Megan looked into Agnes’s frightened face. Agnes had been so sharp just a few years back-funny and cutting and wonderfully ribald. One night, when the two women had enough to drink, Megan had even told her a little bit of the truth about her past. Not all of it. Just a hint that there was more to it than met the eye. Agnes had said, “I know, hon. We all got secrets.” They had never spoken about it again. By the time Megan wanted to raise it again, well, it was too late.
“I’m okay now,” Agnes said. “You can go.”
“I have a little time.”
“You have to get the kids off to school, don’t you?”
“They’re old enough to take care of themselves.”
“Are they?” She tilted her head. “Megan?”
“Yes?”
“What do I do if he comes back tonight?”
Megan turned her attention back to the night-light. “Who turned that off?”
“He did.”
Megan wondered. Validation therapy. Why the hell not? Maybe it would offer a terrified woman some comfort. “I brought something that might help.” She reached into her purse and pulled out what looked like a digital alarm clock.
Agnes looked confused.
“It’s a spy camera,” Megan said. She had bought it at a spy store online. Sure, she could have just said that it was a spy camera-validation therapy was not about honesty-but why be deceitful when you don’t have to be? “So we can catch the bastard in the act.”
“Thank you,” Agnes said, tears-maybe of relief? — in her eyes. “Thank you so much, Megan.”
“It’s okay.”
Megan set it up so it faced the bed. The camera worked by timer and motion detector. Agnes’s calls always came in at three A.M. “What I’m going to do,” she started explaining, “is to set the timer so that the taping begins at nine P.M. and lasts until six in the morning, okay?”
“Your hands,” Agnes said.
“Excuse me?”
“They’re shaking.”
Megan looked down. She was right. Her fingers could barely find the buttons.
“When he comes for me,” Agnes said in a whisper, “my hands start to shake too.”
Megan moved back to the bedside and held her mother-in-law again.
“You too, right, Megan?”
“Me too what?”
“You’re scared. You’re shaking because you’re afraid of him too.”
Megan didn’t know how to reply.
“You’re in danger, aren’t you, Megan? Is he visiting you too?”
Megan started to say no, started to say something comforting about being fine, but she pulled up. She didn’t want to lie to Agnes. Why should Agnes think she was the only one who ever got scared?
“I… I don’t know,” Megan said.
“But you’re scared he’s come back to get you?”
Megan swallowed, thinking about Stewart Green, about how it all ended. “I guess I am.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I shouldn’t?”
“No.”
Megan tried to nod. “Okay. Tell you what. I won’t be scared, if you won’t be.”
But Agnes frowned and waved the patronizing deal away. “It’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re young,” Agnes said. “You’re strong. You’re tough. You’ve known adversity, haven’t you?”
“Like you.”
Agnes ignored that. “You’re not an old woman confined to a bed. You don’t have to lie helplessly in the dark, shivering, waiting for him to get you.”
Megan just looked at her, thinking, Wow, who’s working-and who’s receiving-the validation therapy now?
“Don’t wait in the dark,” Agnes said in an agitated whisper. “Don’t ever feel helpless. Please? For me? I don’t want that for you.”
“Okay, Agnes.”
“Promise?”
Megan nodded. “I promise.”
And she meant it. Validation therapy or not, Agnes had spoken a universal truth: Feeling scared was bad, but feeling helpless was far worse. Megan had been toying with the idea of making a big move since Lorraine’s visit anyway. It might unearth the past, bring it back in a bad way, but as Agnes had pointed out, it was better than lying helplessly in the dark.
“Thank you, Agnes.”
The old woman’s eyes blinked, as though fighting back tears. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes. But I’ll be back.”
Agnes spread her arms. “Can you stay close for a little while longer? Not long. I know you need to be on your way. But a few minutes won’t make a big difference, will it?”
Megan shook her head. “It won’t make any difference at all.”
7
Broome had just started going through the surveillance videos, watching various idiots stumble out with drinks, beads, party hats, and girls, when Rudy from La Creme called him.
“Carlton Flynn had a favorite girl,” Rudy said.
“Who?”
“Tawny Allure.”
Broome rolled his eyes. “That her real name?”
“As real as anything else on her, if you get my drift,” Rudy said.
“Yeah, you’re the master of subtlety. When will she be in?”
“She’s here now.”
“On my way.”
Broome was about to switch off the television when Goldberg, his superior and a dickwad of biblical proportions, said, “What the hell is this?”
Goldberg leaned over him. He reeked of beer, sweat, and tuna.
“Video feed of La Creme the night Flynn vanished.”
“Why you checking that?”
Broome didn’t really want to get into this, but Goldberg wouldn’t just let it go. Goldberg wore a beige button-down dress shirt that’d probably started life off as bright white. He snarled when he spoke, figuring that bluster would hide the dim. So far, it had worked for him.
Broome rose. “I’m seeing if there is any connection between Stewart Green and Carlton Flynn. Both men vanished on the same date.”
Goldberg nodded as though in deep thought. “So where you off to now?”
“Back to La Creme. Flynn liked one stripper in particular.”
“Hmm.” Goldberg rubbed his chin. “Kinda like Stewart Green?”
“Maybe.”
Broome ejected the flash drive from the computer. Maybe he’d have Erin look into them. She had a good eye for that kind of thing. He could drop them off on his way. He hurried past Goldberg. As he turned the corner, he looked back, worried Goldberg would still be on his tail. He wasn’t. Goldberg was hunched over the phone, cupping the mouthpiece like that did some good.
Twenty minutes later, after quickly dropping off the flash drive at Erin’s, Broome sat across from Tawny Allure in La Creme’s quietest booth. Rudy stood behind her, arms crossed. Tawny was all attitude and implants and daddy-didn’t-love-me-enough self-esteem issues. That was the cliche in a place like this, and truth was, most of the time the cliche applied. Tawny was young and brick-house built in a surgically enhanced way, but she had the kind of harsh face that had already seen too many guys sneaking out at daylight and then changing their cell phone numbers.
“Tell me about Carlton Flynn,” Broome asked.
“Carlton?” She blinked with eyelashes so fake they looked like dying crabs baking in the sun. “Oh, he was a sweetheart. Treated me like gold. Always a gentleman.”
Tawny wasn’t a very good liar. Her eyes darted about like scared birds.
“Anything else you can tell me about him?”
“Not really.”
“How did you meet?”
“Here.”
“How?”
“He bought a lap dance,” Tawny explained. “They’re legal, you know.”
“And then, what, he took you back to his place?”
“Oh no. We don’t do that here. This place is totally legit. I’d never.”