Deanna smiled and drank a sip. “This is good.”
Mrs. Havenall beamed. “Drink it down and I’ll pour you another cup.” She turned and called out, “Charlie! Come down. We’ve got a visitor!”
Charlie came down the stairs and nodded at Deanna. “Hi, there.”
Deanna nodded back and winced. “Sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think I’m going to sell after all.”
Charlie shrugged as Mrs. Havenall poured Deanna another cup of tea. “You can’t win ’em all.”
Deanna’s cellphone rang. “Do you mind?” she asked.
“Not at all!” Mrs. Havenall patting her knee. “I’ll make more tea.”
As she left the room, Deanna answered her phone. “Hello?”
“Hi! This is Donna. From Genie Bouquets. Returning your call about the cleomes?”
“Oh. Yes. Thanks for getting back to me.” Deanna glanced at Charlie and gave him a sorry about this cringe.
“I don’t get many requests for cleomes,” Donna said.
“No?”
“In fact, just one other customer. An older gentleman. He must be quite the romantic, though.”
Deanna shrugged apologetically at Charlie. He grinned back at her. “Why?” Deanna asked the woman on the other end of the line. “Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”
“Hardly. Just the opposite. He’s a pudgy redhead with a smile that kind of gives me the creeps.”
Deanna’s gut went limp. She stared at portly, auburn-haired Charlie. He grinned at her and she dropped her teacup. The warm, brown liquid spilled into her lap, unleashing a half-dozen small, black spiders in its wake.
Deanna opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t. Charlie took a step toward her, his smile twisting into a malevolent, sadistic line. Deanna tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t work. She fumbled to dial 9-1-1, but her cellphone fell from her twitching fingers.
Charlie picked up the phone and tapped the red button to end the call. As he leaned over to set the phone on the coffee table, Mrs. Havenall strolled in.
She beamed brightly at Deanna. “Aww. Look at you, Dee! Just like old times!”
Chapter Seventy-Two
“WELL, THIS HAS BEEN one hell of a day,” Blatch said, grabbing his coat from the rack by the office door. “Now I know firsthand what they mean by ‘the phone ringing off the hook.’”
Smalls grinned. “Two solved cases and two new clients. What’s not to like about that?”
Blatch smiled and blew out a tired breath. “You know, this whole detective agency thing might just work out after all. Buy you a beer, partner?”
Smalls laughed. “You’d better.” He grabbed his coat. “What genius was it who said we were going to get busy?”
Blatch rolled his eyes. “Shut up before I change my mind.”
Smalls smirked. “You should tell Deanna the good news.”
“Right.” As he locked the door behind Smalls, Blatch thought, Deanna’s a psychologist. There’s no way we can afford her. Besides, why would she waste her career working for us?
Chapter Seventy-Three
DEANNA AWOKE IN A PINKISH-grey gloom. It was nearly twilight. Her mind felt dull, as if she hadn’t slept for days. She thought for a moment that she’d just awakened from another nightmare about spiders. But as her groggy senses gained awareness, she detected music playing. And movement nearby.
This was no dream.
Deanna blinked and the room came more into focus. The macabre scene before her made her wish she’d remained unconscious. Forevermore.
Mrs. Havenall and Charlie Rhodes were grinning at each other manically, dancing cheek to cheek, as The Platters crooned, “Heavenly shades of night are falling, it’s twilight time.”
Charlie caught Deanna staring. His grin broadened to mimic a psychotic clown from a hellish nightmare. He gave Mrs. Havenall a nod. “Look who’s awake.”
Mrs. Havenall smiled at Deanna. “Oops. Looks like things didn’t go quite to plan.” She kissed Charlie, then went and sat on the edge of the couch where Deanna lay. She grinned at her. “You know what, Dee? Actually, this is even better. Now you’ll be awake when it’s time for you to disappear.” She glanced up at Charlie. “It’s twilight time.”
Charlie nodded and waved. “Time for someone to go bye-bye.”
Deanna tried to scream, but her mouth was taped shut. Her limbs were frozen in place, wrapped tightly in a white sheet—a silken sheet as fine as spider’s silk.
“I bet you think this is all a bad dream, don’t you?” Mrs. Havenall asked, her motherly tone conveying a hint of superiority. “It could’ve been. We could’ve buried you alive and unconscious, like the others. No muss, no fuss. Yes, Deanna dear, you could have died in your sleep, never knowing what happened. But no. You, naughty girl, had to go digging around in the backyard, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Havenall glanced up at Charlie, then back at Deanna. “I see you met the postman.”
The two burst into laughter, sending fresh terror ripping through Deanna’s heart. She squirmed against the sheets, but struggling was useless. Between the sheets and the drugs, she could barely move a muscle.
Mrs. Havenall reached over and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Deanna’s forehead. “Do you have any idea how many people who knew your mother have just ‘disappeared’? No? Four. Well, actually five if you count your father. Wasn’t it just so considerate of Warren McMasters to kick the bucket nine months after he married Miss Melody Young?”
A tear escaped Deanna’s brimming eyes and ran down her cheek. Mrs. Havenall wiped it away.
“Aww, no need for tears, now. How about I tell you a story?”
“A ‘dead-time’ story,” Charlie said, then laughed.
Mrs. Havenall shot him a silly boy look. “Not that you deserve to know, Deanna dear, but someone has to appreciate my genius. This took a lot of planning. I was patient. I waited over twenty years for your mother to die. You see, I’d originally planned to kill her long ago, but when I saw how miserable she was, well, it was just so much fun to watch her wallow in her own self-pity. Then, two years ago, you handed me the keys to the kingdom. I got exclusive access to crazy old Miss Melody Young. Oh, what fun we had!”
Mrs. Havenall looked away for a moment, recalling her sick memories like a beloved vacation. She looked back down at Deanna.
“It was delicious, how it all came together. You taking me on as her guardian. Then Bernstein showing up out of nowhere. He made the absolute perfect patsy. A few notes on his car, egging him on. Child’s play. His turning out to be a sexual predator was the icing on the cake!” She licked her lips. “So predictable, that one. No, it was that idiot Blatch who was the wildcard.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought he would never catch Bernstein.”
Mrs. Havenall laughed. “Then you with your Fed-Ex letter. I have to give you credit. That was intriguing. I just had to see what was inside. Lucky for me, it was just another letter I’d faked from your mother. I had Charlie re-deliver the new package to the wrong door.”
“Oops,” Charlie said, and laughed.
Deanna grunted and tried to kick free, but she couldn’t even bend her knees. Mrs. Havenall smiled and continued her story.
“What was that? Why would I want revenge on your mother? Well, I’ll have you know that before Miss Melody Young came along, I was supposed to be Mrs. Warren McMasters. I had the engagement ring and his baby to prove it. But that didn’t matter when your trashy, bimbo mother set her sights on him.”
For the first time, anger flashed in Mrs. Havenall’s eyes.
“Without Warren, I was broke. Who was going to take me with a baby in tow? Well, fuck that. I wasn’t about to go willingly. McMasters paid dearly for my silence. So he could have his little life with his slutty blonde bombshell.” Mrs. Havenall sighed. “Back then, people cared about such things as reputations. And yes. That’s right. Jodie’s your half-sister. Another McMasters bastard.” Mrs. Havenall’s right eyebrow arched. “That’ll come in
real handy when settling your estate.”
Deanna tried to scream again. She could feel her spittle beginning to loosen the duct tape that was tearing at her lips.
“Why the others, you ask?” Mrs. Havenall rambled on. “To be quite frank, they were nothing more than practice.” She tugged at the sheet around Deanna. “A dress rehearsal, if you will.” She turned and winked at Charlie. “It was quite a stroke of luck when the little pizza girl showed up by accident.”
“She was at the wrong address all right.” Charlie laughed. He shook his head. “What a mess that was.”
Mrs. Havenall frowned. “Sure, I made some mistakes with the Snyder girl. Stabbing is messy. And do you know why, Dee? Because people bleed and shit all over the place when they die. It was disgusting. Took me ages to clean it up properly. But with Charlie’s help, I did. We kept her body in the freezer for months until I came up with the perfect plan. You see, it was me who called the city to complain about your fish pond. As you recall, I was so helpful to find someone to fill it in for you, wasn’t I, Dee?” She turned to Charlie. “Thank you, dear.”
He grinned. “Bye-bye Jessica.”
Mrs. Havenall touched Deanna’s cheek. “That’s when we got the idea that drugging would be so much better than stabbing. Did you enjoy your Rohypnol, by the way? I took Jodie to the doctor and insisted she needed a strong sedative to help with her insomnia. Old doc wasn’t too keen on the idea, but when I told him about Jodie’s schizophrenic tendencies, well, that sealed the deal.”
Mrs. Havenall stared off in the distance, a smile on her face. “Oh! But I digress ... where was I? Oh yes. Practice session number two. The Wiggins boy. He was the first to succumb to my magic roofie tea. Yes, drugged and bound and buried alive is so much neater. Hardly any fuss at all, right Charlie?”
“Easy-peasy,” Charlie said.
“And then there was that nosy old lady who kept wandering around at all hours. I couldn’t let her discover what we were up to during her late-night strolls. So, into the fishpond she went.” Mrs. Havenall smiled at Deanna.
“The mailman was another one I couldn’t take a chance on. You see, I was heading to the post office with your mother’s letters when Reggie saw me in the back alley. Such a nice guy. He offered to take the letters for me. Well, I couldn’t have him telling stories, could I? So I invited him in for a cup of tea. Trouble was, there was no room left in the fishpond, so under the rosebush for him.”
“With a sack of lime for a pillow,” Charlie said proudly.
“As for your mother, Deanna dear, I smothered her on the couch and left her body in place. I needed to lure you back somehow, didn’t I?”
Mrs. Havenall leaned over and kissed Deanna’s cheek. “It was so much fun, nearly smothering her to death, then letting her gasp back to life. I got to enjoy my sweet revenge over and over.” She tugged Deanna’s nose like an impish child. “And if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to pretend, one more time.”
Mrs. Havenall stood and left the room. She came back a moment later holding a framed photograph. “Remember this?”
Deanna stared in horror. It was the picture she’d placed in her mother’s coffin the day of her funeral. Deanna squirmed and tried in vain to scream. She tasted blood as the duct tape tore at her lips.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Havenall said. “But that’s not all I took.”
She sat on the edge of the sofa and opened a tiny plastic container she’d taken from her freezer. She leaned in and showed Deanna the contents. It was a human nose.
“I just need to make one small adjustment on you first, and I can have my revenge on Melody Young one more time.”
Charlie grinned and handed Mrs. Havenall a short, hooked knife. “It’s razor-sharp,” she cooed at Deanna. “You won’t feel a thing, unfortunately.”
Deanna’s once-foggy mind was now clear. But it was too late. Eyes wide with horror, she could see no way out of Mrs. Havenall’s trap.
“Melody Young stole my life,” Mrs. Havenall said, her face no longer smiling. “So I stole hers. And now, I’m going to have yours as well, you sanctimonious little slut. And all your money, too.”
Mrs. Havenall laughed bitterly. “Thanks to me, the world thinks Jodie’s a lunatic. And I’m just the one to be in charge of her estate, don’t you think? I’m going to have Jodie ruled incompetent. But if she doesn’t play along, well,” Mrs. Havenall shrugged and glanced up at Charlie. “We’ll make her disappear, too, won’t we Charlie?”
Charlie grinned. “Sure will.”
Mrs. Havenall sighed. “I’d miss playing my little spider game with her, though. She made such good practice. Jodie taught me just how long I could hold the pillow down before someone was too far gone. You can tell by how much they squirm, Dee. They give up a few seconds before their hearts stop. If they shit themselves, well, you screwed up, but at least you know for sure they’re dead.” Mrs. Havenall smiled cruelly. “Oh, by the way, sorry about your mother’s couch.”
Deanna felt her lip tear as she tried to scream. But her valiant effort produced nothing more than a muffled mew.
Mrs. Havenall shook her head at Deanna as if she’d been a naughty girl. She angled the knife along the side of Deanna’s nose. “Now hold still.” She looked up at Charlie. “Wait. Is it okay if I smother her just one more time? For old time’s sake?”
Charlie grinned his awful, maniacal clown grin. “Sure, hun. One more time. But this is it. So make it count.”
Mrs. Havenall removed the knife and kissed Deanna on the nose. She smiled and picked up a black pillow the size and shape of a dinner plate. “Here we go, sweetie. Relax and enjoy the ride.”
As the pillow closed in on Deanna’s face, her eyes grew wide—not from fear, but from recognition. The pillow coming toward her had eight fingers wrapped around it—eight beige lines curling inward around the edges of a black circle ....
It was the spider in Jodie’s paintings.
It was the spider in Deanna’s nightmares.
It was the symbol of impending death.
Deanna’s thoughts shifted to the plastic spiders her mother had used to pranked her. Had she been trying to warn me somehow? Deanna screamed with everything she had left, but managed only a muffled wail.
Mrs. Havenall’s laughed. “Oh, come now, Deanna. Don’t make such a fuss. You said it yourself. It’s best to go quietly in one’s sleep.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
AS BLATCH WALKED FROM the bar to his car, the two beers inside him had him feeling sad and sentimental.
Deanna, he thought. Why would she stay? There’s nothing to hold her here.
It was too much to hope she’d stay. Blatch had hired Deanna on the spot. Partly because of her credentials, but mostly on gut impulse. Something inside him hadn’t been able to bear the thought of never seeing her again. He recalled their friendly banter that day at that café. Their flirty conversations. The moment they almost kissed ....
Forget it, he told himself. It’s never going to happen. He knew the truth now. Deanna, the beautiful woman with the hazel eyes, would never work out. What he thought was desire in her eyes was only clinical observation. The woman could spot his every shortcoming. She couldn’t help it. Deanna was a psychologist. It was what she was trained to do.
If she stayed, they would have to remain work colleagues only. Could he live with that? Blatch wasn’t sure. But one thing he did know was that his life felt better with Deanna in it.
Trapped in his own musings, Blatch walked by a pizza shop and an antiques store without noticing them. But as he passed a store displaying elegant stationery, he stopped. Questions began popping into his brain.
Why hadn’t Bernstein written letters to the other two victims? Was it that he simply had chosen not to, or did Bernstein not know about them? Then again, how could someone be so sneaky and cunning, yet leave damning evidence lying about in his car to be discovered?
Blatch went inside the stationer’s shop. “Do you sell linen stationery?
” he asked the clerk.
“Yes!” the young woman said brightly. “Let me show you what we’ve got.” She led him to a display. “You mean like these?”
“Yes,” Blatch said. He pointed to one. “Do you have this one in Delicate Peach?”
“Not in stock. Let me look it up.” She went back to her checkout stand and pulled out a thick book of wedding invitations. “Looking to tie the knot?” she teased.
“Something like that,” Blatch said.
“Ah, here it is. Delicate Peach. Looks like that color is no longer available. It was discontinued five years ago.”
Blatch chewed his lip. Something just wasn’t adding up.
“How about Peach Melba?” the clerk asked.
Blatch headed out the door. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
DEANNA FOCUSED ON THE last image she would ever see. It was the photograph she’d placed in her mother’s coffin—a consolation prize so Melody and Warren could be together again in the great beyond.
Soon, Deanna thought, I’ll join them.
In the picture, Warren smiled at Deanna. He looked dashing in his James Bond tux. Mother glowed happiness in her blue sequined ball gown. Deanna kept her eyes glued on their smiles as the pillow wrapped around her cheeks, cutting off her air supply.
As she waited in the dark for death to find her, Deanna stopped struggling and focused her attention on her heart. It had begun to thump wildly, as if seeking a way to escape from her chest.
Her body began to tingle, and a random thought caught her attention.
The spider has me at last.
As her brain cells slowly succumbed to hypoxia, a memory, long repressed, bubbled up to the surface. It was a poem. A journal entry she’d made sometime during her high-school years.
I never knew when the spider would come.
Silent. Patient. Crafty.
What She Forgot Page 24
