Last Seen Alive (26 page)

Deirdre could remember hearing her parents talk about Zoey when they didn’t know she was listening. Zoey had been the first girl to vanish from Black Willow a long time

ago, when Deirdre was just a kid. Zoey had been Chyna Greer’s best friend who came to visit once a year. A lot of folks believed Chyna had done something to Zoey, but Deirdre remembered her parents saying they knew Chyna slightly and she’d been sweet and kind. They’d said Chyna would never have hurt Zoey and they’d get angry whenever anyone implied Zoey’s disappearance had anything to do with Chyna.

And Scott Kendrick sure didn’t believe anything bad about Chyna, Deirdre thought, remembering how he’d looked at her yesterday. Was it just yesterday? It seemed like a week ago they’d come into L’Etoile and Deirdre had seen
that
look in his eyes when he gazed at Chyna—a look that said he admired more than her beauty. Deirdre had been wounded even though she’d always known Scott had no romantic interest in her, even when she wasn’t a kid anymore. That’s why she’d insisted on dressing up and going to the party when she really didn’t feel like it after Nancy Tierney’s death. Deirdre had thought the party might make her feel a little bit better about her lost friend Nancy and realizing with a jolt that afternoon that her dreams of someday having a romance with Scott were beyond ridiculous.

Instead, Deirdre had been just as miserable at the party as she would have been at home. And to top it all off, she thought with macabre humor, she’d gone and gotten herself kidnapped. Deirdre couldn’t believe what an unfathomable nightmare this week had turned into, not only because of Nancy and Scott but also because, for the first time in her life, she doubted her mother’s wisdom. She had always told Deirdre that God was a benevolent being who loved all His children. Deirdre had clung to that belief when her mother died. She’d even managed to hold on to it when Nancy died. Now she wondered. How could He have let her mother suffer so much before snatching her away? How could He have loved Zoey, Edie, Heather, and Nancy and still taken each of them when they were so young? And how the hell could He love
her,
even though she’d always tried to be the good girl, just the way her parents had wanted her to be?

Deirdre felt tears forming in her tightly bound eyes. She was so frightened. She was so hungry. She was scared almost witless, and she was cold as ice. With her stripped naked, the worn wool blanket her abductor had provided was next to useless. What had the person hoped would happen? That Deirdre would get frostbite and not move around very much? Or was the reason something even darker? She’d read once that serial killers liked to take tokens of their kills. Her earlobe ached where one of her cubic zirconium studs had been ripped loose, but maybe he’d wanted more— clothing. Ludicrous as it seemed, she was embarrassed that the killer would remember Deirdre Mayhew in her mother’s old “party” dress and some cheap cotton underwear.

A mouse ran over Deirdre’s bare, numbing feet and she moaned, her urge to cry making her gag beneath her duct-taped mouth.

Chyna stood up and began clearing soft drink cans from the kitchen table. When she turned around, Rusty stood staring at her in the doorway. They looked at each other for a moment before he finally gave her a tentative smile.

“I’m really sorry about all you’ve been through today,” he said.

“I’m fine.” Chyna heard the wooden tone of her voice. Her mind was filled with the image of dried blood on Scott’s walking stick. That and the vision she had when she clasped Rusty’s hand in the park earlier that day when she’d known she was watching Nancy Tierney pounding down that path in the woods. She could still see the girl’s navy blue running suit and shining ash-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail as she breathed rhythmically and kept her arms close to her sides, her form perfect for a professional runner. “I don’t think those people would have really hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Chyna looked sharply at Rusty. “I mean, I think they only came here to scare you, but

sometimes people get carried away and do things they wouldn’t normally do. And there could have been an accident. That rock could have hit you in the head..” His voice trailed off as his face paled.

“I guess you’re right.” Nancy hit her head on a rock, Chyna wanted to shout at him. You
saw
it happen. Instead, she asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

Rusty stared at her for a moment. Then he said in a rush, “What I’d like to do is talk to you. Privately.”

“Privately?” Chyna tried to keep her voice light, but it didn’t work. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I need to explain something to you. Can we go outside?”

“Outside? Why do you want to go outside? It’s chilly. There’s a breeze blowing up—”

“Chyna,
please.”
Rusty’s slender, earnest face and gray eyes pleaded with her although he kept his voice low and controlled. “I know this might sound silly. Or maybe it sounds threatening under the circumstances.”

“Under
what
circumstances?”

“Just go out on the terrace with me for a few minutes. If you’re uncomfortable, you can come right back in. Or even scream if you want. There are three other men here.”

Rusty looked so pale, so pathetic, and so harmless that Chyna couldn’t say no to him, although she knew she should. After all, she’d watched Nancy Tierney running down a path through
his
eyes—Nancy, who had fallen and smashed her head on a rock, causing a subdural hematoma that had killed her. Chyna knew she could have been seeing Rusty gazing at Nancy a week ago, two weeks ago, or even a day
before
she died. But something told Chyna that wasn’t the case. Rusty had seen Nancy the day of her death. Minutes before her fall. And if he hadn’t been the one chasing her, causing her to tumble as she fled from a pursuer, then why hadn’t he called the Emergency Service when he saw she was badly injured? Why had he waited for hours until a search party had found her?

“Rusty, anything you have to say to me you can say right here.” She heard the slight quiver in her voice although she’d

been trying to sound stern. “If it’s something private, you don’t have to worry. The men are in the living room. They can’t hear you.”

“My father can walk like a cat when he wants to. He could be standing beside the doorway, listening, and neither of us would know it. Chyna, I’m not going to hurt you, but I
have
to talk to you and only you. For God’s sake, I beg you….”

Chyna could feel herself melting when she saw tears rising in Rusty’s soft gray eyes. Good heavens, he’s going to start crying, she thought in horror. Poor Rusty, with that gentle heart and that awful father, is begging to talk to me and I’m treating him like a pariah.

“Let’s go out the back door and look at the fountain,” she said casually. “Do you mind if the dog goes with us?”

Rusty looked so grateful, Chyna felt her throat tighten against her own tears. This day had been too much for her. She knew she was losing control of her emotions, doing things that weren’t prudent or safe, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Rusty asked, “Michelle is the dog, right?” She nodded. “Then I don’t mind. I love dogs.”

Michelle had fallen asleep under the kitchen table and Chyna nudged her awake and motioned for the dog to follow her. If Rusty was truly dangerous, she was quite sure Michelle wouldn’t attack him—she was too timorous—but at least she would bark at any sign of trouble.

Rusty followed Chyna and Michelle onto the terrace. The air felt heavy and moist—depressing—not sunny and light as it had when Chyna had talked to Rusty in the park earlier today. She wondered if this was a portent. Was she about to meet her end just like Zoey and Heather and Edie? And maybe Deirdre, too? The rational part of Chyna told her she was being a fool, but her emotions were taking control.

She and Rusty walked slowly around the old fountain. “This fountain used to be beautiful,” Chyna said, trying to sound offhand. She didn’t want to pressure Rusty into talking before he was ready. “My grandfather designed it and I loved the angel on top. I thought of it as my guardian an-

gel when I was little. And there were goldfish. Huge goldfish. Only about a month after Grandfather died, the fountain cracked. We came out one morning and the terrace was covered with water and dead fish. I remember sobbing and my mother told my father it had to be fixed immediately. He had it patched and turned on the water every summer, but he never replaced the fish. He said if it cracked again and more fish died, he couldn’t bear to see me as brokenhearted as I had been that day.”

“He sounds like a thoughtful man.”

“He was.”

“Were you … intimidated by him?” Rusty asked.

Chyna’s gaze sliced to Rusty’s. He’d said “intimidated,” but he’d meant “afraid.” Chyna sat down on the edge of the drained pool beneath the fountain and looked at him. “No, Rusty, I wasn’t at all intimidated by my father. He was rather remote, but always gentle and loving.” Rusty nodded slowly, clearly intending to say nothing about his own father. Chyna asked softly, “What is it you wanted to tell me, Rusty?”

Rusty remained standing, looked at his shoes, looked over at the nearly leafless trees, and finally fastened his gaze just past her face. “When we were in the park this afternoon and you took my hand, you had a vision or read my mind or, well, you
saw
something about me, didn’t you?”

“I had a… sensation,” Chyna answered carefully.

“It was more than a sensation.” Rusty finally looked directly at her. “I saw it in your eyes. I saw that you saw—” He broke off and sighed wretchedly. “You know I was watching Nancy the night she was killed.”

Chyna hesitated. Was it wise for her to be honest? Then she knew she had no other choice, because somehow Rusty was already certain she’d had a vision of him and Nancy. Maybe he was a bit psychic himself.

“I saw you in a group of trees watching Nancy running up the path. As she neared you, you stepped behind one of the trees.”

“Is that all?” Rusty asked.

“Yes. It was just a flash. I didn’t even know if it was a vision of the evening she died. It could have been a different evening.”

“It wasn’t. It was
that
evening—the evening of her death. But you didn’t see her fall or … or anything else?”

The despair in his face grew and he sounded almost disappointed. “That’s all I saw, Rusty. Honestly.” Chyna paused, trying to decide if she should push the matter further. But Rusty obviously wanted to talk with her, maybe even confess. What kind of coward would she be if she fled from a murder confession when she was perfectly safe? At least, relatively safe, with the other men so close by. She tried to look composed and asked calmly, “Do you want to tell me about that evening, Rusty?”

“Yes, even though I’m sure you’ll think I’m some kind of pervert.’^ He jammed his hands into the pockets of his parka. “Maybe I am a pervert. I was acting like one that evening.”

He fell silent, his vision turned inward. Should I stop him now? Chyna wondered. Or should I prod him to say more, even if I don’t want to hear it? Her mind flashed to the beautiful young girl lying in a coffin, and Chyna knew she must try to find out what Rusty had to say, even if what he had to say was appalling.

“I don’t think you’re a pervert, Rusty,” Chyna said honestly. No matter what had happened between Rusty and Nancy the evening she’d died, Chyna somehow knew this man was not depraved. Nevertheless, he looked at her doubtfully. “I’m not reassuring you so I can get information, Rusty,” she said sincerely. “I’m telling you the truth.”

His steady gray eyes seemed to search hers for a moment. Then some of the tension left his body. He looked beyond her at the sky that had turned the color of weathered tin. “I was years and years older than Nancy, but she’d fascinated me ever since she was a little girl. I didn’t lust after her. Honestly, Chyna, I didn’t.”

Chyna was taken aback by the fervor in his voice. “I believe you.”

“I guess you could say I envied her. I was never much to look at. You remember me in high school, before I had plastic surgery. I was ugly.”

“You weren’t ugly, Rusty.”

“You don’t have to patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’ll admit, you look better now, but you didn’t look bad then.” She paused. “I was an adolescent when I knew you, and most kids that age aren’t known for their kindheartedness, especially when it comes to the looks of the opposite sex. But even then, I didn’t think you were ugly. Not even close. You just weren’t a heartbreaker.”

“Like Scott Kendrick?” Chyna blushed and was glad Rusty was looking at the trees again. She couldn’t think of anything to say and was glad when Rusty continued. “My family was disappointed with my looks, my shyness, my clumsiness. Mostly my father. Then along came Nancy. She was a beautiful baby who grew into a beautiful girl. Not just beautiful—extroverted, entertaining, athletic. As she grew up, I used to watch her a lot because everyone doted on her. I thought if I watched her enough, I could learn to be like her. Not feminine, but charming and accomplished—someone people admired.” He finally looked at Chyna. “That was stupid, wasn’t it? Traits like Nancy’s can’t be learned.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Chyna said. “I used to try to copy my mother because everyone loved her.”

“But you didn’t need to copy
anyone,
because you were also beautiful, smart, admired.”

“I don’t think I was admired after I reached age seven and people started thinking I was a kook because the gossip was that I claimed to have ESP.” She made herself laugh. “In fact, I don’t think those people who gathered on my lawn today, pitched a rock through my window, and called me ’the devil’s spawn’ admired me one bit.”

Rusty smiled faintly before his face once again fell into morose lines. “I know things have been bad for you lately. But still, you’re special. Nancy was special, too, but in a different way.” He looked back at the sky. “But back to my disgraceful tale. Once I got into the habit of watching Nancy, I

couldn’t seem to stop. I just wanted to figure out what she had that drew people to her when they seemed to avoid me, even when I had my looks improved.”