Текст книги "She's Not There"

Автор книги: Marla Madison

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

83             

Walking with Phanny on the streets next to Lake Oconomowoc, Lisa contemplated the direction her life had taken. She felt good about putting the families of the missing women at peace, assuring them the murderer wouldn’t be terrorizing any more women. But personally, for her little had changed. Busier than ever with her practice, the publicity caused by the group’s part in the discovery had made them all household names. In an attempt to smooth out the rough edges of her life, she continued seeing Bernstein. Their discussions had progressed from James Wilson to her ineffective relationships. She felt like they were making headway.

At Eric’s request she’d stayed on in his house long after TJ and Shannon had left. It had been comfortable living with him, but little changed between them. They remained friends, nothing more. On the day of Kayla’s memorial service, Kayla’s sister Dawn had clung to Eric, apologizing over and over for not believing in him. Lisa knew all about Kayla’s family, their rejection of Eric and their input to the police, spinning Eric as Kayla’s murderer, even expanding on the most trivial details to cement his conviction.

She couldn’t help but notice Eric and Dawn left the service together, or that he didn’t come home until after midnight. Eric had apparently forgiven the woman. At length.

After a few days of quickly glossed-over phone calls when in Lisa’s presence, she concluded Eric was spending time with Dawn. Not that she could blame him—the woman was striking, a tall, auburn-haired beauty like her sister.

Using Paige’s possible return as an excuse, Lisa moved back home. It would have been awkward to stay with Eric under the circumstances, and she enjoyed being back in her own home.

Lisa and Phanny wound their way back to the house. Lisa looked at it affectionately. Despite her loneliness, her home was her sanctuary.

Later that night, Lisa sat in the screened porch overlooking the lake. A half moon lit the sky while Phanny snored softly at her feet. The trees were just starting to sprout, the cool air smelled of spring, newly mown grass, and fresh earth. She heard the ripples of the shoreline lapping at the rocks.

Lighting up the yard, the glare of headlights interrupted the tranquility of the night. Lisa no longer panicked at the sound of someone approaching and knew she’d come a long way since the days she’d been stalked by a murderer. She stood to see Eric climbing the stairs to the deck.

“Glad you’re still up.”

Dressed in a tuxedo, his tie loosened, his steps weary, Lisa couldn’t imagine where he’d been or why he was here. She opened the door to him and sat back down. “I like to sit out here at night.”

Eric lowered himself into a chair next to her. “I can see why.”

Lisa’s skin tingled at his nearness while she chastised herself for interpreting his arrival so late at night as something romantic. “Would you like something to drink?”

He leaned back in the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, his dark eyes and hair ebony in the moonlight. “No, I’ve had enough to drink. I was at a banquet put on by the hospital where I used to work. They offered me my old job back. I turned them down and it felt great.”

“Did you know before tonight you wouldn’t accept if they offered?”

“Actually, I didn’t. I thought it was what I wanted until it happened. It hit me that I’m satisfied with what I’m doing now. Along with my employees, I’ve turned a dying business around and made it profitable. I think your suggestion was a good one. I’ll do some teaching instead of going back into practice.”

Stunned by his decision, Lisa didn’t know what to say. “Let me get you a cup of tea—I just had some heating up.”

When she handed him the tea, he asked, “What’s new with the case? I haven’t heard anything about it for some time.”

“Then you don’t know about Jamie Denison?” When he raised his brows she said, “Jamie’s body wasn’t one of the women they found at Wilson’s place in Mellen.”

“I didn’t see that one coming. How did TJ take the news?”

Lisa sighed. “Not well, I’m afraid. She’s been trying to convince the Brookfield Police to change Jeff’s cause of death to foul play. Now with this unexpected twist, the Brookfield police will never believe he didn’t kill his wife—and commit suicide.”

“I’ll have to call her. See if there’s anything I can do for her.”

“She’s at Janeen’s.”

Eric put his cup down and reached for Lisa’s hand. The touch of his hand sparked her desire for him.  She felt like a teenager—but he could be preparing to tell her about dating Dawn.

“I want you to come back.”

Sure he’d felt the bolt of electricity that surged through her body at his words, Lisa asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It was starting to feel rather awkward for me to stay with you.” There, she’d let it out.

“Because of Dawn?”

He apparently took her silence as an affirmation. “I did spend some time with her. I think I tried to convince myself that her family really hadn’t thought I’d murdered Kayla, until it finally occurred to me what they thought didn’t matter anymore. There’s nothing between Dawn and me. When you moved out I thought you needed to have some time to yourself.”

He’d twined his fingers with hers, his thumb caressing the palm of her hand. She was speechless with wanting him, but unsure if packing up and moving back at his whim was the right thing for her. And she still hadn’t decided if getting involved with him made any sense without telling him the truth about James—that she’d been the one who’d shot him. The subject had been hashed over at length with Bernstein and TJ without resolution. Lisa remained torn; she wanted Eric to accept her despite what she’d done, but didn’t want to burden him with the truth.

“I’m sorry, Lisa. I can’t expect you to drop everything for me. Think it over. But no matter what you decide about the living arrangements, I want you in my life.”

Filled with hope for a future with him, Lisa knew what she had to do. “Eric, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Eric placed his other hand on top of hers and turned to her. “Lisa, I know who you are. Nothing from the past matters; I want you to know that.”

Lisa felt the first pangs of regret for her act. “It’s something big, Eric. I’ve been struggling with telling you for months.” She felt a lump forming in her throat.

“I know, Lisa. I figured it out a long time ago.” He reached for her and held her as she sobbed.

Epilogu e

 

“It’s too late to say you’re sorry . . .”

 

Dubai, July 4

 

The dealer, an attractive blonde, slid the cards out of the shoe with rapid precision; the young woman had performed the task more times than could be counted. Her brown eyes flashed across the room. She saw him standing at the craps table—her husband—but it couldn’t be. He was dead. Driven with guilt, she saw him everywhere.

Gathering up the cards, she paid the winners and swept out the next hands of blackjack by rote, her thoughts elsewhere. Not on Dubai, the most exciting place she’d ever lived, or the casino life that satisfied her constant craving for excitement, but on what she’d left behind.

When her shift ended, she stepped outside into the white brilliance of the early morning sunshine refracting off the endless, cerulean horizon. Its beauty failed to calm her. She needed a diversion—maybe a visit to the racetrack or a scuba dive could clear her head.

Then she saw him again. Or was it merely a phantom, an apport, a stalking specter of the man she’d been married to? She’d followed the story online: the police’s suspicion her husband had killed her, the group he’d become a part of, the group who searched for a killer of abused women and had themselves been threatened. Followed by Jeff’s suicide. He’d killed himself and it was her fault.

It was time to put it right—admit what she’d done.

Oconomowoc Lake, July 4

Lisa sat on the deck of her house watching Eric’s speedboat fly across the water followed by a skier ensconced amid a frothy wake. Eric and TJ sat in the front while Shannon rode in the back watching as they towed Paige, who showed off with a fancy one-ski slalom. TJ, who’d refused to be left out, had climbed into the boat with the others, ignoring Lisa’s cautions about her advanced pregnancy.

There wasn’t much TJ didn’t do these days; being with child hadn’t changed her lifestyle. Lisa envied her; the woman didn’t seem to be cursed with swollen ankles, a blotchy complexion, or any of the other physical tortures that came with carrying a child. Lisa had had them all.

At about the same time TJ had discovered she was carrying Jeff Denison’s child, she’d learned Jamie Denison’s body hadn’t been one of the women buried in Mellen. She’d accepted the baby into her life, but refused to believe Jeff had harmed his wife—or himself. She insisted Jamie must have run away, either with a lover or to escape what she considered a humdrum life. If anyone disagreed with TJ’s speculations, no one spoke it aloud.

Richard Conlin stepped back into TJ’s life, and surprisingly, became as excited as TJ about the baby. The couple appeared to have moved past the fact of Jeff Denison being the baby’s father.

Lisa and Eric split their days between both of their residences. They’d been spending a lot of time at Lisa’s lake house, weekends mostly, like today, then returning to Eric’s during the week to give Paige, who was back for an undetermined amount of time, an opportunity for some privacy.

After they’d eaten grilled steaks and salmon, and played charades until they couldn’t laugh anymore, the party prepared to take the pontoon out on the lake to watch the fireworks. They’d stocked it with a pitcher of margaritas, sodas, and assorted snacks, and been ready to leave the dock when Lisa remembered she’d forgotten to bring her CDs of patriotic music, a ritual every year during the show.

Lisa ran back into the house and was rifling through a corner cabinet when a phone rang, startling her. She realized it was her work number and couldn’t imagine who’d be calling her at that number on a holiday—her clients called on her cell phone when they had emergencies.

She picked it up. “Lisa Rayburn, can I help you?”

Silence the other end. “Hello? Is someone there?”

It was probably a wrong number.

“Lisa?”

The voice sounded choked with emotion. It must be a patient. There go the fireworks for me. But someone needed her.

“Yes, this is Lisa Rayburn.”

“Lisa . . . it’s me, Jamie. Jamie Denison.”

Unable to mask her shock, Lisa gasped.

“I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

     *  *  *

Also by Marla Madison

TRESPASS

The Detective Kendall Halsrud series

RELATIVE MALICE

ICED MALICE

Contact the author:

Email – [email protected]

Sign up for her mailing list at:

http://marlamadison.blogspot.com

The following pages contain the first two chapters from the sequel to She’s Not There, TRESPASS, starring TJ Peacock and Lisa Rayburn. If you enjoyed She’s Not There, take a look at Trespass!

TRESPASS

 

Prologue

 

Wauwatosa, Wisconsin

11:33 p.m.

Escaping the confines of its closed system, a heavy gas diffused into every corner of Norman Teschler’s basement and slowly began to permeate the upper floor. Natural gas, odorless in its original form, contains the additive mercaptan, which lends it a repugnant odor for early leak detection.

Norman returned from a run, proud of the distance he could still cover after turning seventy. Night running was something he didn’t do often these days, but tonight his head had felt foggy. Unable to focus on his writing, he had taken off into the night for a run along the parkway to clear his head.

Invigorated by the exercise, he stepped out of a hot shower, pulled on a pair of sweats, and headed to the kitchen for a quick snack before getting back to the new chapter. The refrigerator held nothing of great appeal. Since losing his sense of smell, eating didn’t have the same enjoyment it once had. Strange how important the scent of the food was to hunger, a fact he had never given any thought to when he could still be tempted by the mouthwatering odors of things like popcorn, pizza, or a steak on the grill. Most of the foods he ate tasted bland these days.  He grabbed a bag of extra spicy Cheetos and an iced tea, and then returned to his writing.

Three pages into the new chapter, Norman could hardly keep his eyes open; the gas had soundlessly seeped into his study, its sulfurous warning odor useless to Norman’s impaired olfactory sense. He thought his body was sending him a message, telling him it was time to call it a day. He’d had a busy week at the agency and reasoned that his late nights spent writing had taken their toll. He turned off the computer. Tomorrow he would get an early start.

The humidor on his desk, a rare antique of carved oak, held his favorite cigars, Cuban Montecristos. He raised the lid, withdrew one, and then took a seat in his well-aged leather recliner where he picked up a book he had been reading. The smoke had become an end-of-day ritual, one he savored since giving up cigarettes. Enjoying a cigar every night kept him cigarette-free. He reached for his lighter. Norman pushed the recliner back to elevate his feet and realized he barely had the energy for the movement. The chair clicked back into its upright position as he leaned forward. It was never a good idea to smoke in a position so conducive to sleep. Feeling like he had done the safe thing, Norman flicked the lighter.

The gas ignited, instantly destroying the house and all its contents. Giant clouds of brilliant orange edged in tongues of white-hot flame leapt toward the sky.

1             

 

Famous or not, Mancusi was an asshole. TJ Peacock knew it was too late to back out of the gig; she had already been well paid to protect him for three days. But if the slimy bastard didn’t quit eyeballing her breasts, she would pop him. Arlie Mancusi, everyone’s favorite comedian and star of a weekly sitcom that had been running on a prime TV network for nearly ten years, wasn’t making her laugh.

Mancusi had pumped up his personal security while he was in Milwaukee because he had a stalker. TJ studied the photo of the stalker, Carolyn Alberty, an attractive woman who obviously had shitty taste in men. Alberty had recently been acquitted of a stalking charge despite the evidence against her. TJ figured the whole thing could be a publicity stunt. If you’re a big name, any publicity is good publicity.

Mancusi had arrived in town for a sitcom he was guest starring in that featured a Milwaukee locale. TJ, a local PI, had been added to the entertainer’s in-house security staff during Mancusi’s stay. The group was gathered in his suite, discussing the best way to protect him. The head security guy dismissed her. “We’ll stay with Arlie. You scope out the hotel and let me know if you see the bitch hanging around.”

As a licensed private investigator, TJ hadn’t expected to be a token on the coattails of Mancusi’s herd of security beef, but the money was good. There wasn’t much she could do for him as a member of the herd, and the fact that she was the only one designated to lobby patrol reinforced her suspicion that the whole stalker thing was a stunt.

“I’ll get right on it, sport,” she replied.

She moved to the elevators, pulling a wheeled suitcase behind her that bounced in her wake. Dressed like a tourist, she wore jeans, a tank top under a gauzy white shirt tied at the waist, and a small shoulder bag that matched the luggage. There was nowhere to hide her piece in the outfit she wore, not that she would need one for this farce. She wheeled her bag into the gift shop and bought a People magazine she carried with her to a loveseat she found in the lobby where she could keep an eye on the crowd.

She hadn’t even gotten to the article on Jennifer Lopez she wanted to read when she spotted her—Mancusi’s stalker—her dark hair in long, Lady Godiva curls and, like TJ, pulling a small suitcase with a matching bag. She looked about five feet nine in high, platform sandals and wore a slim, chocolate-brown dress that reached her ankles. TJ left the sofa and caught up with Carolyn Alberty as she was about to join the line in front of the registration desk. “Ms. Alberty, step over here a minute. We need to talk.”

Alberty, feigning annoyance, followed TJ to a spot off the lobby in front of a darkened restaurant. Her eyes shifted nervously. “Who are you?”

“I work for Mancusi. You’re in violation of a restraining order. Get arrested again, you could do jail time.”

The stalker studied TJ. “I can’t help it. I love him.”

TJ scoffed. “Yeah? You know what I think? I think you’re full o’ crap.”

Alberty’s perfectly made-up eyes widened. “You don’t have to protect him from me, I’d never hurt him.”

TJ looked her over. Her appearance seemed too showy for a stalker who should be attempting to remain unnoticed. “Tell you what. I’m gonna do you a big favor. I won’t call the cops, but you’re leavin’ town. Next flight out, your ass is back to C-A. I’ll escort you personally and even wave good-bye as your plane lifts off.”

Alberty took a moment to review her options. “All right. But I have to make a call first.” She pulled a cell phone from her purse.

TJ snorted. “You’re a real piece o’ work. You wanna tip off the press an’ get your face on the news tonight, right? Hand over the cell phone. Now.” TJ didn’t give a rat’s ass if the stalker got her moment in the limelight and suspected Mancusi wanted the press coverage. Tough. TJ had already been paid. After she and Alberty arrived at the airport, TJ would give her the frickin’ phone. She just didn’t want a welcoming committee waiting for them.

Pouting, Alberty jammed on a pair of dark glasses and passed over her phone.

At home that night, TJ relived the scene at the airport. She hated being in the spotlight, unlike the stalker who had made the most of every second in front of the cameras.  She hated security work, too, especially when the job felt as ridiculous as this one. Criminal investigation is what she really wanted to do, but she’d given it up when she became a mother. Supposedly temporarily.

Richard Conlin was sleeping soundly in her bedroom. He and TJ had been together for years; the only break in their relationship occurred when she had been on a quest to prove to the Milwaukee police that too many missing women added up to a predator on the loose. The investigation had put a strain on their relationship, a strain that led to her becoming close to Jeff Denison, the husband of one of the missing women. A killer who had made Jeff’s death look like a suicide, murdered him before TJ had even known she was pregnant with Jeff’s child. She would never know what might have happened if Jeff had lived, whether or not their feelings for each other would have ended in a lasting relationship.

She and Richard had gotten back together after Jeff was murdered, and since the baby had come, Richard stayed with them nearly every night, although he had yet to give up his own apartment. He adored one-year-old JR, Jeffrey Richard, named after his biological father and Richard. Richard had insisted on the sequence of the names.

TJ’s home and office were in an old two-story brick duplex off State Street in Milwaukee’s Menomonee River Valley. It was a large building. Her apartment on the second floor had three bedrooms, a kitchen, dining area and living room, and the entire first floor she used as office space. The short street the home sat on ended at a bluff crowned by a wealthy area of Wauwatosa, its aged brick homes regal. TJ sold her condo in downtown Milwaukee after finding out she was pregnant. A high-rise was not the place to raise a child. So far, she was enjoying her new neighborhood.

A Milwaukee detective, Richard had come off a late shift that night and stayed up with her only long enough to watch the ten-o’clock news. They were starting to behave like an old married couple. He hinted around about marriage every now and then, something TJ didn’t even want to think about yet. She loved JR with a passion she never knew possible, but motherhood hadn’t doused her love for investigatory work or her need for independence. Facts she had yet to admit to Richard. Richard felt that TJ should stick to security work during JR’s first few years.

An hour later, TJ gave up on the mundane offerings on TV and headed for the liquor cabinet. A drink would put her to sleep.

The blast hit just as she reached for a shot glass—a blast that felt like a bomb had landed somewhere close by. Her ears popped and the house trembled. The glasses inside the cabinet were still rattling as TJ ran out the front door to see              the night sky above the bluff had turned a brilliant orange. She rushed back inside and tried to wake Richard, who told her in a voice heavy with sleep that they would find out about it in the morning. She should come to bed and get some rest.

Sleep wouldn’t happen anytime soon, not with her heart racing from what she’d seen outside. She checked on JR once more before downing a shot of tequila and leaving the house on foot.