'Yeah, her love for a man who stalked and killed eight young women and dumped them all over LA like they were garbage'
I guess Bonnie was that type of woman. Willing to believe anything, do anything, for love.' She looked down and started reading, cherry-picking another line to read aloud.
... You stare back, longing for us to become one. Your hands slip between my legs ...
Chapter Thirty-one
Monday, 6:45 A.M., Cherrystone, Washington
Jaws dropped to the floorboards as Shali Patterson climbed aboard school bus number 227. She managed to make it to the bus stop that morning when she found her car missing and a message from Jenna Kenyon. One of the kids she'd smoked with her tailpipe every morning couldn't resist making note of the occasion.
'Your ride in the shop, Shah Patterson? Have a seat. Anywhere'
Shali scanned the front, then the back of the bus. This sucks. Right now, she wanted to strangle her supposed best friend. She found a seat next to a freshman girl and slid next to her.
Jenna thinks she s got it bad, but she doesn 't know what bad is.
Monday, 9:00 A.M., Seattle
Christopher Collier's resonant voice filled Emily's ears and jolted her like a slap in the face. She nearly dropped the phone. She'd always been an excellent judge of a witness's veracity. She listened, assessed, and without fail was right on the money when she determined whether or not she could trust someone. She'd believed Tina Esposito when they shared lunch and a smattering of true confessions at Embers restaurant. As far as Emily could see-and her instincts were always flawless Tina was a gracious woman who'd made a horrendous mistake many years ago and suffered for it. Yet she was a survivor, a woman who'd completely extricated herself from Dylan Walker and Bonnie Jeffries. But what Christopher was telling her now indicated all of that was a big lie.
'Five calls this week alone,' he said. 'More when we go back a few weeks. There was even a call from Tina the morning Bonnie was murdered'
Emily was stunned. 'She told me they hadn't spoken in years'
'She's a liar. I'm going to see her,' he said.
With the cell phone snug against her ear, Emily looked for her cream-colored jacket. 'Not without me, you're not. I can meet you at her place or you can pick me up and we can go together. Your choice.'
'I figured that. I'm calling from downstairs.'
Emily managed a smile. Christopher Collier knew her better than anyone. She liked him, trusted him, but she'd had more lapses in judgment when it came to men. Something about last night bothered her, but she'd had too much to drink to be sure about everything that had transpired. Sunlight streamed between a slit in the hotel curtains she hadn't remembered drawing. In fact, she hadn't remembered much of what happened after she'd started pouring the Scotch.
'Chris?' she asked.
'Yes?'
'Last night ... we didn't, did we?'
'God no,' Christopher Collier said. 'Do you wish we did?'
The mosaic of what had transpired the previous evening started coming together. The dinner. The drinks. The revelations. The scrapbook. She noticed that it remained on the desk next to the hotel phone.
'You left the album,' she said.
'I know. Bring it when you come downstairs.'
Five minutes later, Emily was in the lobby. Christopher, looking dapper in a blue blazer and red tie and khakis, was waiting with Starbucks in hand.
'Vanilla latte?' he said, handing her the hot cup. 'I just guessed'
'You're a mind reader, thanks'
A moment later, they were in his Audi-where the scent of cigarette smoke could not be refuted. He saw the look on her face.
'Yeah, I haven't quit yet' It was a preemptive strike against Emily's expected rebuke.
'I didn't say anything,' she said.
They drove from the hotel toward the exclusive waterfront high-rise that Tina Esposito called home, Harbor Court. It was twenty stories tall and had been the source of much resentment from upland locals for blocking their waterfront views. But money and zoning talked. It always did. The Espositos owned the top floor.
'She's there,' Christopher said, turning down the hill toward the waterfront. 'We have an unmarked car down there with a couple of guys babysitting for me. We wouldn't want to miss her.'
'You love this, don't you?' Emily asked.
He turned from looking at the street in front of him, his handsome face now overtaken by an almost impish smile. 'Don't you?'
She had to admit that she did. 'Better than a traffic stop in Cherrystone, that's for sure' But deep down, she thought that the recent events in Cherrystone had been anything but routine. Mark, Peg, and Donny Martin had been murdered and that was the reason why she was in Seattle.
Monday, 10:15 A.M.
'My husband can't know about any of this' were the first words out of Tina Esposito's perfectly painted mouth as she opened the penthouse door. She was referring to Rod Esposito, the software developer who had earned millions when he developed a computer program that quickly became the gold standard of the airline industry's reservation systems. The joke was that he was afraid of flying. 'He's away on business in Vancouver.' She looked at her diamond-encrusted Cartier Santos watch. 'His train arrives in three hours' With a sweeping gesture, she escorted the detectives into a living room with an absolutely breathtaking view of Elliott Bay to the west and Mt. Rainier to the south. Everything about the space was luxe. The carpets were Persian, and not from some flim-flam rug store featuring a two-year going-out-ofbusiness sale.
Not like mine back home, Emily thought.
The furnishings were all antiques, of the most simple and elegant style. None of that ridiculous rococo French crap that most Americans clamored for once they had a few million to rub together. Emily noticed a landscape behind a settee, but suppressed the urge to get close enough to study it. She was sure it was a Constable, but she wasn't about to tip her art history class hand by saying so. Few residences in Seattle could make the pages of Architectural Digest, Emily mused to herself, but this one could.
The Espositos might be new money, but their taste-or their hired interior designer's was decidedly old school.
Ensconced in her grand living room, Tina put up her host ess facade. It was merely a mask. Beneath her fine silk blouse, it was clear that her heart was beating at an accelerated rate. She was scared.
'Can I offer you some coffee?' She pointed to a mohair sofa. 'Please take a seat'
'No coffee, thank you,' Emily said. 'We're not here on a social call, Tina. We're here to talk about the murder of a close friend of yours'
The remark brought a hard stare from Tina, then a curt response. 'Bonnie and I weren't friends.' She poured some coffee into a dainty china cup and proceeded to sprinkle a blue packet of sweetener into the dark brew. Then she stirred.
The wheels were turning. She was buying time.
'But you were,' Emily said. 'You called her five times this week.'
Tina continued to stir like she was paddling a river. Christopher glanced at Emily. They both knew what was going on.
Buying more time. Time to think.
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Tina said stiffly. She picked up the tinkling china cup and saucer and drank.
'Why are you making us treat you like this?' Emily said.
'How so?'
'Like you're a liar. We have the phone records. We know you called her.'
