Lauren eyed her.
“Guilt can be the most destructive part of grief. If you are feeling it, I want you to feel free to own it, with me, your therapist, or anyone of your choosing.”
“I don’t feel guilty.” Lauren’s chin lifted. “And my parents are getting me a therapist.”
“I’m glad.” Georgia paused. “So the information I have isn’t true?”
“What information?”
Tom Walcher perched on the end of the sofa. He reminded Georgia of a tiger preparing to attack by feigning disinterest in its prey.
“That Sara came to the Forest Preserve specifically to talk to you.”
Lauren’s leg stopped swinging. A stunned look came over her.
Just then Georgia heard a voice from the kitchen. “Thank you. No, we’ll take care of it.” The phone was put down. Footsteps clacked, and Andrea Walcher came into the living room. All the way in, this time. Planting herself in front of the picture window, she glared at Georgia. “I just called Newfield. They haven’t hired any freelance social workers, and they’ve never heard of anyone named Georgia Davis. Which means you’re impersonating someone you’re not.”
Georgia gulped air.
“So, who the hell are you and what do you want?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ON THE way home, Georgia felt like counting her fingers and toes to make sure they were still there. When Andrea Walcher confronted her, she confessed she was a private investigator working for Cam Jordan. Tom Walcher’s face turned crimson, and he told her to get the hell out of their house. He also vowed to make Goddamned sure she never worked anywhere in the state if he ever found her within a hundred yards of their daughter. He would get a restraining order if he had to. Or take her to court.
She made a speedy exit.
Heading south on Sheridan Road, she slammed her fist on the steering wheel. She’d known it was risky. Why the hell did she do it? Now she had two enemies, and if Walcher followed through on his threats, she might be in deep shit. Particularly since Walcher implied he and Ramsey were pals. What would happen if word got back to the State’s Attorney about her “visit”? What would that do to Kelly? Or Cam? She’d screwed up. Big time.
She cut across to Green Bay Road and parked at the Jewel. Inside she pushed her grocery cart through the aisles. Although food was the last thing on her mind, she grabbed milk, lettuce, bread, and eggs. Then she browsed the pre-cooked foods and threw a pizza in her cart. She didn’t want to go out, and she certainly didn’t have the energy to go to Mickey’s. She paid for her groceries, headed back to her car, and threw the bags in the back seat.
The liquor store was only a block away. This had been one shitty day. Maybe she should stop in.
She was steering the cart into the cart corral when she felt a presence at her back. Her senses went on alert. It was practically dark, and the shadows in and around the parking lot were deep enough to shelter someone. Great. Getting mugged would be a fitting end to this day. Then instinct kicked in. Pretending not to notice anything, she tightened her grip on the cart’s handlebar. With any luck, the attacker would hold off long enough for her to swing the cart out of the corral and launch it toward his groin. Then she would run like hell. Slowly, she started to back the cart out of the corral.
“Hey!” A voice said.
Georgia whipped the cart around, her hands curled into fists, prepared to let the cart fly.
“Wait! No. Don’t!” A girl’s voice.
Georgia froze.
Lauren Walcher emerged from the shadows, waving her arms.
Georgia took a deep breath. Her stomach slowly descended to its proper place. “What—what the hell are you doing here?”
“I followed you.”
“All the way from Glencoe? Why?”
“I want to talk.”
She steered the car back into the corral. “Do your parents know you’re here?”
“Of course not.”
Georgia loosened her grip on the cart. The adrenaline flowing through her began to ebb. “You realize they’d probably lock you up if they found out.”
“No, they wouldn’t.” She shrugged. “I’d just tell them that you waited for me outside the house and forced me go with you.”
Georgia gazed at Lauren. This girl had balls.
Lauren shot Georgia a condescending smile, trotted over to her Land Rover, and levered herself up on the hood. “Here’s the thing. Sara was my friend. If that psycho didn’t do it, I want to know who did.”
Georgia had gotten nothing from Lauren at her house. Her presence here was a gift. Matt used to say never look a gift horse in the mouth— just be careful it’s not a Trojan. She followed Lauren to the Land Rover. “What makes you think he didn’t do it?”
“You tell me.” Lauren crossed one leg over the other.
A sodium vapor light high above them crackled and buzzed. “Why don’t you tell me about Sara’s problems with her friends?”
“What problems?”
“No more games,” Georgia said. “What did Sara want to talk to you about in the Forest Preserve?”
“What are you talking about?” Lauren asked uneasily.
“Come on, Lauren. Her mother told me she was coming to the Forest Preserve to see you. Why?”
The girl shrugged but didn’t say anything.
Georgia forced herself to stay patient. “She didn’t leave a message on your cell? Or text message?”
Lauren jiggled her foot. “No.”
Georgia couldn’t tell if she was lying. “So you have no idea what she wanted?”
“Nope.” Lauren’s foot continued to jiggle.
“You sure it had nothing to do with her… activities?”
She looked up. Her foot stopped jiggling. “What activities?”
“Claire Tennenbaum told me that Sara had a tendency to—well, let’s say she was very curious about other people’s business.”
“Oh, that.” Lauren’s shoulders relaxed. “Claire couldn’t keep anything straight if her life depended on it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Claire is sweet, but she’s as dumb as a plate.”
“So what she said isn’t true?”
“I never saw Sara do anything like that.” But she wouldn’t meet Georgia’s eyes.
“Lauren, when I was your age, I remember thinking that a real friend was someone who kept my secrets. Who would never tell anyone what I said or did. But I realize now that isn’t always true. Sometimes you’re a more responsible friend if you do tell someone those secrets. Especially if it helps us discover why she was killed.” She paused. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
Lauren hesitated for just a fraction of a second. It was enough.
“Lauren?”
The girl fingered a leather band around her neck. A silver charm attached to it flashed in the orange glow of the sodium vapor light.
Georgia prodded gently. “Did Sara have any secrets she didn’t want people to know?”
Lauren ran a tongue around her lips.
“Something that involved other people?”
The girl stared at her. Then she dropped her hand from the necklace and swung herself down from the hood of her car. She cleared her throat. “Sara was going out with somebody’s boyfriend. Last summer. There were bad feelings about that.”
“What boy? Whose boyfriend?”
“It didn’t last, but that wasn’t Sara’s fault.” Lauren started talking faster. “I mean, she was hot. Guys liked her. You can’t do much about that.”
“Who was the boy?” Georgia crossed her arms. Lauren cut her eyes to the ground.
“Okay. Who was the girl?” Georgia asked.
“Look, I’ve got to go. Maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t have followed you here.” She dug out her keys from her pocket and unlocked the Land Rover.
“Lauren…”
She opened the door and climbed up into the front seat. “Monica Ramsey,” she said softly.
“The daughter of the State’s Attorney?” Georgia’s arms dropped to her sides.
She nodded.
“And Monica Ramsey was in the Forest Preserve the day Sara was killed.”
“Yes,” she said, as if the thought had just come to her. “She was there.”
***
Georgia was lugging the groceries up to her apartment thinking about families and friendship and secrets when she heard the fight.
“I don’t care what you said. It doesn’t mean shit.” A woman’s voice. Georgia stopped and looked up, as if she expected see angry words stabbing the air.
“What do you want from me, Sheila?” A man’s voice. Controlled. But tense.
“I want you to come home.”
“Not after what happened. It’s not going to work. It’s over.”
“Why can’t you forgive me?” Her voice again. “I made a mistake, okay? A bad mistake.”
“For two years?” His voice spiked. Georgia cringed. She could hear the rawness and pain.
“You’re a sanctimonious prick, you know that?”
“Get out, Sheila. Now.”
Footsteps pounded on the floor. Georgia fumbled her key into the lock. She let herself in just as the door upstairs opened.
“You’ll regret this.”
“Goodbye, Sheila.”
The door slammed, and footsteps clomped down the steps. Georgia quietly closed her door.
***
Lauren checked the rear view mirror as she drove to the Mall. Ever since Sara was killed, Lauren had started to look over her shoulder, worrying that someone was watching her. Even the arrest of the freak in the woods hadn’t stopped the feeling. She kept remembering The Ring, the movie that came out a few years ago. Once you watched a certain video, you died seven days later. Okay, it was just a trashy movie. But the thought that someone might—just might—be setting her up the way they did in The Ring was creepy.
No. She was just on edge. Stressed out. No one was after her. Sara was killed by a psycho. That’s what the police said. So did everyone else. The guy was a registered sex offender, for Christ’s sake. So why was this private investigator asking so many questions? Lauren had given her Monica Ramsey. Sent her off on a wild goose chase. Maybe she would leave her alone. The less anyone knew, the better.
Lauren gripped the wheel. She was tired. Weary. Why was she doing everything herself? Wasn’t this supposed to be the time of her life? The bloom of the young rose and all that other crap her father handed down?
“You’re young, white, rich, and gorgeous. Spread your wings.”
Sure, Dad. Like you’d know how to do that. Although compared to the ice queen, he might have a trick or two up his sleeve. Still, nothing ever stopped the ache in her heart each time she thought about her family. She felt like they’d lost something important. Which was weird. How could you lose something you never had?
She parked the Land Rover and hurried into the mall. She spotted Derek as soon as she reached the main promenade. He was lounging on a bench outside Bath and Body Works, thumbing through the pages of one of those graphic novels. Nothing but a stupid comic book, except it cost as much as a CD. Still, she knew why he was carrying it, and it wasn’t a bad prop. She crept up behind him. He looked like he was deep into the book, but she knew he sensed her presence. That was part of the come-on. Don’t act too interested.
“Hey, dude.” She walked around to the front of the bench.
Derek Janowitz looked up. His nose was sharp, and his lips were thin, giving him a haughty expression. He wasn’t that big, but he was a wrestler, and his body was wiry and strong. His best features were his eyes, deep pools of blue that seemed to burrow straight into your soul. It was only skin deep, of course. What did he know about compassion or wisdom? But more times than not, it worked—he got plenty of second glances.
“Whassup?” He put the book down and fiddled with the leather band around his neck. It was similar to the necklace Lauren wore.
“We gotta talk.”
“I’m busy, in case you didn’t notice. Can’t it wait?”
A spit of annoyance shot through Lauren. “No. It can’t.”
He slouched on the bench. “So talk.”
She snuck a look around. A large woman and a teenage boy sat on a bench across from them. The boy looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than with his mother. But the woman kept her eyes pinned on Derek. Holy shit! She had to be at least forty, and she was ogling him.
“Not here.” Lauren scowled. “Follow me.”
She walked back to the escalator and headed up to the food court, checking over her shoulder to make sure he was following. When she got to Auntie Anne’s, she scooped up a couple of samples on the counter and popped them in her mouth. Asiago cheese. She stopped at a dimly lit table in the back of the food stalls and sat down. A combination of greasy Chinese food smells, pizza and fresh baked cookies drifted over.
Derek joined her a few seconds later. “So, what’s the deal?”
Lauren clasped her hands together. “We have a problem.”
“What now?” He sighed, but she picked up the irritation in his voice.
“No. This is serious.”
“That’s what you said last week, when—”
“That was different. I dealt with it. Not that you were much help.”
“Right,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t have even known about it without me.”
He was right, but she glared at him anyway. He was starting to tick her off. Claiming she couldn’t get along without him. That she needed him more than he needed her. Were all men like that, or was it just Derek? Her father had his faults, but he didn’t put people down all the time. At least not around her.
Derek raised his palm in a so-what gesture.
“A private eye is working Sara’s case.”
A startled look came over him. “How do you know?”
“She came to the house today. Tried to impersonate a shrink.”
Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “She?”
“Name’s Georgia Davis. Said she was a social worker. Turned out she wasn’t.”
“No shit.”
“You know her?”
“Naw. But a chick. That’s pretty tight.”
Lauren shrugged. “It did take balls. But it’s not good. I had a little talk with her afterwards.”
Derek focused on something behind Lauren, as if intent on some inner thought. She’d been through a range of possibilities on the way over but didn’t have any answers. She certainly didn’t expect Derek to have any. He’d dropped out of high school last year. She wasn’t with him because of his smarts.
She twisted around to see what he was staring at. A tall, thin blonde was passing behind her. She was hot but had on too much makeup. The girl favored Derek with a smile. Derek smiled back.
Lauren snapped. “Not now, asshole!”
Derek flicked his eyes back. He was pissed. Good. At least the smugness was gone.
Derek leaned forward. “How much does this Davis know?”
“She knows Sara came to the Forest Preserve to talk to me.”
“She did?” Derek looked interested. “What did she want?”
“I don’t know. I never got a chance to find out.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I thought you knew everything.”
“Well, compared to some people…”
His eyes turned nasty. She should back off. She continued. “Listen. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need your help. I tried to sidetrack her, and I think I did. But we need to make sure. Think, okay? Has there been anything—well, strange—on your end?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. People asking too many questions? Saying weird things?”
His gaze turned calculating. “You mean besides Sara?”
Lauren ignored the crack. “You know what I mean.”
He slouched in his chair, his brow furrowed. After a long moment, he shook his head. “I
don’t like it.”
“Me neither.” Lauren said. A throng of noisy teenagers suddenly appeared and commandeered the table beside them. She had to raise her voice to be heard. “What should we do?”
“Lemme think about it.” He sat up, throwing a withering look toward the boys at the table. One of the boys threw an equally withering look back. Keeping his eye on the boy, Derek added, “But I’ll tell you one thing not to do.”
She glanced at the boy Derek had confronted. He looked younger, maybe about fourteen, but he glared at Derek like he was spoiling for a fight. Why did men always have to stake out their turf? All that testosterone with nowhere to go. “What?”
“Stop looking so freaked.”
“You think I’m scared?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. “You really do have delusions of grandeur.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Delusions of what?”
She gestured to the comic book. “You’d know if you ever picked up a real book.”
“I don’t need books for the kind of work I do.”
“Fuck it, Derek. You work in a gas station.”
“I know what people want and how far they’re willing to go to get it.”
Lauren almost rose to the bait, but something inside told her this wasn’t the right time. She took a deep breath. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Always am.” He scooted the chair back. “Time to get back.”
She nodded. She’d have to be satisfied with that. “Anything new?”
“Maybe. If you hadn’t screwed it up.”
She looked at her watch. “I have time. I could stick around.”
“No way. I’m cool. Go home and jump into that fancy hot tub of yours. Let the water chill you out.”
Pity he didn’t know what a mixed metaphor was. It was a hundred and four degrees in her Jacuzzi.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CRISP MORNING sunlight angled through the car window, highlighting the steam rising from Georgia’s coffee. She watched it dissipate into tendrils of fog. She was parked a few houses away from Jeff Ramsey’s home in Winnetka. A rehabbed Victorian on a quiet street off Willow, the house was large but not showy, and it blended well with the other homes on the block. She was surprised—she’d expected him to live on one of the private roads in Winnetka that were little more than driveways. She was grateful he didn’t. It would have been tough to stake out.
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