All She Ever Wanted (24 page)

"When they came down, Josh hung out with Emily, while Natalie and Cole took off together."

"That is interesting," Madison said. "Josh ... I'll have to think about that." She glanced around. "I wonder what's taking Natalie and Cole so long. I really hate to wait."

A couple of girls turned the corner and came down the sidewalk toward them. They were completely dressed in red—sweaters, T-shirts, scarves, hats, all with university logos. As they passed by, Laura heard them laughing and talking. "Do you think he really likes me ... I know he does, but he doesn't think you like him ... Oh, my God, how could he not know that I like him ..."

Laura looked at Madison, and they both laughed. "That was us," Laura said.

"We were never that stupid, were we?"

"I was."

"Yeah, you were," Madison agreed with a soft smile. "That was a million years ago."

"At least," Laura agreed, feeling old. What she wouldn't give to be that young and carefree again.

The front door to the sorority house opened and another group of girls came out wearing similar shades of red. They paused, catching sight of Madison and Laura. One of them came forward. "Hi, are you alumni here for the homecoming game?"

"Uh—yes," Laura said, grabbing at an answer. "As a matter of fact we are. We used to live here."

"Cool. Everyone has gone to the game, though. We're having the alumni open house starting at seven tonight, if you want to come back then."

"Thanks." Laura turned to Madison as they left. "I forgot it was homecoming weekend."

"That explains the clothes. I was beginning to think these girls had no fashion sense. Actually, this might work out to our advantage. I'd rather take a stroll through the house while it's relatively empty."

"I think we should wait for Natalie," Laura said. "This is something we need to do together."

Natalie's body tensed as they drove down the street toward the sorority house. Each roll of the wheels brought her closer to her past, a past she still wasn't sure she knew how to face.

"There they are," she said, spying Madison and Laura standing on the corner. "They look like they're waiting to rush. We stood in exactly that spot the first day we came to the house, waiting for the girls to invite us in."

"I wish they never had," Cole said.

"I know you do." She realized this trip might be even more difficult for Cole than for her. His only visits to the house had been to see Emily. And if Emily had never moved into the house, she might still be alive.

Cole pulled up in front of Madison and Laura. Natalie rolled down the window. "Get in," she said. "We found Malone. I'll explain on the way."

Madison opened the door to the backseat, and they climbed in. "What's going on?" she asked.

Natalie turned in her seat as Cole made a U-turn and headed toward the campus. "Cole's investigator tracked Malone's corporation to a man named Jerry Williams. It turns out Mr. Williams is an old man suffering from Alzheimer's and living in a retirement home. It quickly became clear he could not be the author of the book. However, in his drawer I found a book of poetry with a name stamped in it—Greg Martin, professor, Santa Cruz University."

"Professor Martin?" Laura echoed. "Emily and I took a class from him fall semester of our sophomore year."

Natalie felt a rush of excitement at that information. "I thought I remembered Emily mentioning his name. Was it a small class?"

"No, it was in a lecture hall. There had to be a hundred students or more," Laura replied. "Do you really think Professor Martin is Garrett Malone? How would he have been able to write a book about us?"

"That's what we need to ask him," Natalie said. "At the very least, the professor should be able to give us more information on this Jerry Williams and if he's tied in any way to someone else who might have written the book."

After parking the car in a nearby lot, they walked into the building housing the English department. Professor Martin's office was on the third floor. Bypassing the elevator, they took the stairs.

"It's so deserted," Natalie commented. "I wonder where everyone is."

"At the football game," Laura replied. "It's homecoming weekend. Kind of ironic, isn't it?"

Natalie didn't bother to answer that as they paused in front of a door marked with the professor's name. Cole knocked, then tried the door. No one answered, and the door was locked. "Damn." He hit the door with his fist. "I should have known he wouldn't be here. He's never where he's supposed to be."

Natalie sighed, feeling as discouraged as Cole. Before they could decide what to do next, Cole's cell phone rang.

"Parish," he snapped. "What? Are you kidding me? As a matter of fact, I'm in Santa Cruz. All right. I'll be right there."

"Be right where?" Natalie asked when he ended the call.

"The Santa Cruz Police Department. Apparently, they're questioning Dylan about something."

"Dylan? About what?" Natalie asked. "He can't be Malone if Malone is Professor Martin."

"We still don't know that he is. I'd better get over there."

"I'll come with you."

"No. The last place you should be is the Santa Cruz Police Department," Cole replied. "It will just complicate matters."

"He's right, Natalie," Madison added. "You don't need to put yourself in front of a police detective right now. We have to find out what happened first."

"All right," Natalie replied. As Cole sprinted down the stairs, Natalie turned to Madison and Laura. "What should we do now? Any ideas?"

"Maybe we can find out where Professor Martin lives," Laura suggested. "I bet someone around here knows."

"Maybe Diane knows," Natalie said. "She did tell me she'd like to help if she could. Hey, wasn't she married to a professor?"

Laura's face suddenly paled. "Oh, my God, Natalie. You're right. In fact, I think Diane was married to Greg Martin."

Cole couldn't believe Dylan was in Santa Cruz and at the police department. They had to be questioning him about Emily's death. But what did Dylan know that he didn't? Cole couldn't even guess. After seeing the shrine to Emily in Dylan's closet, he wasn't sure what to think of the man he'd grown up with. At one time, he would have said they had no secrets from each other. Now it was clear they had many. Well, Dylan had been playing the mystery man for too long. The secrets were coming out today.

As Cole entered the police department, he saw Dylan sitting in a chair next to a desk, talking to a detective. Dylan was wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt, and his usual black leather jacket, and the somber expression on his face made Cole feel even more uneasy. The men stood up when they saw him. The detective extended his hand. "Cole Parish, right? I'm Robert Boland. You might remember me. I'm the detective who was in charge of the investigation into your sister's death ten years ago."

Cole nodded, having a vague recollection of the man. He looked over at Dylan, his eyes narrowing as he noted Dylan's unshaved appearance, the dark shadows under his eyes. "You look like shit. What did you do?"

"He broke into an office at the university," the detective answered for Dylan. "The office belonging to Professor Greg Martin."

"He's Malone," Dylan said shortly, meeting Cole's questioning gaze. "Martin is Malone. I know he is."

"How do you know? Did you talk to him?"

"He wasn't in his office. And the door wasn't locked," he added, shooting the detective a pointed look. "I just walked in. Martin is the one you should be talking to, not me."

"He's right," Cole interjected. "I believe Professor Martin is Garrett Malone, the man who wrote the book about Emily's death. I can't prove it yet, but I have a private investigator working on it. I can give you his name and number. He can show you the paper trail we're following."

"All right," the detective replied. "As I'm sure you know, Mr. Parish, your father has put a tremendous amount of pressure on my chief to take another look at the case. I've made calls to the three women who were your sister's closest friends. I'd like to interview them again. I have to tell you that we still have no concrete proof that this was anything but an accident. That said, I'm very interested in speaking to Mr. Malone to discuss where he got his information." The detective looked at Dylan. "As for you, you can go. But don't go far. I've got your number, and if your phone rings, I expect you to answer it. Mr. Parish, I've already sent someone out to Professor Martin's house. Let us take care of this."

Cole didn't bother to reply. He didn't intend to make any promises he couldn't keep, and he'd do whatever it took to find Malone. But first ...

Cole waited until they were out of the police station and halfway down the block before he swung around and punched Dylan in the face.

Dylan staggered backwards. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled, putting one hand over his eye.

"I was going to ask you the same question," Cole said, shaking out his right hand, which was stinging from the force of his blow. "I saw the closet, Dylan. I saw the photos of Emily. I know you were obsessed with her. Don't even try to deny it."

"You broke into my apartment?"

"That's beside the point. Now, are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?" Cole's hand clenched once more into a fist.

Dylan took a step back. "It's not what you think."

"You don't know what I think. I don't even know what I think." Cole shook his head. "You look like the guy I grew up with, but I don't know you at all, do I? Did you and Emily ..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. "God! I trusted you with her. I told you to take care of her. Watch out for her. Make sure she was safe. And all the time, you were—"

"I did take care of her, and we didn't do anything wrong," Dylan said. "We were friends. That's it. She never knew I loved her. Okay? She never knew."

Cole heard the raw pain in Dylan's voice, saw the agony in his old friend's eyes, and felt his anger begin to seep away. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Finally, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me how you felt?"

Dylan shrugged. "It wasn't your business."

"She was my sister."

"That still didn't make it your business. Emily had a right to her privacy. Your family watched over her like a hawk. When she got here, she was finally free. I couldn't take that away from her by reporting back to you. And I didn't want to take it away from her. She was happier than I'd ever seen her."

It hurt Cole to know that Emily had been happier here in Santa Cruz than she'd been at home with the family, but in the last week he'd come to a better understanding of why she might have felt that way. He just wished she'd trusted him enough to confide in him. "I might have been able to help," he said aloud. "With my parents. I might have been able to talk them into giving Em more freedom at home if I'd known she was feeling so trapped. She should have told me. You should have told me." He paused. "Why didn't you ever tell her how you felt about her?"

Dylan dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "I never thought it was the right time. And I didn't want things to change between us. I didn't want it to get awkward and uncomfortable. Then it was too late."

"Then it was too late," Cole echoed, as he let out a long, weary sigh.

"We can talk about this later," Dylan said.

"Right now I need a ride back to the university. Can you take me?"

"On one condition. You tell me why you think Greg Martin is Garrett Malone."

"Are you sure Diane Thomas is married to Professor Martin?" Natalie asked, still pondering Laura's latest bombshell as they walked across campus toward the Panhellenic Offices where Diane worked. "The last names aren't the same. And I don't remember her mentioning her husband."

"She told me once that she'd kept her maiden name when she got married," Laura replied. "At the time I thought that was so sophisticated." She paused. "I could be wrong though. Maybe it was some other professor. She was very closemouthed about her private life. What are we going to do? We can't just walk into her office and ask her if her husband wrote a best-selling novel about us."

"I think we should do exactly that," Madison said. "It's a little late to beat around the bush."

"Madison is right," Natalie agreed as they entered the building. "We can't afford to waste any more time. We need answers now." She paused for a moment outside Diane's door. "Before we go in, I just want to say I'm glad we're doing this together. It feels right, you know?"

"I know," Laura said softly, a smile on her face.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Madison said with a wave of her hand. "We'll do the mushy stuff later." And with that she knocked on the door.

Natalie felt a rush of adrenaline course through her as Diane's voice called them in. They were getting close to the truth. She could smell it.

Diane got up from her desk the moment she saw them. She was ten years older but still an attractive blonde. She was dressed in black slacks, a turquoise blouse, and a black jacket and looked every inch the sophisticated woman Natalie remembered. She'd been in her late twenties when they'd been in college and had been the perfect adviser, young enough to understand them, old enough to give advice.

"Natalie," she said. "This is a surprise. You didn't mention you were coming down here when we spoke yesterday. Madison, Laura," she added.

"I didn't know I was coming at the time. But things have changed."

"What things?" Diane asked quickly. "Do you have new information?"

"I do," Natalie said. She paused as Madison picked up a picture frame on the bookshelf behind Diane's desk and turned it toward them.

"Is this your husband, Diane?" Madison asked.

"Yes," Diane said warily.

"That's Professor Martin," Laura said.

"Is there a problem?" Diane's gaze darted about the room as if she were looking for a way out.

"Is that why you called me, Diane?" Natalie asked. "Were you trying to find out what I knew? So you could report back to your husband?"

Diane couldn't hide the fear that leaped into her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"We know, Diane. We traced Malone to Jerry Williams to your husband, Professor Greg Martin. It's only a matter of time before we find the actual connection between Mr. Williams and your husband. If you want to wait for the police to question you, that's fine with me. I'm sure they'll be along shortly. Or you can talk to me."

"All right, fine." Diane walked over and shut the door. "Greg did write that book, but I had no idea until a few months ago that he'd done it."

"Oh, please," Madison said in disbelief. "How could you not know?"

"I knew he was working on a novel. He's been working on novels for years. He's an English professor, for God's sake. He loves books. I didn't think anything about it. He certainly never told me what he was doing."

"Where did he get the information about us?" Natalie asked. "Did he have Emily's journal?"

"What?" Diane asked in confusion. "No, I don't think he had a journal. He told me he made up the story based on things he heard from other students after Emily died." She offered Natalie an apologetic smile. "I realize you're not painted particularly well."

"That's an understatement. Your husband called me a murderer. He said I pushed Emily off the roof and killed her."

"He told me that no one was supposed to know it was you or that the story was based on anything real."

"I don't believe that for a second. I think he wanted everyone to know," Natalie said. "That's why he wrote the book, to tell Emily's story. Only he got it wrong."

"Did he?" Diane asked, her voice turning hard. "Is this about protecting Emily or protecting yourself? It was no secret that you were drunk that night, Natalie, and that you didn't remember any thing. It was also known that you and Emily had a fight. If you'd stuck around, you would have heard all those rumors and more. Ask Laura, she'll tell you."

Natalie didn't bother to look at Laura, keeping her attention fixed on Diane, who was obviously trying to get herself off the hook. "I want to talk to your husband. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do. He's in a lot of trouble, you know. I can sue him for libel."

"You won't win."

"I don't have to win to make your life miserable," Natalie said pointedly. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm scared, Diane, because I'm not. I'm furious. And if you think I'm going to sit by and let your husband's book ruin my career and the lives of my friends and most especially Emily's memory, think again."

Diane put up a hand in surrender. "Look, I honestly don't know where he is right now. And you have to understand that I had nothing to do with this. If I had known Greg was writing about Emily, I would have put a stop to it, but I didn't know until the book was published. You have to believe me."

Natalie didn't know whether she believed Diane or not, but it was a moot point. "The question is not what you knew when but what are you going to do about it now?"

Before Diane could answer, someone knocked on her door. Diane moved quickly to answer it. A woman waited in the hall, an expectant look on her face. "Ready for the game?" she asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had people in your office."

"I'm ready," Diane said quickly. "Would you give me one second?" Shutting the door once more, she turned back to Natalie. "I'll try to find Greg and have him get in touch with you. Are you staying overnight in Santa Cruz, or are you going home?"

"That depends on your husband," Natalie said. She leaned over and wrote her cell phone number on a piece of paper on Diane's desk.

Diane picked up the paper and put it in her purse, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. "Are you going by the sorority house?"

"We're headed there now."

"You may not be warmly received, Natalie. A lot of the girls have read the book."

"I'm not scared of them, either."

Diane opened the door and motioned them into the hall. She locked her office and then walked off with the friend who was waiting for her.

Natalie blew out a breath, then glanced at Madison and Laura, realizing the two hadn't said a word in a long time. They were staring at her with varying degrees of astonishment. "What?" she asked. "Did I say something wrong?"

"You were amazing," Laura said. "You were so tough with Diane."

"You grew up good," Madison continued with an approving smile. "You kicked her butt."

"Thanks, but the butt I really need to kick belongs to her husband."

"Let's go," Madison said, taking off at a brisk pace.

"What's the hurry?" Natalie asked as she and Laura jogged to keep up with Madison's long strides.

"I think we should follow Diane. Actually, I'll follow her. My guess is that she'll run straight to her husband. You two go back to the sorority house. Maybe being there will jog your memory, Natalie."

"We'll go with you," Natalie said, realizing Madison was right. Diane would probably head straight for her husband.

"It will be easier for me to do it on my own," Madison replied. "I'll be able to fade into the crowd, and I walk faster than both of you. If she sees the three of us, she may not go to him. I'll catch up with you later," she added, as they walked outside. She broke into a jog as Diane and her friend turned the corner, disappearing from view.

"I guess that's that," Natalie said to Laura. "Shall we go to the house?"

"We can take that path through the trees," Laura said, as they changed course. "It's a shortcut."

"I remember. It feels strange to be back here. So much time has passed and yet it feels like yesterday. It's probably worse for you, Laura. You spent four years here."

"It's easier for me. I have good memories as well as bad ones." Laura sighed as they walked through a thick grove of trees. "The last time I came down this path was after graduation. Drew and I were walking back to the house, still wearing our gowns and holding our diplomas. And he ..." She stopped and pointed to a nearby tree. "He kissed me right there. He said he loved me, and he couldn't wait to get started on the rest of our life together." A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away. "Those really were the good old days."