Wicked Game Page 13

  “Tamara and I had a class together,” Becca said. “We worked on a couple of projects as a team and got to know each other.” This was practically a lie, but Becca didn’t know whether she could admit that she’d worked hard on that friendship. All so she could be part of their group, so she could be nearer to Hudson. It was all so juvenile and downright embarrassing now! She could even feel her face heating and she took a swig of her water, hoping to hide her reaction.

  “Did you like my brother even then?”

  Becca opened her mouth to respond, thought better of it, then gave Renee a sideways look. All she saw on Hudson’s sister’s face was mild interest, so Becca gave her a jerky nod. “Yeah. High school crush.” She picked up a small orange slice and bit into it.

  “I thought so. Jessie certainly thought so, too, and she believed Hudson returned your feelings. Maybe he did.”

  “Nothing ever happened between us.”

  “Not until after high school,” Renee agreed. “What about now?”

  “What?”

  “You still interested?”

  “In Hudson?”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb.”

  “I’m really not looking to get involved with anyone right now,” she answered carefully. “My experience with men has been…less than stellar.”

  “Kind of a nonanswer,” Renee observed, then waved the air as if dismissing the entire subject. “All I’m saying is that I’m not sure Jessie believed that you and Hudson didn’t have a thing going in high school. I think she might have retaliated. She certainly tried to stir up Hudson’s jealousy, but he doesn’t work that way.”

  “We definitely didn’t have ‘a thing’ going. Hudson never even looked at me.”

  Renee lifted a disbelieving eyebrow, but let the subject go. “You know, Jessie’s parents acted…really worried…I mean, before she disappeared. I’d just been to their house the week before and had dinner and Jessie was acting oddly then, too. More oddly than normal, that is. She must have known she was getting ready to run again, and I think it bothered her, how much it hurt her parents. But she just couldn’t help herself. If I have a feeling of persecution now, she really had it then. Like something was at her heels and she was trying to keep one step ahead of it.”

  Becca thought about the feeling that someone was after her at the maze and about the vision of Jessie on the cliff trying to warn her of…of what? “Have any idea what it was that was chasing her?”

  “God knows. Jessie sure didn’t. And her parents didn’t. They were in a state over her disappearance, almost as if they knew this time was different. Like they were scared. I saw them when Mac, the detective, was talking to them, and yeah, they were worried sick, but more than that, they were terrified.” She shook her head. “And the only thing Jessie said to me-I mean before she disappeared, when she was talking all weird-was that it was about justice, like maybe it was payback for something? I wished I’d quizzed her on it more, but what did I know? She kept saying she had to keep on the move and I thought it was a ruse, like it had been before, a play for attention. That’s what Jessie was all about, being the center of the universe. More than most teenagers. Anyway, that’s what I’ve concluded, after thinking about it all these years.”

  “You think whatever she was running from caught up to her, before she could leave?”

  Renee half laughed. “I don’t really know what I’m talking about. But I do think those are Jessie’s remains. It just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

  “Will we? So maybe they get some DNA. Can they match it to Jessie’s?”

  “Well, or dental impressions, I suppose. Those are bound to be on record, aren’t they?” Becca asked.

  Renee shrugged. “And when the police learn, are they going to tell us? Or are we all suspects again? I hate to agree with The Third, but if the case opens up we’re all going to be under scrutiny, especially Hudson.”

  Becca didn’t like thinking about that.

  Renee drained the rest of her coffee, then shot an assessing look at Becca, as if she were debating on something.

  “What?” Becca asked.

  “I’ve been remembering a lot of little things lately. Forcing myself, I guess, at first because of the story, and now, I don’t know…” She drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I really want that story, but…I’ve gotten these warnings.”

  “Warnings?”

  “From the old woman I mentioned earlier.”

  “A Tarot reader?”

  “Sort of.” She seemed about to add something else, then hesitated. “This wasn’t Tamara’s friend.”

  “I got that.”

  “I went to the beach and I was asking about Jessie around Deception Bay. Do you know it?” When Becca shook her head, she said, “It’s this little town. Quaint. Kind of…tired feeling.”

  “Why did you go there?”

  “The Brentwoods have a house there. I thought maybe that’s where Jessie was from? Originally? I was staying around the area anyway, so I started asking questions and I got connected to this psychic lady. But when I met with her, all she did was make me feel like I was angering the gods or something. Seeing her was a mistake. She just played on my fears-fears I didn’t know I had.”

  Becca nodded, waiting for her to go on.

  Renee didn’t seem to quite know how to proceed, then said, “I know you and Jessie weren’t the closest of friends. Maybe because of Hudson, maybe something else, but how well do you remember her? I mean really remember her?”

  I saw her in a vision. “She had blond-brown hair-long-and was pretty.” Becca finished her wine. “I remember that she dated Hudson and that she was kinda hard to pin down.”

  “Like you.”

  “Not like me,” Becca said quickly.

  “Maybe not exactly. But sort of, don’t you think?”

  Where is this coming from? “Jessie was secretive and remote. I hope I’m not like that. Do you think I’m like that?”

  “No…I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Shrugging, she said, “Jessie always had a blithe remark. A throwaway comment. You couldn’t get close to her. Yeah, she was full of secrets, but then she could be so blunt, too. And Vangie was right that Jessie just knew things. She was precognitive. She had feelings about things and they came true. A number of times.”

  “Like a feeling of persecution?”

  “Well, maybe…and you had those visions, didn’t you?” Renee reminded her and Becca felt her face grow hot.

  “I’d hoped people had forgotten.”

  “Maybe they have. But at the time it was the kind of thing that ran like wildfire through the school. A rumor with a life of its own. I never knew just how much was fact or fiction.”

  “I used to have them,” Becca answered slowly. The vision of Jessie practically burned behind her eyeballs, but she couldn’t bring it up. Not now. Not yet. Not until she understood Renee’s interest.

  “Not anymore?”

  “No.”

  She inclined her head. “Well, anyway, sound like a nut job, don’t I? I hear myself talking like there’s some-evil out to get me, and can’t believe I just said that. Forget it. This whole thing with finding Jessie’s bones is making me jump at shadows and find meaning in things that aren’t there. Dumb. Oh, screw this. I need a glass of wine.” Scooting out her chair, she looked disgusted with herself, then walked to the counter and paid for a glass of Chardonnay. Taking a sip as she returned, Renee said, “That’s more like it.”

  “Was this the ‘odd’ something you wanted to talk about?”

  “Yeah.” She drank half her glass and shook her head. “I can’t tell you how all of this…whatever the hell it is has taken its toll. I’m jumping at shadows, second-guessing everything. And looking over my shoulder, like someone’s following me.”

  “That’s how I felt in the maze,” Becca said.

  “Oh, right.” She paused. “Maybe we’re both just letting atmospher
e take over reason.”

  Becca thought about that and was about to confess that she’d had a vision of Jessie on the very day that she’d learned about the grisly discovery at St. Elizabeth’s, but she didn’t get the chance. Renee tossed back another gulp of wine, glanced at her watch, and scowled. “Oh, God, it’ll be almost ten when I get there if I don’t leave now.” She swept up her purse and got to her feet in one swift motion. “Keep in touch,” she said brightly, but there was something about the way she hurried through the door that made Becca think Renee had no intention of following her own words.

  What the hell was it about Rebecca Ryan Sutcliff? Renee asked herself as she punched the accelerator of her Camry and slid through an amber light just before it turned red. She was headed west, ever west, merging onto Sunset Highway, a section of Highway 26.

  You’re running away, her mind insisted over the pain of a headache that was pounding at the base of her skull. “No,” she answered herself aloud as she flipped on her blinker and passed a yokel in an ancient truck that refused to go over forty, a truck not too many years newer than the pickup her father used to drive. She wasn’t running away from anything, she was running to what promised to be a new life; one that didn’t include her husband Tim and the Valley Star.

  What a two-bit rag. It kinda matched with her two-bit husband and her two-bit life. Well, it wasn’t good enough. None of it. Not now, not when she knew the brass ring was finally within her reach.

  She’d always been looking for a story, no, make that the story that would propel her to the big time, and thanks to Jessie Brentwood, Renee was about to make that leap. No one was going to stop her. Not a whining husband who had lost most of her inheritance in the stock market, nor an editor who couldn’t see her talents.

  And she wasn’t going to let strange mumbo-jumbo predictions and a feeling of persecution stop her, either. And what had she been thinking when, outside Blue Note, she asked Becca if they could get together sometime and talk things over? What had she expected from Hudson’s ex-girlfriend? Just because she kind of reminded Renee of Jessie-probably because of Hudson-didn’t mean she had any answers. Worse, Becca seemed to have her own problems dealing with Jessie’s disappearance.

  She slowed to sixty because of the drizzle and the fact that she really couldn’t afford another speeding ticket. That was the trouble, Renee thought, the rest of the world was cruising along at fifty-five and she was revved up to ninety. Sometimes it seemed that she was dragging everyone through life with her and they were all limp, dead weight.

  The rain poured down in earnest and she cranked up the speed of her squeaking wipers. They slapped away the drops and Renee wondered again about Becca. Hudson, it seemed, was taken with her all over again. Oh, yeah. Renee had witnessed it the other night at Blue Note. No big surprise that they were hooking up again, though Renee didn’t understand it.

  Becca was pretty enough. Streaked hair, light brown with pale highlights, large hazel eyes that hovered between green and gray, and a smile that showed off teeth that weren’t quite straight, probably even a little sexy. Her cheekbones were prominent, her eyebrows arched, and she had one of those long Audrey Hepburn necks. She was definitely his type. He always went for the blondish, mysterious-looking chicks.

  A flaw, in Renee’s opinion. But then her twin had many.

  The needle of her speedometer hit seventy-five, her tires hydroplaning on the slick asphalt before she noticed and slowed again. It was as if she couldn’t get to the damned beach fast enough. She checked her rearview mirror, afraid she might have blown past a cop and sure enough, another car was bearing down on her, one with bright headlights.

  Great.

  She slowed, not by braking, but by taking her foot off the gas until she was going a lawful fifty-three miles an hour and the car behind her slowed. Probably to run her plates.

  This was just getting better and better, as the Camry belonged to Tim. She steeled herself, practiced her smile and “Oh, dear me, Officer” routine, had her excuses all in a row, but no red and blue lights began to streak the night, no siren screamed at her to pull over. If anything, the vehicle behind her just hung back. Maybe he hadn’t clocked her and was waiting for her to speed up.

  Screw that!

  She pulled into the right-hand lane and sure enough, the guy following her did, too, tucking in behind a compact.

  Not a cop, then.

  Or at least not a cop interested in her.

  No lights. No siren.

  Maybe just her imagination, her sense of persecution. She plugged an old Springsteen CD in and watched as the compact swung off the highway at Hillsboro. Another few miles, past North Plains and Laurelton, and the car behind her just kept coming. She sped up, he sped up, she slowed, he slowed.

  Goose bumps raised along the back of her arms and she told herself she was being paranoid. No one was following her. No one knew what she was up to. No one could. She hadn’t told a soul.

  And yet, she was almost certain she was being followed. She glanced to her purse. Pulled her cell phone out of the zipper pocket. If she was going to call someone, it had to be now, before her service cut out as it did in several spots along this stretch of road.

  Call who? Say what? That you suspect someone is following you? Why? Because you’re digging into the Jezebel Brentwood mystery?

  She snorted in disgust and tossed her cell into her purse.

  The headache was getting to her. The impending divorce was getting to her. All the talk about Jessie was getting to her. And that strange prediction from the old lady at Deception Bay-that was really getting to her. The thought that someone was out to do her harm was her constant and worrisome companion.

  “It’s bunk,” she told herself as the CD played and the wipers slapped away the rain. “Bullshit. Nothing more.”

  But she knew better.

  Her teeth sank into her lip and she swallowed hard.

  Payback?

  Justice?

  For what?

  What have I done?

  “Mother Mary, help me.” Renee sketched the sign of the cross over her chest, a movement she hadn’t practiced since her senior year at St. Elizabeth’s, but the comfort she once had found in murmuring a quick prayer now eluded her, reminding her only of the bones that had been found at the base of the statue of the Madonna.

  She glanced in her mirror again and the trailing vehicle’s headlights seemed brighter than before, more intense.

  “It’s no one,” she muttered under her breath as another obscure Springsteen song drifted through the speakers. Renee barely noticed. Her gaze was split between the rain-spattered windshield and the rearview mirror that burned bright headlights back into her eyes. “Bastard,” she muttered.

  She’d lose whoever it was in the mountains. Didn’t want anyone knowing where she was going, that she had screwed up her courage and planned to visit the old hag of a fortune teller again. That she intended to learn more about her fate and what the woman knew, if anything, about Jessie.

  For the love of God, she was starting to think like Tamara, and that was scary. Damned scary.

  She glanced at the headlights in the mirror again and set her jaw. She wasn’t going to spend the next two hours worrying about him. Or her. If they were following her, they were in for a race.

  Renee stepped on it.

  Her Camry shot forward to the foothills of the Coast Range, where anyone, even a reporter for a half-rate newspaper, could disappear in the twisting canyons, inky tunnels, and rising mist.

  Chapter Eight

  Motive, Mac thought with dark satisfaction. Motive.

  It was late. There was no one in this part of the building but the janitor, who was down the hall singing a medley of Elvis hits off-key and with replacement words when he forgot the lyrics, which was every third line. Mac listened to a butchered version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” while he sifted through the evidence found buried near the Madonna statue.

  He knew it all by memory,
practically by Braille, he’d passed the pieces between his fingers so often, but he kept feeling he’d learn something new if he just kept at it.

  …Wise men say, only fools rush in…but I keep keeping myself away from you…

  “But I can’t help falling in love with you,” Mac muttered, his satisfaction still in place. Jessie Brentwood had been pregnant. Okay, correction: the remains in the grave revealed the victim had been pregnant, and Mac fervently believed those remains belonged to Jessie Brentwood. If all that was true, then Mac finally had a motive for Jessie’s disappearance and murder: one of the Preppy Pricks didn’t want to be a daddy.

  That’s what had been hard to come up with at the time of the girl’s disappearance. Motive. Mac had sensed so much more than what those young bastards were telling him, but he had no proof…and no motive. An argument with her teen boyfriend-the Walker kid-hadn’t been enough. Now, thinking back, he wondered why he’d been so sure, why he’d always been, when the evidence had been so slim.

  He’d just known something had happened. Known it in the marrow of his bones. Felt it. Lived it. But couldn’t prove it.

  Maybe now…maybe…now…

  And the case was his.

  Finally.

  The small pile in front of him contained bits of leaves, several cigarette butts, disintegrating candy wrappers, an indistinguishable piece of white plastic, and a small jackknife. The knife appeared to be the murder weapon, as there was a nick along one of the vic’s ribs, indicating she was stabbed at least once. They were not able to lift prints from the knife; it had been in the ground too long. The lab was working on DNA from the bone marrow, but unless they got a match from someone in their database, there was no way of identifying the remains by that method. If these bones were adoptee Jezebel Brentwood’s, that would mean they were looking for her biological parents, who could be anywhere, or a sibling or other relative, and that they would also have to be in the system. Mac had made contact with the Brentwoods, who had assured him they knew nothing about Jessie’s biological parents. They’d been less than thrilled to talk to him after his bullish investigative tactics years earlier, and so for now, he was leaving them alone.