Last Seen Alive (21 page)

Chyna looked at Scott with mock sincerity. “I’ll be sure to tell Rex you’ve diagnosed his problem.”

“And knowing Rex, he’ll find me and punch me in the nose. As I remember, he didn’t used to take criticism well.”

“He still doesn’t.” Chyna sighed. “I wish he were here, though. With that crowd down at the lake, I don’t like being left in the house alone.”

Scott raised an eyebrow at her. “Am I invisible? Or do you just not consider me a person?”

“Oh, Scott, I didn’t mean to insult you!” Chyna burst out. “It’s just that you’re injured—”

“I was
injured
weeks ago. Now I’m just having a little trouble with my leg.” His hands clenched into fists. “I can

still knock the hell out of anyone who tries to bother you, and I will, too!”

Chyna maintained control for a moment, then lost it and burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” Scott demanded.

“You sound like my three-year-old nephew Ian blustering.”

“I was
not
blustering—” Scott broke off, his face reddening slightly. “Well, maybe I was.”

“There’s no maybe about it, Scott.”

“All right. So I sounded like a three-year-old. I’ll accept that, but I
can
protect you.” He waved the beautiful hardwood walking stick in the air. “I still have this, you know.”

“I’m very glad and I thank you, Scott,” Chyna said solemnly. “I appreciate it, although your mother might commit battery on
you
if you damage that thing.”

“You’re probably right. I’m about to give it up, anyway. My leg is getting stronger every day.”

“Well, I’m glad you had the stick with you today. That walk up the hill couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to get out the Bengay tonight—I just love the smell of that stuff—but I
am
getting better. Much better.”

“That’s great, Scott. The last few weeks must have been awful for you—” When she saw Scott’s face cloud, Chyna broke off and abruptly changed the subject. “I wonder if that crowd is still down at the lake? What do they think? That I abducted Deirdre and have her stashed in the basement?”

“I don’t know what they think,” Scott said in disgust. “I only hitched a ride with Irma because when I was getting dressed I heard her organizing this little bash here. I wanted to get to the house to protect you. Then I called on my cell phone and no one was home, so I had to hang around with all those merry souls until you got back.”

“Irma is probably furious with you for coming up here with me.”

Scott’s face tightened. “I don’t intend to ever speak to Irma Vogel again. When she started all that crap about you and the lost girls and urging me to come and meet people up

here, people who intended to do something about you, I only kept my mouth shut because I needed a ride and Black Willow’s fleet of three cabs seems to be in service elsewhere. Maybe the drivers are hanging out with the city cops, who
still
haven’t shown up.”

“Why didn’t you come in your own car?”

“My car is in New York, Chyna. I spent a week in the hospital after the accident; then I was flown here to Black Willow. I still wasn’t considered fit to drive, but I’ve used Dad’s old car for the last few days. Naturally, today when I really needed it, it had a flat tire, and I’m not up to tire changing, yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if Irma flattened it so I’d have to ride with her.” Scott paused. “You know, even before the accident, I was thinking of buying a new car. I believe I will, now. Think Ned will give me a good deal?”

Chyna smiled. “I think Ned will let you have a car at cost. He’d probably
give
you one!”

“No gifts. I just want a new car. Having a few dollars knocked off the price wouldn’t insult me, though.”

“Do you have a model picked out?”

“No,” Scott said slowly. “I thought I might get this girl I know to help me select one. I hear she’s smart and has excellent taste.”

“If you mean me, I have to warn you that I know a lot about how a human body works but very little about how a car works. I purchase automobiles on the basis of their looks.”

“Fine with me. We’ll have Ned there to tell us all about the car’s more technical points.”

Suddenly something seemed to explode in the living room. Chyna and Scott jerked in their chairs. Michelle ran from one end of the kitchen to the other, barking fiercely.

Scott jumped up and barely limped as he dashed to the corner of the living room, Chyna right behind him. She could have cried when she saw the beautiful bay window smashed, glass everywhere, and a rock the size of a cantaloupe lying beside the fireplace, where it had broken off a corner of the carved Italian marble mantle before falling to the floor.

A man shouted, “Get away from here, Chyna Greer! Disappear just like you made all those other girls disappear or face this town’s wrath!”

A babble of voices followed, some raised above the others, one woman screaming, “You’re death incarnate, Chyna. Go away! Leave innocent, God-fearing people alone, or so help me—”

“That
was Irma,” Scott said in quiet fury. “Innocent and God-fearing, my ass.
She’s
the danger to this town.” He turned. “Go back into the kitchen.”

“Do you think they’ll try to come in?” Chyna asked incredulously.

“Maybe,” Scott said as he headed toward the telephone. “I don’t know why the police haven’t shown up earlier, but they’d better get up here
now
before one of those fools does some real damage!”

Deirdre Mayhew needed to urinate. “Urinate”? she wondered. What had made that word come to her mind instead of “pee” or, as her mother used to say, “use the bathroom”?

It’s because I’m so scared I don’t even sound like myself, Deirdre thought. I don’t even
think
like normal. I want my father. I want to be safe in my bedroom. I want to dream about going to college. I want to have at least one more Christmas. Hell, I’d even settle for watching Irma flirt with Dad.

Instead, I’m probably going to join Mom, and much as I loved her, I don’t want to be with her now. She’s dead. Tears stung Deirdre’s eyes. Oh God, Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to die, even to see you again. I’m only eighteen.

Deirdre’s head throbbed from the blow that last night had cut her scalp. She lay on a blanket, but beneath it she could feel a gritty concrete floor. Also tape—what she feared was strong duct tape—had been plastered across her mouth and eyes. When they pull it off, my eyebrows and eyelashes will

go with it, she thought. That was a certainty. Whether or not she would still be alive when they removed the tape was another matter.

Deirdre wasn’t sure why the image of her face without brows and lashes made her want to cry even more. After all, that was the least of her worries now. Nevertheless, she knew how expressionless her face without its arched eyebrows and long lashes would look. Dead or alive, she wouldn’t be Deirdre Mayhew anymore.

Maybe her taped eyes wouldn’t release her tears, but her nose was running over her upper lip, yet another indignity. Yesterday she’d felt sorry for herself. She’d seen Chyna Greer, beautiful, a doctor, obviously the center of Scott Kendrick’s interest. She’d been unhappy because she had to work instead of going to college. She’d missed her mother.

Right now, though, Deirdre would have given anything to have back her old life, no matter how many hours she had to work at her father’s cafe, no matter that she hadn’t been able to go to college next fall like her friends, no matter, awful as it seemed, that she’d lost Mom. She had died young, but at least she’d had
some
life—and the romantic love of a man. Even yesterday, Deirdre had been certain that she, too, would have love and at least one child. Right now, though, she wasn’t so sure.

Deirdre had been in a chloroform sleep when someone dragged her away from the party and put her in this cool, dusty space. Was it a garage? she wondered. She might have been rendered blind and mute with duct tape, but she’d still possessed her sense of smell, and she’d detected no odor of gasoline or motor oil. The only scents she could identify were of dust, mildew, and mouse droppings.

Her captor had been thoughtful enough to throw a wool blanket under her and fold the extra part over her, but the chill of the concrete floor seeped through the blanket, sending ripples of cold over her naked body. He’d stripped her. The thought made her cringe even more than the realization that duct tape securely bound her ankles and held her wrists behind her. She writhed for a moment, knowing the movement

was useless but feeling like she had to do
something
to free herself, not just lie here helplessly …

Waiting for him to come back.

The phrase shook Deirdre to the core. “Waiting for him to come back.” And then what would he do to her? Rape would be bad enough, but somehow she knew rape was not the objective of her captor. It might be a prelude to the goal, but it was not the goal itself.

The goal was death.

Deirdre let out a helpless moan beneath her duct tape, a moan she knew no one could hear. After all, she had heard nothing for hours—no voices, no starting of cars, no barking of dogs. Absolutely nothing because she was all alone.

Waiting.

Ten minutes later the police arrived at Lake Manicora and quickly dispersed the angry crowd that had formed. Most of the people huddled near the water, but a few intrepid souls had begun climbing the hill toward the Greer house, one of these being Irma Vogel. Scott spotted her first, her wispy blond hair sticking out in all directions, her eyes even bigger with excitement, her mouth partially open as she drew in deep breaths. For the first time, Scott didn’t feel Irma’s ugly appearance wasn’t just the luck of having unfortunate genes. They were a window into a flickering, hateful soul looking for a target that could fan it to life.

Scott marched to the front door. “What are you doing?” Chyna asked as he pulled open the door.

“Stay out of the way,” he ordered.

“But Scott, some of those people could have more rocks!”

“Chyna, go in the other room.” His voice was firm, and while Chyna didn’t retreat from the living room, she did move away from the windows and the door. By now, Scott had the door completely open. He stood tall and unmoving,

not even supported by his walking stick. His dark eyes fastened on Irma, whose pace up the hill slowed to a near halt.

“Irma, get… off… this … hill.” His voice was so icy even Chyna felt its chill. Irma stopped but continued to stare at him.

“Scott, you don’t understand—”

“I said, get off this hill.”

“But Chyna’s in there. And Deirdre’s missing. There’s a connection—”

“Chyna Greer didn’t do anything to Deirdre and you know it. You’ve just found a good time to take out your jealousy on Chyna. But you don’t fool me, Irma, and I’m sure you aren’t fooling anyone else except for a few crazy zealots.” An angry murmur arose, although quite a few people were looking at one another blankly, not knowing what a
zealot
was. All they knew was that they were being insulted. Scott’s voice rose even louder. “Now Irma, I want you to gather up your dim-witted flock, go back down the hill, go home, and don’t you
ever
come near Chyna
or
me again!”

“You?” Irma nearly squawked. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Scott. It’s all about
her.”
She’d started to sob. ”Besides, you
need
me!”

“I don’t need you for anything, Irma. Now go. And the next time you come into my house uninvited, I’ll have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

Scott slammed the door before Irma sank to her knees, wailing pitifully. Scott could tell part of her actions was an act for the audience behind her, though. In truth, she probably was already planning how she would get back at both Chyna
and
him.

Twenty minutes later the crowd at the lake had been dispersed by the city cops. Scott had stood at the window drinking beer from a bottle as he watched Black Willow’s finest, if slowest, order people to move along or they would be given tickets. He’d expected the police to come up to the house to see what damage had been done, but instead the four cops who’d shown up had simply driven their two cruisers away as if nothing had happened. Well, something
had
happened, and Scott intended to call the sheriff, who was a personal friend of Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick, and not likely to ignore a complaint by their “hero” son, Scott.

Chyna had lingered in the kitchen and he found her there, sitting on the floor sipping a Coke and petting a clearly unnerved Michelle. “Excitement too much for her?” Scott asked, nodding toward the dog.

“The excitement was too much for both of us. Scott, this is insane. Are those people still out there?”

“No.”

“Thank goodness. They looked like they were out for blood. If I’d been here alone …”

“But you weren’t alone, and it’s my guess that most of them wouldn’t have come close to the house. They were just trying to scare you.”

“Irma wasn’t just trying to scare me.”

“Wait until Mom hears about Irma,” Scott said drily. “She won’t have a thing to do with Irma again. And if it was Irma who threw the rock that chipped the Italian marble mantel in the living room, then God help her. Almost nothing makes Mom angrier than vandalizing antiques.”

“Are you sure Irma’s gone?”

“Definitely.” Scott stood watching Chyna for a few minutes, then said, “Well, are you going to get up or spend the rest of the day on the kitchen floor?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come on, Chyna,” Scott said sternly. “You’ve never been a coward. I can’t stand to see you huddled up like a… like a…”

“Coward?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay,” Chyna said in a lackluster voice before rising. “I’m up.”

“You’re still leaning against the kitchen counter.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Scott,” she snapped. “Do I have to stand at attention?”

“That would be nice. Makes you look brave.”

“Also shows off her figure,” Rex laughed from the kitchen doorway. “You don’t have me fooled, Kendrick.”