No One Needs to Know (31 page)

He glanced at the dead thing on the road. There wasn’t any blood. Its hair was wet and shiny. Don noticed it wore a collar. He wondered what the dog was doing all the way out here, where there was nothing but orchards.

“Anyway, I thought maybe at least I’d push it to the side of the road,” the woman said. “But it’s heavy—and that seems so uncaring . . .”

“I’ll call the city and they’ll come pick him up,” Don said, crouching down beside the fallen animal. The tail was curled up, bent slightly as if frozen in rigor mortis. The tongue drooped out of its mouth. Don reached for the collar to check the tag for its owner’s contact information. His fingers brushed against the dog’s ice cold, wet hair. Then he touched its neck—frozen solid. He could see the half-melted ice crystals in the dog’s hair. Someone must have had the thing in a freezer.

“What the hell,” Don muttered. He glanced back and noticed the silver minivan approaching in the distance.

Then he looked up to see the pretty young woman holding the shovel over her head.

Before Don could straighten up or reach for his weapon, she brought the shovel down. It hit the top of his head with a loud clank.

He let out a groan, and crumpled to the roadway—right beside that dead dog.

He was woken by something that sounded like a gunshot, following by a loud screeching.

As soon as he opened his eyes and saw Ryder McBride grinning at him, Don knew he was a dead man. Ryder would never let him walk away after this. Don’s only chance for survival was to escape.

That didn’t seem very likely. Don couldn’t move and his head throbbed so horribly, he was nauseous. They’d stripped him down to his undershorts. He was sitting in a hard-backed chair with his wrists tied behind him. His ankles were tied to the legs of the chair—and for good measure they’d tied two cords of rope around his waist to the back of the chair. It pinched at his naked skin, and kept him from wriggling around.

Another loud pop resounded outside—followed by more high-pitched squeals.

Don guessed he was in an abandoned farmhouse. It smelled rotten. Garbage and a few broken crates littered the bare wood floor of the darkened room. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, Ryder stood in front of him with his arms folded. The pretty girl in the pink shirt leaned against the wall, fascinated by something on her mobile device.

On the other side of a cracked, dirty window, Don could see the sun was setting over the mountains. It looked like a beautiful night out there. One of Ryder’s buddies, Lester Heinemann, paced back and forth. He occasionally tossed a lit firecracker in the air at some bats. Don realized that was what all the noise was about. He also realized there was no one nearby to complain about it. So if he yelled out for help, nobody would hear him.

Except for the creatures he was frightening, Les seemed to be alone out there. The Impala was parked beside Ryder’s minivan. There was no sign of the girl’s Honda Civic. Don figured they must have stolen it and then abandoned it on the roadside.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so dry that he broke into a coughing fit. It made his head pound worse. He finally caught his breath. “I see you found yourself a new recruit, Ryder,” he said.

Scratching his beard stubble, McBride smirked at him. “That’s Jacy,” he said. “Jacy, meet Detective Eberhard, one of Ellensburg’s finest.”

“We’ve met,” she said, barely glancing up from her mobile device.

Don cleared his throat again. “Did you know, honey, that Ryder’s last recruit—the one you’re replacing—he talked her into setting herself on fire. She burned to death. Are you ready to die for him, too?”

Across the room, her eyes met his for a moment. Then she giggled and focused on her mobile device again.

Don flinched as another firecracker went off outside. “Where’d you guys get the German shepherd?”

“Ryder accidentally hit him with the minivan earlier this week,” Jacy answered. “He said maybe we could use him for something. So we put him in the big freezer in the garage. I think it’ll be another couple of days till he’s completely thawed out . . .”

“If Ryder hit him, you can be sure it was no accident, honey.”

“All right, enough chitchat.” Ryder sighed, glaring down at him. “You know why I brought you here. You know what I want . . .”

“A fourth for bridge?” Don replied.

“Go ahead and make with the bad jokes for now, piggy,” Ryder said. “In about a half hour, you’ll be begging me to kill you. So cooperate, and maybe I’ll go easy on you. On your cell, I saw a bunch of incoming calls from a blocked number, and you took them. I’m guessing that’s your girlfriend, Laurie Trotter. So, where is she?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Don said, tugging at the rope around his wrists—to no avail. “She was your brother’s girlfriend—two years ago for about two weeks. Then she dumped him, which if you ask me, was a really smart move. That’s the only crime she ever committed against the McBride brothers. And yet you’re so hell-bent on punishing her, you helped put your brother in his grave—along with that piece of kindling who used to be one of your girls. And now you’re going to kill me, too—all so you can hunt down someone who never did a thing to hurt you.”

“That’s right,” Ryder said. With a sudden jerk of his leg, he set his foot on the chair—so his boot was directly in front of Don’s crotch. He pulled a jagged-edged knife from a sheath inside the boot. “She’s got my brother’s kid. That kid has my blood flowing in his veins. I’m going to take him and raise him as my own. But first, that bitch is going to pay for what happened to my brother . . .”

He leaned forward and gently brushed the tip of the knife against Don’s cheek. “Now, if you don’t tell me where she is, maybe your wife, Gretchen, will be more helpful. Maybe she knows. After we dump your body, we might just pay Gretchen a visit tonight. I like your house. The little red mailbox in front is a nice touch. Your girl, Erin, she’s a real cutie. She goes to Ellensburg High, right? I believe Ms. Neff is her homeroom teacher. I just may have to pop Erin’s cherry for her—that is, if Daddy hasn’t gotten to her first . . .”

If his throat weren’t so dry, Don would have spit in Ryder’s face. “You’re so full of shit,” he muttered. He told himself McBride’s threats to his family were all bluff. He figured he’d been unconscious for at least an hour—maybe two. Gretchen would have caught on that something was wrong and called the station by now. There were probably a couple of cops at the house at this very minute. He was almost certain his girls were safe. They’d be well provided for, too.

“I’d say things are looking a lot more shitty for you, detective,” Ryder replied. He tickled Don’s earlobe with the point of the blade. “It’s getting dark in here and there’s no electricity. If you won’t voluntarily tell us where that bitch is hiding, I’ll have to torture you in the dark. Why prolong your agony, huh? You’re going to die tonight either way . . .”

Another loud pop outside interrupted him.

“The question for you is how long do you want to hold out for her sake?” Ryder went on. “I mean, what is she to you?”

As Ryder lightly manipulated the knife point inside the crevices of his ear, Don tried not to flinch.

“Hey, did you ever see that movie
Reservoir Dogs
? It’s one of my favorites, especially that scene where the guy cuts off the other guy’s ear. It really cracked me up when he’s holding the severed ear in his hand and he starts talking into it.” Ryder chuckled. “How about if I did that to you?”

“Fine,” Don grumbled. “Just do me a favor and cut off both ears so I won’t have to listen to you anymore, you moron.”

Ryder glared at him. He moved the knife to Don’s throat. “I’m looking at a dead man,” he whispered.

Don knew it was the truth. He hated the fact that his eyes started to water up. He didn’t want Ryder to know he was scared. He took a deep breath.

“If that’s the case,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Maybe one of you assholes can spare a cigarette . . .”

Monday, 9:43
P.M.

Spokane, Washington

“Hotel Davenport,” the switchboard operator said. “How can I direct your call?”

“Yeah, you have a new cook there in the kitchen,” the man said. “She goes by the name of Melanie Daniels. Can you connect me? Tell her it’s Detective Don Eberhard calling, and it’s urgent.”

“One minute, please” the operator said. She put him on hold and rang the kitchen.

“Room service, how can I help you?” the woman answered.

“Is this Rosie or Stella?” the operator asked.

“It’s Rosie. Midge, is that you?”

“Yeah,” the operator said. “I have someone who wants to talk to a new cook there in the kitchen, Melanie Daniels.”

“Melanie Daniels? That name sounds familiar, but she’s not one of our cooks,” Rosie said. “We haven’t hired any new kitchen staff since the beginning of the year. Hey, you know why I recognized that name? I just figured it out. It’s from
The Birds,
the character played by that blond girl . . .”

“Tippi Hedren,” the operator said.

“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Sounds like you’re on the butt end of a joke.”

“I guess. Thanks. Talk to you later, Rosie,” the operator said. She switched back to the caller. “Sir? I’m afraid there’s no Melanie Daniels on the kitchen staff.”

“Well, she would have been hired within the last week or two,” the man on the other end of the line said. “She also goes by the name Laurie Trotter. She’s got to be there . . .”

“Sir, we haven’t had any new kitchen staff since the beginning of the year,” the operator explained.

“Check your records!” he insisted.

Midge couldn’t help thinking the caller was the one at the butt end of a joke. “We don’t have anyone working here named Laurie Trotter either,” she said. “And I’m sorry, but the only Melanie Daniels I’m aware of is the character Tippi Hedren played in
The Birds.
”

There was dead silence on the other end.

“Sir?”

“That son of a bitch,” the man muttered.

Then he hung up.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
FOUR

Monday, 11:17
P.M.

Seattle

L
aurie woke up so disoriented she didn’t know where she was. At first, she thought she was in her bed at the apartment in Ellensburg. It took her a few moments to realize she was on the sofa in her place in Seattle.

She had stretched out on the sofa, thinking,
Just ten minutes, a little catnap.
According to the digital clock on her TV cable box, that had been nearly two hours ago. She had the TV on low, waiting to see if CNN reran Dolly Ingersoll’s report. Right now, they were showing a commercial for some antidepressant that had about fifty near-deadly side effects the narrator was describing in a casual, no-worries tone.

After putting Joey to bed, she’d phoned Krista and Nathan—as well as Paul from the diner. Everyone was okay. Paul had mentioned that Duncan seemed a bit unnerved by the dead raccoon in front of the diner’s entrance. “But you know how easily rattled he gets,” Paul had said.

Laurie had baked and frosted 140 cupcakes, twenty more than Cheryl needed for tomorrow. She figured she’d give ten to Vincent and ten to Hank and Tammy. All the while, she’d thought about Cheryl—and Dean Holbrook, Evergreen Manor, and Dean’s artist brother, Adam. She’d scribbled down the Holbrook brothers’ names on a memo pad with the intention of surfing the Web for information about them. But then a quick catnap on the sofa had seemed so inviting.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Dolly Ingersoll was on TV, but it wasn’t the report from earlier today. She stood on a lanai in front of a beautiful swimming pool. Dolly didn’t have a handheld mic or a somber expression here. This was some sort of fluff piece.

Laurie grabbed the remote and pressed the Info button. The show’s description came up across the bottom of the screen:

44—CNN, 11:00–11:30:
DISHING WITH DOLLY
(repeat)

Dolly Ingersoll visits the Seattle area home of actress Shawna Farrell and husband, film producer Gil Garrett.

Laurie let out a stunned little laugh. On the screen, Dolly sat poolside with “Uncle Gil” and Shawna Farrell. Ensconced on a patio sofa, Gil wore sunglasses, a long-sleeve white shirt, and an orange kerchief around his neck. His white hair was slicked back and he was tan. But he looked old and unhealthy.
“Oh, don’t ask me what she puts in those smoothies,”
he said in his gravelly voice.
“I have them every morning. They taste great, but I think a little vodka in there would help.”

“Oh, you’re such a devil,”
said Shawna at his side. She tossed her head back and laughed. With her tawny, shoulder-length hair and big sunglasses, she looked every bit the retired movie queen. She wore something obviously from her Shawna Chic collection, a vibrant, shimmery blue-and-green sweat suit. Thanks to some excellent plastic surgery, she looked more like fifty than seventy.
“He’s a bigger health nut than I am,”
she said.
“Every morning he’s in this pool, swimming his laps. When I married him, I didn’t know he was part fish . . .”

“Tiger shark,” Gil cracked.

Laurie wondered if Cheryl knew this was on. But then, she’d probably gone to bed hours ago.

On TV, three little yelping Pomeranians joined Shawna, Gil, and Dolly at the poolside. Shawna fawned over the dogs while Gil ignored them.

Laurie heard the front gate clank. She got to her feet and went to the window. She didn’t see anyone in the courtyard. Had somebody just left? It was a strange time for someone to be stepping out.

Then she noticed the lights were on in Cheryl’s apartment across the way. Cheryl was awake after all. Her blinds were closed, but Laurie could still see the light through the slats. She couldn’t help wondering if it was Cheryl who had just stepped out at this late hour. And if so, whatever in the world for?