The Bad Sister. Kevin O'Brien
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had just come in and taken a table by the door. Roseann fetched their waters and menus.
“Hey, girlie,” someone whispered.
Eden turned toward the slimy man in the booth and found him smiling at her.
“It was six,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “What?”
“He killed six women,” the man said, “not ‘four or five.’ There were the two girls he strangled, and a teacher he killed. Then he did the two in one night, and finally the girl he had locked up in the shack. That’s a total of six.”
“Well, thanks for clearing that up,” Eden muttered, starting to turn away.
“Are you signed up for Ellie Goodwin’s journalism class?”
Eden scowled at him again. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“A lot of good people went to jail because of her. She’s a fucking busybody and a liar, writing all those stories full of fake news. Stupid, conniving woman, she’ll get hers someday . . .”
He slurred his words a little, and Eden figured he was drunk. She turned forward again and sipped her coffee.
“Rachel Bonner, she’s your housemate, isn’t she? The rich bitch. She’s bad news, too.”
Eden glared at him. “Are you following me or something?”
He grinned. “You said you lived next door to where both those girls got it back in 1970. So I figured you’re in bungalow twenty. That’s where Princess Rachel lives in the lap of luxury in her spacious second-floor bedroom meant for two girls. And I’ll bet she’s got you and some other poor girl crammed into that little closet of a bedroom off the kitchen.”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business either,” Eden said. It was damn creepy that he knew so much about the setup of their bungalow.
“Well, take it from me,” he said. “You just give it a week with that Bonner bitch as your roommate and that Goodwin skank as your teacher, and you’ll know you should have listened to your old friend Lance. They’re both bad news. You want another tip?”
“Not particularly.”
“If you’re heading back to your bungalow after this, you can save yourself about six blocks by taking the shortcut through the woods. Just hang a right when you step out the door here.”
With a sigh, Eden faced forward again.
“Are you listening?” he said, raising his voice a little. “Hang a right, go to the dry cleaners on the corner, take another right, and you’ll see the woods across the street—and a little trail. It takes you directly to Saint Agnes Village. You’ll save yourself at least fifteen minutes. Are you listening to me?”
“Stop annoying the other customers,” Roseann grumbled as she approached his booth. She slapped a check on the table in front of him. “She’s too young for you anyway, lover boy.”
“Looks like it’s about to rain out there,” he said. “I’m just telling her about the shortcut back to her bungalow.”
And I was just about to tell you to fuck off, Eden thought. But she didn’t even look his way. He gave her the creeps. Glancing in the opposite direction, she could see his reflection in the restaurant’s darkened plate glass window.
He got to his feet. “Take it easy, honey,” he murmured.
Eden kept her head turned away. In the reflecting window, she watched him swagger toward the exit, the beer tucked under his arm. He stepped outside.
Roseann refilled her coffee cup.
“Who was that?” Eden asked. “Do you know him?”
“That’s just Lance,” she sighed. “He’s on the custodial staff at the college. He does some landscaping, too. He’s also a terrible tipper. He had a snoot-full tonight. I think he has a problem. He’s always sneaking beer in here, like he’s fooling everybody. I’d have to be blind not to catch on. Anyway, I’m sorry if he was bothering you. He’s harmless enough.”
Ten minutes later, when Eden stepped out of the Sunnyside Up Café, she realized the rumbling sound she’d heard earlier hadn’t been a truck passing by. It had been thunder. She felt the wind kicking up. Some trash and leaves scattered past her as she headed down the block. She saw a flash of lightning over the lake. For a second the whole sky was illuminated.
It hadn’t started to rain yet, but it looked like it might pour at any minute. She remembered Lance’s “tip” about the shortcut back to St. Agnes Village. Was he on the level?
Eden turned, and at the end of the block, she saw the dry cleaners he’d mentioned. When she reached the corner, she looked to her right at the darkened woods. Tree branches swayed and rustled with the wind. It seemed like the whole forest was alive and moving.
She couldn’t help thinking he was in those woods, waiting for her. But he’d left the restaurant at least twenty minutes ago. Besides, hadn’t the waitress said he was harmless?
From across the street, she could make out a break in the trees. Eden figured it was the foot trail he’d told her about.
Eden told herself that she’d save walking at least six blocks.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday, 11:52 P.M.
Hannah sat up in bed. Through the window, a streetlamp outside provided just enough light to see everything in the small bedroom—including the empty bed across from her.
Eden had been gone six hours. And it was raining out, not the dull, monotonous Seattle type of rain Hannah was used to. This was a downpour with thunder and lightning. She’d purchased a fan earlier in the evening, and it had cooled the bedroom down. She’d also left the window open. The ugly beige curtains billowed with the breeze from the storm. Hannah thought about getting up and checking the windowsill to see if any rain was coming through the screen. But then she figured, if Eden’s bed got wet, she deserved it.
This was so typical of her half-sister. She literally didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain.
After Rachel and Alden had left earlier tonight, Hannah had unpacked, showered, and gotten a feel for the bungalow that would be her home for the next nine months. While upstairs, she couldn’t resist checking out Rachel’s bedroom—despite the closed door. It was gorgeous and roomy with a queen-size bed; more sleek, mid-century modern design furniture; an amazing, huge framed print of the Eiffel Tower; and a plush shag rug. Rachel even had a vase with freshly cut flowers on her desk—along with a silver-framed black-and-white photo of a sexy, handsome young man. It looked like an old high school graduation portrait. Hannah put it together from a collage of photos on Rachel’s bulletin board that the stud in the silver frame must have been Rachel’s father. It was weird to see him age—getting balder and paunchier—in so many pictures. Hannah also noticed there was only one photo of Rachel’s mother—in a shot with Mr. Bonner.
The bedroom was about thirty degrees cooler than the rest of the bungalow, thanks to the air conditioner humming in the window.
Hannah had hoped that Rachel and Alden would come back in time for the three of them to have dinner together, but no such luck. By eight o’clock she was starting to feel totally abandoned—and hungry. She texted Eden:
Where R U? Alone here at Bung 20. Want 2 go eat?
No reply, of course. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Eden had probably switched off her phone again.
Hannah called home and talked to everyone. Earlier, she’d been afraid that, upon hearing her parents’ voices, she’d burst into tears. But it was her mother who lost it and started crying. “We miss you so much, honey!” she said, her voice all broken and weepy. Apparently Hannah’s twelve-year-old brother,