Last Seen Alive (22 page)

Scott smiled, but Chyna felt unreasonably annoyed that Rex had not been present earlier. “Where have you been?” she nearly snarled.

Rex looked taken aback. “I went to visit a friend.”

“My, my, but you have a lot of friends around Black Willow lately.” Chyna heard the bitterness in her voice. “And how convenient that you left before the hate crowd congregated outside. Otherwise, they would have blocked the road and not let you by.”

Rex frowned. ’The hate crowd? What crowd? Here? Why?”

Chyna took off fast and furious. “You’d know if you would bother spending one hour in the house where your sister-in-law died this week instead of acting like this is a vacation,

gallivanting all over town drinking and socializing with God know who—”

“A bunch of people gathered at the foot of the hill,” Scott interrupted, his voice loud enough to drown out Chyna’s sudden shrillness. “They blocked the road to the house. I’d gotten wind of the little gathering planned to scare Chyna and hitched a ride with someone. When Chyna returned and they wouldn’t let her drive back to the house, I walked her up the hill. Then someone threw a rock through the front window and broke a piece off the mantle. I called the police and they finally arrived and dispersed the crowd, although they didn’t seem to take the whole thing too seriously.”

Rex looked dumbfounded, his skin paling under its perpetual tan. “There was a crowd here? Someone threw a rock into the living room?
Why?”

“Because Deirdre Mayhew is missing,” Chyna said raggedly. “Because the people of this town have decided that a girl
always
goes missing when I come home, so I must be responsible.”

Rex gaped. “That is …” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Not everyone in town subscribes to this brilliant theory,” Scott said scathingly. “Just a few people led by one deeply disturbed—oh, hell—one green-eyed monster masquerading as a do-gooder but who has a magnificent talent for agitating her fellow fruitcakes.”

“Name, please?” Rex asked calmly.

“Irma Vogel.”

“Sounds familiar,” Rex said.

“She used to work here when I was a teenager,” Chyna shouted. “And you’ve probably dated her. You’ve dated every other woman under fifty in Black Willow!”

She then burst into tears. Rex took three swift steps toward her and enfolded her in his arms. “Honey, I haven’t dated
quite
all of the women under fifty. There aren’t that many places to go with one where you won’t run into another, and you know how embarrassing catfights can be.”

Chyna cried and laughed at the same time. “I’m sorry. I was just so scared.”

“She didn’t consider me adequate protection,” Scott said drily.

“Yes, I did. Honestly I did, Scott. But Mother’s mantle, you know how she loved that mantle, Rex, and it’s ruined all because of me—”

“Yes, I know how you begged someone to throw a rock through the window and break your mother’s marble mantle,” Rex said soothingly. “It’s all perfectly clear, now.”

“I need a tissue,” Chyna nearly wailed.

“You certainly do.” Rex produced a handkerchief from his pocket, and grinned. “So what are you most upset about, honey? The crowd that thinks you abducted the Mayhew girl, your mother’s damaged mantle, or your nose dripping in front of your boyfriend?”

“He is
not
my boyfriend!” Chyna sniffled into Rex’s monogrammed handkerchief.

“Of course he’s not. He’s taking the news very well, too, all stoic and manly, not an ounce of desolation showing on his face.” Chyna was well aware of the two men smiling at each other, but she couldn’t make herself look at either. Rex took her arm and quickly led her from the kitchen. “Now let’s go take a look at this mantle you’re so worked up about.”

Chyna knew Rex wasn’t allowing her time to be embarrassed about her outbreak of tears. She’d never been the nervous type, but then, she’d never just lost her mother, either, and Rex was feeling guilty for not being there when a crowd appeared to accuse her of involvement in the Deirdre May-hew disappearance.

She heard Michelle panting along behind her, then the tap of Scott’s walking stick on the vinyl floor in the kitchen before they strode across the carpet through the dining room and into the living room. Rex walked over and looked at the piece of marble, approximately two by three inches, lying near a much larger, rough-edged rock. “Yeah, Vivian would

have a fit about this,” he said after turning it over a few times. “You say Irma Vogel threw it?”

“We were in the other room when we heard the crash in here,” Scott said. “We didn’t see Irma do it, but she was closer than anyone else.”

Chyna frowned. “How do you know Irma Vogel, Rex?”

“I don’t really
know
her; I’m just acquainted with her, thank God. A couple of months ago when I was here, I stopped in at that little cafe downtown. She waited on me and when she brought my order she sat down, uninvited, and introduced herself. Seemed to think I’d remember her.”

Chyna and Scott finally looked at each other. “Husband hunting,” they said together.

“She said she’d never gotten a chance to talk to me when I was visiting or say hello at the Fourth of July parties because she was always with, and I quote, ’a
very
possessive date.’ I said that was okay because I’d always been with a
very
possessive wife.”

“Which one?” Chyna asked wryly.

Rex smiled. “I don’t remember all of them, honey. There have been so many, as you invariably remind me. Anyway, all I could think about was Irma staring at my left hand with those bulging eyes of hers. I swear, if she’d had a microscope, she would have been searching for tan lines on my then ringless third finger. At that point, her boss asked her if she’d forgotten she had other customers.”

“That would have been Ben Mayhew,” Scott said. “He’s the father of the missing girl, Deirdre.”

“Would Deirdre have been around seventeen or eighteen? Auburn haired?” Rex asked. Scott nodded. “She came into the cafe that day, too, but headed straight for the kitchen. She was very pretty. She also seemed shy.” His gaze seemed to turn in on itself. “What a shame. Her father must be frantic.”

“We don’t know that anything has happened to her,” Chyna said defensively. “She hasn’t even been gone twenty-four hours yet and everyone is going crazy!”

Rex seemed to come back to them and gently stroked her hair. “Okay, honey. You’re probably right. It’s not like she’s

been gone two or three days. Something perfectly harmless could have happened to keep her from coming home or calling. Just settle down, Chyna.”

She could feel some of the tension leave her body as Rex spoke soothingly. “It’s just that the crowd down there suspecting
me
of having something to do with Deirdre’s disappearance upset me more than I would have imagined.” Chyna paused. “And I have to admit, only to the two of you, that the coincidence of another girl turning up gone when I’ve come home isn’t lost on me.”

Rex put his hand under her chin and lifted her head, looking deep into her eyes. “Chyna, you can’t possibly think the same thing a few nuts in town do.”

“Quite a few ’nuts’ thought I had something to do with Zoey’s … disappearance. Even her mother did.”

“Anita Simms didn’t think you’d
hurt Zo
ey—”

“But she blamed me for not taking better care of Zoey!”

Rex nodded. “I’m afraid she did, which was silly. Zoey was your age, not a tyke for whom you were babysitting. And Zoey was the one who insisted on sneaking out that night. You kept saying she wouldn’t have gone without you, but I think she would have if that boy she was meeting meant so much to her. Anita ignored all of that, but then, Anita wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. I never understood why she and Vivian were such good friends.”

“Anita might not have been as bright as Mom, but she was sweet and kind and—”

“Adoring. Anita thought your mother was wonderful, and Vivian just couldn’t resist people who looked up to her.”

“Rex!” Chyna chided. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“But it’s true, and you know it.”

“I know no such thing and I think it’s terrible of you to accuse Mom of cultivating friendships with people just because she thought they admired her!”

Rex smiled calmly. “I’m not saying that Vivian’s only reason for forming friendships was to gather a bunch of groupies around her, but not even you can deny that she craved adoration. Maybe we all do, just not as much as Vivian

did, but I’m not going to argue with you about your mother’s foibles, Chyna. You’re far too upset as it is. Besides, I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not quite perfect, either.” He leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to take my unwanted candid remarks upstairs and leave you to visit with Scott. If any of those people come back here to harass you, give me a yell.”

Rex turned and headed for the wide staircase, throwing up a hand in farewell. Chyna and Scott watched him in silence until he reached the top of the stairs and disappeared down the hall. Then Chyna turned on Scott, saying hotly, “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. My mother did not
use
people!”

Scott took a step closer to her, the cool gray light from the broken front window falling on the chiseled, aristocratic lines of his face from the intense dark eyes to the strong chin with its indentation. “Rex didn’t mean to insult your mother, Chyna,” he said softly. “I believe all he was saying was that your mother was extroverted and charming and beautiful and sometimes that kind of person attracts others who aren’t so blessed.” He smiled. “Hey, even when I was a teenager, I thought your mother had it going all over the place.”

“And what exactly does
that
mean?” Chyna asked, not knowing whether to be offended.

“It means she was good-looking, friendly, dressed in clothes that showed she had a great figure without looking trashy, acted younger than her age—” He stopped, then said laughingly, “Chyna, your mom wasn’t like my mother or the mothers of any of my friends. She was hip and, well… sexy. If she’d been a few years younger I might have had a crush on her.”

“Oh really?” Chyna pictured her mother—beautiful, laughing, somehow seeming younger than all the other mothers she knew—and suddenly understood what Scott meant. But Chyna couldn’t let him off with a simple “Oh.” Instead, she cocked her head and said, “I thought when you were a teenager you had your eye on
me.”

Scott flushed and said loudly, “I thought you were an in-

teresting
kid
who’d grow up to be an interesting woman. God, Chyna, I’m not a pervert!”

“I see,” Chyna answered as if in deep thought. “You thought I was an interesting seven-year-old. What did your other friends think of me?”

By now, Scott had regained his composure. “They thought you were a pretty little smart aleck.” He grinned. “And you grew up to be a pretty adult smart aleck. No, let me amend that. You grew up to be a gorgeous smart aleck.” He winked at her. “How about getting me another beer,
chérie,
and I’ll call Ridgeway’s and have them bring over a piece of plywood big enough to cover that front window until you can get it fixed?”

Ridgeway’s.
Chyna thought of the expression on Gage Ridgeway’s face yesterday when he’d been up on the ladder cleaning gutters and he’d clearly seen the sudden fear in her eyes when she remembered he’d been Edie Larson’s boyfriend. Edie, one of the lost girls. Was Deirdre another one?

Scott followed Chyna into the kitchen, and while he flipped through the phone book, looking for the number of Ridgeway Construction, Chyna opened the refrigerator. She bent down to the bottom shelf and started to pull out a bottle of beer when suddenly she could smell dust and mildew and feel her arms trapped behind her, wrapped with duct tape, just like her ankles. She was cold in spite of an old, scratchy blanket that had been thrown over her, and she was terrified of death that might come any minute.

But she knew
she
was not having this experience. She was psychically linked to someone else having this experience. Aloud, she muttured, “Deirdre?”

Scott looked at her. “Chyna? Chyna, what’s wrong?”

Slowly, the feeling of duct tape, the smell of dust and mildew, and the feeling of imminent danger faded away. Slightly dizzy and weak, Chyna mentally returned to her mother’s shining clean kitchen, holding a bottle of cold beer as she looked up into the dark, alarmed eyes of Scott Kendrick.

“Chyna?” he asked again, softly, as if he didn’t want to scare her. “What is it?”

She swallowed and choked. Her heart must be going at least a hundred beats a minute, she thought, and her chest felt so tight that at first she couldn’t speak.

“I’m calling nine-one-one,” Scott said, picking up the phone receiver. Chyna shook her head violently and reached out for him. His hands closed on her upper arms, and he pulled her up, then drew her close to him. So blessedly close, she thought, clinging to him for reassurance and safety. She couldn’t stop looking into his eyes, calming herself with the sensation of his strong hands on her arms, of the nearness of his face to hers, of the comforting feel of his warm breath on her cheek.

Finally, Chyna took a deep breath. “Deirdre Mayhew is alive.”

Scott gently pushed Chyna a step away from him although he still clasped her arms. “You kept saying she’d been gone such a short time, there was no need for everyone to panic. Did you really think she was alive?”

“Yes,” Chyna said, barely above a whisper.

“I
knew
you were being far too calm about her, far too insistent that people shouldn’t panic,” Scott said slowly. “Now I realize you were afraid—”

“That if I said she’d been taken by whoever took the other girls, it would be true.” Chyna drew a deep breath. “She
has
been abducted, but now I
know
she isn’t dead. She’s being held a prisoner, though. Her ankles and wrists are bound. I think her mouth and eyes are taped shut, too. She’s terrified. And
so
cold. I think there’s a blanket over her, but underneath, she’s naked.” Chyna shuddered and desperately looked up at him. “Scott, I don’t know where she is, but I
do
know that the person who abducted Deirdre is torturing her by making her wait for her own murder.”