“We’re leaving no stone unturned, Rowan. I promise you that.” Roger’s voice was forceful, even three thousand miles away. “We will catch him. It’s only a matter of time.”
“But who else is going to die first?”
She hung up. She’d talk to him tonight, but didn’t expect anything new.
Did she know the killer? Had she seen him? Or had he affixed on her for some insane reason and learned everything about her, her past, her present? Would she recognize him if she saw the killer?
How long was he going to make her wait? The first three murders happened in a week. But she suspected this killer wanted her to suffer. To worry. Be afraid. She could almost feel him living off her fear, as if he enjoyed watching her tremble and cower. She straightened her back. If he fed off fear, it wouldn’t be hers.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
All week, Adam felt guilty for playing the trick on Marcy, even though she had deserved it for those mean things she said about Barry. Barry was his friend and never yelled at him and was always nice and let him hang out in the old prop room to look at all the neat stuff. But the trick upset Rowan, and Rowan was his friend too. She listened to him and cared about him like his mother never did. He sometimes wished Rowan were his mother, though that was silly because she was too young. But she would be a nice mother and wouldn’t yell or say you were worthless and should never have been born.
Adam had apologized to Barry every day until today, when Barry said not to say “sorry” anymore because it didn’t mean anything after awhile. Adam didn’t understand that, because he really
But he hadn’t seen Rowan all week. She hadn’t been to the studio or to visit him or anything and he missed her. What if she was mad at him? She’d said she wasn’t, but people lied all the time. Rowan had never lied to him before, but maybe she was lying this time.
He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep the last two days because he worried Rowan didn’t like him anymore. He had to find her and tell her how sorry he was.
Adam didn’t have a driver’s license, but Barry let him drive around the lot all the time. He didn’t think twice about borrowing one of the studio trucks and taking it to Malibu. It was exciting to drive on the freeway. So much power! For the first time he felt almost normal, almost like he belonged.
He’d been to Rowan’s house once. Last month, when he’d told her he had never seen the ocean even though he’d lived in Los Angeles his entire life, she’d driven him to her house.
The ocean was a little scary, but he didn’t tell Rowan that. From her deck it was very pretty and she let him stay until the sunset, and that was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Well, almost. Rowan was prettier than the sun. She had a happy smile on her face as the colors changed in the sky.
He couldn’t remember how to get to her house, so he copied a map from the computer.
Rowan never treated him like he was stupid. Not like Marcy and the other actors who called him the retarded prop kid. Barry didn’t like that word and talked in quiet words whenever he heard it, and Adam knew Barry tried to make him feel better, but it didn’t work. Only Rowan made him feel better, because she didn’t pretend. She told him what was what, and if he didn’t understand, she explained it again until he did understand, and she never sighed or frowned or got that look in her eyes that said she wanted to be anywhere else but talking to him.
He turned onto Highway 1 toward Malibu and saw a flower stand by the side of the road. Would Rowan like flowers? He’d heard Barry tell one of the cameramen to get a dozen roses for his girlfriend to say he was sorry because women liked that sort of thing. Rowan was a woman and she would like flowers, too, Adam reasoned.
He pulled over onto the gravel turnout, frowning as the truck bounced so hard his head almost hit the roof of the cab. He slowed to a stop and paused, waiting for his heart to stop pounding. Maybe this driving thing wasn’t as easy as he thought. He cautiously stepped out of the truck, the cool wind slapping his face. Steep cliffs only feet away dropped off to the ocean below. Adam felt woozy, and finally understood how Scottie had felt in
The man selling flowers had dark skin, but not black, small brown eyes, and a really nice smile that made Adam feel less nervous. After all, he’d never bought flowers for a girl before.
A dark car pulled up behind Adam’s truck, but Adam barely noticed. He pointed to the roses. “Those are roses, right?” he asked.
“Yessir,” the man said. “Roses. Dollar each or dozen for ten.”
A dozen, a dozen. “That’s twelve roses for ten dollars?”
“Yessir.”
Adam had ten dollars. He had a twenty and a ten and three ones in his wallet. “O-kay,” he said slowly, wanting to make sure he was making the right decision. He really liked the roses, but would Rowan like them? They were so pretty. White or red, red or white. Maybe six of each. “Can I have some white ones and some red ones?”
“Yessir.”
The man from the dark car walked up to them. “Buying flowers for your lady?”
Adam glanced at the man, who looked vaguely familiar but he didn’t know why. He had dark blond hair, a little long, and wore sunglasses. He was nice-looking and his clothes matched. Adam sometimes had a problem with his colors. He thought orange and brown went together, but Marcy always teased him about the way he dressed. Retro gone bad, she called it and laughed.
“N-no,” Adam said, looking down and shuffling his feet. By the way he dressed, this man had money, and men with money didn’t like to talk to prop boys. A lot of the men who came by the studio had money, and none of them talked to him, and if he talked to them they got mad.
“A friend?”
“Yeah.” His voice was quiet and he glanced at the proprietor, who watched them.
“What were you thinking of buying?”
“The roses.”
“Ah, roses. Roses are lovely.”
Adam perked up. “Really? You think so?”
He nodded. Adam tilted his head, wondering how he knew this man, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen him. He frowned. He hated being dumb. That’s what his mama called him. Dumb and stupid.
“Yes, I think roses are very pretty,” the man said.
“I want a dozen roses,” Adam said confidently to the brown-skinned man.
“But,” the money man said, “I know the perfect flower for friendship.”
Adam frowned. Hadn’t he just said that roses were lovely? “Better than roses?”
“Oh, yes.” He reached over and pulled out a stalk of a large, pretty white flower that looked almost like a cup. “Smell this.”
Adam breathed in. He couldn’t smell anything. But the flower was pretty. Just as pretty as Rowan.
“What’s this?”
“A calla lily. And I think your lady friend will love it.”
“Better than roses?”
“Oh, yes.”
The man with money seemed to know what he was talking about, and Adam didn’t know anything about flowers. “All right,” he said slowly. “A dozen calla lilies.”
“Good choice,” the man said.
The brown-skinned man wrapped the flowers in paper and Adam paid him, fifteen dollars instead of the ten for the roses. But that was okay because Adam knew how to count change and took five ones from the man, carefully placing them back in his wallet before picking up the flowers.
As he started back to the truck he remembered his manners. He turned back and waved at the nice man. “Thanks, sir,” he called.
The man raised his arm. “Glad to help.”
Adam bounded back to the truck he’d borrowed, tickled that he’d bought the perfect flowers for friendship. Calla lilies.
