Web of Lies (16 page)

My mouth twisted as I remembered the odd looks yesterday from officers Rex Whitley and Charlie Tranks. Just as I’d suspected, Blanche must have told them, and perhaps others, the reason for our visit. Then, evidently, filled in all the details as soon as Chelsea and I left his office. I closed my eyes, imagining the snide comments.
“Can you believe what Annie Kingston claims now? Man, those Christians are nutcakes . . .”

Which one of those officers knew enough to spout all this to the press? My bet was on Tranks. He and Blanche were tight. I wanted to strangle them both.

And by the way, Chelsea was
not
a psychic.

I took a deep breath, trying to relieve my caved lungs. Now what? How was I going to face anybody? Jenna was right — I should never have gotten mixed up with Chelsea Adams. It was one thing to stand up for my faith and call people to pray. But this was different. This was . . .
radical
. Seeing the stark black print on white paper made the whole scenario sound so utterly, completely ridiculous —

Annie, stop. How selfish can you get?

Hot remorse flushed through my veins as I realized the story could cause horrible consequences. If the two people in Chelsea’s vision
were
Amy and the missing man, when Neese heard of this he might kill them out of fear. Get rid of the evidence, clean up the spider room. The thought sank within me, down to my gut. My gaze sputtered across cabinets, out the window as the projector in my head ran film of an enraged Neese

banging through the door of that cramped room. Amy and the man cower on the floor, welts from spider bites on their bodies. Neese grabs Amy’s hair, jerks the girl to her bare feet. She pleads and cries as he drags her outside, slamming the door behind him . . .

I pressed both elbows down on the table and dropped my head in my hands.
God, don’t let that happen! What am I supposed to do now? What
can
I do?

Footsteps heralded my sister’s return. I did not look up. I heard the chair opposite me slide across wood, the rustle of clothes as Jenna sat down. I sensed her eyes upon me, but I couldn’t speak. She waited. I could feel her empathy.

The film in my head clicked, threatened to turn on again. I pulled its plug.
Logic, Annie. Think it through.

There was only one way I could deal with this news. I had to convince myself that Chelsea’s vision had nothing to do with Amy and the missing man —
if
there even was such a person. I could not think that Blanche’s stupidity might cost two innocent lives. Better to imagine myself as a scapegoat, the laughingstock of the Police Department.
Let them point fingers and snigger, God. Just don’t let two people die because of this.

Jenna remained silent. I floundered for words.

“Okay, go ahead.” I aimed my challenge at the table, voice low. “Tell me you were right. That I’m an idiot for ever letting Chelsea come.”

She pulled in a long breath. “Well, there’s not much point in talking about that, is there? It’s done. Now we get to figure out what to do about this.” She smacked a hand on the newspaper.

I emitted a sick laugh. “You tell me. I can’t even think straight.”

“Actually, it’s not like we
can
do much about it. I just . . . wonder where it all will lead. You didn’t read the other stories yet, did you?”

I shook my head.

She drummed her fingertips against the paper. “In an odd way everything blends together. Neese threatens to kill you. Which makes the police look for him all the harder. When they find him, who knows? Maybe he’ll crack and lead police to two captives locked up somewhere . . .”

With a bunch of poisonous spiders.
She couldn’t even say the words, it sounded so insane.

“And the skeleton at the runway?” My voice sounded thick.

“Oh yeah. Guess that’s just an added bonus.”

My throat felt tight. “Well, at least my work on the skeleton will be with the Sheriff’s Department. I sure don’t want to see Tim Blanche again anytime soon.” I made a face. “But I do want to call and tell him what I think of him.”

“Yeah, agreed. I’ll be happy to do it for you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “The way he treated Chelsea and me was bad enough. But he didn’t have to snicker about it to his buddies. Obviously, he never intended to give that drawing to the media. Now he
really
won’t. He’ll think it would make him look the fool. Only thing he can do is distance himself from us.”

A door opened above, the sound filtering over the balcony, through the great room. Chelsea was up.
Oh, wonderful.
I wasn’t ready to tell her the news. If I felt this humiliated, imagine how she would react. What’s worse, she would see right through me and perceive what I was thinking.

“Did that policeman outside want more coffee?” Anything for an excuse to flee. I could take it out, linger and talk to him.

Jenna shook her head. “You’re stuck here, Sis.”

I leaned back, folded my arms, and waited.

Chelsea appeared, wearing yesterday’s clothes and no makeup. Like Jenna, she was gorgeous without it. One look at our faces and she knew something was wrong. She sat at the head of the table. I got up to pour her some coffee. Jenna slid the newspaper in front of her, tapping the offending article with one finger. “Better look at this one first.”

No one spoke while Chelsea read. I placed a mug of coffee on the table and resumed my seat, suddenly feeling like an offending student awaiting word from the principal. If I bemoaned letting her come here, surely she’d feel the same about calling me in the first place. Look at how my town was treating her obedience to God.

Chelsea lifted her eyes, her gaze drifting out the window. Her expression held mixed resignation and calm. In time she cleared her throat, looked to me. “How did they know this?”

I shook my head. “It had to be Blanche. He probably laughed about our conversation to another officer. When Bremington, the reporter, showed up because of Neese’s threat, he got a bigger story than he bargained for.”

The scenario took root within me, sprouted into renewed anger.
God, why did You let this happen? Why should someone like Blanche get the upper hand, when all we did was what You wanted?

Chelsea cradled her coffee mug, her features placid. Just seeing her lack of reaction diminished my indignation. I focused on the finely sculpted bones of her cheeks, the smooth skin, struck by the disparity between her fragile beauty and inner strength.

“I’m really sorry.” Her eyes turned from Jenna back to me. “I shouldn’t be surprised at this; the media never let me alone before. You’d think the police would be tight with their information, but . . .” She pressed her lips together. “Anyway, I’m most sorry for you, Annie. Like I said, when my car is fixed, I get to go home. But you have to stay here and work with these people.”

I couldn’t reply. No use denying the truth.

“The only thing I can tell you — ” she offered the tiniest of smiles — “is that time will bear you out. I know God sent me this vision. I know I was supposed to come to you. He wouldn’t put us through all this without good reason. His vision
will
become evident as the truth.”

Jenna looked on, for once too nonplussed to speak. I know she thought the claims outrageous. But she couldn’t help seeing Chelsea’s humility. Chelsea hadn’t grown defensive, hadn’t even mentioned herself.

Time would bear
me
out;
God’s
vision would become evident.

If I were Chelsea, I’d be explaining myself backward and forward. Talk about feeling like I’d let people down.

“We have to keep praying.” Chelsea’s voice grew firmer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if God does something quickly. I just don’t sense I’m going to drive away tomorrow and leave this all hanging. But whatever happens, God’s going to teach us something through this. He always does.”

Myriad reactions tickertaped through my head. An aching desire for unshakeable faith like Chelsea’s. A question of what God wanted to teach me now — hadn’t I learned
enough
this year? And a blazing wish for the ability to read my sister’s thoughts.

Jenna sat in stillness, then smacked a palm against the table. “Well, time for breakfast.” With that she rose and went to the refrigerator. Chelsea and I exchanged a half-amused glance. My sister had reached her limit with all our God talk. Better give her some space.

Refrigerator drawers rolled open and shut. Soon Jenna had the makings of bacon-and-cheese omelets spread across the counter. Chelsea and I got up to help.

We gave ourselves over to the familiar tasks, willing our busyness to lighten the atmosphere. As we cooked, we talked of other things — from Chelsea’s teenage sons, to the Scott Peterson trial in Redwood City, to Milt Waking, the ever-in-your-face former Bay Area reporter who’d covered the Trent Park murder and, more audaciously, the trial of “Salad King” Darren Welk. Although I’d never liked Milt Waking, I’d had to work with him. His news channel had consistently chosen my drawings over other artists’.

“Oh, do I remember him.” Jenna whipped a fork through egg-and-milk mixture. “He’s
gorgeous
.”

Yeah, and as conceited as the day was long.

“Really?” Chelsea said dryly. “I never noticed. I was too busy trying to outrun him. He made me furious.”

“He’s reporting for FOX now; I guess you know that.” Jenna rounded her mouth in an
O
and fanned it with one hand. “That guy is
hot
.”

Chelsea and I exchanged a look. I twisted my lips —
Hey, she’s my sister; what am I supposed to do?

The omelets were ready. Now we’d have to eat, while the newspaper sat like an elephant upon the table. With a firm hand I pushed it off, feeling a tinge of vengeance as it rustled to the floor.

Our discussion turned to the day’s plans. Stephen, still in bed, would go to work at one. Kelly remained at the Willits’ and would be going to church with Dave and Erin. “Maybe Dave can take the girls to a movie this afternoon,” I put in. I paused, imagining the day stretching before me, with nothing to do but worry about Neese and the newspaper article. Suddenly the prospect of a facial reconstruction didn’t sound so terrible. At least it would keep me occupied for a day or two. And I’d finally be able to use the techniques I’d studied in the classroom. “As for me, I need to do some preparations in case I receive that assignment today.”

“Like what?” Chelsea asked.

“Lay out all the materials, like the vinyl erasers I’ll need to cut for measuring tissue depth.” I spread my hands. “It’s a complicated procedure, building a face from a mere skull. Once I learn factors like the race and sex of the person, I have to reconstruct the body tissue using a special mathematical formula — ”

“This is a great subject for breakfast.” Jenna frowned at me.

“Sorry.” She was right. To the average
person it was gruesome to think of holding someone’s skull — someone who once walked the earth, alive and well, with muscles and skin forming unique features. Before I entered the field of forensic art, I’d never dreamed of doing such a thing. It was far easier working as a courtroom artist, drawing the living.

“Hey.” Jenna turned to Chelsea, face brightening. “Wanna go flying?” She blinked. “Oh, what am I thinking. We shouldn’t leave you alone, Annie.”

I considered that. “I may be working half the day. Besides, I can’t expect you two to just sit around here all day because of me. I have police protection, remember?”

“I guess so.” My sister inhaled slowly, thinking. “Chelsea, we could go down to the Bay Area. It’s less than an hour. If your husband could come to the San Carlos airport with some of your clothes — at least you’d sleep in your own pajamas tonight. Or I could even leave you there and fly back down to pick you up tomorrow when your car’s done.” She shook her head. “I should have thought of that last night.”

Chelsea smiled. “It was pretty late for that. Besides, we all were a little preoccupied. Anyway, I’d love to go flying, just for the ride.”

Soon their plans were set. As we cleared the table, Jenna told Chelsea all about her plane, and how they could make a slight detour and fly past the Golden Gate Bridge. “It’s an awesome sight, just awesome.”

I chimed in my agreement, my eyes drifting to the newspaper sections spilled upon the kitchen floor. Part of the headline glared up at me, taunting.

. . . Missing Woman Trapped with Spiders

Chapter 27

O
h man.

He paced the kitchen, hands shoving in and out of his pockets. The newspaper’s front page screamed at him from the table. A bare glance at one article was all he’d needed.

He couldn’t believe it — that woman had shown up. She knew things. God told her. Now she was here.

“Don’t you know the Lord above sees everything you do?” his grandmother used to say.

He huffed across the floor to the refrigerator. Strode back again. Maybe if he kept pacing, one time he’d hit the table and the paper would be gone. Poof. Or at least the front page would be different. All the regular daily boring stuff. The mayor this and that. School district nonsense.

“Uh-uh-uh.” He grunted with each step, making noise to fill his ears, his head. Anything to keep the voices away. If they came, the dirt ants would follow . . .

Chelsea Adams knew about the spiders. And that little room in his basement. She saw it. The shelves, even the red bulb.

How long until God told her everything about him?

That’s what happened with her in that Bay Area case. One vision, then another — until she knew it all. That guy would have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for her.

He slid to a halt. How could this be happening? Whole thing was just nuts. Chelsea Adams “sees” his spiders. Goes to Annie Kingston. Somebody finds a skeleton in Grove Landing. All in one day? He punched a fist into his palm. What kind of wild coincidence was that?

Wait.

Maybe they were playing with him.

That was it. The ghosts were playing. Dirt ants from the grave had been after him for years. Now some skeleton hand out there had rattled to the surface and waved. Here I am; come find me!