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Authors: Kevin O'Brien

BOOK: The Last Victim
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“What’s wrong?”
“Janice started getting these awful stomach cramps. She was bleeding, and . . . well, I think we’ve lost the baby. . . .”
“Oh no. Brad, I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
“So—can you come over? I need you to take Emma and Dad.”
“Um, sure, of course.” She glanced at the sign for Interstate 5. “I can be there in about an hour and a half.”
“An hour and a half? Where are you?”
She hesitated.
“Brigg?”
“I’m here with Zach. I’ll explain when I get there. . . .”
The sign along Interstate 5 read:
PORTLAND—43 MI
.
Bridget couldn’t even process what had happened. Yet another death, this time Brad and Janice’s unborn child.
Apparently, Janice’s holistic doctor was at the house, tending to her. Janice’s condition was stable, but the doctor was talking about putting her in the hospital for the night.
Bridget felt horrible, but she couldn’t help wondering about Janice’s drinking on the sly, her
natural, herbal
brand of Valium, and the secrecy over her switching doctors. It almost seemed as if she’d sabotaged her own pregnancy. Bridget hated herself for even thinking such a thing.
Zach had offered to pick up the boys from school, but she didn’t want to do that to David and Eric on their first day back. They’d only met Zach once before—a couple of nights ago at their father’s wake. No, she’d have plenty of time to go to Brad’s house, pick up her father and Emma, then swing by and get the boys at school.
That was easy to figure out. Deciding what to tell Brad was the real dilemma.
“I don’t want him to know what we’re doing,” Zach said, his eyes on the road. “Just do me a favor and tell him we went for a drive along the Columbia River or something.”
Bridget squirmed in the passenger seat. “Why can’t I tell him the truth?” she asked. “You know, I felt terrible lying to him this morning. He thought I was in Portland, having lunch with my sister-in-law.”
“Well, say your sister-in-law canceled,” Zach said. “Then I called you up. We had lunch and went for a drive. We were on our way to Mount Hood when he called.”
“Why don’t you want Brad to know what we’re doing?” Bridget pressed.
“Like I told you yesterday, there might be someone Brad has in his confidence who could be connected to these killings.”
“Who exactly?”
“It could be any number of people,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know. I just think we’re better off if Brad doesn’t know what we’re doing.”
“You’re asking me to lie to my brother,” Bridget said.
“Yes, I know. Will you do that for me, Bridget? Please?”
“We’ll need someone to explain about the trauma parents go through when they lose an unborn child,” Jay Corby said into his cell phone. “Someone who knows how to sling that psychological bullshit.”
He was pacing around Brad’s kitchen. He wore a blue silk shirt, black pants, and designer glasses. His short blond hair was gelled and spiked to edgy perfection. Brad’s campaign manager, who routinely went in for Botox injections and chemical peels, had a perpetual “electric beach” tan, and his teeth were bleached almost too white. It always seemed to amaze people that Jay wasn’t gay. At least, he
claimed
he was straight, and he had a wife and a baby boy, Cameron, to prove it.
“So get me a shrink—preferably a good-looking guy,” he barked into the phone. “We’ll need someone to make up for this bow-wow woman doctor who’ll be explaining Janice’s condition.”
Apparently, Janice’s holistic doctor had shown up in jeans and a sweatshirt, which was fine for an emergency house call, but it wouldn’t work for a TV appearance.
Jay had summoned the press. They were expected to descend on Brad and Janice’s house within the hour. He’d sent Janice’s doctor home to change her clothes for the TV interview, “and maybe if we’re lucky, she’ll come back looking more like a doctor, for Christ’s sake.”
Janice was resting in bed. Brad Senior and Emma were in the family room, watching
Mulan
together. Brad sat across from Bridget at the kitchen table, looking a bit shell-shocked. There was an aspirin bottle and a tumbler of water in front of him. Under his breath, he asked Bridget—for the second time—where she’d been with Zach Matthias when he’d phoned earlier. Wasn’t she supposed to be lunching with her sister-in-law today?
Bridget gave him the same reply she’d given before: “I’ll explain later.”
Jay clicked off his cell phone. “Bridget, I’m going to need you at Brad’s side when he makes his statement. We’ll tape just outside the front door—”
“Sorry, Jay, but I can’t stick around.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I need to leave in about a half hour. I’m picking up my sons at school.”
She reached across the table and squeezed Brad’s hand. “Listen, do you want me to take Dad and Emma for the night? Because if you do, we better get some of their things packed—”
“Executive Limousines?” Jay was on his cell phone again. “Yes, I need a pickup at Lincoln Elementary School at three-thirty—”
“Hey, Jay, wait a minute,” Bridget interrupted. She got to her feet. “You’re not sending a limo over to pick up my boys. They’ve probably had a tough enough time keeping a low profile today. They don’t need a limo picking them up in front of God and the whole school.”
“That’s crazy,” Jay said, still holding the cell phone to his ear. “A stretch limo with a sunroof and TV in the back? They’ll love it.”
Bridget shook her head. “Jay, this is their first day back to school since their father was killed. I want to be waiting there for them when the bell rings. You’re not sending a limo.”
Jay sighed. “I’ll call you back,” he said into the cell phone, then clicked it off. “Bridget, we need you on board for this. You’ve just been through a tragedy. And now you’re here for your brother as he deals with his own terrible loss. When he makes his statement to the press, it’s vital that you’re in the shot with him. Brad, talk to her.”
Brad got to his feet. “You guys figure this out,” he muttered. “I’m going to check on Janice.” He shuffled out of the kitchen.
Jay set his phone down and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Listen,” he said, exasperated. “Brad’s numbers at the polls are still in the toilet from this Christmas cocaine party fiasco, which—let’s face it—wouldn’t have happened if Brad hadn’t tried to save
your
marriage. Right now, we need voters’ sympathy. If it seems like I’m exploiting this miscarriage, this tragedy, well, that’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s essential if we want to get voters to embrace Brad Corrigan again. We need to show the family sticking together in this crisis. We need you on board here, Brigg.”
Bridget scowled at him. She hated when Jay called her “Brigg,” as if he were family. And it unnerved her how he automatically knew her sons attended Lincoln Elementary School. Jay Corby had known where David’s Little League game was held; and he’d known before her that she would be singing the National Anthem at David’s game.
She remembered what Zach had said about someone in Brad’s confidence who might be involved in these recent killings. Could it be Jay Corby? He seemed to know everything. Did he know about Gorman’s Creek too?
Brad came back into the kitchen. “Brigg? Janice is asking to see you.” He patted her on the shoulder as he returned to the breakfast table.
Bridget brushed past Jay and headed out of the kitchen. She went upstairs to Brad and Janice’s bedroom. Brad had left the door open for her.
She paused at the threshold and stared at the empty, unmade bed. She half-expected to see some blood on the sheets, but Janice’s pale blue, six-hundred-thread-count designer bedding was spotless.
Janice walked across the room. She must have been at her dresser. Fussing with her hair, she made her way back to the bed. For someone who had just suffered a miscarriage today, she moved with surprisingly little difficulty.
She didn’t seem to notice Bridget standing in the doorway. But Bridget noticed something as her sister-in-law passed in front of the window in her champagne-colored, lightweight nightgown. She saw Janice’s slender figure through the nightgown’s flimsy material. The sight of her silhouetted frame—the round breasts and that flat stomach—was a shock, especially after weeks of seeing Janice in maternity clothes.
Janice started to climb into the bed. She turned toward the door, and her eyes locked with Bridget’s for a moment. “God, don’t creep up on me like that!” she said, quickly pulling the covers over her stomach.
“Sorry.” Bridget took a couple of steps into the room. “Brad said you wanted to see me. How are you feeling?”
“Outside of losing my baby and enduring the worst cramps of my life, I’m just dandy, thank you.” Janice positioned her pillow against the headboard and settled back in the bed. “What’s all the fuss about downstairs? I heard arguing.”
“It’s nothing,” Bridget said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Only Jay’s giving me a headache. Do you mind if I steal an aspirin?”
She ducked into the master bathroom before Janice could answer. Switching on the light, Bridget closed the door. She didn’t see any bloody sheets or underclothes soaking in the Jacuzzi tub. She checked the wastebasket. Nothing—except an old tube of toothpaste, a few tissues, and the cardboard center of a used-up toilet paper roll. The hamper was empty.
And Janice was supposed to have miscarried today—after nearly twelve weeks? It was either the most immaculate miscarriage in history, or Janice was lying. Was she ever really pregnant? She must have been, because she went to Dr. Reece for a few weeks.
Bridget found the aspirin in the medicine chest—along with a bottle of Valium, the old-fashioned, nonherbal kind.
“What are you doing in there?” Janice called.
Bridget put the Valium back on the shelf, then reached over and flushed the toilet. She took an aspirin and washed it down with some water. Emerging from the bathroom, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I needed to make a pit stop,” she explained. “I was going to help by cleaning up in there, but it’s already very tidy—not a speck of blood, not even a wrapped-up sanitary napkin to toss in the garbage outside.”
“The doctor already took care of that,” Janice said, eyes narrowed at her. “If you’d been here a couple of hours ago, when Brad was hoping you’d come, you would have seen quite a mess. But it’s under control now.”
Bridget gave a faint smile. “That’s nice.”
Janice readjusted the pillow behind her back. “You know, if you’re sincere about wanting to help, you might cooperate with Jay and Brad—instead of arguing with them.”
Bridget rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Well, I’m sorry, Janice. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense to you. But this is the first day David and Eric have been back to school since their father was murdered. I want to be waiting for them when they get out of school in—” She checked her wristwatch. “Twenty minutes. I’m going to pick them up, drive home, and start cooking dinner for them—and Dad and Emma. My boys have been through enough these last few days. They don’t need chauffeured limos and press conferences. They need to start feeling ‘normal’ again.”
“But things aren’t
normal
, Bridget,” she shot back. “I’ve just lost a baby, for God’s sake. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I hold you partially responsible.”
“What?”
“When I should have been taking it easy, I’ve had to look after
your
children. I’ve had to look after
your
father. And because you were so gung ho for me to make all these public appearances with Brad, I’ve had to perform for the press. I was under a lot of stress—”
“Oh, please, Janice. You can’t blame me for that. I merely agreed with something Jay had suggested—”
“The reason we’ve all had to work so hard these last couple of days,” Janice said, cutting her off, “the reason Brad’s numbers dropped, and the reason he was at that stupid party with your husband’s girlfriend—it all comes back to you. Doesn’t it? You’re the cause of this, Bridget. I can’t believe you won’t even acknowledge that. I lost my baby because of you. Really, you ought to be down on your knees, begging our forgiveness—instead of throwing this attitude around. You’ve been asked to do a simple favor. I don’t understand. In the past, you’ve had no problem dumping your children on me. But suddenly, you’re Mother of the Year, and you need to pick them up at school—”
“You are way out of line—”
Janice spoke over her. “Your brother bailed you out when you had nothing. He rescued you, and you owe him!”
“And I’ve paid him back. When he brought me on board, Brad’s numbers went up. Brad’s a wonderful, generous guy. But he wouldn’t keep me on the payroll if I wasn’t valuable to the campaign. And you know that’s true. Sure, I’ve ‘dumped’ my sons on you, Janice. But it was only out of dire necessity—when I was helping Brad with his campaign. Believe me, I don’t enjoy leaving David and Eric with you. I don’t like the way you talk to them. And I don’t like the way you’re talking to me right now.” Bridget shook her head at her sister-in-law. “You know something, Janice? I don’t like you. At all. You’re not a nice person.”
Janice glared at her. “How dare you say that to me—after what I’ve been through today!”
“I do dare,” Bridget whispered. “I dare, because I don’t believe for one second that you suffered a miscarriage today. You’re lying, Janice.”
Bridget was trembling. She’d never spoken like this to her sister-in-law. Though a confrontation was long overdue, she didn’t enjoy it. In fact, her stomach was turning.
“I don’t know why you’re lying,” she muttered. “And I don’t know what really happened. But maybe it’s a good thing I don’t.”
She glanced at her watch again. “I’m getting out of here. I need to pick up my sons at school.”
Bridget hurried out of the bedroom before she or Janice could say anything else. She saw Brad coming up the hallway.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Jay and I could hear you all the way downstairs.”
“A difference in opinion,” Bridget said coolly. “I need to pick up the boys. Do you still want me to take Dad and Emma?”
“Yes, but . . .” He hesitated. “Couldn’t you just stick around for the news conference and let the limo pick up David and Eric? Then you could—”
“No, I couldn’t,” Bridget replied, cutting him off. She edged past him and headed down the corridor for the back stairs.
“What the hell has gotten into you today?” he called after her.
“You know, you never told me what you were doing with Zach Matthias this afternoon. Is he the reason you’re acting this way?”
Bridget stopped and turned toward her brother. “Irene canceled on lunch,” Bridget lied. She stared at her brother and kept her voice steady. “Zach called and asked me to go for a drive with him. I think he genuinely likes me. And no, he’s not the reason I’m acting this way. I’m just
reacting
to you, Jay, and Janice.” She sighed. “Anyway, Zach and I were over by Mount Hood when you called.”
Brad scowled at her. He didn’t seem to believe her.
Bridget told herself it didn’t matter what he thought. She turned away and headed down the stairs.

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