The Killing Edge (16 page)

She was a convert, he thought. But a convert from what?

He picked up his phone and put a call through to Stuckey.

“Hey, what’s up?” the lieutenant asked.

“I’m looking for the police reports on the Church of the Real People.”

“From the Teen Massacre? You sure do have a burr up your butt, Luke.”

“I’d like to see everything you’ve got. Membership rosters, whatever else you have.”

Stuckey groaned.

“It will take me some time. Faxed or e-mailed?”

“E-mailed. I don’t want papers lying around.”

“You got it, but go to lunch or something. This will take a while.”

Stuckey hung up, and Luke realized that he was in fact hungry, having skipped breakfast as he hurried to get back to the city. He prowled around the kitchen, irritated to see that he hadn’t been shopping and his one option was peanut butter on stale bread.

He left the
Stirling
and headed over to the bait shop, where he would at least be able to get a burger.

The usual afternoon group of retirees was sitting around the picnic tables. He waved and called out his hellos, then went straight to the shack for a burger. When he reemerged forty-five minutes later, a bunch of the men were at the end of the dock, exclaiming over something someone had just reeled in.

Curious, he walked over to see what was going on.

“Don’t that just beat all?” Milton Beca demanded, offering him a near-toothless grin.

“What’s that?”

“Granger just pulled up an old waterproof canvas bag I lost overboard about a year ago! It’s chewed up some, but I got my Swiss Army Knife back. It’s sure a funny thing, huh? The bag must have floated in with the weather.”

“That can happen,” Luke said. “Well, see you. Have a good day.”

“I make all my days good now, Luke.”

“That’s the way.”

As he headed to the
Stirling
, Luke wondered again about Colleen Rodriguez. Even if her body had been dumped,
that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come back. It might be tangled in seaweed or stuck under pilings somewhere, but the current was a powerful force and could wash her to shore a day from now or a year. Or never, he reflected glumly.

He decided to make a point of doing a lot of diving off the island. He could take one of Brad’s boats and blend in with the crowd from the resort, maybe even have Bill come with him, since it was safer to dive with a dive partner even when there wasn’t a killer on the loose.

He paused for a moment, remembering Chloe’s description of the ghost of Colleen Rodriguez.

She was wet, and wearing a white dress.

Back aboard the boat, he went online again and found that Stuckey had been as good as his word and e-mailed the promised information.

He studied page after page, then stopped, stunned, at a picture of a woman. She was noted as having left the Church of the Real People years before the Teen Massacre.

Her name was Myrna.

Myrna Rae Edwards.

She had been young, and extremely beautiful. Shy and wide-eyed—the innocent type cults were so good at preying on.

It didn’t matter that she had been so much younger when the picture was taken.

And it didn’t matter what she called herself.

The woman in the picture was Myra Allen, head of the Bryson Agency’s Miami Beach operation.

C
hloe had just finished a patient session when Victoria called. “Hey,” she said, recognizing the caller ID.

“Hey,” Victoria echoed. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know. You called me.”

Victoria laughed. “Were you able to talk to Mark last night?”

“Yes. He’s a really nice guy, and he’s still really broken up over Colleen.”

“Yeah.” Victoria was quiet for a moment. “He’s convinced that…something happened to her.”

“I know.”

“Okay, now tell me about the stud.”

“What?”
Chloe demanded.

“Oh, please. I’m talking about Jack Smith. I know you’re not blind. Half the girls at the mansion were coming on to him the other night,” Victoria said.

“He—he seems like a decent guy.”

Chloe heard Victoria’s snort over the phone. “So you drove down to the Keys, you showed him the island—and you texted me to have Mark show up. But after that…it was a nice night?”

“Yes, it was a lovely night,” Chloe said.

“
How
nice?”

“Um…nice.”

“You’re not going to share the details, huh? But you like him?”

“Yes. I like him.” She wasn’t ready yet to admit just how much. Plus, she couldn’t even tell Victoria yet that his real name was Luke Cane. “I like him a lot.”

“I’ll make you spill the good stuff later,” Victoria teased. “Anyway, I really called to remind you that you need to go over to the mansion tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I signed you up for some fittings. Is it okay?”

“Sure, but I probably won’t even get home till around six-thirty or seven, and then I’ll need to change and stuff. Is that all right?”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Victoria assured her. “I’ll call Myra and tell her we’ll be there around eight or eight-thirty. I’m so thrilled they wanted you to be June—and that you agreed to do it. Call me as soon as you get home, and I’ll come pick you up. I thought I could get the guys to go with us, too, but Brad is busy with paperwork, and you know Jared. If Brad doesn’t go with me, it seems like Jared doesn’t, either.” She sighed. “Why do you think that is?”

Chloe hesitated, then decided just to say what she was thinking. “Because Jared is in love with you. If we’re all around, it’s kind of okay. He feels safe. I think he’s afraid if it’s just him and you, he’ll say or do something and you’ll figure out how he feels. And he’s afraid you don’t feel that way about him, so he doesn’t want to take a chance on wrecking the friendship.”

“I should know better than to ask a psychologist!” Victoria said. “But you have to be wrong. We’ve all been friends forever. If he felt that way about me, I’m sure he would have said something by now.”

Chloe was bemused. Victoria really hadn’t noticed the way Jared looked at her.

“Trust me. I’m right about this.”

“Well, it’s ridiculous. Anyway, I adore Jared.”

“But do you adore him the way he wants to be adored?” Chloe asked, then was surprised by her friend’s answer.

“I—I don’t know, but…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, I think that’s why he keeps his distance when it’s not going to be a group.”

“But—you’ll be there tonight.”

“Maybe he’s actually busy,” Chloe suggested.

“Maybe. He
is
a great guy. He’s smart, he’s charming, he’s easy to be with. He’s sexy. He’s…oh, my God, Chloe!”

“Slow down, this has been going on forever.”

“But—he really loves me. Really cares about me.”

“Vickie, bear in mind, there’s a world of men out there who think you’re hotter than a July barbecue.”

“That’s my point. I’m just an object to most people. All
they see are my looks. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that I was genetically blessed, but I don’t fool myself—ever—that people are in love with
me
, or even that they know me or really want to. But Jared really does know me, and I’ve known, even as friends, that he really cares about me. Thank you, Chloe. You’ve really opened my eyes.”

Maybe she should have spoken up before, Chloe thought. So much for her professional evaluation of the situation.

“I’m glad, but I still say, take it slow. He’s been like a drooling puppy for at least a decade. Make sure you treat him kindly.”

“Of course I will! And why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I guess I thought it wasn’t really my place.”

“Really? Well, I’m happy you said something now. Anyway, I’ll let you go now and see you later. As soon as you call me, I’ll leave my place.”

“Perfect.”

Luke stopped staring at the image of Myra on his monitor and called Chloe’s cell, but he was sent straight to voice mail. He immediately called her work number, but he only got a machine saying it was lunchtime and the office was closed. Frustrated, Luke told himself that he would just have to call back later, so he called Stuckey, instead, and told him what he’d discovered.

“Myra Allen, model and now surrogate mother to some of the future’s biggest models—
she
belonged to the Church of the Real People?” the lieutenant said, incredulous.

“Didn’t you see the picture and notice the name?”

“Hey, big shot. I’ve never actually met Myra Allen. I’ve never been to a party out at that mansion,” Stuckey told him.

“Well, now that you know, don’t you find it pretty strange that she has ties to the Church of the Real People and Chloe’s working for her?”

“Years ago. Looks like she got smart and left.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss this. I think we could be looking at a connection between the Real People and the Colleen Rodriguez case. Let me tell you what I discovered in the Keys,” Luke said, and went on to tell Stuckey about Maria Trenton.

“Those
are
some strange coincidences,” Stuckey admitted. “You don’t think that Myra is a murderer, do you?” he asked, his voice skeptical.

“No, I don’t. But I do think this makes her a ‘person of interest.’ Don’t you?”

Stuckey said, “No. I think it makes her smart. She got suckered in when she was young, but she was bright enough to get the hell out. Sometimes people find God in all the wrong places, just a part of the human need to believe.”

“Stuckey, trust me. I believe in God. I just don’t believe God wants people to go out killing in his name, and I don’t believe he—if God has a sex—thinks the way to get to heaven is to hand over everything you’ve worked for, leave your family and join a cult.”

“Hey, I’m on your side,” Stuckey said. “Want me to question Myra?”

“You’ll put her on the defensive. I’ll do it.”

“Keep me informed.”

“Will do.”

Luke hung up and then put a call through to Myra’s office, asking for an appointment. Her mousy secretary penciled him in for 3:00 p.m. He thought he had heard that her name was Alana, but he wasn’t positive, as neither he nor anyone around him had been introduced to the woman. He hung up and showered quickly. It was a hot day, so he took a few minutes to ponder what to wear for the meeting, something he wasn’t accustomed to doing. He eventually chose chinos and a short-sleeved tailored shirt. Miami chic, he hoped.

He headed out and pulled up in front of the mansion a few minutes before three. He parked on the street in front of the house and walked over to the gates, where he hit the buzzer and waited for a reply. A disembodied voice asked him his name, and as soon as he gave it, the gates opened.

Alana met him and led him back to the patio, where Myra sat at an umbrella table, a pile of sketches in front of her. She was studying them, and he saw that she was putting names on the different sheets.

“Mr. Smith, good afternoon. Please excuse me, but we’re down to the wire here,” she said. “I’m making my last choices for the shoot. So—did you enjoy seeing the island?”

“Very much. It’s a beautiful place,” Luke said, joining her at the table.

“Have you decided which models you’d like to use for your catalogue?” she asked. “That will be important in our final negotiations. Naturally, the established models demand higher salaries.”

“Naturally,” he said. “Rene, Victoria, Jeanne and Chloe,” he said.

She smiled. “You’re not going to use Lacy?”

“I don’t think I can afford Lacy.”

“Jeanne is almost as pricey as Lacy.”

“Yes, but I think I have the combination I’m looking for with those four.”

“Then I’ll finalize agreements with them for you,” Myra told him. “Now, have you made arrangements for bringing whatever you need to the island?” She looked up as she spoke, waving a hand to summon Alana to the table. “Alana, dear, will you ask Viv to brew some coffee for Mr. Smith and me, please?” She turned to Luke and said, “Unless you’d prefer iced tea—or something stronger? It is hot today.”

“Coffee is fine, thank you.” He watched as Alana, ever so slightly hunched over, went to arrange the coffee. The poor girl was thin enough to be a model, that was certain, but her posture was a deal breaker. “I’ll follow Chloe Marin’s recommendation,” he said to Myra. “I’ll rent a boat from Brad.”

She nodded. “Perfect. And of course, you’ll have a lovely room at the hotel. Now, as to your photographers. Are you bringing your own, or are you using ours?”

“Yours, please. This is my first catalogue, so I’m grateful for all the help I can get.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you have an absolutely beautiful line. You should do well. Would you like my suggestions for which girls should wear which suits?”

“I’m all for suggestions,” he said. “But I have a few ideas, too.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Myra said, sitting back.

He was grateful when just then a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile brought out a tray of coffee, which bought him time while he tried to remember what was in “his line” and how to segue into the conversation he wanted. “I’m seeing Victoria as a blond, ethereal type, showing the gauzy cover-ups. Jeanne’s the bold, in-your-face type, perfect for the rhinestone pieces. Rene will look perfect in the animal prints, and Chloe in the red white and blue one-piece suits, ready for a dive off the high board.”

“Sporty,” Myra agreed.

“There’s something special about her. She’s got confidence,” Luke said, then leaned forward to speak confidentially. “Frankly, I was surprised. I mean, I gather no one talks about it, but weren’t she and Victoria and some of their friends involved in that terrible mass murder about ten years ago?”

Myra had been looking down, making notes. Now her hand went still, and he saw color flood her face.

“Yes,” she finally said, but she didn’t elaborate.

“But they’re all right now? I like both of them very much. Victoria’s worked for Bryson forever, right? And Chloe, too, on a part-time basis? Without any problems?” He did his best to sound sincerely worried about his models, as if making sure he wasn’t going to stress them into breaking down.

Myra looked up at him at last. “Both Victoria and Chloe are completely stable and professional. Victoria has been with Bryson for nine years, and Chloe’s been working with us on and off for almost as long. Victoria teaches and does
local theater on the side, and Chloe has a private psychology practice and helps the local police on occasion, and both of them could do double the modeling work if they wanted to. Neither of them even needs to work for a living, but they enjoy what they do and don’t want to stop.”

“Oh, right. I think I heard that Victoria is an heiress…?”

“She and her cousin Brad stand to inherit Preston Enterprises, and they both have trust funds in the meantime.”

“And Chloe?”

“Her parents were killed when she was very young. There was a settlement, and her uncle managed her assets for her quite successfully. She’s quite an amazing young woman, to have overcome what she has.”

He liked the way Myra defended her flock, with dignity. She gave information without turning it gossipy.

“The Church of the Real People,” he murmured reflectively, shaking his head.

Myra’s pencil snapped, and she didn’t look up for several long seconds. When she did, she was pale, but she tried to speak casually. “I don’t think they exist anymore.”

“Yeah, they do. I don’t remember what I was looking at—the newspaper, maybe? Or one of those local flyers? Anyway, they’re having some kind of a potluck supper tomorrow night,” he said.

He watched her carefully, trying to decide whether she was surprised by his proof that the cult was still around or if she was just covering her reactions better.

“Really?” she said. “I thought they’d disbanded. The church elders were horrified when the bodies of two mem
bers were discovered—with a note taking responsibility for the killings. I once knew something about them, actually. They didn’t preach violence of any kind. And though they did ask for a percentage of the members’ incomes, so does the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Were you a member?” he asked, keeping his tone curious but light.

She hesitated. “Briefly. That’s why I was astounded by what happened.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “I was uncomfortable with everyone knowing all my business, with turning my whole life over to the church. I actually felt bad when it all exploded—some of the members were good people. If you ask me, it was the kind of thing that could happen anywhere. A couple of crazies ruining it for everyone.”

“You mean the way fanatics in any religion will take the group’s beliefs and twist them to their own ends?”

“Exactly. I think those two, the ones who killed the teenagers and then themselves, were totally insane. They acted on their own, based on some crazy belief that they were saving the souls of those kids. That’s what I thought then, anyway. I don’t really think about it at all anymore. I was young when I joined the church, lost… I’d had a lot of bad relationships…I needed guidance. That’s why I joined. That’s why most young people join cults. They need friends. Anyway…” She paused, looking at her watch. “I have another appointment, and it’s going to be a busy night. You’re always welcome here, of course.”

He was always welcome, he thought—but she wanted him to leave
now
.