55. Rory
RORY
Groaning, I turn in bed. After Edmond knocked me over the head, he must’ve thrown me into the trailer because I have aches and pains all over.
I rub my head where a baseball-sized lump juts out. Turns out I don’t have a concussion. I passed out from shock. But I’ll have this nasty bruise for a while.
Jace was by my side all night in the ER. When I got released this morning, he checked us into a hotel so I could get some rest and he went to the police station to give his statement.
The TV is on. “Good news, Tulsa. The rain should be letting up later today, so hang tight. If you’re just tuning in, we had an EF3 tornado rip through town last night, destroying several buildings. Fortunately, there were no fatalities.”
That tornado missed us by one block. Jace was out in the rain, searching for me, when he should’ve been hunkered down somewhere safe.
My heart swells with gratitude for him.
“This weather is terrible,” Susan says from the couch as she shakes her head.
“Thank you for driving up last night.”
She waves a hand. “It was no trouble. I heard you were hurt and jumped in my car. To think you were so close to that tornado!”
“In a way, I’m grateful I didn’t know what was happening or I would’ve been terrified,” I admit as I try to sit up.
“Oh, I think it’s time for your pain meds.” Susan pours me a cup of water from a pitcher. “Let me grab your pills.”
“I don’t think I need them.” I’d rather stretch and ice my bruises.
“Nonsense. The hospital gave you the good stuff.”
“But then I can’t help with Layla.” I peek over the edge of the bed where she’s napping in her pack and play.
“I’m on baby duty for the next two days, so you relax.” She hands me the pills and the cup of water.
“I really don’t want these.” I try to give them back to her, but she hangs her hands on her hips.
“Fine, but you need to hydrate.”
I pause with the cup halfway to my mouth. She smiles and moves back to the couch, and I take a sip of the water, but it’s salty. “This tastes weird.”
“Could be your head injury. I’ve read that this kind of trauma can make food taste odd.”
Really? “I don’t have a concussion.”
She shrugs and picks up her knitting needles. “Maybe the water here is salty.”
“Maybe.” I put the water and the pills on the side table and crawl out of bed.
Her head turns to me. “Where are you going? Jace gave me strict instructions that you’re supposed to stay in bed.”
“Nature calls.” I hobble to the bathroom and close the door. I look like a Mack truck tried to run me over. After I use the facilities and wash my hands, I cup them under the faucet to get a drink. That’s not salty.
I still can’t believe Edmond was behind this. I’m dying to know what happened at the police station because there’s still one thing I don’t understand—his motive.
Is he deranged? Or is there another reason he stalked me? What did he stand to gain?
Because I didn’t get the impression he was infatuated with me. Isn’t that why weirdos stalk women? He was always polite, kind even. I never got stalker vibes from him.
Then again, I’ve never been stalked, so what do I know?
When I emerge, I grab my phone and join Susan on the couch. I check my messages, and there’s one from Jace.
Jace: Be back soon, babe. Gonna grab us some lunch. How are you feeling?
Me: Tired but hungry. Hurry back!
I’m ready to tell him how I really feel. I wanted to last night in the hospital, but my head was throbbing so hard, I thought I was going to throw up.
Setting my phone on my lap, I turn to face Susan. “Did Edmond ever give you strange vibes? I’m having a hard time adding up everything. Why would he stuff me in the trailer?”
It’s not like he could leave me there. He’d have to do something with me eventually.
I shiver at the thought. This could’ve been so much worse. But Jace found me. With a tornado sweeping through town a block away, he kept looking.
“Who knows why people go off their rockers?” she says as her knitting needles click click click.
“He didn’t seem the violent type.”
“Does anyone? Look at Ted Bundy. Women thought he was handsome, and he blended right in on campus. And he was a prolific killer.”
I wrap my arms around my knees. “Which one was he? I’ve never been into true crime. I spend too much time alone, and it creeps me out.”
She chuckles. “I love true crime. Ted Bundy was that serial killer in the seventies. He killed dozens of women across several states. He often pretended he had a broken arm or leg so some unsuspecting woman would help him.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Oh, did you ever see The Silence of the Lambs?”
“No.” That’s too much horror for my taste.
“In that movie, the serial killer—not Hannibal Lecter, but the other one, Buffalo Bill—he pretends to have a broken arm to get a girl to help him push a couch into the van, so he can kidnap her. That part was based on Ted Bundy.”
“Ugh, that’s sinister, but interesting, I suppose.”
She nods enthusiastically. “It really is. Whenever Frank’s on the road, that’s all I watch. It helps me stay on my toes when I’m by myself, you know?”
Not the approach I would take, but I understand wanting to be alert. “That makes sense.”
“The creepiest one was the Eyeball Killer, who took victims’ eyes as trophies.”
I really don’t need to know more about this. “You’re starting to freak me out.” Reaching behind me, I grab a blanket and pull it around my shoulders. Except it gets caught on my knee, and when I try to untangle myself, I accidentally knock over Susan’s craft bag.
Old candy, yarn, knitting needles, glue, scissors, pens, markers, and books of all sizes splay out across the carpet. It’s like a small clown car that squeezes in twenty people, but in this case, it’s crafting supplies and Werther’s Originals.
“I’m so sorry.” Groaning because my body aches, I force myself off the couch to help her pick up everything.
The first thing I grab is a book. It’s a true crime case history.
This one has been well read. Pages are tabbed and highlighted.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were into serial killers,” I say slowly as I hand it to her.
She looks up at me from a foot away as she shoves it back into her bag. “The truth is so much more interesting than fiction, don’t you think? Plus, I need something to help me pass the time when Frank’s gone.”
Why does she sound angry? “But you’ve been with us on several of our tour dates, so you’re not exactly alone.” That’s when I spot it.
Time feels like it freezes and expands at the same time as I stare at it.
Susan has my journal in her bag.
Thoughts in my mind rush together like a domino run, each one connecting with the next.
She’s carting around craft supplies.
She’s obsessed with serial killers.
And she has my fucking journal.
I think back to that time in Daytona when my journal was in the wrong pocket. Had she snuck into my things then?
Susan has been with us several times when we received packages from the Cherry Smasher. Was she working with Edmond? If she was, it wouldn’t have been difficult to send us creepy gifts when she wasn’t there.
Scooting back, I try to get up, but my knees give out, and I end up in a crouched position. That’s the only reason I notice the footlocker in the closet.
Glancing behind her, she sighs. “I guess my secret is out.”
My stomach tightens and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Where’s my mace? In my purse on the entryway table. Damn it.
As she continues picking up her belongings, I spot my phone next to my knee, and I push it to the side of the couch so she can’t see it. Then I slide my finger across the screen to the camera app and hit record.
Maybe I can get her to confess what she’s doing. Because there’s a possibility I won’t be here to explain this to Jace.
“Wh-what are you planning to do with that footlocker, Susan? Carry me out on a luggage cart?” I use the bed to stand and step away from my phone and farther from Layla. Please stay asleep, ladybug.
Susan’s wide grin is so malicious, I can barely breathe.
“You’re pretty good at this, Rory. Why, yes.
That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You were supposed to drink the water that’s spiked with Visine, which would either give you a seizure or put you in a coma.
Either way, you’d be rendered incapacitated, and I’d shove you in that trunk and dump you in a nearby lake. ”
Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with this woman? I feel like I’m staring at a stranger. “I thought we were friends.”
She chuckles. “Don’t look like I just kicked you. This is a means to an end. It’s not personal.”
She’s planning to toss me in a lake but doesn’t want me to take my own murder personally? “What were you going to tell Jace?”
“I wasn’t going to tell him anything. That’s what’s so brilliant about my plan. You were going to do all the talking.”
“I don’t understand.”
She sighs like I’m dumb. “I was going to show him your journal where you talk about your new job. Where you yammer on and on about how nothing would ever work out with him. Because you’re too different or want different things.
Blah blah blah.” She grabs my journal and flips through it.
“Right here, you note that you’re giving him two weeks’ notice and then you’re gone.
I’m thinking you had a change of heart and decided to go sooner.
He’ll be on the road, so it’s not like he’s going to have time to hunt down his stupid nanny. ”
How did I miss so much evil lurking in this woman? “I’d never leave without talking to him first.”
She snaps my journal shut. “Did you know that head injuries can make you act erratic? Maybe you woke up this morning and had a change of heart about him and decided you’d had enough.”
“Jace won’t believe you.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
After last night when Jace found me in a torrential rainstorm, I know I’m right. He and I might have our issues, but if I went missing, he’d tear apart the state to find me. “Why did Edmond help you? Because he did, right? To deliver your creepy gifts?”