No One Needs to Know (7 page)

Yesterday, she’d given Paul her two weeks’ notice, asking him to keep quiet about it. She didn’t want it getting around that she was leaving. She’d even stuffed those trash bags in two different dumpsters, so nobody would catch on that her unit was being vacated.

In two weeks, it would be as if she and Joey had disappeared.

She’d wanted to move for a while. But Tad McBride and his brother, Ryder, had helped set things in motion. They were also the reason the move had to be sudden—and secret.

Laurie had hoped to have a job waiting for her when she relocated. Working at Cheryl Wheeler’s Grill Girl food truck in Seattle would have been ideal. Between the dessert she’d sent to Cheryl and dropping her famous godfather’s name, Laurie had figured she’d be a shoo-in for at least a follow-up call or e-mail.

Of course, she didn’t want to admit to Cheryl that “Uncle Gil” Garrett had met her only once—when she was eleven months old. But he really was her godfather. She had a photo of Gil holding her—and a silver spoon with her name engraved on it that he’d sent. Actually, Laurie figured someone on his staff had probably sent the baby spoon to her mother for him. Gil and her grandmother had been high school sweethearts in Boulder, Colorado, back in the early fifties. They’d stayed in touch—even after he’d become a famous Hollywood producer. Gil had agreed to be Laurie’s godfather as a favor to her grandmother. He barely knew Laurie’s mom.

And he barely knew her. But last Christmas, on a lark, she’d sent him and his wife, Shawna Farrell, a batch of her Holiday Spritz cookies. She’d included a Christmas card, telling him that she was Emily Hatch’s granddaughter and his godchild. She’d mentioned that her husband was stationed in Afghanistan, and that her mother had died earlier in the year.

In reply, she’d gotten an expensive-looking Christmas card, perfectly square, the kind that required extra postage.
GIL AND SHAWNA GARRETT
was preprinted under the greeting inside. A note was scribbled below their names:

Thanks for the delicious treats! Happy holidays!

Laurie wasn’t sure if Gil, Shawna, or some secretary handling their fan mail had written the personal note. But at least someone from Gil Garrett’s camp had acknowledged her existence.

So why not drop Gil’s name if it might help her land a job she wanted?

Too bad her timing totally sucked. The day after she’d sent that package to Cheryl Wheeler, the Grill Girl—and Cheryl’s poor coworker—had been blown to smithereens in a freak explosion. Laurie couldn’t help thinking that it might have been her.

Still, she planned to move to Seattle anyway. She had money saved, and also received a nice check every month from Brian’s military insurance policy. She and Joey wouldn’t starve. Once she found a good daycare place for him, she could go out job hunting.

There was nothing for her in Ellensburg anymore, no reason to stay. Most of her and Brian’s college friends had already moved away. The ones who remained seemed uncomfortable around her now that she was a widow. Her only real friends were Krista and Nathan—and the people at the diner.

Yet here she was, sifting through dozens of sympathy cards from the desk’s bottom drawer. Where were these people now?

She couldn’t lug all this stuff to Seattle. She had to be ruthless. She would only save the cards that said something personal about Brian. But she couldn’t actually read the notes, because she didn’t want to start crying. There was no time. She still had a cake in the oven, and she wanted to empty out this desk before she went to bed.

While she narrowed down the cards to a select few, Laurie kept glancing out the living room’s picture window. She couldn’t help feeling on edge. The graduate student who occupied the unit above hers was out of town. He wasn’t the chummiest guy around, but having someone up there at least gave her a sense of security.

But not tonight. She and Joey were all alone.

It had been around this time last week that Tad and Ryder had pulled their surprise visit to the diner. Laurie imagined them returning there tonight, only to find her coworker behind the counter. They’d probably come here next. Every time she looked out the window, she half-expected to see the beat-up minivan in front of the town house.

She’d spotted the minivan in her cul-de-sac twice this past week. She was certain it was Tad and Ryder’s van, too. Last Friday night, it had cruised up and down the block several times, always slowing to a stop in front of her duplex. Joey had been in his playpen at the time. She’d scooped him up, carried him into his room, and put him in bed. He screamed and cried in protest. But she just couldn’t have those creeps looking at him, sizing him up. She was about to call the police when they finally drove away. On Monday night after she’d put Joey to bed, the minivan came back. It switched off its headlights and parked across the street. Laurie could barely make out two silhouettes in the front seat. She thought about shutting the curtains so they couldn’t see her, but then she wouldn’t have been able to see them. After ten excruciating minutes, she couldn’t take it anymore, and finally phoned 911. The vehicle took off before the squad car arrived.

Laurie told the police that someone in an old, silver minivan was stalking her. She knew if either one of the McBride brothers were arrested, they’d probably go public with all the sordid details of her brief affair with Tad. Laurie told herself she was moving; she shouldn’t really care if people knew. But she did. The people who adored Brian didn’t need to know about his wife’s stupid infidelity. So when the police asked her if she knew the minivan’s owner, she lied. “Some customer from the restaurant, I suppose,” she told them. She hoped they’d beef up patrols of the cul-de-sac, and maybe that would discourage Tad and his brother.

She told the police, too, about the dozen or so strange calls to the house at odd hours—all from a blocked number. They weren’t hang-ups either. The person on the other end would wait for her to answer, and then stay on the line, saying nothing. Laurie always hung up first. She kept remembering the one time he’d said something:
“I know you’re alone now.”

She hated having Joey out of her sight. She told the staff at Happy Train Daycare that she had a stalker situation, and that she was worried the person might come after Joey. So they were on their guard. She gave the same story to Krista and Nathan. Krista had a great solution. She simply invited her study group over to Laurie’s those nights she babysat. Laurie fixed them treats, which were a big hit. Still, she couldn’t breathe right until she was home and saw her baby boy was safe.

Laurie had asked her boss and the wait staff to let her know if they happened to spot the banged-up, silver minivan in the Superstar Diner’s lot. She’d chalked up several false alarms last week. But on two occasions, the silver minivan parked in the lot for several minutes, but no one ever got out—until yesterday.

One of the waitresses had given her the heads-up that the vehicle was in their lot. Laurie had already come close to burning a few meals this week because she’d let these alerts distract her. So she tried to stay focused on her work. They were in the middle of a rush, and she had seven sandwiches on the grill, and two dishes in the oven.

“Hey, someone got out of that silver van I told you about,” Laurie’s waitress friend said, passing her with a tray of dirty plates. “She just walked in.
Freak,
party of one . . .”

Laurie stepped away from the grill and glanced out the pass-through window. She saw a lanky young woman with brown dreadlocks. She wore a black tank top and camouflage pants. Her face was studded with piercings, and tattoos covered her skinny arms. There was some strange star-pattern tattoo on the side of her neck. She looked like she hadn’t had a bath in days. With a bizarre grin on her face, she stood by the door, talking to Duncan. She handed something to him, then turned and sashayed out the door.

Laurie figured it was another false alarm, and went back to work. But a few moments later, Duncan came into the kitchen. “Behind!” he announced, clearing his throat. One of the other cooks had once given him a hard time for getting into their work space, and poor Duncan had never forgotten it. “Um, Laurie, I’ve got something for you . . .”

She turned around to see him holding a small sailor boy doll in his hand. It was so dirty and tattered it must have been plucked out of the garbage. A few clumps of its yellow-blond hair were missing. The realistic detail on the doll’s face and its slightly demonic grin made it look more creepy than cute.

“A customer wanted you to have this,” Duncan explained. “She said it was for Joey—from his dad and his uncle . . .”

Laurie ran toward the kitchen’s saloon doors and gaped at the parking lot outside. She caught a glimpse of the silver minivan driving away.

“I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about,” Laurie heard Duncan go on, “because Brian passed on and he didn’t have any family. But the woman said
you’d
know what she was talking about.”

Laurie thought she smelled something burning on the grill, and she rushed back to the stove.

“Don’t you want the doll?” Duncan asked.

“Throw it out,” she snapped, taking the food off the stove. “Please, just—just get rid of it. And you better wash your hands. That thing looks filthy.”

She’d forgotten that Ryder had six friends who lived with him on the McBrides’ small farm outside Cle Elum. According to Tad, these people were like his disciples. “They’re all screwups—runaways, addicts, homeless,” Tad had told her. “Ryder is like their guru. I don’t know how he does it. He seems to know what they want, what they’re afraid of, what makes them tick. Of course, it helps that he gets them drugs—and his guy pals have their pick of any of the girls. Whatever Ryder wants them to do, they do. He calls the shots. They worship him.”

Tad had shared this tidbit with her almost two years ago.

Now Tad and Ryder seemed like a regular team, united in their effort to torment her. She had no idea what had happened to form this unholy bond—and why they’d decided to go after her now. Her pathetic little episode with Tad had lasted a mere two weeks—nearly two years ago. How could he still be angry with her?

She wondered about Ryder’s tribe of followers. Obviously, it wasn’t just Tad and his brother going after her.

Laurie was looking out her living room window when the cake-timer chimed. Getting to her feet, she hurried into the kitchen, then grabbed her oven mitts. She felt a blast of heat as she opened the oven door, and reached in for the cake tins.

As she was pulling out the second cake, the telephone rang. She almost dropped the tin.

Biting her lip, she set down the cake and glanced at the stove clock. It was after ten. She didn’t have to wonder who it was. She reached for the phone, and checked the caller ID: a blocked number. Laurie picked up the receiver, and didn’t say anything. She figured two could play this silent game.

On the other end, she thought she heard traffic in the background. Were they on their way over?

Jennifer Aniston was yelling at someone on the TV. Laurie wondered if they could hear it on the other end of the line. She held on for another few moments until she couldn’t take this standoff any longer.

“Leave me the hell alone,” she finally said into the phone. She hated the quiver in her voice. “I’ve told the police about you. Do you understand me? They know. They’re just waiting for you to make one more stupid move . . .”

She heard a man chuckle.

For a second, Laurie panicked.

The sound wasn’t coming from the phone. It was from inside the house.

She froze. She couldn’t even breathe. She glanced over at Joey’s bedroom door.

She heard it again, and realized the low, guttural snicker was coming from the TV.

Laurie took a deep breath. “Listen to me,” she said into the phone. “If any one of you comes near me and my baby, I swear to God you’ll regret it.”

She clicked off the line.

Her heart was still racing as she made her way into Joey’s room. The mobile of zoo animals swayed gently over his crib. If anyone else had just been in there or near the crib, the motion-sensitive mobile would have been swirling a lot more.

She watched Joey breathe, no cough, no raspy sounds. Then she reached down and tucked his blanket under his chin. He stirred a bit, kicked his little feet, and went back to sleep.

With his brown curly hair and cherub face, he looked just like Brian did in his baby pictures. If Tad saw him, maybe he’d finally acknowledge that Joey wasn’t his. But that wasn’t going to happen. She meant what she’d said.

She wasn’t letting him get anywhere near Joey.

Cle Elum, Washington

“I don’t know about this.” Tad sighed. “I mean, she said she told the police about us.”

“She’s lying,” his brother replied.

Ryder sat at the table in the grimy kitchen of the McBrides’ farmhouse. The old Harvest Gold fridge and the avocado-colored electric range were relics from the seventies. The kitchen smelled of rancid cat food—thanks mostly to the four felines that seemed to own the place. The glass-topped wrought iron table was meant for a patio, but worked fine in this kitchen. It was especially good for snorting cocaine. Ryder was tapping a credit card against the glass as he made two lines of the white powder for his brother. “She’s a lying bitch,” he went on, over the tap-tap-tapping. “She lied when she said she cared about you. She’s been lying to you for the last year and a half about
your
baby. And now she’s lying to you about the cops. Believe me, she’s milking her war widow routine for all it’s worth. She’s not going to admit to the cops or anybody else that she was banging you while her husband got shot at in Afghanistan or wherever the hell he eventually bought it.”

“I guess you’re right,” Tad muttered.

He stood by the sink, which was stacked with dirty, mismatched plates and glasses. He was shirtless. One of Ryder’s girls, Dawn, was behind him. He heard her rip off another piece of duct tape. Then she slapped and pressed it firmly on the right side of his lower back. The tape held a leather sheath to his skin. And inside that sheath was a hunting knife with a sharp, serrated edge.