CHAPTER 59
It was late by the time Lizzy got home. She had stopped at a restaurant and asked for a grilled cheese sandwich to go, but by the time she’d arrived at the hospital, they weren’t allowing visitors. Even if her timing had been better, it wouldn’t have done any good. Detective Chase had gone from stable to critical.
She put the wrapped-up sandwich in the fridge, surprised to see Hayley and Kitally still up, grinding away on the Ambassador Club killer case. “Where’s Jessica?”
“She went to bed,” Kitally said.
“Smart girl.”
“Any news on Shelby?”
“No.”
“Every news station is talking about the letter he sent to the media. I know you can’t say much about what they know, but do they think she’s still alive?”
“I have to believe she is.”
The room fell silent for a long moment except for the clacking of Hayley’s keyboard.
“Eighteen of the thirty-three women on the list of Ambassador Club killer suspects,” Kitally said, holding up a list, “have degrees in something that could be considered connected to the medical field.”
She stood and handed Lizzy the list. “Here. I’m going cross-eyed.”
It was easy to see that Kitally’s night in the abandoned warehouse had done some damage—taken some of the light out of her eyes and the kick out of her step.
“Go to bed,” Lizzy told her. “I’ll take over from here.”
Kitally yawned. “We should all call it a night.”
“I’m not tired,” Hayley said without looking up from her computer.
“You do realize,” Kitally said before she disappeared down the hallway, “that this person could have a degree in mathematics for all we know. Hell, she could be self-taught.”
Neither of them responded.
“It’s a matter of crossing one person off at a time,” Lizzy said under her breath.
Twelve o’clock the next day, Hayley strolled into the kitchen. She found the grilled cheese sandwich inside the refrigerator and shoved it into the microwave to heat it up. After the microwave beeped, she grabbed a paper towel and took a seat at the table across from Jessica. “Where is everyone?”
“Good morning to you, too. Or should I say, good afternoon?”
Hayley shrugged and took a bite.
“Lizzy left a note.” Jessica slid it across the table.
Hayley read as she ate.
Girls—I wanted to get an early start on the Ambassador Club case. I decided to take the four names at the bottom of the list that Hayley and I came up with last night:
Jenny Pickett
Kat Remington
Julie Smith
Latochia Bell
The rest of you pick a couple names and see what you can find out. Let’s meet back at the house at six p.m. to see where we’re at. —Lizzy
Hayley took her time finishing her sandwich, then tossed the paper towel in the garbage. “I’ll grab my bag. Are you ready to go?”
Jessica looked behind her before saying, “Who, me?”
“You don’t have anything else to do, do you?”
“True, but—”
“And I don’t see Kitally around.”
“She went to get her car in El Dorado Hills. Tommy took her.”
“OK, then,” Hayley said. “I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”
Lizzy had already crossed three people off her list.
She went about things a little differently this time. Instead of barging in like a maniac and making accusations, she rang the bell, introduced herself, calmly told whoever answered the door why she was there, and then proceeded to ask questions.
So far, so good.
If she hadn’t been running on adrenaline and caffeine when she’d paid Dana Kohl a visit, she might have seen that the woman wasn’t who she thought her to be. She’d gone to the woman’s house with her mind already made up.
She’d made a mistake. She’d been making a lot of them lately.
But not today. She knew what needed to be done. Today she would proceed with care and professionalism. If she had done the same when she’d first met Melony Reed, the woman might still be alive.
It turned out that Latochia Bell had a husband and three kids. She was clearly overwhelmed. She didn’t have time to feed the baby, let alone plan a murder.
Julie Smith was newly married with a baby on the way and was quite possibly one of the sweetest ladies Lizzy had ever met—she was not a cold-blooded killer.
Lizzy had just left the third woman on her list five minutes ago. Kat Remington had turned out to be a major yapper. Lizzy had nearly fallen asleep listening to her stories about how the Ambassador Club members only did what they did because they were insecure. Apparently, Kat believed strongly in forgiving those who she believed didn’t know any better. After her lecture on forgiveness, she spent the next forty-five minutes complaining about how her impossible mother-in-law told her what, when, and how to do everything, including how to make a bed, iron a shirt, and cook a proper dinner for her husband.
The woman was beyond exasperating, but no killer.
Jenny Pickett was next on the list.
The only Picketts listed, though, were Ophelia and James Pickett in Elk Grove.
It was just past five.
Lizzy was tired, but she was only fifteen minutes from the Pickett pig farm, and she figured she might as well get this over with so she could cross one more person off the list.
“Third time’s a charm, right?”
“Sure,” Hayley said. “Next person on our list is Tracy Carson.”
“I wonder how Lizzy is doing. I don’t like the idea of her going out alone. She’s obviously exhausted. Otherwise she never would have stormed into that woman’s house.”
“She needs time.”
“And a break from all of this.”
“I agree,” Hayley said.
There was a long pause before Jessica said, “I can’t begin to imagine what Lizzy is going through. When do they actually take Jared off life support?”
“I guess you haven’t heard.”
“What?”
“Jared’s parents have petitioned the court for guardianship of Jared’s health care.”
Jessica sighed. “It just goes on and on.”
Hayley nodded.
“Poor Lizzy.” Jessica pulled the car to the curb across the street from a small Victorian house. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll do the talking this time.”
“Sounds good to me.”
As they walked up the pathway, Jessica felt a droplet of rain hit the top of her head. She looked heavenward. The clouds were gray and rippled.
Hayley knocked and a woman opened the door. She was short and frumpy, with thin, disheveled hair and a moth-eaten sweater two sizes too large.
“We’re here to talk to Tracy Carson,” Jessica said.
“Why? What is this about?”
“My name is Jessica Pleiss, and this is Hayley Hansen. We’re doing a story about the Ambassador Club. We were told that Tracy attended Parkview High School. Is she in?”
The woman blinked at them, then sighed. “I’m Tracy,” she said. “And, yes, I did go to Parkview.”
The thirty-year-old woman looked much older than her age. “Any chance we can come in and talk to you for a few minutes?”
“It depends.”
Hayley and Jessica exchanged a quick glance.
“On what?” Jessica asked.
“It depends on if you’re telling the truth or not. Are you really writing a story about that group of good-for-nothing assholes, or is this about something else?”
“No,” Hayley said, speaking out before Jessica could answer. “We are not writing a story at all. The truth is we’re doing an investigation.”
“Why did you lie about it?”
Hayley gestured toward Jessica. “It was her idea.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “People are usually more open to talking if it’s for a story.”
“What a load of shit that is,” the woman said. “Truth. Always start with the truth.”
Hayley smirked.
The woman crossed her arms and gave Jessica the once-over. “Come on in,” she finally said.
Tracy Carson moved the newspapers from her tattered couch in the front room and pointed, which meant take a seat.
Jessica noticed that the weeks’ worth of newspapers were all folded to various stories having to do with the recent accidents. “Looks like you’ve been following the Ambassador Club story pretty closely.”
“You bet I have.”
“Do you remember the Ambassador Club?” Jessica asked.
“How could I forget?”
The woman disappeared. They could hear cupboards being opened and closed in her small kitchen. She came back minutes later with a plastic pitcher filled with some god-awful-looking foggy-yellow concoction and three glasses.
Jessica leaned back into the couch as if the pitcher were filled with acid and Tracy might suddenly toss it at them.
Hayley took over. “Are you aware that more than half of the thirteen members of the Ambassador Club have perished recently?”
“I am,” Tracy answered with a smile. “I can only hope that the person responsible finds a way to get all of them.”
“Are you saying you’re not disturbed by any of this?” Jessica asked.
“That’s what I’m saying. Every time I turn on the news and see that another member is gone, I celebrate. I kick my shoes off and do a little jig right here in this very room.”
“What did they do to you?” Jessica asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Tracy Carson pulled her sweater tight around her waist and then took a seat in a La-Z-Boy close by. “But I won’t talk about it. Not to anyone. Most times I make believe it didn’t happen at all. The memories, though . . . the memories live in me like a tumor that’s too close to vital organs, so it can’t be cut out. When every member of that club is dead, the tumors will still be there.” She placed a hand over her heart. “But I’ll sleep like a baby when it’s done.”
Jessica scooted to the edge of the couch. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t say.”
“So you do have an idea of who might be responsible,” Jessica said.
“You look parched,” the woman told her. “Go ahead and have some lemonade. It’s nice and cold.”
Jessica looked at the particles swirling about inside the pitcher. Was this their killer?
“I made it myself. I have a lemon tree out back.”
“No, thanks. I’m not thirsty.”
“I am,” Hayley said and proceeded to pour herself a glass. Before Jessica could stop her, she guzzled it down, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve and said, “Delicious.”
“You knew that was a test, didn’t you?” Tracy asked.
Jessica couldn’t believe what Hayley had done. “A test?” she asked.
“Tracy believes we might think she’s the killer,” Hayley said.
A perfectly reasonable assumption, Jessica thought. “You have a degree in chemistry,” Jessica told her. “For four years, you were abused by one, maybe more, of the members of this club. Of course you might be on our radar.”
“Well,” Tracy said, “I’m flattered. I only wish I had the nerve to pull off something as delicious as this. But I don’t. She’s bound to get caught, and when she does, she’s going down. Prison and me, that’s not a good mix.” She grinned. “I just hope she finishes the job before they get her. You think she’ll go after the ones who moved away?”
Jessica and Hayley looked at each other, then turned back to her and shrugged. “Hard to say,” Jessica said. “What makes you think the person responsible is a woman?”
Tracy lifted a brow. “Why are you here talking to me?”
“All righty, then,” Hayley said, pushing herself to her feet.
Jessica joined her and thanked Tracy Carson for her time. While there was no arguing the woman was a little strange and overly excited about the Ambassador Club deaths—that in itself was no crime. But still . . . Tracy Carson made her uneasy.
On their way to the car, Jessica turned to Hayley. “How can you be so sure she’s not the killer?”
“That woman can hardly see. She has uveitis.”
“Uveitis?”
“An inflammatory problem that causes swelling and destroys eye tissues.”
“How do you know this?”
“While you were watching Tracy, I was looking around the room. The cane was my first clue, the medication for uveitis was the second.”
“How does she read the newspaper?”
“You didn’t see the magnifying glass on the table?”
Jessica sighed. “Are you feeling woozy yet?”
“Not even a little,” Hayley said. “If anything, she might have put some sort of energy drink in that lemonade. I’ve never felt better.”
Jessica snorted and then opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel.