by Jada Ryker
Alex turned Marisa away from the body. “It looks like he killed himself.”
Marisa put her hand over her nose. “He was way too fond of his miserable life to ever kill himself.”
“What if he killed Sarah? He felt the police on his trail, and decided to kill himself rather than go to prison.”
Marisa screamed.
Alex pushed her behind him. “What is it?”
Marisa shook him. “Spider! Kill it! Kill it Now!”
Alex sagged. “Jesus, Marisa, how can you not scream when you find a dead body, and scream when you see a spider?”
“It’s huge!”
“I don’t see anything!”
“My God, it’s the size of your hand! It’s right there on that rifle leaning up against the wall!”
Their eyes met in shock. “Rifle?” they gasped at the same moment.
Alex leaned over the weapon. “I bet Jake the Snake was the sniper. He was trying to kill Sarah at the gym. Then, at the strip club, he succeeded.”
A thump, as if an object had fallen to the floor, came from the back of the trailer.
“What was that?” Marisa listened.
“A cat?” Alex cocked his head.
“I don’t smell cat box. I can’t imagine Jake the Snake keeping a cat box empty and deodorized.”
“Maybe it was the trailer settling,” Alex suggested.
“I think this trailer settled about twenty years ago.” Marisa listened. “I think someone’s here.”
Alex whispered, “You stay here and I’ll check it out. Keep talking like you’re talking to me.”
“I am not staying here with a dead low life sleaze! Not to mention that kitten-sized spider! And what the hell would I say while you check it out?”
Alex threw his hands up in surrender. He quietly tiptoed across the room, following the narrow, meandering path between the piles of clutter.
Marisa followed him so closely through the obstacle course of junk she could smell his soap and feel his body heat. She found herself taking deep breaths of his scent.
Dark paneled walls seemed to absorb what little dim light there was in the narrow hall. A partially open door on the left led to a miniscule bathroom. On the right wall was the back door. At the end of the short hallway, a door was closed.
“He must be in the back bedroom. The door is closed.” Marisa huddled close to Alex as they headed for it. “What if he’s armed?”
Alex paused. “There’s a handgun and rifle in the living room.”
Marisa shrugged. “People in this neck of the woods carry guns like people in our neighborhood tote gadgets like smart phones, notebooks, and laptops.”
Alex walked softly toward the closed door.
Marisa was right behind him as he opened the door.
“Oooommphhhh!” A hard shove in the small of her back pushed her hard into Alex. They fell into the bedroom and landed on the filthy carpet. The trailer shook with pounding footsteps and then door to the outside slammed.
Alex scrambled to his feet. He catapulted out the door.
Marisa leaped to her feet and ran for the door. The peeling wooden steps overturned and threw her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet. She saw Alex disappear around the corner of the trailer. Marisa ran after him.
“Alex! You idiot! You’re going to get your ass killed! And the police will think it’s my fault!”
Marisa cursed her slipping sandals as she struggled to keep Alex in sight as he ran across the vacant field behind the rows of trailers.
She spied a dirt path winding through the tall grass, and she hit it, running full out. Although the path was not in alignment with Alex’s progress, she decided she’d make up the distance in the speed she’d gain on the path rather than the uneven ground and high grass.
She turned her head, trying to keep Alex in her line of sight.
The earth disappeared under her feet.
She hit the ground headlong. The breath was knocked out of her.
When she opened her eyes, her first thought was she was seeing double. Two identical, freckled faces topped by orange hair were directly above her.
“We didn’t catch a tiger. It’s just a dumb girl.” The young voice was thick with disgust.
“Do you think she’s dead?” The second voice was a combination of interest and excitement.
“I’m not dead.” Marisa pulled herself to her feet. “What do you mean, a tiger?”
“Tiger trap.” In tandem, both boys turned and pointed.
The path was marred by a shallow hole. Pulled up weeds and leaves were scattered on it.
Marisa brushed herself off. “I think a tiger trap is supposed to be deeper than that. This hole is only about six inches deep.”
Both boys’ white t-shirts and denim shorts were streaked with dirt. One of the boys shrugged his shoulders. “We dug until we got tired of digging. Then we put the leaves and weeds over the opening to hide it.”
The other boy grinned, showing the gaps of missing teeth. “It might not be very deep, but we managed to catch you!”
The boys laughed so hard, they were bent over double.
Marisa inspected her painfully skinned knees and palms. “I’m glad you two are enjoying this.” A thought occurred to her. “Did you two boys see anybody lurking around here?”
Both boys frowned in puzzlement. “What does lur-king mean?”
One boy brightened. “The King of Lur!”
Marisa kept her face smooth. “Sneaking around, like he didn’t want anyone to see him. Or her.”
The faces cleared. “We were pretty busy digging our tiger trap. Maybe some of the other kids saw something.”
“Marisa!” His face shiny with perspiration and his shirt soaking wet, Alex panted his way over to them. “I thought I was a fast runner, but he got away. I was behind him in the woods, and then I heard a car start up. He parked on the road at the other side of the woods.” Belatedly, he took in her dirty clothes and skinned knees. “What happened to you?”
Both boys jumped up and down. “We caught her in our tiger trap!”
Alex gravely inspected the shallow hole. “Very effective.”
“I asked the boys if they’d seen anything,” Marisa said, “but they were too busy with their trap. They thought the other children may have seen something.”
“What other children?” Alex peered around. The field was empty except for them.
The boys looked at each other, and laughed behind their hands. “We have a special hideout in the jungle. Come with us!” The two boys raced toward the tree line.
“Were you able to get a good look at the killer, Alex?”
He shook his head. “The guy ran like a gazelle. All I could see was the back of him. He was tall and obviously fit. He was wearing navy workout clothes, and he had the hood pulled over his head.”
“Are you sure he was male?”
Alex stopped. “Good point. But I think it was a guy.”
The boys disappeared into the tree line. Marisa and Alex plunged in after them.
The trees were close together. The bushes and small trees were tangled together among the tree trunks, with thorn-covered vines meshing them all together.
“Look!” Alex pointed to a faint path. Just ahead, the boys’ white t-shirts were visible between the trees.
The branches caught at Marisa’s hair, and the thorns scratched her bare legs. She could hear the faint sound of voices.
At a clearing, several children were playing. Marisa paused at the edge of the forest. Alex turned to her, but she motioned him to be still.
Several girls appeared to be arguing over a basketball.
“I had to be the case worker last time. I want the basketball this time.” A girl in a stained oversized t-shirt and shorts thrust out her jaw.
“Let her have the basketball, Jenny.” A girl who appeared to be slightly older than the other girls motioned to the child clutching the basketball to her chest.
“Fine.” Jenny an
grily thrust out the ball.
The victor smiled in triumph. She pushed the ball under her shirt. She appeared to have a huge belly. “Now you have to give me food stamps and a check every month.”
The girls were playing pregnant teen and social services caseworker. They were pretending to apply for welfare. Marisa opened her mouth in outrage.
Alex nudged her. “We want to see what these kids know, not lecture them,” he hissed.
As they entered the clearing, the small faces turned to them in alarm.
The twins announced, “They’re OK. We caught her in a tiger trap, and she’s our prisoner.”
Alex turned so they wouldn’t see him smiling.
Marisa stepped forward. She tried a reassuring smile. “Did any of you see—”
As a small locomotive hit her legs, Marisa staggered backwards. She looked down. A little girl had entwined herself around Marisa’s legs.
Marisa peered into the grimy face. The shy brown eyes and long, curly hair were familiar. “Melanie?”
She smiled and hugged Marisa’s legs harder.
Marisa winced when the small girl squeezed her skinned knees.
“You know her?” Alex asked.
Marisa whispered, “She, her mom, and her brother lived for some months at the domestic violence shelter. Her dad was one of the victims of the murderer four months ago.”
Alex was surprised. “How do you know they were at the shelter?”
“I do volunteer work there, remember?” Marisa raised her voice. “Where’s your mother, Melanie?”
“We live here now. Mama couldn’t keep the house after Daddy got his head exploded like a watermelon.” Melanie popped her dirty thumb in her mouth.
Marisa pressed a scratched hand over her eyes. “Did you kids see anybody sort of sneaking around here?”
The children exchanged bewildered glances and shrugged.
“I think we’ve done all we can, Marisa. It’s time to call the police.” Alex took out his cell phone. “I hate to see Dreamus’ reaction when he finds us on the scene.”
“I don’t have to be psychic to predict his vein will pop out on his head again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Are you married to Moira Peters?” Althea blurted.
The car swerved slightly, then righted.
Sucking in a horrified breath, Althea looked at Clay.
His profile, dominated by the aggressive nose, reflected determination. His hands on the wheel of his Jaguar communicated firmness and deftness. His body, relaxed in his pressed pinstriped gray suit, represented strength.
Clay must have sensed Althea’s eyes on him, and he briefly turned his head to meet her mortified gaze.
Althea hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. But since it had been paining her like a sore tooth, she was glad to get it out in the open.
“Did Moira tell you that?” His voice was carefully neutral.
Althea shook her head. “I overheard you and Moira talking. She said you and she are married, and she also seemed to be threatening you.”
Checking first in his rear view mirror, Clay signaled a turn.
Althea was surprised. “We’re not there yet, Clay.”
“I know. I want to pull over so we can talk.” He guided the purring car into the small park. Clay turned deferentially to Althea. “Would you like to walk a bit in the park?”
The summer sun was warm, rather than the past few days’ unbearable inferno heat. They walked along a path and into the shade of the towering trees. Clay spotted a bench. “Shall we sit?”
With a painful squeezing of her heart, Althea noticed he did not add his usual endearment.
Over their heads, the birds twittered. In the distance, Althea could hear the sounds of children laughing. Down the hill from them, children fed ducks and geese while their parents hovered with sacks of bread. A lone fisherman sat placidly on the bank, his fishing pole angled in front of him.
“I have a confession, Althea. Until I retired, I worked for a branch of the government that liked to keep out of the public eye.”
Althea’s eyes widened. “You were a spy?”
Clay winced. “I gathered information in covert ways. I haven’t told you before for two reasons. One, I took a vow of secrecy, and I’ve kept it for thirty years. The second reason is I didn’t think you would believe me. I was afraid you’d put it down to the nattering of an old man who wanted to make himself sound important.”
Clay shifted on the bench. “I’ve known men and women who made up a history of military service. They wanted others to see them as brave and important, especially their friends and family. Over time, they came to believe their own stories of military service. I knew one woman who sincerely believed her own lies. When she was confronted with the truth, she was genuinely surprised. I suppose I was afraid you’d think I was making up a story to make myself seem more important than I was.”
Althea thought about everything she knew about Clay. Cool in a tough situation. Able to physically protect himself. Ingenuous, creative, and intelligent. “You’ve kept this a secret for three decades. Why did you decide to tell me now?”
Clay let out his breath with a whoosh. “You believe me.”
“Of course I do, Clay. You wouldn’t lie to me.” She smiled, her emerald green eyes sparkling. “And besides, after decades of teaching elementary schoolchildren, I can spot a lie a mile away.”
“Thank you, Thea. I had to tell you because of Moira.”
Althea felt a chill crawl up her spine, in spite of the heat of the day. “What does Mrs. Peters have to do with this?”
“The woman who calls herself Moira Peters was a fellow ‘worker’ all those years ago. On the surface, she was beautiful, daring, and exciting. I fell in love with her and I married her.”
“On the surface?”
“Intuitive as always, Thea. Beneath the glittering surface, Moira was the murky bottom of a dead lake. She was completely without a conscience. I believe she is a sociopath. One day thirty years ago, I was off duty. My boss, who was also my best friend, called an alert. He’d caught wind of the rumor of a terrorist attack on our agency. Moira was out of town on…assignment. I hurried to headquarters.
“When I arrived, the building was in flames. As I sprinted to the burning building, I literally ran into Moira. She was dressed in black, with a backpack. She was exhilarated. As I caught her in my arms, the acrid smell of explosives filled my nostrils. I realized she’d done something terrible. She told me the excitement of being a government...worker...wasn’t enough for her. She admitted she planted the explosives in our agency’s building.
“As we stood there, I could feel the scorching heat and I thought I could hear the screams of those inside. She gave me the choice of holding her under arrest, or going inside to save the others, including my best friend. I ran back inside.”
“Oh, Clay, how awful. Were they...saved?” Althea squeezed his hand where it clenched the bench next to her.
Clay closed his eyes, but not before Althea saw the gut-wrenching pain in them. “We lost hundreds of fine men and women. I did manage to drag out my best friend. We both suffered painful burns. That was the last time I saw Moira, until she showed up at the assisted living center. She tracked me here.” He turned to Althea. “My love for her died that night. Although she had disappeared, I divorced her.”
Althea leaned against him and stroked his clenched hand. “Oh, Clay, what a horrible experience. Why is she back now, after all of these years? Isn’t she afraid you’ll report her to the police?”
“Moira feels safe because she made sure any evidence that could positively identify her, such as fingerprints and DNA, were destroyed. When that building burned, so did all record of her existence. I can’t prove she’s the same woman who blew up that building and killed hundreds of people, and she knows it. It would be my word against hers.”
Althea pulled away from the comfort of his shoulder to face him. “What about someone who used to wo
rk with her? I know you suffered terrible casualties, but what about the survivors?”
Clay smiled slightly. “The greatest strength of the agency was the genius in hiding it. And that strength is what keeps me from contacting those surviving...co-workers.”
Althea was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Our agency was housed in a twelve-story building. We had a thousand...staff. Our challenge was to keep all of that a secret. We did it by disguising our operation as a government supplier of electronic equipment. Our lobby was set up to reflect the company name and mission. We even wore uniforms with the fictitious company logo on it. We paid for our operations by sending the government bills for equipment we supposedly manufactured and shipped to them. Everyone worked at the company under carefully fabricated identities. No one knew anyone else’s real name or address or hometown or family...you see?”
“Clay, what about your best friend, the former head of the agency? Couldn’t he identify her?”
“He died four months ago.”
“Around the time of the events at the nursing home?”
“Yes.”
Althea gasped. “The man Mrs. Peters said died in his bed four months ago of an overdose. That was your best friend!”
Clay froze.
“I am so sorry, Clay. I should have moved away or let you know I was there. I should have not have eavesdropped on your conversation.”
Clay closed his eyes, and then opened them. “He was in the nursing home under the name of Horace Jones.”
Althea’s hand flew to her mouth. “I remember hearing the nursing assistants talk about him. He had gangrene, related to his diabetes. It took his toes, his foot, his leg...it had eaten its way up to his hip. He also suffered from dementia, and rambled a lot of nonsense about a top-secret government agency. He was actually telling the truth all along.”
“Ironically, before my friend was confined to his bed, he saw Mrs. Craft in her long red wig, and mistook her for Moira. That’s when the rumors started at the nursing home.”
“Oh, Clay, I didn’t realize he was dead. I am so sorry.” Althea took his tense hand into hers. “Everything was so chaotic when we left the nursing home. After the authorities shut down the nursing home, we stayed with Marisa a couple of days before we moved to the assisted living center.”
