“It’s a serial killer,” declared Rebecca. “Any one of us who got those boxes could be next!”
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but Sunny and I are leaving,” Maria said. She put her arm around Sunny, who only came to her shoulder, and left it there. “It’s not safe here anymore.” Like the shift of a kaleidoscope, Claire finally figured out that the two women were something more than old friends.
“But how do we know the killer won’t follow us wherever we go?” Nina’s hair bristled on one side, looking as if she had just gotten out of bed - or no longer had the energy to devote to her hair. “Most of us live here, or in Portland. In less than an hour, he could be at our door - especially since that damn reunion booklet we all got has our home addresses in it.”
“What about the boxes, Tyler? Did they give you any clues?” Martha asked. Of all the women who had asked questions, she seemed the calmest - but then again, she hadn’t gotten a box. “Did you get fingerprints off them? Have you gone back and figured out who took woodshop?”
Tyler shook his head. “No fingerprints. And the boxes themselves are a dead-end. They were imported by the truckload last Valentines Day. Every Pier 101 and CostPlus and knick-knack store in the country sold them. They were hand-carved, sure, but by people in Malaysia.”
“What about Kevin?” Claire asked. “Have you talked to him?”
Tyler’s jaw tightened. “Kevin’s been sitting in jail since eight p.m. last night, charged with manslaughter in Juan deJesus’s death.” The people who hadn’t heard about this additional death began to murmur to each other, but Kevin raised his voice and soldiered on. “He’s lawyered up and refuses to say anything, but the coroner says Belinda died sometime between nine and midnight. Belinda’s daughter says her mom wasn’t in the room a little before eight. And we have a casino surveillance tape that shows Belinda outside the casino entrance at nine-oh-eight p.m. So there’s no way Kevin coulda done it.”
“What about Logan West?” Jessica’s voice had the power to cut through the babble. “Has anyone looked at him?” Richard patted her arm.
Claire’s heart sank as people began to mutter in agreement. Could Logan really have killed Cindy and Belinda?
“We’re looking for him right now. In fact, we have received some information that indicates he may have a pattern of violent behavior.” Tyler looked in Sawyer’s direction and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “We wanna bring him in for questioning. If you see him, don’t approach him yourselves. Just back off and call 9-1-1.” His tired gaze roamed around the room. “I can understand if some of you want to leave, especially you ladies who received boxes. But Nina’s right - going home is no guarantee of safety. If you do leave, make sure we have your name, address and phone number, in case we need to contact you later. If you decide to stay, the casino has offered to eat the cost of the rooms tonight, as well as to give everyone here for the reunion a voucher for fifty dollars of casino gambling. Remember, you could be safer here, in numbers, than you would be at home alone.”
When people started to break up into little groups - some leaving, others picking up trays for the breakfast buffet - Claire pulled Tyler aside. She didn’t want to start a lynch mob if she were wrong. “I should have told you this before, Tyler.”
“What is it now?” His voice was flat, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.
“After that group of us found Cindy’s body, Jim disappeared for a while. Later, he asked me to say we were together. He said he went home to check on his girls, but I’m not sure I believe him.”
Tyler’s expression didn’t change. “He’s a dealer, Claire.”
“What?” Claire felt off balance.
“He figured he’d make a quick buck selling pot - and maybe a few other things, although he hasn’t told me that - to some of his old buddies from high school.” Claire thought of Wade and Brian and their white lines on a mirror. “He told me about it last night, after Belinda’s body turned up. He took off after Cindy died so he could get rid of his stash. Says he threw it out.” Tyler’s voice underlined the word says. “I guess he figured being charged with selling pot was better than being charged with murder. I told him I’ve got my hands too full with solving these murders to charge anyone else with anything else - at least right now.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“So what should we do?” Dante asked Claire. They were back in their hotel room. “Go or stay?” His hands hovered over his open suitcase.
“Hmm?” Claire answered absently. She sat on the bed, looking at the picture of the honor society in the annual again, the same photo where she stood in the middle of a dozen people, the same photo someone had cut apart to get to her, sticking only her image inside a heart-shaped box.
“Should I pack up or change for the pool party?”
Claire didn’t answer. The annual in her lap showed her with her hair in her eyes, with her face slightly angled to the ground. But hadn’t the photo in the box been different? Hadn’t it showed her with her bangs shaken back from her eyes, her face lifted up? Or was she simply imagining things? A minute ago, when she had looked again at her old self, Claire had been sure something was different. Now, the more she looked, the more she didn’t know what to think.
Still without answering Dante, she picked up the phone. “Jessica McFarland’s room, please,” she told the hotel operator.
While the operator transferred her, Claire said to Dante, “I think maybe there’s something different about the picture I got in that box. Like maybe” - she stopped as Jessica said hello. “Jess?” How long had it been since Claire called her that? Since she had started believing what Jessica kept trying without success to tell herself, that Jessica was better than other people? “Remember the photo you got in your box? This is a weird question, but do you think it was exactly the same as the one in the annual?”
“Give me a second and I’ll see.”
“What do you mean you’ll see? You don’t still have your box, do you?” Even as she said the words, Claire realized that this particular move of Jessica’s shouldn’t surprise her.
“It kind of slipped my mind to turn it in. Besides, if Tyler had wanted to check for fingerprints, he had a half-dozen other boxes to look at. And by the time I figured out that it might be important, I had touched it so many times that it would only have had my own fingerprints on it. And I guess the fingerprints of all the people I’ve shown it to.”
Claire was amazed by Jessica’s nonchalant attitude. “Maybe one of the people you showed it to was the murderer. Did you ever think of that, Jessica?”
“I didn’t show it to Logan, if that’s what you mean. Besides, one box more or less wasn’t going to make a difference. Tyler already had six samples - why did he need a seventh? But do you know what this box could mean for my career? This morning, I was on the phone to someone who’s a stringer for People, and he’s already running it by them back in New York. I can see the headline: Did this actress escape a serial killer? With a big head shot of me looking beautiful and mysterious. Black and white and my face half in shadow - it’s more dramatic. And holding the box, of course. This could really get me noticed.”
Claire sighed. The one good thing about Jessica having kept the box was at least Claire could put her curiosity to rest right away. “Well, could you go compare the photo in your box to the one in the annual?”
Jessica was gone for so long that Claire began to think maybe she had been disconnected. Then she thought she heard two people talking in the background, so Claire stayed on the line a few minutes longer. Finally, just as Claire was about to hang up, Jessica came back on the line.
“It’s gone, Claire. My box is gone!”
“What do you mean, it’s gone?”
“I had it in my purse, but now I can’t find it. And I’ve turned my room upside down. Someone must have taken it.”
“Who knew you had it?”
“Probably most of the people from our class. I didn’t tell you because I kn
ew you would just make me give it back to Tyler.”
“But why would someone else take it?” Claire asked.
The other woman made a little ‘puh’ sound of amazement. “A souvenir from a serial killer? Do you know how much you could get for that on E-bay? Or maybe someone else knows their own stringer for People.” Jessica’s voice should have sounded dejected, but it didn’t. “Anyway, I can’t talk any longer. Richard Crane was just here. He wants to spend the day with me. He told me he wants to keep me safe. You know, Claire” - her voice was that of an adolescent, on the edge of a giggle - “I think he really likes me. Maybe I won’t need to be worrying so much about People magazine after all. Anyway - I’ve got to go.”
“Jessica - wait. You never told me whether you thought your picture in the box was” -. Claire stopped when she realized she was already talking to a dial tone.
Dante said, “I take it we’re staying?’
###
The next phone call Claire made had been to Tyler. She had arranged to meet him downtown at Minor’s police station, a stucco building that felt blessedly cool inside after being in the unairconditioned Mazda. Tyler looked dead on his feet, swaying slightly when he came out to talk to them. The circles under his eyes made him look like an old basset hound.
“You said you needed to see me?”
“I need to see the picture that was in my box. I think there’s something different about it than the picture that ran in the annual.”
For once, Tyler didn’t argue. They waited a few minutes while Tyler got the boxes from the evidence room. Each was bagged in brown paper. With latex-gloved fingers, he opened Claire’s box. She opened up her annual.
Claire bent over the pictures and looked back and forth. Even though she had been expecting it, it was like a shock of icy water. The photos were a little bit different.
Tyler leaned closer. “Nearly the same,” he said slowly, “but not quite.”
“Could you see what’s on the back?”
“Sure. They had to separate each one when they were looking for fingerprints.” With the edge of a paperclip, he turned over the photo.
The back was plain white photographic paper.
“What about Cindy’s?” Dante asked, but Tyler was opening up the bag before Dante finished the sentence. The back of Cindy’s photo was also white.
“I just assumed they were cut out of the annual,” Tyler said. “I didn’t even think of looking on the back.”
“These are matte prints, not glossy,” Dante said. “Makes them look a lot like the kind of paper that was in the annual.”
“Maybe,” Claire said slowly, “maybe sometimes a photograph reveals more by what it doesn’t show.”
Tyler tilted his head. “You mean who got cropped out?”
Claire shook her head. “No. I’m thinking - who took these pictures?”
She knew who it was now. Had he liked them all in high school, unable to distinguish between them, happy enough that they were all girls? When had his attraction slowly twisted into hate? Claire remembered the way he used to smile at her in calculus. A quick little nervous smile followed by his head ducking, the shock of dark hair falling over his eyes, hiding his expression. When he had looked at her like that, had he been dreaming of kissing her - or killing her?
Dante said, “These photos are so similar to the ones in the annual, they must have been taken at the same time - by the same photographer. So who took photos for your yearbook?”
Claire didn’t answer him. Keys in hand, she was already running to the main door. “Come on!” she yelled over her shoulder at Tyler and Dante. “He’s got Jessica!”
HIHO AG
Chapter Thirty-four
“I have something important to ask you, Jessica,” Richard said. He took her hand. They were sitting hip to hip on the Ferris wheel.
Jessica returned the clasp of Richard’s damp fingers. Something rose up in her, as if they were meetings as spirits as well as bodies. She had worked so hard last night to get him to notice her, had embraced the spotlight now that Cindy was gone. She had come to her senses and realized that she had to live in the here and now, live in the world where the past of high school didn’t matter, where even Wade Merz was nothing but washed up. Only the present mattered, a present where Richard Crane rattled around in his mansion and had no idea how to meet women. If only she had realized when they were both sixteen how important he would be!
“Just ask,” she said, wishing that she were sitting on his right, so that he could see her best side.
“I used to watch you, you know.” Richard’s voice was soft. “You were so beautiful. And popular. You had so many boyfriends. I felt like I couldn’t talk to you. The only way I could get near you was with my camera. You would walk out on the stage and command it. Just like you commanded my heart.”
“What did you want to ask me?” She could feel the smile deep inside her, but she wouldn’t let it out, not yet.
“Do you trust me?”
“What?” She was off-balance now, uncertain what he was really asking her. Part of her had been hoping that he might pull a black velvet jeweler’s box from his pocket. With a ten-carat diamond as big as a dime. But now the pieces were falling into place.
“Do you trust me? Do you think I would ever hurt anyone?” Richard’s hand felt icy now, icy and cold. She wanted to pull her hand away, but did not.
Another part of her took over, playing the part he needed, buying her time to think. “Of course you couldn’t hurt anyone, Richard,” Jessica said in a gentle, soothing voice, in the tone you would use with a child or a madman. Inside her, she heard her own voice, her real voice, shrieking that she had to get out of here. Their gondola rocked gently as they rolled to the top of the wheel. Up here, she could see forever, see past Minor, tiny as the toy town it really was, past the fields that surrounded it, golden with summer wheat, and all the way to the mountains in the distance, still scarved in white. “I know you couldn’t.” She hesitated. “Why do you think I would think that?”
He hung his head, while his hand still gripped hers fiercely. “Because of the boxes. I gave them to you ladies, but I swear, I never meant any harm to come of it. It was like - like a tribute. But then something went terribly wrong. Things have gotten all mixed up”
Jessica remembered Cindy’s dulling eyes, imagined the bloody furrows marring Belinda’s throat. And then she had a more terrible vision. She had seen Until Tomorrow on TV often enough that she could think of herself in the third person, easily imagine what her body would look like, spread-eagled, head lolling back, tongue nearly bitten in half.
Down on the ground, she saw four people pushing their way through the crowd, running whenever there was a bit of open ground. She squinted. Claire and Dante, accompanied by Tyler and another cop in uniform. As Jessica watched, Claire pointed up in their direction. The two police officers drew their guns, and the crowds began to part before them.
“No.” The word was torn from Jessica. Had Richard told Cindy how much he admired her, sweet-talked Belinda until she let him into her room? Shaking her hand until he finally freed it, Jessica scooted back as far from him as she could. The gondola swayed under them. Her stomach lurched as the car began to fall forward, toward the ground
“No, Jessica!” Richard cried, his face twisting. He only had eyes for her, not for the policemen who were too far away to offer her any help. “You don’t understand!”
The car was now at the lowest point in its revolution. Making a split-second decision, Jessica put her head down and ducked under the silver restraining bar. She looked to the operator, but his attention was caught by the people running toward him. The platform was only a few feet beneath her, but the car was beginning to ascend. She had to jump now, before it was too late. She put her right hand on the edge of the car. With a sob, Jessica vaulted her legs over.
And was stopped short as Richard leaned forward and grabbed her left arm, shouting, “What are you doing?” Jessica had br
aced herself for the ten-foot fall, but now she was halted with a jerk that felt as thought it would rip off her arm. The car continued its inexorable rise as she hung, dangling. Red-hot pain sliced through her arm and shoulder. The two people in the car below them were screaming for the ride operator to stop while they stared at her dangling feet. But the Ferris wheel continued to turn. The momentum of her leap had turned her body into a pendulum that swayed from side to side. The car rocked violently back and forth in response. With a pop, she felt something give in her shoulder.
Jessica’s focus narrowed to her arm, to the ring of pain around her shoulder and the second ring where Richard’s hand dug desperately into her arm. Originally he had grabbed her forearm, but now his hand had slid until it was just above her wrist. And, she realized, she was still slipping within his grasp.
“Hold still!” she heard him shout. There was no one whose eyes she could look into, no one she could plead with or gain reassurance from. All she could see were the giant spidery red arms of the Ferris Wheel, and the backs of the baskets directly opposite. As their gondola rose higher and higher, she saw that the ride operator was finally, frantically pulling at a lever.
With a tremendous lurch, the ride came to an abrupt stop.
“Jessica! No!” she heard Richard scream, just as she was torn from his grasp. And then the ground was rushing up to meet her.
She had a split second to think that they would find her just as broken as Belinda and Cindy. And then Jessica didn’t have any time to think about anything else.
Chapter Thirty-five
After the crowd watched Jessica struggle with Richard and then fall to her death, it was all Tyler and the other cop could do to prevent a lynching. While the two men trained their guns on Richard, the ride operator followed their shouted instructions and let off the passengers, car by car. Sobbing and staggering, the riders got off, averting their gaze from the horrific sight of Jessica’s broken body. As his gondola slowly made its way around the circle, Richard sat slumped, his hands over his eyes.