D.D. got it. “You wanted to make sure she hadn’t caught Devon’s eye.”
“She was dancing with another guy. I swear. She was dancing with Mr. Normal. So then, I stopped watching. I counted receipts instead.”
D.D. leaned forward. “Stacey Summers,” she prodded. “Think. Now is the time. When you saw the video of Stacey Summers, did you recognize her as one of your customers? Is there any chance she also knew Devon Goulding?”
“God’s honest truth, Detective: I have no idea. I am so sorry. But I have no idea.”
D.D. nodded, stepped back. Rosa and Keynes did the same. While the manager, Ethier, remained standing there, looking like a woman who’d just taken a beating, and her work shift had yet to begin.
“One last question,” D.D. said. “Does this place use any glitter?”
*
RESTROOMS. Tonic offered up a basket of toiletries for its patrons, male and female alike. D.D. and Rosa did the honors in the ladies’ room, while Keynes took the men’s room. D.D. found what she was looking for almost immediately, a hair gel product laced with gold glitter. She gave Keynes a quick call to learn he’d discovered the same. Nothing like a bit of sparkle for the discerning clubber with a big night ahead.
She held the gel under the overhead lights, watching the way the various gold particles shimmered. As Alex had said, the pieces appeared individual, distinct. And sticky. Chances were, even after hand washing, showering, minute pieces of the gluey sparkle lingered for days.
Just waiting to be transferred from a kidnapper’s hands to a victim’s apartment, or even her body?
D.D. dialed Ben Whitely, who most likely was still exhuming the body at the nature park.
He picked up the call, as charming as ever. “Whatever it is you want, I don’t know. I didn’t know five hours ago. I don’t know now. And if you don’t leave me alone long enough to finish wrapping up the scene and transport the body to the lab, I may never know anything ever again.”
“I need you to check something for me.”
“D.D.—”
“It will just take a second. Can you shine the flashlight on the body’s hair? Look for gold. As in glitter.”
“The hair is brown and completely saturated in dirt. How do you expect me to— Wait. There do appear to be some reflective particles. It’s possible I’m looking at glitter.”
“Can you remove a small sample? I’m going to send a uniformed officer to you immediately for pickup. Thank you, Ben.”
D.D. clicked off the phone, stood there thoughtfully.
Rosa came up behind her. The woman appeared tired, but was in control as always. “The glitter is important?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means . . .” D.D. shrugged, still fumbling her way through a case with more questions than answers. “It means my husband was right. Natalie Draga, Kristy Kilker, Stacey Summers, your daughter. All of their disappearances are connected.”
She looked at Rosa. “The glitter tells us so.”
Chapter 35
LAUGHING. JACOB HAD A JOINT. They passed it back and forth between the two of them, heads bowed close together, giggling like schoolgirls. I sat alone at the tiny kitchen table, rubbing my bare arms for warmth, watching them in the family room.
Turned out, the new girl wasn’t new at all. She’d recognized Jacob. Threw open her long, creamy arms in greeting. He’d wrapped her in a tight embrace. A hug. Jacob hugged her.
I hadn’t been hugged . . . in a very long time.
Not since the days of the woman who looked like my mother and wore a silver fox charm around her neck.
At first, Jacob had been reluctant to enter the yard. “Nah,” he’d said. “She told me, last time she caught me, that she’d call the police. That’d be it. Back to the slammer, and we both know I ain’t ever going back there.”
“Then it’s a good thing she’s not around,” the new girl had said, hands still on Jacob’s shoulders.
“Come on now. You don’t need this kind of headache. I was just . . . in the area. Wanted to say hey.”
“Hey,” she said, and I swore his eyes glittered with tears.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” he whispered. “You were right last time; I’m an ass. I should just stay away.”
But he wasn’t moving, and neither was she.
“I was mad,” she said suddenly. “Last time I saw you. The things you said. I wasn’t ready to hear. Maybe I didn’t want to know. But I’ve been doing some thinking since then. Sometimes, I even hoped you’d stop by again, so we could talk. ’Cause I think . . . maybe there’s some truth in what you said.”
“What d’you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Lindy . . .”
“Come inside. Come on. Just have a visit. We’ll catch up. This time, I’ll listen. I promise.”
“But if she—”
“She’s not coming back. I’m telling you the truth. She’s gone, and she’s never coming back again.”
That seemed to do the trick. Jacob stopped resisting. He followed the beautiful girl across the burned-out yard. I trailed behind the two of them, already forgotten.
I hated this new girl who wasn’t new. I hated her long dark hair. I hated her gleaming brown eyes. I hated the way she smiled at me, as if she already knew things I didn’t. Such as I was the one just passing through. She would always be the real deal.
The house was shabby. Dirty stucco-colored linoleum in the kitchen. Tired cabinets with sagging doors. Furniture patched with silver splashes of duct tape. It made me feel better. Some basic female instinct: At least my house is nicer than yours.
Except, of course, I didn’t have a house. I had a coffin-shaped box in the back of Jacob’s sleeper cab.
I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know why. My throat was closing up, my heart rate too high.
Jacob, holding the knife down at his side. Now drinking and smoking with this girl, the legendary Lindy whom he talked about in his sleep. They were together. Before. Now. Forever. She would always be his.
Which made me completely expendable. Gator food. Literal white trash.
I was going to be sick. Except I hadn’t eaten enough lately to vomit. My hands trembled, my left knee jogged uncontrollably. Stress, fear, fatigue, hunger. Take your pick. I suffered, suffered, suffered.
While Jacob sat on the sofa, and laughed and smoked dope with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.
I don’t know when I first moved. I just did. Stood up at the table. Not like they were paying attention to me. Walked toward the jumbled collection of broken-down drawers, sagging cabinets.
A ratty kitchen. A shabby kitchen. But still a kitchen. And every kitchen stocks similar items. Such as knives.
The paring blade, short and easy to conceal? Or maybe the butcher knife. Go full psycho.
In the end, I selected a model in between. Without ever truly thinking about it. If the new girl wasn’t really new, then I could make a decision without really deciding.
Giggles. High-pitched. Happy.
And just for one moment . . .
I am home. I am rolling on a bed, all tangled up with my mother, my brother. We are laughing, laughing, laughing. This is Mom. This is Mom, all cracked up!
The softness of the down covers, the smell of spring rain and loamy earth right outside the window. The sound of my mom, my brother, laughing hysterically.
Home. Home, home, home.
Snapping back, I looked down at my pale skinny arm. I studied my hand holding the kitchen knife. And I realized then, truly got it, that I wasn’t going home again. I would never roll on that bed. I would never laugh with my family.
I would never go to that place. I would never be that person.
That girl was dead.
All that was left was this moment, this place, this knife in my hand.
I held out my left wrist, studied the maze of red scars, blue veins. It would be so easy. One swipe here, one swipe there. Leave Jacob to clean up the mess.
Gator food. Literal white trash.
My mother never knowing what happened to me. Denied even the comfort of burying my body.
She deserved better.
So for her sake, as much as my own, I took my knife and drifted into the family room.