Her Daughter's Cry, page 14
Her pulse refused to slow. If she’d had any doubt after ‘Oscar Snow’s’ appearance, it was gone now. Whoever had hurt her and Sara was after her. And, they knew her well enough that they’d been able to guess where she’d show up. Did they know her personally, or did they just have Sara’s ID? Either way, she didn’t have the luxury of casually visiting everyone’s workplaces tomorrow. She desperately needed time, and a place, to think.
After half an hour with no sign of the car, she drove off campus, eyes glued to her rearview mirror. She used back roads to move unpredictably through the next two towns, then checked into the first motel that took cash and didn’t ask questions.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Marissa jolted awake and sprung upright, terrified that she didn’t recognize her surroundings—was her memory gone again?
As she took in the dark carpet on the floor and the dirty walls with their simple warped pattern, recognition kicked in. This was just the cheap motel she’d picked out the night before. Once holed up inside she felt safe enough that the adrenaline from the car chase had worn off, and sleep deprivation hit her hard. Past the point of resting easy, she’d tossed and turned until she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
She glanced at the clock on her nightstand—eight in the morning. She’d only been asleep for five hours, but she was wide-awake now. What day was it? She checked her phone. Monday, April 15th. How had she only been gone from Sunset Gardens for a day? So much had happened it felt like a lifetime.
She got up, set the tiny coffee pot to brewing, and stepped into the tiny bathroom. A warm shower would help her think. She turned the knob and ice-cold water blasted out—she jumped back and shrieked, annoyed with herself for not testing it first, and cranked up the warm water.
She forced herself to think. Visiting the job sites wasn’t an option anymore, so what could she do now? Could she call them and find out? But would they be willing to give information to a stranger over the phone? She could just ask to speak with them, and see if the employers put her through. But what would it really tell her if they just asked to take a message? Nothing, and she didn’t have a call-back number she could give. If she could find a phone that wouldn’t trace back to her it might be worth a shot, but that was a big if.
Was there another way? She couldn’t think of one. The only other person she could remember that was alive was Aunt Lucy. She couldn’t get into her own computer, and Sara’s tiny date book hadn’t contained any personal information—her friends and family were most likely all located in her phone and computer, too. But it probably wasn’t smart to turn to someone in their circle, anyway. Those episodes of true-crime TV said over and over that the people closest to the victim were always the most likely suspects, and the photos she’d found indicated a strong motive for why that might be right.
Marissa chewed at her lip. Maybe she was shutting the door on Lucy too fast. Maybe she just had to be smart about it. If Aunt Lucy had nothing to do with Sara’s disappearance, surely she’d want to help find Sara. And if she did have something to do with it, but didn’t realize Marissa remembered anything about the blackmail, didn’t that give Marissa the upper hand? There had to be a way to use that to her advantage. And she should keep the channels of communication open until she figured out how.
She got out of the shower, dressed, poured her coffee into a mug, then settled in at the rickety table with her phone to do some research.
An hour later, she walked through the sliding doors of the Wortham Public Library, far enough away from Wortham to feel comfortable. She stepped up to the information counter, currently manned by a young goth employee with a disturbingly large hoop through her nose.
“Hi, I’d like to use one of your computers,” Marissa asked.
The girl barely made eye contact. “Just log in using your library account number.”
“I don’t have one.”
The girl slipped out a form from a hidden shelf under the counter. “You’ll have to apply for one. Fill this out. We need two forms of ID, driver’s license or something else with your address on it, and one other item. Piece of mail, credit card, state ID, passport.”
Marissa took the form and a pen decorated to look like a flower out of a little pot on the counter. She fished Dolores’ driver’s license and credit card out of her purse, and filled out the form with all the relevant information. She waited for Goth Girl to finish helping someone else, then slid everything over to her.
“Just a minute,” she said, and stepped over to a nearby computer terminal. Marissa watched as she typed in the information as though she had a vendetta against the keyboard, then disappeared through a door. She returned five minutes later with a small piece of plastic and punched out a full-sized library card, then a smaller version with a hole in it meant to hang from a keychain. “Take this back to our computer room, over there.” The girl stopped to point, then continued on in a monotone. “When you log on to the computer, a one-hour session will automatically start. When your time runs out, if nobody’s waiting, you can start another session on another computer, and so on.” The girl continued on with what felt like an endless explanation of the library’s lending privileges. “Any questions?”
“No, thank you so much.” Marissa smiled, but Goth Girl had already turned away.
Marissa crossed to the computer lab, and selected one of the dilapidated computers. Then she followed the directions she’d googled for creating a free e-mail account, again using Dolores’ address, making up the other information as she went. The website had assured her she could skip the phone-number verification step, and, thankfully, it turned out to be right. The longest part of the process was choosing an e-mail address.
She played around for another fifteen minutes or so, waiting for the older, responsible-looking man behind the computer lab counter to make another of his periodic trips out of the room, leaving the teenaged intern alone. Then she made a show of searching through her pockets and her purse for something she couldn’t find, and after an increasingly agitated minute, went up to the counter.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I just realized I left my cell phone at home. I’m supposed to pick up my daughter in ten minutes and there’s no way I’m going to make it.” She pointed at the phone near the computer. “Can I use yours?”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um. I’m not supposed to let anybody use the phone.”
Marissa amped up the worried expression on her face. “It’s in the area code, I promise. Please, I don’t want her standing out in front of the school like a prime target for some sicko.”
“It’s okay, Kaitlyn. The quality of mercy is not strained. We can make an exception for something like this.”
Marissa jumped as the older man spoke from behind her, then circled the counter. He pointed to a phone at the far end of the counter. “Use that one. Dial nine to get an outside number.” He smiled and winked at her, then turned back to Kaitlyn.
Marissa tried to calm her heart as she dialed nine, then her aunt’s phone number. She turned her back and lowered her voice, hoping he and Kaitlyn wouldn’t be able to hear her. Aunt Lucy’s phone rang, then went to voicemail as Marissa had hoped. She’d gambled that Aunt Lucy would be hesitant to pick up a call from a number she didn’t recognize, and this way Marissa didn’t have to answer any awkward questions.
“Hi, Aunt Lucy, it’s me, Marissa. I’m using a public phone because I still don’t have a number where you can reach me, but I did manage to create an e-mail address.” She spelled it out twice. “If you could send me an e-mail so I have your e-mail address, too, that would be great. I’ll try to check it as often as I can. I love you and hope to hear from you soon.”
She disconnected the call with a finger on the cradle, still talking into the handset as she dialed the number for Sara’s work, which she’d jotted on the Post-it her aunt had given her.
A woman with a bright, busy-sounding voice answered. “Wynassett Mutual Bank, how may I help you?”
“I’d like to speak with Sara Navarro, please,” Marissa said.
“I’m sorry, Sara’s not at her desk right now. Can I take a message?”
“No, thank you.” As Marissa’s finger again depressed the cradle, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye—Kaitlyn was watching her.
She replaced the handset and turned back around. She waived to the librarian and raised her voice. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate it!”
He waved back and she turned to go. Stupid, she told herself. She should have known they’d never tell her anything. She realized she was shaking her head, and forced herself to stop, keeping a casual pace as she trotted out to the Suburban.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After losing Marissa the night before, the man had ringed the campus in widening circles, hoping to cross paths with her again. When that hadn’t worked, he hurried back to the highway entrance, hoping to intercept her as she left town. Then he drove to both houses again, even though he knew she wasn’t stupid enough to return to either so soon. Or likely ever.
So he was back to square one. Actually, behind step one, because now Marissa knew someone was chasing her, and two of the ways to intercept her were now useless.
He picked another seedy motel and spent the night trying to decide whether or not to throw in the towel. It was only a matter of time before the police figured out Marissa’s real identity, and as soon as they did, everything would get real complicated real quick.
But once he ran, there was no turning back, and he’d never have a normal life again. He’d have to leave the U.S. and never come back. He could go to the Caribbean, but that was so expensive, or maybe Canada if he could stand the cold, which he just couldn’t. He hated New England winters as it was. So, Mexico, probably. So he needed to hold strong and pull this crap storm out of the drain before it swirled down with the rest of his life.
He spent a good chunk of the night going over everything he thought he knew, running every scenario over in his head, trying to come up with something he’d overlooked. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important.
“Dammit!” The man slammed his burner phone onto the cheap hotel room carpet. A piece of plastic flew up and cut his face; he swiped the blood away as he knelt to gather the pieces, and snapped them back into place as best he could. Thankfully, the phone booted back up because he really didn’t want to go buy another one. He was running through his stash of cash as it was, and couldn’t face any more subterfuge at the moment.
He forced himself to lie down on the bed, at least. Pacing the floor of the damn hotel room like a caged animal wasn’t helping. At some point while his brain chased itself in circles, he nodded off.
When he woke a second time in the middle of the night, he remembered the crucial thing he’d forgotten.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After creating the e-mail address, Marissa returned to the motel to wait for a response from Aunt Lucy and plan her next move. She spent the afternoon and evening googling everything she could think of, including both Sara and Hunter. She found Facebook and LinkedIn pages, but nothing that gave any information she didn’t already have. She created a Facebook profile under a pseudonym, but both their profiles were private. She also discovered during her searches that her trip to the library had been a waste of time—she could have just used a proxy service on her phone and kept her IP address private, and not had to worry about security cameras and records. Well, she couldn’t see how the police would track her with any of that anyway—all it did was place her somewhere she’d never be again. And at least she knew now, and could use the information going forward.
Close to midnight, she climbed into bed for a quick search of the local news sites before she went to sleep.
Almost instantly she bolted back up; the police had discovered a corpse in the forest near Aspen Ranch campgrounds.
They were still processing the scene, so no name had been released—but the report claimed they’d found a man. Fear and relief battled in her chest. Thank God it wasn’t Sara—but what the hell was going on? Was the man they found the one who’d attacked her? But if so, who was chasing her? Could there have been a pair of killers working together? She’d seen a case like that on Forensic Files, about two men who abducted women together. And the mystery man’s death had to be related somehow, anything else would be too strange a coincidence.
The police would surely feel the same, she realized, and would be seriously considering that either she or Sara killed him. Which meant two counties’ detective units were now trying to bring Marissa in—not just for auto theft, but for murder. If she went to the police now, they’d instantly take her into custody.
Marissa forced herself to lie down, and told herself it didn’t make any difference—she wasn’t going to stop until she found Sara anyway, and once she did, she’d be able to clear everything up. But her mind wouldn’t rest—visions of headlights chasing her through the streets and police handcuffing her kept her tossing and turning, half through the night. She finally calmed herself by repeating the reassuring portion of the news over and over to herself: the body they’d found hadn’t been Sara’s. Someone else had died at the campsite. There was a chance Sara was okay. And with that filling her mind, she finally drifted off to sleep.
Until the slam of a car door under her window jolted her awake.
Heart instantly pounding, barely able to breathe, she grabbed the bear spray and slipped silently toward the door. She forced herself to slip a finger between the blackout curtains, opening them a tiny crack.
Right next to the Suburban, a vehicle’s lights flashed, then went out.
The car was small and dark, but was it the same one that had been following her? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t see the driver, he’d disappeared behind the Suburban. She needed to get closer to the window for a downward angle, but couldn’t risk it.
She listened for his footsteps.
He appeared again from behind the Suburban. Tall, but not too tall. Neither skinny nor fat. Dark hair, light skin, sleek leather jacket over jeans and black loafers. She didn’t recognize him—but what did that mean when she still couldn’t even recognize her own daughter? And it was impossible in the dark to tell if he matched any of the photos she’d seen.
He climbed the staircase up to the second floor, and glanced toward her room. She shrank back involuntarily, now only able to see his legs.
They turned toward her, down the external hallway. She slipped her index finger under the safety lip of the bear spray, trying to control her shaking hand.
He paused, inches away from her room.
Then he knocked on the door next to hers.
She risked leaning forward again. A woman with purple hair appeared from inside the next room and flung her arms around him. He stepped inside as he kissed her, and the door slid shut behind them.
She gasped with relief and dropped into the tawdry chair, heart pounding through her chest. When it didn’t calm on its own, she crossed to the vanity, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned on the wall to slowly sip it. Then she dropped back onto the bed, but knew she’d never fall back to sleep.
She couldn’t keep on like this. Unsure what to do, terrified and paralyzed like a trapped mouse waiting for the cat’s paw to swipe down on her, hoping Aunt Lucy would respond to her e-mail. What if she never did?
Marissa shook herself mentally. She could only remember half of her life, true, but what she did remember hadn’t been smooth sailing. She’d dealt with obstacles then, she told herself, and she could deal with them now. She’d always had a talent for figuring out how to get what she wanted, and who could help her get it. When school hadn’t worked out for her, when the soap and the cupcakes hadn’t panned out, she’d taken inventory of her assets and weaknesses, then figured out how to maximize the assets, and compensate for the weaknesses.
The missing twenty-odd years of her memory was her current most obvious weakness. Time and money were also in short supply, so she needed to figure out something quickly and act smartly, rather than just petering out her money on hotel rooms.
As far as strengths, she didn’t have many. But she’d remembered her childhood and her early adult years, and there had to be something there she could use to her benefit. And she knew more than she had back at Sunset Gardens—she knew her daughter was having an affair and being blackmailed. And her father always used to say knowledge is power.
But what power? What good did knowing that do? She was still here, trapped, trying to figure out how to hide from some homicidal maniac—
Another of her father’s expressions flashed through her mind. Take the fight to the enemy.
That was it, that was the problem. She was playing defense, allowing herself to be a victim, thinking only about how to run and hide. She’d never come out on top that way, even if she had the time and money to continue.
Fuck running from the killer. One of the things she knew was that someone was after her, and the power in that was it took away their element of surprise. She needed some way to exploit that, to use his search for her to her advantage.
Her eyes landed on the bear spray she’d brought to bed with her. She couldn’t afford to be stupid, or naive, about this. If she was going on the offensive, she’d eventually put herself in danger. She’d need to protect herself, and most likely would have to incapacitate the killer, or kill him herself.
Bear spray wasn’t going to cut it. She needed a real gun.
Part III
Tuesday, April 16th – Friday, April 19th
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The moment Lopez handed them the information identifying Lucy Huggusi as Zoë’s biological aunt, Jo and Arnett raced out to Worcester. As they pulled up to Lucy’s worn red-brick house, an odd sense of apprehension, enhanced by the fading sunlight, filled Jo. She peered warily around the property as they strode up the drive. “I can’t see how this can go well.”
