Legacy, page 39
“Why should I believe you?”
“Why would I lie?”
“For all I know you’re some reporter, trying to spread fake news like all the rest of them.”
Rachael just closed her eyes. “You can google my name, the name of my agency. I simply want you to be aware someone is killing women who went to Georgetown University, whose names are on a list. As yours is.”
“Fine. You’ve told me. Now leave me alone.”
Rachael only shook her head when the phone slammed in her ear. Apparently Jessica hadn’t just buried the incident, she’d put it in a concrete bunker, filled it with denial, then sunk it in the ocean’s depths.
“Did my best,” she mused.
She had an hour before she had to fight her way home because maybe the rain would move south, but it didn’t seem to be in any hurry. She’d spend it working on finding one more name on the list.
Just one more tonight.
It took nearly two hours, which meant her fight home would be a brutal battle, but she found two.
One alive—a professor herself at Boston College who not only admitted to the affair, but took Rachael seriously.
And one dead, a lawyer who’d been stabbed repeatedly in the parking lot of a supermarket a few miles from her home in Oregon.
Since her purse, her watch weren’t found, and her car located more than a week later in Northern California, the motive was ascribed to carjacking and theft.
“He took the car, so how did he get to the parking lot? He had to have followed her in another vehicle. Stolen, too? I say absolutely. But let’s find out.”
She glanced at her watch, cursed. “Later.” She gathered her things, shut down her computer.
And, she noted, once again left the office after everyone else.
She really had to stop that.
She grabbed her umbrella, locked up the office behind her. And called her husband to let him know she was on her way.
And to order pizza. And open a bottle of wine.
She ate with her family, drank wine, even managed to sneak in a quick—quiet—romp with her husband.
But she knew she wouldn’t sleep.
She slid out of bed, shrugged into sweats, then went into her office. She could hear the TV blasting from the family room, so she shut the door.
It might have been after eleven in DC but it was barely eight in Oregon. She could get lucky and find somebody who’d care enough to check on stolen cars recovered from the parking lot where Alice McGuire—née Wendell—was killed five years before.
About the time Rachael used her persuasive powers on a detective with Portland PD, Tracie Potter sat in her tiny dressing room cleaning off her TV makeup, which by the end of her eleven o’clock broadcast felt like it weighed fifty pounds.
And when she slathered on moisturizer, she swore she heard her grateful skin make slurping sounds as it drank it in.
With the rain pounding, she wanted to change out of her TV-friendly suit, switch her heels for the rain boots she kept on hand for nights just like this.
She cursed herself for parking at the far end of the lot, which she did whenever she was shy of her ten thousand steps a day.
Which was, she admitted, most of the time.
Her husband would be dead asleep when she got home—and who could blame him? But she thought she might unwind with a snifter of brandy before joining him.
Her crew long gone, she called a good night to the stragglers who remained. She took the back door, let it slam securely behind her as she opened her umbrella.
Even with the security lights she could barely see two feet ahead as the rain whooshed down in sheets blown by the wind.
She blessed the boots, told herself how smart she’d been to take the time to change into jeans as the rain splashed up on her legs.
She had the key in her hand, hit the button on the fob to unlock the doors.
The lights blinked. She didn’t hear the usual thump of the locks, but the rain pounded. She half jogged the rest of the way then, closing her umbrella, all but dived into the car.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, and reached to press the starter button.
She didn’t have time to scream. The hard yank on her hair pulled her head back. The knife sliced deep across her throat.
She gurgled, eyes wheeling, arms flapping.
“Like a fish on a line.” JJ snorted with laughter. He shoved her toward the passenger seat. In his disposable painter’s gear—including bonnet, gloves, booties—he jumped out of the back.
He gave her—no longer gurgling—a harder shove as he took the driver’s seat.
“You made a real mess of things,” he told her as he started the car. “But that’s okay. We’re not going far.”
He congratulated himself on knowing, just knowing, tonight was the night. The rain, the perfect sign, the perfect cover. He’d dump her car in the strip mall lot a few blocks away where he’d left his sister’s.
Bag up the protective gear, and get rid of that somewhere along his drive to DC. A handy rest stop would do.
He glanced over at Tracie and thought: One bitch down, three to go!
Adrian often used either Maya or Teesha as guinea pigs. Today, she used Teesha to fine-tune a cardio dance segment for a project.
“Come on, Teesh, this one’s supposed to be fun.”
“Teething baby. Broken sleep. Nursing boobs.”
“Cardio like this gives you a nice energy boost. Triple step now. Right, left, right. Use your hips! That works the core. Where’s your rhythm? You’re a Black girl.”
“Don’t you stereotype me!” But she laughed. “And my rhythm is desperate for a nap.”
“Chassé, back step, right, left, right. Now the turn. Remember those happy hips.”
“My ass!”
“It’s definitely good for that, too.”
She whipped, cajoled, snarked Teesha through it.
“This is going to work.”
“I never want to see the recording.”
“For my review only. I think I need to funk it up more. It may be a little too easy.”
“Again, my ass.”
When Teesha dropped down in a chair in the studio, Adrian got her an energy drink. “Perk it up. I need to work on the strength yoga.”
“I am not doing that.”
“I have to nail it down first anyway. I want the whole program solid before my mother gets here. I’ve got most of a week. A short one today though. I’m going to the carnival with Raylan and his kids later.”
“Carnival, with kids. You’re in deep, Adrian.”
“I am. He dropped over for about a half hour two days ago, and one thing led to another—”
Teesha leaned forward. “Tell all.”
“Not that another. Jeez, it’s sex, sex, sex with you.”
“I wish. Monroe and I are down to one-point-six bangs a week.”
“Point-six?”
“Coitus interruptus. We average one-point-six right now. We’ve vowed to increase our average to a solid two, and work up from there when Phin—thank you, Jesus—starts kindergarten at the end of August. We can grab a nap-time quickie once a week.”
“Well, that’s a plan.”
“Spontaneous sex is overrated … I seem to recall. Anyway. What thing led to another thing?”
“He told me he loved me. It scared the crap out of me. I knew it was coming—I’m not stupid—but it still scared the crap out of me.”
“Awww.”
The Awww had Adrian throwing up both hands. “And I’m babbling around making excuses or reasons or putting up roadblocks, and he’s so patiently determined. Determinedly patient? Both, and also quietly, firmly sure of himself. And me. And us. He pointed out my flaws.”
“Well, that’s romantic.”
“It actually was. Because he sees them, knows them, and he’s fine with them. He listed some of his own, and all I could think is, I’m fine with them. And I … I told him I loved him. Because I do.”
“The L word was exchanged, the biggest four-letter word there is. Yay! And about time.”
“About time? Teesh, we’ve only been together for a few months. Barely.”
Teesha just waved that aside. “You’ve known each other forever. And you’ve always had a thing for him.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Now she flipped a decisive index finger into a point. “Have, too—and don’t make me sound like Phin. Way back when you told me about Maya, you talked about her older brother. And there was this spark.”
“No.”
“Yes. That was more than ten years ago. You had a lot to say about him.”
“I did?”
“His art, his green eyes.”
“Oh God.” She sat down, laughed at herself. “You’re right. I did. I think, now that I can think about it, I fell for him the day I saw the drawings on the walls of his room. And then the way he looked at me—those eyes—when I said I really liked them.
“What was I? Seven? God.” With equal surprise and amusement, she slapped her hand on either side of her face and shook her head. “Then he shut the door in my face, as any respectable boy of ten would. I guess I never let it surface, especially after Lorilee.”
“Because in the endless stream of the space-time continuum, this was the time and the place.”
“Sure, that explains it.”
“Yes, it actually does. You’re good together, Adrian, so that’s number one, because a lot of people who fall for each other aren’t. And I’ve got to go.” She pushed up. “You know, Raylan’s kids are going to tell Phineas about the carnival. I’m going to end up getting my ass dragged there.”
“Yes! Let’s meet there. It’ll be fun. I’ll text Maya, see if she and Joe and the kids want in.”
“Are you making a crowd to hide your love?”
“No. We all deserve some fun. And hey, it’s a carnival.”
Long before the summer sun set, music blasted, rides whirled and twirled, kids—and plenty of adults—squealed. The air, filled with scents of fried sugar, grilled meat, bubbling grease, radiated heat and humidity.
Midway games drew hopefuls who’d shell out twenty bucks for a chance to win a two-dollar toy. Bells clanged, wheels spun, air guns popped.
The minute they parked in the field with dozens of cars, Bradley grabbed Raylan’s hand. “Let’s go, Dad! I’m starving. I want two hot dogs and fries and funnel cake and ice cream and—”
“If you eat half of that before you get on the rides, you’ll puke.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Yuh-huh. Pick some rides first, then chow, then we’ll do some games before any more rides.”
“I want the Matterhorn and the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Ferris wheel.” In her delight, Mariah executed a very nice cartwheel.
“You up for this?” Raylan asked Adrian.
“Absolutely.”
At the admissions booth he bought four full-access passes. Then scanned the wild maze of booths and rides. “Looks like Matterhorn’s first up.”
“I can ride it this year.” Mariah reached up for Adrian’s hand. “I wasn’t tall enough last year, but I grew. We measured and everything. I only have to do baby rides if I want.”
“How about you ride with me, Mo?”
“I can ride with Adrian, Daddy. We’re the girls.”
“We’re good,” Adrian assured him.
And they were, tucked together in the bobsled car, swinging out and in, faster and faster until the world was a blur. Beside her, Mariah let out screams, wild laughs, screams.
When they slowed, she beamed up at Adrian. “This was the most fun in my whole life!”
“There’s more where that came from.”
The minute they hit the ground again, Mariah leaped up into Raylan’s arms. “Can we do it again? Can we?”
“My fearless femme.” He rubbed his cheek to hers. “Sure. But why don’t we hit something else first?”
“Text from Teesha. They’re parking, and Maya and Joe pulled in right behind them.”
“Why don’t you tell her we’ll meet them at the Tilt-A-Whirl?”
“Can I get cotton candy when we eat?”
As they walked, Raylan looked down at Mariah, then over at Adrian. “You might have to put on blinders.”
“Do the ring toss, Dad. Can I have a penknife when you win?”
“When you’re thirteen,” Raylan told Bradley.
“That’s forever away!”
“How come you claimed you were almost a teenager the other day?”
Bradley executed the one-eighty flawlessly. “I almost am, so I should have a penknife.”
“Does not compute.” But Raylan paused by the ring-toss game, bought tickets. He spotted a fancy pink penknife, flipped the ring. Ringed the bottle with it.
“How did you do that?” Adrian demanded.
“It’s just hand-eye coordination and some basic physics.” He handed her the prize. “You’re old enough to have this. Be responsible.”
He won a gaudy necklace for Mariah, a pen with multicolored ink for Bradley.
“That shouldn’t have been possible,” Adrian commented as they continued to the next ride.
“Yeah, that’s what the guy running the game usually says.”
When they met up with the rest, Phineas studied the whirling ride with sorrow. “I’m not tall enough.”
“You will be next year,” Mariah told him. “I just got tall enough.”
“It’s all right, my man. I’m tall enough, but I don’t go on those puke machines.” Monroe already had the baby kicking his feet in his stroller. “You, me, and Thad are going to hit the other rides. Why don’t you give me your short stuff there, Maya, and I’ll take her with us.”
“Three to one?” Patting Quinn’s bottom in the front pack she wore, Maya shook her head. “I’ll stick with you this round.”
“I’ll rotate with you.” Joe leaned over to kiss Maya. Then rubbed his hands together. “I love me some puke machines. Ready for your first whirl, Collin? You just hit tall enough.”
He bit his lip. “I guess.”
“You don’t have to. You can come with us,” Maya told him.
“No, I can do it.”
He did it, but unlike Mariah, came off with eyes wide and shocked. He managed two more rides with eyes like blue glass moons.
“Let’s give Mom a chance, okay with you? We’ll help Monroe with the little guys.”
“Okay. We gotta be fair.” Wobbling a little, Collin took Joe’s hand as they walked toward the kiddie rides. “I didn’t puke.”
“Guts of steel.”
After the first round, they ate what Adrian judged to be a ridiculous amount of meat, sugar, and fat, then walked off what they could on the midway as dusk settled in and the lights began to beam.
Like magic, she thought.
And like magic, Raylan popped balloons with darts to win Mariah a huge stuffed unicorn. At the shooting range, he consistently pinged wolves, roosters, bears, coyotes as they rotated, taking away a robot for Bradley.
“No, seriously,” Adrian demanded. “How do you do that?”
He just shrugged. “It’s my superpower. Ball toss over there.” He pointed. “See anything you like?”
Adrian laughed. “Have some pity on the carnies, Midway Man.”
“I like the octopus,” Phineas told him. “Octo means eight, and they have eight tentacles.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
He bagged the octopus for Phineas, a stuffed snake for Collin.
“I got this.” Joe pointed toward the high striker. “Swing a hammer plenty. I’m gonna ring that bell.” He handed Maya the light-up sword he’d won, rolled his shoulders.
He swung the hammer up, slammed it down. When it stopped just short, he claimed practice round, passed off more tickets.
The second swing, the bell rang, lights flashed.
“My strong man.” Maya fluttered her lashes, and took the stuffed, big-eyed cow.
“Don’t look at me.” Laughing, Monroe waved his hands in the air. “I already won these magic crystals by pure luck. I’m a music man, not Thor.”
Before Raylan could step up, Adrian raised a hand. “I’ll try it.”
The operator smiled at her. “Good luck there, missy.”
The hammer had more weight than she’d anticipated, but she planted her feet, hefted it, brought it down.
The weight stopped a full ten inches short of the bell.
“That was a nice try, little lady.” The operator handed her a hair band with light-up, bouncy flowers.
She put it on, rolled her shoulders back, rolled them forward. “One more time.”
Raylan peeled off the tickets.
She gripped the hammer, took her stance, tipped her head side to side. Breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in, and swung on the exhale.
The weight flew up, banged the bell, set the lights flashing.
“Little ladies don’t have these.” She flexed her biceps.
The carnie laughed. “Guess they don’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
About the time Adrian rang the bell, Rachael found two more dead women, making her total eight.
More than twenty percent, she thought.
No one could ignore that. No one.
She wrote it up, sent copies to the DC investigator assigned, to the FBI agent.
She left voice mails for both, pushing action on interviewing Nikki Bennett.
And the hell with it, she thought. She was giving that another shot herself.
She texted her husband.
Sorry. Sorry. And one more sorry. I know I’m already really late, but I have one more thing to deal with. Maybe another hour to hour and a half.
As she shut down the empty offices, he texted back.
Working too hard, Rach. All’s good here. Maggie’s hanging out at Kiki’s tonight. Sam trounced me twice in Fortnight so I’m taking my solace in a book. If you’ve got time, pick up some Butter Crunch ice cream. I may need more solace.
