Nowhere to Hide (38 page)

“Sorry if I’m just trying to save money!” Rosamund threw up her hands.

“It’s not saving money when none of those blinds work. Discount? You should have got every penny back.”

September turned to Rosamund. “Blinds?”

“Yes, blinds,” Rosamund said through her teeth. She was glaring at Braden. Then she lifted her chin and marched from the foyer into the kitchen, breaking into little mewls of despair.

Braden waved a hand after her in disgust, then turned back to September. “We don’t know what happened that night. It could have been a robbery, but I see you’re convinced it was premeditated murder. I don’t agree with that, and . . . oh, now where are you going?” he demanded.

September had drifted after Rosamund. She caught her pressing her nose to a tissue, but though it sounded as if she were crying, her eyes were dry. “In what rooms did you put the blinds?” September asked.

Rosamund made a strangled sound of disbelief. “Your father’s den? The garage? What do you care?”

“The den?” she repeated.

“And a bedroom,” she said. “And we weren’t even redoing it!”

“Which bedroom?”

“The blue bedroom.”

“My old room,” September said woodenly.

“Okay, your old room.” She hiked her shoulders, then thought a moment. “He gave me the willies. I walked in and he was just looking at one of the boxes that I was taking to the storage unit, real intent-like. I asked him what he was doing and he didn’t answer. That’s when I told him he should leave, and I got on the phone to Mel.”

“Who does Mel work for?”

“Mel’s the owner. Mel’s Window Coverings. Why do you care?”

September turned away without answering. Her mind was racing and she had no more time for Rosamund, or her father, either, for that matter. She swept past Braden, who’d come to stand in the archway to the kitchen and had to step back when she suddenly charged away.

“Hey,” he called to her.

She headed outside. She’d seen Mel’s Window Coverings around somewhere. It had been around for a long time, and Laurelton wasn’t all that big. Her mind just couldn’t seem to focus on it, but her GPS would pinpoint it for her.

“Hey!” her father yelled again. “What’s the matter with you!”

She lifted a hand in good-bye but didn’t turn around as she climbed into the Pilot. Switching on the ignition, she spent a few moments programming the GPS. It popped up with the address, and she peeled away from the house with a little chirp of tires.

On the way across town her eyes kept moving from the road to her GPS and back. She thought about calling someone, but she was flying by the seat of her pants. As soon as she got corroboration from someone at Mel’s, then she would know.

What if he still works there?

Okay. No. She would call as soon as she was parked.

Her pulse thrummed with extra adrenaline. She reached Mel’s in twenty minutes, a low, concrete building that stretched from the back of a utilitarian storefront. There was a chain-link fence around the property and several white vans parked inside the perimeter. Driving past the entrance, she parked on the street, then plucked out her cell phone and called Sandler, who didn’t pick up. September suspected the agents had probably returned with their findings from the latest crime scene, and Sandler would call her as soon as she was able. Quickly she related where she was, then cut the connection . . . and then realized Jake had texted her back.

Tried to call. Didn’t get through. Call me.

She saw she had a missed call and realized she hadn’t turned the ringer back on. She felt tense as she punched in his cell number, and then was a little unnerved when he answered on the first ring, “Hey, there.”

His voice sounded a bit circumspect, so she rushed in with, “I know you said you’d call, and I know I’m jumping the gun, but I needed to talk to you. Lots of stuff is happening.”

“I saw breaking news, Nine. I know another body’s been found.”

She could hear the worry in his voice and though she was glad he was concerned for her, she knew it was not a good idea to tell him where she was and what she was doing. “Where are you?” she asked him.

“On my way to my parents’. Mom found my grade school stuff, so I’m going over there to pick it up.”

“Good. That’s right. You were going to ask her for it,” September said, her eyes on Mel’s parking lot. There was someone inside the office, she was pretty sure. She was glad they apparently worked on Saturdays.

“Are you at the station?” he asked.

“No, I’m following a hunch.”

“A hunch?”

“We’ll see if it pans out. Everyone is working the case today. County, too. I’m still supposed to be sidelined, but I went into work anyway, and now I’m checking another angle.”

“I want to see you,” he said suddenly.

“I want to see you, too,” she answered in a rush of feeling. “Jake, I’m so sorry about last night.”

“Forget it. I know you had to ask.”

“I knew it was all coincidental. I just . . . I just want to see you and then I’ve got . . . a lot to tell. How about I meet you at your house? I’ll call you when I’m done here, and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” he said, and she wished she could reach through the phone and kiss him.

“I think this thing is breaking, Jake.”

“Because of this latest victim?”

“Yeah, among other things. I’ve got a call in to Gretchen. She’s wrapped up dealing with this new victim.”

“Okay. Be careful,” he said.

“Always.” She was so relieved she wanted to say something more, something to let him know how she felt. “Jake, I don’t want to mess things up between us. That’s the last thing I want. I’m just—deliriously happy.”

“Deliriously?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, responding to the amusement in his voice. “I’ll be by later.”

She clicked off before she got all sappy. Then she phoned Gretchen again, but once more got her voice mail, so she ended the call without leaving another message. A man was walking from around the back of the building to one of the white trucks. She watched as he placed a magnetic sign on the door that said
MEL
’
S
WINDOW
COVERINGS
.

White van. Like the one seen at Richie’s Bar the night Lulu Luxe disappeared. Mel’s didn’t paint their trucks. They used magnetic signs.

She stepped from the Pilot, her gaze on the man. Could this be Wart? He was around thirty, she guessed. She wouldn’t know until she was closer.

She heard the scrape of a shoe and cocked her head. Then hands grabbed at her, jerked her violently backward. She tried to turn around but something went over her head. A rope. No, a cord! Her hands came up but it was too late. The noose was choking her. She struggled to get a look at him, struggled to save herself. Struggled to
scream
!

But nothing came out. Spots showed in front of her eyes. God, no. God, no! She couldn’t pass out. She couldn’t. She had to stay alive!

But the edges were fading. Fading . . .

With a last effort, she lifted a foot and slammed her heel into his shin. He grunted and swore.

“Fucking bitch, I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

And then the world went dark.

Chapter 22

“The box is right over there,” his mother said to Jake, pointing to a large cardboard box stacked by the back door. “You’re going to have lunch, right? You’re not going to just run out of here with your hair on fire.”

He gave her a bear hug, and said, “’Fraid so.”

“Oh, Jake.”

“I promise that soon . . . very soon . . . I’ll come back and I’ll bring Nine with me.”

“Nine?”

“You know. September Rafferty.”

“Ahh . . . yes. I overheard some of that when you were talking to your father.”

“You gonna warn me off the Raffertys, too?”

“Oh, I suppose your father was clear enough on that for the both of us. And I’m sure September’s a nice girl, it’s just we have a history with her family, you know.”

“Nice girl,” he repeated with a grin.

“What?”

“Well, yeah. Maybe she is. But she’s a cop, Mom. It just isn’t how I’d describe her.”

“I can’t see any of Braden Rafferty’s children being police officers,” she said with a shake of her head.

“And you just put your finger on one of the biggest problems dividing that family. Oh, well, there is the Dashiell Vogt issue,” he added. When his mother just raised her brows in a question, Jake said, “This is going to take way too long for the amount of time I have, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

She snorted, but half-smiled.

He was relieved that he and Nine had gotten past the surprise of Sheila’s will. The whole thing was all dumb anyway, but that’s how fights were sometimes. Nine had reacted like a cop, and he’d seen it as a breach of trust. It had taken him a while to get over it. The fact that it mattered so much showed him how much he’d fallen for Nine Rafferty, and that was something he needed to give some serious thought to.

But for now, he was just glad they’d jumped that hurdle.

Jake went to the box and lifted it to the kitchen table. He opened the flaps and looked inside. Right on top was his second grade classroom picture, and he pulled it out and looked at it again. “I saw this on the school computer recently. Mrs. McBride stays in assisted living now. It’s kind of hard to believe. She was such a—disciplinarian—back then.”

His mother came to stand beside him and look down at the photo. “She was fit to be tied that year. I remember her telling me to be careful and not let you become like those other boys. She probably should have retired long before she did.”

“She said something like that to Nine. What other boys?”

“Well, T.J. was one. You were friends with him, and she was worried you’d be as disruptive as he was.”

“T.J.,” Jake repeated. “T.J. moved to New Mexico right after high school.”

She gazed at him, confused by his non sequitur. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t ‘high energy.’” Her eyes moved back to the photo. “Davey Marsh was another one. He pantsed another boy and was suspended for a while,” she said, pointing at a red-haired boy. “It’s amazing how I can still remember some of these things. The boy he pantsed isn’t in the picture. He was in a different homeroom than yours. You had him in homeroom later, maybe third or fourth grade. I think he was picked on because he wet his pants a time or two.”

“I remember that,” Jake said. His mother was pulling things from his own memory long buried.

“Kids can be so cruel, but he was kind of an odd duck,” she said with a slight shrug. “A loner.”

“Cargill,” Jake said suddenly. “Peter Cargill. He moved away before junior high.”

“That sounds right. I don’t really remember his name.”

“It was Cargill.” Jake quickly dug through the papers until he found a manila envelope labeled fourth grade. He pulled out a stack of papers, thumbed through them, and found the classroom photo. Scanning the smiling amalgam of faces, his gaze fell on Peter Cargill, whose thousand-yard stare was evident even in the old picture. He felt a frisson of apprehension slide down his spine. Dropping the photo back, he hefted the box into his arms. “I gotta go, Mom. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, but he was already past her, opening the door and striding to his SUV.

As soon as he was inside the Tahoe, he yanked out his cell phone and scrolled through his saved numbers. T.J.’s was there, but he hadn’t talked to him in over a year. Still, people hung onto their cell numbers with their life, so he punched in the number.

“Jake, my man,” T.J.’s voice answered as if no time had passed since last they’d spoken. “I was gonna call you. Freaky. I know it’s weird, but I need a best man. I’m getting married, man!”

The news momentarily derailed Jake. For a heartbeat when his mother had named T.J., Jake had wondered wildly if his old friend had been involved in sending September the messages, maybe even the homicides, somehow. But almost instantly he’d dismissed the idea. T.J. was an ass, but he was just that kind of guy. Still, hearing he was getting married was a surprise.

“Uh . . . yeah . . .” Jake said. “You sure you want me?”

“Who else? And when you and Loni finally pull the trigger, you’d better remember to invite me and my lady, Belinda.”

“Loni and I aren’t together anymore.”

T.J. made a sound of disbelief. “Yeah? What happened?”

“It just . . . ran its course. T.J., I want to ask you something else,” he said before T.J. could steer the conversation in another direction.

“Shoot, brother.”

“Do you remember Peter Cargill?”

“Cargill. Yeah. The pants wetter? What a fuckin’ weirdo. Marsh was always screwin’ with him. You remember Davey Marsh? He was just always on him, and Cargill would scream and glare and we’d all laugh. Remember?”

“Maybe . . .”

“But that’s when we were little. Later on, he’d just glare like he was killing us with his laser-like stare. His parents were all fucked up or something, so he moved in with his grandparents. I don’t think it helped, though.”

Jake had a bad feeling in his gut. “How do you know so much about him?”

“Man, Davey and Cargill were always in trouble, and I was kinda there, too, y’know? Our parents were always at the school and I saw Cargill’s old man whack him across the head when he didn’t think anyone was watching. But I saw. That was right before he moved in with the grandparents, I think. Maybe fifth grade?”

“Do you know where they lived?”

“The grandparents? Sure. You remember Erin Boonster? Got killed in that robbery with Nine’s sister? May or June or something?”

“May,” Jake said, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah, well, the Boonsters’ farm is right next to Cargill’s grandparents’.” When Jake didn’t immediately respond, T.J. asked, “You still there?”

Jake found that he was holding his breath. “Do you know if Cargill was ever called Wart?” he asked after a moment.

“God, why are you so interested in him, man? What’d he do? Kill somebody?” He laughed at his own joke. “Yeah, he called himself Wart.”

“He nicknamed himself?”