Undying (15 page)

Maybe she didn’t want to know.

She slipped out of her clothes inside the dark doorway to his bedroom, went to the bed and lay naked on the cool sheets. He had washed them and made the bed. How sweet.

Arlan stood in the doorway, finishing his beer.

She stretched out, enjoying the feel of the crisp, soft sheets and the slight stirring of air against her prickly, hot, damp skin.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“About what?”

“You didn’t tell me he’s contacted you since the first murders.”

She looked up, watching the paddle fan turn. She listened to its
tick…tick…tick.

Arlan stood there for a long time until finally, without looking at him, she said, “Are you coming or not?”

His sigh was long and when he spoke, his words were barely a whisper. She heard his shorts and T-shirt hit the floor. “I’m coming.”

Teddy paced, counting his strides from one side of the hotel room to the other. Eight. Just eight.

He felt trapped. But lost at the same time.

He did an about-face when he reached the wall and walked in the other direction. He glanced at the desk where he’d left his laptop open. He’d waited for Marceline all evening, but she hadn’t come. Where was she? With another man? The thought of her in another man’s arms made his stomach twist painfully.

I told you she didn’t want you.

Teddy whipped around. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said aloud.

I’m just telling you the truth. Someone has to be honest with you, Teddy. You’re certainly not honest with yourself.

At the wall, he turned again. His terrycloth slippers made a soft
slap, slap
on the carpet as he paced.

“I have to work tomorrow. I have to go to sleep,” he said. He gritted his teeth. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Forget about her.

“I can’t!” he said, closing one hand into a fist.

You don’t need her. You have me.

But I do need her,
Teddy thought, not saying it aloud. He sat down on the edge of the bed and covered his ears with his hands. “I need her because of you,” he whispered.

A
rlan was carrying wood in through the back door of Eva’s house when his cell rang. He could tell by the ring tone that it was Fia. He was glad she had called. He’d waited all weekend to hear from her. He’d wanted to call her, but resisted the temptation. These last few days he’d felt unsettled. Divided. He really cared about Macy. But Fia…she was Fia.

He leaned the two-by-fours in the corner of the laundry room. “Hey,” he said into the phone.

“Hey, you talk to Regan or Fin?” she asked. No small talk with Fia. There rarely was.

“No. Haven’t heard a word from either of them.” Arlan walked into Eva’s kitchen and took a water bottle from the fridge. It was going to be another scorcher of a day.

“They were supposed to meet yesterday. I would have thought we’d have heard from them by now.”

“I wouldn’t be too concerned.” Arlan leaned against the granite countertop he had installed the year before and twisted the lid off the water bottle. He took a drink. “You know your brothers.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.

“You sound tired,” Arlan said. “You work all weekend?”

“Yup.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“I know you found something,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me in the middle of the morning to chat.”

“I call you to chat sometimes,” she defended herself.

“Not during the workday. Not on FBI time. You’re too Type A for that and you know it.” He took another long drink of the icy water. “So, what did you find out? Moon Boy leave his name and number with the police at some point?”

“Nothing about Moon Boy, so far. No Teddy, no Ted, no Theodore. I’m sure Macy’s right, he doesn’t use his real name when communicating with her. As far as the lists of names from all the crime scenes, no duplicates. I got the log of tips called in over the years, but it could take me weeks to get through them. You wouldn’t believe how many fruitcakes call in, positive a serial killer lives in the apartment next to them.”

“Or an alien,” he offered.

“Or a vampire.”

They both laughed.

“Okay, so what
did
you find?” he asked.

She exhaled. “I called because I need you to have Macy call me. She’s disconnected yet another damned phone. I e-mailed her this morning, but she hasn’t responded.”

He walked to the window above the sink and gazed out into Eva’s garden. “Probably because she’s here.”

“Here where? At your house?”

“Eva’s. I’m doing some work on her pantry. Macy’s taking photographs in the garden.” He watched them. “She and Eva are out there looking like best friends. Talking. Laughing.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Fia intoned.

“I know. I told Eva that the other day. And she, basically, told me to mind my own business. She says she likes her. You know Eva, she does what she wants.” The women were sitting on a bench under a pear tree. Macy was fiddling with her camera and Eva was talking a mile a minute. “You want to talk to her now? Want me to hand her my phone?”

“I suppose. This is a pain in the ass, her playing secret agent like this.”

“You think she has good reason to be hiding out, or is she just a flake?” He walked toward the back door, not sure which choice he was hoping for. If she was hiding, it was because she was A, in cahoots with the killer, or B, being persecuted by him. Neither was promising. So maybe it would be better, at least for Macy, if Fia learned she was a nut job. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen for a crazy female.

He entered the garden by way of the back door. “Hang on a minute,” he said into the phone; then he lowered it. “Phone’s for you, Macy.” He held the cell out to her.

“Me?” Macy rose off the bench, leaving her camera beside Eva, but she didn’t reach for the phone. “Who is it?” She sounded…afraid.

“It’s just Fia.”

“What does she want?”

He shook the phone. “She needs to talk to you. Something about the investigation, I imagine.” He glanced at Eva, who was all ears.

Macy slowly reached for the phone, not entirely sure she wanted to take it. Another conversation with Fia would change things. She knew it. She could feel it. Was this really what she wanted?

She hadn’t talked to Teddy in days and it had felt good. She’d had an amazing weekend taking photos and talking with Eva’s neighbors. She’d even joined Eva and some of her friends for dinner the previous night at a small restaurant down by the water. Macy had never had friends before, even someone else’s. It had felt so good to have someone to talk to. To laugh with.

And then there was Arlan. Each night she went to his bed, they made love, and then she returned to the hotel. He didn’t ask anything of her. He made no demands.

If Macy talked to Fia she might have to leave Clare Point and she didn’t want to leave. She knew she would have to, eventually, but just a few days more would be heaven.

But he was still out there and he would kill again. Macy knew Teddy would kill again and probably sooner rather than later. If she wanted to help Fia stop him, she really had no choice but to continue on this path.

She slowly drew the phone to her ear as she walked away from Eva and Arlan. “Hello,” she said softly.

“Why did you lie to me?” Fia demanded.

Fia caught Macy off guard. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“Who are you?”

“I…I’m Macy Smith,” she said carefully. Fia had obviously done some sort of background check on Macy. She knew it would happen if she gave her name. That’s why she’d avoided it for the last year. But Macy didn’t know how much Fia knew and until she did, she had to stick to her story. “I suppose technically I’m Mary Elizabeth Smith,” she continued. “My parents always called me Macy, though.” She halted under a red maple tree that was so perfect it should have been in a painting. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Fia said angrily, “is that you’re
not
Mary Elizabeth Smith and the social security number you provided me doesn’t belong to you.”

Macy thought about just hanging up. She would go back to the hotel, grab her bag, get into her car and drive away. She couldn’t help Fia find the killer, but she could help herself. She couldn’t save anyone else; that had already been proven, but she could save herself.

That’s what Macy had been telling herself all these years. That was her excuse, because she was a coward.

“What do you mean it’s not my social security number?” Macy said. “Check with the IRS.
They
think I’m Mary Elizabeth Smith. They take enough taxes out of me.”

“Mary Elizabeth Smith is buried in a churchyard outside St. Louis. Where were you born, Macy?”

“Our Lady of Grace Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri.”

“What’s your birth date?”

“January second. I’ll be thirty in January. You do the math.” Macy was a little surprised by the sarcasm in her voice. Fia was FBI. Fia could get her into serious trouble over this.

Fia was quiet on the other end for a moment. “That only means that you were careful when you bought this identity. According to my sources, Mary Elizabeth Smith died at birth.”

“Obviously
your
sources are wrong.” Macy gave a little laugh that didn’t sound convincing even in her own ears.

“I can send an agent to the cemetery and take a photograph of the headstone. You want me to do that, Macy?”

It was Macy’s turn to be quiet. “Why do you care?” she finally asked, turning her back on Arlan and Eva, who were relaxing on the bench among the magnificent roses.

“Because this is proof that you’ve been lying to me. And if you’re lying to me about who you are, I have to ask what else are you lying about.”

Macy plucked a maple leaf from the tree she stood under and held it in her palm, studying its shape. “I changed my name so I could hide. So no one would know who I was.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a woman being stalked by a serial killer.” Macy’s voice caught in her throat. “I’m a woman trying to do what’s right. Trying to help the police catch a killer.”

“What else have you lied to me about?”

“Nothing,” Macy said.

“Nothing?” Fia demanded.

“Nothing,” Macy repeated. She hesitated. “So did you find anything, looking over the old cases? You know, about Teddy?”

“How did you know I was—” Fia cut her sentence short. “Arlan…”

“He just told me that you were going to go over all the lists of witnesses. He explained that killers often appear in the crowd at crime scenes and that you might be able to cross-reference a name.”

“Well, I couldn’t. I put all the names into an Excel spread sheet and no one is cross-matching. You’ve got to tell me more about this guy.”

“I don’t know anything about him.” Macy felt her throat constrict as she thought of all the scraps of paper she had saved over the years. The obituaries. The news articles. The cards he sent when she was still in foster care. Was there a clue there that could lead them to the killer? But those
mementos
were personal. Too personal to be shared. “Nothing except that he’s been terrifying me…for what seems like my whole life,” she said, catching herself before she revealed too much. She had to be careful not to kid herself. Fia was not her friend. No one could be her friend.

“Damn it, Macy. He’s going to kill again.”

“I know,” Macy said, a uncharacteristic quaver in her voice. “I
know.
Don’t you see? That’s why I’m still in ClarePoint. It’s the only reason.”

“You’re not there because of Arlan?”

Macy was so surprised by the question that she turned and looked at him, sitting on the bench with Eva. He must have sensed they were speaking about him because he looked up at her at that precise moment.

He did it all the time. So did Eva, she had noticed. Everyone in the town seemed to
sense
things. It was a little weird.

Macy turned her back to Arlan and Eva again. “There’s nothing between us, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “Is that what you’re asking?”

“It’s not my business who you sleep with, Macy. You’re both consenting adults, but I…I guess I just don’t want to see Arlan hurt.”

“It’s just sex.” And Macy meant it when she said it. But she didn’t feel it with her usual conviction. She wondered if she was going against one of her most important rules of survival:
Don’t get attached.
The rule applied to towns, to jobs, and certainly to people.

And she was breaking the rule in every direction possible, wasn’t she?

“Tell me what you want me to do.” Macy released the leaf and watched it flutter to the ground in the warm breeze. She could smell the ocean from Eva’s backyard. She had always thought that if she ever settled down, if she ever could, it would be near the Atlantic Ocean. “To catch him.”

“I don’t know yet, Macy. I’m going to have to think on this one.” Fia was quiet for a second. “But I need you to promise me you’re not going to let yourself get spooked and take off. I’m not out to bust you for stealing someone’s identity—”

“I didn’t
steal
it, I bought it,” Macy interrupted. “It wasn’t as if she needed the social security number. She’s dead.”

“Just so long as you’re not doing anything illegal with it,” Fia continued. “All I want to do is stop this guy before he kills again. I need you to stay in contact with me because right now, Macy,” she said before letting her respond, “you’re still the best lead we have on this monster.”

“I’ll call you later with my new number.” Macy heard someone approaching and turned to see Arlan walking toward her.

“Everything okay?” Arlan asked Macy.

“That Arlan? Will you put him back on?” Fia asked.

Macy handed the phone to Arlan.

“Yeah?” Arlan said. He paused. Listened. “Right.” He disconnected.

“What did she say?” Macy asked.

“She asked me to keep an eye on you.” He wasn’t smiling. “There a reason she said that?”

“No reason you could understand,” she said. She walked away before he could respond. If she didn’t get away from him and those prying eyes of his, she was afraid she might cave and spill her sorry guts on Eva’s immaculate lawn.

“Macy.”

She was surprised when she felt him tug on her arm. No one had come after her before. Not ever in her life. Her father had certainly not come for her that night. A blessing or a curse?

She halted, unsure of how to respond to Arlan. It was at moments like these in life that bonds were woven or broken. Did she pull away?

“Macy, I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what’s going on. I can help you.”

She couldn’t look at him. Her eyes stung. No tears, but it was the closest she’d come to them since she was fifteen. She still remembered clearly the last time she had cried, two days before the murders. She had run to her bedroom, slamming the door, tears running down her cheeks because her mother had embarrassed her in front of her boyfriend. Macy had been so angry. So hurt.