Cold Summer Nights
Page 8
Nick lowered the paper and pursed his lips. “You worked loss prevention at Target for three months.”
“Yeah, and I was also a reporter for the paper.”
Nick cast a sideways look at him and sat down, going over the flier from top to bottom. The description matched perfectly, as did the town she claimed to be from. And there was no doubt that beautiful smile and those vibrant eyes belonged to Summer. Then the color drained from his face. “This happened over five years ago,” he said flatly.
Rusty cleared his throat. “I know.” He took a long drink of the beer, watching the look on Nick’s face.
Nick laughed softly. “Outside of the hair, she looks the exact same,” he said, scanning the aqua blue waters in the background.
“Yep.”
Nick slowly glanced over to him and then let eyes fall back to the evidence on display. It was ironic how a picture like this was used so often in a missing persons case. Such a happy snapshot capturing a sparkling moment in someone’s life…that would ultimately end up becoming such a grim reminder in the end.
He remembered Summer saying she had been to the Dominican Republic one time during college. Told him her parents nearly bought a two bedroom vacation condo right off a white sandy beach. Then her dad got sick with cancer. Then he died, as did the plans for the condo. Nick also recalled her saying that her mom still lived in Rockford to this day. He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
Rusty leaned forward on the edge of the couch and pointed to the picture. “Summer Parker was abducted by some nut-bag while she was out jogging on a trail that went through a wooded area in Rock Cut State Park.”
“In Rockford?”
Rusty nodded and took another drink.
Nick’s face twisted. “Five years ago?”
Rusty nodded again. “They found her car in one of the trail head parking lots, but the cops never found her body. Never found her iPod or any of her clothing, nothing. She was never seen again.”
“How do they know she was kidnapped then?”
Rusty shrugged. “That’s what the cops concluded.”
Nick tried posing another question to poke a hole in the impossible staring him in the face, but was unable form a complete sentence.
“I know, Nicky. It doesn’t make any sense, but I told you there was something off with that girl,” Rusty said, leaning back with a smug look covering his unshaven face.
Nick turned to him with incredulous eyes. “Did you Photoshop this? Because if you did, that’s pretty messed up, man.”
“Nick, would you listen to yourself. Pull your head out of the sand! Your ex-girlfriend was just murdered. I didn’t Photoshop shit,” Rusty scowled with an unwavering glare.
“So what are you saying? She faked her own abduction and ran away to Des Moines, Iowa?”
“Looks like it,” he answered, tipping the bottle back.
Nick stood up and began pacing the room. “This is too crazy.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir, my friend. I just caught a cold from some prank-caller over the damn phone.”
Nick stopped pacing, his eyes drawing to his friend. “You what?”
“Listen to me, Nick. For once in your life, just…”
A knock at the door interrupted Rusty, causing them both to jump. They swapped glances and Nick shrugged his shoulders.
Rusty got up and crept over to the bay window. “Shit,” he whispered, seeing Summer’s red Honda Accord parked behind his Lumina in the moonlit driveway. “It’s her,” he said, stepping back from the window and pressing himself up against the beige painted wall. “Do you have a gun?”
Nick frowned at him. “Have you lost your mind?” he said, folding the paper up and quickly slipping it into his back pocket. “Just relax.”
Rusty went back to the couch and ran a sweaty hand through his receding hair. He adjusted his pants and shirt and waved at Nick just before he opened the door. “Hey, whatever you do, do not leave me alone with her,” he whispered.
Nick rolled his eyes and opened the door.
“Hi,” Summer said warmly, painting a wide smile across her face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, leaning past Nick to wave at Rusty.
Rusty tried to smile and held up a hand.
“No,” Nick said, dropping his eyes to a clear plastic container of chocolate chip cookies in her bony hands. “We were just hanging out.”
“Well, I thought I’d drop off some cookies for you on my way home from work.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, taking the cookies and not knowing what to say next.
“Well, you need your energy,” she grinned.
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a short laugh.
Awkward silence took the space between them as he searched the cookies for something else to say. Summer’s blond hair in the pictured rattled his mind. “They look great,” he said, grimacing as soon as the corny words slipped from his lips.
“Anyway,” she started. “I should probably get…”
“You wanna come inside?”
Rusty immediately began trying to catch Nick’s attention by shaking his head and cutting a flat hand across his neckline.
“No, I’ll leave you two alone,” she smiled, glancing back to Rusty who froze and tried to act normal.
“Okay,” Nick said, leaning over and kissing her on the lips, which felt like cold worms.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Bye Rusty!” she said, poking her head inside the doorway again.
Rusty gulped. “Have a good…night,” his voice cracked as he tried on another smile that didn’t fit.
Summer laughed and turned around. “Bye,” she said to Nick, hurriedly returning to her car.
“See you tomorrow,” Nick said, slowly shutting the door and locking it.
Rusty glared at him with thin eyes. “Are you nuts?”
Nick shrugged. “What?”
“You wanna come in?” he said in a high-pitched voice, mocking Nick. “Never invite her in when I’m here! That is a new rule.”
Nick snorted. “Want a cookie?” he asked, holding out the container.
Rusty recoiled like it was full of horned rattlesnakes.
Nick took the cookies into the kitchen and set them down next to the toaster.
“Are you going to tell her about Amy?” Rusty shouted from the living room.
“I don’t know.”
Rusty ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his face. “This is so messed up.”
Nick came back in the room and sat down. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you,” he said in a serious tone.
Rusty stared at him dully. “Yeah, what’s that? You’re a gay serial killer? Because I already called that. Ask Dallas.”
Chapter Nine
Rusty finished another bottle of beer and belched. “Wow, this IPA stuff really sneaks up on you,” he said, staring at the dark bottle in his hand with bloodshot eyes.
“Which is why you’re sleeping in the spare room tonight,” Nick said, taking a pull from his glass of Southern Comfort and Coke.”
“No, I’m fine to drive. I actually drive way better like this,” he said, getting up and stumbling into the kitchen to retrieve another beer.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“And get your creepy little niece’s demon germs all over me?” he snickered, coming back with a cold one. “No thanks!”
Nick laughed and massaged his head. “I washed the sheets. Plus, I’ve got tomorrow off anyway, so you might as well crash here tonight.”
Rusty plopped down onto the couch and started coughing. “I’m just messin with you. Truth is, I don’t want to go home by myself. I’m scared to open my eyes and I’m scared to close em.”
Nick cocked his head at him. “Really? The Blair Witch?”
“It’s appropriate, Nick! And if I catch you standing in the corner tonight, I’m really gonna lose it.”
Nick let out a tired sounding laugh.
“She didn’t puke,” Nick quickly corrected.
“You know what I mean,” Rusty shot back. “You find your toaster in the fridge. Your grandma and Amy are dead, and your girlfriend has been missing for five years.”
Nick stared at him, waiting for the conclusion.
Rusty nodded. “We have to kill her.”
Nick’s face slumped. “My niece?”
Rusty frowned. “No, not your niece, Einstein. Summer!”
Nick laughed. “Man, are you ever serious?”
“Well, what do you propose?”
Nick turned his attention back to the flat screen, where The Shining was on HBO in crystal clear HD. He let out a long sigh and took another drink, the ice rattling around inside the glass. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow night. Find out what’s going on.”
“By yourself?”
Nick shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Dude, she has a missing persons poster. She could be an escaped fugitive for all we know.”
“Pffft!” Nick spit out, watching young Danny cautiously approaching room 237 on the TV.
“How about I hide in the closet?”
Nick turned to him and squinted. “Hide in the closet?”
“Yeah, I’ll have a camera and record the whole thing. Right when she gets here, take her into the bedroom and seduce her.”
Nick threw his back and busted up laughing as Danny suddenly jumped back on his big wheel and began pedaling down the carpeted hallway of the Overlook Hotel.
Rusty leaned back and swung an arm up onto the back of the couch. “Just make sure you leave the light on. I wanna get everything on tape.”
Chapter Ten
The racks of donuts glimmered in the case lighting. Cherry cake, chocolate iced French crullers, maple long johns, vanilla bizmarks stuffed with strawberry jelly, shiny glazed and rainbows of sprinkles.
“How many?” the man behind the counter asked.
Ron Hubbard rubbed his face, his eyes jumping from row to row. He glanced at his watch and groaned, knowing he should at least go to Subway or McDonalds for lunch. If his wife found out he was eating donuts for lunch again, she’d have his head on a stick. “Better gimme a dozen. It’s going to be a long day.”
In the Donut Hut’s parking lot, he reached inside the compact Prius and set the generic white box in the passenger seat. He inhaled and folded his tall, skinny frame in behind the wheel and started it up. After fastening his seatbelt, he snatched a cinnamon yum-yum for the road. He took an impressive bite and twisted in his seat, pulling some slack into the seatbelt. With any luck, Higgin’s Repair would have his Expedition’s power steering pump fixed before they closed today. If not, he’d be stuck with his wife’s micro-machine for at least another day. A fluffy crumb bounced off his tie and disappeared somewhere around his shoes. He moaned, knowing he’d have to dig that out before he got back home. The evidence would be damning.
After Rusty left that morning, Nick was lounging on the couch watching SportsCenter when it finally hit him. His ex-girlfriend was dead. The girl he had held in his arms right here on this very couch was now being stored inside a cooler somewhere. She may not have been the best girlfriend in the world but she didn’t deserve to be murdered. A mental video clip of Amy kissing him in the bar began playing in his mind. Then he saw her gasping for her life at the gloved hands of some dark figure, which had to be Brad. After all, she had just dumped him and he probably still had a key to her apartment. Nick used to have one when he was dating her. He had never met Brad but guessed he probably hadn’t taken it so well when the next flavor of the month had come along. Amy had a way of making guys squirm like that.
Someone knocked at the front door, rattling his hangover. He set his can of Diet Coke down and got up, brushing Doritos crumbs from his shirt as he went to the door.
A tiny gray haired lady smiled at him when he opened it. “Hello, young man,” she said brightly.
Nick’s eyes dropped to her light blue dress and white lacey gloves holding a plate wrapped in aluminum foil. She looked like she had just come from church, but Nick doubted there would be a service on a Tuesday morning like this.
“Hi,” he said, noticing his Jeep Wrangler sitting alone in the driveway. He tried not to groan when he realized she was probably another bible-beater going door to door to save souls corrupted by Facebook and reality TV.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she beamed.
His eyes shot back to her. “Sure is,” he smiled, wondering how long it would take his opportunity to politely get out of this to come around.
“Is Helen home?” she asked, raising her pencil thin eyebrows and trying to peer past him inside the house.
His mouth opened but it took a few seconds for his voice to catch up. “Helen?”
The lady nodded, a big grin plastered across her leathery face.
Nick squinted at the tiny senior. “Helen who?”
“Why, Helen Wilson,” she cackled, as if he was joking with her.
His heart sank at the mention of his grandmother’s name.
“I talked to her last night and she said her favorite kind of cake is carrot cake, so I wanted to drop this off for her,” she said, lifting the plate to him.
He dropped his narrow eyes to the plate wrapped in foil, while his sluggish mind tried finding some traction in the conversation. His cell started ringing on the couch, jerking him from his thoughts.
“Would you like me to bring it inside?” she asked eagerly, looking past him again.
“Uh,” he sputtered, the wheels in his mind gaining no traction as he glanced back to the ringing phone.
Suddenly, he felt her crooked nose poke its way into the doorframe, causing him to turn back around. He stared down at the top of her white puffy hair and stepped in front of her invasive appendage.
The cell rang again, each ring seeming louder than the rest.
“Helen!” she suddenly screamed, scaring the shit out of him. “He won’t listen!”
“Jesus Christ, lady!” he recoiled, the cell phone giving him a major headache.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she smiled, stepping back.
Nick frowned, the phone calling to him like an injured child. “Hang on one second,” he said, dashing over to the couch and snatching his BlackBerry. He didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway. “Hello?”
There was no response.
“Hello?” he said again.
A cold silence answered him. He pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it, thinking it had gone to his voicemail. But it was still connected. “Hello?”
Rusty’s words about catching a cold from a crank caller echoed inside his thick head. Nick snorted and hung up, suddenly remembering the old lady. He turned back to the front door. “Sorry about that. Wrong num…” He trailed off, seeing she was gone.
He stepped out onto the front porch to see the sun had disappeared as quickly as the elderly visitor had. “What the hell?” he mumbled, his mind cloudier than the sky above.
He scratched his head and went back inside and locked the door. “Okay, that was weird,” he muttered to himself, going into the kitchen to make sure she hadn’t gone around to the backyard. His mind raced faster when he found one of the French doors wide open in the kitchen. He stepped through it and walked out onto the patio. Other than a couple of robins getting springtime friendly with each other, it was clear. No breeze either. He grunted and went back inside, locking the French doors behind him.
His eyes landed on the toaster, relieved to see it still sitting on the granite countertop like a good toaster is supposed to do. The old lady’s words quickly replaced his thoughts, rattling around like a loose hubcap. Why would anyone think his grandma would be here? She wasn’t even alive.
Someone banged on
the front door again. His eyes jerked to the living room. He crossed into the living room, knowing he had gotten out of that whole thing way too easily.
“Hi, are you Nick Foley?” a thin man with a friendly smile asked when Nick opened the door.
Nick’s eyes wandered past the man to the front yard. “Yeah.”
The man glanced over his shoulder and then returned his gaze to Nick. “Hey Nick, I’m Detective Ron Hubbard with the Des Moines Police Department,” he said, pulling his blue sports coat back just enough to reveal a silver badge and a black handgun on his belt.
Nick wasn’t sure if the detective had meant for him to see the gun or not.
“You mind if I step inside and ask you a few questions about Amy Miller real quick?”
Nick glanced to the maroon Prius parked in the driveway behind his Jeep and turned back to the cop, who ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair as he studied Nick with awaiting eyes. “Sure. Come on in.”
The detective stepped inside and immediately went to work looking for clues, disinterested in what Nick thought about it either. “You got a nice place here.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, shutting the door.
“You watch HGTV or something?”
Nick snorted. “Only if my girlfriend makes me.”
Ron laughed. “I heard that! My wife watches that stuff nonstop. Feel like I’m living in a Pottery Barn by the time she gets done with our place.”
A nervous laugh slipped from Nick’s mouth. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the leather armchair.
“Thanks,” Ron said, sitting down and crossing his legs.
“You want some pop or water?”
Ron shook his head. “No thanks, never touch the stuff.”
“Beer?”
“No, I better not. Still on duty,” he smiled, tapping his gun.
“You sure?”
“Okay, ya twisted my arm! But one and done,” he laughed.
Nick came back into the room and handed the detective a cold bottle of Sam Adam’s.
“Thank you,” Ron said, taking a long drink and releasing a big sigh. “What is that, a thirty-seven inch?” he asked, nodding at Nick’s TV.