Almost Dead (22 page)

CHAPTER 51

If looks could kill, Lizzy would have keeled over and died two minutes ago, right after they brought her into a holding room and shut the steel door with a clunk, leaving her alone with Detective Chase.

“Look at you,” he said, gesturing toward the cuffs around her wrists. “What the hell are you trying to prove? I already knew you were a bit of a nutcase, but breaking into people’s homes in the middle of the night? I don’t get it.”

“It was five in the morning when I knocked on Kohl’s door, practically lunchtime. If you would quit feeling sorry for yourself and open your eyes, maybe you could show everyone that you really deserved that Top Cop Award that I saw in your office.”

“Oh, I see—we’re going to talk about me, are we?”

“Yeah, why not? I’ve seen you more times this past month than I’ve seen my therapist, and yet I have no idea who you really are. I know you like to throw your weight around and act like a tough guy. I see that you don’t get much sleep, but I have no idea why since I sure don’t see you hauling in the bad guys. You got
me
,” Lizzy said. “Whoop-de-doo. Now what?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, he said, “You really do think you’re above the law, don’t you? You just love being America’s sweetheart.”

Lizzy sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your lucky little pet detective stunt. You and your sidekicks stumble into the dognapper who happened to steal a pug belonging to one of Sacramento’s most beloved citizens.”

“Jacque Mason is a beloved citizen?”

He grunted. “You’re telling me you had no idea who she was?”

“Not a clue.”

“Yeah, well, the phones are ringing off the hook. I guess you made your one call?”

Lizzy nodded.

“Did you tell one of your misfits to call the media or did you do the honors yourself?”

“No,” Lizzy said, “I didn’t call the media.”

“Well, somebody told them what’s going on, because suddenly I’m getting dozens of calls from fired-up citizens who think you should be given a pass considering all you’ve been through.”

Lizzy said nothing.

“And I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the Melony Reed story being leaked?”

“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But Lizzy knew that meant Derek Murphy had done his job. The rookie journalist must have pulled through and gotten his boss at
Sac Bee
to publish a story about the Ambassador Club.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re not going to be able to break into any more houses or cause any more trouble while you’re behind bars.”

“I don’t care if you let me go or not, Detective. I just want you to arrest Dana Kohl before she kills anyone else.”

“Because you found a steel box under her bed?”

“Yes. A steel box that contained hundreds of pills and a firearm.”

“It’s legal to own a gun.”

“I understand that, but—”

“She has HIV.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Dana Kohl has been taking upwards of eight pills a day for years.”

“Why does she keep them under the bed?”

“I don’t know. You don’t store anything under your bed?”

“She’s a biochemist.”

“So you want me to go after every person in Sacramento with a major in chemistry?”

“It would be a start.”

He expelled a long breath.

“So what now?” Lizzy asked. “We’ll both sit here and twiddle our thumbs until another dead body turns up?”

He’d given up on using intimidation three conversations ago. Now he just looked tired. “You need help, Gardner.”

“Don’t we all?”

“I’ve already got a call in from your good friend Jimmy. But I could get a call from the president of the United States, and I wouldn’t let you out today. I think you need at least one night behind bars to think about what you’re doing.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“Why not be the hero for once . . . just once. Aubrey Singleton and Chelsea Webster are in danger.”

He shook his head and then opened the door. “Take her back to her cell. We’re done here.”

CHAPTER 52

Shelby’s wrists were bound with duct tape behind her back, and her ankles were also secured tightly with tape. She rubbed her wrists against the wood paneling behind her, frantically, like a Boy Scout might rub together two sticks in hopes of making a spark.

The cabin her captor had brought her to was tiny: one room with a built-in twin-sized bed covered by a flimsy mattress that looked as if it had been dragged in from beneath a woodpile. Every once in a while she’d find a bug or a spider crawling up her leg.

Across the room from her there was a sink and a wood counter, but no other appliances.

From far away, when they had trudged up the mountain earlier, the cabin had looked warm and inviting, reminding her of happier times. That was the moment she’d realized they were very close to the place she’d vacationed with Ben and his parents. The moment she recognized the massive rock feature up on the face of the mountain, she knew this was the same exact area. She and Ben had used the rock formation as a landmark to find their way along the trails. They called it Two-Face Rock. If you were west of it, you saw the profile of a rugged man’s face; from the east, it resembled a kid with its mouth open as if laughing.

If she could get free, she would know where to go. If she could free herself, she could get off this mountain. Ben loved to hike. He’d taken her all over this mountain, taught her how to boulder hop. They weren’t too far from Lake Clementine near Auburn.

Excitement and, best of all, hope made her work faster.

Her captor had left hours ago.

The minute he’d walked out the door to drop off the letter, she’d begun the process of rubbing the duct tape against the rough wood. She could feel the tape loosening. If she could free her hands, she could then work on the tape around her ankles and run.

On their way up the hill, she’d seen tinplates on the roof. It was raining now and each droplet made a loud tinny sound that was annoying as hell.

A section of the tape around her wrists came apart. It happened so fast, it startled her. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she pulled her arms free.

She wept tears of joy.

And then the door opened.

She jerked upright and swung her arms back behind her.

He stood there looking at her. His eyes fixated on her face and then her ankles, which were still bound.

Had he seen her move? Did he know?

He shut the door and went to the extra trouble of putting a two-by-four in the slots on in the wall on both sides of the door. He hadn’t done that last time. Was it to keep her from getting out or to keep other people from getting in?

When he went to the sink to sort through his cloth bag, she used her shoulder to wipe the tears from her face. She then eyed the tape around her ankles. There was no way she could untie herself quickly enough to get through that door and away from him before he caught her.

She gathered the courage to talk to him. “Did you mail the letter?”

He grunted. His grunts usually meant the affirmative.

Facing forward and trying not to move, she did her best to work the tape back around her wrists, hoping he wouldn’t figure out what she’d done. She needed to be prepared to run the next time he left on one of his long excursions.

He pulled out the same tin pan he’d been using to heat up soup and began to chop up carrots. When he turned toward her, he was cutting a potato, peel and all.

The dark look in his eyes as he walked her way was freaking her out. “Are you going to peel them first?” she asked.

“What does it look like?”

She could barely swallow. She was shivering again. “Are you making stew?” Her voice sounded all quivery and scared. She needed to get him talking like she’d done before. If she could just stop her voice from squeaking and make it appear as if she were confident, maybe she could get him to relax.

He put the knife up close to her face. “I think you’re far too pretty for your own good. You need a scar right here to give you character.”

The sharp tip of the knife cut into her skin.

She cried out as she grabbed his hand and tried to push him away. It was no use. He was too strong.

“I knew it,” he said. He stormed back to the kitchen and then came back to her side with the duct tape in his hand.

“No, please, don’t.”

“You said I could trust you.” He put down the tape so that he could wrap one of his big hands around her throat. He squeezed until she could hardly breathe. Then he forced her mouth open and inserted the potato, which was worse than being strangled. She tried to cough it up, but she couldn’t. He was wrapping tape around her hands again, so tightly she thought he would cut off her circulation. He shoved her head close to his chest while he worked. He smelled like a wet dog. She gagged.

“Too tight,” she tried to say, but the words came out muffled.

He pushed her head back against the paneling, then leaned down and brushed his jaw against her neck.

She tried to wriggle free.

He did it again.

She tried to scream out and kick her legs, but under the weight of him, she couldn’t move an inch.

His hand slid under her shirt, his callused fingers brushed over her skin. His breathing grew ragged right before he ripped the shirt from her body and simply stared.

She shivered, tried not to cry out again, knowing he would only grow angrier if she did.

She couldn’t breathe.

She closed her eyes tight and pretended she was somewhere else, somewhere safe.

CHAPTER 53

Jenny was running out of time. She’d left work thirty minutes early, told her boss she had a dentist appointment.

Jenny had seen the commotion on TV. The media’s darling was in jail for going after Dana Kohl. What a joke Lizzy Gardner was turning out to be.

Dana Kohl was harmless.

The private investigator will not give up. You need to listen to me. She’ll come after you next. You must slow down . . . think things through.

Although Jenny had personally never talked to Dana, she knew
of
her. She knew the Ambassador Club had gotten their claws into her, too. Jenny had always been relieved when they focused their attention on Dana instead of her. She knew that wasn’t right, but it was the truth. It was how she’d felt back then. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t have done in high school to get them to stop. She would have handed over her china doll, both her parents, the entire farm, everything she had if they had told her they would leave her alone.

But that’s not what happened.

And now Jenny was forced to make them all pay.

Today was Aubrey’s day to die.

Aubrey Singleton had recently moved into a brand-new house. Lucky girl.

During high school, Aubrey Singleton always seemed to end up in Jenny’s PE class. Aubrey used to love to take Jenny’s clothes from her locker so that after Jenny showered, she’d have nothing to wear. Aubrey would take all the towels, too, and then invite the boys to come take a peek.

That was how Jenny had learned that even though the boys didn’t want to date her, they sure liked to look at her naked.

Aubrey used to pass Jenny notes, too, sinister notes saying how she fantasized about the two of them being together some day, but then the next note would talk about how she planned to kill her while she slept. Aubrey would draw pictures of a cross with Jenny nailed to it. Blood dripping from her arms and legs.

She was a strange one.

But somehow Aubrey went on to marry a doctor. They had two kids and they lived in one of the nicer areas on the outskirts of Sacramento. The house was brand-new, and, although there were security signs poked into the grass, front and back, the alarms had yet to be turned on. She knew this firsthand. Breaking into someone’s house sounded like a big deal, but if anyone tried it, they would see that it was easy. Most people left a window unlatched or a door unlocked. Walking into someone’s house unnoticed was like taking a stroll through the park. Jenny would talk to kids in the neighborhood, wave at the cars as they passed, make people think she belonged. If they ever did question who she was, she had wigs and glasses and enough makeup to disguise herself. But nobody ever questioned her or stopped her from making her rounds. It was the same everywhere she went.

If you smiled and dressed up, looked as if you belonged, people believed that you did. Confidence. All you needed was a cheerful expression and a little confidence.

After work, five days a week, Aubrey picked up her kids from day care and arrived home at approximately six o’clock.

Jenny looked at her watch. It was only four. She had plenty of time. The last time she’d walked through Aubrey’s house, she’d taken her tube of toothpaste. Today, she planned to replace it. Aubrey and her husband had two separate sinks. Cluttered with lotion and feminine products, her side had been easy to identify. Jenny was certain she’d stolen the right toothpaste.

Aubrey should be dead before morning.

Jenny walked up the driveway, lifted her hand over the side gate, pulled the chain, and let herself through to the side yard. Last time she’d gone through the garage, but today she decided to see if the back door was open.

The French doors came right open. It was as if someone were waiting for her.

No alarm. No problem.

She smelled something cooking in the oven, thought that was odd, and looked around.

She could smell a roast.

Something dropped in the other room. A woman cursed.

Turn around this minute! Come back tomorrow.

Jenny took slow, careful steps out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Not too far from where she stood, Aubrey Singleton was hanging pictures . . . or at least, she was trying to hang pictures. She had a nail in her mouth, a hammer in her right hand, and she used her left hand to blindly reach around behind the little picture, trying to loop the wire or hook around the nail head.

Jenny thought about the toothpaste in her purse. She’d put a lot of work into making it look and smell just right. She’d lied to her boss and had gone to a lot of trouble to get here today. She was about to turn around and walk back the way she’d come when Aubrey dropped the picture. It was a small one and it fell to the couch without so much as a clank.

No harm done.

Except that Aubrey had leaned over to pick it up and was now looking at her with wide-eyed wonder. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

The woman straightened and narrowed her eyes. “Jenny?”

Jenny smiled.

“They warned me that someone might be coming after me. I thought of you, Jenny Pickett. In my mind, you were the only one it could be, but I pushed the warning aside, didn’t even tell my husband, because I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Confident, holding her shoulders high, Jenny walked forward.

Aubrey raised the hammer, but the woman looked as if she weighed about ninety pounds. Her arm wobbled from the weight of it.

Jenny stopped and sighed. “Do you really think I came here to hurt you?”

Aubrey took a backward step and then another. “Why did you come, then?”

“I wanted to talk to you about what you did. I want to know if you feel any remorse.”

“Of course I do. We all do. We were young, Jenny. Each and every one of us would take it all back if we could go back in time.”

“Oh Aubrey.” Jenny put a hand to her heart, as though overcome—and took another step closer. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I didn’t think any of you cared about what you did to us.”

Aubrey’s shoulders relaxed. “I wish there was something I could do to make up for it.”

“Give me the hammer, Aubrey, so we can sit down and enjoy a cup of tea together. Just knowing you would take it all back if you could is all I needed to hear.”

Aubrey played it out for a few seconds, even made it appear as if she might put the hammer down. Instead, she turned and ran for the front door.

Jenny caught up to her and wrestled the hammer from her hand. Then she swung hard and fast before the bitch could get away.

The look on Aubrey’s face when she fell to the ground said it all:
You really came after me. You really got the last word, didn’t you?

“You bet I did,” Jenny said.

Having no desire to hang around, Jenny dropped the hammer inside her bag, used her foot to nudge Aubrey’s arm out of her way, then headed outside, right through the front door. She walked a block, shoulders back, head held high. After another three blocks, she sat on a bench that the community had built for people who wanted to sit and catch their breath, maybe view the beautiful lake-sized pond or feed the ducks.

Slowly, determined not to call attention to herself, she slid off the blood-splattered sweater, one sleeve at a time, leaned over and wiped the streak of blood on her right shoe. She then rolled the sweater up into a nice little ball and slid it into her purse on top of the hammer.

A kid, riding his bike on the walking path, picked up speed as he passed by, didn’t make eye contact, had obviously been told not to talk to strangers.

Ten minutes later, she climbed into her car and drove off.