Or almost. Bill had called her while she was at the grocery store and after the preliminaries—where are you, how are you, reversed from their old order now, that hint of suspicion always there—he’d gone on, sounding hyper, about a house he’d seen on the internet that would be perfect for them. He ticked off the merits, new construction, in a gated community in Summerlin, sounding like a living advertisement. Four bedrooms, for when they had another little one running around, a pool, on a golf course. The schools in the area were great, better than the one Cate was going to now. It was expensive, but it would appreciate, he assured her, and there was a nice group of people, lots of families, moving in. He’d made an appointment for them to drive by it this weekend. Get rid of that small place she was living in, move into a place that would be a real, solid, family house. She’d only planned to stay in that shabby house temporarily anyway, right?
Windy’s eyes moved from the front of her house to the closed garage door, which definitely needed to be painted, but still did not make the place shabby. She liked it, didn’t want to move to some generic house with great big doors and tiny trees, with rooms described as “perfect for entertaining” but lousy for living in, and a backyard so landscaped that looked like it was in Ohio rather than Nevada.
Why was she getting defensive, she asked herself. It had happened on the phone with Bill, too, until she’d had to promise to call him later and hung up. She had no real attachment to this house. They could use more space. And Cate would love having a pool. She could even picture it, picture sitting on the edge of the pool in a big hat while Cate did somersaults in the water and Bill stood at an outdoor grill with a cigar in his mouth, the perfect family. Picture them having unknown friends over for dinner in their formal dining room, Bill opening the wine, her bringing out a perfectly cooked prime rib, with individual spinach soufflés on the side, the mahogany table glimmering with china and silver and crystal, the perfect hosts, the perfect couple.
Of course, first she’d have to learn to make soufflé. But a formal dining room was a good place to start. She had never had one but it seemed like the kind of thing mature, settled people had. She wondered if she would ever not feel as though she were living her life on a stage set.
Playing pretend.
Her pulse picked up. She dialed Ash’s cell phone number from memory and waited impatiently through four rings. When he answered there was low music playing in the background and she realized he was probably with someone. She would have hung up if he hadn’t said, “Windy? Is that you?”
Damn caller ID. “Yes. I’m sorry to call like this after work.”
“No problem. What is it?”
Windy wondered how the woman he was with felt to hear him say it was no problem to be interrupted with work. Probably about how Bill felt when she did it. “You know what? It can wait until tomorrow.”
The music got quieter—was it a polka?—like he was shielding his phone. “No. Really, I’m not doing anything crucial. Did you think of something?”
Windy pictured him having dinner, candles, a fancy restaurant. Or were they at his house, wanting to be more alone. Could Ash cook? Maybe they were just having pizza, but it was romantic because of the ambiance, the way he looked at his date. Even with a polka playing in the background.
“It’s the white thread,” she admitted. “We’ve been thinking that it came from the lining of a bag or pocket. But what if it came from something like a wedding dress.”
“A wedding dress.”
Why had she called? “Maybe Eve was dressing up, pretending to be what she wasn’t, what she’s been aspiring to, you know, the good girl—forget it. I was just thinking maybe no one mentioned it because first of all, you wouldn’t associate murder with a bride and then here in Vegas there are so many women in wedding dresses walking around, you stop noticing after a while.”
“Vegas camouflage,” Ash said. “I like that, Windy. I like it a lot. It meshes well with Bad Girl and her taking the wedding bands.”
“I’m sure it’s wrong.”
“I’m not so sure,” he said, sounding like he meant it.
In the background Windy heard someone speak to him, and she said, “I should let you go. It sounds like you’re in demand.”
“Yes. Things are sort of heating up. Thanks for the idea.”
Windy stared at the phone in her hand, aware of a feeling of disappointment she couldn’t, or did not want to, explain.
Ash flipped his phone closed and walked back across the sea of card tables topped by dominoes in the rec room of the Ashley DeLordes Senior Center, where he volunteered Thursday nights.
A man with white hair that looked electrified said to him, “You done? We got important things to take care of over here. You’re only here once a week, you got to make your time with us count, boy. Now sit back down.”
Ash did as he was told. “Sorry, Arnold. What did I miss?”
“You missed losing to Josell.”
A sweet-looking woman with coal black hair and sparkling eyes winked at him and said, “Damn right you did, now pay up. That’s a quarter for each of us, hot stuff.”
Ash looked aghast. “It was a dime a week ago.”
“That damn inflation. You got to pay to play.”
As Ash reached into his pocket for the quarters, Arnold said, “So, who’s the new girlfriend?”
“Woman friend, Arnold,” Josell corrected. “Where the hell have you been? This is the twenty-first century. We women are liberated.”
“Your mouth is anyway,” Arnold said, then to Ash, “So who is she?”
“Just a woman I work with.”
Joselle’s eyes pinned him. “You’ve got a crush on her. This woman you work with.”
“She’s engaged. Not available.”
“She’s a fool,” Joselle said. “You’re one damn hot potato. You can tell her I said so.”
Ash pictured saying to Windy, “This eighty-eight-year-old woman I play dominoes with thinks I’m a damn hot potato.” And realized he would do it, if he thought it would work. “I’ll pass it along.”
CHAPTER 40
Harry knew there was something wrong with Eve the moment he walked in the door. She was sitting on the bottom step, wearing nothing but one of his old sweatshirts with the cuffs rolled up. And she was holding a framed photograph.
He knew what it was. He had no idea how she’d found it, but Eve was industrious that way. He also knew that her having it meant things between them were going to come to a head. He had sensed her becoming more and more unstable, knew what that meant, but he hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon.
He put all the compassion he could into his voice. “Eve. What are you doing here. Dressed like—well, not really dressed?”
She held the photograph out toward him. It was a picture of him in a tuxedo and a woman in a white dress. A photo from his wedding to Amanda. “What is this?”
He moved toward her. “Let me explain.”
“Tell me what this is!” she yelled. “Are you married?”
“It’s a long story.”
Her voice quivered and she said, “She’s so fat.”
He had to smile. Amanda couldn’t have weighed more than 105 pounds on their wedding day. “She looks just like you.”
“What?”
“That’s why I married her.”
She started to tremble. “Then you are married. You’ve been lying to me all the time. You are married.”
She threw the photo on the ground, hard, and the glass shattered.
He sighed. “Let me clean up this mess and I’ll explain the whole thing to you.” He went into the kitchen for the dust pan and broom but paused on the threshold. “Don’t touch that glass, okay? You might get hurt. Let me clean it up.”
When he came back she was crouched over the broken pieces, holding a large shard in one hand and a photo in the other.
Not the wedding photo. The photo that he kept hidden underneath it. She looked from it, to him and
gaped.
“I told you not to touch that.”
She stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. As, in fact, she was. Her eyes seemed to glaze over, like she couldn’t believe it. “You,” she said. “You are the Home Wrecker.”
“Yes and no. I’m the one doing the killings. But you’re the one who is going to take the blame for them.”
Eve surprised him then. She rushed at him with the shard of glass she was holding, aimed for his head, and ran for the door.
CHAPTER 41
Eve didn’t know where she was going, couldn’t even think, she just knew she had to run. She skidded down the driveway, cursing herself for being barefoot, for being half-naked, for being so gullible, for believing—
She’d hit Harry hard enough that he had gone down on his bad knee, which would give her a little time, precious seconds. Where could she go, where could she go?
Kelly O’Connell. Next door. Kelly’s perfect house would be safe. The lights were on downstairs so Kelly was awake. Kelly would save her. Slipping on the grass in front of Kelly’s house, she grabbed onto the mailbox for support, got up, kept running. No Harry yet. She bolted up the stairs and pounded on the door.
“Kelly!” she yelled, making her shaking fingers press the doorbell. “Kelly, open the door!”
Finally she heard heavy footsteps. She checked behind her, no Harry, then started to cry with relief as the bolts on the door opened. Home free. “Kelly, thank god you heard me. You’ve got to help me.”
Eve looked over her shoulder one last time, saying, “Kelly, thank you,” as she felt herself being pulled inside.
“Kelly, there’s a crazy man—” She stopped and stared.
Harry was standing in front of her. He was the one who had opened the door. He was holding her by the shoulders, hard.
“Where did you think you would go without any clothes on, Eve?” he said, wiping blood off his forehead. “I might remind you that you are wanted for murder. You might even be the most wanted woman in America right now. Which, I’m sure, is something you can appreciate.”
“No!” Eve screamed. She tried to pull away from him but his grip on her arm was astonishing. “Let me go!”
“Oh no. You and I have so much to talk about.”
“Help! Kelly, help me!” Eve screamed, clawing at his face. She had to get away. Where was Kelly? Where the hell—
He was laughing at her. A low chuckle, above her head. And then she knew. At that moment Eve felt the fear leaving her body, replaced now with an eerie calmness she recognized as rage. “Where is Kelly?”
“We’ll get to that. Come, sit down. This sofa is exactly where my mother had her sofa when we lived in this house.” He dragged her to the sofa and shoved her into it.
“You killed Kelly. You killed her too.”
“Not yet,” Harry said.
She tried to get up but he pushed her back down, hard. “Where is she? I want to see her.”
“It’s funny, Eve,” he said, standing over her. “For the longest time catering to your desires was all I thought about. But now it isn’t really part of my plan.”
She made herself stay on the couch. At least there he wasn’t touching her. She looked around, searching for something to use as a weapon. There was a potted fern next to her, but it looked fake, the pot plastic. There had to be something. Keep him talking. “What is your plan? To kill people and frame me?”
“To put the responsibility for their deaths where it belongs, yes.”
The house was so damn tidy there was nothing lying around. “How am I responsible for their deaths?”
“Because you couldn’t stop looking. I told you to stop looking. I warned you what would happen. Don’t go there, I told you that. It won’t help you. It will just bring the memory of your father to the surface, make you upset. But you didn’t listen, did you? You disobeyed me.”
Maybe she needed to get closer to him. Up close she could use some of the self-defense moves she had learned in Los Angeles. But she would have to catch him by surprise. She got up and threw herself on him, clutching the lapels of his jacket. “Tell me, then. Tell me what to do. I don’t care what happens to me. I’ll take full credit. As long as you stop.”
“But I don’t want to stop.”
She kneed him in the groin as hard as she could.
He didn’t even flinch. He grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her, and pressed her into the couch, his knee in the small of her back. “You’ll have to try much harder than that if you want to hurt me, Eve.”
She struggled to turn her face out of the cushions, to breathe. “What kind of a monster are you?”
He bent her arm up, making her moan with pain. She heard him laugh and then say, “I’m one you made. Not alone, of course, there were others who helped. But you were the star. They taught me, but you ignored me. I followed you around from house to house when you moved, followed you after school to that cheap motel, hung around, waiting for you to notice me. For three years I waited. But you didn’t. And then one day you left without saying good-bye. You made me, Eve. All I ever wanted was your attention.”
“You’ve got it now. You can stop,” she said, her cheek smashed into the couch.
“I’m afraid your attention isn’t what I am after anymore. I’ve found something considerably better.”
“What?”
“Not what. Who. She looks like you, only she is smarter. She doesn’t want to be wooed with flowers. She likes crime scenes.”
“That policewoman? The one from the television.”
“Ah, you remember. Yes. I see it as an upgrade.”
“No.” She jerked to shake him off of her and he retaliated by twisting her wrist until she cried out. “Stop it. Please.”
He leaned over her to whisper in her ear. “This is only the beginning.”
She felt his erection press against her side and felt it get harder when she flinched. He was getting off on this. The realization cleared her head, showed his weakness. He needed her. “You can’t hurt me too much. You’ve got to be careful, don’t you? If I die, you won’t have anyone to blame.”
He laughed, a horrible sound, right in her ear. “No. I only need to make sure no one knows you are dead. Those are not the same thing. I can keep your presence alive as long as I need to. It’s all right here.” She felt his fingers on her head. “Such beautiful hair.”
Her hair. She remembered the night before, when he’d run a bath for her. He had shampooed her hair, combing it out gently, the way she loved. Carefully cleaning out the comb, the drain, afterward. Collecting her hair. Samples. She twisted her neck away from him.
He laughed again. “I got a few things from your apartment, too, of course.”
“You said you couldn’t go there. That the police were there.”
“They were. After I was. Gave me a chance to leave them some surprises. I have to say, your paranoia made it so easy for me. Refusing to get a liquor license because you didn’t want your records, your prints on file. Refusing to get a Nevada driver’s license. No credit cards. Taking over your life is almost embarrassingly simple. Then with you ‘working through your issues’ sitting outside all those houses.”
“I was trying to understand.”
“I know, dear. I know. It’s just a pity that sitting there reawakened all those horrible feelings of inadequacy and rejection in you, isn’t it? Too bad you couldn’t stay in the car but instead went in there and killed those innocent people, slashing their heads off in order to make yourself feel better. Brutally punish them for what happened to you, destroy their families the way your family was destroyed.”
“You are talking about yourself, not me.” She did not know what had gone on in his family, his house, when he was growing up, but now she remembered one time, when the window had been open, and she had heard his stepfather yelling and his mother crying about what a bad son she had. “You are the one who has done all of this. You are the one who hurt all those people.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I am merciful.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She tried to turn around, look at him, but he jammed his knee into her lower back until her face contorted in pain.
“That’s better. I am not kidding. I am very merciful. I could keep you alive and let you live with the pain of knowing all those people died because of you.” His voice changed, became mocking. “Come off it, Eve, you’ve been planning to kill yourself for three weeks. Since I broke up with you.”
“How did you know?”
“That was part of the plan, wasn’t it? Shred your confidence, get under your skin. Make you feel small. Vile. And you weren’t exactly subtle, the way you walk around with your knives nearby all the time. I’m not doing anything you haven’t thought of doing yourself. Only I’m doing it with panache.”
Everything he said was true. She had been planning to kill herself. Had been revisiting all the houses, all the bad memories from growing up to work up enough courage, to do it. She had been in a cocoon of hopelessness and self-hatred; despising herself for not being strong enough to end her life. She’d been so close that night. Had taken off all her clothes except the sweatshirt. She wanted to die in that house, the house where it had all started, but she knew how Harry hated messiness so she had gone into the garage to find a plastic garbage bag to put under herself so there would not be too much blood on the floor. That was when she’d seen the photograph of Harry at his wedding.
Maybe it happened then, realizing he’d lied to her, that he wasn’t who he had claimed to be. Who or what. Or maybe when she fled from him. But she realized that she no longer wanted to kill herself. Everything that had felt overwhelming now seemed small, manageable. She wanted to stay alive. She did not want to die this way.
Bad Girl and Loverboy Page 21
