Identity, page 16
“Mom!”
“I save that word for when it’s most useful and appropriate. I expect they told you to give this to the resort.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what else they told you, but so far, it sounds like sense. Here’s what I’m telling you. You’re going to turn in that rattletrap you’re driving and buy a new car. A new, safe, dependable car. I’m going to finance it.”
“Gram.”
“Don’t interrupt your grandmother,” Audrey told her.
“I’m going to charge you interest, and you’ll make monthly payments to me just like you would a finance company. We’ll do an amortization schedule. Your mother and I get peace of mind, and you keep your pride. Both matter.”
“I’ve been looking at used cars—”
“New.” Olivia sliced her hand again. “New, safe, dependable, and able to handle Vermont winters. I’m going to give you the name of the saleswoman I bought my last two cars from. We came to terms, and if she wants my future business, she’ll do the same for you.”
“Be smart, Morgan, and say thank you.”
“I do thank Gram. I thank both of you.” The gratitude burned in her throat, her heart, her belly. “But the fact is, I don’t know if I’ll have a job after I take this to the Jamesons.”
“Don’t buy trouble when everyone can get it for free,” Olivia advised her. “Go do what you have to do. Then you go to the dealership. I’ve got her card.”
She took out a business card folder, thick as a brick, flipped through. “Here it is. I’m going to call her, tell her what you’re after, and what I expect.”
Next she took out a checkbook. “Don’t you come home without a decent vehicle.” She made out a check to the dealership, dated, signed, left the amount blank. “We’ll work out the payments when you get home.”
“We’ll be there when you get home.” Taking Morgan’s hand, Audrey brought it to her cheek.
“We’ll be home, but we won’t be able to get in the house without the damn code. What the hell is it?”
Surprised it was in there, Morgan choked out a laugh and told her.
Even though Nina’s car wheezed on the drive to the resort, Morgan told herself not to think about cars yet. She could end up driving away from the resort unemployed, and if that happened a new car was pointless.
In the employee lot, she locked the car, headed down the walkway. Inside, the lobby boasted a fresh floral display, all spring, and she thought again how much she liked working here.
The people, the atmosphere, the energy, her responsibilities also appealed.
Now Gavin Rozwell could take it all away, take so much away again.
She might not work Mondays, but she had everyone’s schedule in her head. Nell, direct supervisor, had a meeting finalizing the menu for an upcoming wedding.
Not only did interrupting that or waiting until it finished seem pointless, but she felt she should take this issue straight to the top.
And Lydia Jameson worked in her office on Mondays.
She made her way to the office area and found Lydia’s door open, the woman behind the desk on her computer.
“Another double?”
“No, ma’am. If you have a minute?”
Lydia signaled a come-ahead. Morgan went inside, shut the door.
* * *
As she did, chief of police Jake Dooley sat in Miles’s office. They’d been friends since middle school and he knew Miles as well as he knew himself, so Jake laid it all out, quick and clear.
As he listened, Miles studied the photo of Rozwell Jake gave him.
“Okay. Now give me your take. Not theirs, yours.”
“He took stupid risks—talking to the neighbor, keeping her alive for a couple days when her sister had a key. The kind of risks everything in the file I’ve read says he’s never taken.”
Shifting, Jake leaned forward and tapped a finger toward the photo.
“He’s not one of the types who wants to get caught, Miles. He enjoys what he does too much for that. He’s not only a psychopath, a sadist, he’s spoiled. He’s greedy. And he’s been, up until now, very careful.
“The locket?” Jake continued. “Not only leaving it on the victim, but replacing the pictures inside? Putting his own in there with Morgan’s? That message is clear enough.”
“Her statement is they weren’t involved as a couple.”
“Not a couple, no. But she’s on his mind, she’s connected. She’s the reason his luck changed. And he wants her to know he’s not done with her, to know and be afraid.”
“If she’s not, she’s an idiot, and she doesn’t strike me as an idiot. I’ll talk to Security, to the family, to her.”
“Good. When you talk to her, make sure she knows she can contact me, anytime. She has questions, I’ll try to answer them. I know they’ve got a security system. If they’re not using it, they’re going to.”
“Count on it.”
“I’m going to hunt up Nell.” Jake rose. “She’s Morgan’s direct supervisor, right? I want to lay this out for her.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know what Morgan has to say when I talk to her.”
Alone, he spent another minute studying Rozwell’s photo. Then he rose. He’d start with his grandmother, he decided, then work his way through the rest.
* * *
“You have trouble all over you,” Lydia said to Morgan. “A problem in Après?”
“No, ma’am, it’s personal.”
“Sit down then. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re aware of what happened when—before I—”
“Take your time,” Lydia said when Morgan broke off. “This is to do with the man who killed your friend and stole your identity.”
“Yes. The agents in charge of the investigation came to tell me he killed another woman a few days ago.”
She said it all fast, got it out while her stomach churned.
“You’ve got his picture in that envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s see it.”
She fumbled, had to use both hands, but got one out, rose to hand it over the desk.
“Mrs. Jameson, I understand if you don’t want to bring this trouble to the resort, to the staff, the guests, your family. I understand.”
“Handsome. Slick-looking, though. Slick’s never been my type.” She set the photo down, folded her hands on it, then looked up at Morgan. “You’ve worked here about a month now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I rated you as someone quick on the uptake—one of the reasons you got the job. Fast learner. But if you think the Jamesons are so weak-kneed and careless as to let you go over something like this, I was wrong about you.”
It all just flooded through her, a tsunami of emotion, stress, relief. Bursting into tears, she dropped into the chair again, covered her face with her hands.
After one quick knock, Miles opened the door. “Grand, I—Well, hell.”
“Give the girl a handkerchief.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Come in here, close the door.”
“Maybe I should just—”
“Now!” As she spoke, Lydia opened a drawer, took out a box of tissues. “Give her the tissues, get her some water. Don’t be a jackass.”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“You cry it out. You’re entitled. That murdering son of a bitch killed another woman in Tennessee.”
Lydia gave him the details more coherently than Morgan had managed to give them to her. And though he already knew, Miles said nothing.
“She thought we’d fire her over it.”
“Then she’s stupid.”
“She’s not stupid, she’s overwrought, as anybody with sense can see.”
“I’m sorry.” Struggling for composure, Morgan mopped at tears. “I’m sorry.”
“What’ve you got to be sorry for?”
Morgan lifted her drenched eyes to Lydia. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I wish I did.” She pulled out more tissues. “God, I’m a mess. I can be sorry for that.”
“Apology accepted. Miles.”
“Sure. Jake—police chief,” he added in case Morgan didn’t know, “already spoke with me. We’ll make copies of the photo, make sure Security has them. Reservations, check-in, restaurant and bar managers, and so on. Grand, we need to lend her one of the staff vehicles. You should see the pile of crap she’s driving. A breakdown between here and the Nash place is inevitable.”
“I’m going to get a new car. I’m going today. My grandmother wouldn’t take no on it.”
“Olivia Nash is a woman of sense. I expect the same from her granddaughter. You’re also part of the Jameson family now, and we take care of our own. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m very grateful.”
“Continue to do good work, as you have been. That’s thanks enough. Miles, walk Morgan to her car.”
Morgan rose. “I’ll do good work, and I’ll still be grateful. Thank you.”
“Let’s go this way.”
He led her to the left, past more offices, and paused at a restroom. “Go in and do something with your face.”
“That bad?”
“Bad enough.”
She went, saw he hadn’t lied, and did the best she could.
“Better?” she asked when she came out.
“Close enough. Somebody from Security will walk you to your car after closing every night. Jake said you have an alarm system on the house. Use it. Don’t buy another piece of crap. You need four-wheel or all-wheel drive.”
Something about the blunt, no-bullshit-taken tone brought some strange sort of comfort. “I know.”
“Have you ever bought a car before?”
“Yes. I had a nice Prius. He stole it.”
“Don’t pay sticker price because you’re tired and have a headache.”
Everything in her felt off and dull and stupid. “I am tired. I do have a headache.”
“Don’t pay sticker price or fall for all the add-ons.” He waited while she unlocked the car.
She just nodded, got in the car.
He held the door open, looked down at her.
“Morgan, when something’s your fault, you take responsibility for it or you’re an asshole. When something’s not your fault, you’re stupid to take responsibility for it. None of this is on you. Go buy a car,” he said, and shut the door.
Once again, he stood, hands in pockets, to watch her drive away. Then he went back inside to schedule an emergency family meeting.
It would take less time that way.
* * *
She bought a car. She didn’t go into it or come out of it with the same pure joy she had before, but she bought a car. And she didn’t pay sticker price. Still, Morgan credited that more to her grandmother’s patronage of the dealer than her own negotiating skills.
Either way, she now owned a new compact SUV that would handle winter when it came around again. A hybrid that satisfied her economic and environmental values, and didn’t wheeze, clunk, or cough.
She considered the fact that giving her anything but a pitying look as a trade-in on Nina’s car was a bonus.
As promised, her ladies beat her home, and must have watched for her, as they both came out when she pulled into the drive.
“Oh, it’s so cute!” Audrey clapped her hands together. “What a pretty blue.”
“Looks sturdy.” As she circled it, Olivia nodded approval. “And safe.”
“Sturdy, safe, and cute. Good job, Morgan.”
“It’s a hybrid. I don’t do a lot of driving, and they have a couple of charging stations at the resort, so it’s practical.”
“Hits all the notes then.” Ready to soothe, Audrey put an arm around Morgan’s waist. “You’re worn out, baby. Let’s go in, get some food in you. Gram made her smoked tomato soup. How about I make you a nice grilled cheese sandwich to go with it?”
“That sounds great, thanks.” Inside, Audrey hung her coat before Morgan could. “They didn’t fire me or ask me to resign.”
“Of course they didn’t. How about some tea? Why don’t you put the kettle on, Mom?”
“A good stiff drink might put the color back in her face, but we’ll stick with tea. Sit down, Morgan. You got through it, and getting through it’s what counts.”
She sat at the counter, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I cried. God, I just lost it, right in Mrs. Jameson’s office.”
After turning the flame on under the kettle, Olivia turned back. “I doubt it’s the first time Lydia’s had tears in her office.”
“Then Miles came in while I’m on my jag. He said I was stupid.”
Busy slathering butter on slices of sourdough, Audrey paused, and her eyes fired. “For crying?”
“No, no, for thinking they were going to let me go. And I felt stupid, and relieved, and they were so kind. Matter-of-fact kind, so I felt even more stupid and relieved.”
She dropped her hands. “He actually said they needed to lend me a car because I was driving a crap pile.”
“Well, the crap pile part was true.” Generously, Audrey layered sharp cheddar on bread. “No offense to Nina or her family.”
“Nina knew it was a crap pile. I told them Gram decreed I get a new car, today, and Mrs. Jameson told Miles to walk me to my car, and he’s telling me to fix my face because I look like hell. And I did, I really did after that crying spree. Then he’s all ‘Don’t pay sticker price.’”
“There’s a man for you.” Olivia set the tea in front of Morgan. “Just assuming a woman doesn’t have the brains to make a good deal.”
“I more think it was because I looked like hell, and I’ve had this fog over my brain since I opened the door and found the FBI. Pretty sure it showed.”
Tired, so tired, she knuckled her eyes. “I half expected him to tell me he’d go with me and make the deal so I didn’t screw it up. Instead he said taking responsibility for something that’s your fault means you’re not an asshole, but taking it for something that’s not makes you stupid. Or something like that.”
“Did you screw it up?” Olivia asked while the sandwich sizzled in the skillet.
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you to blame for what this monster did?”
“No.”
“Don’t add the but. The answer’s no.”
Too tired to argue, Morgan nodded. “I have all the paperwork on the car, the total after the trade-in.”
“We’ll deal with all that tomorrow.” Olivia ladled soup in a bowl while Audrey flipped the sandwich in the skillet. “We’ll figure out the payment schedule, and you can make the first one on the fifteenth of May. Then the fifteenth of the month thereafter.”
“Okay. It has a lot of safety features.”
“And it’s cute.” Audrey set the sandwich, cut on the diagonal, by the bowl of soup, added a cloth napkin.
“It is cute. I know I’ll love it when this fog lifts.” She spooned up some soup, felt it slide, warm and soothing, through her battered system. “Oh, this is so good.” Sighing out, she took a bite of grilled cheese. “It’s so good.”
When Audrey stroked her hair, Morgan turned her face into her mother’s shoulder.
“It’s all right, baby.” She met her mother’s eyes over her daughter’s head. “It’s going to be all right.”
Chapter Twelve
The Jamesons gathered around a table in the small meeting room. Miles ordered sandwiches and side salads from room service, since scheduling conflicts meant they couldn’t meet until nearly seven. In this case, since he’d taken the wheel, he sat at the head of the table.
“I can update the texts I sent out now that I’ve talked to the agents in charge. There’s little to add to what we knew before we hired Morgan, and what she told Grand this afternoon. They have evidence holding Gavin Rozwell responsible for the murders of ten women, including the victim in Tennessee a few days ago.”
“Ten,” Mike murmured. “Good God.”
“Over a period of thirteen years. Their profile tags him as a psychopath, a malignant narcissist, a sociopath incapable of feeling guilt or remorse. Jake adds sadistic and greedy to that, and he’s not wrong.”
“He ruins them financially.” Nell studied the photo of Rozwell that Miles had passed out. “Then murders them. No, I’d say Jake’s not wrong.”
“The women he targets,” Miles continued, “or has specifically targeted over the last four years—slender builds, blondes, single, androgenous first names, who own a home, a car or truck—represent his mother, according to their profile. His mother was the first of his ten victims.”
“He killed his mom?” Caught between shock and disgust, Liam tossed his sandwich back on his plate. “Jesus.”
“His father abused her, habitually, then took off—after taking out a loan on their home, clearing out the bank account, taking her car,” Nell said. “Jake gave me some information. Basically, he’s playing his father, using these women to punish his mother again and again.”
“He’s smart, and a very skilled hacker,” Miles added. “Comes off charming, and takes on different looks and personas to appeal to the target of the moment. They believe he does extensive research on the women before he selects one, but generally only spends two to four weeks inserting himself into their lives before he assumes their identity to clean them out, and kills them.”
“So ruining them financially isn’t enough.” Rory, still in a suit for a court case, considered the report. “He ruins them first, benefitting financially—that supports his lifestyle. He betrays their trust, and that isn’t enough. He strangles them—very personal—using his hands.”
“But he didn’t get his hands on Morgan,” Drea concluded.
“He killed her friend,” Liam pointed out.
“But not Morgan, and she’s the one he spent his time and effort on.”
“Exactly.” Miles nodded at his mother. “As far as the investigators know, she’s the only one who survived.”
“And a narcissist doesn’t fail.” Nell poked at her salad. “Can’t admit failure, anyway. So the locket. Leaving that’s toying with her, making sure she knows he intends to succeed. On his own schedule.”
