No One Needs to Know (46 page)

In the distance, he heard children laughing and shouting. But the park wasn’t quite as crowded as it had been a half hour ago. Some dark clouds began to drift over the blue sky. Adam could almost smell a storm coming.

“Remember my friend Laurie from yesterday, Pop?” he asked, stretching his arm across the bench. “Remember when we were asking you about Trent Hooper? He and his followers all ended up dead on that farm. I read about it. They all drank poison—except for Trent and another guy. It looked like those two had shot themselves . . .”

His father started shaking his head.

“Pop, you—yesterday you indicated you were there that day. Did I understand you right? Can you remember any of it?”

He cleared his throat. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

With a sigh, Adam got to his feet.

“I’m fine on my own,” his father muttered. He stood up with a little help from his cane. But then he looked a bit lost.

Adam nodded toward the squat little building about a hundred feet away. “It’s over there, Pop.”

His father started off in that direction, but then he turned and frowned at him. “You’ve got it wrong,” he said. “The papers reported it wrong. One of the women was shot, too.”

Adam started toward him. “What?”

His father shook his head. “I’ll be fine on my own in there,” he said, turning away. “Stay put. I don’t want you hovering by the restroom while I’m in there. I’m coming right back.”

Dumbfounded, Adam watched him shuffle behind a trellis outside the restroom entrance. Then Adam reluctantly sank back down on the bench. His dad had sounded like he knew exactly what he was talking about. So that practically confirmed it: he was there at Biggs Farm for that group suicide. He wondered if he’d get any more information out of his dad while they were here at the park.

Biting his lip, Adam glanced over his shoulder toward the parking lot. There were fewer cars now than earlier. He didn’t see a dark blue SUV among them. When he turned around again, he saw someone walking up the trail with their back to him—someone thin, all in black, with shaggy black hair.

Gaping at the lone figure, Adam started to stand up.

Just then, a woman threw a Frisbee at the person in black, who spun around to catch it. That was when Adam saw the goatee and realized it was a man with a very slight build.

He plopped back down on the bench. He heard some screaming in the distance, but it sounded like kids playing. He glanced toward the little building again. He kept waiting for his father to emerge from the other side of that trellis.

He decided he’d count to twenty, then go in there and check on him.

Adam felt a couple of drops of rain. He figured they might have to wait in the car until Laurie gave them the all clear. She and Cheryl were probably about thirty-five minutes into their meeting with Gil Garrett by now.

His cell phone rang, giving him a start.

He grabbed it out of his pocket and switched it on. “Hello, Laurie?”

There was a pause, and then a woman’s voice came on. “Your father’s asking for you.”

The phone to his ear, Adam sat there for a moment. Then the words sank in, and he bolted off the bench and ran toward the little building. “Who is this?” he gasped into the phone. “Who’s there?”

He heard a click on the other end.

He ducked into the men’s room, which smelled foul. The overhead light flickered. There was only one urinal and one stall—with its door open. The spool of toilet paper was half-unraveled, leaving a trail on the filthy floor. The restroom was empty.

Adam was about to rush outside, but something caught his eye. On the wall above the sink was a stainless-steel square that served as an unbreakable mirror. It was scratched, and had some old, faded graffiti scribbled on it. But the message printed in a red laundry marker looked new:

DO WHAT WE TELL YOU

“Oh, Jesus, Cheryl,” she whispered, backing away until she bumped into the refrigerator door.

Cheryl stepped on Gil’s lit cigar, which had rolled onto the floor. The dogs were barking and yelping around her legs. “Help me stand him up,” she hissed. “C’mon, goddamn it, Laurie, hurry! We don’t have much time. We need to drag him outside, and load him into the truck. I can’t do it by myself. He’s heavy . . .”

“Help you?” She shook her head. “This—this can’t be happening . . .” She couldn’t move—or even get a breath. She’d figured Cheryl might try something here. But she hadn’t expected anything this insane.

Cheryl reached for her bag on the counter, and pulled out a gun. “You can tell the police I made you help me. Tell them I forced you . . .”

Laurie shook her head. She didn’t think Cheryl would ever shoot her. But then, she was still trying to fathom what Cheryl had just done. Right now, Laurie had no idea what she was capable of.

With the gun in her hand, Cheryl stood over Gil Garrett’s body. “I’ve waited years for this moment. And you’re not going to screw it up. You’re going to help me . . .”

Laurie swallowed hard. “This is crazy. I won’t help you. And I know you wouldn’t shoot me . . .”

“You’re right, it’s the last thing I’d do,” Cheryl whispered. “I’m sorry for this, Laurie. I’m sorry to get you involved . . .”

“Then why are you doing this?” she asked in a shrill voice.

“Because he killed them all,” Cheryl said. “He orchestrated the whole thing—forty-four years ago. He was the mastermind. He arranged to have Elaina and Dirk murdered. Then he had Trent Hooper and all the others killed . . .”

She glared at Laurie, and then aimed the gun toward Gil’s head. “And you’re going to help me get a confession out of him—or the son of a bitch dies right here.”

Outside the restroom, Adam frantically looked around the park for any sign of his father. But he didn’t see him anywhere. He kept thinking they couldn’t have gotten too far. Adam swiveled around and barged into the women’s room. “Excuse me!” he yelled. His voice echoed slightly in the dim, empty little room.

His cell phone rang. He clicked it on. “Yes?” he answered, out of breath.

“You shouldn’t be in the women’s lavatory, Adam. You’ll get arrested.”

He hurried outside, around the trellis, and over to the edge of the parking lot. “Who is this? What do you want?” He gazed at the cars parked in the lot, but all of them looked empty.

He turned around and saw a blond woman on the winding trail, walking her corgi and talking on the phone. Then he spotted a man on a bench across the way. He was on his cell phone, too. Everywhere he looked, everyone seemed to be on their goddamn phone.

“Stay on the line with me, Adam,” she said. “Just do as I say, and you’ll see your father soon enough. Now, I want you to go to your car. Then I’m going to give you some easy instructions . . .”

With the phone to his ear, Adam headed toward his Mini Cooper in the lot. He heard a beep, an incoming call. He glanced at the caller ID on his keypad. It was Laurie. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “I have another call. It’s important. I have to take it—”

“It’s more important than your father’s life?” she asked.

“Please, I—”

“Take it if you want,” she said. “But I won’t be here when you get back on the line. And you won’t ever see your father again.”

“Goddamn it,” he whispered. Tears stung his eyes. It seemed too soon for Laurie to be calling with the all clear. She was probably in trouble.

And he had to ignore it.

He climbed into the Mini Cooper, and started the car. “All right, where do you want me to go?” he asked. He glanced down at the passenger floor, and saw the sleeve of his jacket sticking out from beneath the seat.

“First, put your cell phone on speaker and set it someplace—like in your cup holder,” she said. “It’s against the law in Washington State to be using a handheld mobile device while driving. The last thing you want right now is for a policeman to stop you—bad for you, and extremely bad for your father.”

Adam did what he was told, and set the phone in the cup holder. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Loud and clear,” she said. “Exit the lot, and head east on Twelfth.”

Raindrops splashed on the windshield, and Adam switched on his wipers. He pulled out of the lot and turned down Twelfth. “How’s my father?” he asked nervously. “Is he okay?”

“He’s a little confused right now. He’s been asking for you, Adam.”

He squinted in his rearview mirror. “What do you want from me?”

“We’ll discuss it later, when we reach our destination.”

The dark blue SUV was right behind him once again, but they weren’t too subtle about it this time. There was just a car length between them.

Checking the mirror again, Adam tried to make out who was at the wheel. From the driver’s height and bulk, it looked like a man. Adam could barely see who was in the backseat, but it looked as if the guy was driving two people.

A car horn blared, and all at once, he saw the intersection—and the red traffic light. He slammed on the brake. The car tires screeched, and he came to a stop. The Mini Cooper was on top of the crosswalk lines.

“You need to watch your driving, Adam,” the woman said. “Remember what I told you? The last thing you want is for a policeman to stop you.”

He tried to catch his breath. Clutching the wheel, he glanced down at his jacket on the floor. It had slid out from under the passenger seat when he’d stopped short. He checked the rearview mirror once more. Then he tried to reach for the jacket without being too obvious about it. He took his right hand off the wheel and stretched his arm as far as he could. His fingers grazed the rumpled jacket.

“Adam,” she said calmly. “If you’re looking for your gun, we have it.”

“Jesus, no,” he whispered to himself. He slumped lower in the seat.

“The light’s green,” she said. “Get going.”

Adam did what he was told. He continued down Twelfth. They had his father back there—and they had him. He’d stay on this road until told otherwise.

And all the while, he’d hope to hear that beep again, the incoming call.

At least then he’d know Laurie was still alive.

“How long do you think before the police will start looking for this food truck?” Laurie asked. With a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, she navigated the stop-and-go traffic on the 520 Bridge toward Seattle. She had the wipers on at low speed.

“I figure we have about an hour, maybe even three if no one comes to Gil’s house and wakes up that girl.” Cheryl was in the passenger seat, holding the gun in her lap.

Laurie’s stomach was in knots. She wasn’t used to driving a vehicle this big. And they had an unwilling, unconscious passenger in the truck section.

With Cheryl hissing orders at her, Laurie had helped clean up the kitchen to erase all signs of a struggle. The Pomeranians kept yapping and snapping at them—until Cheryl tossed a couple of dog treats in the front hallway. They’d scurried after the snacks, and then she shut the kitchen door after them. After that, the two dogs scratched at the closed door and yelped nonstop.

With Gil sandwiched between them, his near-lifeless arms wrapped around each of their shoulders, they managed to drag him out to the food truck and hoist him into the back. Cheryl made Laurie put duct tape over his mouth, then tie his hands behind him. Cheryl checked her work, too—to make sure nothing was loose.

Laurie kept looking around for security cameras, hoping someone would see them and call the police.

As she climbed behind the wheel, Laurie furtively reached inside her pants pocket and took out her cell phone. She speed-dialed Adam. She figured she wouldn’t have to say anything. If he got the call, he’d know she was in trouble and come to her rescue. He’d make it at least as far as the gate crossing. She couldn’t imagine Cheryl really hurting anyone—except Gil and possibly herself. Between Adam and the guard, they could put a stop to all this.

But Adam didn’t pick up.

Was it too much to hope that he’d see the missed call, and drive over here? He might beat them to the gate. He just needed some time—and so did she.

Once inside the food truck, Laurie kept stalling—dropping the keys, pretending she didn’t know where anything was on the dash and steering wheel. But Cheryl obviously saw through her strategy. “Get us out of here,” she growled. And Laurie obeyed.

When they finally reached the gate crossing, there was no sign of Adam. The guard opened the gate, and waved them through.

Laurie didn’t know how Gil Garrett was supposed to have orchestrated the Styles-Jordan murders—or why. But something else concerned her as they neared the Seattle side of the floating bridge. “Just where are we going anyway?” she asked.

“I thought you’d figured that out by now,” Cheryl said. “We’re going to the house on Gayler Court, back to the scene of the crime. I want a confession. And what I can’t scare out of him, the ghosts there will. You were right when you picked up on the fact that I’ve been inside that house before, Laurie . . .”

She took her eyes off the road for a second to look at her.

Cheryl nodded. “I was there that night.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-
FOUR

Saturday, July 12, 3:42
P.M.

Seattle

“T
he code is nine-three-zero-seven-six,” Cheryl said.

Leaning out the driver’s window, Laurie punched in the numbers on the keypad—on a post by the entryway. Until now, they hadn’t needed to use the keypad to get past the gates. There had always been other people around—including the security guard parked on the street. But today they were alone here. The tents had been taken down and even the big trucks full of movie equipment were gone. The house was dark.

It was strange to see the place so deserted—after it had been the center of so much activity and attention the past week. The film crew would be back to set things up once again early Monday morning. But both Cheryl and Laurie knew neither one of them would be there to see it—not after today.