by Liz Schulte
“Where are you staying?”
“The Darcey Inn.”
“That old bitch hates me. Not there. How about the bridge?”
“Is that a restaurant?”
“No. It’s a bridge.”
“Is there only one?” I was lost as to what she was talking about. I apparently didn’t speak 19-year-old.
She huffed impatiently. “It’s the big one. You came here from Montgomery, right? You crossed it coming into town.”
I could see the bridge in question from where I stood. “Why the bridge?”
“It’s private. Mary and I used to hang out there sometimes just to get away from everyone.”
“What time?”
“Now’s good.”
“I’ll head over.”
We hung up and I called Alfie back on my way. He wasn’t exactly broken up that I wasn’t coming to see him, though I warned him I’d be by tomorrow, to which he replied, “Whatever.”
It only took a couple minutes to get to the bridge. The muddy, icy brown water rushed below and the wind cut through my coat. I hunched my shoulders and pulled my arms in tight. A few excruciating minutes later, a little blue truck pulled up and a young woman rolled down her window.
“Where’s your car?” she called out.
“I don’t have one,” I yelled back.
She beckoned me forward and leaned across the seat to unlock the passenger door. I climbed in with stiff limbs, rubbing my hands together.
“You should’ve said you didn’t have a car. I would’ve picked you up.”
The girl was familiar from the pictures in Mary’s room. Her hair was too blonde and its tips had been dipped in a lavender hair color and her skin was pale. She was on the shorter side and of an average build. Her moon-shaped face turned toward me and the thin slits of her eyes creased more as she smiled.
“Mary would wig out that I’m talking to you. She tried to talk me into driving her to Montgomery.” She laughed and turned bright red. “Probably shouldn’t have told you that. But it wasn’t anything creepy, I swear. She was just a really big fan.”
I crossed my legs and waved off the comment. “That’s why her mom came to me.”
Nikki nodded, her eyes turning glassy.
“How long did you know her?”
“My whole life.”
“What was Mary like?”
Her eyebrows pulled together a little. “I don’t know, just normal, you know. She was a goody-goody, but still fun. She wasn’t really into parties or anything like that. She had Bryan, but it wasn’t going to last. Everyone knew that, but Bryan. She was going to get out of this town.”
“Was she?”
“Definitely. I didn’t mind. I was happy for her. She was so excited about her scholarship to Smithton. She had a plan—I should’ve known it was stupid; no one gets out of Jackson—but she had it since we were kids, and everything was falling into place for her. Her time here was almost up.” Nikki shrugged. “But as I said, no one gets out of Jackson.”
“What was the plan?”
“It all hinged on her getting a scholarship because Smithton is a really good school—the kind that ‘opens doors’ she always said. Her plan was to major in English and start writing now. She had an internship lined up for the summer at the newspaper in Smithton. She wanted to be an editor and move to New York.”
I smiled. “Where did Bryan fit into this?”
Nikki made a noise. “He didn’t. She was just too nice to leave him. But he started to get it when she started spending so much time in Smithton. She hardly spent any time here at all.”
“So you weren’t seeing much of her either?”
“Not too much. We still talked on the phone and stuff, but it wasn’t like it used to be. I think she had another guy there, but she wouldn’t admit it. Any time I brought it up, she suddenly had to go.”
“Do you know who her new friends were?”
“I’m not sure. Alfie Laurie’s the one who introduced her to everybody, since he’s from here and all—even if he didn’t go to our school. They were the only two people from Jackson going to Smithton.”
“Hmmm.”
“Have you looked in her diary?”
I started. “What diary?”
“You haven’t seen it? Maybe the police have it. Mary always had it with her. I’m sure she wrote about her college friends.”
“Did you ever see it?”
“No, she wouldn’t let anyone look at it.”
“If she always had a diary, do you know where she kept the old ones?”
“Burned them. It was like a ritual. January 1st every year she burned the past year’s diary and started a new one.” She shrugged. “If the police don’t have it, maybe her mom does.”
Or maybe it burned in the car. Damn it. “What do you think happened to Mary?”
“Nothing good.” She grimaced. “I really don’t know.”
“Did she have anyone who didn’t like her or wanted to hurt her?”
“Not at all. Everyone liked Mary. I was the bitch; Mary was nice.”
“Well, thank you for talking today.”
“No problem. Do you want me to drop you off at Darcey’s?”
“Is it out of your way?”
She started the truck. “Don’t worry about it.”
We rode in awkward silence until I forced myself to make small talk. “So where’s a good place to buy clothes here?”
She gave me a quick onceover. “What kind of clothes?”
“Something nice for a party.”
“Best we have is the mall.” She pulled to a stop in front of the bed and breakfast.
“Works for me. Thanks for the ride.”
“You haven’t seen what we call a mall yet.” She laughed and waved as she drove away.
The theory that Mary was leading a double life was only strengthened by speaking with Nikki. She was one way here and another in Smithton. Since Alfie knew her in both worlds, I hoped he’d shed some light on things. And as much as I didn’t believe it was him, I mentally added Bryan to my suspect list. If Nikki was right and Mary was seeing someone else, the scorned lover couldn’t be ignored.
I hiked my way inside and struggled off my boots at the door—not wanting to track snow through Martha’s house. She poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled wide.
“I missed you last night. Must’ve been a good meeting.”
My stomach sank and my throat tightened. “Yeah,” I said softly, not wanting to explain what all happened.
“What’s the matter, dear?”
“Nothing. Just tired, I guess. I think I’ll lie down for a while.” I made it up a few steps when her voice stopped me.
“I bet the police station was bustling this morning. Did you hear about the murder?”
Yeah, they were busy, busy looking for the murderer of the girl I got killed. I cleared my throat, grasping for anything to change the subject. “Do you know the number for a cab? I just remembered I need to go to the mall.”
“Goodness gracious, why would you want to go to the mall?”
What is with these people? How bad could this mall be? “I need something nice to wear tonight. I only packed jeans, and the mall’s closer than my house.” My voice was too sharp, and I could feel my patience waning.
She looked me up and down. “I used to be about your size back in the Stone Age.” She laughed at her own joke. “Maybe I have something you could wear.” She rushed off before I could object, telling me to follow her.
I stood motionless on the stairs, wanting to escape, but Martha had been so sweet. When she gave me a shout from somewhere deep in the house, I conceded and followed the sound of her voice. Her bedroom was on the ground level in the very back corner. It was rose colored and smelled of talcum powder and something I couldn’t quite place. The closet door was wide open, and Martha was rustling around inside. She stumbled back as if she’d been spit out and smoothed her mussed hair. “Nothing here. Let me check the b
asement.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself.”
“No trouble at all. You’re just cute as a doll. This is the highlight of my whole week.” She scurried off with great enthusiasm.
My phone vibrated, and just the sight of Gabriel’s name soothed me. “I’m so glad it’s you,” I answered.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t think I could stand to talk to anyone else.”
“Your day’s going that well?”
“Even better,” I said dryly.
He laughed. “So… tonight’s your date with Fagan.” If he’d been trying for a joking tone, it fell somewhat short.
I sat on the edge of Martha’s bed. “Right, because I’d let Martha dress me for a date.”
A shocked, sputtering laugh escaped him. “Martha is dressing you?”
“Your sympathy’s truly overwhelming. I only brought jeans,” I said miserably. “I don’t think today is ever going to end. I need a drink.”
Gabriel was silent. It took a moment to realize I’d said I needed a drink out loud. And I did need a drink, but that didn’t mean I was going to have one… Unfortunately, Gabriel was sensitive about the subject. I didn’t say anything. He could draw whatever conclusion he wanted.
“What else have you been up to?” he finally said.
“I spoke with Mary’s friend Nikki and some punk kid from her college—rich parents, spoiled rotten no doubt.”
“Any word about the body?”
“Yeah. It was the girl I was supposed to meet, Lakota.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fagan showed me a picture.”
“I’m sorry, El, but you know it isn’t your fault, right?”
“Maybe,” I grumbled.
“It isn’t.” He sighed. “Did you learn anything from the friend?”
“She said Mary had a diary. She always kept it with her.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Is it in the evidence?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to check as soon as I get back to the station. It could’ve been in the car.”
“Could also be with the killer. Or hidden.”
“Yeah, I’ll try to track it down after I go to Smithton tomorrow.”
“How about you skip Smithton and come back here tomorrow? Sounds like now’s a good time for a break, and I’m sure you could talk Lloyd into driving you around on Monday.”
I began to argue out of habit, but I stopped when my better judgment interfered. This was overwhelming—more so than I’d thought it would be. I hadn’t expected anyone else to die, I didn’t anticipate the nosey sheriff, and I underestimated the emotional weight of pretty much everything. A break wouldn’t kill me.
Martha returned with three dress bags slung over her arm.
“Okay,” I said into the phone.
“At least think it over. You need to take care of yourself—Wait, did you just agree? Without arguing? Are you feeling all right?”
“Martha’s back. I have to go. I’ll call Lloyd in the morning and come home.”
“Love you, El.”
I froze, my heart thudding. What was I supposed to say to that? He already dropped the “L” bomb on me once. He better not make a habit of that shit. “Okay—um—Martha’s waiting. Later.” I hung up before he could make any more professions of love. I looked up at Martha. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries, dear.” She opened the garment bags and hung them on the back of the door. “Is your nice detective coming up here, or are you going back to Montgomery tonight?”
“Oh, no, Gabriel has nothing to do with this. I’m going to some event with Fagan.”
“Ooooo.” Her eyes twinkled. “It must be the fundraiser at the Laurie’s. Is he trying to steal you away from your beau? Perhaps you’ll want to stay here even after your book is done.”
I forced a laugh. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just going with him as a favor since he’s letting me see Mary’s case file.”
“Sure.” She patted my shoulder like she didn’t believe me. “Now let’s pick out a dress.” She folded her arms over her chest and stared at the door.
I stood next to her and noticed for the first time Martha was a little taller than me. I’d been worried all of her dresses would be too short, but they might actually turn out okay. There was a rusty orange silk gown that could’ve come straight from the set of Scarface.—no thank you. There was a puffy-sleeved, taffeta sea-foam green cocktail dress—um, pass. The last bag was mostly obscured by the other dresses. I nudged the green one away and saw black—now we’re talking. I pulled it off the door for a better look. It was a velvety fifties style bubble dress with tiny rhinestones lining the deep V in the front and back and capped sleeves, not at all my style, but very pretty.
“It was my mother’s.” Martha fingered it delicately.
“Oh,” I started to hand it back. “I don’t—I shouldn’t—”
“All it’s doing is collecting dust in the basement.” She pushed the dress at me. “Just try it on. See if it fits.”
It felt like I was playing dress up, but I agreed. I went into her bathroom and slipped off my black thermal shirt and pulled the dress over my head, leaving on my jeans. It was a tad loose, but not too bad. I walked out hesitantly.
Martha gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth. “Lovely.” She ran over to her closet and started digging around again.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look like me. It was very nice, but I couldn’t imagine actually wearing this in public, especially tonight. I looked like someone who didn’t mind another person telling her that he loved her. “It’s very pretty, Martha. But it might be too much for tonight—”
“Nonsense,” her muffled voice came from the closet. “You look stunning. You’ll be the prettiest girl at the party.”
“I don’t want to be the prettiest girl at the party,” I mumbled.
Martha held up a pair of black shoes victoriously. “Try these on. “
“What size are they?”
“An 8.”
Damn it. Even the shoes would fit. Why couldn’t I just go to the mall and get a nice pants suit like a normal girl? I pulled my sock off and slipped on the soft black pump, holding my jean’s leg so I could see it better.
“There.” Martha clapped. “Without the pants and a little hair and makeup, and you’ll be perfect. “
I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have time to go to the mall if I wanted to take a nap and go to the police station. Plus, it would hurt Martha’s feelings if I didn’t wear her dress. I looked in the mirror one more time and ran my hand down the garment. It was lovely.
“Thank you. You’ve saved me so much time.”
After putting my own clothes back on, I took the dress to my room and carefully hung it on the bathroom door. I set the alarm on my phone and lay down for a quick nap.
A rustling and a soft thhrrppt sound made me open my eyes. The dress was off its hanger and puddled on the floor. I got out of bed and hung it again. I stood back and watched, making sure it was securely on the hanger this time. The door creaked and shifted enough I could see an odd haze in the bathroom, like I’d taken a shower. Frowning, I went inside and flipped on the light. The air was cold and moist, but the window was shut tight. A cold finger traced across my shoulders and “help me” appeared on the mirror in scrawling letters. I swallowed back the fear and didn’t run.
“Mary?”
Energy built around me and it felt like something was going to happen at any moment when there was a sharp knock on my bedroom door.
“Did you need something, dear?” Martha’s voice rang out from the other side.
The energy, mist, and words evaporated before my eyes as if they were never there. Huh. “No, I’m fine.”
“I thought I heard you say something.”
I opened the door and smiled. “Just talking to myself. I don’t think I have time for that nap after all.” I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and went d
ownstairs to winterize. Was the voice asking for help the same one I’d experienced at Jennifer’s house? Was it Mary? If yes, wouldn’t it be easier if she just told me who killed her? I glanced back at the staircase, wondering if something like an Ouija board would help her talk to me. I opened the door and charged out into the cold. Ouija boards probably wouldn’t hold up in court.
The diary wasn’t in any of the evidence boxes, nor was it listed on the inventory sheet. I studied the pictures of Mary’s car with a magnifying glass, hoping to see something, anything that could’ve been a diary, but there was nothing. Fagan and most of the deputies were in and out of the building, busy on Lakota’s case. There was a constant murmur of chatter and the murder board taunted me with Lakota’s pictures as I walked through the room.
Lakota’s face was all I could think about as I wandered around the main level of Martha’s house, waiting for Fagan. Three minutes after 8:00 p.m.—I hated late people—there was a knock on the door. I swung the door open and glared at Fagan. “You’re late.”
He stared like it was the first time he’d seen me. “Wow,” he breathed.
I rolled my eyes and threw on my parka. “How long is this thing supposed to be?”
He rallied against his initial shock. “I don’t know. Do you have a curfew? Should I speak to your father?” A lopsided grin almost dared me to be charmed.
“No, but I do have a life, and this isn’t a date. I’m doing you a favor because you’re doing me a favor. That’s all. I can barely handle dating one man.”
He smirked. “Detective Troy didn’t look too happy when I dropped you off last night. It didn’t cause a fight, did it?”
“No. Gabriel knows me better than that.” I took a step back, having second thoughts. Did I really want to go anywhere with Fagan? Was anything worth it?
He laughed. “Ella, I’m teasing you. Detective Troy seems like a fine person.”
I brushed past him and through the door. When we were in his SUV, I said, “Where are we going?”
“To a fundraiser at William Laurie’s house.”
“What’s he raising money for?”
“A scholarship in Mary Nelson’s name.”
“Huh.” I let that sink in. Why would he want to start a scholarship in her name, and why now of all times? “Is it already established and he’s just hoping to increase the endowment, or is it new?”
