Chapter Seventeen
Andi woke up feeling sluggish. She’d fallen into a comalike sleep after leaving Luke to sort out his sleeping arrangements on the couch or the floor. He’d assured her he was fine, and she’d reluctantly headed to bed, hurrying through the bathroom so he could use it whenever he needed to. She’d thought she would toss and turn, thinking about him in the next room, but it turned out to be one of those nights when she felt like she was drugged.
She threw on a robe and peeked outside the bedroom door. She had a direct view to the living room, where Luke’s sleeping bag was rolled up and set on the couch. He was nowhere to be seen, but then she heard him in the kitchen, opening cupboards quietly.
She headed into the bathroom, checked her hair, made a face at herself without any makeup, and tried to force herself to go out to see him as she was. No dice. She quickly brushed her teeth, put on some eye shadow and mascara, and took a moment to conceal the circles beneath her eyes. Then she walked toward the kitchen.
Luke was in jeans but was shirtless. She saw the whorls of light brown hair on his chest and the sculpted muscles. The man was in great shape. She had a moment of comparing him to Greg and was mad at herself. Greg had been Greg. He’d had good points and bad, like everyone, and he was part of her history.
He was making a cup of coffee from her Keurig machine, brown liquid pouring into the cup he’d placed beneath the machine’s spigot. Hearing her approach, he looked up. “Good morning,” he said. “Thought I’d rustle up some coffee.”
“There’s cream in the refrigerator. Sugar bowl’s up there.” She pointed to a cupboard.
“Black’s fine.”
Luke had returned to her cabin the evening before with Asian food from the restaurant where they’d first had lunch together. “Figured we could use some food,” he’d said, and they’d sat at her table and shared the same dishes they’d ordered before and a few more as well.
Of course once she was away from the threat of the Carreras she’d started having second thoughts about having him stay over. She’d said as much, but he’d swept her protests aside. “I’ll feel better,” he insisted, and that had decided it for the moment.
“Want a cup?” he asked, sweeping a hand toward the rack of small cups of coffee, flavored, decaffeinated, and regular. “I can make you anything you want. How about hazelnut? Or vanilla?”
“Regular,” she said, smiling.
“Coming right up.” He pulled another mug from the cupboard above the machine, removed his steaming cup, then put hers in its place and pressed the button. Immediately coffee began to pour into it. “Cream? Sugar?” he asked.
“A little cream.”
He pivoted to her refrigerator and found the half and half. By the time he got back to the machine her mug was nearly filled. Taking the mug from the Keurig, he lifted a questioning eyebrow as he began pouring a slow stream of cream into it.
“Perfect,” she said, and he lifted the spout, put the carton back in the refrigerator, and picked up his own cup.
They stared at each other. Then both began to talk at once.
“You don’t have to stay—” she began.
“I want to ask you something—” he said.
“Okay, you go first,” Andi told him, motioning toward him with her mug.
“I’ve been thinking. Psychologically, the ‘little bird’ cards aren’t like the Carreras. It could be them,” he added quickly, apparently feeling she was about to protest, “but, like I said before, the brothers are generally more confrontational. I’d like to go at them hammer and tongs, but it wouldn’t be smart.”
She nodded in agreement.
“The Carreras are dangerous, and I don’t like that your brother-in-law is trying to do business with them, but one thing about it: As long as they’re working out a deal, I don’t think they’ll risk hurting you. They’re already under a microscope and that would bring the authorities down on them like a tsunami.”
“Okay.”
“But I want to keep staying with you. Someone out there is threatening you, purposely scaring you, and I want to know who it is before you stay another night here alone. Maybe it’s the Carreras, maybe it isn’t, but either way, that’s what I’d like to do. With your permission.”
“Absolutely. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time.”
“It’s my time to waste.”
“I know, but you know what I mean.”
“I’ll work up the paperwork for our partnership today. I have work to do for my brother.” He gulped some coffee. “What are your plans?”
“It’s Saturday, so I’m not going into the office.”
He frowned. “You just plan to be around the cabin?”
“Would you rather I was somewhere else?”
“You’re kind of isolated out here.”
“I’ll go into Laurelton. Shop or something. Just gotta shake the cobwebs out of my head.”
“Stop by my office. I’ll be there later.”
“Okay. You can use the shower first,” she invited.
“No, go ahead. I’ll call Dallas.” He reached toward the counter where his cell phone lay.
“Dallas is your brother?”
“A defense attorney.” He grinned suddenly. “We didn’t see eye to eye when I was on the force. I thought a lot of his clients were dirtbags. People he was just trying to get off. Meanwhile, he kept trying to get me to quit. I kept saying I didn’t know what I’d do. He thought I should be a writer. Then I did quit, and he really pushed it after that.
But now he wants to hire me as an investigator.” He shook his head. “Life’s circular sometimes.”
“Yes, it is.”
Andi headed to the shower. It was strange to have no plans. Normally she would just stay home, but Luke’s comments about her isolation had resonated and she didn’t want to be anywhere without other people around.
Trini, she thought. Andi didn’t think she gave classes on Saturdays, so she might as well drop by to see if they were still on for tonight.
* * *
Tracy Farmgren stopped by the Sirocco Realty offices and smiled at the girl with the big eyes at the reception desk. It was her desk. She was the receptionist and this girl—Heidi—the daughter of one of the principal brokers, was a growing problem. First just weekends and then a few more days here and there . . . Tracy had been through the same thing before and this time she was staking her claim before things got out of hand.
God. Her name was Heidi and she actually wore her hair in two braids. It was enough to make her puke.
“Hi,” Tracy greeted her with a big smile. “I forgot something in my desk.”
“Oh. Okay.” Heidi zoomed the rolling chair back and sat back and waited, which really pissed Tracy off.
“Um, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee?” Tracy asked. “I might be just a few minutes. . . .”
“Sure,” she said somewhat reluctantly, then finally got her butt out of the chair and moseyed away.
What a nightmare. Tracy opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the small locked case within. It held duplicate keys to some of the homes, mostly expensive ones, that Tracy liked to walk through and pretend were hers when she knew the owners weren’t home. No one had noticed when she’d sneaked the keys away and had the duplicates made. She’d only done it a time or two.
Of course, that’s where she’d met him. Handsome, lots of money, dressed well. He caught her coming out of one of them and getting into her car, and he knew she was lying when she said she lived there because he knew the actual owners. She’d been sick at heart. She’d begged him not to tell. What she did was harmless. She just liked pretending. Was it so wrong?
She’d expected him to turn her in, but instead he told her that her secret was safe with him. But he would call her in a day or two and ask her to do something for him. Just a little thing. No big deal.
She’d lived in utter fear those seventy-two hours. Three days, not two. What was he going to ask? She had a feeling it was going to be big, no matter what he said, and she would have to confess to the principals and lose her job. Then he showed up at her work and asked her to lunch. She sat across from him at a bistro while he persuaded her there was no reason to worry. They were friends, he assured her. But the way he’d looked at her, she’d been pretty sure his little ask might be a few times in the sack with him.
She could do that.
So she had a few drinks, just a couple of vodka martinis, and let herself loosen up. He told her he was an investor. Just moved out from New York a few years earlier. He didn’t ask her for anything that day, but she knew it was coming. When a few weeks went by and all they did was have lunch in some out-of-the-way places, she started to think she was wrong. In her fondest dreams she wondered if he really just wanted to date her.
And so she dated him. The lunches . . . a couple of dinners, a few drinks, and finally he came over to her place and they went to bed together. Truthfully, Tracy wasn’t all that fond of sex. Kinda messy and sort of stupid. Half the time she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth to stop from giggling. But she managed to play the part and do a lot of moaning and breathing hard, and all in all, it was okay. She did really like him. He had a way of listening to every word she said that made her feel important.
And then came the day he asked her for the key to the cabin on Schultz Lake.
“That’s what you wanted?” she asked, disappointed.
“And you,” he assured her. “But don’t worry. I’ll bring the key back,” he promised.
“But we sold the cabin. The new owner’s going to move in soon.”
“I’ll only use it for a couple of hours. That’s all.”
Tracy could practically feel her blood freeze. “Don’t make a copy, whatever you do.”
He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She’d given him the key, and true to his word, he’d brought it back that same day. She’d wanted to ask him what he needed it for, but something about him suggested that would be a bad idea. So she’d gone on as if nothing had happened. She’d replaced the copy she’d made of that key in her little box.
After that they kind of drifted apart, however, which hurt her feelings. She called him a few times, but he let her know very clearly that he would call her, not the other way around. He’d asked her to dinner on a couple of other occasions, but he’d had to cancel before the plans were hatched, and he stopped coming over for sex.
She’d just been lamenting her boring life when those police detectives had shown up and wanted to talk to Kitsy, who’d had the listing for the cabin. Edie Tindel had been the buyer’s agent, and Tracy had lived in fear that the detectives would want to talk to her, too, but she didn’t know if they had. Edie could tell them about the break-in, which, Tracy worried, had something to do with the key, though she didn’t know what.
Scared, she’d called him after the detectives left. He’d flipped out, but she’d said it wasn’t her fault. There was no way they could know about the extra key. No way. But saying it seemed to remind him of that fact, and he asked her to meet him and bring the key.
So now they had another date. But it was all over the fucking key.
She took the little case in its entirety and left before stupid Heidi could return with the coffee. Let her drink it, the bitch. Tracy hated coffee.
* * *
Luke drove to Mimi Quade’s address and parked down the block, where he could watch the unit without being noticed. He’d done some research on Scott Quade and it looked like the man was currently in between addresses, so it stood to reason he might be bunking with his sister. If not, he would see what he could learn about Mimi and the baby. He called his brother as he was waiting, and Dallas picked up on the fourth ring.
“Thought you weren’t going to answer,” Luke greeted him. He could hear sounds in the background, music and someone asking if they were ready to order.
“I’m in a meeting with a client,” Dallas answered.
“Having an early lunch?”
“Coffee.”
He could tell by Dallas’s careful answers that he couldn’t talk, which was fine. “I’m watching a place, so I’ll be here a while. What time did you want to meet?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
He hung up and let his mind wander back to Andi Wren, a wandering that was becoming more and more frequent. The last thing he wanted was a romantic entanglement. He’d been trying to extricate himself from Iris for months and had determined he was bad at breakups. And every new relationship had a breakup waiting for it; Taylor Swift sure had that one right.
But . . . he liked Andi. Her quiet ways. Her ability to understand her own motivations. Her strength in times of terrible loss. She’d been tousled and fuzzy this morning in a thoroughly charming way.
Were the Carreras behind the scare tactics? Brian Carrera had sought her out at her club and threatened her, so it seemed likely. Or was there someone else hiding in the shadows with their own agenda?
The thought brought gooseflesh rising on his skin. A warning. A whisper. He scoffed at all things clairvoyant, but he trusted his own instincts, and the message he was picking up was that he’d missed something. What? He did a quick recap in his mind of the people surrounding Andi and chronicled the events that had taken place both before and after they’d first met.
One: Scott and Mimi Quade come to the Wren Development offices and announce her pregnancy.
Two: Gregory Wren skids off the road to his death in a one-car accident.
Three: Andi learns she’s pregnant.
Four: Brian Carerra threatens her at her club.
Five: Andi comes to see Luke at his office.
No, that wasn’t quite right. Five was that Andi’s cabin was broken into and the note was left on her bed. Six was when she came to his office.
Seven: Andi miscarries.
Eight: A period of inactivity from the Carreras, but in the background Carter Wren is working to form a financial partnership with them.
Nine: Andi goes to see Mimi Quade and determines Mimi is pregnant.
Ten: Scott Quade comes to the Wren Development offices again and wants . . .
Money, Luke determined. His leverage was Wren guilt over philandering Gregory and his baby.
As he considered this, a vehicle left the parking lot of Mimi’s apartment complex and began to turn north on the main street in front of the building, the same direction in which Luke’s car was facing. Luke’s binoculars were already in hand and he lifted them to his eyes in time to determine that the man behind the wheel was Scott Quade. He switched on the engine and was about to follow when a second car came out of the lot. This time it was Mimi behind the wheel. Luke had seen pictures of her on the web site for Nailed It!
He chose to follow her instead and eased in behind her. It was eleven o’clock and traffic was fairly light. She drove directly to Nailed It! and pulled into the lot. Luke turned into the one-level business complex as well and drove past her just as she was climbing out of her car, juggling a Starbucks cup, her purse, and a bag that likely held items she used for work. Her baby bump was clear and he shook his head at Scott’s intimation of an abortion, when suddenly her work bag banged against her stomach and she dropped it with a thud to adjust the bulk in front.
It was a quick move, accompanied by a surreptitious look around to see if anyone noticed. Her eye found Luke’s car, but it passed over him as he drove away. Then she gathered up her items and headed into the salon.
Luke parked at the far end of the lot, looking back. A fake baby bump. Scott and Mimi Quade were pulling an extortion racket. That was why there was all the talk about paying for an abortion. There was no baby.
His mind whirled. But there had been, he concluded, and it had been Gregory Wren’s because Scott had originally demanded a DNA test. Neither Greg nor Carter had wanted to believe Mimi was pregnant. Then Greg had died and Carter had refused to deal with Scott, so he and Mimi had faded into the background.
She must have miscarried, Luke concluded. Otherwise Scott would have been in their faces about the baby regardless. He wasn’t the kind of personality to just let things go, especially if there was money to be made. Luke had picked that up in just one meeting with the man, and it hadn’t taken any kind of mental leap.
Could Scott Quade, after losing one ploy, have embarked on another? Scaring Andi Wren with his little bird messages? To what end?
Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn’t see how that would turn into a money-making scheme, and unless there was another, darker side to Scott Quade, he would bet his own last dollar that money was the man’s prime motivation.
You don’t have enough information yet to draw any conclusions.
But it was something to know Mimi Quade was faking her pregnancy.
He picked up his cell phone to call Andi.
* * *
Tracy was standing outside her apartment, waiting. She’d driven back home and placed her call. “I’ve got it,” she’d said, hearing how miffed she sounded. She was still in a bad mood from seeing Heidi sitting in her chair.
“Meet me outside. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”
“I’m at home,” she told him, though he’d already hung up on her, so obviously he already had that information.
Now she saw a blue Buick sedan pull up to the curb. She peered inside the passenger window as it rolled down.
“What’s this car?” she asked.
“It’s my other one. Get in.”
His high-handedness kind of pissed her off, but she complied, and he raced away with more speed than she’d expected. “Where’s the fire?” she asked.
“I want to take you somewhere.”
“This is new,” she said, not bothering to hide the pout in her voice. Their relationship to date, if that’s what it was, had been a quick meal here and there, nothing fancy, nothing expensive, almost like he thought he was obligated to be nice to her.
“Where’s the key?” he asked, as they headed west on Highway 26, away from Laurelton.
“I’ve got it in my little lockbox.” She patted her purse, which sat on her lap. She knew he wanted her to open it up, but she didn’t feel like it. Let him beg her for it. She liked the idea of that.
They didn’t talk for several miles and she finally said, “You’re not taking me all the way to the beach, are you?”
“What if I am?”
“Don’t be a dick. I’m not going.” Actually, she had nothing to do and the idea of heading out on a lark appealed to her, but for reasons she didn’t fully understand, she didn’t want him to know that . . . yet.
“What’re you gonna do?” he asked, amused. “How’re you gonna stop me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” He was jollying her out of her bad mood and it was working, and that kind of pissed her off, but it also made her smile.
“So, those policemen who showed up at Sirocco. Who were they? Do you remember their names?”
He was a little too casual and Tracy’s radar antennae rose up. “No. They were two women . . . one of ’em had reddish brown hair, like it was streaked, but it was natural, I’m pretty sure. The other had kinky dark hair.”
He was frowning. “Women?”
“Yeah, women. Both of ’em.”
“Was one of ’em black?”
“No . . . maybe sorta. She looked more Hispanic, maybe? I don’t know. She didn’t talk as much.”
“The auburn-haired one was the one talking?”
“Auburn-haired?”
“Reddish-brown? You don’t know auburn?” He shot her a pitying look, which brought back her bad mood in a rush.
“Well, excuse me for living.”
They were on the outskirts of Quarry, Oregon, which was kind of a podunk town, with one main street and a lot of little rural shacks. Tracy had once dated a guy from there and after meeting his family had thought, no way. They were all hicks. To her consternation, he took the turn off to nowheresville.
She groaned. “What’re we doing here?”
“Seeing the sights.”
“There are no sights to see in Quarry,” she grumbled. “Take me home, for the love of God.”
He drove down the main street. Small town USA in spades. Tracy leaned her head against the window and looked out. All she could really see was Heidi’s big blue eyes and her butt slapped onto her chair.
“You’ve caused me some trouble,” he said conversationally.
“Huh?”
“You said the policewomen were there to see an agent about the cabin.”
“Yeah, Kitsy.”
“Who?” That seemed to surprise him. “I thought Edie Tindel was the agent.”
“She was the buyer’s agent. Kitsy had the listing. But I don’t think they were there about the cabin. They were detectives, not policewomen. It was something else.”
They’d passed through town and were on the road that led toward the old quarry, the landmark the town was named for. She’d learned way more than anyone should know about the place from her ex-boyfriend, who’d taken her to the plateau above the quarry for a make-out session because it was some kind of lover’s lane. Figured.
“What was it?” His voice was cold.
“I don’t know. Kitsy doesn’t confide in me. I just overheard her talking to some other agents. Something about the street she used to live on.”
“What’s Kitsy’s real name?”
“I don’t know. She goes by Kitsy. What is this, the third degree?”
“What’s her last name?” he asked with extreme patience.
“Hasseldorn.”
“Shit.”
The word expelled through his lips like a bullet. Tracy gave him a sideways look, wondering what the hell was going on with him. “You know her?”
He suddenly jerked the car down a rutted lane that was overgrown and scattered with small tree limbs. Tracy put her hand on the dashboard to brace herself. He made it about a quarter of a mile, then was stopped by a downed tree, its bole about two feet wide.
“You want to go to lover’s lane, it’s the quarry,” she said sarcastically. “And it’s thataway.” She jerked a thumb to indicate the way they’d come.
He suddenly reached over and grabbed her by the hair. She slapped at his hand instinctively. “What the fuck?”
“Who did you tell about the key?”
“No one. God. What do you take me for?”
“The police detectives.”
“No!”
“This Kitsy Hasseldorn?” He shook her head hard. It felt like her hair might rip out at the roots.
“Goddamn you!” she snarled.
He slapped her. So hard it would have snapped her head if he hadn’t been hanging on to it by her hair. She opened her mouth to scream and he slapped her again. Then he was slamming her head into the dashboard. Pain exploded in her head and he slammed her head again and again, until she was crying and ready to pass out.
“What? What?” she burbled.
“We don’t even have time to fuck,” he raged, slamming her head again. “I don’t have time for this. You understand? I’ve got it all worked out and you’re not going to fuck it up!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she apologized between sobs. She didn’t know what she was apologizing for, but she knew it was what he wanted to hear.
“Sorry,” he spat. He slammed her head again, and this time she passed out and knew no more.
* * *
He looked down at her in disgust. What a fucking bitch. And he had hours before it was dark. Damn. She was ruining his game! Yes, there were unexpected twists and turns to the game, but this was too much. What about those detectives? And Mrs. Hasseldorn?
Tracy had to be done with once and for all or she would talk. That was all there was to it. When they found her body at the bottom of the quarry, maybe they would think her death had something to do with that ex-boyfriend from that loser family she’d told him about.
Just as long as there was no blowback on him.
Mrs. Hasseldorn. He remembered her and her exacting husband. He knew just which house they’d lived in on Aurora Lane. He’d heard they’d moved to Schultz Lake, but he knew every family who lived on the water and knew that to be a lie. Maybe they’d planned to once, but it hadn’t come to be.
He put on gloves and reached into her purse, pulling out Tracy’s lockbox. Searching around, he found her keys and the tiny one that opened the box. Inside were more keys. He wasn’t sure which one went to the cabin, so he took them all, half impressed at how many she’d made for herself. It was almost too bad she was such a waste of space because he recognized that she was a little criminal in the making, something he could appreciate.
But today was her last day on earth. So sad. Not part of his particular game, and there was no time to suck the enjoyment out of this particular death. This one was just about expediency.
With that, he pulled the gloves out of his appropriately named glove box, slipped them on, and choked the life out of her.
* * *
Andi sat outside Trini’s apartment, blown away by Luke’s information. She couldn’t make herself move. The news she’d just heard about Mimi had stunned her. Not pregnant. Not. Wearing a fake baby bump.
She’d been fooled. Andi had bought into Mimi’s story, hook, line, and sinker.
Luke had called her and given her the information. He’d apologized that he couldn’t give it to her in person, but he had some appointments. She’s been totally okay with hearing it over the phone. What was there to say anyway?
“Carter was right,” she said aloud, still disbelieving.
And Greg. He’d sworn she wasn’t pregnant, although Luke had suggested she might have been once, and that may have given Scott the idea to shake down the Wrens. Maybe she had been pregnant but had miscarried? But something had changed because Scott had stopped asking for DNA and wanted money for an abortion.
An abortion. Red-hot rage shot through Andi as she thought about Mimi sobbing her eyes out, all the while wearing a fake baby bump. Damn her. Damn them! She ached inside when she thought of what she’d lost, and though Mimi had possibly been pregnant in the beginning, the whole charade had been performed for her benefit.
And it hurt. A lot.
Andi thought it over some more, then climbed out of her car and paced around the parking lot a bit, before charging up the stairs to Trini’s door. She banged on it angrily, letting out her fury.
No answer.
But Trini was here. She had to be. Andi had spied Trini’s Mini in its designated spot. Parking was hell around here and sometimes Trini Ubered her way to work just to keep poachers away.
Andi frowned. Maybe she had a class now and wasn’t home. Oh God, no. Right now Andi needed a friend. Someone she could confide in. Someone to cry and scream and rage to.
She pounded on the door again, this time so hard her fist hurt. “Come on, come on,” she said under her breath, willing her friend to answer the damned door.
Could Scott Quade be behind the notes? Were they more his style than the Carreras? But why, why? Why her?
“Trini?” Andi called loudly and hit the door again. “It’s me!” Under her breath, she said, “God, I hope you’re home. Please be home.”
She’d already tried texting and calling her friend’s cell phone, but there’d been no answer. No surprise. Trini often ignored her phone for hours.
“Damn it all!” Frustrated, Andi walked to the end of the wooden landing and looked over the rail. Trini’s apartment had windows facing west and they were covered with miniblinds that were slanted downward but were partially open, offering tantalizing tiny slits of views inside, but it was hard to make out anything. Leaning over the railing, Andi squinted, peering inside Trini’s living room, but she couldn’t get a full picture. It almost looked like someone was sleeping on the couch . . . or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part.
Once more she pounded on the door.
Once more no one answered.
She thought about her friend and remembered she kept a spare key in a magnetic box inside the wheel of her car. If she went searching around her car, would people wonder what the hell she was up to? Probably.
She dialed her friend’s number again. Trini’s cell went straight to voice mail. “Call me, Trini,” she said. Hung up, then exhaled heavily and sent yet another text: I’m here. At your house!
Still nothing.
“Oooh.” She almost threw her phone in frustration. She so needed to talk to someone. Maybe she should just call Luke back, ask to meet him. She knew he was working, but she didn’t know what that entailed. Was it an all-day thing, or could he knock off early? If he even wanted to, she reminded herself. She was going to see him tonight one way or another, so maybe she should just wait for that.
After a few moments of pacing in front of Trini’s door, she called Trini’s workplace and asked if she had a class.
“Finch?” the guy who’d answered the phone asked. “She blew off two classes already today,” he said, sounding pissed.
“She did?”
“Uh-huh. She’s got another one at four, but I’ve been calling her and there’s been no response. None.”
“I’m a friend of hers. This isn’t like her.” At least not when it came to her job.
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, but he wasn’t happy about it. “We’re scrambling around here, trying to get people to cover for her and . . . oh hell, look, if you find her, she’d better be dead, cuz that’s the only excuse I want to hear why she couldn’t call in.” He clicked off.
Now Andi was nonplussed. Trini had blown off two classes and maybe wasn’t going to make a third? That just didn’t compute. Trini was flaky about certain things, but she took her classes very seriously.
She tried to peer through the window again. Was that a person on the couch? Possibly Trini? She wished there was a light on; it was a dark afternoon and the interior of the apartment was darker still.
She gave up and texted Luke.
My friend Trini missed her classes. Not her usual
MO. Kinda weird. I’m at her apartment. Car’s here
but she’s not.
Maybe she was with Bobby, Andi thought. Trini was seeing him last night and they were supposed to all meet up tonight. Could Bobby talk her into missing her classes, though? Without a heads-up to the club?
A whisper of fear lifted the hairs on Andi’s arms. She didn’t like the way the guy at the club had said she’d better be dead, even though he’d been joking.
“Finch,” he’d said, identifying her to Andi.
Andi stood stock-still. It hadn’t occurred to her during this whole little bird thing that Trini had a last name that was a bird. Trini and Andi had laughed themselves silly when Trini learned that Greg had asked Andi to marry him.
“Jesus, I never thought we’d both be birds,” Trini had said, shaking her head first, then breaking out laughing.
“Birds of a feather stick together,” Andi had responded, and they’d shared a rare moment of hilarity, even though Trini hadn’t really wanted Andi to marry Greg.
It’s too bad when little birds have to die . . .
Andi clenched her teeth. What if something had happened to Trini? Was that too far-fetched to consider? It was crazy. Pointless. But the fear that was filling her veins with ice was very real.
Luke texted back: Where’s the apartment?
Andi checked the address and texted it back to him, adding: I know where a key is.
He responded with: I can be there in thirty minutes?
She knew he was asking if her concern warranted him joining her. She thought about it a minute, then answered: Yes, come.
She stood outside another ten minutes, then went down to Trini’s car. Luckily, she was dressed in jeans as she knelt on the pavement near the front passenger wheel well and ran her hand around inside. She failed to find the magnetic box, so she moved to the rear wheel and reached forward, searching blindly. She was about to give up when her fingers connected with something. She struggled a bit trying to break the magnetic grip, but suddenly it broke free.
Feeling like a sneak thief, she curled her fingers around the tiny box and ran back to Trini’s front door. Her fingers were shaking as she slid open the tiny metal door to reveal two keys: one to Trini’s car, the other to her apartment. Andi plucked the apartment key out and shut the metal receptacle again, pocketing it for the moment. She checked the time on her phone. Luke still had ten minutes.
Maoffybe she was borrowing trouble. Influenced by her own problems. The Carreras or Scott Quade would have no reason to hurt Trini. Yes, she’d gotten in Brian or Blake’s face at Lacey’s, but from both Trini and Jarrett’s accounts, it hadn’t been that serious of a confrontation.
Just do it. Open the damned door!
Apprehension skidded down her spine.
Setting her jaw, she threaded the key in the lock, aware that her pulse was escalating. With a click, the door unlocked and she slowly pushed it open.
Trini was sitting up, slumped over on the couch, her eyes open, her tongue out. She seemed to be staring at Andi, her expression frozen in a look of horror, her clothes ripped and hanging off her.
One look and Andi knew her friend was dead.
A wave of heat swept over her, followed by icy cold. She drew in a huge gasp of air, squeezed her eyes closed, and screamed for all she was worth.