Almost Dead (5 page)

CHAPTER 11

Two o’clock Thursday, while Lizzy taught her defense class downtown, Kitally and Hayley continued the search for any clue that might lead them to the daughter Pam Middleton gave up twenty-five years ago.

“I think I found the man who adopted Mrs. Middleton’s baby,” Hayley told Kitally. “Dan Blatt of Rocklin, California. He’s fifty, which would be the age of the man we’re looking for. He works at Ramsland Realty.” Hayley stood. “Let’s go.”

Kitally raised a brow. “Why not just give him a call?”

“People are more apt to give out information if we talk to them face-to-face.”

“You don’t think he’ll tell us where his daughter is living?”

“Not over the phone.”

“Maybe she still lives at home.”

“If so, we’ll find out. Let’s go.”

“Can we take my car?” Kitally asked.

“You have a problem with my Chevy? The vehicle that almost gave its life rescuing you from the slimy clutches of that creep Dow?”

“The vehicle that almost took my life, you mean! You could’ve launched me through the back window with that heap of metal.”

“That’s gratitude for you,” Hayley muttered.

Kitally shrugged. “I seriously think it’s time for you to put that thing to rest.”

“Come on—let’s go,” Hayley urged. “This has taken too much time as it is.”

“Should we leave Lizzy a note?”

“No. She’ll call if she needs us.”

“Do you think Lizzy will be OK?”

“I know she will be.”

“There must be something we can do for her,” Kitally said.

“We’re doing it. We just need to give her space.”

It was quiet for a bit before Kitally changed the subject and asked, “When we see Mr. Blatt, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll know what to say when I see him.”

Twenty minutes later, Hayley and Kitally walked in and then right out of Ramsland Realty after they were told Dan Blatt sometimes worked from home. Today was one of those days.

“Let’s take a ride to his house,” Hayley said. She looked at her notes and then punched his home address into the navigation system on her cell. “It’s less than ten miles from here.”

Dan Blatt’s white stucco house looked like every other house on the block: two-car garage, front window, shutters, a small square of newly mowed front lawn, and a stone pathway leading to the door.

Hayley rang the doorbell.

The woman who answered was all dressed up: charcoal pencil skirt, white blouse, and black heels. Her head was angled as she worked at putting on an earring.

“My name is Hayley Hansen, and this is Kitally. We’re looking for Dan Blatt.”

“I’m his wife.” Finished with the earring, she straightened for a better look at who was standing at her door. “What’s this about?”

“We’re looking for Dan Blatt’s daughter.”

“Sorry, girls. You have the wrong Dan Blatt. We don’t have any children.”

A heavyset man with a bald head and a bird’s nest of a mustache came to the door. “What’s going on?”

“These girls are looking for the daughter of Dan Blatt. I told them they had the wrong man.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Kitally said before turning to head for the car.

Hayley looked into the bald man’s eyes. “Did you adopt a little girl twenty-five years ago?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked at his wife.

“I told you—we never had children,” the woman repeated.

“Is your name Barbara?” Hayley asked.

The woman frowned. “That was the name of Dan’s first wife, but she passed away a few years before Dan and I met.”

“Who exactly are you looking for?” Dan asked Hayley, obviously shaken up, nervous. “Do you have a name?”

“We were hired by Pam Middleton to find the daughter she gave up twenty-five years ago. It was a closed adoption, but Mrs. Middleton saw the names Dan and Barbara Blatt in the file at her attorney’s office.”

“I don’t think I can help you,” Mr. Blatt said, his face pale, his eyes downcast as he reached past his wife for the door, clearly ready to get rid of them.

Kitally was back at Hayley’s side. “Mr. Blatt,” she said flatly. “Your adopted daughter has a biological sister. She’s sixteen and she has leukemia. There’s a real possibility she’ll die unless she can find a match. Your daughter might be her only hope for survival. Are you sure you can’t help us?”

His wife’s face was pinched, her body stiff. “Dan, what’s going on?”

He sighed as he rubbed the top of his head. “Barbara and I adopted a little girl. We named her Debra. Four years later, Barbara was dead.” His head bowed. “I was grief-stricken. So was Debra.”

Debra Blatt. They finally had a name. Hayley was about to ask about Debra, but his wife saved her the trouble.

“What happened to your daughter? Where is she?”

“I called the adoption agency and told them I couldn’t take care of a child on my own.” Dan Blatt’s gaze caught Hayley’s. His jowls shook as he said, “I couldn’t even take care of myself.”

“They took her back?” his wife asked him. “Can they do that?”

“No,” he answered. “It’s complicated. Barbara’s mother took Debra, and I haven’t seen her since.”

Hayley’s stomach churned. Just one more misplaced kid. It never ceased to amaze her. People treated children worse than dogs. The child no longer suited his lifestyle, so he gave her away—decided to let someone else deal with her?
Unbelievable.
“You gave your four-year-old daughter away without—”

Kitally stepped in front of Hayley, cutting her off. “Please, Mr. Blatt. Can you give us information about Barbara’s mother—tell us where we can find her? We need to talk to her as soon as possible.”

“Of course he will,” his wife said. “You girls stay here. I’ll be right back.” She shut the door. Through the decorative glass, they watched her usher Dan back into the main part of the house until they couldn’t see either of them.

“Sorry about that,” Kitally said. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I didn’t think ripping the man apart was going to get us the answers we need.”

“People like Mr. Blatt need to grow a fucking pair. Who does he think he is? The only person in the world who’s had someone die? Jesus.” Hayley turned around and headed down the path. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

As she had done every day since the shooting, Lizzy walked into the hospital room at Sutter General and sat in a chair pulled up close to the bed. She clasped her hand around Jared’s fingers and proceeded to talk about whatever came to mind. “I miss you.” She paused. “Did I tell you that I’m living with Kitally and Hayley?” She forced a laugh. “I couldn’t live with Cathy and Richard for another moment,” she told him. “You’re probably wondering why I moved in with my sister to begin with. It was a stupid idea, I know.” She paused, smiled at Jared, then leaned closer and brushed the back of her hand over his cheek.

He looked so peaceful.

“Open your eyes, Jared. Talk to me.”

She watched him. Waited.

“Squeeze my finger so I know you’re here with me.”

Nothing.

A nurse came in. She checked Jared’s vital signs, wrote down numbers on his chart. “He looks good,” she said in a cheerful voice that grated on Lizzy’s nerves. “It says here that Dr. Calloway wants to speak with you.”

Lizzy stared at Jared, willing him to wake up, praying for a miracle.

“Did you hear what I said?” the nurse asked.

“No.”

“Dr. Calloway would like to talk to you.”

Lizzy looked up at the nurse, then followed her gaze, which was directed at the door. She was surprised to see Jared’s sister, Lynn, standing there.

Lizzy stood and gathered her coat from the back of the chair.

“You don’t have to leave,” Lynn said.

“I’m afraid I must. I’ll come back later.”

Lynn stepped into the room and released a long, drawn-out breath. “I realize my father never warmed up to you, Lizzy, but surely you understand why he’s fighting you on this. Jared is his only son. The two of you weren’t even married—”

“Jared signed an advanced directive,” Lizzy said calmly. “This was Jared’s decision. Not mine. He did not take any of this lightly.”

“But you’re not family.”

Lizzy stiffened. “When was the last time you called your brother?”

Silence.

“Exactly. Why don’t you ask your mother and father the same question. The three of you didn’t even have the decency to call Jared after wedding invitations were sent out. And yet you can stand here now and tell me you know what’s right for a man you haven’t seen in years?”

Lynn shook her head. “You don’t know about our family, Lizzy. You certainly can’t judge us.”

“Too late for that.”

Lynn narrowed her eyes, then heaved another sigh. “Jared always had a blind eye when it came to you.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“He had the whole world at his feet. He could have done so much, gone so far, but you probably have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“Why don’t you tell me.”

“Before you came back into his life, Jared was gearing up to go into politics.”

Lizzy snorted. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true. Ask Jimmy Martin if you don’t believe me.”

Lizzy inwardly counted to three. “Even if it were true, what’s your point, Lynn?”

“The moment you came back into my little brother’s life, I knew Jared’s future would be a dark one. We all knew.”

That blow landed, but Lizzy didn’t let on, just lifted her chin a notch. “You’re all so selfish. You don’t give a damn about Jared’s wishes. This is all about
you
. This is about
you
and your parents wanting power and control over Jared, something you all never had while he was growing up.” Lizzy raised her hands in frustration. “I get it now. I know why Jared picked me to make this horrible decision . . . He knew I loved him and that I would put his wishes before mine. He also knew his family would always put themselves first.”

Lynn closed the distance between them and slapped Lizzy’s cheek. Lizzy could’ve stopped her—could’ve done a lot of things—but she let it happen, maybe even welcomed it.

Lynn stepped back and put a hand to her mouth, seemingly stunned by her actions. Then she whirled about and left the room as quickly as she’d come.

After turning back to Jared, Lizzy fixed his hair, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

When she looked up, she saw the same nurse still standing on the other side of the bed. The scene she’d just witnessed was more than likely going to give her a lot to talk about at the nurses’ station. Lizzy looked at her and said, “Do you think you could give him a sponge bath?”

“That was taken care of this morning. It’s right here on—”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“What about Dr. Calloway? He did ask me to—”

“Please tell him I’ll have to talk to him some other time. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Lizzy walked out of the room before the nurse could protest further. Lizzy wasn’t ready to hear what Dr. Calloway had to say. Jared’s family would probably be surprised if they knew that they weren’t the only ones clinging to the irrational idea that Jared could still somehow pull out of this.

CHAPTER 12

Jenny Pickett pulled into the garage, closed the roll-down door, then took the long way around the side of her house to gather the mail. On her way up the walkway, she took a good long look at the house she’d bought two years ago and even found herself looking at it in a new light. It was small, but it had a lot of potential. The house could use a new coat of paint. She’d never had a green thumb, but for some reason she thought it might be time to hire a landscaper, too—clean the place up a bit. Maybe plant some roses or a couple of nice-smelling camellia bushes.

She inserted her key and opened the door. Two weeks after killing Brandon, it seemed to her she was morphing into a whole new person. She was learning to break away from the same old routine. She held her head high at work and made eye contact with coworkers. She had even dared to join another table of people in the cafeteria during her lunch break today. Although she didn’t say much, nobody had seemed to give it a second thought, nor did they appear to be put off by her existence. One of them, Dwayne Roth, even smiled at her and took her tray from the table when she finished eating.

Jenny left the pile of mail on her desk, and then changed into comfortable clothes before walking back to the kitchen. In celebration of the changes she’d made, she set the table, complete with a crystal glass, candles, and a cloth napkin. When dinner was ready, she admired the table setting, then turned on the television and rolled the TV table to a place where she could watch the news while she ate. Before sitting down, she went to her office to get her list.

Brandon Louis

Terri Kramer

Stephen White

Debi Murray

Gavin Murdock

Rachel Elliott

Melony Reed

Ron Jennings

Louise Penderfor

Mindy Graft

Aubrey Singleton

Claire Moss

Chelsea Webster

Dean Newman

Gary Perdue

She sat up taller when she heard the Channel 3 anchorman say Stephen White’s name. That was fast! Apparently Stephen barbecued more often than she’d dared hope.

“The thirty-one-year-old Auburn man is dead, and three others were also injured after a quantity of gunpowder exploded at Oakhaven at approximately 8:30 p.m. last night.”

Access to the property was blocked, but a Detective Quincy said the incident was most likely a “freak” accident. “Just friends getting together for a barbecue,” he said.

“We believe Stephen White was killed instantly. He was pronounced dead at 8:45 p.m.”

Jenny couldn’t believe it. Her idea had worked.

Even back in high school, everyone had known that Stephen was an avid gun collector. He used to brag about his and his father’s collection of muskets and what skilled muzzleloader marksmen they were. A ridiculous passion, but Jenny felt certain it wasn’t something he’d give up.

She was right.

After learning where Stephen lived, it was easy enough to make some flyers about Christian life and then dress up in a short black wig with bangs that swept over one eye. She’d done her homework and she already knew Stephen was in construction and was working on a remodel in Granite Bay. After knocking on his front door and getting no answer, she pretended to be looking for the occupant of the house and walked around to the back. She didn’t even have to break in. There, in an unsecured shed—Stephen was no brighter now than he’d ever been—she found shelves loaded with bags of gunpowder. She made quick work of setting up the barbecue using her own mixture of the stuff and nitroglycerine.

The only thing she’d left to chance was the timing. She had no idea when Stephen White would use his barbecue next, especially since summertime was months away. She hadn’t been sure if Stephen had children, and the idea of harming an innocent child had weighed heavily on her mind.

You were innocent once. Nobody worried about you. Don’t be an idiot.

She continued to listen to the anchorman. Investigators had spent the day talking to neighbors and family members who were inside the house when the explosion occurred. Investigators were analyzing gunpowder from the scene, confused by the rarity of such an odd event ever occurring.

Jenny picked up the knife and fork in front of her and took a bite of perfectly cooked chicken, chewing as she listened to the rest of the report.

Three of Stephen’s friends had minor injuries, but they would be OK. Bully for them. She had no intention of hurting anyone who was not on her list. But accidents did happen and could not always be avoided.

Stephen was dead. She set her fork down, picked up the pen, and drew a straight black line through his name.

Her thoughts turned to Terri Kramer. She still hadn’t seen anything on the news about her death. It was a little annoying. Surely word would’ve gotten out if her body had been discovered.

Let her rot.

Jenny shrugged. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt for whatever evidence she might’ve left behind to degrade a bit.

As she looked over her list, she took another bite of savory chicken, making sure to chew at least twenty-five times before swallowing.

Rachel Elliott was up next on her list.

What about Debi Murray and Gavin Murdock? Why are their names crossed off the list?

“Where have you been? Easy smeasy.” The minute Jenny had discovered that Debi drove an old car, she’d parked next to Debi’s heap in the lot at her workplace, then pretended to be fixing a tire when really she was cutting into Debi’s brake line. Just a small leak, mind you. Although Jenny wasn’t sure if the idea was based on old Hollywood fantasy, she figured it was worth a shot. The accident was in the paper the other day. The poor woman had taken the highway home and went right over the side of the road. Died instantly.

Clever.

To say the least
, Jenny thought. As for Gavin Murdock, he was a football coach for a bunch of peewee third graders. Built up a whale of a thirst, she noticed, and wasn’t too careful about where he set down his Gatorade. Next game, she’d swapped his for one laced with antifreeze. Terrible thing. First he’d seemed drunk on the sweet stuff. Really made quite a scene. Parents were already shepherding their precious boys away from him when he started vomiting. And then the heart failure. She’d read his obituary the other morning. The paper had been gentle about it, glossing over his obvious drinking problem and focusing on the heart attack angle. “Doesn’t get much easier than that,” she said with a smile.

Don’t get cocky. You still have Rachel to worry about.

According to Rachel’s Facebook page, she liked to run after work. Jenny had already driven through Rachel’s Folsom neighborhood on three different occasions and confirmed that this wasn’t just Facebook showboating. Rachel was serious about her exercise. Every night, like clockwork, she exited her house and then jogged past her neighbors’ homes before turning off a private trail that led to Folsom Lake.

Jenny sipped her water and tried to come up with another perfect murder.

There’s no such thing. You’re not exactly a criminal mastermind.

True. She was new at this. Fingerprints used to be the big deal. A murderer who didn’t use gloves was an idiot. Now she had other things to worry about, like tire tracks, ballistics, mobile phones, blood, hair; you name it. Most criminals got caught because they didn’t strategize. Bodies turned up eventually, which was why she planned to make sure Brandon’s body decayed at a rapid pace. She usually had dinner with her parents once a month. Next time she visited, she intended to take some lime. Dead animal burials on the farm used to be covered with hydrated lime for pathogen reduction. With all the rain that was expected in the coming days, she worried that Brandon’s body might eventually float to the surface. She also needed to worry about rats, coyotes, and dogs carrying off a foot or a bone.

Brandon is old news. What about Rachel? What are you going to do, trip her while she’s running?

She swallowed another bite of chicken and nearly choked from excitement. Trip her! That’s exactly what she would do. She would make a spear, a wood spear—plenty of them, just to be sure. She would rub the ends with aconite, also known as monkshood or wolfsbane. Back in the day, before the nineteenth century,
Aconitum napellus
was thought to have some toxicological importance. In her line of work, research chemists often used the plant for drug testing and treatment, regardless of the fact that there were much safer herbs and medicines to experiment with.

She could barely contain her excitement.

Rachel usually took her runs right before dark. There were plenty of trees on both sides of the trail. Jenny could tie a vine, camouflaged by nature, from one tree to the other. Rachel would trip and fall on the poisonous tips of tiny wooden spears protruding from the soil.

She had her work cut out for her, but Brandon was right. Standing up for herself was the best thing she’d ever done. Sure, she’d experienced misgivings at first, but that was in the past. She’d come to terms with what needed to be done. She was sleeping better than ever, refreshed, ready to begin each new day. For the first time in her life, she was finally taking control. And she liked it.

Out of the corner of her eye, a picture on the television screen caught her attention. Her next breath hitched in her throat.
Oh, my God!
They finally found her.

Terri Kramer, famed research chemist, found dead.

Jenny stopped laughing when the news station showed the video, then showed it again. A woman crossing the street near Terri Kramer’s apartment building. The ten seconds of video was out of focus, but there was no mistaking the red wig and pleated skirt.

You dumb bitch.

The newscaster asked anyone who might recognize the woman shown in the video to call in. Then they plastered a 1-800 number across the screen. Following the announcement was a prerecorded video of the crime scene: cop cars, a dozen of them, yellow crime tape across Apartment 32B, and a body bag brought out on a stretcher and lifted into an ambulance.

Only two cameras, huh? How stupid could you be?

Deflated, Jenny took her plate and glass to the kitchen, dumped the food into the garbage, and then put on a pair of rubber gloves and began to scrub.