Bad Memory Page 10

  “This is amazing, Mrs. Sugarman,” she said between mouthfuls. “Thanks for saving me some.”

  “Just something I threw together.” Sylvia’s tone was nonchalant, but Jessica could tell she was pleased with the compliment. “And the pie is store bought before you go getting your hopes up for homemade. I lost all interest in baking when Mr. Sugarman passed a few years ago. He was the one with the sweet tooth. Plus, a gal has to watch her figure.”

  Sylvia patted a belly that was clearly flat under her slim-fit jeans and fitted blouse. Jessica realized she’d never seen the woman eat dessert.

  “I’ll take my chances,” she said, moving on to the pie.

  Sylvia drank some whiskey and waited for Jessica to finish eating.

  Then she said, “So what’s the case you want me to help you with?”

  “You remember the Devil’s Drop murders that happened back in ’87?”

  “Sure, I do. Hard to forget a thing like that. In fact, I heard there were some reporters sniffing around town yesterday. Seems the Hunter girl is finally being executed. What’s that terrible business got to do with what you’re working on?”

  “I’ve been hired by Rue Hunter’s sister, Rose, to take another look at the case. Find out if there’s any way Rue might be innocent.”

  Sylvia frowned. “I thought she confessed all those years ago?”

  “She did. Now she’s not so sure she’s guilty after all.”

  “Really?” Sylvia sounded doubtful. “Innocent all of a sudden after thirty years of being guilty? How the hell does that work?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Jessica said. “What did you think at the time? Did you believe she was guilty?”

  Sylvia shrugged. “She confessed, so I guess so.”

  Jessica said, “What I wanted to ask you was how well did you know the Hunters? Did you have many dealings with the family when they lived in town? Is there anything interesting you can tell me about them?”

  “I didn’t know Rue particularly well, but I knew the mother,” Sylvia said. “Hell, everyone in town knew Barb Hunter.”

  “Sounds like she was quite a character.”

  “Tragic, you mean.” Sylvia shook her head, took a swallow of whiskey. “First came the beatings, then the drinking. And the drinking got a whole lot worse after her old man split town. You ask me? Him walking out should’ve been the best thing that ever happened to Barb. Leonard Hunter was one mean son of a bitch.”

  “What happened? Why’d he split town?”

  “Apparently, he was none too pleased about becoming a daddy first time around. Made Barb’s life hell after Rose came along. Blamed her for not taking the proper precautions. Just one more reason to justify using the poor woman as a punching bag, you ask me. When Barb realized she was pregnant again, with Rue, she was too far gone to do anything about it. This time, Leonard upped and left. Didn’t want to face up to his responsibilities, like a real man would’ve done. Listening to Barb tell the story, after she’d had a bucketload of booze, you’d think it was the kid’s fault her daddy left the family in the lurch, that she was somehow to blame for that jerk not sticking around.”

  Jessica said, “I guess it’s easy to say now that Rue must have been damaged by the start she had in life, knowing how things turned out later on. But Patty Meeks says she was quite sweet as a kid, described her as being a polite little girl.”

  “You spoke to Patty Meeks?” Sylvia made a face. “You’re braver than most folks around here. But Patty’s right. From what I heard, Rue was a sweetheart—then she changed.” Sylvia snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Changed how?” Jessica asked. “What did you hear?”

  Sylvia said, “When Rue Hunter confessed to those murders, it was the talk of the town, as I’m sure you can well imagine. Not long after, I was having lunch with the girls. This was back when Hundred Acres still had a decent restaurant. Anyway, on this particular day, a friend of a friend joined us. She was a schoolteacher, and Rue had been one of her students when the kid was about ten or eleven. The woman was all cut up about what had happened at Devil’s Drop. Told us Rue had been such a nice kid, like you said. Then, all of a sudden, she’d started acting differently. You know, terrible mood swings and the like. I got the impression the woman thought Rue might have been abused around that time, but she didn’t come right out and say it.” Sylvia drained the glass.

  “Refill?” Jessica asked.

  Sylvia nodded. “Please.”

  Jessica filled the tumbler again, cracked some ice into the Scotch, and then poured herself a double. She carried both drinks to the dinette table and slid back into the seat.

  “Does the teacher still live in town?” Jessica asked. Sylvia shook her head, tossed back some Scotch, crunched an ice cube between her teeth.

  “I’m pretty sure she left. Haven’t seen her around for years.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Nina, I think, but don’t quote me on it.”

  “Last name?”

  “Something foreign sounding. Spanish or Italian, maybe.” Sylvia waved a hand dismissively. “You know I’m terrible with names, Jessica. And the woman wasn’t really part of my crowd. I think I only lunched with her once or twice after that day.”

  They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts, the only sound in the trailer the clink of ice against glass as they sipped their drinks.

  Eventually, Jessica said, “What about Rose? Did you know her at all?”

  “She waitressed at Randy’s for a while. Otherwise, not really.”

  “I spent some time with her Friday evening. She seems nice, pretty normal. Lives in Arizona now, married with two kids. Sounds like she was the only normal one in the Hunter family.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Sylvia said. “Maybe she wasn’t as screwed up as the rest of them, but I think that girl had some issues of her own.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I heard she broke a kid’s nose back in high school once. Some little punk decided to impress his buddies by grabbing her ass. Instead of laughing about it or telling him where to get off, Rose Hunter turned around and whacked him hard with the book she was holding. Unfortunately for him, it was a huge, thick textbook, and she almost wiped his nose clean off his face.”

  “Good for her,” Jessica said. “Do you remember who the guy was?”

  “Sure, I do. Skinny guy, ugly as sin, although I don’t suppose that broken nose helped his looks any. Works in the liquor store now. Still skinny and ugly.” Sylvia waved her hand. “Jeb something.”

  “Jed Lockerman?”

  “That’s the one. Then it happened again.”

  “What happened again?”

  “Another ‘accident.’” Sylvia made bunny-ear fingers around the word. “This was after high school, years later, when Rose Hunter was waitressing at Randy’s. This time, she dumped a pot of scalding coffee on some poor son of a bitch’s crotch. Same thing. My friend Gloria saw the whole thing. Said the guy tried to cop a feel, and Rose didn’t take too kindly to his direct approach. Then, a short time afterward, the whole Devil’s Drop business happened, and it was all kind of forgotten about. Rue went to prison, Barb drank herself to death, and Rose up and left Hundred Acres for good.”

  “Anything else you remember about the Hunters?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I do remember anything, I’ll knock on the door.” She drained her glass, slid out from the seat, and picked up the food tray with the empty dishes. “Catch you later, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks again for dinner.”

  After Sylvia returned to the house, Jessica remembered her cell phone was out of juice. She found the charger in her bag and hooked it up to the phone. The screen burst to life and pinged with an alert for a text.

  The message was from Dylan, asking her over to his place. She tapped out a reply:

  Sorry, crashed earlier. Just got your message. Give me a half hour to shower and ch
ange. See you soon.

  She thought of the schoolteacher who had taught Rue Hunter as a child. Sylvia Sugarman might not be able to remember her name, but Jessica figured she knew just the person who might be able to help her track down the woman.

  15

  JESSICA

  Dylan stayed rent-free in a studio apartment above his folks’ garage. The McDonaghs owned the best house on one of the nicest streets in Hundred Acres, which was a bit like picking out the least wormy apple from a bad barrel, but still.

  Pat’s cruiser and Dylan’s old station wagon were both parked in the drive, so Jessica found a space across the street, then jogged up the wooden staircase to the apartment. Dylan opened the door before she had a chance to knock and greeted her with a kiss.

  “You eaten?” he asked, nodding to a brown paper bag on the tiny kitchenette counter. “I brought some burgers from the diner.”

  “I’m good, thanks. Sylvia made me dinner. But you go ahead and eat.”

  She flopped onto the double bed and kicked off her sneakers as Dylan unwrapped one of the burgers. The apartment comprised one large room, which acted as bedroom, living area, and kitchen, as well as a small shower room. The fact that Dylan still lived above his parents’ garage had never bothered Jessica. She knew his focus right now was on making a success of the diner.

  “Busy day?” he asked.

  “Not busy enough,” she said. “I spoke to Patty Meeks earlier, then crashed for way too long.”

  “How’d the chat with Patty go?”

  “It was interesting, gave me some stuff to think on. Sad, too, I guess. I don’t think she’s ever gotten over what happened to Megan. I also spoke to Sylvia. Tried to pick her brains about the Hunters.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “Maybe. She mentioned a teacher who taught Rue when she was a kid. Couldn’t remember the woman’s name, though. Say, I don’t suppose you’d know who Sylvia was talking about?”

  “So, you here to pick my brains too?” Dylan grinned. “And here was me thinking it was my body you were after.”

  Jessica grinned back. “Maybe I’m after both.”

  “Sylvia tell you anything about this teacher? Help narrow it down?”

  “She thinks her first name was Nina. Said the surname sounded Spanish or Italian. Any ideas?”

  “Sure,” Dylan said without hesitation. “That would be Mrs. DePalma. She was one of my favorite teachers.”

  Jessica sat up straighter on the bed. “What happened to her? Sylvia says she moved away from Hundred Acres a while back.”

  Dylan nodded. “That’s right. The DePalmas left town after they both retired, wanted to be closer to their daughter and grandkids.” He trashed the burger wrapper and grabbed two beers from the refrigerator. Popped the tops and handed one to Jessica. “This would have been four or five years ago. My folks attended their farewell party.”

  “Do you know where the DePalmas moved to?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was San Diego. I don’t know where exactly, though.”

  Jessica placed her beer bottle on the floor and pulled her laptop from her bag and fired it up. A few minutes later, she had a hit.

  “Was Mrs. DePalma’s husband named Donald?”

  “Yeah. Went by Don.”

  “Found them,” she said triumphantly. “They reside in a senior living community in La Jolla.”

  Jessica checked the time on her cell. It wasn’t quite eight p.m. Not too late to call, she decided. Dylan stood against the counter and drank his beer and watched as she punched in the number displayed on the laptop screen. After a couple of rings, a woman’s voice answered.

  “Mrs. DePalma?” she asked.

  “That’s right,” the woman said. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  Jessica introduced herself and provided Mrs. DePalma with a quick rundown of the case she was working and how she was looking for information on Rue Hunter.

  “How’d you track me down to San Diego?” the woman asked. “I left Hundred Acres years ago.”

  “A friend of mine, Dylan McDonagh, remembered you’d moved south to be closer to your family. I managed to find a listing online.”

  “Dylan!” There was delight in Mrs. DePalma’s voice. “Such a nice, polite boy. How is he doing?”

  “He’s doing just swell.” Jessica winked at Dylan. “My landlady, Sylvia Sugarman, said you once told her and a group of friends about an episode involving Rue Hunter when she was a student of yours? About how her demeanor seemed to change all of a sudden? Do you mind me asking what happened back then?”

  “Oh, yes, I remember it well,” Mrs. DePalma said, sounding sad. “Even now, after all these years. This would’ve been when Rue was in fifth grade, I think, when she was around ten years old. She’d always been a little shy, didn’t like to speak up in class or answer quiz questions in front of the other students, but she worked hard. I got the feeling she was always seeking my approval. I felt sorry for her, wearing her sister’s hand-me-downs, always a size too big, clothes that had been purchased from the Goodwill store in the first place. But she was never any trouble. Then things changed.”

  “In what way?”

  “She’d missed school for a week or so. Her mother, Barb, said both Rue and her older sister, Rose, were sick; some kind of tummy bug had hit the whole household hard. When Rue finally returned to school, she was . . . different.”

  “Different how?”

  “She’d always been quiet, but now she barely spoke at all. She lost all interest in schoolwork and became increasingly withdrawn. Often, I’d catch her staring out of the window when the other students were busy writing essays or completing pop quizzes. After a while, she began acting out, became disruptive in class. Back then, we didn’t have school therapists or anything like that, but I did wonder if there was some kind of abuse happening at home. I tried to speak to Rue about it once or twice, but she wouldn’t open up. I kept an eye on her for signs of cuts and bruises, but I never saw a mark on her.”

  Mrs. DePalma sighed heavily and said, “Looking back, maybe I should have done more, made some sort of an intervention. But I was young and inexperienced back then, a recently qualified teacher, and I didn’t really know how to handle the situation. The school year came to an end, and Rue moved on to a different class. It’s just . . .”

  The woman fell silent.

  “Just what?” Jessica prompted.

  “That spell Rue Hunter was absent from class?” Mrs. DePalma said. “I always felt something happened during that time.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know. But it seems to me that little girl changed almost overnight.”

  Jessica felt a chill run down her spine.

  “Did you have much involvement with Rue Hunter after that class year?”

  “Not really. The next time I came across Rue, she was in high school. By then, there was a lot of talk about her wild behavior, how she seemed to be following in her mother’s footsteps.”

  “You taught high school too?”

  “No, I spent my entire career teaching elementary, but the two buildings were right next to each other, and I was on the social committee for both schools. You know, volunteering at events. I do remember being quite concerned about Rue’s behavior at junior prom.”

  “Concerned how?”

  “I was sure she’d been drinking alcohol, for a start. Then, I remember, she put on quite a show with her boyfriend on the dance floor. They were making out, and I mean really making out. I guess it sounds prudish now, but I was worried they were setting a bad example to the other students. It’s hard to believe what happened to the boy just a year later . . .”

  Jessica nodded, even though Mrs. DePalma couldn’t see her. “Anything else you can tell me that might be useful?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. If I do think of anything, I’ll give you a call.”

  “That would be great.”

  Jessica recited her cell number and than
ked the woman for her time. She killed the connection and dropped the cell phone on the bed.

  Dylan was staring at her, an eyebrow raised.

  “What?” she said.

  “You told Mrs. DePalma I was a ‘friend’?” he asked.

  “Okay, maybe a friend with benefits. Lots of benefits.”

  “Much better.”

  He climbed on top of the bed, pushed Jessica back gently, and began nuzzling her neck.

  Her cell phone pinged.

  “Ignore it,” she murmured, pulling his lips toward her own.

  They kissed for a few seconds; then Dylan pulled back with a sigh. He picked up Jessica’s cell phone.

  “It’s a voice message,” he said. “Someone must have tried to call while you were speaking to Mrs. DePalma.”

  He tossed the phone at Jessica, got up, and made his way to the refrigerator for another beer.

  “I guess it might be important,” she said.

  Jessica listened to the voice mail. It was from Pryce. She thought his voice sounded strained, like he was uptight about something. Probably still pissed at her after their argument the night before. She should have called him earlier to clear the air, prevented any bad feelings from festering. The message was short and straight to the point.

  “Meet me at ten a.m. tomorrow at Bru Coffeebar in Los Feliz. There’s something you need to see.”

  16

  HOLTEN

  1987

  Holten watched through the two-way mirror as Dr. Ted Blume eased himself into a chair facing Rue Hunter across a small table in the brightly lit interview room. He offered her a hand to shake and a smile to put her at ease, and Holten remembered how much he disliked the man.

  He’d only met him once before, at a police fund-raiser last fall, but once had been enough. The whole point of the evening had been to raise cash for local sheriff’s departments to help them improve services in their local communities. Holten remembered how Blume—“Call me Dr. Ted!”—had schmoozed his way through the event, pressing the flesh, sipping free cocktails, and slipping business cards into jacket pockets. He lectured on psychology at community colleges and acted as a consulting psychologist for the very sheriff’s departments that were badly in need of the funds being raised. Holten was pretty sure Blume, rather than the actual beneficiaries, was the biggest winner of the night.