The Killing Game (29 page)

* * *

Tracy was standing outside her apartment, waiting. She’d driven back home and placed her call. “I’ve got it,” she’d said, hearing how miffed she sounded. She was still in a bad mood from seeing Heidi sitting in her chair.

“Meet me outside. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

“I’m at home,” she told him, though he’d already hung up on her, so obviously he already had that information.

Now she saw a blue Buick sedan pull up to the curb. She peered inside the passenger window as it rolled down.

“What’s this car?” she asked.

“It’s my other one. Get in.”

His high-handedness kind of pissed her off, but she complied, and he raced away with more speed than she’d expected. “Where’s the fire?” she asked.

“I want to take you somewhere.”

“This is new,” she said, not bothering to hide the pout in her voice. Their relationship to date, if that’s what it was, had been a quick meal here and there, nothing fancy, nothing expensive, almost like he thought he was obligated to be nice to her.

“Where’s the key?” he asked, as they headed west on Highway 26, away from Laurelton.

“I’ve got it in my little lockbox.” She patted her purse, which sat on her lap. She knew he wanted her to open it up, but she didn’t feel like it. Let him beg her for it. She liked the idea of that.

They didn’t talk for several miles and she finally said, “You’re not taking me all the way to the beach, are you?”

“What if I am?”

“Don’t be a dick. I’m not going.” Actually, she had nothing to do and the idea of heading out on a lark appealed to her, but for reasons she didn’t fully understand, she didn’t want him to know that . . . yet.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asked, amused. “How’re you gonna stop me?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” He was jollying her out of her bad mood and it was working, and that kind of pissed her off, but it also made her smile.

“So, those policemen who showed up at Sirocco. Who were they? Do you remember their names?”

He was a little too casual and Tracy’s radar antennae rose up. “No. They were two women . . . one of ’em had reddish brown hair, like it was streaked, but it was natural, I’m pretty sure. The other had kinky dark hair.”

He was frowning. “Women?”

“Yeah, women. Both of ’em.”

“Was one of ’em black?”

“No . . . maybe sorta. She looked more Hispanic, maybe? I don’t know. She didn’t talk as much.”

“The auburn-haired one was the one talking?”

“Auburn-haired?”

“Reddish-brown? You don’t know auburn?” He shot her a pitying look, which brought back her bad mood in a rush.

“Well, excuse me for living.”

They were on the outskirts of Quarry, Oregon, which was kind of a podunk town, with one main street and a lot of little rural shacks. Tracy had once dated a guy from there and after meeting his family had thought,
no way
. They were all hicks. To her consternation, he took the turn off to nowheresville.

She groaned. “What’re we doing here?”

“Seeing the sights.”

“There are no sights to see in Quarry,” she grumbled. “Take me home, for the love of God.”

He drove down the main street. Small town USA in spades. Tracy leaned her head against the window and looked out. All she could really see was Heidi’s big blue eyes and her butt slapped onto
her
chair.

“You’ve caused me some trouble,” he said conversationally.

“Huh?”

“You said the policewomen were there to see an agent about the cabin.”

“Yeah, Kitsy.”

“Who?” That seemed to surprise him. “I thought Edie Tindel was the agent.”

“She was the buyer’s agent. Kitsy had the listing. But I don’t think they were there about the cabin. They were detectives, not policewomen. It was something else.”

They’d passed through town and were on the road that led toward the old quarry, the landmark the town was named for. She’d learned way more than anyone should know about the place from her ex-boyfriend, who’d taken her to the plateau above the quarry for a make-out session because it was some kind of lover’s lane. Figured.

“What was it?” His voice was cold.

“I don’t know. Kitsy doesn’t confide in me. I just overheard her talking to some other agents. Something about the street she used to live on.”

“What’s Kitsy’s real name?”

“I don’t know. She goes by Kitsy. What is this, the third degree?”

“What’s her last name?” he asked with extreme patience.

“Hasseldorn.”

“Shit.”

The word expelled through his lips like a bullet. Tracy gave him a sideways look, wondering what the hell was going on with him. “You know her?”

He suddenly jerked the car down a rutted lane that was overgrown and scattered with small tree limbs. Tracy put her hand on the dashboard to brace herself. He made it about a quarter of a mile, then was stopped by a downed tree, its bole about two feet wide.

“You want to go to lover’s lane, it’s the quarry,” she said sarcastically. “And it’s thataway.” She jerked a thumb to indicate the way they’d come.

He suddenly reached over and grabbed her by the hair. She slapped at his hand instinctively. “What the fuck?”

“Who did you tell about the key?”

“No one. God. What do you take me for?”

“The police detectives.”

“No!”

“This Kitsy Hasseldorn?” He shook her head hard. It felt like her hair might rip out at the roots.

“Goddamn you!” she snarled.

He slapped her. So hard it would have snapped her head if he hadn’t been hanging on to it by her hair. She opened her mouth to scream and he slapped her again. Then he was slamming her head into the dashboard. Pain exploded in her head and he slammed her head again and again, until she was crying and ready to pass out.

“What? What?” she burbled.

“We don’t even have time to fuck,” he raged, slamming her head again. “I don’t have time for this. You understand? I’ve got it all worked out and you’re not going to fuck it up!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she apologized between sobs. She didn’t know what she was apologizing for, but she knew it was what he wanted to hear.

“Sorry,” he spat. He slammed her head again, and this time she passed out and knew no more.

* * *

He looked down at her in disgust. What a fucking bitch. And he had hours before it was dark. Damn. She was ruining his game! Yes, there were unexpected twists and turns to the game, but this was too much. What about those detectives? And Mrs. Hasseldorn?

Tracy had to be done with once and for all or she would talk. That was all there was to it. When they found her body at the bottom of the quarry, maybe they would think her death had something to do with that ex-boyfriend from that loser family she’d told him about.

Just as long as there was no blowback on him.

Mrs. Hasseldorn. He remembered her and her exacting husband. He knew just which house they’d lived in on Aurora Lane. He’d heard they’d moved to Schultz Lake, but he knew every family who lived on the water and knew that to be a lie. Maybe they’d planned to once, but it hadn’t come to be.

He put on gloves and reached into her purse, pulling out Tracy’s lockbox. Searching around, he found her keys and the tiny one that opened the box. Inside were more keys. He wasn’t sure which one went to the cabin, so he took them all, half impressed at how many she’d made for herself. It was almost too bad she was such a waste of space because he recognized that she was a little criminal in the making, something he could appreciate.

But today was her last day on earth. So sad. Not part of his particular game, and there was no time to suck the enjoyment out of this particular death. This one was just about expediency.

With that, he pulled the gloves out of his appropriately named glove box, slipped them on, and choked the life out of her.

* * *

Andi sat outside Trini’s apartment, blown away by Luke’s information. She couldn’t make herself move. The news she’d just heard about Mimi had stunned her. Not pregnant.
Not
. Wearing a fake baby bump.

She’d been fooled. Andi had bought into Mimi’s story, hook, line, and sinker.

Luke had called her and given her the information. He’d apologized that he couldn’t give it to her in person, but he had some appointments. She’s been totally okay with hearing it over the phone. What was there to say anyway?

“Carter was right,” she said aloud, still disbelieving.

And Greg. He’d sworn she wasn’t pregnant, although Luke had suggested she might have been once, and that may have given Scott the idea to shake down the Wrens. Maybe she had been pregnant but had miscarried? But something had changed because Scott had stopped asking for DNA and wanted money for an abortion.

An abortion. Red-hot rage shot through Andi as she thought about Mimi sobbing her eyes out, all the while wearing a fake baby bump. Damn her. Damn
them
! She ached inside when she thought of what she’d lost, and though Mimi had possibly been pregnant in the beginning, the whole charade had been performed for her benefit.

And it hurt. A lot.

Andi thought it over some more, then climbed out of her car and paced around the parking lot a bit, before charging up the stairs to Trini’s door. She banged on it angrily, letting out her fury.

No answer.

But Trini was here. She had to be. Andi had spied Trini’s Mini in its designated spot. Parking was hell around here and sometimes Trini Ubered her way to work just to keep poachers away.

Andi frowned. Maybe she had a class now and wasn’t home. Oh God, no. Right now Andi needed a friend. Someone she could confide in. Someone to cry and scream and rage to.

She pounded on the door again, this time so hard her fist hurt. “Come on, come on,” she said under her breath, willing her friend to answer the damned door.

Could Scott Quade be behind the notes? Were they more his style than the Carreras? But why,
why
? Why her?

“Trini?” Andi called loudly and hit the door again. “It’s me!” Under her breath, she said, “God, I hope you’re home. Please be home.”

She’d already tried texting and calling her friend’s cell phone, but there’d been no answer. No surprise. Trini often ignored her phone for hours.

“Damn it all!” Frustrated, Andi walked to the end of the wooden landing and looked over the rail. Trini’s apartment had windows facing west and they were covered with miniblinds that were slanted downward but were partially open, offering tantalizing tiny slits of views inside, but it was hard to make out anything. Leaning over the railing, Andi squinted, peering inside Trini’s living room, but she couldn’t get a full picture. It almost looked like someone was sleeping on the couch . . . or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part.

Once more she pounded on the door.

Once more no one answered.

She thought about her friend and remembered she kept a spare key in a magnetic box inside the wheel of her car. If she went searching around her car, would people wonder what the hell she was up to? Probably.

She dialed her friend’s number again. Trini’s cell went straight to voice mail. “Call me, Trini,” she said. Hung up, then exhaled heavily and sent yet another text: I’m here. At your house!

Still nothing.

“Oooh.” She almost threw her phone in frustration. She so needed to talk to someone. Maybe she should just call Luke back, ask to meet him. She knew he was working, but she didn’t know what that entailed. Was it an all-day thing, or could he knock off early? If he even wanted to, she reminded herself. She was going to see him tonight one way or another, so maybe she should just wait for that.

After a few moments of pacing in front of Trini’s door, she called Trini’s workplace and asked if she had a class.

“Finch?” the guy who’d answered the phone asked. “She blew off two classes already today,” he said, sounding pissed.

“She did?”

“Uh-huh. She’s got another one at four, but I’ve been calling her and there’s been no response. None.”

“I’m a friend of hers. This isn’t like her.” At least not when it came to her job.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, but he wasn’t happy about it. “We’re scrambling around here, trying to get people to cover for her and . . . oh hell, look, if you find her, she’d better be dead, cuz that’s the only excuse I want to hear why she couldn’t call in.” He clicked off.

Now Andi was nonplussed. Trini had blown off two classes and maybe wasn’t going to make a third? That just didn’t compute. Trini was flaky about certain things, but she took her classes very seriously.

She tried to peer through the window again. Was that a person on the couch? Possibly Trini? She wished there was a light on; it was a dark afternoon and the interior of the apartment was darker still.

She gave up and texted Luke.

My friend Trini missed her classes. Not her usual
MO. Kinda weird. I’m at her apartment. Car’s here
but she’s not.

Maybe she was with Bobby, Andi thought. Trini was seeing him last night and they were supposed to all meet up tonight. Could Bobby talk her into missing her classes, though? Without a heads-up to the club?

A whisper of fear lifted the hairs on Andi’s arms. She didn’t like the way the guy at the club had said
she’d better be dead
, even though he’d been joking.

“Finch,” he’d said, identifying her to Andi.

Andi stood stock-still. It hadn’t occurred to her during this whole little bird thing that Trini had a last name that was a bird. Trini and Andi had laughed themselves silly when Trini learned that Greg had asked Andi to marry him.

“Jesus, I never thought we’d both be
birds
,” Trini had said, shaking her head first, then breaking out laughing.

“Birds of a feather stick together,” Andi had responded, and they’d shared a rare moment of hilarity, even though Trini hadn’t really wanted Andi to marry Greg.

It’s too bad when little birds have to die . . .

Andi clenched her teeth. What if something had happened to Trini? Was that too far-fetched to consider? It was crazy. Pointless. But the fear that was filling her veins with ice was very real.