When All The Girls Have Gone(18)

She'd had only one brief glimpse of her stepfather as she and her mother had rushed across the living room. He was passed out in front of the television, an unfinished bottle of booze on the floor beside the chair.

Her mother had driven them straight to her aunt's home out on the coast.

They had lived with the threat of the bastard hanging over their heads for months until he had done everyone a favor and killed himself in a single-car accident. He had been driving drunk at the time.

Victoria was fiercely proud of the fact that she had triumphed against long odds. She had earned a degree in arts and communications at a small college and wound up in a field she loved-marketing. She was good at what she did.

The future she had been crafting for herself had been full of promise-right up until the fateful moment when Madison Benson had introduced her to the other members of the investment club. Madison had seemed like the very embodiment of the avenging warrior queen that the terrified little girl inside Victoria longed to emulate.

The members of the club had told themselves that they were all strong, powerful women; women on a mission.

But somewhere along the line they had taken one risk too many and now they were being hunted.   





 

She locked up her condo and went down the hall to the elevator. It dawned on her that what troubled her the most was that once again she was running, just as she and her mother had run all those years ago.

Walking through the concrete garage unnerved her. The shadows were long and her footsteps echoed loudly in the gloom. She moved more quickly. By the time she reached her car, she was sprinting.

She checked the backseat before she opened the door. There was no one hiding there. No one leaped out from behind a pillar.

She got behind the wheel and locked the doors, reversed out of the parking stall and drove toward the exit. The steel gate seemed to take forever to operate. She had visions of being trapped in the garage with the killer.

Who are you? she wondered. Are you one of us?

Madison was right. Money was a huge temptation and there would be a fortune at stake if the Keyworth buyout went through.

Or are you one of our targets?

Revenge was an equally powerful incentive. She knew that all too well.

When the gate finally opened, freeing her vehicle, the relief was nearly overwhelming.

A short time later she was out of the city center, driving fast toward the one place she was certain the killer would never think to look for her.





CHAPTER 19




"I'm surprised Detective Briggs even remembered my stepsister's case," Charlotte said. "At the time Jocelyn was convinced that he didn't believe her or, if he did believe her, he considered it her fault that she was attacked. She said that the cops took the blame-the-victim approach to the investigation. The campus security guards were even more obnoxious."

"Briggs said he believed Jocelyn's story but he was never able to identify a solid suspect," Max said. "He also implied that he didn't get much cooperation from the campus security people."

"I can believe that," Charlotte said. "I'm sure they were told to make the problem go away."

"Briggs did say that the school authorities exerted pressure on the chief to keep things quiet. The college was new and trying to establish a reputation. The people at the top were afraid the bad publicity would hurt when it came to recruiting staff and students."

He was sitting in the biggest chair in the small living room. The chair was not all that large, however. It was small and sleek, almost dainty. He just hoped it would not collapse under his weight. He was trying to make a good impression.

Charlotte was perched on the edge of a delicate sofa that looked like it had come from the same store as the chair, a store that evidently specialized in miniature furniture for small apartments. There was a classy little glass-topped coffee table between the sofa and the recliner.

The entire apartment probably would have fit into the front room of his new house, but it was warm and cozy and oddly lush. There were plants everywhere-big ones framed the windows, small ones decorated the dining bar that separated the kitchen and living room area and still more pots of greenery sat on various end tables.

The space was also colorful. Very colorful. It looked like a spice factory had exploded in the small space. Saffron walls were set off with cinnamon trim work. The area rug was the color of crushed red peppers and accented with splashes of turmeric. Anson would approve, he thought. Anson had learned to cook after he found himself with three young boys to feed. He had gotten very good at it.

Max wasn't sure what he had expected when he walked through the front door of the apartment a short time earlier. But now it occurred to him that he liked the sunny, vibrant palette. He liked it a lot. He wondered if Charlotte would be willing to advise him on paint colors when he finally got around to painting his house.

"The problem was that there was so little to go on," Charlotte said. "Jocelyn never saw her attacker."

"For what it's worth, Briggs said that may have been what saved her life."

Charlotte set her wineglass down very carefully. "That did occur to us later, believe me."

Max reached for another cracker and another slice of cheese. "Briggs said that he did develop a few theories. He's willing to discuss them with us."

"When?"

"I told him that we would drive to Loring tomorrow. Will that work for you? Sorry I didn't check first. I didn't want to waste any time or give Briggs an opportunity to change his mind."

"Yes, tomorrow is Saturday. No problem." Charlotte paused, brows scrunching together a little. "You said that Louise Flint drove all the way to Loring and back shortly before she died."

"According to her car's GPS, yes."

"Did you ask Briggs if Louise had contacted him recently?"   





 

"No. I thought I'd save that for our interview with him."

Charlotte looked first surprised and then curious. "Why?"

"Hell if I know. Just the way I work. In my experience, it's easier to judge a person's reactions when you're face-to-face."

"That makes sense." Charlotte sat very straight on the sofa, determination radiating from her. "What time do you want to leave?"

"Briggs said he was going fishing in the morning and that he had some chores to do after that. He asked us to show up in midafternoon. So what do you say I pick you up a little after noon?"

"I'll be ready."

He looked at the plate on the glass coffee table. He had eaten the last of the cheese and crackers.

Crunch time, he thought. Make it look casual. Just business.

"Want to grab a bite to eat?" he said, going for an offhand vibe so that it wouldn't sting too much if she turned him down.

She appeared surprised, as if she hadn't given dinner any thought.

"All right," she said. "There's a nice little place on the corner. Gluten free, vegan, paleo and vegetarian friendly."

He felt as if he had just taken a very strong tonic. He felt good. Thrilled.

Just business, he told himself.

"So long as there is actual food," he said.

She smiled. "Don't worry, there will be crab cakes. With actual Dungeness crab. And French fries. The traditional Pacific Northwest comfort food."

Suddenly the spicy hot room got even brighter. He had been right, he thought. Charlotte's smile was the real thing.





CHAPTER 20




"How did you end up in the private investigation business?" Charlotte asked.

Max thought about the question while he munched a bite of the very good crab cakes he had ordered.

The restaurant was one of those casual, comfortable places that were scattered around Seattle and its neighborhoods. It featured an extensive list of craft beers and regional wines. There were also a lot of "small plates" on the menu. He had ordered a full entrée, but Charlotte had opted for two little dishes-roasted Brussels sprouts and a tiny dish of deviled eggs. Evidently in addition to buying miniature furniture she ate miniature food. No wonder she looked a little thin.

"My ex-wife asked me the same question," he said.

Belatedly he remembered having read somewhere that one of the rules of successful dating after a divorce was that you weren't supposed to bring up the ex. On the other hand, this was not a date. This was business. But there were rules about discussing your personal life with a business associate, too.

Charlotte winced. "Sorry. Didn't mean to dredge up old history."

"My fault." He drank some beer. "I'm the one who mentioned my ex."

"Yes, well, it's not like I haven't got one of my own. Sort of."

"How long has it been since the jerk told you that he wasn't planning to show up at the wedding?"

"Two months, one week and three days." Charlotte smiled a very bright, shiny smile. "Not that I'm counting."

He grinned. "Of course not."

"But on the plus side, I managed to pay off the dress and the florist's cancellation fees last month. That was a very good day in Charlotte-land. Unfortunately I got stuck with the full price of the dress because it had already been altered."

"What did you do with it?"

"Sold it for pennies on the dollar to a rental shop. It wasn't like I was ever going to wear it."

"What if you decide to get married again?"

She looked at him as if he had said something extremely foolish and/or incredibly dumb.