Hannah was an interesting-looking girl, not as heart-warmingly cute as Mary but pretty enough to catch the eye. Like her brother, she had short fine blond hair and clear hazel eyes. Hannah seemed much more animated, and not just because her brother was a corpse. She had a narrow chin and a way of focusing that made her emotions easy to read on her face. It was as if her brain had a thought and immediately her expression conveyed it. Yet that may have been deceptive as well. They had not been talking long to Hannah when they realized she was one shrewd cookie.
Her clothes were beautiful and expensive. Her dark slacks could not have been purchased in Maple, and the light sweater beneath her brown leather coat was yellow silk. It almost matched the topazes in her sparkling earrings. Presents from Daddy during happier times. She wore more makeup than Mary but she applied it expertly. In fact, she must have touched it up after her initial attack of hysterics.
Hannah dabbed at her eyes as she repeated the same story Mary had told them. When she was through Sharp looked at Riles and the detective nodded. Go for the jugular.
“Do you think Charlie killed Dick?” Sharp asked.
“No.”
“Could you elaborate on that statement?” Sharp said.
Hannah spread her hands. She had done her nails earlier. “Charlie couldn't hurt a fly,” she said. “What makes you think Charlie did it?”
“He had access to the right kind of revolver, and we understand that he was jealous of your brother.”
“Did Mary tell you that?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah,” Riles said, without hesitating. A white lie.
Hannah was surprised. “I don’t think Charlie killed my brother, officers.”
“Do you know where he could be?” Sharp asked.
“He's not at home?”
“No,” Sharp said. “There's no one at his house.”
“I don't know where he is,” Hannah said.
“What about Dick?” Sharp asked. “Was he in love with Mary?”
“He liked Mary. He didn't love her.”
“Had he slept with her?” Sharp asked.
“I don’t think so. You would have to ask Mary.”
“But is it possible they slept together?” Sharp asked.
Hannah shrugged. “Sex happens.” She paused and a big tear popped from her right eye. She stared at the Kleenex they had given her and her hands shook. “Dick was a normal young man.”
It seemed an odd phrase to apply to a dead brother.
“Tell us more about Charlie,” Sharp said. “Was he normal?”
“Yes.”
“Please. Give us more than one word,” Riles said.
She sniffed. “What can I say? He wasn't an alien or anything. He loved Mary and Mary loved him. None of this has anything to do with Dick. Why do you keep asking about their relationship?”
“We're searching for motive, for clues,” Sharp said. “Hannah, we know this must be very hard for you, but please bear with us and we'll get you home as soon as we can.” He paused. “Was your brother the least bit upset when you two said goodbye to him at the Crossroads?”
“No.” A strange light entered her eyes. “Are you suggesting he shot himself?”
“No. We know that wasn't possible,” Sharp said quickly. “At least it seems highly unlikely. There was no gun in the snow near the body. No, we are quite sure Dick was murdered. Can you think of anyone, anyone at all, who was mad enough at him to do such a thing?”
“No.”
“He was school president. He must have made a few enemies,” Sharp said.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” Sharp persisted.
Hannah hesitated. “Well, everybody has a few enemies.”
“Charlie?” Sharp persisted.
Hannah momentarily closed her eyes and took a breath. “Look, they fought once. Everybody at school knows that. It's no big secret.”
“What did they fight over?” Sharp asked.
Hannah sighed. “Mary.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Two days before Christmas, Santa Claus set it up so that they could have sex. It really was Santa Claus who made it all possible; Mary’s parents had to attend a Christmas party where her father was playing St. Nick. As a result her house was completely empty for five blessed hours. Of course, if she had really wanted to get Charlie into bed, she could have gone to his house. But the cockroaches scurrying over the floor—they didn’t like the snow outside—somehow ruined it for her.
Charlie was supposed to come over, eat dinner, get his Christmas present, and then attack her. She was supposed to put up moderate resistance and then excuse herself to put in a cervical cap she had recently obtained from a clinic in nearby Sutter. That was the plan and she thought it was a good one. They had been dating a month and she had had enough of just kissing him. Really, she had never wanted a guy before. When she was in Charlie's arms, she felt as if she were at the center of the universe. He was either a wizard or else she was in love. And he seemed to like her as well, although he had never said the three magical words. She was not totally sure he knew what they were. She was going to have to teach him, oh yes, when she was lying naked beside him.
It was a fantasy of hers.
But good old Charlie was just too good. After eating a half pound of steak and three baked potatoes, and then opening the box that held the sweater she had stayed up many nights knitting him, he just gave her a quick kiss and turned on a football game. Now Mary liked football. She often watched it with her father, who was a big Pac Ten fan. But at that moment she felt like cursing the man who had designed the football. For God's sakes, she had on a light sweater and no bra, a pair of silky sweats that a stiff breeze could have vaporized. She was even leaning on him, stroking his hair, but the jocks in black were going for it on third and long. For some reason she just lost it then.
She picked up an old shoe and threw it at the screen.
It exploded, which surprised them both.
“Wow,” Charlie said. “I thought you liked football?”
Mary got up slowly and stared at the glass on the floor and the hole in her parents' brand-new RCA big screen. She had not thrown the shoe hard; then she noticed that a golf ball had rolled out of the toe.
“This is terrible,” she gasped.
“I don’t know, the Raiders were going to lose anyway.”
She clenched her fists. “I am not talking about the stupid game!”
Charlie stared up at her with his innocent blue eyes.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“I want you to kiss me.”
“I was going to kiss you later.”
“I want you to make love to me.”
His eyes got real wide. “Really?”
She lowered her head. “Yeah. But I didn't want to have to beg.”
He stood and leaned over and kissed her deeply. He slowly pulled off her sweater and kissed her again. Then he just stared at her, all of her, and she blushed.
“What?” she said.
“You're beautiful.”
She took his hand, wanting to put it on her breast but was too shy.
“I'm not beautiful,” she said. “I'm just cute. Like you.”
He hugged her. “Mary, you are a goddess.”
They stepped on some glass on the way to the bedroom. They both cut their feet, but not too bad. But later she was to think maybe it had been an omen, the blood on the sheets. She was not one of those girls who had a lot of guilt over sex. Still, at the back of her mind, she wondered if she would have to pay the price for her joy. He loved her deeply even though he never told her he loved her.
School was back in session for only a few hours after Christmas vacation when Richard Spelling crossed her path. She had dated him twice the previous year, and the second time he had tried hard to get in her pants, but she hadn’t seen much of him since then. He had supposedly spent the summer in Malibu polishing his tan, and now that he was school president he acted as if he was too busy for the
likes of her. Not that she missed his advances this year or last. Yet she held nothing against him, Dick could be charming when he wanted to be. Today looked like one of those days. He stood smiling his rich boy smile as she collected a few books from her locker. Third period was in two minutes. Neither of them had much time to talk, but she supposed a big shot like Dick could be late, as often as he wished.
“Looking good, Mary,” he said.
“Great opening line, Dick,” she replied.
He took a step closer and propped himself up against the lockers with a strong arm. Dick worked out, played basketball. He wasn't great at sports but he liked to look great playing them.
“Will it get me anywhere?” he asked.
“No.”
He smiled. “I heard you're seeing Charlie Gallagher?”
She had spilled some juice on the bottom of her locker. She tried wiping it up with last week's homework. “You heard right,” she said.
“Why?”
“For the sex.”
“Is that true?” he asked.
She was still glowing from December 23. Dick must have noticed when she turned toward him for he suddenly took a step back, as if dazzled. She enjoyed his surprise.
“He's a great guy,” she said. “Everything I always dreamed of.”
Dick collected his thoughts. “I heard he flunked American history. Does he have a brain?”
“He is a very warm and caring person.”
“I'm sure those qualities will get him far in this world.”
She smiled mischievously. “He has other wonderful attributes as well.”
“Get off it, you can’t be sleeping with that moron.”
She grabbed her books and slammed her locker shut.
“Shut up, Dick,” she said in a hard voice. “And stop dreaming about what you can’t have.” She started to step past him as he blocked her way. “What?” she snapped.
“I want to help you,” he said.
“I don't want your help,” she said.
“Yeah, you do.”
“Get out of my way or I'll scream.”
He spread his arms. “I heard you applied to Stanford.”
She stopped. “So?”
“So what do you think your chances of getting in are?”
“Pretty good.”
“Liar. You have a three point seven five GPA and an eleven hundred combined SAT score.”
“I see you've been doing your homework.”
“The privileges of power,” he said. “You're not going to get in.”
She paused. “I'm taking the SAT over.”
“You’ll improve a hundred points, nothing more. You have to face reality, Mary. You won’t get in.”
She would have snapped at him except that what he was saying rang true. In her mind, she always blurred the scores of the people who did get accepted. She just went about her business, studied as much as she could, and hoped by good luck and God's grace she’d squeak by. Dick was not simply trying to psyche her out, she sensed.
“All right,” she said. “Let's have a reality check. What can you do to help me get in?”
“My father knows several important alumni at Stanford.”
Mary frowned. “I didn’t know he went there.”
“He didn’t, he went to USC, but he spent a lot of time in Palo Alto and big business types travel in the same circles. He even knows Stanford’s chancellor.”
“You’re kidding?”
Dick held up a hand. “I swear. When you're standing on the fringe, a well-placed word with the right people can make all the difference.” He leaned closer. “I've already talked to my dad about you. He wants to meet you.”
Mary eyed him suspiciously. “And then?”
“What do you mean? Then you get accepted.”
“And what do I have to do in return for this extraordinary help?”
“Nothing.” Dick shrugged. “You can ask me to the Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“I’m going out with Charlie Gallagher. I can’t go anywhere with you.”
He turned away. “Suit yourself.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. He paused, and she stepped up to him. “Why is it so important I go to Sadie Hawkins with you?”
“It’s not so important. But I think it would be the least you’d want to do for me after I helped you with the rest of your life.”
Mary scratched her head. “We could go to the dance.”
“Don’t look so excited.”
“You know what I’m thinking.”
“What?”
“What else you might want,” she said.
He was annoyed. “I don’t want anything. Didn't you have fun last time we went out?”
“Yeah. Until you tried to rape me.”
“I didn’t try to rape you. I tried to seduce you. There's a difference.”
“And you should learn the difference.”
He turned away. “Have a nice day, Mary.”
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “I accept your offer. I’d like to meet your dad. I’d like to go to the dance with you. But on one condition. I don’t want Charlie to know.”
“He'll hear about it.”
“No. You don't know Charlie. He hardly talks to anyone on campus. He has absolutely no interest in the social scene. If I don't tell him about the dance, he won’t know.”
He grinned. “I always knew you were a tramp at heart.”
“I'm not going to sleep with you. That's not part of the deal.”
Dick continued to smile. “When you sign a contract with the devil, you never know how many clauses there are to it.”
Dick was a jerk, but she still thought he was joking.
Later that same day Mary ran into Hannah Spelling, Dick’s twin. She and Hannah were friends but not especially close. They had hung out a few times, at the movies or stores, but had never developed any continuity to their relationship. Mary liked Hannah and wondered if it would be wiser going through her to get to Mr. Spelling. Hannah immediately crushed that possibility after Mary told her what Dick offered to do.
“My dad will see you if Dick asks,” Hannah said as they stood together in the parking lot, ready to leave school in their respective vehicles. Naturally Hannah’s car was a tad nicer and more expensive—a brand-new Lexus sports coupe, with leather interior and Naka-michi sound. Hannah added, “But if I ask him he’ll pretend I'm not even in the room.”
“Why is Dick so much closer to your father?” Mary asked.
“I think because I remind my father of my mother.”
“Where is she again?” Mary knew Mrs. Spelling wasn’t around, but couldn’t remember why.
“She's dead.”
Mary made a face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn't know.”
“Then you don’t have to be sorry.” Hannah took a final drag on one of the many Marlboro cigarettes she smoked before crushing the butt under the heel of her black boot. She added, “My father had her killed.”
“You're joking.”
“Maybe.” Hannah coughed and wiped aside her blond hair. “I was never sure what happened to Mom.”
“When did she die? How?”
“Ten years ago in a car accident.”
“Anyone can have a car accident,” Mary said.
“Yeah. But her brakes gave out, and she was driving a brand-new car.”
This was a topic they had never covered before.
“How do you feel about your dad now?” Mary asked cautiously.
Hannah shrugged. “You mean, do I trust him? I don't know if that’s really an issue. I’m his daughter, he buys me what I want and we get along OK.”
“Sounds sick.”
“Reality is sick.” Hannah paused. “When are you seeing my dad?”
“Dick said tomorrow was good. Can he really help get me into Stanford?”
“If he wants to. He really does know the chancellor.” Hannah tapped out another cigarette, lit it. “You just have to ask yourself what the price is going
to be.”
“Dick says he just wants to go to the dance with me.”
“Dick wants whatever he can get.” Hannah let go a bitter sigh. “He’ll get it all.”
“I can handle him,” Mary said.
“I was talking about the family fortune. Daddy is grooming him to be his heir.”
“What about you?”
Hannah blew smoke. “I'm a girl.”
“You sound like you have a pretty screwed-up family.”
“Yeah. We're a work of art.” Hannah coughed. “Do you want to get loaded?”
“I’m not smoking pot these days. I can't think straight the day after.”
“What do you have to think about?” Hannah asked.
“You know, getting into Stanford and then going on to become a brain surgeon.”
“But you still drink alcohol?” Hannah asked.
Mary had to laugh. “If someone else legal is buying.”
They ended up drinking Seagram’s 7 and Sprite down by the Crossroads, which was a boring place unworthy of its mysterious name, or any name for that matter. It was just a spot out in the woods, five miles from town, where two nondescript roads crossed. Yet because it had a cool name, people congregated there to get loaded, or lustful, or loose. When Mary and Hannah had finished half the bottle of whiskey they were feeling about as loose as two oiled belly dancers. The only problem was there was no one to perform for.
At least Mary didn't think so.
It had snowed the night before. They were surrounded by virgin white. The forest was quiet, the trees stood silent watch. They sat on the hood of Hannah's Lexus and let their asses freeze.
“Have you done it with Charlie yet?” Hannah asked suddenly. A moment ago they had been talking about the origin of the universe, and how God had probably gone and gotten drunk on the eighth day of creation. They were laughing their heads off. But now Hannah asked her question seriously. She stared at Mary with her bloodshot hazel eyes and waited for Mary to answer.