CHAPTER 29

 

The diner in the center of Bangor is the old-fashioned type where waitresses still wear uniforms that were popular in the fifties and the menu has dozens of different milkshakes on offer. I slurp the double chocolate Oreo kind, my eyes fixed on the small window behind the counter where the kitchen staff places the completed orders. So far, no sign of Drake Whitmer, though I’m sure he works here.

“Wanna try some of my brownie?” Hallie asks, pushing the plate closer to me. Her eyes are filled with concern.

My mood has been on a constant decline ever since Finn departed from my life a little over a week ago, and I have been more than a bit snappy. The brownie looks delicious, but my appetite is lacking. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

She shifts with a small grimace. I can tell her cast is bothering her. “Any word from Finn?”

“Nope.” My gaze wanders to Marcel, who is right outside the diner, talking on his cell. He told me that Finn had moved into one of the spare bedrooms at the house, but so far, has not involved himself in any criminal activities. The bust is only days away and I hope that he doesn’t end up in handcuffs.

“What do you make of Marcel?” Donna asks. She has squeezed herself into the booth right next to Hallie and the crutches. When we told her we were going to Bangor, she insisted on coming. “I mean, he seems really sweet and all, but do you think he would change for a woman? He asked me out on a date the other day, but I’m not sure if that’s what I want. One day, he’ll probably end up in jail and I’ll be left with a whole lot of problems.”

I would love to tell her the truth about him, but I swore complete secrecy. Even the Maine police don’t know about Marcel’s undercover operation since the DEA suspects that a few of the cops are on Tyrone’s payroll. The risk of exposure is just too high, which would not only blow the operation but could get him killed.

“I think you should give him a chance,” I say. “He’s obviously trying to turn his life around, otherwise, why would he help us? He has proven himself a good friend. After all, he rescued your sister.”

Donna puckers her lips and I’m not sure if she is convinced. In that moment, Marcel glares at us with a menacing frown. He sure is wearing his best drug runner impression, which doesn’t help. With swinging arms, he continues his conversation—whoever is on the other line is making him angry.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks.

“Yes.” I beam at her. “I heard an old friend from high school is working here—Drake Whitmer. Is he around?”

“He works in the kitchen. Do you want me to get him for you?”

I glance at Marcel. I would prefer him to be around, but this might be my only chance to lure Drake out. “That’d be great. I just want to say hello.”

She disappears and I signal Marcel to come in, but he ignores me. My fingers drum on the table, not sure what to do if Drake shows up. My eyes keep darting to the kitchen entrance, then back to Marcel—he now has his back turned to me, and I have no clue how long his phone call will take.

Drake looks just like I remember him—he has always reminded me of a beaver with his two big front teeth that constantly seem to tug on his lip. He pushes his glasses up when he realizes it’s me, his eyes wide in panic. His gaze moves to the door and I’m sure that flight is one of the options he’s considering.

With a sigh, he finally trots over to our table, his arms folding over his chest when he comes to a sudden halt three steps away. “What do you want?” A stick could have competed with his rigid, straight body.

I decide not to beat around the bush. “Closure. I need to know if you were one of my kidnappers.”

His jaw drops; he apparently didn’t expect such an honest answer. “I swear I had nothing to do with it and I already told all that to the police. Anything else?”

“Like you would really tell us if you did,” Hallie mumbles. “You have to do better than that.”

His eyes narrow. “And who the hell are you?”

His reaction to Hallie is very convincing. He shows not the slightest indication that he knows her.

“Well, my second kidnapper had a scar on the inside of his thigh.” I grin, not really eager to see that part of him. “No scar and you’re off the suspect list for good.”

He snorts. “No way. You better leave, or I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re harassing me. You can’t just go around, making these types of allegations.”

“Sure we can.” Marcel finally finished his phone call and strolls up behind Drake. I have to admit, his timing has always been impeccable. “Now, man, we can either do this the hard or the easy way”—he cracks his knuckles—“and trust me, it makes no difference to me.”

All color leaves Drake’s face as he slowly backs up. “Stay away from me, dude.” He glances at our waitress. “Call the cops, Liz. This guy is threatening me.”

Marcel clicks his tongue. He is done playing. “Let’s go.” Grabbing Drake by the collar of his shirt, he drags him toward the bathroom. Halfway there, he halts, squinting at me. “Coming, Kelsey? Wanna make sure I look in the right place.”

With much hesitation, I get on my feet, facing the inevitable. At least I will know afterward for sure if Drake is my tormentor.

I have never set foot in a man’s bathroom before and the first thing I notice is the stench, reminding me of chlorine and pee. There are five urinals against the wall next to a couple of sinks and two stalls. Luckily, no other patron is using the facilities and the room is empty.

“Okay, drop your pants,” Marcel demands, his hand coming to rest on the grip of his gun.

Drake’s eyes go as wide as saucers; for a moment, I’m afraid he’ll wet himself as his stare stays on the gun in Marcel’s waistband. The gangbanger glares at him with an even expression. If I didn’t know him, he would scare the shit out of me.

With trembling fingers, Drake begins to fumble with the button of his jeans. It takes him forever to get the zipper open. I squeeze my eyes shut when the pants drop.

Marcel clears his throat. “Kelsey, where do I look?”

“Top of the left inner thigh, right next to—you know.” I peek a little when there is shuffling beside me, but drop my gaze at the sight of Drake handling his private parts.

This might have been a sixty-second affair if the door had not been pushed open, another customer toddling in. He halts in his tracks when he sees us, his eyes laced with shock at the sight of a pantsless Drake.

Marcel smirks. “You’re welcome to join the party.”

The guy’s cheeks color crimson red and he turns on his heel, storming out.

“That’s our cue to get out. Someone is bound to call the cops and I sure don’t feel like explaining what we’ve been doing.” He cups Drake’s head and pulls him closer, his mouth only inches from his ear. “Now listen, man. It’d be best if you forget this ever happened. If anyone called the cops, tell them it was just a silly prank. If not”—he chuckles softly—“you can imagine what I’ll do to you.”

Drake stutters an “Okay” and Marcel lets go of his head. It’s amazing how well he plays the part of the bad guy. He can be absolutely terrifying, and I’m sure Drake got the message. I actually feel a little guilty. After he has been cleared of being Napoleon, he sure didn’t deserve being hassled like that, though it’s his problem that he just disappeared while the first investigation was still ongoing. He could have volunteered to be eliminated as a suspect years ago as Larouge suggested, but his lawyer objected on the grounds that such an invasive procedure violated his human rights. Since there was never any real evidence, the cops dropped the ball after that.

Pressing silence hangs over the diner when we step out of the bathroom, but it’s not only Marcel and I who have caused a ruckus. Hallie is sobbing silently at the table while Donna mumbles to her, stroking her back. When our eyes meet, I know something terrible must have happened.

“More drama is all I need,” Marcel mutters under his breath. With a small huff, he places fifty dollars on the counter, not waiting for his change. Scooping up Hallie into his arms, who is too stunned to protest, he departs.

I shrug—that was the practical solution. It would have probably taken ten minutes to calm her down. Donna grabs the crutches and follows him, and we almost collide at the door. For once, I can’t wait to get back to Stonehenge, sure that I won’t visit this diner again.

Hallie is still crying when Marcel takes off with screeching tires. He must have watched too many movies and be imagining he’s driving a getaway car. As he speeds along to get some distance between us and the diner, Donna fills us in.

“Someone broke into Hallie’s FriendBook account, too, and uploaded these nude pictures after she was raped. A friend from school messaged her and that’s when Hallie totally lost it.”

“I hope you didn’t delete them,” Marcel says, shooting me a dark look.

I’ve been lectured on and off after deleting mine since they are considered evidence of a crime. Apparently, it’s harder for the police to track who uploaded them once they are off my timeline. Detective Larouge was able to find a few downloads to aid in the investigation, but so far, all trails have gone cold.

“Why is this guy doing this?” Donna rubs Hallie’s arm and she slowly settles down.

“It gives him a certain control over his victims and keeps them afraid of him.” Marcel makes a sharp right turn and the seatbelt cuts into me. “It’s like ‘Hey, I can torture you whenever I want’ and also implies that sooner or later, he’ll try to snatch them again.”

He hit the nail on the head—that’s exactly how I feel. It’s like I’m still trapped in my own nightmare.

“Do you really think this guy is that dangerous?” Donna asks with a frown.

“Yep, he’s a total psychopath.” Marcel honks his horn when the car in front of him doesn’t move at the light that just turned green. When he passes at high speed, he glares at the driver. “Old folks really shouldn’t be driving.” The words are mumbled to himself but still make me wonder why he is acting like a maniac all of a sudden.

He calms down a little when he gets to the highway but still keeps the speed ten miles over the limit.

“Are we in a hurry?” I ask, my hand clutched to the seatbelt.

“That was Tyrone earlier.” He glances at Hallie and Donna in the back, but they are engrossed in a hushed conversation and don’t pay attention to us. “He’s mad as hell that I keep disappearing without an explanation. The process server stopped by earlier and served the grand jury subpoena on Finn, so I have to get in touch with him for mine. Tyrone doesn’t want me to go.”

Roy said his testimony is crucial if Luke wants to get off. “You have to go. It’s my brother’s life we’re talking about.”

“I’m really sorry, Kelsey, but things are turning into a mess. I can’t risk it. When all this is over, testifying at trial is not an issue, but Tyrone will freak if I disobey him again.”

I pinch the corners of my eyes to suppress the tears. “Please, Marcel, this one last thing. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t so important.”

He grumbles something inaudible. “I’ll think about it.”

I stare outside the window with blank eyes, the thought that the grand jury could indict Luke unbearable. After that, he could actually get convicted of murder and go to prison for the rest of his life.

“Well, we can at least knock Drake and Luke off the suspect list,” Marcel remarks as he speeds up again to pass a truck. He glances at me with a grin. “That’s something less to worry about.”

I frown. “Why are you all of a sudden excluding Luke?”

“Well—” He curses when a car pulls out in front of him and he hits the brakes hard.

I’m catapulted forward, saved by the seatbelt, but Hallie yelps “Shit” from the back seat after spilling half her water bottle. Maisie howls for good measure, likely to remind us that she’s still here.

Donna glares at Marcel. “I’d appreciate if you don’t kill us. I just got my sister back and would like to keep it that way.”

“Sorry.” He slows down a little, his eyes fixed on the road. “So, like I was saying, I don’t think it’s Luke. He was arrested on the spot after Jed’s death and didn’t have time to conspire with anyone or pass along the photos to an accomplice. Inmates don’t have access to a computer at the jail, so he couldn’t have uploaded the pictures himself.”

His words make sense and make me feel a little better.

“Couldn’t someone have gotten them from Jed?” Donna asks.

“Nope.” Marcel honks his horn again when the car in front of him seems to crawl. “Jed’s computer was confiscated the night he was killed, and the police would have told you if they had found pictures like that on his hard drive. Hallie’s pictures were also just taken the night Kelsey and Hallie escaped, so the window of opportunity was as good as nonexistent. Truthfully, I think Napoleon took Hallie’s pictures without Jed’s knowledge as a trophy. Those types of mementos are private, and people usually don’t share them.”

Silence follows his words, then Donna laughs. “You know, you almost sound like a cop.”

He bites his lip before forcing a chuckle. “I guess all those private investigator classes are starting to pay off. I feel like a real detective.”

He winks at me, and I smirk, imagining Donna’s reaction if she knew that she was actually right. The two could really be good together and I ship them. Maybe when this is all over, things will work out for the best. I have no idea how this will impact Marcel’s job but can’t shake the feeling that he is growing tired of the gangster act and being undercover all the time.

My eyes stare blankly out the window, relief flooding through me that Luke has been cleared by Marcel. Ever since he was added to the suspect list, this nagging voice has been taking little stabs at me. My mind was always able to reason them away, but that didn’t alleviate my qualms. I even thought of confronting him once during a visit to the jail, but after Finn’s reaction, the fear that he could take it the wrong way glued my lips together. Losing him is an unbearable thought.

Marcel drops us off in front of the Stonehenge police station, so Hallie can file a report about the FriendBook pictures with Detective Larouge. He has managed to hold onto the case by pulling jurisdiction over Portland once the FBI departed. She is still really upset that she can’t delete them yet, but most of her friends have pledged their support and told her how appalled they are. The jealous sting burns. For once, I wish I was in her shoes, having people who really care about me. With Finn not around and Luke in jail, it can get quite lonely.

“I’ll figure something out with Luke,” Marcel promises before he speeds off.

Though this has been a productive day, I still feel rotten. Anytime I make a step forward, it seems like I’m pushed three steps back. Napoleon is winning, and in that moment, I fear that he will be the one coming out on top.