CHAPTER SEVEN
Mackenzie couldn’t decide whether to make her whereabouts known, wait for the officers to come back out, or drive away. If this was about Rayne the questions she would be asked would never end. Her ex-partner was a hard-ass. If Ricky had a new partner, she hadn’t heard who it was, but she knew his aspirations were to be a detective. How he’d hooked up with Haynes she didn’t know. She was pretty sure Ricky hadn’t been promoted to detective. Anyway, though Detective Haynes was known for being fair-minded, he would want to know about her involvement, too.
She hesitated, her hands on the wheel.
“Hello?” Bibi answered, her voice tinny.
Mac glanced down at the phone she’d tossed onto the passenger seat. She hadn’t managed to switch it off, apparently. Now she swept it up and pressed it to her ear. “Bibi. It’s Mackenzie. I was going to ask you about . . .”
Bibi waited, then snapped, “About?”
“Uh . . . Rayne. But I can’t talk now. I’ll have to call you back.”
“What—”
Mac clicked off, checked to make sure the phone was really dead this time, then pressed it into her iOttie holder. She needed to wait till the officers returned. She knew better than to intrude. Ricky and Haynes were there to deliver bad news, the worst news, she was pretty sure. The two of them wouldn’t be together if it was for anything else, as far as she could see.
What had happened to Rayne?
She switched on the engine and put the RAV in gear, driving to the end of the block. She turned the SUV around, thinking she would try to catch them on the way out. She and Ricky had been partners, and though they’d never quite gelled, that didn’t mean they hadn’t managed to work together. Maybe he would understand that she’d been looking into Rayne’s disappearance and it was merely a coincidence that she’d ended up at the Sealy home just when he and Haynes arrived.
But she hesitated. If the situation were reversed, how would she feel about it? She suspected she wouldn’t be all that welcoming to Ricky if he suddenly turned up asking questions.
She exhaled heavily. Time to call Taft and explain why she was going to be late. She picked up her phone and punched in his number.
“You on your way?” he answered before she could even utter a syllable.
“Not yet. Something came up. I’m outside Sharon Sealy’s house. Rayne’s mother and sister, Elise, live there together and I wanted to talk to them.”
“Ah. You’re going in now?”
“Actually, I’m just leaving. I should be at your place . . . in a while.” She still had time.
“Okay. Have you eaten?”
“Umm . . . yes. Earlier. Taft, Ricky Richards, and Cooper Haynes just went in the door. Bryan Ricky Richards,” she clarified.
“I know Richards,” he said slowly, waiting for her to continue.
“Yeah, well, he’s not usually with Haynes and they just went into the Sealy house together.”
“You think they’re there to tell Sharon her daughter’s dead.”
Taft had a way of jumping ahead of the conversation that sometimes threw her off her game. “Yes. To tell both of them, Sharon and Elise. They’re both there.”
“You spoke to them?”
“I did. I came here after I put Seth and Patti to bed. I figured I had enough time to interview them before I came to your place, but I ran over.”
“Richards and Haynes are going to learn you were there.”
“I know that,” she said patiently. “I thought maybe I’d talk to them—”
“No. Get out of there.”
“—and share information. What are you talking about? I can talk to them.”
“You’re on the wrong side of the law now, Laughlin. Get out. Now. Call me back when you’re miles away.” And he hung up.
Well.
She took a moment, half-inclined to ignore his advice just for the need to reassert some independence and control. Reluctantly, she put the car in gear and drove toward the main road that led away from the Sealys’. She stopped at the intersection. Taft’s insistence prickled. She’d worked with these people. Not so long ago. He was the one who’d gone to the dark side. All she’d done was quit the department.
But . . . he’d also infected her with an urgency to run that seemed out of sync with the circumstances. She didn’t want to race to his place like she was scared and it was some kind of haven.
She split the difference, giving herself time to think, texting him that she would be delayed. Then she headed to her mom’s house. She let herself through the back door and luckily didn’t run into Dan the Man as she turned down the hallway toward her bedroom, the spare bedroom. She could hear the television tuned to some game show as she sneaked into the room. As soon as she shut the door behind her, she determined she had to move out and soon. There was no need for her to be here any longer.
Her belongings were in storage. A couch, two chairs, a bed, and bins of household and personal items. She decided she was going to move to Laurelton; it was where she’d been living before and there were a lot more apartments available within its city limits. River Glen was an older city and had been laid out in treelined blocks, although the newer housing developments and infill had added a few multi-family housing units.
She changed her clothes and combed her hair, checked her makeup. She surfaced as if from a dream and snorted at herself. What did she think, this was a date? She was dawdling and primping as if it mattered. Berating herself, she tiptoed out of the house and drove away. Passing beneath streetlights, she caught a glimpse of her image in the rearview. Too much lipstick. She grabbed a tissue from her console and rubbed at her lips.
She’d almost reached the address Taft had given her when she pulled over to the side of the road, fingers clenched around the wheel. It had been about forty minutes since she’d seen Ricky and Haynes enter the Sealy house. Were they still there?
Setting her jaw, she turned the RAV around and headed back toward the Sealy house. She arrived in time to see that the two men were now standing outside their respective vehicles, Haynes on the phone, Ricky hovering nearby. Immediately she realized Taft had been right. She was the interloper here and her intervention wouldn’t be appreciated.
Too late. Ricky saw her and practically jumped in front of her RAV, causing her to slam on the brakes. Her temper fizzed. She’d had her problems with him while they’d been partners but she’d swallowed all objections as he was her senior officer. That might have been a mistake.
“What the hell, Laughlin?” he demanded as she rolled down her window. “They said you were here asking questions. What are you doing? In case you forgot, you’re no longer with the department.”
She was stopped in the middle of the street, her engine idling. “I’m helping someone who said Rayne Sealy was missing.”
“Who?”
“Is she dead?”
“You can’t ask me that!” he practically exploded.
“Hey.” Cooper had ended his call and now frowned at Ricky.
“I was just explaining things to Ms. Laughlin,” Ricky said coolly.
Mackenzie watched as Cooper walked closer to her window. He flicked Mac a look that she couldn’t read. She repeated her question to him. “Is she dead?”
Ricky started to object again, but Cooper said, “Yes,” and explained about finding the body along the East Glen River below the overlook to Percy’s Peak. The police had then discovered Rayne’s car in the parking lot next to the trail. He turned to Ricky, who was clearly disturbed that he was giving out so much information, and pointed out, “It’ll be on the news.”
Ricky’s mouth was a thin line of obstinance, but he gave Haynes a curt nod. His anger was directed entirely at Mackenzie.
Mac asked, “So, it’s definitely her?”
“She had a small wallet in her back pocket with her driver’s license,” Haynes added as Ricky sucked in his breath.
Mackenzie hardly knew how to feel. She was definitely discombobulated. She’d half believed all the talk of Rayne running off with a boyfriend. Seth had been an unlikely candidate, given his tight schedule with Patti, but she’d taken the job of watching them from Taft so she hadn’t really ventured any further. Now the police would take over, which made her feel like she’d let both Bibi and Rayne down.
“How well did you know Rayne?” Ricky demanded.
“Not at all. I was hoping to learn more about her from her mother and sister.”
A car turned onto the Sealys’ street, so Ricky and Haynes moved away from Mackenzie’s vehicle allowing her to pull forward and park, which she did as the misting rain began to turn into serious precipitation. Haynes bent his head against the wet deluge as Ricky ran for the prowler that he’d apparently arrived in. Haynes was in his favorite city ride, a navy blue Trailblazer with a tow hitch that had come in handy for him more than once. It had been well-known around the squad room and everyone mostly left it for him if they could.
Mackenzie’s window was still rolled down and she called to Haynes, “If you want me to come in and talk about it, I’d be happy to.”
He moved her way again, letting the rain wash over him. “That might work. I’ll let you know. Who asked you to look into Rayne’s disappearance?”
“Bibi Engstrom. A friend of Rayne’s.”
He nodded. Mac was pretty sure he’d gotten that much from Sharon and/or Elise already and was just verifying. “How long have you been on the case?” he asked.
“A week, almost two and no, I haven’t really learned anything. That’s why I wanted to talk to her mother and sister.”
Ricky yelled from the prowler’s open driver’s window. “You a PI now?”
“Something like that,” she answered coolly.
It might not be true, but she was pretty sick of her ex-partner. He’d made a fool of himself over Prudence Mangella, and she didn’t think he was scoring any points with Cooper Haynes, though it sure as hell looked like he wanted to.
A few minutes later, Haynes returned to his SUV and Mackenzie made another U-turn back to the highway toward Jesse Taft’s.
It took her a lot longer than she’d expected through Friday night traffic and by the time she arrived she was abysmally late. She found the one-story condominium complex fairly easily, then had to circle around a few times before she discovered a parking spot three blocks away.
She hurried back to his end unit, spying his black Rubicon parked in the carport. As she drew near, she rubbed at her lips again, making sure she wouldn’t blast him with neon pink. Pink Promise. Jesus. She hadn’t been sure what kind of impression she wanted to make and had gone for the girly stuff because well, Taft was attractive. But after the way Ricky had sneered, “You a PI now?” she now wanted to make sure Taft took her seriously because maybe she did want to be one. Something she’d hardly thought of until she’d taken on Bibi’s request. Whatever the case, she was walking into a business meeting, nothing more, nothing less, and she had an image to project that did not include Pink Promise.
* * *
After Taft hung up from Mackenzie he’d turned back to the hamburger patty he’d been about to fry on the stove. He’d learned she’d already eaten so he went about fixing his own dinner. He piled a tomato, lettuce, onion, pickles, mayo, mustard, and ketchup on the bun, and a few slices of avocado for good measure, then cooked up the patty and sat down at his kitchen bar to eat the burger. He’d barely taken a bite when there was a knock on his door. He hadn’t expected her to get here that fast. Swallowing, he went to answer and found there was no one there. Senses on high alert, he looked around the carport.
Hmmm.
Taft thought about it a minute, then noticed that Tommy Carnoff’s door was slightly ajar. He stepped over to the next unit and pushed the door in a bit farther with one finger. Tommy was bustling around in the kitchen and the pugs were snorting and milling around his feet. The black one looked over at him and started yapping. The fawn one recognized Taft and came running over, his clown-like face pulled back in a pug smile.
Tommy turned around. “Oh. Taft. Yeah, I knocked. Sorry. Had to get these guys fed. I wonder if you can take care of them for a few days? Got a late weekend trip to Palm Desert.”
“Sure.”
“Good. Good. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I’m having a burger and expecting company.”
Tommy looked interested, his blue eyes twinkling beneath white brows. “Anyone I’ve met before.”
“Nope. Not like that. This one’s a . . . coworker.”
“You hesitated on that, man.”
“I was going to say protégée, but she’s an ex-cop, too.”
“Interesting.” Tommy looked like he wanted to say more, but Taft sketched him a goodbye and returned to his condo. He ate the rest of his burger and thought about Tommy, who was more than likely taking a female guest along for the trip.
His phone bleeped out a text. He looked at it and saw that Mackenzie was going to be later still. He hoped to hell she hadn’t tried to get information out of Richards and Haynes. Richards would play games with her for the information and never come through anyway. Haynes was a straight shooter, but he would be tight-lipped as well.
Finishing the last bite, he cleaned up, reflecting on that last troublesome call with Mitch Mangella. Taft had worked for the man off and on since leaving Portland PD and had found himself navigating the line between permissible and illegal. Mangella wasn’t a full-on crook, but he was “fluid” with the law. While Taft felt the letter of the law was sometimes too restrictive—one of the many reasons he didn’t fit into the quasi-military structure of the police department—he had nevertheless worked hard to keep Mangella from outright criminal choices.
But . . . they’d maybe reached a bridge too far.
There was a case with the River Glen PD that involved Keith Silva, a River Glen cop whose disregard for the rule of law was legendary. Silva had shot and killed a fellow officer while attempting to chase down a robber. The suspect got away during the melee, but was captured later trying to hit up another convenience store. Silva had been asked to leave the department, according to those who were in the know. He’d initially resisted and appealed to the union, but had eventually given in and had managed to walk away with his pension. Just recently it had come to Taft’s attention that the cop’s widow, who’d purportedly raked in a multimillion-dollar government settlement, was a friend of Mitch and Prudence Mangella. But it was that the Mangellas had an acquaintanceship with Silva that had really spoken to Taft. How did the Mangellas balance their relationship with both the widow and Silva?
The suspect in the robbery had contacted Taft and told him the widow was in on it and had used Silva to get rid of her pesky husband. Taft would’ve gone straight to the River Glen PD except for the fact the guy was a lying scumbag looking for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Taft had taken the information with a grain of salt and had been quietly looking into it. It was possible that River Glen’s Chief Bennihof had made Silva’s case go away rather than have the stain of a premeditated cop murderer within his ranks on his record. Nothing was certain yet.
But it all sat hard on Taft’s conscience because if the robber was telling the truth and Mangella had lied to him and/or worked with Silva to cover up a murder . . .
He shook his head at the thought. Recently he’d made a point of looking up Silva, asking about his relationship with Mangella. Silva had smiled with his teeth and said, “Checking on your buddy Mitch? He’s a very, very smart guy, you know. Like you’re smart, right? You know when to ask questions and when not to, right?”
“I agree that Mitch is a smart guy,” Taft had answered, not wanting to derail the man if he was offering up unsolicited information. He’d refrained from pointing out that Mangella wasn’t really his “buddy.”
“Smart enough to see the future. Are you smart enough for that?” Silva had laughed then and shrugged. He was finished saying anything further about Mangella. The meeting had increased Taft’s unease, leaving him with a gnawing worry. He liked Mangella; Mangella was likeable. But thoroughly trusting the man was a mistake. He’d blown off a meeting with him the week before to meet Mackenzie, and though Mitch had said it was no big deal, when he’d asked Taft later about where he’d been, and Taft had explained about having pizza with a female ex-cop—he’d purposely left out that it was more business than pleasure—Mangella had wanted to know every detail.
In fact, he’d really poured on the pressure.
“It was just a date,” Taft had answered.
“Was it? With an ex-cop?”
“Since when are you interested in my life?” he’d rejoined. The more Mangella pushed, the less he wanted to say.
Mangella spread his hands. “I’m always interested in your life. Like you’re interested in mine. And yes, I know Keith Silva.”
Taft had expected Silva to talk to Mangella, but it did put a cold hand around his heart. There was just the tinge of Mafia Don about the man. So welcoming, so much bonhomie . . . but so much power. Taft was leery of power even though he worked with and for powerful men.
“The next time you take out your ex-cop lady friend, you let me know.” Mangella smiled.
That’s when the decision to keep Mackenzie Laughlin far, far away from Mitch Mangella had solidified into a hard stone of determination. As long as Mangella’s needs were legitimate, Taft could work for the man, but that’s as far as it went. Mangella might be River Glen’s most successful native son and generous philanthropist, but he was a cagey and powerful man who didn’t allow others to get in his way . . . and that included Jesse James Taft.
He heard a car pull up and came out of his thoughts on Mangella. It parked outside the carport, so he figured it was Mackenzie. He next listened as her quick footsteps came to his door. He waited, somewhat amused at her hesitation as there were several long seconds before she actually rapped lightly on the panels. He opened the door and looked into her eyes. Her hair was down and brushed the shoulders of a light blue shirt that she wore with jeans and black sneakers. He noticed a bit more makeup.
He smiled and greeted her with, “You clean up good.”
“I’m just in jeans,” she was quick to respond.
He spread his hands. If she didn’t want to be complimented, he could go with that.
She crossed the threshold and looked around his living room.
“I’ll get us something to drink. No Tecate, but I do have some wine.”
“I’m not drinking, thanks. I’m just here to work.”
“Okay. Come on in then.”
He headed back to the U-shaped kitchen and she followed slowly after him. He pointed to the two stools at the end of the section of counter that jutted out to form a bar. She perched on one as Taft pulled out a bottle of red, a medium-priced blend that he liked. He drew the cork and opened a cupboard to grab two stemmed glasses, then poured one for himself, leaving the other as an open invitation should she change her mind.
“I had vodka earlier,” she said.
“You don’t have to have wine. I could—”
“Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I’d like a glass, thank you.”
Taft inclined his head in agreement, recognizing how edgy she was. He poured her glass, then slid it across the counter to her. He leaned back against the counter perpendicular to the bar, waiting for her to make the next move. She was prickly in a way he hadn’t seen before.
It didn’t take long. She gulped half her drink, then set the glass down with a little more force than necessary. Exhaling on a deep breath, she stated, “Rayne Sealy’s dead. They found her body on a bank of the East Glen River. I talked to Detective Haynes. He said there was a small wallet in her back pocket with her ID. They think she fell from the overlook on the way to Percy’s Peak.”
She clearly hadn’t taken his advice to leave well enough alone, though it sounded like Haynes had been amenable. “She was on the trail above?”
“That’s what they think. They’re investigating.”
“An accident?” asked Taft.
“Maybe she crossed the fence to take a selfie.” She took another hefty swallow. “I know you told me to get out, but I wanted to know. I told Bibi I’d try to find Rayne and I just wanted to know.”
“Richards was there, too, you said.”
“Yeah, well . . .” She shot him a glance he couldn’t read. After a few moments, she added, “If it had just been him, I would’ve followed your advice. He was more interested in sucking up to Haynes than dealing with an ex-partner. He didn’t like me there, that was clear.”
Taft had had dealings with both Richards and Haynes. Haynes was a thinking man; he didn’t rush to judgment. Not so Ricky Richards, who was always trying to capitalize on a situation, looking for his own glory.
Mac added, “I wonder how Sharon Sealy’s doing with the news. She seemed to care about her daughter. But Rayne’s sister, Elise, was fairly harsh. Apparently, Rayne stole a boyfriend from Elise.”
“Do you think that plays in here somewhere to Rayne’s disappearance?”
She slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. Sharon and Elise were both convinced Rayne had just run off, maybe with a boyfriend. She’s done it before, and Elise talked down about her, but if they’d known or even suspected she was dead, I think I would’ve gotten a different reaction.”
Taft asked a few more questions, but that was about all the information she’d gotten from the detective. She was clearly deeply bothered at learning of Rayne’s death. He knew the feeling of looking for someone and then suddenly it’s over. The person is gone. Like running into a wall.
“I was at the Waystation earlier with Seth and Patti,” she said, shaking her head as if getting back to the point at hand. “From there, they went home again.”
“The Waystation seems to be the extent of their limited social life these days,” he agreed.
Her eye fell on a plastic packet of hamburger buns that Taft had left on the counter.
“Are those buns from Goldie Burgers?” she asked.
The hamburger buns were in the distinctive plastic bag with Goldie Burger’s yellow, white, and green burger logo. Goldie Burger was a local Laurelton establishment that was known for its homemade buns. If their burgers were even half as good as the buns, they would be ten times as successful as they were. As it was, the buns were good, the beef patty kind of scrawny.
“Yep,” said Taft.
She snorted, which he took as a derogatory comment on their burgers. She was trying to change the subject, he realized. She’d reported, and now wanted to move on for a while. It was exactly how he’d seen cops react when confronted with hard facts. Some used gallows humor. Others dropped a subject like a hot potato, leaving it in the listener’s hands.
“You don’t sound like a fan,” he observed. “Is that because the burgers are terrible, or maybe because you’re going vegetarian or vegan.”
“Fat chance. Though my sister’s heading that way. She’s been touting the benefits of veganism ad nauseum, though I think she cheats.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“A stepsister, but we’re close. And how do you know anything about me anyway?”
She’d finished her wine and when he lifted the bottle and brought it close, she slid her glass over for a refill. “Ah, Ms. Laughlin, did you think I wouldn’t do some checking on you?”
“What did you learn?”
“Don’t panic. Your deep, dark secret is still safe, whatever it is.”
That evoked a half smile.
He brought his own glass to his lips. “So, now that Rayne Sealy’s been found, you have more time to work for me.”
“I want to know what happened to Rayne,” she said. “Maybe a selfie, that’s just so hard to accept. I feel I owe it to Bibi, and it makes me feel bad that I was just asking about her with her mother and then they learn her fate. Seems unfair. And unresolved for me, at least.” She took another healthy sip. “So I’m going to keep after it for a while. Seth and Patti aren’t doing much anyway, well, except Seth’s trips to Best Homes. Maybe he’s looking for another job.”
She then told him about Seth’s latest trip to Best Homes and his meeting with Troi Bevins. “Troi with an ‘i.’ Possibly another of Rayne’s exes.”
Rayne’s exes were starting to become part of his own investigation, Taft realized. “How many exes are there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, stick on Seth and Troi and let’s go from there.”
“Okay. You think they’re both dealing?”
“Possible. Keep them both in your sights.”
She inclined her head, but her brows drew together as if she had more questions. If that was the case, she didn’t ask them.
What Taft didn’t tell her was that Seth and Patti, and someone at Best Homes, possibly this Troi person, had gotten in the way of one of Mitch Mangella’s schemes to buy out Andrew Best from his own business. A hostile takeover. Taft hadn’t taken any sides in the corporate shenanigans; he didn’t really care how much money and power one guy had over the other, so he’d just done the investigating. What he did have an issue with was drug dealers of any kind. His surveillance had therefore morphed into his own need to quash the flow of drugs into his own community alongside his work for Mangella.
“You do Venmo?” he asked her as she finished her wine and set the glass aside, shaking her head when he asked her if she wanted another.
“Well, yes. I can do Venmo.”
“That’s how I’ll pay you, if that works.”
“I’d like to be paid what I was making with the department,” she said.
“Done,” he answered. “Tell me what it is, and we’ll go from there.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “That was too easy.”
“You are a suspicious one, Ex-Detective Mac,” he said as they exchanged information to make the bank transfers on their cell phones.
“Is there anything else you want?” Mackenzie asked.
He had a lot of one-liners that came to mind, but let them dissolve on his tongue before being spoken.
At that point there was pounding on his door and the scuffle and snorting of the pugs. Mac looked at the door and back at him in question.
“My neighbor,” he said. “I’m dog sitting.”
He walked to the door and threw it open. Tommy Carnoff was looking dapper in a black shirt and pants, a tan jacket, and his gray wool driver’s cap atop his flowing white hair. The pugs ran inside and straight to Mackenzie, snorting and snuffling around her feet.
“I didn’t know you had a guest,” Tommy lied as he greeted Mackenzie, sweeping off his cap and bowing at the waist before straightening and jauntily adjusting the hat back on his head.
“Who are these guys?” Mackenzie laughed, leaning down to offer the dogs her hand as Taft introduced her to Tommy. The pugs eagerly sniffed and licked her, curly tails wagging.
Taft was taken by the music of her laughter. He’d come to expect her to be wry and careful and maybe even a bit cynical. Tonight she’d been damn near humorless. “The black one’s Charles, and the fawn one’s Camilla.”
“Seriously?”
Tommy gave Taft a speaking look. “The black one’s Blackie. The fawn one’s Plaid.”
That did her in. Mackenzie nearly fell off her chair, chuckling and rubbing their heads as each vied for her attention.
“You’re going to be furred,” Taft warned.
“Well, I’m off,” said Tommy. “Winging my way to the land of one-armed bandits. Nice to meet you, Ms. Laughlin.”
“It’s just Mac.” She slid off the stool and went over to shake his hand. The pugs followed as if imprinted on her.
“Thomas Carnoff. Right next door. If you should ever need any help with this dubious man”—he pointed to Taft and winked—“I’m there most of the time.”
“Unless he has a date,” said Taft.
“Tsk, tsk.” Tommy waved a finger at him. “See you Monday.”
Tommy headed out the door and Taft corralled the pugs as best he could. They escaped and ran through his condo like sailors on leave, their flat faces smashed close to his belongings, checking things out.
He felt Mackenzie’s eyes on him and glanced her way. “What?” he asked.
“You have many facets, Taft.” She headed toward the door, placing one hand on the knob. “I’ll follow Seth and Troi. If you need anything else, let me know.”
“That’s it? You’re going?”
“I’m . . . yes, I’m going.”
He’d thought she’d intended to stay awhile and he was disappointed, very disappointed, that she wasn’t. “Would you like me to look further into the Rayne Sealy death?”
She glanced back sharply. “Well . . . no . . . but . . . you would do that?”
“She’s connected to both Seth and Troi and neither of them appears to be the soul of propriety. I, too, would like to know if Rayne’s death was just an unfortunate accident. I agree with you, Laughlin. It’s a question worth pursuing. I’ll check with my connections at River Glen PD.”
“Your connections?”
“I know a lot of the same people you do and some others as well.” He’d heard the skepticism in her voice and added on a drawl, “I do have some credibility left with the police.”
She made a sound of disbelief. “Thanks for the wine.”
And she was through the door and gone.
The pugs raced toward the door but they were too late to say goodbye. They turned to Taft and stared at him with their twin humanoid faces, whining a bit.
“You guys’ hearts are easily won,” he pointed out.
And what about you, little brother?
He looked up, expecting to see Helene. But tonight it was just her voice in his head.
* * *
Mackenzie phoned Bibi back after she left Taft’s. Bibi was clearly miffed that she’d been put off, though she burst into tears when she heard that Rayne was gone.
“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it,” she blubbered. “He killed her. He killed her.”
“The police are looking into it.” She didn’t go on that her death could’ve been the result of taking a selfie outside of the overlook railing. Not enough was known yet, and Bibi was in no state to hear anything other than what she believed.
“Would you keep looking into it? Please? Everything’s just shit and I need someone to . . . help.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Mackenzie promised, though she wasn’t exactly sure what that was. “You didn’t tell me Rayne’s had lots of ex-boyfriends.”
“Well, okay, yeah. Haven’t we all?”
“Can you give me some names? So I can get a picture of Rayne’s social life.”
Bibi reeled off several names and the one that resonated was Troi Bevins. She then hung up without a goodbye, shattered. Rayne’s death had hit her hard, amplified by her own marital problems, no doubt.
Mackenzie drove back to her mother’s house, let herself in, and turned quickly down the hall to her room to avoid talking to anyone. A lot had happened today and she needed some alone time to pick her way through it.