Bad things, p.12
Bad Things, page 12
“No. Didn’t you search my apartment?” she asked, lifting her chin.
“We didn’t find anything.”
“Well, then, I guess you know I don’t have syringes lying around. I’m not that kind, Chief.”
Cole asked her a few more questions about Nick and her fellow A-Teamers, but she was apparently tapped out. As much as everyone seemed to be in a hurry to throw the book at her, apart from some reckless choices Diana had made, Cole didn’t have the evidence to charge her with Nick’s death. And truthfully, she didn’t fit the profile. Maybe she was a consummate actress and she was playing a real number on him, but at this point he just didn’t believe. And there was still a question whether Nick’s death was even murder. Cole was going to keep an open mind, but he couldn’t visualize Nick Radnor plunging a needle into his own neck.
* * *
Kerry’s cell phone rang as she was trying to get her mind on the work in front of her on her desk. Seeing it was Marcia, she almost let the call go to voice mail, but that would only delay the inevitable. “Hi, Marcia,” she answered.
“I hear you were at the station with Jerry, talking to Cole.”
Her tone was accusatory. Kerry wondered who her spy was and asked, “How’d you know?”
“What did you talk about?” she demanded.
“Nick. His death. How it happened.”
Her own tone was cold and Marcia drew in a breath, sounding a bit taken aback. “Is he going to talk to all of us?”
“Cole? I don’t know, maybe. Who told you we were at the station?” The penny dropped before the words were out of her mouth. “Ben Youngston.”
“Does Cole think it was an accident? You know Nick didn’t use drugs.”
“Ask Ben. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I should have been with you and Jerry. Audra and I are Nick’s family, too.”
“Marcia, I’ve got to go.”
“Was it really a hypodermic needle to the jugular?” she asked, her voice rising to a horror-filled squeak.
Kerry’s throat tightened. If Cole was trying to keep that information under wraps, it was too late. “Goodbye, Marcia,” she said and clicked off.
A moment later her phone rang again. For a second she wondered if Marcia was calling back, but then she saw it was Diana Conger’s number. She almost turned off the phone, but instead she girded her loins and answered. “Hi, Diana.”
“Kerry, can I talk to you?”
Diana’s voice wavered. No, Kerry almost said. She didn’t want anything to do with her and realized she’d sided with the other members of their group against her. Maybe that was unfair, but Nick had died by drug overdose while he was with Diana and that was enough for Kerry.
At her hesitation, Diana said, “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I just got back from the police station. Did you know Nick died of a heroin overdose? From an injection?”
So Cole had told her. Maybe it wasn’t Ben Youngston telling tales out of turn after all. Maybe she was the only one who wanted to keep the terrible truth out of the headlines. “Cole told us what the cause was.”
“Well, I didn’t do it. I would never do that. You’ve got to believe me. And let everyone know, please. I would never hurt Nick, and I don’t do that kind of thing anyway!”
“Okay.” Kerry just wanted off the phone. She could hear the tap-tap-tap of Angie’s heels as she headed her way, probably called by the siren song of Kerry’s trilling cell.
“Would Nick do that? To himself, I mean?” she asked.
“No.”
“I don’t think so either. I’ve been thinking about that night. It just feels like there’s something more ... someone more ... I’m scared. In fact ... I feel like I’m being watched.”
“You think someone was watching you that night?” Kerry asked.
“Does that sound paranoid?”
Yes.
Diana started to cry. “Kerry, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t do it! I couldn’t do that. And with a hypodermic needle? Never! I loved Nick like all of us did. I just kinda wanted to be with him, that’s all. It’s not my fault.”
Angie slowed by the wide, open door to Kerry’s office, more of an anteroom down the hall from Randy’s. Kerry glanced her way, then back to the pages at her desk. “I have to go.”
“You’re going to be at the memorial service tomorrow?” Diana asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ll talk to you there. I’m remembering a little bit, you know. I really am. It’s coming back in bits and pieces. And I’m seeing someone tonight who’s going to help me. I’m going to remember who did this. I think maybe someone came in after Nick and I . . . after he, maybe, took some pills? And that’s how they ... that’s how it happened?”
“Someone else at your apartment?” Kerry didn’t mean to sound dubious, but she couldn’t help the disbelief that crept into her tone.
“I don’t know ... maybe . . .” she said defensively.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Kerry. I’m really serious.”
“You didn’t tell Cole?”
“No . . . not yet ... I’m, I’m trying to remember.” As if finally catching on to Kerry’s skepticism, she said, “I’ll think on it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kerry replaced the phone, fully aware that Angie was standing in the aperture, unabashedly eavesdropping. She sent Angie a what-gives? look, but Angie just regarded her stonily, arms folded around her chest, before meandering off.
Chapter Eight
Kerry shimmied into the little black dress she’d decided would work for Nick’s memorial service. Marcia had gone across the bay to The Pier early and was making sure everything was just right. Unlike Kerry, who’d practically shut down at Nick’s death, Marcia had become energized, ready and eager to put the service together. Marcia had almost lorded it over her up till Kerry’s meeting with the police. Since then: crickets. Marcia apparently didn’t want to talk to her anymore.
Fine. Kerry had rustled up some photographs, as had Jerry, and given them to Marcia, and she had done the rest. Nothing more to do. Kerry was both grateful and a little pissed off about it. Marcia had this uncanny ability to swoop in, take control, push you aside, then make sure you felt guilty about it.
Eyeing herself critically in the bathroom mirror, Kerry made a face. She was going to have to go deep with the makeup to take care of her washed-out face.
She slathered on the mascara, then leaned back to examine her handiwork. Too thick? she asked herself, then thought of Mia Miller’s long lashes and smooth, caramel skin, and added another swipe or two. Her own hazel eyes looked back at her as she thought about Nick, Jerry, Diana, and Cole—especially Cole, who’d been polite and professional, just like he should be.
She grimaced. So why was that a problem? Why did she feel like banging her fists against the wall and primal screaming?
Get a grip.
She inhaled and exhaled several times. Her emotions were out of control. And the effort to hold them in while she was at work and dealing with Angie, who she’d really like to throw something at, was taking its toll, too. And when Randy had called upon her earlier this week to take something over to his father at his assisted living facility, she’d asked him to send Angie, which had raised his ire.
“Angie and my dad don’t get along that well,” he’d snapped. “Just the way it is. And I’ve got phone calls I can’t miss. If you won’t do it, I’ll do it after work.”
“What do you want me to take?” Kerry had asked. Easier to capitulate than fight.
“Some papers he needs to sign.”
As it was work-related, Kerry had started feeling a bit embarrassed. Randy had been great to her since Nick’s death. It was Angie she was rebelling against, so she’d said, “I’ll go on my lunch break,” and the frown on his forehead had cleared immediately.
She’d taken the papers to the Callaway Center, a one-story, rambling brick building on a parcel of land about two miles out of town that looked like a motel and was named after its founder, Anne Callaway. Kerry walked into the facility and said Randall Starr Jr. had come to see his father, and she was given his room number and a dismissive wave. Not a whole lot of serious ID checking. She knocked on the door and was surprised by Randall Starr Sr.’s spryness as he opened the door with a flourish and ushered her inside. “Randy said you’d be by. Great to see one of you kids again,” he greeted her enthusiastically. “I remember you from high school.”
She hadn’t attended Edwards Bay High and started to correct him, but he swept on. “Were you in on it? Or was it a secret?” He cocked his head and his eyes glittered like a bird’s.
“What do you mean?” she asked, unfolding the document Randy had given her and laying it on the table next to his BarcaLounger.
Rather than taking the cue and climbing back in his seat, he leaned into her, smelling her hair. She put him in his midfifties, but he’d been in a car accident that had “rattled his brain,” according to Randy, and his demeanor and conversation reflected that of someone much older. Early onset dementia was the diagnosis, although he seemed sharp in other ways.
His fingers reached for her elbow and he held on tightly for support as they headed back to his chair. Once settled, he leaned his head back, gray hair against the cushion, dark brown eyes staring upward into hers, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re pretty, but that little chiquita, she was something else. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Got around some, too, didn’t she?”
Kerry had carefully pulled away from his grip and tried to direct him to the papers. “Randy said you need to sign these?”
“You’re not that pageant girl, are you? Miss Seahorse?”
“Miss Seashell. No.”
“She was pretty, too. Got herself knocked up right outta high school, Randy said. Married the guy that just OD’d.”
“Uh . . . yeesss . . .”
“You going to the funeral?”
“Memorial service.” He clearly didn’t know she was Nick’s stepsister and she didn’t want to encourage him, so she just said, “I plan to.”
“I wanted to go, but Randy said no. My friends’ll be there ... Bart and Millard . . . and ... Bart . . .” He trailed off. “You didn’t mind, did ya? The boys and their hijinks.”
“Umm . . . what hijinks?”
“Ah.” He nodded knowingly. “Don’t talk.” He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”
She started to think he believed she was Josie, or maybe Taryn, so she came clean. “I didn’t go to Edwards Bay High. I’m Nick’s stepsister.” She moved the papers closer to his hand.
“You’re pretty anxious to get on with it, aren’t ya?”
“Randy’s expecting me back at work, so yes.”
He hmphed out a huge sigh but reached for the papers.
At that moment there was a knock on his door and a head popped around the corner: a middle-aged woman with silvery-blond hair. “Knock, knock,” she said as she entered.
“The love of my life,” Randall Sr. told Kerry with more than a trace of irony.
“Well, who’s this?” Mrs. Starr asked. Her eyes were all over Kerry, as if checking for flaws.
“What’s your name, doll?” Randall Sr. turned his gaze from his wife to Kerry.
“Kerry Monaghan.”
“Works for Randy. Brought me some papers.” He held up the sheaf, as if for corroboration. “This is Bette . . . my better half.”
“You work with Angie?” Bette asked politely, but Kerry sensed an undercurrent in there somewhere.
“And Randy,” her husband put in before Kerry could answer. “Angie works for our son.” The way he said it made it seem like this was well-worn territory.
“Angie runs that office.” The polite smile stayed in place on Bette’s face, as if it were screwed on.
“Yes, well, I’d better get back,” Kerry told them. She’d handed Randall Sr. a pen, but he paid no attention to it. There was an awkward tension Kerry could have done without since Bette’s arrival. She was doing Randy a favor and somehow had stepped in a pile of dung. There was something possessive about Bette. Was there something about the Starr men that made their wives feel they had to intervene whenever they were faced with other females? Kerry could have told them she had no interest in either of them. It irked her that she even had to deal with this.
Randall Sr. finally signed the papers, his hand shaking a bit as he looped out his signature. He handed the papers back to Kerry, who made good her escape.
Now, back at the office, she wondered if she’d made a serious mistake in transferring to the Edwards Bay office. The main Seattle office had been closing down. Too much competition from huge conglomerates building homes. But there was a satellite office on the eastern edge of Seattle. Maybe she should have gone there. She hadn’t chosen that location because Randy had asked her to move to Edwards Bay and she’d known she’d be in a position to see more of Nick.
And Cole.
She blew her bangs out of her eyes. She was a little fascinated with him, she could admit that, but so what? They’d dated ... very seriously ... and there was always a bit of a fascination with someone who dumped you. But Cole was off-limits. She knew that. And besides, she wasn’t looking for a relationship right now. It was unlikely she would ever get married again after the first one hadn’t gone so well.
Thinking of Vaughn, she wondered if he knew about Nick’s death. They’d been friendly enough during Kerry’s marriage, though she sensed they’d mostly been acting for her benefit. The two men were very different. Not so much in looks but in attitude. Vaughn envied anyone with money, though he tried to hide it behind a superfriendly exterior. He had a sharp wit that had captured Kerry’s attention and her heart, at least for a little while, until she’d realized she’d married a sham. A half-formed personality that could put on a good show, one he just hadn’t been able to sustain.
It would be big of her to call him and tell him about Nick. She considered it a moment, seesawing over actually picking up the phone and talking to her ex. Oh, bullshit. Who was she kidding? She didn’t care what Vaughn knew about Nick or didn’t know. Someone else could tell him. Vaughn wasn’t her responsibility and she didn’t owe him anything. She could still remember the cold, cutting criticisms he’d delivered to her on the way out the door that final time, just after they’d visited Nick in Palo Alto:
“You embarrassed me in front of your brother,” he’d accused.
“What are you talking about?” she’d flung back, shocked and angry.
“You kept changing the subject,” Vaughn declared. “You clearly didn’t want me to talk to him or Worster. You were laughing your ass off about ... I don’t even know. What were you trying to prove?”
Chad Worster. Nick’s partner. Kerry hadn’t been able to come up with his name when she’d first spoken to Cole, but she’d remembered it later. She’d called the station and spoken to the woman officer, Paige, the only one in the department as far as she could tell. Paige had said she would relay the message and Kerry had been relieved she didn’t have to talk to Cole.
“I wasn’t trying to prove anything!” she’d declared. “I was talking to my brother and his business partner ... friend. I didn’t know you were trying to talk business. What kind of business? You’re in commercial real estate in Seattle.”
“Jesus Christ! If I could land Nick as an account, the sky’s the limit!”
“But he’s not interested in leaving Palo Alto. He said that.”
“Why the fuck does he come back here all the time, then? Huh? Tell me that.”
“To see his family! Jerry ... and me . . . and some high school friends.”
“You just don’t see the big picture, Kerry. I don’t know if you’re living in your own world or if you’re really that dense.”
“Maybe a little of both,” she’d answered through her teeth. She’d then walked to the door and held it open for him. Their relationship had been a cold war until that last visit to Palo Alto, and had then exploded into that final fiery battle. Vaughn’s fists clenched, and there was a charged moment between them before he stalked out. He’d called her once to test the waters between them with a half-hearted apology. When Kerry didn’t thaw, he started dating one of the office staff at his firm.
The last Kerry had heard was that this coworker was pregnant ... although the child might not be Vaughn’s. Echoes of Nick and Marcia’s romance ...
Their divorce had been as amicable as it could be, mostly because Kerry wanted nothing from him. Nothing. And that was pretty much what was left. Any money Vaughn had earned from partnering with agents to make sales had been used to further his profile. He’d wined and dined potential buyers and managed to spend most of what he made. Kerry had worked for Randy, which had been a small-time operation opposed to Vaughn’s high-flying deals, most of which never materialized, stolen by other agents, he griped, or maybe the would-be clients had sudden changes of heart. Vaughn never seemed to be the guy to land a real seller. His good looks and charm and cleverness only went so far, it seemed. Or maybe his cutthroat ways had boomeranged. Kerry never knew. She just knew she wanted out, and so she ended up with her job and the rest of the lease on their apartment. As soon as the divorce was finalized and there were only a few months left on the lease, she started looking for a less expensive place to live. About that time Randy started making noises about her moving to Edwards Bay. When the lease finally did run out on her Seattle apartment, she accepted the new position and moved, signing a one-year lease on a small efficiency apartment only a few blocks over from Diana’s. That lease had recently ended and she’d chosen to move to The Sand Drift. If Vaughn knew anything about where she currently lived and what she was doing, she had no idea. They’d cut off communication, and it was probably a relief to both of them; it certainly was to Kerry.
The piece that Kerry had been forced to face, the one that still made her cringe, was that her marriage had been a sham. She hadn’t loved Vaughn. She’d used him as a substitute for Cole. Though her romantic relationship with Cole had been short-lived—it could be measured in days, weeks, and months rather than years—its emotional power still resonated. At the time she’d acted as if she’d taken the breakup in stride, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Cole probably thought she hadn’t cared all that much. She hoped he did. She really hoped he did. Because she didn’t want him knowing how much he’d devastated her. It wasn’t his fault she’d run to the next man she’d had any kind of spark with at all. That was all on her. But Cole was the reason. The hurt that followed their breakup had propelled her into reckless decision-making, and now she was bound and determined not to fall into that trap ever again.
