Terrified (28 page)
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egan parked the car in a lot across the street from the Smith Tower in Pioneer Square, two blocks from the Imogene George Glassworks Studio. It had been fifteen years since she’d seen her niece, Candy. They’d been so close once. Chumming around with that teenager had helped her get through a terrible summer with Cliff slowly dying and Glenn at his most brutal.
egan parked the car in a lot across the street from the Smith Tower in Pioneer Square, two blocks from the Imogene George Glassworks Studio. It had been fifteen years since she’d seen her niece, Candy. They’d been so close once. Chumming around with that teenager had helped her get through a terrible summer with Cliff slowly dying and Glenn at his most brutal.
On the KOMO-TV news segment, Candy had said she stuck by what she’d told the police about the burn marks on her aunt—and how they matched the scars on the Garbage Bag Murder victim’s torso. She also stuck by her testimony in the trial, which had resulted in her uncle’s incarceration for fourteen years.
It was quite a stretch to assume Candy was in communication with Glenn. But she was Megan’s only link to him right now. It didn’t matter what Glenn’s lawyer, Jerry, had said. Megan knew her estranged husband pretty well. Glenn held the family in high esteem, no matter what. If he was in Seattle, he would have contacted his only niece.
Although the morning had started out so glaringly bright, the weather had taken a turn with gray clouds and a dull, cold drizzle rolling in. Megan didn’t have an umbrella, but she was dressed for rain: jeans and a loose, hooded gray sweatshirt. Emerging from a Ford Taurus compliments of Destination Rent-a-Car, she pulled the hood over the top of her head. In her purse, she had two cell phones—one of the work cells used by her staff and J. Knoll’s unclaimed phone. She folded up a five-dollar bill and crammed it through the little slot above number 73 of the U-Pay box at the edge of the lot. Then she headed for the glass art gallery where Candy worked.
The phone call she’d gotten at 10:27 this morning had indeed been from Teresa at work, asking if she was coming in today. She’d called her back on Mr. Knoll’s phone to say she wouldn’t be coming to work. But she needed someone to come pick her up in the alley behind her duplex. Teresa said she’d send the new guy, John. “And maybe sometime soon you can tell me what the hell is going on with you, Meg,” she added.
“I will, I promise,” Megan replied. “Thanks, Teresa.”
While waiting for John to show up, Megan used her home line to call Dan. His voice mail picked up after half a ring. She waited for the beep, and then started in: “Yeah, hi, Dan. Listen, thanks a lot for last night. Be sure to tell Glenn that I got his note this morning. Tell him I said you did a fantastic job screwing around with my head. You really had me believing you were a quality guy—instead of the scum-sucking pig you are. And when you’re giving Glenn a blow-by-blow of last night, don’t forget the part when you had me crying on your shoulder. I mean, that’s good for a few laughs, isn’t it?” Her voice started shaking, and she took a deep breath. “If my son is hurt in any way, I’m coming after you. I’m going to track you down, you lowlife piece of shit… .”
Megan stopped herself. Why was she even bothering? The man had no conscience. She imagined how amused he’d be by her angry tirade. She imagined Glenn listening to the message and patting Dan on the back for a job well done.
She clicked off the cordless and slammed it back into its receptacle, almost breaking the thing. She headed out the back door, and waited in the alley for John. It was just starting to drizzle.
Across the narrow alley were the garages and back entrances to a row of one-story bungalow-style apartments. There were also two big Dumpsters, and some recycling bins. Megan noticed the lid to one of the bins was askew. Part of a Pagliacci Pizza box stuck out from the pile of debris.
She walked across to the bin. A note was taped to the top of the box:
Hi, Megan,
I didn’t want to wake you. So I snuck out while you were sleeping. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to be late for work. As you can see, I’ve made room here in the refrigerator for the leftover pizza. It should be terrific for breakfast! I also left my jacket with you. It’s my excuse for us to get together again. Keep me posted on how your son is doing & I hope you feel better.
Dan
“Oh, no,” Megan murmured. She opened the box, and saw at least a dozen ants crawling around the remaining half-pizza. Below the box, she found Dan’s blue blazer.
All she could think was that someone must have snuck in after Dan had left this morning. After switching the jackets on her, they must have thrown away all evidence that Dan Lahart had been a perfect gentleman. It had probably been very easy for Glenn or his cohort to get inside the apartment. Obviously, he’d done it before. But now, it was even more of a snap. They had Josh’s keys.
Wincing, she picked Dan’s slightly soiled blazer out of the bin and gave it a good shake. Megan spotted the white Taurus as it turned into the alley, and she waved. At the wheel of the car was John, the thin, black-haired thirty-something new guy. He’d been with Destination Rent-a-Car for three weeks, and had a penchant for designer glasses. He must have owned at least eight different pairs.
As the Taurus came to a stop, the driver window descended with a hum. John looked out at her. Despite the light rain, he was sporting a pair of
Matrix
-like, narrow sunglasses today. “Were you waiting long?” he asked.
Matrix
-like, narrow sunglasses today. “Were you waiting long?” he asked.
“Nope, your timing is perfect, thanks, John,” she said. She didn’t want Glenn or his watchdog following her to the gallery where Candy worked. So Megan planned to leave her blue Neon parked in the driveway in front while she snuck out the back in another vehicle.
“Could you unlock the back?” she asked. “I need to hide back there for the first part of the ride. I’ll explain later, John.”
Even with the sunglasses concealing his eyes, he looked puzzled. But he reached for the console and unlocked the back door.
For the next ten minutes, Megan remained crouched down on the floor in the back. Dan’s blazer was strewn across the seat. Once they hit the stop-and-go traffic near downtown, Megan snuck a peek out the rear window. She didn’t see a silver SUV behind them, and after a few more blocks, decided no one was on their tail.
John had said he didn’t mind a little rain. So three blocks from work, he’d pulled over and she’d taken his place in the driver’s seat. Megan had thanked him and he’d headed back to work on foot. It had been a challenge driving with one hand still incapacitated, but she’d made it to Pioneer Square all right.
Parts of the neighborhood were pretty dicey. As she walked toward Imogene George Glassworks, two scary-looking homeless men on the street corner taunted her. Then she passed a vagrant sleeping in the doorway of a closed grocery store. The rain made everything seem even gloomier.
Megan hoped after all this Candy would be at the gallery. She prayed Glenn’s niece might have some idea where he was hiding.
Turning the corner, she found a cobblestone block of trendy, funky stores and expensive art galleries. The Imogene George Glassworks Studio was among them. The name was in classic black lettering against a golden-hued background in the stained-glass transom above the entrance. Gorgeous, intricate, multicolored glass vases, lamps, and sculptures were on display in the front window. The shop’s interior was a bit dark—with track lights accentuating various glass pieces.
It wasn’t until Megan stepped inside that she noticed a large annex behind a Plexiglas window in back of the sales counter. It was the glassblowing studio—with several artists at work. A few were wielding their long glassblowing pipes. They milled around the two huge kilns or sat at their work stations. Most of the artists looked like a new generation of hippies—sporting overalls, sweatbands, piercings, and tattoos. One couple worked together—the man blowing glass at one end of the pipe while the woman rolled and shaped the glowing ruby-hued piece on the other.
There were a few other customers in the store. Heading toward the counter, Megan searched for Candy among the artists beyond the Plexiglas wall.
“Can I help you?” someone said.
Megan turned and automatically smiled at the petite young woman with a pierced eyebrow. She wore a beige apron, and her red hair was half-hidden by a babushka kerchief.
“Hi, yes, I’m looking for Candy Kruger Blanco,” Megan said.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Is Candy expecting you?”
Megan nodded. “Yes, I’m a relative.”
“I’ll see if Candy’s free.” The woman retreated toward a door at the right of the counter. As she opened it, a din of hammering—along with a waft of something burning—swept through the store. Megan watched while, behind the Plexiglas, the woman in the kerchief approached another artist at a workstation with a long table. She was surrounded by all sorts of cutting and shaping instruments that looked slightly medieval. A propane blowtorch, with a flame shooting from it, was lodged in a holder at the edge of the table. She had a long pipe in her hand. Her back was to Megan.
As the woman spoke to her, the artist turned and took off her safety glasses to glance at the front of the store. Megan recognized her from the news broadcast. Candy had laid the mascara on thick again, and her curly brown hair with the wild yellow streak was tied back in a ponytail. She wore a T-shirt and a pair of denim overalls. She gave Megan a wary look, rolled her heavily made-up eyes, and said something to her friend. Then she handed her the pole. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Candy treaded toward the door.
Megan pulled the hood off her head so her niece would have a better look at her.
But Candy was scowling as she stepped into the shop. She closed the studio door behind her, and then started toward Megan. “Listen, if you came here to talk about my uncle—” Suddenly her eyes locked on Megan, and she stopped dead. Her mouth opened and moved, but no words came out.
“Yes, Candy,” Megan replied. “I’m here to talk about your uncle.”
“Aunt Lisa.” That was all she said.
Then her eyes rolled back, and Candy collapsed to the floor.
Megan watched a rat scurry behind the large green Dumpster in back of the glasswork studio. In another doorway farther down the trash-laden alley, a vagrant was curled up in a tattered sleeping bag. Candy didn’t seem to notice him—or the rain. Leaning against the brick wall, by the studio’s employee entrance, she nervously puffed on a cigarette.
“Glenn said you were still alive,” she murmured. “But I didn’t believe him. I thought he was just trying to spook me or something.”
“So you’ve talked to him,” Megan said. She hovered in the doorway cove to keep dry. She didn’t want to get her bandage too wet. “When was this?”
“A few days ago,” Candy answered, picking a piece of tobacco from her lip. Her hand was shaking. “Wednesday, I think. He called me—no warning, right out of the blue after fifteen years. I don’t mind telling you, it scared the crap out of me. I mean, he wrote to me from prison and told me he didn’t blame me or anything. He kept giving me this ‘we’re still family’ routine and ‘we need to be loyal to each other,’ real vintage Uncle Glenn bullshit.”
“Is he in Seattle?” Megan asked.
Candy nodded. “He’s texted me a few times since the first call, but I haven’t seen him yet. He keeps saying he’ll pay me a visit. He’s been pretty vague about just when. But one thing he’s been really, really clear about—and it’s that I’m not supposed to tell anyone I’ve talked with him.” She let out a sad, little laugh. “And here I’ve just told you—so much for
family loyalty
. Then again, you’re family.” She let out one last stream of cigarette smoke, and tossed the butt on the wet pavement. “Plus, you’re dead, so I guess it doesn’t really count.”
family loyalty
. Then again, you’re family.” She let out one last stream of cigarette smoke, and tossed the butt on the wet pavement. “Plus, you’re dead, so I guess it doesn’t really count.”
“Do you know where he’s staying while he’s here? Do you have any idea at all?”
Frowning, Candy slowly shook her head. “Why did you let me go on thinking you were dead? You were like my best friend. I really looked up to you, Aunt Lisa. You could have told me you were running away instead of …” She trailed off, and let out a long sigh. “I would have kept it a secret. I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
Megan reached over and touched her arm. “When I first disappeared, did Glenn pull you aside and ask if you had any idea where I might be?”
“Of course. And I told him. She’s at the bottom of the Mississippi. It’s where I thought you were.”
“Do you really think he would have believed you—if you hadn’t believed it yourself? I’m sorry, Candy. I couldn’t take a chance on anyone knowing.”
“You should have come forward when they arrested Glenn,” Candy said, folding her arms. “I was just a teenager. My positive ID and my testimony helped put him in prison. He’s my uncle—he’s family, and I did that to him. Do you know the toll that’s taken on me all these years? And you just let him rot in jail. You let me go on feeling responsible. How could you?”
Megan started to reach out to her again, but she hesitated and pulled back. “I could say almost the same thing about your parents, you know,” she muttered. “Your folks never did a damn thing to intervene, and your mother knew about the beatings. I was in my own jail for over a year, married to that monster, and she never lifted a finger… .”
“That all came out in the trial,” Candy said, nodding pensively. “You have to believe me. I had no idea what he was doing to you. I must have blinded myself to it. I’ve never forgiven my parents for sitting by and letting it happen. My relationship with them hasn’t been the same since. I was always on your side, Lisa. Remember your suicide note? Well, I was one of the people left who cared about you.”
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