The Girl Next Door (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 4)

by A J Rivers

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nicole,” he repeats. “She's dead. They got her heart beating again in the ambulance on the way over here, but they couldn't stabilize her. She crashed about twenty minutes ago, and there was nothing they could do.”

  I put my hand over my mouth, breathing deep. “How could it get that serious? Is anyone else in danger like that?”

  “No,” Sam says. “In fact, they’re getting better. Nobody else got anywhere near as sick as Nicole. Very ill, yes, but nothing extreme and none ever entered critical condition.”

  “Then what happened with her? I was there when she collapsed. It didn't seem to be anything that made her stand out against the others. Do the doctors have any explanation?”

  “No,” he says again. “Not really.”

  “What do you mean, not really?” I asked.

  “The doctors said Nicole’s symptoms were very strange. They didn't line up with what everyone else at the diner experienced. According to her mother, her onset was right about the same time as everyone else, and she had the same symptoms initially. Stabbing pain in her stomach, nausea. But then it got very serious. She had symptoms nobody else exhibited. It was like she went into anaphylactic shock,” Sam tells me.

  “Anaphylactic shock?” The revelation doesn't process with everything else.

  “Yes,” Sam nods. “It's happened before, and she had to be treated, but she was always extremely careful, and she was nowhere near her allergy.”

  “What was she allergic to?”

  “Hazelnuts,” he says. “There isn't even anything on the menu at Pearl's that has hazelnuts in them. I've already spoken to her. She doesn't have anything in the kitchen with hazelnuts. Not hazelnut spread. Not even hazelnut coffee.”

  “Then how did the illness affecting so many other people in the restaurant turn into anaphylactic shock for Nicole?” I muse.

  “I don't know, but when you have to sit across from a mother who has put all her hopes and stakes into a team of doctors and tell her they weren't able to save her only child, I don't really think it matters so much,” he sighs.

  “Of course it matters. You heard the doctors just as well as I did. This isn't a foodborne infection. And now with this happening to Nicole… I can't believe it's a coincidence. Something is wrong, Sam.”

  “I really can't listen to this right now. You're going too far. This is real, Emma. This is actually happening. A woman just lost her daughter to something senseless, and as of now, unexplained. There are about a hundred people laid up in this hospital trying to get over an illness none of us understand. We're going to have to be dealing with this for a long time. The health department is going to get involved…”

  “They already are,” I tell him. “When I went down to the diner to find out what was going on, I met the official leading up the investigation," I tell him.

  "Fantastic," he mutters, letting out a labored sigh.

  I'm stung by the way he's talking to me, but I know he's under an incredible amount of stress, and the sudden death has shaken him. Deciding to put that aside for right now, I take him by his wrist, so he'll look at me again.

  "Come on. You need to get some rest. They can deal without you here for a little while."

  He doesn't argue but lets me guide him out into the parking lot. As we're walking to my car, I see someone ahead of us. We get closer, and I know it's Pamela. She's getting into a car, but it's not the little red Miata she showed off when she came over to let us into Ruby's house.

  It's a gold Saturn.

  I take off running, sprinting down the center of the parking lot so she can't pull away. She's backed into the spot, so as soon as I get to her, I slam my hands down on the hood and glare through the windshield at her.

  "What the hell are you doing?" she screeches.

  "Emma, what's going on?" Sam calls, jogging up to me.

  "What were you doing back there?" I demand.

  Pamela climbs out of the car and squares off against me.

  "In the hospital? Getting treated for the same sickness just about everybody else at Pearl's is getting treated for," she fires back.

  "Not in the hospital. On Orchard Road."

  "Orchard Road?" she asks, her voice tight with disgust, like it's the most absurd suggestion she's ever heard.

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about," I round on her.

  "Why don't you enlighten me?" Sam asks.

  "This is the car I saw get run off the road," I say, pointing at the Saturn. "A green sports car ran it off the road, and before I could get out to check on the driver—Pamela—she sped off and lost me in a neighborhood."

  "Someone here has definitely lost something," Pamela sneers.

  "When did you get here?" Sam asks.

  "You can't be serious," she answers, then sighs. "I wasn't bad enough for the ambulance to bring me, so I got my car and drove over. I got here right around the time everybody else did."

  "Then why couldn't Derrick find you?" I ask.

  "What?"

  "Derrick. He was in the waiting room, and he said he hadn't seen you since the diner. He was worried about you," I say, crossing my arms. "If you got here when everyone else did, why did he not know where you were? And by the way, you weren’t even at Pearl’s. I specifically did not see you there."

  “Why are you so obsessed with me? What is your deal, Emma?”

  “Why couldn’t Derrick find you, if you were here the whole time?” I snap, ignoring her question. I swear, I feel like my jaw is clenched so tight my teeth my burst.

  "Because he was too busy puking his guts out?" Pamela offers. "If you didn't notice that entire scene was out of control. The group got broken up, and I just got out of there as fast as I could, so I wasn't in the way. I came straight to the hospital. Using the main road. I certainly wasn't out playing tag with a green sports car on Orchard."

  "This is the car I saw," I insist.

  "You might have seen a gold car, but they aren't that rare," she says.

  “It’s a Saturn!” I shout. I feel like everyone around me is just refusing to see the obvious answers in front of them. It has been a hell of a day, and I don’t have any more patience for this crap, least of all Pamela’s. “They don’t manufacture them anymore. There can’t be that many gold Saturn’s in Sherwood. What happened to your red one?"

  "My Miata is at the mechanic getting its brakes fixed. This is a rental."

  "Who was in the green car?" I ask.

  "I don't know because I didn't see a green car." Her eyes slide over to Sam. "Seriously, Sam. Something needs to be done about this. It's getting really worrisome how much Emma is coming up with out of her own mind."

  "I'm not imagining things. Don't talk about me like I'm not even here," I say through gritted teeth.

  Pamela shrugs, her expression one of feigned innocence. "I'm just thinking about your own well-being. Everybody sees it, Emma. Maybe it's time to be honest with yourself." She trains her puppy-dog eyes on Sam. "Can I go? I'm still not feeling well, and I'd really like to go home and get some rest."

  Sam nods, a look close to defeat on his face. He gestures toward the exit of the parking lot.

  "Of course," he says. "Go ahead. Feel better."

  Pamela opens the car door and smiles at him. "I hope it didn't hit you too hard, Sheriff."

  "No. I feel fine. Thanks."

  "Well, if you start to feel sick and you need anything, don't hesitate to call me," she says and dips down into the driver's seat.

  She brushes her hand in front of her, gesturing for me to move out of her way. Sam tugs me by my arm, and as soon as there's any clearance, Pamela pulls out and drives away. Barely missing me by inches. I follow the back of the car, and a detail settles in.

  "There's a license plate now," I mutter, rubbing my fingers against my temples to stem the raging irritation headache that is now only seconds from coming on.

  "What?" Sam asks.

  "On the car. There's a license plate."
r />   "That's the law," he says.

  "I know, but there wasn't one when I saw her on Orchard," I explain.

  "She said it wasn't her out there."

  “And you’re going to just believe Pamela over me?”

  “What do you want me to do, Emma? Give her a ticket for getting run off the road by some other car? You don’t even know if it was her!”

  "Sam, it was her. I know it was.” I slow down my swirling thoughts, trying to explain this as best I can. “She didn't seem sick at all, and I didn't see her at the diner, did you? Derrick said she joined them late. But there were just a few minutes between when the rest of the group got there and when everybody got sick. She wouldn't have the time to get there, order food, and eat anything in order to get so sick she would need to see the doctor," I point out.

  "Emma, stop," he says.

  "You've been telling me that a lot lately," I say, trying to balance somewhere between anger and humor. But it comes out as all anger.

  "Maybe I should have started a lot sooner."

  "And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I just—”

  “Say it, Sam. Don’t bullshit me,” I snap. “I know what you’re thinking. What you’ve been thinking.”

  "I agree with Pamela. What's happening with you recently is really worrying me. You're not yourself," he tells me.

  "I am myself," I argue.

  He shakes his head. "No, Emma. You've always been unpredictable and impulsive. Don't you remember, that's what I said I missed so much about you when we found each other again in college? The spark was gone. You were so subdued and restrained. But that girl I knew has been coming back. And recently that's turned into recklessness. You're suspicious of everything. You're seeing and experiencing things no one else can corroborate. And the thing is, no one can blame you for that. Not after what you've gone through. Maybe because you've started to finally settle in more, stress and anxiety are rising to the surface, and are causing these issues."

  "Did I miss when you studied psychology?" I narrow my eyes.

  "No. And I didn't. I'm only telling you what I think might be going on. That's why I think you should go talk to someone."

  Heat rises up in my cheeks, and my hands clench at my sides. I get enough of this from fucking Creagan. Sam was supposed to have my back through this. Was supposed to be by my side. I didn’t ask for a lecture.

  "It's already bad enough when people like Pamela decide to make me the target for all their dissatisfaction in life and talk about me behind my back. Trust me, that's not fucking new to me. But it's so much worse when it's someone I thought I could trust."

  "You can trust me," he insists. "And that's why I'm telling you this."

  "I can trust you, and that's why you're telling me you think I've got a screw loose? That's fantastic. You know, Sam, I didn't have to come here, and I certainly don’t have to stay. But I did because you needed me. I really don't appreciate you not doing the same for me when I need you," I tell him.

  "I'm here for you, Emma. I always am. That's what I'm trying to do. I care about you so much. I just want you to feel better."

  I give a single nod and start toward my car again. "Then I guess I should go home and rest like everyone else. Have a good evening, Sam."

  With that, I slam my car door shut and spin out of the parking lot.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Four years ago

  Everything was steady again. The police briefly dangled the threat of the disrupted soil over his head, parading him out to the land to search, never quite bringing him close to where they said the site was. But it didn't take long for them to say the words that put him fully at ease.

  “Would you know anything about a round area of disturbed soil?”

  As soon as those words came out of Officer Phillips' mouth, all Travis's concerns disappeared. They had taken what he said to them and twisted it around, thinking it was the key to make him give himself away. It was a tactic played out in every detective movie and TV show. Interrogations turned into twisted games of wordplay, with each side bandying for dominance. So often that was what tripped somebody up. They thought they were too smart, that they were the ones manipulating. In the end, they chose a word or gave away a detail without ever realizing they did it. They told a secret on themselves. Some didn't even realize it until it was brought back on them. Presented like on a platter. Then there was nowhere to run. Nothing the suspect could do.

  But then there were some who did it on purpose. They dangled little bits of information, tiny details or hints, thinking no one would ever catch on. They thrived on watching the investigators squirm and knowing they held them in their hands.

  In a way, Travis felt like that. He was guiding them along, just as he had been since the very first night. They didn't realize he had been crafting the situation since well before that. No one did. No one ever would. There was no trace because he left none. There was nothing to follow because he didn't lead anywhere. Not until he decided to. When he was ready, and only then, he laid the trail in front of them. All they had to do was follow it.

  When Officer Phillips mentioned the circular patch of disrupted soil, Travis knew they were losing grip. She wanted desperately to hang on to him. She had been trying to dig hooks into him since the first time she looked at him. There was never sympathy in her eyes. Her words weren't reassuring. She said what she had to, but it wasn't sincere. When she mentioned the circular patch, what small grasp she might have had on him disappeared. She was caught. As much as she had been chasing him, he had been chasing her. He wanted to know what she did and what she was thinking. He wanted to see into her and watch her ideas unravel. Now he knew the thread was gone.

  He was the one who mentioned the possibility of a fire pit. Many years before, when the property was more popular, and he had a family who could share the same space for any length of time, they would camp out on that land. They always saw evidence of others who came that way. There were signs, of course. Posted markers boldly declaring that this land was private property and for trespassers to keep out. Most did. Others didn't. The family rarely knew.

  It only became a problem once. Two travelers who thought they left society behind. They walked out onto the land with the thought of nothing else to burden them. They shed the responsibilities and laws they believed held them back and ventured into the unknown. Wild and free, drunk on dreams of glory. But it was not to be. Instead, the alcohol that warmed their veins also quieted their minds and dulled their instincts. They drifted away on it, asleep beside the fire that consumed them.

  Travis found their bodies when the snow melted.

  But that would mean nothing to the investigators. The burn pit scorched the ground, but it didn't go deep. Those campers didn't know enough to dig out a space for their fire. They’d just let it jump from the wood and onto the grass, where it burned wild and free until the rain stopped it. There could have been so much more damage. Directionless lives seemed like a small price to pay.

  Officer Phillips thought she caught him when he mentioned the burn pit. She thought he walked himself right into uncovering the truth. Only she didn't know there was no circle. She didn't know the disrupted soil was far away from that spot. Months ago, it wouldn't have looked only like loose, upturned soil and instead like solid rock. Cracking through the stone was much harder than putting it there, to begin with.

  So, now they could find the soil. Now they could find the strange segment of ground that had been dug deep then filled in again. It would mean nothing. They could question him about the burn. They could question him about the land. He was still calm. This would all work out. It wasn't exactly part of the plan as he had it originally, but it was going to be fine.

  They knew nothing. They would always know nothing. There was nothing to know.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Now

  “It's good to see you back,” the therapist says with a smile.

  Her name is Katherine, but I nev
er call her that. Just referring to her as The Therapist makes me feel less strange about the interaction. When I think of her by her name, it turns her into a person, someone I should be familiar with and have a relationship with beyond the small room where I'm expected to open up to her. This way, while I know she's human and her own entity, I get to pretend she only exists here in the office. If her entire life is centered only on being here and listening, then I don't feel as awkward. I don't become as defensive.

  She's still trying to crack me open and find what's inside. Everything she says is another tiny cut, an invisible incision to help her find her way deeper within me where she could find my gears and thoughts, my batteries and blood.

  I nod in response to the greeting. I don't really have one to give back to her. It's nice to be back near headquarters, to see the people who got compartmentalized when I shifted my life to Sherwood. It was nice to walk into my house last night and see it just as it was when I left, preserved and protected by Bellamy's regular visits. And I'm looking forward to having lunch with Eric when I finally make it out of here. Good to be back here, in this office, on this couch? I'm not quite at that place.

  "It's been a while since we've talked. What made you decide to visit? Not that I'm complaining, of course."

  She smiles and tosses her head to the side in that choreographed way that says she's trying to be friendly and casual, to put me at ease. But we don't know each other. It's one thing to be cordial and even friendly with new people, trying to build up a rapport, or even testing what it might be like to be actual friends and see if it fits. Like walking into the Ice Cream Palace in Sherwood and using those little bitty spoons to taste the flavors. It's somehow harder to pretend that sort of comfortable relationship over and over with someone you will never have a true friendship with. Especially when that person knows dark inner details of your life. It's like tasting a layered ice cream, but the spoon is so tiny you only get one of the flavors every time.