Terrified (36 page)
“That’s just speculation, Sally,”
the man said.
“And it doesn’t account for the burn marks on the victim. The story about that party incident is hearsay and hardly reliable… .”
the man said.
“And it doesn’t account for the burn marks on the victim. The story about that party incident is hearsay and hardly reliable… .”
Josh plopped down on the bed and reached for the second Egg McMuffin. He didn’t see any sense in saving the sandwich. It would just get colder and go bad. As he took the first bite, he glanced over toward the mirror and wondered if they were watching him now.
“It’s too soon to say for certain if Lisa Swann is still alive,”
the criminologist went on.
“Police have indeed reopened the investigation into her disappearance, but they haven’t come to any solid conclusion about—”
the criminologist went on.
“Police have indeed reopened the investigation into her disappearance, but they haven’t come to any solid conclusion about—”
“You mean they’re still uncertain after yesterday’s brutal slaying in Seattle?”
Sally interrupted, looking perturbed. Her eyebrows were really arching up.
“I can’t believe the police still aren’t sure if Lisa Swann is alive! Let me show you viewers at home what I’m talking about. Here’s a photo of Lisa Swann in 1996, not long before she ‘disappeared’… .”
The screen split in half again, and a color picture of another brown-haired, pretty woman appeared on Sally’s left. The woman looked as if she was dressed up for some kind of formal party.
Sally interrupted, looking perturbed. Her eyebrows were really arching up.
“I can’t believe the police still aren’t sure if Lisa Swann is alive! Let me show you viewers at home what I’m talking about. Here’s a photo of Lisa Swann in 1996, not long before she ‘disappeared’… .”
The screen split in half again, and a color picture of another brown-haired, pretty woman appeared on Sally’s left. The woman looked as if she was dressed up for some kind of formal party.
Josh stared at her photo. The woman looked just like his mom.
He set the sandwich down, and automatically got to his feet. He gazed up at the TV.
“And this is a Washington State driver’s license photo of the suspect Seattle Police are looking for in connection to yesterday’s murder of Swann’s niece, Candice Blanco,”
Sally said, disappearing from the TV screen so the pictures could be displayed side by side for comparison.
“This is Megan Keeslar, and according to the stats on her driver’s license, she is thirty-nine, which makes her one year younger than Lisa Swann. I’ve heard of crazy ways some women use to shave a year off their age, but give me a break… .”
Sally said, disappearing from the TV screen so the pictures could be displayed side by side for comparison.
“This is Megan Keeslar, and according to the stats on her driver’s license, she is thirty-nine, which makes her one year younger than Lisa Swann. I’ve heard of crazy ways some women use to shave a year off their age, but give me a break… .”
Josh gazed at the photo of his mother. It was like a punch in the gut. He couldn’t breathe. He started shaking his head over and over.
“Clearly, we’re looking at pictures of the same woman here,”
Sally continued in voice-over. The same shot from his mom’s driver’s license stayed up on the screen while images of this Lisa Swann person kept changing. His mom didn’t like having her picture taken. Josh remembered her image not being available for her
Meet the Staff
listing as manager of the downtown Destination Rent-a-Car. He also recalled how she’d promptly removed her old photo from the Matefinder ad he’d created. Numerous shots of the brown-haired Lisa Swann kept flashing by on the other half of the screen. In a few of the snapshots, she was with a handsome, dark-haired guy who looked like he belonged on one of those
Bachelorette
shows. And in one of the pictures, Josh noticed Lisa Swann was wearing a sleeveless lavender dress.
Sally continued in voice-over. The same shot from his mom’s driver’s license stayed up on the screen while images of this Lisa Swann person kept changing. His mom didn’t like having her picture taken. Josh remembered her image not being available for her
Meet the Staff
listing as manager of the downtown Destination Rent-a-Car. He also recalled how she’d promptly removed her old photo from the Matefinder ad he’d created. Numerous shots of the brown-haired Lisa Swann kept flashing by on the other half of the screen. In a few of the snapshots, she was with a handsome, dark-haired guy who looked like he belonged on one of those
Bachelorette
shows. And in one of the pictures, Josh noticed Lisa Swann was wearing a sleeveless lavender dress.
It was the exact same dress his mom had on in the framed photograph of her with his dead father on a sea cruise. Josh kept shaking his head. It didn’t make any sense.
“Last Wednesday, Dr. Swann flew to Portland, Oregon, and then vanished,”
Sally went on.
“Yesterday, his niece, Candice Blanco, who fifteen years ago identified the garbage bag murder victim as her aunt, Lisa Swann, was murdered in Seattle. And that’s where this woman, Megan Keeslar, has been living for the last fifteen years. The Seattle Police are looking for her now. Tell me this isn’t the same woman… .”
Sally went on.
“Yesterday, his niece, Candice Blanco, who fifteen years ago identified the garbage bag murder victim as her aunt, Lisa Swann, was murdered in Seattle. And that’s where this woman, Megan Keeslar, has been living for the last fifteen years. The Seattle Police are looking for her now. Tell me this isn’t the same woman… .”
Staring up at the TV, Josh couldn’t believe any of it. Yet he remembered the man talking to him on the other side of the bathroom door yesterday—or maybe the day before. He’d said to the guy that his father had died before he was born. “Is that what your mother told you?” the man had whispered to him. “Then your mother’s a lying bitch.”
Josh glanced toward the mirror. The woman on TV kept talking about how his mother used to be someone else, how she’d framed her husband for murder, and how just yesterday, she’d slit another woman’s throat.
He lunged toward the mirror and started banging on it again. “What is this?” he yelled. “They’re lying! What’s going on? What is this about my mother? Goddamn it, tell me… .”
Josh kept pummeling away at his own reflection. Tears ran down his face. He didn’t know if anyone was still there on the other side of the mirror. But he wouldn’t stop pounding and screaming.
If nothing else, it kept him from having to hear what that awful woman was saying on TV.
“What are you doing here?” Megan asked in a hushed voice. She didn’t want to create a scene in the café. “Are you following me?”
“I came in for coffee,” Dan replied. Dressed in khakis and a black V-neck sweater, he stared at her as if she was crazy.
And maybe she was. Megan felt so conflicted about him. He seemed like such a nice guy. But it was awfully suspicious how just about an hour ago, she’d told Glenn where she was, and now suddenly Dan Lahart showed up at the cafe. This was the same man Josh’s gravelly-voiced abductor had demanded she see on Sunday night.
On the other hand, Dan had been a perfect gentleman that whole evening—despite her schizoid behavior. She’d thought he was setting her up for something awful. But he’d been the one set up—with his blazer and the sweet note he’d written her tossed in the trash. Still, Megan wasn’t quite ready to trust him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, edging past him to the desk. “It’s just too much of a coincidence—you walking in here right now.”
“Well, Megan, I come in here at this time every Tuesday and Thursday. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Bill, behind the counter. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I teach an English lit class up the street at the community college. The rest of the week, I teach at the U. Anyway, I’m not following you. As a rule, I stop pursuing a woman when she leaves me a voice mail calling me a ‘scum-sucking pig’ and a ‘lowlife piece of shit.’ Call me oversensitive, but that’s just me. As for the rest of your message yesterday morning, I’m not sure who
Glenn
is, and it sounds like your son is in some kind of trouble. For that, I’m sorry.”
Glenn
is, and it sounds like your son is in some kind of trouble. For that, I’m sorry.”
Megan opened her mouth to apologize, but she couldn’t. She was still so uncertain about him.
“Walking in here, I saw you headed into the bathroom. I wasn’t quite sure if it was you—with your hair so different.” He nodded at the computer monitor. “Then I noticed the photo of your dead husband—and ‘his partner of six years.’ At least, he sure looks like the guy with you in that picture in your living room. Only according to this obituary, his name is Hurley, not Keeslar.”
He shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on—if it’s a spousal abuse thing or a custody battle or what. All I know is I can’t help you. And I’m awfully sorry about it, because I really liked you, Megan.”
She couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “I liked you, too, Dan,” she admitted. “And you’re very close with your—diagnosis of my troubles. It’s startling how close you are. What’s more, you’re right not to want to help me. The last person who did ended up paying dearly for it.” She turned toward the computer keyboard and logged off. Then she grabbed her purse. “I think you might actually be a nice guy. If I get through the next few days, I’ll bring your blazer here and leave it for you with your friend behind the counter.” She headed toward the door. He was getting too close to the truth with all his questions. She couldn’t stay there another minute. “I’m sorry, Dan,” she said. “I’m sorry for everything.…”
As she pushed open the café door, Megan heard him calling to her: “Wait! Wait a second… .”
She let the door swing shut behind her, but hesitated once she stepped outside. Megan thought she’d heard the barista calling at her, too. She turned toward the window, and saw Dan with his wallet in his hands, hurriedly doling out bills to the man behind the counter. He tucked his wallet in the back pocket of his khakis, but he still had something in his other hand as he came outside to meet her.
“You forgot to pay for your computer time,” he said. Then he handed her the driver’s license. “And you almost forgot this …
Rachel
.”
Rachel
.”
“Thanks,” Megan murmured. Tucking it in the pocket of her jeans, she started to turn away.
“So—you’re from Fort Wayne, Indiana?” he said.
She stopped, and turned again to look at him. “No, that’s a fake license,” she sighed. “I’ve lived here in Seattle for the last fifteen years under the name Megan Keeslar, but that’s fake, too… .”
A middle-aged man passed by them on the sidewalk, and he stared at her. Megan realized she was talking loudly over the traffic noise. She took a step toward Dan, who squinted at her, obviously baffled.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.
“I take it you haven’t seen the news,” she replied. “You must not have looked at today’s
Seattle Times
yet, either. I’m on the front page, near the bottom—or at least
Megan Keeslar
is. The woman they say I murdered was my niece. But I didn’t kill her. She was trying to help me get my son back from my husband. That’s what I meant when I said you shouldn’t try to help me. That’s why I can’t explain it to you—”
Seattle Times
yet, either. I’m on the front page, near the bottom—or at least
Megan Keeslar
is. The woman they say I murdered was my niece. But I didn’t kill her. She was trying to help me get my son back from my husband. That’s what I meant when I said you shouldn’t try to help me. That’s why I can’t explain it to you—”
The cell phone in her purse rang. “Damn it,” she whispered. She dug it out of her purse and checked the caller ID:
Johnson, Teresa
. Megan let it go to voice mail, and slipped the cell phone back in her purse.
Johnson, Teresa
. Megan let it go to voice mail, and slipped the cell phone back in her purse.
She looked at Dan, and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Read the newspaper, and you’ll see. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
Megan turned and hurried away. She didn’t look back. She just kept moving up the sidewalk—toward Broadway. But she didn’t want to go there, too many people. Despite the cut and dye job she’d done on her hair, Dan had still recognized her. Others might, too. She turned down a side street, Harvard Avenue. She walked half a block before fishing the cell out of her purse. She could see Teresa had left a message.
Uncertain where she was headed, Megan kept walking while she listened to Teresa’s voice mail:
“Hey, Meg, getting back to you.”
It sounded like she was in the car. Teresa always put on her Bluetooth headset whenever she got behind the wheel. Drive time was chat time for her.
“You weren’t picking up on your regular cell. So I’m trying you here. This is weird. You’ve never texted me before. I didn’t know you were text-savvy, but then, obviously, there’s a lot about you I don’t know, honey. Anyway, I got your message. And I think I’ve gotten the police off my ass—at least, temporarily. I’m on my way up to Lake View Cemetery now. I’ll park the car and go meet you by the entrance—just like you said… .”
“Hey, Meg, getting back to you.”
It sounded like she was in the car. Teresa always put on her Bluetooth headset whenever she got behind the wheel. Drive time was chat time for her.
“You weren’t picking up on your regular cell. So I’m trying you here. This is weird. You’ve never texted me before. I didn’t know you were text-savvy, but then, obviously, there’s a lot about you I don’t know, honey. Anyway, I got your message. And I think I’ve gotten the police off my ass—at least, temporarily. I’m on my way up to Lake View Cemetery now. I’ll park the car and go meet you by the entrance—just like you said… .”
“No!” Megan cried into the phone—even though it was a recorded message. A panic swept through her, and she began to walk faster. “Oh, God, no …”
“Why I can’t just wait for you in the car is beyond me,”
Teresa went on.
“You know my clunker. Anyway, I’ll be there on foot by the cemetery gates at two o’clock, I promise. Maybe then you can explain to me what’s going on. You’re in a heap of trouble, girl. Like I said in my last message, the cops were all over here this morning. I better go before this thing cuts me off. See you at the cemetery in a few minutes, Meg.”
Teresa went on.
“You know my clunker. Anyway, I’ll be there on foot by the cemetery gates at two o’clock, I promise. Maybe then you can explain to me what’s going on. You’re in a heap of trouble, girl. Like I said in my last message, the cops were all over here this morning. I better go before this thing cuts me off. See you at the cemetery in a few minutes, Meg.”
Megan hit the return call button, and then checked her wristwatch: 1:50. The cemetery was at least a mile away. She had ten minutes to get there. Teresa’s line rang once before it went to voice mail. She was probably gabbing on her Bluetooth. And when she started talking to someone while in chat-and-drive mode, she always ignored incoming calls.
“Hi, sorry I missed you,”
Teresa said on the voice mail greeting.
“But you can leave me a message. You know the drill. Wait for the beep. I’ll talk to you later.”
Teresa said on the voice mail greeting.
“But you can leave me a message. You know the drill. Wait for the beep. I’ll talk to you later.”
Picking up the pace as she headed toward Broadway, Megan impatiently listened while the automated voice explained all the message options:
“… or to send a numeric page, press five …”
The beep finally sounded. “Hey, it’s me,” she said, out of breath. “Teresa, I didn’t send that text. Someone else has my phone. Don’t go to the cemetery. It’s a trap, understand? Don’t do it. You’re being set up for something. Damn it, I wish you weren’t on the phone right now. Call me on the employee cell when you get this, okay?”
“… or to send a numeric page, press five …”
The beep finally sounded. “Hey, it’s me,” she said, out of breath. “Teresa, I didn’t send that text. Someone else has my phone. Don’t go to the cemetery. It’s a trap, understand? Don’t do it. You’re being set up for something. Damn it, I wish you weren’t on the phone right now. Call me on the employee cell when you get this, okay?”
Frazzled, Megan clicked off, then shoved the phone back in her purse and started running. She hoped to grab a taxi on Broadway. But once she reached the busy corner of Broadway and Harrison by an Urban Outfitters, not a cab was in sight.
Turning in front of the clothing store, she started walking as fast as she could—without breaking into a sprint. Most of the time someone running down Broadway had somebody chasing them. She couldn’t afford to call attention to herself. Threading through all the slow-moving pedestrians, she kept looking for a taxi. She had four blocks—all uphill—and then another six or seven after that. She wasn’t going to make it to Teresa on time, not on foot.
She slowed down at the corner crosswalk, where two cops with bicycles stood in front of Broadway Video. One of them, a policewoman, kept staring at her from behind a pair of sunglasses. Megan looked up at the traffic signal at the intersection. She had a red light crossing one way, and a flashing
Don’t Walk
the other way. Trying to catch her breath, she stood there and waited with a few other pedestrians. She stole a glimpse at the two cops again. The woman leaned over and said something to her partner. He nodded, and then spoke into a little mike he had on his shoulder.
Don’t Walk
the other way. Trying to catch her breath, she stood there and waited with a few other pedestrians. She stole a glimpse at the two cops again. The woman leaned over and said something to her partner. He nodded, and then spoke into a little mike he had on his shoulder.
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