Shadow Creek (39 page)

“I’m the reason he was in that cottage.”

“Maybe initially,” Val reminded her. “Let’s not forget the things Nikki told the police.” Nikki had made a full confession, providing details of all the grisly murders she and Matthew had committed, as well as a full description of her romp with Tyler just prior to his death. “You made an error in judgment,” Val told her daughter now. “Trust me, sweetheart. We’ve all been guilty of that.”

“He didn’t deserve to die, Mom.”

“No, he didn’t.”

A small cry escaped Brianne’s lips. “I ruined your birthday,” she said plaintively, sounding all of ten years old.

Val smiled sadly and squeezed her daughter’s hand. She’d arrange for Brianne to see a therapist when they got back to the city, deciding it was probably a good idea that she go, too. “Let’s just say you made it one we’ll never forget.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” James said.

“Are you guys comfortable enough back there?” Val glanced over her shoulder at James, Melissa, and Jennifer. Melissa nodded; James gave her a thumbs-up; Jennifer looked up and
smiled, then returned to rereading the message that had arrived last night from Evan. Surely she had it memorized by now, Val thought, feeling Jennifer’s disappointment as keenly as if it were her own. After all, it was a feeling she knew well.

Val watched as the Lodge at Shadow Creek receded in her rearview mirror. Another turn and it would be merely a memory, one she could only pray would fade with time. Would it? she wondered, reliving yesterday’s events as if they were still happening, disconnected images flashing before her eyes like a strobe light. Flash: they were running through the woods. Flash: she was holding up Brianne’s mud-encrusted shoe. Flash: they were walking toward the cottage. Flash: they were in the bedroom. Flash: a young man was standing in the doorway.

One second, a blood-caked machete had been pointed at her throat; the next instant, she was emptying a gun into a young man’s chest.

Matthew Stabler, she thought, silently mouthing his name. The police had identified him from the driver’s license they’d found in the back pocket of his jeans, although according to his young accomplice it was a name he rarely used.

Val pictured Nikki in her ill-fitting cotton dress, politely handing her a mug of hot tea. Val could still taste the sedative-laced liquid on her lips. She could still feel the sting of shame in Nikki’s eyes when Matthew called her stupid. She could still hear the thwack of Brianne’s shoe as it hit the girl’s forehead. She could still feel the awful vibrations that traveled up and down her arm as she repeatedly pulled the trigger.

Val pictured Nikki, still dazed and bleeding, as the state police led her away. Her real name was Janet Richardson, they told her later. She was seventeen years old.

Val knew the police still had questions, that the fallout from their ordeal was far from over, and wondered how long
it would be before the story hit the front pages. It wouldn’t be long before reporters and cameras started gathering outside her door. She wondered if Evan had already heard the news.

As if on cue, her cell phone began ringing in her purse. “Well, what do you know? We finally have reception. Can you get that, sweetheart?” she asked Brianne, who immediately began fumbling inside her mother’s bag. “Is it your father?”

“Is it Evan?” Jennifer asked simultaneously.

“It’s Grandma,” Brianne said, unable to disguise the surprise in her voice.

Val took the phone from her daughter’s hand, raised it to her ear. “Mom?”

“Happy birthday, darling,” her mother said. “I know I’m a few days late, but you know what they say—better late than never.”

Val brushed aside the pesky, unvoiced corollary: but better never than too late. “It’s never too late,” she said forcefully.

“So how does it feel to be forty?”

Val laughed. “Actually, pretty damn good.”

“Do you feel any different?”

Val nodded, tears filling her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. “I do, yes. Very different.”

“Well, you’ll always be my little girl.”

“A girl who really misses her mother,” Val said, her words barely audible.

It was her mother who’d taught her that if you don’t ask, you don’t get, her mother who’d counseled her to speak up, and assured her that she could do anything she set her mind to do, that she was not a stupid little girl. If she was indeed as fearless as Gary had claimed, it was in large part because of her mother.

And while Val recognized she might not be able to save her—her mother was ultimately the only person who could
do that—she was no longer prepared to simply give up on her without a fight.

Husbands were notoriously unreliable, she thought, thinking of Evan. Men came and went, she thought, picturing Gary. Mothers were forever.

Was there anything she could say or do to persuade her mother to get the help she needed? And if she refused to get help, could Val possibly learn to accept her for who she was and love her anyway? It had been so easy to just feel sorry for herself, to simply give up on her mother and look the other way.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, darling.”

She decided to contact Al-Anon as soon as she got home.

It would be her birthday present to herself.

JENNIFER LOWERED THE e-mail she’d been reading to her lap and closed her eyes, still seeing the neatly handwritten message the receptionist had given her when they’d arrived back at the lodge. “Mr. Rowe e-mailed first thing this morning,” the receptionist had explained. “Said he couldn’t get through to your cell and that you’d probably be checking in with us for messages. He asked me to give this to you.” She’d smiled as she’d slipped the brief message from Evan into Jennifer’s hand.

So sorry, Jen
, the note read.
By now I’m sure you realize that I won’t be able to join you, and I apologize for being so completely unavailable. You probably thought I disappeared off the face of the earth, but please be assured you were never far from my thoughts, however derelict I’ve been about returning your messages. I know nothing has worked out the way we’d planned, and I hope it hasn’t been too awful for you, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. This
working round the clock is for the birds. The good news is that the deal is almost done. I’m in meetings again all day today, determined to get this thing signed, sealed, and delivered, so you won’t be able to get ahold of me. You might as well relax and enjoy the fresh mountain air, and I’ll see you when you get back to the city later tonight. I love you, Evan
.

Jennifer shook her head.
The good news
, she thought, silently repeating his words, is that you won’t have to tear yourself away from your important meeting to drive all the way up here to identify the various body parts of your daughter, your ex-wife, and your fiancée, assuming you’d know the difference. The good news is that we’re alive. No thanks to you.
That’s
the good news. And I’ve had enough fresh mountain air to last a lifetime, thank you very much. I just want to go home.

She’d call her sister when she got back, Jennifer decided, see if they couldn’t find a way to get back on track, to work together to determine the best way to look after their father. It might not be possible. But then again, it might. At least she had to try.

She reached over the front seat to give Val’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “Let me know if you’d like me to take over for a little while.”

“Thanks. I’m good.” Val smiled into the rearview mirror.

Jennifer returned her smile. “I know you are.”

IT WAS JUST after three o’clock when they reached Manhattan.

“Just a few more blocks,” Jennifer said, directing Val to turn right, then right again. “There. That building over there.” She pointed toward a fifteen-story white brick building on the southwest corner of the tree-lined street. A uniformed doorman stood waiting outside. “Home, sweet home.”

“Mom,” Brianne said as Val watched Jennifer stretch her impossibly long legs toward the pavement, and for once not immediately picturing them wrapped around Evan’s head. “Look. Over there.” She pointed to the other side of the street at a bright orange Mustang parked at least three feet from the curb. “Isn’t that Sasha’s car?”

“It most certainly is,” Val muttered, the pieces of a familiar puzzle suddenly falling into place as Jennifer grabbed her overnight bag from the trunk. “Jennifer, wait.” Val climbed quickly out of the driver’s seat. You prick, she was thinking, her eyes traveling up the building’s white brick exterior. You lying, self-serving, selfish little prick. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

“Is something wrong?”

Val tried to find the words that would keep Jennifer from entering her apartment, that would protect her, keep her safe. Will wonders never cease? she marveled.

“What is it?”

“I just remembered that you left your car at my house.”

“That’s okay. I’ll come by tomorrow to pick it up. Hey,” she said in the next breath, her eyes wandering across the street toward Sasha’s orange car. “Didn’t I see that car at your place the other day?”

Val held her breath.

“It’s Brianne’s friend’s, isn’t it? The pretty blonde from Lululemon.” There was a long pause while the meaning of her words registered on her brain. “Oh, God.”

“It might not be her car,” Val said quickly.

“Yes. I’m sure there are hundreds of bright orange Mustangs in the city.”

“Even if it is hers, it doesn’t mean …”

“Yes, it does.” Jennifer’s eyes glistened with the threat of
tears. “Oh, well. What is it they say? Turnabout’s fair play? I guess it’s no less than I deserve.”

“No,” Val said adamantly. “You deserve so much more. We both do.” Once again she heard echoes of Evan’s seductive murmurings on the phone, the sly hints and vague innuendos. Had any of it meant anything? Or had his words been designed solely to keep her hanging on? Was she his fallback position in case his current deal fell apart?
Hey, you …

Was he really so deliberate? Or was he just easily distracted?

Did it matter?

“I really should get upstairs,” Jennifer was saying. “Wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks.”

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

Jennifer laughed. “Much as I’d love to see the look on Evan’s face, I think it’s best if I go alone.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Absolutely.” Jennifer looked down at the sidewalk. “I’m in control of my feet,” she said, taking a long, deep breath.

“You can call me, you know,” Val told her. “Anytime.”

Jennifer suddenly threw her arms around Val, hugging her tight. They stood locked in this embrace for several seconds, before slowly pulling apart. Jennifer waved a quick goodbye to the others watching, slack-jawed and open-mouthed, from the car, then walked purposefully toward the door the doorman was holding open. Then she turned around and waved again.

“Good luck,” Val whispered, watching her disappear inside the lobby.

“Is it true?” James asked, leaning over the front seat as Val returned to the car. “Has Evan really been holed up here all weekend with Brianne’s friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” Brianne said pointedly.

“And, fortunately, Evan is no longer my problem,” said Val.

“Amen to that,” Melissa said.

“Amen,” echoed James.

“Amen,” Val repeated, pulling the car away from the curb. Then again, because she liked both the finality and the hope inherent in the word, “Amen.”