The Perfect Mistress (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Fifteen)

by Blake Pierce

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Kimble,” she said, standing up.

  He walked them to the door and they exchanged goodbyes. As she and Ryan returned to the car, he leaned over and whispered to her.

  “What now?”

  “Now,” she said, making sure that she didn’t reply loud enough for Kimble to hear her, “we go back to Rich McClane’s cabin to check in on Hannah and see how our friends back at HSS are doing in the search for the Night Hunter.”

  “I think I hear an ‘and’ in there,” Ryan said with trepidation.

  “Oh yeah, and we get a frickin’ warrant to check that website.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It wasn’t as simple as that.

  When they got back to the cabin and called Rich, they learned that crossing the Kimbles, especially one in mourning, was frowned upon.

  “We can get the warrant,” Rich told them, “but it’s delicate. We have to go to the right judge at the right time. And that means we have to wait until around midday tomorrow, when the ones who might cause trouble are out to lunch. Can you wait until then?”

  “It doesn’t sound like we have much of a choice,” Jessie said. “We’ll wait.”

  More out of frustration than enthusiasm, they began reviewing everything they’d compiled. But eventually the long day and the altitude started to hit them. Jessie changed tactics. They moved into the living room to call Jamil for an update.

  It was the first time any of them had spent time in the room, which could politely be called rustic cozy. There was a weathered couch and an easy chair with loose stuffing, separated by a small end table. Resting on a slightly larger, well-dented coffee table was the remote control and a three-year-old issue of a backpacking magazine. The TV, which actually had rabbit ears, was pressed up against the wall, not far from the fireplace, which was full of patiently waiting logs. Everything felt crammed together.

  As they settled in on the couch, Jessie put Jamil on speaker so Ryan could hear. Hannah wandered into the room too. Jessie’s initial inclination was to make her leave but then thought better of it. Maybe hearing the updates would help set her at ease. Regardless, she deserved to know. Unfortunately there wasn’t much at all in the way of new information.

  “The teams have been driving all around town,” Jamil told them, “following up on every recent camera sighting of an old dude driving an old car but they’ve come up empty. Detectives Reid and Bray have been interviewing employees at all the hostels where we know the man stayed for the last few months, hoping to discern a pattern. So far we’ve got nothing. Detective Nettles and Kat have been visiting multiple used car dealerships where the man bought cars. But they’ve come up empty too. None of the dealers recall the guy. He did an amazing job of being unmemorable. They’ve called it quits for the night, although I think Kat was going to check out one last dealership on her way home. I wouldn’t hold your breath that she finds anything.”

  “You’re really filling us with optimism here, Jamil,” Ryan said acidly.

  “I’m sorry Detective. I wish I had better news. But don’t lose hope. Tomorrow’s another day. I’ll have brand new camera data to work with. We’ll start fresh then. How’s it going there?”

  “A lot of dead ends,” Jessie sighed. “But don’t worry about us. And don’t forget to stop working for the night. You’re no good to us if you’re half asleep, Jamil.”

  “You know I don’t operate like the rest of you humans, Ms. Hunt,” he replied, coming as close to a joke as Jamil was capable of.

  “Goodnight,” she chuckled and hung up. She was just about to call Kat when Hannah waved to get her attention.

  “Remember the thing I wanted to go to tonight at Wildyology?” she said.

  “I do.”

  “Are you still cool with me going?” Hannah asked.

  “Are you still cool with me dropping you off and picking you up?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said flatly.

  “And you understand that there’s a killer on the loose and that you’re not to go anywhere other than Wildyology?”

  “I understand,” Hannah said coolly.

  As much as Jessie still wanted to say no, she knew she couldn’t. Hannah had agreed to all her restrictions. She hadn’t rolled her eyes once. And something in the oven was making her mouth water.

  “I’ll have you there at nine,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Hannah replied, breaking into a wide grin. “By the way, your friend Rich the undersheriff had duck breasts in the freezer. I’ve taken possession of them, as well as some mushrooms and couscous. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

  She left without another word. Jessie looked over at Ryan, who nodded approvingly. Apparently she’d handled the situation well. Feeling surprisingly good about herself, she grabbed the phone and called Kat.

  It went straight to voicemail. She decided not to leave a message for now. She could always check in later.

  *

  Wildyology wasn’t exactly what Hannah would call “wild.”

  It was more like an amped up version of the Elevated Grounds coffeehouse, with alcohol and live bands instead of a lone cellist.

  After Jessie dropped her off and—to her credit— left without issuing any additional warnings about avoiding knife wielding killers, she walked into what looked like a converted hunting lodge.

  She was immediately met by multiple large, stuffed, animal heads on the walls near the entryway. Directly in front of her was a large sitting area with a roaring fireplace that took up a whole wall. Several worn couches had animal hide blankets draped over them for anyone who felt chilly despite the flames. Off to the left was a traditional dining room. To the right was a long bar packed with people, all yelling orders at the lone, frazzled-looking bartender.

  Hannah didn’t see anyone she recognized so she walked to the sliding door beside the fireplace wall and stepped outside onto the top floor of a massive, two-level deck. The lower deck down below overlooked what she assumed was Blueberry Creek, though it was hard to see it in the dark. A band was playing Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love.” Surrounding the performers in a semi-circle were a dozen rickety cocktail tables, all full.

  On the top level where she stood were multiple picnic tables. People were eating at all of them but a few also had board games spread out between the plates. Hannah was just about to check out the lower deck when she heard someone call out “Heidi!”

  It took a second to process that the person was probably shouting to her. Luckily she knew she could play it off as not hearing the name because of the music. She waited until she heard the name a second time before looking around. Patrice, at a table at the corner of the deck, was waving wildly to her. She had switched out of her debutante dress into a tie-dyed sweater, army fatigue pants, and an honest-to-goodness hair bonnet. Hannah waved back and walked over.

  As she approached, she saw that Chris was there, smiling shyly at her. In his black turtleneck and corduroy pants, he looked like he’d just left a Jack Kerouac fan club meeting. She loved it. She identified two people that she’d seen at the coffeehouse. The remaining two folks at the table were new to her. When she arrived, Patrice gave her a hug. Chris stood up and did the same.

  “Everybody, this is Heidi,” Patrice said by way of introduction. “She’s visiting from out of town with her family. Heidi, you remember Chris. And this is the rest of the crew for the night: Carlos, Annie, Melina, and Doug. Guys, make room for Heidi.”

  “Hi,” Hannah said to the group, not even pretending to try to remember all their names as they scooched over, opening up a space for her next to Chris. She felt her cheeks flush slightly as she settled in next to him. In an attempt to divert attention from herself, she nodded at the game on the table.

  “You’re playing Scattergories?” she asked.

  “Are you a fan?” the guy she thought was named Doug asked.

  “I’ve played before,” she said.

  “So where are you from, Heidi?” asked a pretty girl she b
elieved was Melina. The girl had long, curly black hair and her tone was a little more edgy than the others. It only took Hannah a second to ascertain why. Prior to her arrival, Melina had been seated next to Chris and it seemed she wasn’t happy about the reconfiguration.

  “I’m sorry, what was your name again?” she asked, less out of real interest but rather to give herself a moment to stall. She wasn’t sure how honest she was supposed to be with people. After all, she was using a fake name but did she have to give a fake hometown too?

  “Melina,” the girl said before resuming the interrogation. “I’m guessing you’re from the L.A. area?”

  “Good guess. Yeah, I live in the San Fernando Valley,” Hannah said, deciding to just be vague rather than outright lie. After all, before her adoptive parents were murdered, she had in fact lived there.

  “Oh, a valley girl,” Melina said jokingly, though her eyes were daggers. She really felt threatened.

  “Sure,” Hannah said, losing interest in appeasing her, “so how’s the game going?”

  “We’re on a little break,” Patrice said, holding up what looked like a mojito. “Do you want something? I should warn you not to get too excited. It’s a mocktail.”

  “Actually, a hot chocolate sounds really nice.”

  Patrice waved to the server. After she gave her order, they started a new round of the game. She and Chris were on the same team, which seemed to irk Melina even more. They eventually changed up the teams and switched to Taboo. Melina got to partner with Chris for that but they didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength and finished in last place. Hannah and Annie won. After that got old, she decided to run to the restroom.

  “You want company?” Patrice asked.

  “No, I’m good,” Hannah replied. She actually wouldn’t have minded but wanted avoid making a conversational mistake while waiting in line. It was hard enough remembering she was Heidi from the Valley. The more questions she was asked, the more likely she was to screw up.

  She walked back inside, closed the sliding door, and dodged the feet of the people sitting near the fireplace on her way to the bathroom. The line wasn’t too long. To pass the time, she turned back to the main room and enjoyed some people watching.

  A couple was making out on the loveseat closest to her. They were covered in an animal fur blanket and it appeared that they were keeping as busy under it as they were up top. A little farther away, a guy was clumsily hitting on a girl near the bar. Hannah could tell he was too drunk. Every time he gesticulated, it looked like liquid was going to overtop his glass. Finally, as she knew he would, he moved too quickly and some of his beverage splashed on the girl. She squealed in exasperation and headed over to get in line for the bathroom.

  Hannah was about to offer a sympathetic comment when she suddenly felt eyes boring into her. She looked around the packed room. Then she saw him. Standing behind the clumsy drunk amid the crowd at the bar was the burly, bearded forty-something guy from this afternoon. He was still wearing all black, though he’d disposed of the sunglasses. And he was staring at her unblinkingly.

  Before she could decide what to do, the girl behind her line tapped her shoulder and pointed at the restroom door. It was her turn. She stepped inside and moved to the open stall. Locking the door, she sat down and debated what to do.

  She could call Jessie. After all, there was a killer at large and though the two victims were roughly twice her age, it was possible that this was the culprit and he was scouting out a new target. But she doubted it. He was so overt that it was hard to imagine he’d act this brazen in public if he intended to come after her later.

  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. He might just be a standard issue pervert. But he could also be a guy waiting to assault her the second she moved somewhere secluded. She’d seen enough of both types to know that you couldn’t be sure what you were dealing with just by looking.

  But calling Jessie would end her night out and probably prevent any future ones in the foreseeable future. Besides, why should her evening have to be cut short because of some asshole? She determined that if he was still around when she got out of the restroom, she’d take matters into her own hands.

  Sure enough, when she returned to the main room, he was there. He’d changed spots, now loitering closer to the fireplace, but his eyes fixed on her the second she walked out. Pretending not to notice, she returned to the sliding door, making sure to go the long way around so she didn’t have to get near him. She returned to the table and leaned over to Patrice without sitting down.

  “Is there a big guy with a beard dressed in black over by the sliding door?” she whispered in her ear.

  Patrice glanced over and nodded.

  “Yep, that’s Gunnar. He works at the hardware store.”

  “Is he staring at me?” Hannah asked.

  “He is,” Patrice confirmed. “I guess that means you’re official now.”

  “What?”

  “Gunnar’s the local mouth-breathing creep. He’s a big fan of ogling girls half his age and especially loves artsy types. He’s gross but he’s harmless. He just doesn’t seem to understand social mores like not engaging in open-mouthed staring.”

  “So you all just put up with it?” Hannah asked, appalled.

  Melina, who had been listening in, spoke up. “I complained to security at the Conservatory once and they said that the cops technically couldn’t do anything because it wasn’t a crime to have a pedo vibe if he doesn’t act on it. I mean, what are we supposed to do other than ignore him?”

  Hannah looked at Melina and her irritation with the girl’s prior pettiness faded away. Now she simply felt sorry for her, for all of them. One good thing about having endured so many traumas in her life was that when she faced a menace she could actually do something about, she wasn’t inclined to shrink from the opportunity. In fact, the idea of taking action caused the old, familiar thrill to return to her belly. She felt her fingers tingle.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” she said, standing up straight, “put an end to it.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hannah turned and headed back toward Gunnar.

  Chris grabbed her wrist and stood up.

  “I’ll go with you,” he whispered.

  “Thanks, that’s sweet,” she said, pleased at the gallant gesture even though she doubted he’d be much help. “Just don’t get in the way.”

  She walked directly over to Gunnar, who made no attempt to move or even avert his gaze as she got closer. His arrogance only emboldened her. She felt that familiar euphoric surge that she only got when she was taking a chance that put her at risk. She stopped less than two feet from him. His breath was heavy with booze and garlic but she didn’t flinch.

  “Is there something you wanted to say to me?” she asked in a loud, clear voice.

  “No,” he said mildly, “I’m happy looking.”

  Hannah heard a slight gasp beside her from Chris, who clearly hadn’t been expecting that response. But it didn’t surprise her.

  “Well, I’m not happy with you looking,” she said. “So I’m going to ask you politely to stop.”

  “And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” he snarled more than said. “It’s not like I’m breaking any laws. We still live in a free country, don’t we?”

  Hannah had a good idea what she was going to do about it. For the last week, she’d been working hard not to let her impulses determine her choices. That was a major focus of her video therapy sessions with Dr. Lemmon. But this situation was different than the ones where she’d sought out trouble. Today it had come looking for her in the form of Gunnar and she wasn’t having it.

  “Please, just leave me alone,” she pleaded, before turning to Chris and burrowing her head into his chest, pretending to choke back tears. She heard Gunnar grunt in malicious amusement as Chris held her. The cover band was wrapping up their latest song and she knew the moment she needed was fast approaching.

  “When I let go of
you, shove me into him,” she muttered in Chris’s ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “But not too hard, understand?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes brimming wet. He nodded, his own eyes wide. She removed her arms from around his neck and winked. He took that as his cue and gave her a little push, just enough so that she bumped into Gunnar.

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, shrinking back from the man.

  “I didn’t,” he protested and for the first time his voice was tinged with something other than arrogance. He sounded slightly apprehensive. Just then, the song the band was playing ended. That was her cue.

  “Yes, you did!” she yelled in the relative quiet that followed the final wallop of the drums. “You won’t leave me alone and now you rub up on me. Get away!”

  Gunnar was formulating a response when a man in his thirties emerged from behind the sliding door and came over.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, trying to speak quietly. It was pointless. No one else was talking and the other customers could hear everything he said.

  “There’s no problem,” Gunnar said quickly.

  “Are you the manager?” Hannah demanded.

  “My name’s Todd. I’m the assistant manager,” he said.

  “In that case, yes there is a problem,” she said, making sure her voice could be heard by everyone on the deck. “This guy was following me all around town today. Everywhere I went, he showed up. He wouldn’t stop staring. I had to run out the back of a clothing store because I wanted to get away from this stalker. Then I show up here tonight and he comes in and starts doing it again.”

  “That’s not true,” Gunnar tried to interject.

  “Oh, were you not following me at the ice cream jerky store this afternoon. Did you not come into the place next door right after me? I wonder if they have security cameras. You think they’d back you up on that?”

  “Miss,” Todd said, “can you please lower your voice? I’m sure we can work this out.”