No One Needs to Know (30 page)

Laurie shifted Joey from one hip to the other. Brenda wasn’t kidding about not having any interest in kids. It was rare that Laurie talked with another woman for any length of time without the other woman asking to hold Joey. At the moment, he seemed fascinated with Brenda’s cat, yawning and stretching on the chair. He pointed at it and jabbered away in baby talk.

“Do you know how Maureen and Cheryl met?” Laurie asked over his chatter.

Brenda nodded. “Maureen started going to Cheryl’s food truck for lunch. She became a regular, and started suggesting recipes . . .”

“Did she work nearby?”

Brenda considered it for a moment, and then let out a little laugh. “As a matter of fact, she didn’t. I think the food truck was over near Second and Pike at the time. And Maureen was working in the bakery at Whole Foods near South Lake Union. That’s quite a hike, almost a mile away.”

Laurie wondered why Maureen would go that far to wait in line at a food truck when her workplace offered a huge variety of delicious ready-to-eat foods, which she probably got at a discount. It made no sense, unless Maureen had an ulterior motive.

She rocked Joey in her arms, and he quieted down. “Did Maureen ever say anything to you about wanting to switch jobs?”

“No. Until Cheryl offered her the job at Grill Girl, I thought she was pretty happy at Whole Foods.”

“Did Maureen ever share with you any—
discoveries
she’d made about Cheryl?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, according to Tammy Cassella, Maureen said she’d found out something about Cheryl that made the two of them
almost like family.
Do you know anything about that?”

“First I’ve heard of it.” With a sigh, Brenda moved from the sofa arm to stub out her cigarette. For an ashtray she used a plate with a half-eaten taco on it. “So, how are things on the movie? Is Shane White as gorgeous in person as he is on the screen?”

“He’s very handsome,” Laurie answered, working up a smile, “and nice, too, very down-to-earth. But then, I’ve only waited on him twice.”

“What’s the deal with all those creepy Trent Hooper disciples? That would totally freak me out to have them hanging around my workplace. Aren’t you afraid some of them will figure out where you live? I mean, they could easily follow the food truck here . . .”

Laurie winced a little, and held Joey tighter. “I really hadn’t considered that.”

“Well, I for one am bolting my door tonight,” Brenda said. The cat leapt down from the chair and up to the sofa. Brenda picked him up and stroked him. “Thank God I have Mr. Darcy to protect me. Did you hear about the copycat murders just down the hill from here? I wouldn’t be surprised if those Trent Hooper followers are behind it. Did you see the house on TV?”

Laurie nodded soberly.

“Their front gate, where they found that woman’s bloody nightgown, it’s just like ours. Did you notice?”

“No, I hadn’t,” she murmured.

“Speaking of things that are kind of scary,” Brenda said. “I have a confession. You’re going to think I’m horrible. But Vincent gives me the creeps sometimes. I mean, it’s kind of bizarre, because he’s actually pretty cute, but then he opens his mouth and starts talking . . .”

“I think he’s very nice,” Laurie said, hoping to shut her up.

“Now, don’t get all offended. I’m just saying, at times I’ll come around a corner or I’ll step inside the gate—and he’s right there, almost as if he’s waiting for me. And then he’ll smile, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I’ve never seen the inside of his apartment. I can’t help imagining what it’s like in there. I know it sounds crazy, but every once in a while, I wonder if he’s faking the whole Boo Radley routine.”

“I don’t think he’s faking,” Laurie said coolly. She shifted Joey around so he was astride her other hip. “Well, I asked for a couple of minutes and we’ve stayed much longer than that. We should get going.”

“You know, we should work out a signal,” Brenda said. “Our living rooms and bedrooms are right beside each other. If one of us is in trouble, we should knock four times on the wall. What do you think?”

Laurie nodded. “Knock four times, sounds like a plan . . .”

“One more time than the Tony Orlando song,” Brenda said.

Laurie just nodded again and turned toward the door. “Wave good-bye, Joey,” she said.

Brenda didn’t move from the sofa arm; so Laurie let herself out.

She didn’t like Brenda very much. There was a tiny, irritating grain of truth to what she’d said about Vincent. But for Laurie, the strangeness was only there because she didn’t really know him yet. So far, he seemed like a sweet man. After all, on his first visit, he’d brought her an African violet plant, now on her kitchen windowsill. He was a hell of a lot more neighborly than Brenda.

Vincent had stopped by again on Saturday. Laurie had forgotten that she’d told him he could meet Joey then, but Vincent had remembered. The visit had lasted a mere fifteen minutes. They’d sat in the kitchen, and he’d watched Joey eat his lunch of chicken roll, cheese, and peeled, cut-up fruit. Laurie had offered Vincent a glass of milk and couple of leftover lemon bars, which he devoured. He’d spent most of the time talking about his job at the Safeway. Before leaving, he’d mentioned coming by again the following day. Laurie had felt guilty putting him off, but she’d suggested he wait until later in the week. She’d seen he was a bit crestfallen. But she just didn’t want to get into a situation where Vincent—or anyone else—felt free to drop in every day.

In that sense, she didn’t feel much more neighborly than Brenda.

Back inside her apartment, with her door double locked, she started to get Joey’s turkey and carrots dinner cooked and chopped. But all the while, she was haunted by what Brenda had said about the Hooper Anarchists—and their possible role in the copycat killings. The CNN coverage reminded her that she’d stood there in the driveway of the Gayler Court house in plain sight of that group. She hadn’t seen any of their faces—thanks to their scarves and ski masks.

What if Ryder and his tribe had been among them?

Once she had Joey fed and parked in his playpen in front of a DVR’d
Sesame Street
episode, Laurie phoned Don Eberhard in Ellensburg. He picked up after three rings: “Hello?”

Since moving to Seattle, Laurie had a new cell phone with a blocked number. Eberhard was the only one who had her phone number, but it still didn’t come up on his caller ID whenever she called him. “Hi, Detective Eberhard, it’s Laurie,” she said.

“Hey, Laurie, how are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess,” she said, competing a bit with Cookie Monster on TV. She was sitting at one end of the sofa. “I hope I didn’t get you during your dinner . . .”

“Nope, I was just getting in my car to head home,” he said. “I haven’t even started the engine yet, so your timing’s perfect. Say, you’ve certainly had a lot going on there in Seattle—between the protests on your film set and those copycat killings . . .”

“Yes, it’s pretty disturbing,” she said. “And I’m the one who came here to get away from trouble.”

“From the frying pan, right into the fire,” he said. “How are you coping? You really okay?”

“Well, actually I’m worried, because CNN showed a brief glimpse of me at the movie set today. It was during a report on the copycat murders. So much for my keeping a low profile . . .”

“Was that the report Dolly Ingersoll did?” he asked.

“Yes, did you see me? It was near the beginning of the report. I was standing in the driveway with an umbrella. I was talking to someone . . .”

“Yeah, we had that on the break room TV. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you didn’t see me. That’s good. I was worried Ryder or one of his cronies might have seen that report and recognized me.”

“Well, I didn’t, and I knew you were working on that set. So I don’t think you have anything to be concerned about.”

“Thanks, that’s what I needed to hear,” she said. Maybe it was just a fluke that her neighbor, Hank, spotted her. But she still wondered about the mob of masked protesters on the film set. “Ah, listen, do you know if Ryder is still there in Ellensburg?”

“As of this morning he was,” Eberhard answered. “In fact, I was going to call you. We picked him up for questioning. Someone set fire to your old townhouse last night.”

For a moment, Laurie was dumbstruck. “My God,” she finally murmured. “Was—was anyone hurt? My neighbors a couple of doors down, Krista and Nathan Aronson, do you know if they’re all right . . .”

“No reported injuries,” Eberhard said. “We questioned McBride, and he had an alibi. But that doesn’t mean one of his followers didn’t torch the place. Anyway, Ryder was making all sorts of protests about police harassment. We had to let him go.”

“What about the restaurant?” Laurie asked anxiously. “Is everyone there okay? Have you heard anything?”

“Well, they had a strange thing happen there on Friday morning. Your boss went to open up the place at five-thirty, and he found a dead raccoon in front of the door. Someone had shot it. I don’t know if it was a calling card from McBride or just a prank by some kids with nothing better to do.”

Laurie’s money was on Tad’s son-of-a-bitch brother.

“Anyway, I’m pretty certain Ryder and his gang still have no idea where you are,” Detective Eberhard assured her. “Outside of me, there’s just one other guy on the force who knows you’re in Seattle, and he’s keeping it under his hat. You haven’t told anyone. So I think you and your little boy are safe there as long as you don’t make any more TV appearances.”

Laurie studied Joey sitting in his playpen, staring through the bars at
Sesame Street.

“Thank you, Detective Eberhard,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Don Eberhard replied.

He was still parked in front of the police station in his white Chevy Impala. People could tell at a glance it was an unmarked police car. They didn’t have to peek inside at all the technical apparatus attached to the dashboard to figure it out. Whenever he merged onto the highway, most other cars around him would slow down. His unmarked car didn’t fool anybody.

He phoned his wife, Gretchen, and asked if she needed anything while he was downtown. They lived about fifteen minutes away—in the “boonies,” Gretchen liked to say. The drive always seemed longer, because a long stretch of it went through acres of apple orchards. At night, the road was just blackness for miles, but then he’d take a turn and pull into their little development—with a dozen big, beautiful new homes. During the day, they had a view of the orchards and the Stuart Mountain Range. Gretchen and their daughter, Erin, were a bit isolated out there. But he’d never worried about their safety—until recently, when he started making an enemy of Ryder McBride.

Gretchen reported that she didn’t need a thing, and they were having spaghetti for dinner tonight.

Don started the car, cracked a window, and backed out of his parking spot. As he headed down Main Street, he was thinking that he hadn’t had a cigarette in over two weeks. According to what he’d read online, he was supposed to be feeling more energetic and less edgy from withdrawal. But his cigarette while driving home from work had always been one of the best of the day—and he still missed it terribly.

He was so busy fighting his craving that he didn’t notice—until several blocks down Main—that a silver minivan was following him. It was two cars behind him—just far enough back that he couldn’t tell whether or not it was Ryder’s Town & Country.

He kept checking in his rearview mirror for the next four blocks, and finally pulled over in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken. He waited for the minivan to pass, but it turned right at the cross street before the restaurant. Don didn’t get a good look, but he was pretty sure it was Ryder’s beat-up Town & Country.

Hunched close to the wheel, he pulled back onto Main Street and headed for the edge of town. He kept an eye on the rearview mirror. The last thing he wanted to do was lead Ryder and his friends out to the house.

As he got close to the orchards, the damn minivan showed up again. “Shit,” Don muttered, tightening his grip on the wheel. The vehicle was at least a dozen car lengths behind him—and the only other one on the road. Don slowed down to twenty in the thirty-five-miles-per-hour zone—just to see if the silver minivan slowed down, too. It did. They were keeping a distance behind him. So far, Ryder—or whoever was driving—hadn’t done anything illegal. There wasn’t much Don could do. Because of the distance, he wasn’t even sure it was the same minivan.

After taking a curve in the road, he drove for another minute, and then pulled over on the shoulder. Don waited. He touched his gun in the shoulder holster. In his nine years on the force, he hadn’t fired it once in the line of duty.

He kept waiting for that minivan to come around the curve. But there was nothing. It must have turned down another side road—or maybe turned around completely.

Don still couldn’t breathe easy as he continued toward the orchards and Taylor Canyon Way, the long, monotonous stretch of road before home. He kept checking the rearview mirror. No one was behind him.

He turned onto Taylor Canyon Way. After driving about a mile, he still hadn’t encountered a single car—which was typical. The roadway was empty behind him.

The breeze came through the open window. He was starting to crave a cigarette again when he spotted something up ahead. A car had pulled over to the side of the road. Its hazard lights flashed. Don eased off the accelerator. As he came closer to the vehicle, he could see it was a black Honda Civic. Its driver was a young brunette, nicely dressed in jeans and a pink, tailored oxford shirt. She stared down at something in the middle of the road. A shovel was propped up against her car.

Don pulled up behind her and parked. This close, he could see it was a dead German shepherd on the pavement.

The woman waved at him. Don stole another look in the rearview mirror. Seeing nothing back there, he climbed out of the car.

“Thanks for stopping!” the woman called to him, a little breathless. Up close, Don saw she was pretty and in her early twenties. She took hold of the shovel handle. “This poor pooch, I don’t know how long it’s been lying here, dead. I was going to bury it, but then I’m not sure about touching it . . .”