Bentz took note of the bus number and the time, then studied the surrounding landscape. No dark-haired woman in a lemony sundress was strolling along the sidewalk or walking quickly around a corner or climbing into any of the vehicles lining the streets.
He felt a prickle of déjà vu run through his soul.
As if he’d been here before.
As if he’d been chasing Jennifer along these very streets.
He stared after the bus as it disappeared from view, considered chasing it down, trying to outrun it and board at the next stop.
Get a grip, he silently told himself. It wasn’t her. It’s just the power of suggestion, all because of Shana, the bitch. Jennifer, living or dead, is not on that bus. Come on, man, get real! When in known history did Jennifer ever take public transportation?
“I just don’t like it, that’s all,” Kristi admitted. She was driving with one hand, her cell phone in the other as she talked with Reuben Montoya, her father’s partner.
“He needed to get away.”
“Why?” she demanded, working her way through the narrow streets of Baton Rouge as she drove toward All Saints College.
“He just said he needed some time away. He was going stir crazy not being able to work.”
“Why go back to L.A.?”
“Ask him.”
“I did and he stonewalled me.” Kristi was beginning to panic. Something was wrong, really wrong. Ever since the accident her dad hadn’t been himself. She’d thought-no, hoped-that after he worked through physical therapy he would return to normal, but that wasn’t the case.
“Your father can handle himself,” Montoya said. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Trust me, I don’t want to.” She hung up and drove into the parking lot of her apartment building, which faced the campus. A once-grand old house, the building had been cut into single units, each one becoming a basic collegiate apartment. She lived here alone with her cat, punctuated by the occasions when Jay taught forensic science at the college. Those nights he stayed with her. The rest of the time he lived in New Orleans and worked for the crime lab.
Once they were married this December and she was finished with school, they would live in New Orleans. Fingers crossed that the first draft of her true-crime book would be finished by then.
But first, her father. God, what was Bentz doing? She mulled it over as she pulled out a sack of groceries from the back of her Honda hatchback and hiked up to her third-floor studio. She toyed with the idea of calling Olivia, her stepmother, but their relationship hadn’t always been smooth. It would be better to talk with her in person, but who could find the time?
As she was placing the last of her cheapo low-cal meals-for-one in the freezer, she saw Houdini outside the window. The black cat slunk inside and she picked him up, stroking his head as her phone chirped. “Hello?” she said as her quirky feline hopped down to the floor.
“Hey, Kristi, it’s Olivia.”
Perfect.
“Hi.”
“How’re things at school?”
What was this? Olivia never called. “All good,” Kristi said tentatively.
“And the wedding?”
“Everything’s on target.” Kristi kicked out a chair at her café table and sat down. “How about with you?”
“Good.”
Time to cut out the crap. “So why’s Dad in L.A.?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t really say,” Olivia admitted, “but it seemed like something he had to do.” Her voice faded for a moment, as if she were looking away from the phone. Kristi’s heart began to drum as she anticipated what was to come: that her father and Olivia were getting a divorce. “He didn’t tell you about it?”
“He didn’t tell me anything. Just some BS about old cases in L.A. and that he’d be back soon. It all seemed bogus and I was wondering what was going on. Thought maybe there was something wrong between you.”
A beat. No answer. Kristi’s heart hit the floor.
“Your dad…he’s struggled since the accident. Can’t stand sitting around here, so I think he needed to do something to give himself a new perspective or…think things through.”
“What things?” Kristi asked cautiously. There was an undercurrent to this conversation she didn’t understand.
“I’m not sure. I don’t even think he knows, but when he does, I’m sure he’ll tell us.”
I wouldn’t bet on it.
“Anyway, I was calling to see if you wanted to get dinner sometime, or coffee? Maybe the next time you’re in New Orleans.”
“Sure.” It wasn’t as if Olivia hadn’t tried to bridge the whole stepmother gap with her before. They’d done some things together, but usually Dad was along. This was a little out of the ordinary. “I’m coming down in about a week,” Kristi offered.
“Then let’s make a date. If your dad’s back, maybe we’ll let him join us.” She paused a second, then added, “But maybe not.”
“You got it.” Kristi hung up. If your dad’s back, Olivia had said. So she was in the dark, too. Kristi didn’t like it. Whatever her father was going through, it wasn’t good.
After a long day of classes Laney Springer threw her books onto the tiny café table one of her roommates had donated to the cause of their shared apartment. God, it had been a day from hell, starting with Professor Williams’s dullsville lecture on the Korean War. Why she’d ever thought Modern History: American Politics in the Twentieth Century would be an interesting way to fill her schedule was beyond her. Thankfully, the semester was wrapping up. Professor Williams would soon be history-literally.
She walked to the refrigerator and peeked inside. The contents were pathetic: dried-out pizza in its box, the pieces of pepperoni already picked off. A bag of celery was turning brown beside some half-drunk bottles of Diet Pepsi.
Gross.
She shut the door and decided she shouldn’t eat anyway. Not if she wanted to fit comfortably into her tight, tiny, shimmery silver dress tonight. And she did. If nothing else, she wanted to look hot, hot, hot.
Forget the old pizza.
This was her big night. Well, technically not just hers, but her twin sister Lucy’s, too.
At midnight both of them would turn twenty-one. Finally legal!
Of course there were still over six hours of waiting until the clock struck midnight. The witching hour. Kind of a reverse Cinderella syndrome. She had fake ID, but tonight, she was going to burn her fraudulent Oregon license.
The good news was that she wouldn’t have to wait an extra fourteen minutes after her twin sister took her first legal sip. Lucy always lorded it over Laney that she had been born at 12:47 while Laney hadn’t come along until 1:01. But tonight it didn’t matter. It was the date, not the time.
There was going to be a big party; all her friends would be there, even Cody Wyatt, the really cool guy in her English Lit class. Good. Because she knew she’d have to put up with Lucy’s creep of a boyfriend, Kurt Jones. What a loser! A thirty-year-old high school dropout who had never married the mother of his kid and, according to Lucy, didn’t want anything to do with his three-year-old son. Now Kurt was hanging out with Lucy and she was making all kinds of excuses for him. No doubt he was her dealer. Lucy was really getting into weed and who knew what else.
It worried Laney.
A little marijuana was one thing; the other stuff could be a huge problem. But tonight, if Kurt showed up, Laney figured she’d ignore the prick. Who cared what he did?
Weed, meth, coke, pills, he does it all.
She hoped Lucy would dump his ass.
For good.
Keyed up, she decided to work out, stretch muscles that had been cramped into uncomfortable desks all day. She’d get enough cardio tonight on the dance floor, but she wanted to tone her body. So first she’d lift some weights, then she’d pop in her yoga DVD and stretch out. Afterward, she’d take a long shower and wash her hair and spend as much time as she wanted with her makeup. It was, after all, almost her birthday. Correction. Make that their birthday. Hers and Lucy’s.