Kill Her Again (A Thriller) (21 page)

“You wanna walk today?”

“Huh?” Suzie said.

“I got carsick yesterday. I feel like walking.”

Suzie looked around, then shrugged. “Okay.”

They quickly got out of line.

T
HE BUS RIDE
home usually took about ten minutes, but walking was a different story. Carl’s Liquor Store was on the corner of Crestwood and Mill, and whenever they walked, Jillian and Suzie usually stopped there for Pixy Stix.

Jillian’s favorite flavor was lime, but they were out today and she had to settle for grape. It didn’t hit the spot like lime did, but it was better than nothing.

They were coming out of the store, Suzie still blathering on about Big Mountain, when Jillian noticed the car.

It was an old thing, kinda funky-looking, and she was sure it was the same car she’d seen parked outside of school a couple times.

And on her street the other night.

She had been getting ready for bed when she noticed it. Just happened to look out her bathroom window and saw it parked below. There was someone sitting inside, but it was too dark to make him out, and all she could see was an arm dangling out the driver’s window, cigarette in hand.

For a moment Jillian had thought it might be her dad, because he had always smoked cigarettes, but then that didn’t make much sense. Dad had moved to Idaho with his new girlfriend four years ago and didn’t seem all that interested in staying in contact with Jillian. So why would he be parked outside her apartment building?

But whoever it was, Jillian got the sense that he was watching her. And she didn’t like it. It made her feel kinda crawly, like she had spiders inside her blood.

So she made sure that both the window and her curtains were shut, even used a clothespin to seal the gap between the curtains, then promptly tossed off her school uniform and climbed into the shower.

She knew she should have told her mom about the car, but she hadn’t. Every time she thought about it, Craig had been there. Craig was always there.

Now here the car was again. Parked outside Carl’s Liquor Store.

But why? Did he live in the neighborhood?

“That’s it,” she said to Suzie. “That’s the car I told you about.”

Suzie looked at it. “The Rambler?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

Suzie nodded. “My uncle has one just like it. He collects old cars.”

“Does he live around here?”

“He lives in New Jersey, dumbo. You know that.”

“I thought maybe he moved or something,” Jillian said. “Who do you think it belongs to?”

“Probably some hobo. Come on, let’s go.”

But Jillian wasn’t ready to go yet. Curious, she started toward the car.

“What are you doing?” Suzie asked, sounding a little nervous.

“I wanna look inside.”

“What?” She sounded alarmed now.

“Just a quick look,” Jillian said. “I’m not gonna get in or anything.”

“What if somebody catches you?”

“I’ll tell him we thought it was your uncle’s car.”

Moving up to the driver’s window, she took a look inside. The seats had rips in them and the ashtray was hanging open, overflowing with funny-looking cigarette butts. Jillian had never seen yellow cigarettes before.

Then she noticed a crumpled pack lying on the passenger’s seat. It had some kind of foreign language written on it.

There was a locket dangling from the rearview mirror. It looked like it was open, but the reflection from the window made it kinda hard to see, so Jillian bent down a little to get a different angle.

Inside was a photograph. A really old one, from the looks of it. A faded black and white. Jillian had seen pictures like it in her history book, from back when cameras were first invented and everybody stared into them like they were possessed by the Devil or something.

The girl in the photograph looked that way, too. Was probably about fifteen or sixteen, with curly black hair and really big dark eyes. Her skin looked brown, like she’d spent a lot of time in the sun, and she had a shawl on her head.

She was probably one of the most beautiful girls Jillian had ever seen. And there was something
familiar
about her. Like maybe she was somebody Jillian had known once.

The girl looked like a gypsy. At least the gypsies Jillian had seen in the movies. And Jillian wondered if she was the driver’s great-grandma or some other relative, long dead, because if she was still alive, she was bound to be as wrinkly as a sun-dried fig.

Jillian squinted at the photo a moment longer, then stood upright and moved to the rear passenger window. Nothing in the backseat or on the floor except for a crumpled McDonald’s bag that looked like it had been there for weeks. Jillian was about to move on when her attention was drawn to a familiar sight in the back windshield.

That was weird.

Down in the bottom right corner was a Big Mountain parking sticker. One that said: EMPLOYEE.

Craig had one on his car, too. So whoever was driving this old heap worked for the same company that Craig did.

Jillian suddenly got an oogy feeling. Could the driver of the car be Craig himself? She’d never seen him with a cigarette, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a smoker.

But why would he be driving this old hunk of junk? And how could he have been in the car sitting outside her bathroom window when she knew very well that he’d been in the living room with Mom?

No, somebody else drove this car, somebody that worked with Craig.

And then a sudden thought occurred to Jillian.

Could Craig have hired someone to follow her? To watch her? To maybe even . . .

No, that was crazy.

Or was it?

What if Craig wanted Mom all to himself, wanted
them
to be a team, so he could spend night after night on the sofa with her, watching
The Fall Guy
or whatever crummy TV show he felt like watching? Wouldn’t it be nice not to have Jillian around to make a stink about it?

She
knew
there was a reason not to like the guy. Him with his happy smiles and free passes to Big Mountain. Maybe that’s why the place had made her feel so creepy. Maybe whoever he’d hired had been watching her even then.

She tried to think back to the night they’d gone there, trying to remember when she’d first gotten that feeling. Mom and the TV hog were off doing their own thing, while Jillian and Suzie rode the Log Jammers and the Big Mountain Express and just about any other ride they could get on. Craig had given them VIP passes, so they were always able to go to the front of the line without having to have a wheelchair or a cane.

By the time they’d gotten off of their fifth or sixth ride, they had decided to get some cotton candy and sit down for a while. They found a bench across from the Miner’s Magic Mirror Maze, and that, she realized, was when she’d gotten the feeling. The creepy feeling that someone was watching her. Someone inside.

Could it have been the guy from the Rambler?

“Come on, Jillian, let’s
go
,” Suzie said. “Somebody’s gonna come.”

Suddenly feeling creepier than she’d ever felt before, Jillian decided that her friend was right. It was time to go and they’d better go right now. She turned and headed back toward Suzie, grabbing her friend’s hand when she reached her.

She wanted to tell Mom about Craig and the Rambler and about how she thought he might be trying to kill her. And the sooner she did, the better she’d feel.

“Race you home,” she said to Suzie. Then they broke away from each other and ran.

2
6

“
THIS IS RIDICULOUS
,” Jake said.

Pope turned sharply. “You promised not to interrupt.”

“Come on, Danny, are you really falling for this nonsense?”

Pope looked at McBride, but she hadn’t stirred. Although she had been responding to his questions clearly and without hesitation, there seemed to be a part of her that wasn’t even aware he was asking them. In fact, she was so deep into her trance, so immersed in the world of this little girl, that he thought it might be tough to bring her out again.

“I just told her partner to take a hike,” Jake continued. “Maybe it’s time I suggest she do the same thing. You hear me, McBride?”

“Knock it off, Jake.”

“Who does she think she’s kidding? A mysterious car? A gypsy girl? Another goddamn house of mirrors? She’s making this stuff up as she goes—”

“Stop,” Pope said.

And to his surprise, Jake did.

They sat in silence a moment. And in that moment, Pope realized that Jake looked a little rattled. Maybe the rock-solid foundation he’d been standing on all of his life was starting to show a few hairline cracks.

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” Pope said, “and I’ve seen my share of phonies. Believe me, she’s not faking it.”

“And you know that how?”

“Instinct and experience.”

Jake shook his head. “You may be good at what you do, Danny, but you’ve always been too quick to trust people.”

He was right, of course. One of the people Pope had trusted was sitting in jail right now. But that didn’t mean McBride was some kind of con artist. Pope knew, without even the slightest hint of uncertainty, that what she had described to them was no fantasy.

They were beyond recall and imagination now. Way beyond. And despite his cousin’s yearly subscription to Naysayers R Us, Pope was pretty sure Jake knew it, too.

“You’re fighting this too much. Like you’re afraid Santa Claus might exist after all.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Jake said, rising from the sofa. And Pope could see that he wasn’t about to give up without a fight. “Your new girlfriend is either seriously screwed up or she’s playing with our heads something fierce.”

“You don’t believe that,” Pope said.

“No? I can sure put it to the test.”

“How?”

“While you kids continue your little charade, I’m going to my office to do some real police work. Feed Jillian Carpenter into the system, see if I get any hits.” He started for the hallway. “Ten to one, I come up empty.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

When Jake was gone, Pope returned his attention to McBride. The interruption hadn’t fazed her. Not in the slightest. And he wondered how much deeper she might go.

Touching her arm, he said, “Talk to me, Jillian. Tell me where you are.”

T
HEY RAN OUT
of steam near Mercer Street, laughing and out of breath. With each block they’d run, Jillian had started to feel a little better about things, thinking she may have gotten all worked up over nothing.

It wasn’t like Craig was a bad guy. Not really. At least not bad enough to want to kill her. All he was interested in doing was hanging around with Mom—and who could blame him? She was pretty cool.

And who cared if that old car was parked outside of Carl’s? Who cared if it had a sticker from Big Mountain? There were probably a lot of Big Mountain people who lived in the area. They had to live somewhere. And just because she’d seen the car more than once didn’t mean anybody was following her.

Did it?

She and Suzie took their usual shortcut through the alley behind the Mercer Street Laundromat. They were halfway through it when Jillian said, “Do you think Craig would ever try to hurt me?”

Suzie spun around, walking backwards in front of Jillian. She was working on another Pixy Stick. Cherry. “I dunno. I don’t think so. Why?”

Jillian shook her head. “I’m just being stupid.”

“Has he ever tried?”

“No. He’s always nice. Too nice.”

Suzie tilted the Pixy Stick, tapped cherry powder into her mouth, then swallowed. “Then I don’t know what you’re getting all freaked out about. Besides, anybody who can get us free tickets to Big Mountain can’t be all—”

Suzie stopped in her tracks, looking past Jillian’s shoulder, her eyes going wide.

“What?” Jillian said, and turned.

Her stomach dropped as she looked toward the mouth of the alley.

The Rambler was turning in, moving toward them. Slowly. The reflection of the sun on the windshield made it impossible to see the driver’s face, but Jillian could tell that he was wearing a baseball cap. A red baseball cap.

And she knew, instinctively, that this was no accident. He was here for her.

Turning, she grabbed Suzie’s arm. “Run,” she said, and the two took off, hauling it toward the end of the alley.

The car’s engine revved behind them—he was picking up speed—and Jillian poured it on herself, trying to keep hold of Suzie’s arm.

“Come on!” she shouted. “Don’t slow down!”