One Last Scream (30 page)

Jessie flung open the front door, and recognized Chad, a tall, stocky, soft-spoken man in his early thirties. He was one of Amelia’s patients, and he looked like he was sorry he’d rung the bell. “Is Karen here?” he asked, over the dog’s yelping.

Jessie could only guess how frazzled she appeared, and Rufus, straining at his leash, was leading the two children around from the side of the house toward the front stoop. Poor Chad looked as if he just wanted to flee. “Um, I have a five o’clock appointment with her,” he explained, with an apprehensive look over his shoulder.

“Down, boy! Take it easy!” Jody chided Rufus.

“Down, boy!” Stephanie echoed.

A hand over her heart, Jessie stared at him. “Karen—she had to cancel her appointments today.” She glanced back toward the kitchen. “Um, didn’t you get her message, Chad?”

“Oh, nuts, I probably should have checked my answering machine,” he replied. He bowed down toward Rufus. “Hey, there, pooch.”

“Don’t go away, okay?” Jessie said, distractedly. “Stay there. You too, kids. I’ll be right back.”

With trepidation, she headed down the hall toward the back of the house. She edged past the kitchen entryway and gazed into the empty room. The back door was wide open.

Jessie hurried to the door, and then looked out at the backyard: no one.

Biting her lip, she closed the kitchen door and locked the deadbolt. Then she tried the door to the basement. It was already locked. No one could have gone down there.

Right beside her on the kitchen wall, just inches from her head, the telephone rang. Jessie almost jumped out of her skin. She quickly snatched up the receiver. “Yes, hello?”

“Is this Karen?” a woman asked.

“No, this is her housekeeper,” Jessie replied, again, her hand on her heart. She stepped out to the hallway as far as the phone cord would allow. She saw Chad, Rufus, and the children still at the front stoop. Chad was crouched down, petting the dog and talking to the kids.

Jessie sighed. “Karen isn’t in,” she said into the phone. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Amelia Faraday. I’m her roommate, Rachel.”

“Amelia isn’t here right now. She—um, well, she just left.”

“Do you know if she’s coming back?”

I hope not
, Jessie thought. But she merely cleared her throat and said. “I’m not really sure, hon. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Well, this is kind of an emergency,” Rachel explained. “If you see her, please, tell her to call me
immediately
. I’ve got the police ringing the phone off the hook here. They’re looking for her.”

“Really?” Jessie murmured.

“It’s pretty awful news,” Rachel said. “It’s about her boyfriend…”

“You mean Shane?” Jessie asked.

“Yeah, you know Shane Mitchell?”

“Yes, I do. Is he okay? What’s happened?”

“He, um, well, he’s dead,” the girl explained, a little crack in her voice. “They found Shane in a canoe, drifting in Lake Washington by the 520 Bridge. It looks like he shot himself.”

Meredith Marie Sterns was a pretty brunette who had disappeared the summer after graduating from East Marion High School in 1999. She had a dimpled smile and “Rachel” hair copied from Jennifer Aniston’s hairstyle in
Friends
.

“Meredith spent most of that June backpacking around Europe with a friend,” Caroline explained.

George stood over the Xerox machine, making a photocopy of Meredith’s graduation portrait. They were the only ones in the high school’s administration office; everybody else had gone home already. They had several old yearbooks piled on the secretary’s desk beside the copier.

“I remember the Sterns were so worried that something might happen to Meredith while she was wandering around Europe,” Caroline continued. “But it was less than a week after she’d returned home that it happened. She went with some girlfriends to see the Fourth of July fireworks at the park. I guess it was about twenty minutes before the fireworks were supposed to start when Meredith excused herself to go use the restroom. And she never came back….”

George once again studied the photo of the girl with the Rachel hair. “She was so excited about going to Chicago in the fall,” he heard Caroline say. “She’d been accepted into Northwestern. She was going to be a drama major.”

Caroline had a story like that for every one of the missing young women. Part of George wanted to hurry up and just get the photocopies made. The sooner he hit the road, the sooner he’d be home with his kids. He was worried about them.

But he didn’t rush through the task at hand, and he respectfully listened to Caroline’s reminiscences for each missing girl. The stories broke his heart. Each one was somebody’s daughter, sister, or fiancée. Each one had dreams and plans for her future. Each one had disappeared without a trace.

Twenty-two-year-old Nancy Rae Keller was an accomplished pianist who had performed in several concerts. She’d been earning some extra money as a waitress at a fancy restaurant called The Tides in Corvallis. The last person to see her alive was the restaurant manager. Nancy Rae had finished up her shift one Thursday night in March 2002 and headed out to her car. Nancy Rae’s car had still been in the restaurant’s parking lot on Friday morning. George couldn’t see it in the black-and-white photo, but according to Caroline, “Nancy Rae had the most beautiful red hair.”

The youngest to disappear was Leandra Bryant, nicknamed Leelee. The 15-year-old had been babysitting for two toddlers until 10:30 on a Saturday night in April, 2001. The children’s father had offered to drive her home, but Leelee lived only two blocks away and insisted on walking. She should have been safe. But somewhere along those two blocks in a quiet, residential area of Salem, Leelee Bryant vanished.

The last among the missing young women was Sandra Hartman, the 18-year-old who had disappeared on her way to the mall to meet some friends for a movie.

George looked at the slightly grainy photocopy of Sandra’s graduation portrait, and he saw a resemblance between the beautiful dark-haired senior and Amelia. It was the last photocopy he’d made. The Xerox machine still hummed for a moment before it wheezed and then switched off.

“Were any of these girls friends of Annabelle’s?” he asked.

Caroline arranged the yearbooks by year. “No, only two of the girls were in school at the same time as Annabelle. And I don’t think either one of them ever had Annabelle over to their homes or anything. And, of course, I’m sure they never went out to the Schlessinger ranch.”

George remembered Erin Gottlieb telling him that she hadn’t set foot in the place. “That ranch in the middle of nowhere,” she’d called it.

“You said the ranch house is still there?” he asked.

“Yes, but it’s just a burnt-out shell now,” Caroline replied. “There’s hardly anything left of it. I don’t think anyone’s been out there in years.”

George studied the photocopies again—all those pretty young women who had disappeared. “Could I ask you for one more favor, Caroline?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“Could you tell me how to get to the Schlessinger ranch?”

WENATCHEE
–23
MILES
said the sign just past Leavenworth.

With a breathtaking view of the Cascade Mountains, the quaint Bavarian village was a big tourist attraction in central Washington, and one of the Route 2 landmarks Karen was supposed to look for on her way to the Wenatchee Public Library. The waitress at Danny’s Diner had given her directions. Just to be sure, Karen telephoned the library on Douglas Street, and found out that, yes, they were open until 8:00 tonight; and yes, they had available both the
Wenatchee World
and the
Columbia Basin Herald
, which served Moses Lake. The microfiche files for both newspapers went back thirty years.

White-knuckled, Karen gripped the steering wheel and studied the winding, hilly highway ahead.

She realized now it was Amelia’s twin in the hallway and basement of the convalescent home the day before yesterday. “Do it now,” she’d heard Annabelle whisper. “Get her!”

Karen had heard the same hushed voice last night: “She’s got a gun, for chrissakes…I can’t…goddamn mutt…” At the time, Karen had figured Amelia must have been talking in her sleep. But now, she knew it had been Annabelle, probably whispering to Blade.

If Annabelle had
accidentally
stumbled into her room last night to kill her, where had Amelia gone? Karen was positive
Amelia
had fallen asleep in the guest room last night. Some time later, perhaps before that predawn intrusion, a switch had been made. Karen wondered if Amelia had left on her own accord. Or had Annabelle—after so many years with her father—also become an expert at making young women vanish without a trace?

Her cell phone went off, and Karen realized she was finally out of that call-restricted area. Eyes on the road, she blindly reached inside her purse. She checked the caller ID: her home phone number. “Hello?” she said into the phone, a bit wary.

“Karen, it’s me, Jessie. Thank God I didn’t get that stupid ‘Your call cannot be completed as dialed’ recording again.”

“You’re still at the house,” Karen said. “Is everything okay?”

“Hardly. I have terrible news.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I still haven’t told the kids. They’re in the kitchen with Rufus. Shane is dead. That poor dear boy, can you imagine? It looks like he shot himself….”

“Oh, my God,” Karen murmured, the cell phone to her ear. “Are you sure? How did you find out?”

“Amelia’s roommate told me. She called looking for Amelia. That’s the other thing, Amelia showed up here quite unexpectedly, acting very strange….”

A car horn blared. Karen suddenly realized she’d been drifting into the oncoming lane. A pickup truck barreled toward her. She jerked the wheel to one side. Tires screeched as she swerved back into her lane, and beyond, onto the shoulder off the highway. For a few, fleeting, gut-wrenching seconds, she thought the car would flip over.

“Good Lord, what’s happening?” she heard Jessie ask.

Karen caught her breath, and veered back into her lane. “Nothing, I just need to get off this road, that’s all.” She saw a turnoff to an apple orchard ahead, and took it. Slowing down, she crawled over to a gravelly turnaround area for the one-lane road. Then she put the car in park. She listened while Jessie told her about the disturbing episode with Amelia, who “just wasn’t acting like her sweet self.”

Yes, Jessie said, she’d called the police after Amelia had made her hasty exit, and a patrolman had stopped by. He’d checked around the premises, and that was it. “He seemed to think I was a major kook,” Jessie said. “I mean, Amelia never really threatened me or anything. But she had that knife in her purse, and it gave me the heebie-jeebies. Still, the worst thing she actually did was hit me in the chest when she grabbed my arm, and that might have been an accident. And here I was, trying to slip her some of those knockout pills, because you told me she was dangerous.”

“Jessie, she is,” Karen said. “She’s very dangerous.”

“I know, I believe you,” Jessie replied. “But when I told this patrolman that the police were looking for her, he didn’t know a thing about it.”

Apparently, Amelia Faraday had not yet officially become a person of interest in Detective Koehler’s disappearance.

“Anyway, we’re still at your house,” Jessie said, her voice a little shaky. “The cop said they’d call back here if he found out anything more. But I want to get these kids home.”

“Have you talked to George, yet?” Karen asked.

“I thought I’d wait until we were safely at home before giving him the latest developments. I didn’t want to worry him.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Karen sighed.

She stared out past the windshield at the starter trees in the orchard, lined up in a row. Their leaves fluttered in the breeze, and dusk loomed on the horizon. Her heart ached, and she wanted to cry for Shane, but there was no time.

She didn’t for a minute believe he’d shot himself.

“Listen, Jess, please, be careful driving home,” she said at last. “Make sure you aren’t being followed. Keep an eye out for my car—and that black Cadillac.”

“What black Cadillac?” Jessie repeated.

“The old black Cadillac with a broken antenna. It was following me around over the weekend. I told you—”

“Oh, Lord, honey, how do you expect me to keep track of all this stuff?” Jessie said, exasperated.

“Well, just watch out for it
now
, okay?”

“
I’ve seen it
, for Pete’s sakes. A car matching that description was parked just down the block from George’s house earlier today. It was still there when Jody and I left to pick up Steffie.”

“Oh, my God,” Karen murmured. “Listen, Jess, don’t go back to George’s. Better not stick around my place, either. Take the kids to a hotel, and make sure you’re not being followed. Just hide out there for a while, order room service, and watch pay-per-view movies. I’ll handle the bill. Call me once you get settled in, okay?”

“Well, all right,” Jessie said. She sounded a bit perplexed. “I’m just not sure what hotel—”

Karen heard a beep, and checked the caller ID. She recognized the number: Amelia’s cell phone.

“Jessie, I have another call,” she said hurriedly. “Can you just get yourself and the children to a hotel? Any hotel, it doesn’t matter: the Westin, the Marriott off Lake Union, anyplace….”

“I hear you,” Jessie replied.

“Thanks, Jess. Just make sure no one’s following—”

“Yeah, I know,” she cut in. “
Make sure no one’s following us.
Will do. Take your call. I’ll phone you in a bit.” There was a click on the line.

Karen switched over to the other call. “Amelia? Is that you?”

“Hi, Karen,” she murmured. “You must be so mad at me right now. I just listened to all the messages from you and Uncle George and Shane. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It was awful of me to run away this morning.”

Karen wasn’t certain she was really talking to Amelia. It certainly sounded like her; and the call was coming from her cell phone. “Well, you, um, you couldn’t have run very far,” she said. “I just got off the phone with Jessie, and she said you paid her an unexpected visit at my house about a half hour ago.”

“What?” she shot back, sounding stunned. “Karen, that’s impossible. Why would Jessie say that? I’m nowhere near your house—or Seattle, even. I’m calling from Grand Coulee Dam.”

The car engine was still running. Karen turned off the ignition, and listened to the motor die. “Grand Coulee Dam?” she repeated numbly.

“Yeah, I know, it’s pretty crazy, huh? But I woke up from this horrible nightmare last night. In the dream, I was—I was attacking you with a knife, and you were screaming….” She trailed off. “Anyway, I suddenly woke up, all sweaty. I was so scared that it might have really happened. I listened at your door, and heard you snoring. Did you know you snore?”

“No, I didn’t,” Karen said.

“Anyway, I figured you were okay. But I realized I had to get out of there before I hurt you, or somebody else. So I packed my things and snuck out of your house at around four o’clock this morning. I walked up to Fifteenth, and called a cab.”

“You didn’t take my car?” Karen asked.

“God, no. I’d never do that without asking you,” she replied. “I had the taxi drive me to Shane’s place. I borrowed
his
car, then drove to the house in Lake Wenatchee. I know it sounds nuts, but I just wanted to get as far away from everyone as I could. But when I went down to the house, I just couldn’t make myself go in. So I climbed back inside Shane’s car, and kept driving east.”

“What time was this?” Karen asked.

“Oh, around eight-thirty or nine,” she replied.

According to Helene Sumner, Amelia had been at the lake house at around just that same time. But she’d heard Amelia talking to someone, and laughing.

“Were you with anyone?” Karen asked.

“No, why?”

“Nothing, go ahead. You couldn’t step inside the house, so you went on driving.”

“That’s right, so I ended up here at the Grand Coulee Dam. I’ve been here for the last few hours, Karen.”

“What have you been doing there?” she asked.

“Well, I ate, I napped a little in the car, and I looked at the damn dam.” She let out a skittish laugh, but then her tone suddenly turned serious. “Anyway, I’ve been here. I swear to God. This can’t be another one of my blackouts. There’s no way Jessie could have seen me in Seattle this afternoon. I’m at least four hours away….”

Karen still couldn’t help wondering if she had Amelia on the line or her twin, being very clever. “Amelia, do you remember our session the week before last, when you accidentally broke that cheap vase on the coffee table in my office?”

She listened to the dead silence on the other end of the line. There hadn’t been a vase on her office coffee table. There had been no such occurrence. But Annabelle Schlessinger wouldn’t have known that.

“Remember that session, Amelia?” she pressed. “Do you recall what we were discussing at the time?”

More silence.

“Amelia, are you still there?”

“Karen, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, at last. “Did I break a vase of yours? Oh, my God, is this something I blacked out?”

Closing her eyes, Karen smiled. “You know what? My mistake. That was someone else entirely. Never mind. Listen, I’m in Wenatchee right now—”

“What?”

“I’ll explain when I see you,” Karen said. “I can probably get to Grand Coulee Dam in about ninety minutes.”

“Let me meet you there in Wenatchee instead, okay?” she asked. “I’ve kind of been-there-and-done-that here today, and I’d like to hit the road. I was about to head that way, anyway.”

Karen hesitated. It made sense. They’d save at least an hour and a half traveling time back to Seattle if Amelia came to her. “Okay,” she said finally. “Could you meet me at the Wenatchee Public Library on Douglas Street?”

“Sure, I know where that is,” she said. “See you there in about two hours. I’m leaving right now. Oh, and if it’s okay with you, I don’t want to hang around Wenatchee too long, Karen. I’d like to be back in Seattle before nine tonight, and get the car back to Shane. I think he’s kind of mad at me. He wasn’t answering his cell phone earlier. Anyway, you don’t mind if we meet up and then get a move on, do you?”

“No, that’s fine, Amelia,” she replied.

She couldn’t tell her anything more, not right now.

“Then I’ll see you soon, Karen.”

“Drive safe,” she said.

Before she headed out on the road again, Karen phoned Detective Jacqueline Peyton. After all the times she’d refused to pick up the policewoman’s calls, Karen figured it probably served her right that she got Detective Peyton’s voice mail. Karen waited for the beep.

“Hello, Detective, this is Karen Carlisle again,” she said into the phone. “My housekeeper called the police about forty minutes ago. Amelia Faraday—or rather, someone pretending to be Amelia—was just at my house. I’m sure she’s driving my Jetta. You have the plate number. I’m pretty sure she had something to do with Shane Mitchell’s death, too. I hear the police found Shane in a canoe on Lake Washington, and they believe he shot himself. But it was this woman who looks like Amelia. She’s dangerous. In fact, I think she killed Detective Koehler. I’m sorry I haven’t been very cooperative in your investigation up to this point, but I can explain later. If you—”

The answering machine let out another beep, cutting her off. The connection went dead.

Karen realized she’d used up all her time.

Rural Route 17 outside Salem wound around a slightly scrawny forest area with several well-spaced dirt road turnoffs to farms and ranches. Old-fashioned mailboxes with the addresses on them stood at the edge of the long driveways. George couldn’t see most of the farms and ranch houses from the car. They were too far down those winding private drives. The last vestige of daylight was fading. George switched on his headlights.

About three miles back, he’d passed a town of sorts. Sherry’s Corner Food & Deli had a gas pump over to one side—along with a sign:
RING FOR SERVICE
! The store also advertised DVD rentals, fresh coffee, beer, and live bait. Across the street from them was a squat, beige brick storefront that had
UPPER MARION COUNTY POLICE
stenciled on the window. There was a patrol car parked in front of the place, along with an army recruiting sandwich-board poster by the entrance.

George imagined what it must have been like for Annabelle Schlessinger, living out here, alone a good deal of the time, according to her teacher. Small wonder Annabelle hadn’t had any friends over to her father’s ranch. There was nothing out here. Sherry’s Corner was about as exciting as it got; even that was miles away.

George was beginning to think he’d passed the Schlessingers’ place; the last driveway had been at least a mile back. But then the car’s headlights swept across a driveway with a rusty, old, dented mailbox beside it. The address numbers and name on the mailbox were barely legible anymore: RR #17–14—S
CHLESSINGER
.