Never Smile at Strangers (24 page)

“ERICA, PLEASE GET back in the car,” Rachel shouted from the driver’s seat, but her voice was competing with the downpour.

She was parked on a long, dirt driveway. Up ahead was a small white house. The porch light was off, but an interior light shone from inside and she could see shadows in the front room.

Lightning struck revealing an old car on concrete blocks and, behind it, a shed. The night became dark again, and she began to feel even more ill at ease. She shouldn’t have let Erica talk her into stopping. She should have driven directly to the station.

Erica had jumped out of the car as soon as Rachel had slowed down and now she was talking to someone in the yard. But through the dense shower, Rachel couldn’t make out who it was.

She looked up in the sky to see if there was a full moon. . . because nothing was making sense. And to think just that morning she was having a nice, quiet breakfast in Phoenix with her mother.

She thought of the broken window. Tom somewhere without his keys, car or wallet. The man she and Kelsey had seen in their yard. Tiffany Perron and now Sarah Greene. The mysterious body that both Guitreaux and Erica had alluded to. Could Tom really be a murderer? She had no idea. After all, she was a horrible judge of character.

She studied the shadows inside and wondered if one belonged to someone, aside from Tom, who could be responsible for the killings.

She dialed, trying the sheriff again. And again, the detective. “Pick up your damn phones!” she shrieked.

Erica and the person she was talking to stopped talking and turned her way.

Guitreaux had told her to stay put. Stay put, her ass! She needed to go to the police station and figure out if something had happened to Tom. But then she’d intercepted Erica and she, too, had talked about a body. This mysterious body. Oh, no. Could it possibly be—?

Her cell phone rang. Her hands trembling, she fumbled for the power button. “Hello?”

It was Guitreaux. In the span of 30 seconds, she filled him in on what Erica had told her and where they were.

“Get her back in the vehicle and drive away. I don’t care where you go, but get the hell off that property,” he barked. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

She tossed the phone on the passenger seat. “Erica!” she shouted. She opened the driver’s door and hurried out into the rain.

Not until she was upon the girls, did she realize who the other one was. Haley Landry. Mac’s ex-girlfriend.

Haley stared at her.

“Girls, get in the truck. Detective’s orders,” Rachel said, shielding her eyes from the driving rain.

“Guitreaux?” Erica exclaimed. “Did you—”

Rachel interrupted, “I’ll explain in the car. Let’s go.”

As the three ran toward the SUV, a deafening crack of sound split the night air.

***

THE THREE TURNED toward the house.

Rachel gasped. “Oh, my God.”

“Was that a. . . gunshot?” Haley cried.

Screams erupted from inside the house. Haley and Erica raced to the porch and stopped short at the steps. There was more screaming. Feral cries that forced Haley to cover her ears.

She slowly climbed the porch steps, then peered in the window. Seacrest was hunched over on the floor, her head bowed. A cheap-looking painting had been blown off of a wall. Blood was everywhere. The wall, the carpet. It matted Seacrest’s hair and glistened against the side of her face.

“Austin, no!” Seacrest wailed. “Oh God! I don’t have anyone else! Don’t you understand? Don’t leave me. Pleeeeease! I was telling you
the truth
!”

Haley looked down and could see Seacrest’s bare, bloodied legs. Then she saw what was left of Austin’s head in her lap and vomited.

ALL NIGHT AND into the morning hours, Weston was alive with local, state, and federal law enforcement, reporters and their crews.

Going on no sleep, and her adrenaline fading, Haley stood at the edge of the Seacrests’ property, breathing in the damp morning odors. It was nine o’clock, about twelve hours after Austin’s suicide. She hadn’t left the property since the previous night. Neither had Erica, who now sat next to her, writing furiously in a notebook.

Half of Grand Trespass had shown up. Everyone peered from the property line at the east side of the Seacrests’ house, hoping, but too far away, to get a glimpse of the excavation that was taking place in the pond.

Detective Guitreaux had told Haley and Erica to go home a countless number of times. But when they’d refused, he gave them blankets, and told them they could nap in his car until there was more news.

Instead of napping, though, they poured fourth cups of coffee and sat cross-legged at the entrance of the woods, a few yards from the pond, the blankets tight across their chilled bodies.

The sky broke every now and then, a light drizzle falling, thumping against the leaves of the tall oak trees, soaking the blankets, but Haley just sat next to her friend, her lips pressed too hard against the Styrofoam cup.

They hadn’t talked much since the evening before. They only spoke when they had to, to the authorities, and to their families who had shown up an hour before dawn. Becky and Haley’s mother were standing near Rachel, Pamela, and Erica’s father on the side of the small house. There was a policeman standing guard, keeping the spectators at bay.

Haley was still in complete shock at what had happened, and at what was happening now right before her eyes. So shocked she wasn’t even completely sure what kind of news she was waiting for.

But when one of the four divers pulled out the first corpse, dread slammed into her body, and she wished for miles of scorching pavement or a grove of anthills to escape in.

When the body was safely on the embankment and the plastic bag encasing it had been sliced open, the sheriff called out: “It’s a man!”

Mrs. Perron, who stood next to her husband a few yards away from Haley and Erica, began wailing. Haley supposed it was from relief.

She stood and squinted to get a better look at the body, but she was too far away and didn’t dare walk closer to the overgrown pond. She couldn’t risk one of the FBI agents forcing her to leave. Not before she knew whether or not Tiffany was in the water.

“Haley.”

It was Mac. He stepped out of the woods and took the wet blanket from around her shoulders and draped a jacket in its place.

Haley started to sob.

“Shhh. . .” Mac whispered, enveloping her in his strong arms. She breathed in his familiar scent and suddenly felt much safer. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

“Here are two more!” a diver on the far side of the pond called out.

Haley turned back to the pond. Mrs. Perron’s howls pierced the air again, and her husband grabbed her by the shoulders. Then, he and a police officer led her away. She kicked and screamed, but in the end they won out.

“Lord Almighty,” the sheriff said, making the sign of the cross. “Another one.”

Ten minutes later, while Mac held her close, Haley watched as they pulled the second and third bodies from the water. She was nauseated.

A few minutes later, they sliced open the first lawn bag. “It’s in really bad shape,” she heard the Sheriff say. “But there’s no way this can be the Perron or Greene girl. This is the body of an older woman, and the decay is much too progressive for their timelines.”

“Any women besides the Perron or Greene girl go missing around here in the last several years?” Guitreaux asked.

The Sheriff shook his head. “Not that have been reported.” He knelt down, so that he was closer. “Well, lookie here. A backpack.”

A backpack had been thrown in the bag with the body. The Sheriff muttered something about initials embroidered on the backpack’s front flap. Then, he read them aloud.

Suddenly, Erica shrieked and her notebook tumbled to the ground. Her voice trembled as she shouted: “What? What did you just say?”

“Erica?” Haley said, reaching out to her friend. “Erica, what’s wrong? What’s. . . going on?”

Erica glanced at her, her eyes wide, but she said nothing. The girl shuffled stiffly past Haley, toward the pond. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the body and backpack so no one yelled at her to leave. She kicked off her flip flops, bent and turned one over. The left one. Then she straightened and walked closer to the water’s edge.

She started weeping.

“What the hell?” Mac muttered.

Startled, Haley watched her friend bend over again and plant her palms against her knees. Haley hurried over to her.

“Miss, you can’t be out here right now,” the female FBI agent said, finally noticing Erica. Erica gazed into the female FBI agent’s face, her lips set in a thin line and tears rolling down her cheeks. Then her attention went back to the pond.

The agent touched the girl’s shoulder. “C’mon with me, Miss Duvall.”

Erica shrieked and pulled away.

Suddenly, Erica’s father was at her side. He brushed the agent away and pulled his daughter into his arms. “It’s okay, hon. At least we know now. It’s all going to be just fine. We’ll get through this.”

Haley’s head was swimming. Austin, the pond, the decaying bodies lying next to each other at its edge, Mrs. Perron screaming at the top of her lungs, Mac being his old self once again, Erica reacting so oddly. . . everything was just too much, and became a blur to her. This wasn’t reality. It couldn’t be.

Then she heard it. It came from the sheriff.

They had sliced the third bag open. “Looks like her. The Perron girl. Heaven help that poor bastard.”

Rachel walked from room to room, her footsteps echoing through the empty house. She still couldn’t wrap her head around everything that had happened. She dug in her pocket for another tissue and blotted her cheeks and eyes. Then she headed downstairs.

Although the house was empty, it looked so much smaller than it had just six weeks ago. Smaller and entirely different. Like they’d never lived there at all.

She walked to the kitchen and ran her finger along the wall by the backdoor where, for years, she’d measured her children’s heights. Although it had been long ago, it only felt like yesterday when Kelsey had been small enough to hold in her arms. Only yesterday when Tom still fawned over her.

She thought of the young man who had taken so much from her family. From the town. Of his sickness and the strange fascination he seemed to have had with her.

Why me?
she wondered for the millionth time. “And why. . . kill Tom?”

But she knew why. He’d outlined it all in the letter, part of a package addressed to her that the authorities found in the Seacrests’ mailbox the night of his suicide. It contained her gold bracelet, strands of hair, and a note confessing that he had been inside her house, had borrowed her belongings, and was very sorry. That he wasn’t well and had finally come to the conclusion that he never would be.

It had made total sense to him. Protect her and her honor by killing her cheating husband. He’d been sick alright. Just thinking about him sent chills up her spine.

The kids were still struggling to come to terms with Tom’s death. Especially little Tommy. His father had been his world. Unfortunately, along with Tom’s death had come a newfound hatred in Tommy’s heart for Rachel.

She didn’t understand it. It hadn’t been her fault. Besides, she’d lost someone, too. Someone who had once meant everything to her.

But Tommy was a child. One day he’d understand that none of it had been her fault. At least she
hoped
he would.

That morning, Rachel had said goodbye to Erica. The two promised to keep in touch and somehow Rachel knew that they would. A bond had formed that stormy night six weeks earlier. A bond that felt strangely of one between a mother and a daughter. Like the one she and Kelsey were rebuilding. A bond that would last a lifetime.

Grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter, Rachel walked to the mouth of the foyer and took one last look back. She wiped her nose, turned, and walked forward and out the front door.

***

ERICA SET HER pen down and leaned back on the bed. Since the night at the pond, she’d completely immersed herself in finishing her novel in order to not completely break down. It was however loosely based on the tragic events of the summer.

Saying goodbye to her mother as she had been laid to rest in the cemetery on Whiskey Road was the toughest thing she had ever had to do. But, although she was hurting worse than ever, she also felt a little relieved. Something inside of her had always told her that her mother hadn’t made it to New York. A little voice that she had ignored. . . out of necessity.

She was also forced to say goodbye to Rachel just that morning. Her teacher had taken care of family affairs in town and was now off to Phoenix to start a new life with her children. She’d miss her. The woman genuinely cared about her.
Believed
in her. That warmth and belief were the only things that made life manageable these days.

Before that summer she felt she had no one. Just a burning desire to reconnect with her mother. And now she had Haley and Rachel and strangely enough even. . .

There was a knock on the door.

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Yeah?”

Pamela’s voice. “May I come in,
cher
?”

She watched the door slowly inch open. Pamela came in and sat on the bed. “You okay today?”

“Um, what do you think?” Erica murmured.

Pamela patted her knee. “Well, then, I think you should go.”

Erica’s brow furrowed. “Go?”
What? Was she trying to kick her out of her father’s house?

“To New York.”

Erica was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, hasn’t that been your plan all along?”

Erica eyed the woman. “How did you know?”

Pamela got up and went to the Heineken bottle that Erica had been using as a bank for her New York City fund. She tapped at the masking tape Erica had stuck to the neck. On it in black marker, read:
New York City
.

Pamela winked. “I told you I was observant, didn’t I? See, Pamela watches. I’ve got a keen sense for these things. I’ll never be a worldly one, but God did give me that.”

Tears rolled down Erica’s cheeks. Tears she vowed no one would ever get to see.

Show them your weakness. . .

But she didn’t care anymore. “I just don’t understand. She never did anything bad to
anyone
.”

Pamela sat back down and patted her on the shoulder. “Maybe she got too close to something,
cher
. That’s what yore father seems to think anyway.”

Erica blinked through her tears. “How would
he
know?”

“He knew she was writing a mystery book about this town and that she was talkin’ to some people, including that Dariah Thibodeaux.
Especially
Dariah Thibodeaux. See, yore mama, she had a keen sense for things, too. And, like you, she loved them woods. Yore daddy thinks that the book had something to do with what Dariah was doing to all the men she was laying up with. Too bad we’ll never know for sure. Her manuscript was in that backpack.”

Erica was shocked that her mother would divulge such information to her father. “How would
he
know about the book? They never even talked!”

Pamela thought about this for a moment. “Memories from childhood aren’t always accurate, baby girl. I’m sure yore parents had
some
good times. I’m sure they talked more than you think.”

Well, maybe.

Pamela reached into her back pocket and handed an envelope to Erica.

“What’s this?” Erica sniffed.

“Something to help you out while yore gettin’ on your feet in New York.” She pointed to the Heineken bottle. “That money of yours isn’t goin’ to carry you too far, I‘m afraid.”

Erica opened it reluctantly and saw a sticky note with a name and number on it and a bunch of 100-dollar bills. “Where’d you get all this money?”

“Just somethin’ I had tucked away. My needs are cheap. Always have been. And I was waitin’ to put this to good use. Can’t think of a better one than helping you to git a fresh start. Call that number there and ask for Mitchell. He’s a good friend of mine. He’ll give you a job and a temporary place to stay in the city.”

“But she’s not
in
New York. Don’t you understand that? That’s the
whole
reason I was going.”

Pamela shook her head. “That’s not true,
cher
. You see, she
is
. She’s much more in New York than she was in that old murky pond in Weston. Or in the ground out there on Whiskey Road. You know that. That was just her shell. New York. . . that’s where her heart is. Her dreams, her passion. And that’s exactly where yours are, too. Now you take that book of yours to New York and you start fresh. Find a new job, meet people who are more like you and make a happy life for yourself. And if you find that you don’t like it out there, feel at peace that you always have a home here.”

Erica shook her head. “No, I have to find out what happened to my mom.”

“There are plenty of folks doing that, just as we speak. Doin’ much more than you’ll be able to do. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and make sure to ring you up any time there’s new information.”

Pamela was right. . . about it all.

It was scary.

Erica glanced at the money again. “Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer of anything else. Well, except for yore daddy, of course,” she grinned. “And speakin’ of him, one day you’ll find out that there’s more to him than what you see now. I know he didn’t always treat yore mama decent, but you have to give people the benefit of the doubt that they can change. And I know in my heart that he has. He loves you more than anything, although I know he’s terrible at showin’ it.”

The next thing Erica did surprised Pamela. She reached out and hugged the blonde bimbo who was sitting on her bed. She hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”

Pamela’s laugh was warm. Genuine. “Yore more than welcome. My fingers are crossed that you git that book of yours published. Never seen anyone work so hard on somethin’ my whole life.”

And for the first time that summer, Erica smiled at her.

***

THE MEMORY OF Austin still haunted Haley and she imagined it always would. His broken head in Seacrest’s lap as she screamed for him, blood pooling around her bare olive thighs.

Many of the same opportunists who had appeared at Charles’s funeral and several authorities, local, state, and the FBI, showed up for Austin’s. But they merely came and went. In their eyes, he wasn’t worth paying the respect.

Allie Seacrest hadn’t shown. She disappeared just minutes after the shooting and no one had seen her since. There was an APB out on her. And nearly every man from Grand Trespass to Carencro had searched for her those first few days after Austin’s suicide. There were several questions left that only she could answer.

Haley now understood that it was Austin that Tiffany had had the crush on. Why hadn’t she put two and two together before? Austin was handsome and as far as she was concerned, unavailable, the way Tiffany liked them.

And the two worked together, for God’s sake.

But Austin had been cunning. He’d shown up on time at Luke’s for every shift; he had been a model employee and very well-liked, although not as well-known as some would have thought. No one knew who he really was, or just how sick he had been.

Until it had been too late.

Haley shivered thinking about being in his truck. Austin and his good manners. His wholesome, crooked smile that had warmed her heart too many times. The man she’d had a countless number of intimate dreams about.

He’d been Tiffany’s murderer. And not just Tiffany’s.

After the Seacrests’ pond had been drained, thirteen bodies in all had been found. According to the sheriff and the press, most of the murders had taken place a decade earlier. Three truck drivers, a former Winn-Dixie cashier, five yet-to-be identified men, Austin’s mother, Dariah Thibodaux; Erica’s mother, Norah Duvall; Sarah Greene and Chris Hebert were all found in varying states of decomposition in the pond. The body that Guitreaux and Erica had discovered in the woods had been identified by Rachel as Tom Anderson’s.

The FBI was investigating the multiple homicides and there was still yellow crime scene tape up at the Seacrest property. There would be for a long time.

Haley pulled her last suitcase out the front door and let the screen door snap in place behind her.

The morning was crisp and clean. Comforting. A fresh start. Haley let go of the suitcase and pulled her cardigan tighter across her body.

“You all packed and ready, baby?” her mother asked. She was sitting in a rocking chair, sipping coffee.

“Yeah.” Haley let go of her suitcase and sat next to her.

Haley was heading to Lafayette to check into her new dorm room. She was finally starting school. Getting out of Grand Trespass.

A baby wailed from one of the houses across the bayou and Haley thought again of all of the blood in that living room. There had been so much.

Her mother’s warm fingers stroked Haley’s cheek. “Remember how strong you are. Stronger than any of us. You’ll always come out on top. You just remember that.”

Haley nodded. Another vision lingered in her head. Erica wrapped in that wet blanket, shivering, blinking the cold rain from her eyes. It seemed as though she’d instantly known that it was her mother they’d pulled up. The initials embroidered across the front of the backpack was just a confirmation. Her mother hadn’t left her in the middle of the night for New York City ten years ago after all. For some reason, she’d been murdered and discarded in the Seacrests’ pond.

Aside from her mother’s funeral, Erica had refused to see anyone, even Haley, the first four weeks after that night. “Sorry, she don’t want to see anybody just yet,” Pamela would tell her at the front door. “Not even you, I’m afraid. But soon. Hopefully, soon.”

And when Haley was finally able to see her, it was as though she was looking at a different girl. Erica’s mannerisms were softer. She seemed less angry. Somehow, more at peace. Haley would have thought the opposite to be true after all that happened. But that year she’d seen it all and didn’t think she could be shocked again by
anything
.

She looked at her mother. Someone who was also making a fresh start. She and Becky finally had their mom back. She was alive again, not off and on, but
all
the time. She was almost the same as she had been before the accident, but not quite.

She smoked now and her personality was still a little
off
, but Haley was convinced that she’d be okay. At least, as okay as any of them would ever be. “I’m so glad to have you back, Mama,” she whispered.

Her mother patted her hand.

A truck pulled into the drive and Haley glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock, on the dot. Dependable, as always.

“Good luck. Not that you’ll need it,” her mother said.

“Thanks, Mama,” Haley said, kissing her mother on the cheek.

The screen door creaked and Becky stepped out, her eyes heavy with sleep. “You going now?”

Haley nodded.

“But you’ll be back on the weekends, right?”

“Yep, each and every one.”

Haley said her goodbyes, then rolled her suitcases up the drive to meet Mac. She was relieved that Mac was just Mac. . . and that he always had been. He hadn’t been a stranger after all.

The boy with the crooked smile, the one she’d fawned over and decided she could trust. . .
he’d
been the stranger. She was just thankful that she and her family were okay. And that finally, she could separate herself from the town and begin working on the person she was meant to become. She’d needed that for so long.