“She has to have order in her life,” she recalled Mom saying. “Don’t try to reason with her when she lines up your perfume bottles. Don’t tell her to mind her own things. It won’t do any good and will just upset her.”
Jamie hadn’t noticed that particular behavioral quirk in her sister since she’d returned until the dish towels. She wondered if Emma’s need for control manifested more when she was feeling under duress.
As the proprietress brought over another stemmed glass, the door to the wine bar suddenly blew open on a cold, shivery breeze.
“Bette!” Vicky waved furiously. “Brrr. Come on over!”
Jamie glanced at the petite brunette with boobs that wouldn’t quit. The one who’d made a play for Cooper, undoubtedly.
Bette sank down across from Jamie at the second small table but turned her attention to the other three. “Oh my God. I hate Kearns. He’s a prick.”
“Phil Kearns is Bette’s husband,” Jill explained for Jamie’s benefit, though Jamie thought she recalled the name from high school and was trying to place him.
Bette turned angry eyes Jamie’s way. The anger dissipated some as she looked at Jamie, perplexed. “Who are you again?”
“Jamie Whelan,” said Vicky. “She’s the little sister of a classmate of ours. Emma. The one who was attacked?”
“Oh.” She blinked several times. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know your sister.”
“It’s okay.” Jamie was really thinking she should skedaddle tout de suite.
“Bette and Alicia married into our little group,” said Jill. “Do you remember Phil Kearns? He was a couple of years older than us?”
“I think I’ve heard the name.”
“Well, I married the asshole,” Bette said. “Stupid me. We met at UDub. I’m going to move back to Seattle.”
“No, you’re not,” Vicky said. She’d poured the rest of the bottle into Jamie’s glass and now signaled the proprietress for another bottle. “Bette’s thinking about divorce.”
“I met with an attorney. It’s more than thinking.”
“Her son’s a friend of Tyler. Both seniors,” Vicky added. To Bette, she said, “You won’t leave till he graduates.”
“I’ve got Joy, too.”
“Joy’s a seventh grader. She’ll be fine,” Vicky stated firmly.
“Neither one of them sides with me. Kearns has ’em both convinced I’m the devil.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” said Alicia.
No one else said anything. Another bottle appeared and glasses were refilled. Jamie sipped at hers, plucking her phone from her purse and surreptitiously checking the time.
The conversation went right back to Emma’s tragedy and speculation on the babysitter killer.
“There was no serial stalker or killer,” said Jill. She was rail thin and had a way of lifting her chin and tossing her dark-brown, shoulder-length hair whenever she laid down an edict. “The Vancouver one was a burglary, and the other one fell off a roof fighting with her boyfriend.”
“Why do we ever put up with men?” Bette complained, draining her glass so fast, it made Jamie wonder where she put it. “They’re terrible, terrible human beings.”
“Half the population,” Alicia reminded. She was a paler blond than Vicky, with a wan complexion and a small frame that made it look as if a strong wind could blow her over.
“Maybe the girl who fell off the balcony wasn’t because of a serial killer, but I think the murder in Vancouver, and what happened here, too, definitely was,” said Vicky. “The guy who stabbed her was wearing a mask. Just like . . . what happened to Emma.”
“We don’t know Emma’s attacker was masked,” Jamie corrected. No one had seen him.
“Why did he stop?” Jill demanded, nose in the air. “This said killer? There’s never been a babysitter attack since in this area.”
“Maybe he hasn’t. We just don’t know it. He’s still out there. He attacked Emma and then he disappeared.” Vicky shrugged.
Jamie could tell she was slightly miffed at having her theory questioned.
“What do you think?” Alicia asked Jamie.
“Me? Well . . .” When they all just looked at her, as if waiting for more, she added, “I always thought the police should’ve tried harder.”
Bette snorted. “Don’t expect a man to do anything.”
“You didn’t feel that way about Cooper when you went after him,” Vicky reminded her.
“Cooper Haynes was in our grade and he’s a detective now,” Jill explained for Jamie’s benefit.
“She knows Cooper.” Vicky waved a dismissive hand. She was very big into gestures. “Her daughter’s friends with Marissa.”
There followed a lively discussion about the kids in the school and who was friends with whom, which ones were in the popular crowd—both Vicky and Alicia’s sons, for sure—and what they were going to do about the drug problem.
“Drug problem?” Jamie asked.
“Alleged drug problem. None of our kids have been caught with drugs. It’s just rumors. Drink up, honey. I’m buying.” Vicky flapped a hand at her. “My husband is cheap, but I keep him from being a total skinflint.”
“I can buy,” Jamie tried to protest.
“God, no. Let Lawrence Stapleton pay for it.” Jill tossed her dark locks. “He’s loaded.”
“I thought Kearns was,” Bette said with a sniff.
“I thought Deon was,” said Alicia somewhat sorrowfully.
“He was. He is.” Vicky gave her a kind look. “He’s just an asshole. Alicia got pregnant by Deon Stillwell, not sure if you knew him?” Vicky said to Jamie. “Younger brother of Race Stillwell. Good-looking and inherited big-time, like Race, when their parents died, but neither of ’em amounted to anything. Pardon me. I should be nicer, but I got screwed by them on a deal. I did all the work on that property outside of town, and he turned it over to—”
“That Portland real estate bitch, Tricia something. We know, Victoria,” Jill said, long-suffering.
Jamie was still processing hearing Deon Stillwell’s name. The quick revulsion she felt again, remembering his hand on her crotch.
“Yes. Her. That would have been a big commission. A really big one.” Vicky drained her glass.
“You have a husband. I barely get child support,” bemoaned Alicia.
“Cooper Haynes is a stand-up guy,” said Bette, on her own track. “When I’m divorced, I’m going
