Bonnie was behind the wheel of the Wrangler again, heading away from the boardwalk in the general direction of the highway, and thinking about her client’s story. She wondered what was really going on.
She didn’t like being played, and she was pretty sure Alan was playing her. But she couldn’t see how or why. It intrigued her. The mystery was one reason she’d taken the case. The other was the $2500 folded into her wallet. Okay, that was the main reason, but the mystery didn’t hurt.
A tinny rendition of “A Hard Day’s Night” played in her handbag. Sammy was ringing. She fished out the phone, figuring Alan was calling with more info. Nope. The display read Unknown Caller. Which was weird, because her Caller ID app was pretty tough to defeat. Somebody must really want to be anonymous.
In New Jersey it was illegal to talk on a cell while driving. She answered anyway. It wasn’t the first law she’d broken. “Parker,” she said.
The voice that came back at her was a furious whisper. “You’re dead, you little bitch. You’re fucking dead.”
She leaned back in the driver’s seat, smiling. “Nice Freddy Krueger impression. Now do Bela Lugosi.”
“Fuck you. You’re a dirty whore, and I’m going to put you down.”
“Is this the part where you ask me if I like scary movies?”
“God damn you to hell.”
“Okay. Not a member of my fan club. So I’m guessing you’re my telephone stalker?”
“Put you down like a dog in the street—”
Bonnie chuckled. “You talked to Mrs. B. again, didn’t you? And you didn’t take it so good when she told you to fuck off.”
“Go to hell.”
“At least now we get a chance to chat.” She cut her speed and eased over to the curb to hear him better. “So ... what’s your sign?”
“Shut up.”
“Mine’s Gemini. The twins.” She pressed the handset close to her ear, listening hard. The voice was familiar. It stirred a memory, one she couldn’t quite grab hold of. “Which is funny, ’cause I’m an only child. It suits me, though. Geminis can be either very good or very bad. We’re remote and distant, and some of us lead a double life—”
“Shut your goddamn mouth. Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Put me down, dog in the street, yadda yadda. Jeepers, who raised you, the Manson family?”
“Make all the jokes you want. You’re still going to die.”
“What’d I ever do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
The hoarse, crazed whisper was maddening. She almost recognized it. Almost. “Clue me in anyway. Just so I know what I’m getting killed for.”
“You’ll never know, Bonnie. And you’ll never see it coming. I can get you any time. You could be taking a sip of coffee or reading the newspaper. Then—lights out.”
“You’re a freak with too much time on your hands. Move out of your mom’s basement and get a life.”
“I know you killed Jacob Hart. I even know why. You wanted to protect the girl. But you can’t protect her. You can’t even protect yourself.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Sienna Wright,” he said.
A chill moved through her. He really did know. He knew everything.
“Who’s that?” she asked as casually as possible.
“Sienna Wright of 44 Atlantic Avenue. She goes to Holy Cross High School in Miramar. Has a summer job at the Donut Shack on Route 71. Six thirty AM to one PM, Monday through Friday. She rides her bike to work.”
“Are you stalking her, you asshole?”
“She’s not the one I’m after. You are. And I know a hell of a lot more about your daily routine than I know about hers.”
“Swell. At least you’re thorough.”
“It’s not so much fun, is it? When you’re the one being hunted?”
Being hunted ...
Then she had it.
The drifts of snow, the pale sky, the frozen pines.
He had whispered then too, his voice a wheezy rasp.
“Kurt,” she said, “is that you?”
She heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Never mind. You just answered my question.”
Kurt Land, Jacob Hart’s blackmailer. A man who should be dead. Had to be dead. But wasn’t.
“I’m going to kill you, Bonnie,” he said after a long moment. A body speaking from the grave.
“Yeah, I got that.”
“You took everything away from me.”
She remembered the fallen man in the snow, his useless crossbow discarded nearby. The fear in his face, and the blood soaking through his trouser leg and his coat. “Not quite everything, I guess.”
“You mean because I’m still breathing? That’s nothing. I’m alive only because I have to kill you. That’s my mission on earth. That’s what keeps me going.”
“Everybody needs a hobby,” she said distantly.
“You think this is a joke?”
She shook off her shock and rallied. “No, buddy boy. I think you’re a joke. Making threats over the phone—big whoop. Hell, until tonight you wouldn’t even talk to me directly. I guess scaring grandma’s more your speed.”
“Fuck you, bitch. You’re not getting it. You’re a corpse.”
“Funny, I thought that was you.” People sure were in a hurry to put her in a cemetery plot lately. It was enough to make a girl feel unpopular.
“You didn’t kill me as dead as you thought.”
“Good to know.”
“And now I get to take you out.”
“Uh-huh. Tell you what, bub. When you grow the plums to look me in the face, we’ll talk. Till then, I got places to go, and I really don’t have time for this crap.”
She ended the call and slipped Sammy back into her purse. Her hand, she noticed, was shaking just a little. Not from fear. It took more than a phantom phone call to put a scare in her. But knowing she’d left a loose end that big—it unnerved her. She was supposed to be better than that.
Well, live and learn. So it turned out Gillian Hart hadn’t been altogether wrong. Kurt Land was alive. Bonnie didn’t know how he’d managed it. She intended to ask him when they got together.
And they would.
Soon.