No One Needs to Know (28 page)

Laurie studied her stern profile, and noticed she was trembling a bit.

She glanced around to see if anyone else had caught Cheryl snapping at her. They were all too busy watching Dolly Ingersoll on TV. She remembered what Dolly had said to Cheryl last week:
“You’re not just here to serve up food. You’re after something, I can tell . . .”

Laurie took a step back—to put some distance between her and Cheryl. She knew her boss was lying. But she’d been silenced.

So she stood there in the rain and didn’t say another word.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
ONE

Monday, 3:47
P.M.

L
aurie stopped at the mailboxes just inside the courtyard entrance. In the box marked number 3, she found her first bill to the new address—from Visa. There was also something that looked like junk mail for Maureen Forester. Laurie was too tired to mark it
No longer at this address—Deceased.
Or maybe just writing
Deceased
on the envelope was enough. Whatever, this one was going into recycling. She treaded toward her apartment. The surprise early wake-up call, the ten hours of work, and dealing with Cheryl today had taken their toll on her.

She remembered her mother had once quit a job after only six days. She seriously considered doing the same thing today.

Cheryl had dropped her off at the front gate, because she’d needed to gas up the food truck. Laurie was glad to get the hell away from her for a while. She was still upset over that news report on the copycat killings. She wasn’t mistaken about the man who was murdered. Cheryl was lying—and about something that was deadly serious. Laurie had seen her in the park on Thursday with Dean Holbrook. Cheryl denying it and snapping at her didn’t change the truth one bit. It merely shut Laurie up.

So, for the last two hours, including what seemed like an excruciatingly long drive home, she hadn’t said another word to her boss about the copycat killings. She’d barely said anything at all. She’d remained icily polite to Cheryl. Her boss had punctuated the awkward silence in the truck by mentioning every few minutes something about this week’s menu items or their work schedule. But all the while, Laurie had sensed her anxiety. She’d wanted to tell her:
I understand what a shock this is for you. Someone you know was just murdered—and it’s connected to the movie we’re working on. Or maybe the connection is a lot deeper, only you won’t tell me. I’d help you if I could, but you’re shutting me up and shutting me out. So screw you . . .

Now she knew why Maureen never trusted her. And Dolly Ingersoll sure had Cheryl pegged:
“You’re bad news, I can tell.”
People around Cheryl were dying. Laurie wondered if she was better off taking her chances with Ryder and company in Ellensburg.

She wished there was someone she could talk to. She wasn’t about to call the police. Besides, what could she tell them? She’d seen her boss talking with Dean Holbrook four days before his murder. It was hardly incriminating—just unsettling in the way Cheryl had vehemently denied it.

She didn’t want to get Cheryl into any trouble. Cheryl had given her this break, hired her, and found her a nice place to live. If that wasn’t enough, she remembered how Cheryl had run interference for her with Dolly Ingersoll—and she’d never asked for any explanations.

Inside the apartment, Laurie tossed the mail on a table in the living room and headed upstairs. She peeled off her clothes, which at this point stank of grease and cooked meat. As she stood in the tub under the warm shower, she imagined her predecessor, Maureen, in this exact same spot, washing off the food truck stink, too.

Her hair was still damp when she went three doors down to pick up Joey. She brought a Tupperware container of cookies and brownies for the Cassellas. She paid them to look after Joey, but it wasn’t much.

Tammy met her at the door with Joey in her chubby arms. Laurie heard the TV on in the living room, just around the corner from the vestibule where they stood. She gave Tammy the container of goodies as an apology for dumping Joey on them so early in the morning. Tammy insisted he wasn’t any trouble.

All the while, Joey tugged at the gold locket Tammy wore on a chain around her neck. She was a stout woman with short, layered gray-auburn hair. “Well, we almost got it on video,” Tammy said, handing Joey off to her. “He took a step and a half today.”

“Oh, no, and I missed it!” Laurie moaned. Not being there for so many of Joey’s little milestones broke her heart. And right now, having him kick and fuss as she took him from the sitter didn’t help her disposition any either.

“How was your day?” Tammy asked.

“Not terrific,” Laurie replied. She figured Tammy didn’t expect a long answer to her polite question. But Laurie couldn’t help it. “You know, I have to tell you,” she said, gently bouncing Joey in her arms so he’d quiet down. “I’ve been working alongside Cheryl for over a week now, and—well, I like her, but she’s hard to get to know. I keep wondering if it’s just me. You were friends with Maureen. How did she and Cheryl get along?”

Tammy gave an awkward shrug. “Well, we don’t know Cheryl very well either. Then again, she’s always terribly busy. I think when Maureen first started working with her she was in the same boat as you are now. In fact, when Cheryl moved in across the courtyard, Maureen asked Hank and me to let her know if she acted peculiar in any way. I remember thinking that was an odd request—especially since Maureen was responsible for her getting the apartment . . .”

Laurie kept rocking Joey in her arms. She thought about how Maureen had warned Vincent not to get too close to Cheryl. It certainly was odd that she’d bring someone into the apartment complex—and then caution the neighbors about her. Why would she do that? The only thing Laurie could think of was silly—a line from one of Brian’s favorite movies,
The Godfather II:
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“Do you . . .” Laurie hesitated. “Do you think Maureen might have wanted Cheryl as a neighbor so she could keep an eye on her or something?”

Tammy let out a puzzled laugh. “You got me. But that’s an interesting question. I think they got to be better friends as time passed. Just earlier this month, I mentioned as much to Maureen. She said it was funny I should bring that up, because she’d recently found out something about Cheryl which made the two of them
almost like family.
I don’t know what it was, but—”

“Laurie, are you still here?” Hank called from the living room—over the TV noise.

“Hi, Hank,” she called. “Thanks so much for rescuing us this morning—”

“Get in here,” he said. “I think you’re on TV!”

Laurie balked. A twinge of panic tugged at her stomach. She held Joey a little tighter as she followed Tammy into the living room. Hank Cassella sat in his recliner with both feet up. He wore plaid shorts and a gray sports shirt that matched the color of his receding hair. An ice pack rested on one knee. “Sorry I can’t get up,” he said. The big flat-screen TV was reflecting off his glasses and he held the remote in his hand. The image on the screen was frozen—and slightly blurry. The Hooper Anarchists were putting on their show for the cameras in front of the house on Gayler Court. The CNN logo was in the right bottom corner of the screen.

“I think I just spotted you on your movie set,” Hank explained. He pressed the remote, and the image on the big screen went into reverse. Laurie saw him skip by a shot of the house. “Here it is,” he said. The image froze, and then went to normal speed again with a lingering look at the “murder house.” Huddled under their umbrellas, she and Danny stood in the driveway. The shot was just close enough and lasted just long enough for Hank to recognize her—Hank and anyone else who might be looking for her.

“Isn’t that you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing hard.

“Did you see Mommy on TV?” Tammy asked Joey in a cheery, excited tone.

“Sit down, take a load off,” Hank said. “This is running right now on CNN. Let’s see if they show you again . . .”

But Laurie remained standing. She rocked Joey in her arms and stared at the TV.

“. . . a production plagued with protests and catastrophes,”
Dolly Ingersoll announced.
“And today, on the anniversary of the slayings . . .”

It wasn’t the same broadcast from a couple of hours ago. Dolly must have updated it—and procured from someone else the footage shot during the demonstration.

“Look at those creeps,” Hank said. On-screen, the protestors were confronting police. “They won’t even show their faces, so you know they’ve come to make trouble . . .”

“Honey, please, we’re trying to watch this,” Tammy said.

The picture switched to a shot of a stately brick house—with squad cars and onlookers outside the big gate in front.
“Here, in this beautiful home, in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in Seattle, Dean and Joyce Holbrook were brutally slain . . .”

“That’s Washington Park,” Hank said. “It’s barely a mile away . . .”

“I’m double locking our doors tonight,” Tammy murmured.

“. . . found Joyce’s bloodied nightgown hanging from the front gate,” Dolly continued. “Inside the house, on a turntable in Dean Holbrook’s study was Dirk Jordan’s LP ‘Immortal,’ just as forty-four years ago, police found the same record album on the stereo in the living room where Dirk, Elaina, and their baby boy’s nanny were murdered.”
The image on-screen switched to the same shot Laurie had seen earlier—of Dean and Joyce Holbrook dressed to the nines at a social function.
“Most horrific of all similarities was what the copycat killer—or killers—did to Joyce Holbrook. Like Elaina Styles, her neck was broken, and her head turned completely around . . .”

“I wouldn’t have thought the police would allow her to give out all these details,” Hank remarked.

“We should turn this off,” Tammy said. “This can’t be good stimulation for the baby . . .”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, he doesn’t understand,” Hank retorted. “Besides, I want to see if they show Laurie again.”

At the moment, they showed the brother, trying to dodge Dolly as he entered a building. It was the same footage Laurie had seen a couple of hours ago. She winced at his blood-smeared shirt.
“The bodies were discovered by Holbrook’s brother, Adam, a local artist, who lives in the basement apartment of their home,”
Dolly went on.
“Adam Holbrook told police that loud music and screams woke him some time after two o’clock this morning. I tried to speak with him here outside Evergreen Manor, where he came to break the disturbing, tragic news to his father, a resident at the retirement facility . . .”

“You can tell Dolly’s had work done,” Tammy commented.

But Laurie wasn’t listening. She was trying to remember where she’d heard the name Evergreen Manor before. Was it from Cheryl?

On the screen, Dolly stood with a handheld mic in front of the house on Gayler Court. “The Seattle Police are currently following leads, but they’re without a suspect in this morning’s brutal copycat slaying. Meanwhile, here at the actual Styles-Jordan murder house, the cameras continue to roll for the film
7/7/70
on this forty-fourth anniversary of the slayings. This is Dolly Ingersoll reporting . . .”

“Thank you for that special report, Dolly,”
the handsome anchorman said.
“I understand you’re writing a book about the murders of Elaina Styles and Dirk Jordan. . .”

The picture switched back to Dolly, still in front of the Gayler Court house. There was obviously a slight delay in the feed, because she just stared blankly at the camera for a moment, before replying:
“Yes, Tyler, my book, ‘Slain Star, The Elaina Styles Story,’ will be out this fall, months before the film release of ‘7/7/70.’ It’s a serious piece of investigative journalism, and some might say a real departure for me. But I promise you, my book will rip the lid off the Styles-Jordan murder case. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if police reopen the case and some arrests are made. Of course, there will also be exclusive coverage of the movie-in-the-making, and this disturbing new development today with the copycat killings.”

The anchorman came back on the screen.
“That was CNN correspondent Dolly Ingersoll in Seattle,”
he said.
“In Phoenix this morning, a deadly five car pileup—”

“Well, I guess they won’t show you again, at least not until they rerun this in a couple of hours,” Hank said, putting the TV on mute.

Laurie was barely listening to him. She was still thinking about Evergreen Manor. Cheryl had talked about the place. It was after the chicken wraps dinner that night when Cheryl had gotten pretty tipsy: “
You don’t happen to have relatives with any pull at Evergreen Manor, do you? It’s kind of a rest home. I’m trying to get a gig with them, too . . .”

Was that the reason for the meeting with Dean Holbrook in the park on Thursday? Maybe she was asking for his help in getting her a catering gig at the rest home where his father resided. Or was it something more than that? It had to be. Why else would she so hotly deny ever talking to him?

“Laurie?” Tammy said.

She turned to her and blinked. Joey let out a tired, hungry cry.

“You left us for a little while there,” Tammy laughed.

“Oh, I’m just a bit battle-fatigued from work,” she said, rocking Joey again. “I should scoot. Thanks for letting me drop off Joey so early today. It should be the regular time tomorrow.” She worked up a smile for Hank. “Thanks for letting me know about my TV debut.”

“Want us to DVR it next time it comes on?” he asked.

“No, but thanks anyway.” She nuzzled Joey’s cheek. “Wave good night to Hank and Tammy, sweetie,” she said.

He obliged her, and the older couple made a big deal out of saying good-bye to him. He kept waving at Tammy as she walked them to the door and handed Laurie her baby bag full of supplies.