Now Isaiah was in danger, too. If she didn’t stop this evil, right here, where would it all end? “Celeste found out about more women? Strippers?”
“Worse. It seems she’d broken into my lockbox in my study and found a newspaper clipping.”
That must’ve been what was upsetting her at school Friday morning.
Mia got up on her knees, concealing the rock in her hand behind her back.
“One about your mother. A story about the disappearance of Emily Thornton and her poor little abandoned daughter, Mia.” He looked down at her. “She left me no choice at all. I didn’t want to kill Celeste, but she simply knew too much. There’s no containing a situation like that. So I did what needed to be done, and the next day I dumped her purse in the alley for the police to find—to make it look like she never made it home. I’d heard about those other missing women but I never thought it would be so easy to mislead. It seems the police are always happy to add a crime onto a serial killer’s list of accomplishments if you give them half a chance. Do you need some help up?” He extended his hand.
She took it, and he helped her to her feet, almost gently.
Do it. Do it.
The stone was heavy in her hand.
Do it. Do it.
She brought her arm up, and, with all her might, heaved the rock.
Smashed him in the face.
“You little bitch!”
Run! Run! Run! You can make it!
The grass rustled behind her.
Thunder clapped in the sky.
Just a few more yards.
Her head jerked back—he had her by the hair.
Her back slammed against the ground; she tasted dirt.
He kneeled over her, blood dripping from his mouth, and laughed.
Forty-Three
“Get up!”
No way. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Plus, her legs had turned to water. Without a break, she couldn’t hike the rest of the way to wherever the hell he planned to kill her, even if she wanted to.
Which she did not.
Lying on her back, like this, she could see the Big Dipper.
“Come on. Get up. Or should I drag you by your hair?”
“Go ahead.”
At least it would tire him out.
The stench that had been making her sick for ages was gone. Her queasy stomach all better. She inhaled deeply, making the most of what would probably be the last time she smelled rain and gazed up at the stars.
He shoved his hands under her armpits.
Apparently, he’d thought twice about dragging her by the hair. Maybe he needed a more even distribution of weight. They started to move, her shirt riding up her chest.
The cold mud felt good against her stinging skin, and though the ground was rough, and stones scraped her back as he hauled her across the clearing, her body’s natural morphine, or whatever miracle was keeping the pain at bay, was holding strong.
“God almighty.” They stopped moving. He pulled his hands out from under her and huffed down to the ground beside her. “We’re gonna rest a minute. And then you’re gonna get up.” He didn’t sound like Baxter anymore. That low, refined voice of his, even his diction had changed.
“You still haven’t told me what happened to my mother.”
“I don’t think you really want to know. Let’s make a deal. You make it easy on me, and I’ll make it easy on you. Get off your lazy ass and walk, and I won’t rip your nails off one by one, and then beat you to a bloody pulp before I kill you.”
Scanning the sky, she found Orion. How long had it been since she’d lain in the grass, studying the night sky with her grandfather pointing out the constellations? And yet, she still knew them.
“Thank you, Granddad,” she whispered.
“Shit. Don’t lose it. I need you to stand up.” The voice came from far away.
His voice—Arnie’s voice.
She lifted her head and turned to look at him. His face was scratched and dirty, his hair matted with blood.
She laughed.
She’d done that to him. “Where’s my mother?”
“I’m taking you to her. Stand up and we’ll get there faster.”
“I don’t think I can. Tell me what you did to her.”
He put his face between his hands. “I don’t know how many ways to say it to make you understand—Emily left me no choice. I love my wife. Alma’s mine, and no one is allowed to take her away from me, but your damn whore of a mother sure tried her best.”
“So women come in two kinds? What makes Alma the angel and my mother a whore? They were both poor. They both had a child outside marriage—”
“I told you, I didn’t even know you existed. It was nothing to do with that. I picked Alma, that’s all. I chose her, and that’s what makes her special. But anyone can see what makes your mother a whore.”
She wanted to go to sleep, now. She wanted Mommy.
Don’t come to me yet, Mia. It’s too soon.
“Help me sit up.”
He hoisted her into a sitting position, facing him. “Will you walk?”
“In a minute. I want to know everything. Start at the beginning, and then I promise I’ll go with you.”
He nodded. “Emily came into my shop one morning, all done up like Saturday night on Hollywood Boulevard. She pawned a charm bracelet. That bracelet was worth something for the silver, and I gave your mother a fair price. I don’t know how she came by jewelry that costs that much. Probably stole it.”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
“Whatever. Emily’s eyes were big and brown like yours. Full, sexy mouth. She was so skinny I suspected, rightly as it turned out, that she didn’t eat regularly. But still, I liked the way she looked. I like all kinds of women.”
“You like vulnerable women.”
“Is that a crime?”
“When you murder them, yes.”
“They left me no choice? Remember?”
Mia stared at
