t need a lecture about the sanctity of family from a homewrecker.”
Anna had enough. “Sally, you’re so full of shit—”
“You’re one to talk, Mother!” Taylor interrupted. “You think I don’t know about all the affairs you’ve had, all the men you’ve slept with? And most of them were married—with families.”
“Maybe, but none of them were murderers,” Sally said. “And don’t for a minute think your friend here wasn’t somehow involved in killing that poor woman.”
“That’s a lie,” Anna said. “Dr. Knoll didn’t murder his wife. And I think you know it, too, Sally, just like you know I had nothing to do with whatever happened to Courtney. It’s just what Taylor said. It’s all about the fact that I made you take a good hard look at yourself a couple of years ago, and you blame me for what you saw.”
Sally interrupted: “I didn’t make that man blow his head off—”
“You’re such a hypocrite, Sally,” Anna cut in, talking over her. “You invite some creep who stalks deaf women to come back on your show—just to boost your ratings. Meanwhile, that just fuels his sense of self-importance. You’re empowering him. And he’s probably a murderer. He probably killed Courtney. But that’s not your problem, right? After all, you can send a guard over to your daughter’s apartment to watch over her. Well, what about all the other deaf girls out there, Sally? Who’s going to guard them?”
Sally was still trying to get a word in when Taylor suddenly screeched: “Shut up!”
Both Anna and Sally stopped talking.
Taylor had tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what either one of you are saying. I can’t follow.”
Anna took a deep breath and then touched Taylor’s arm. “I’ll go. I’m sorry, Taylor.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Taylor nodded. “I’ll walk you out,” she signed as she spoke. Then she opened the door for Anna.
Without giving Sally another glance, Anna headed out to the corridor. Taylor trailed after her and shut the door. “I’m so sorry, Anna,” she said.
“No, I’m sorry,” Anna whispered. “It was wrong of me to talk to your mother like that in front of you.”
Taylor let out a little laugh. “It’s okay,” she said as they stopped in front of the stairway door. “I only caught about half of it. But the half I caught, I totally agreed with. I didn’t get a chance to ask you. How did the session go? Did Gloria leave early?”
“We couldn’t get liftoff. I was too wound up, and she couldn’t put me in a hypnotic state. She said it happens sometimes. We’re giving it another go tomorrow—if that’s all right with you.”
Taylor nodded. “It’s fine. I’ll try to get my mother to call off her spy. There’s a back entrance
you could use, too—just in case. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Anna said.
Taylor hugged her. Again, it was slightly awkward.
Anna pushed open the door and started down the stairs. She thought about how nothing had been accomplished during this session.
All she’d done was piss off Sally Justice even more.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Wednesday, July 22—4:49 P.M.
Lake Bosworth, Washington
“I’m hot,” Erin Donnelly announced, fanning her pretty, tanned, freckled face. “Aren’t you guys hot?”
“I’m totally hot,” replied Greg Zeigler, strolling alongside her on the sandy strip at the lake’s edge. “I’m hot with two t’s.”
Erin giggled and bumped her shoulder against his.
Walking behind the two of them, Rory Niefeld said nothing. He was tempted to shove Erin into the water. Maybe that would cool her off and shut her up.
The three of them were starting their sophomore year at Granite Falls High School in the fall. Erin was one of the most popular girls in their class. Rory thought she was pretty stuck-up. She’d always treated him like he was a disease.
Rory bagged groceries at the Granite Falls IGA. It was a great summer job. He got out at three in the afternoon on Wednesdays and Thursdays. His best friend, Greg, had called this morning and asked if he wanted to go to Lake Bosworth when he got off work. Greg had found a little skiff in some woods by the lake earlier in the week, and maybe they could find it again and take it out on the water. Obviously, it hadn’t occurred to Greg that the skiff—along with that stretch of land off the lake—was probably someone’s private property.
For Rory, being Greg’s pal was kind of like being friends with Ferris Bueller in that old movie. Greg was cool with a fun sense of adventure, but he could also be a selfish asshole at times. He got away with a lot, and Rory often felt like Ferris’s friend Cameron, who was, rightfully, forever worried about getting in trouble.
The risk factor of this proposed adventure on the lake had seemed low compared to most of Greg’s schemes, so Rory agreed to meet his friend after work. Greg’s older brother had a cricket set, and Greg said he’d bring along a couple of cricket bats they could use as paddles if the little boat took to the water.
Greg had been held back a year in sixth grade. So he was a year older and already had his driver’s license. When Greg had come by the IGA at three, Erin had been in the store. Greg had talked her into coming along with them this afternoon.
And that was how Rory had become the third wheel in this excursion. Actually, he was more like the fourth wheel—if he counted Erin’s phone as another member of their party. She’d been texting practically nonstop since getting into Greg’s mother’s Toyota Highlander two hours ago.
For the past forty-five minutes, while they’d hunted for the boat, she’d complained about her cell reception in the woods. They’d never been able to find the skiff, further proof—as far as Rory was concerned—that the skiff, the woods, and that section of the lakefront were probably someone’s private property.
Now the three of them were walking along the water. No one else was around. Somehow, Rory had gotten saddled with Greg’s brother’s cricket bats while Greg and Erin whispered, flirted, and giggled together a few paces in front of him. The two of them had on shorts and T-shirts, while Rory was in his work clothes: a white short-sleeve shirt and long black pants.
“Let’s go swimming!” Greg suggested.
Still mostly focused on her phone, Erin bumped into him again. “That would be great if I’d brought along my swimsuit.”
“There’s nobody else around. And I’m not shy.”
Oh shit, we’re not going there, Rory thought, stopping in his tracks.
Erin stopped, too. “Are you trying to get me to swim naked? God, what a perv!”
“Hey, it’s no big deal. Rory and I have swum here without suits. No one will see us.”
Rory remembered. It had been a couple of years ago when they were in eighth grade. While it had been a fun, crazy, impulsive thing to do, the whole time, two things had weighed heavily on Rory’s mind: that Greg already had pubic hair and he didn’t, and that they’d get caught.
“No way!” Erin screamed. “You’re not getting me naked. God, you really are a perv!”
But Greg pulled his T-shirt over his head. “Okay, so we swim in our underwear. C’mon, Rory.”
If Erin hadn’t been with them, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated. He was hot and sweaty, and after a long day at work, he could have used a refreshing dip. Hell, they could have swum naked. He wasn’t shy around his friend. But he didn’t want to peel down to his underpants in front of Erin—and her phone.
Greg kicked off his sneakers and pulled down his shorts. Tan and trim, he wore gray briefs with a black elastic band. He probably didn’t care if Erin took his picture or got him on video. Hell, he probably wanted her to take his picture or get him on video.
Meanwhile, Rory was pale and out of shape from working at the supermarket all summer. He wore white Jockey briefs under his long pants. Once he got in the water, the briefs would be transparent, and he was bound to have penile shrinkage. He could just hear Erin talking to her friends: And it was like he had a peanut in his underpants.
With a howl, Greg ran into the water and totally submerged himself. Amid a lot of splashing, he popped back up from beneath the lake’s surface and let out another yell. “C’mon, you guys! The water’s fucking fantastic!”
Erin captured the whole show on her phone’s camera. After a minute or two, she kicked off her sandals and swiveled around to glare at Rory. “Don’t look!” she commanded. Then she giggled and called out to Greg, more playfully: “Don’t look! I’m serious.”
Screw you, I’m looking, Rory thought.
She turned her back to the two of them and pulled her T-shirt up over her head. Her long brown hair fell back down over her shoulders. She was tan and slim—with no visible blemishes on her beautiful body. She wore a white bra. She carefully wrapped her T-shirt around her precious phone and set it down by a piece of driftwood.
Greg let go with another hoot as she stepped out of her shorts. She wore dark blue panties that showed off the top of her butt crack. With her arms crossed in front of her, she started into the lake and squealed: “Shit, it’s cold!”
Greg splashed her, and she squealed again. Within a couple of minutes, the two of them were frolicking in the water. “C’mon, Rory!” Greg yelled. “What are you waiting for?”
He put down Greg’s brother’s cricket bats. They clattered as they hit the sand. He figured as long as Erin wasn’t taking any photos of him, he was safe. He just had to remember to get out of the water and get dressed before she got to her phone again.
But as he unbuttoned his shirt, Rory had a weird premonition. Something was going to happen. He wasn’t sure what it was. But this would end up badly. And it wasn’t going to be one of those things he could laugh about later.
Then Erin called to him: “C’mon, Rory! Don’t be a party pooper!”
He hastily took off his shoes, socks, and long black trousers. Then he ran into the water before she could get a good look at his pale, skinny body and his unsexy underwear. The cold lake was a shock at first, but Rory quickly got used to it. Greg and Erin kept splashing him, and he splashed them back.
After a while, they began to ignore him. Treading in deeper water, they whispered to each other and giggled. At one point, Rory felt his foot brush against something solid but spongy at the bottom of the lake. He panicked for a moment and swam away. He didn’t want to think about what it might have been.
“Hey, Rory!” Greg called. “C’mon, I dare ya.”
He turned to see his friend, in deeper water. His arm was up, and he held his wet, dripping underpants. The lake was clear enough that Rory could tell his friend was naked.
Erin was closer to him and seemed to appreciate the view. She kept giggling.
> “Erin’s not going to take off anything until you do!” Greg said. Then he spit some lake water out of his mouth. “You gotta do it, man! Take ’em off!”
“No way!” Rory declared.
“Don’t be a chickenshit!”
“I won’t look!” Erin promised. “I can’t see anything from this far anyway.”
Rory thought it over. He drifted toward shallower water. “You have two things to take off,” he said to Erin. “You take off one thing, and I’ll take off my underpants. Then you have to get totally naked, too.”
Still waving around his soggy underpants, Greg gave a wolf whistle.
Rory figured his tactic was pretty brilliant, because she probably wasn’t going to lose her bra or panties.
Erin started to swim away from both of them. Then she stopped and reached back for the clasp on the back of her bra.
Greg drifted closer to Rory. “Shit, I think she’s going to do it, man,” he whispered.
But Erin was so far away, they really couldn’t see anything. Plus she ducked into the water so that it was up to her neck. She seemed to wiggle under the surface, and after a moment, she raised her white bra in the air.
Greg let out a rousing cheer.
Rory figured if he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see him. So he reached down and peeled off his briefs. He didn’t want anyone calling him a chickenshit or a party pooper. He raised his arm out of the water, the underpants in his grasp.
Erin let out another scream.
All of a sudden, Greg lunged toward him. Rory didn’t know what his friend was doing until Greg snatched his underpants out of his hand. Then Greg dove under the surface and started swimming away—toward the shore.
Stunned, Rory caught a glimpse of Erin putting her bra back on.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled. Dog-paddling furiously, he started after his friend. But Greg was a better swimmer. He was already standing naked in shallow water, stepping into his wet gray underpants.
Rory struggled to catch up. He hit the shallower water just as Greg reached the shore. Laughing, his friend started to collect their clothes.
The Night She Disappeared Page 27
