Bad Memory Read online

  His eyes flicked to her bare thighs for a long moment before returning to the road.

  Rue frowned, decided to change the subject, which was getting too fucking weird for her liking.

  “You and Megan, it’s the real deal? You like her, huh?”

  Lucky shrugged. “Sure, she’s a nice girl.”

  Nice.

  Rue hated the word. No one wanted to be described as nice, especially by a guy you liked. Sexy, beautiful, fun, hot, amazing—yes. But not nice. Nice sucked.

  She smiled sweetly at Lucky. “Yeah, well, you better not hurt her, or I’ll hunt you down and rip your fucking throat open.”

  Lucky laughed. “Feisty. I like that in a woman.”

  Rue opened another bottle of beer as they reached the turn for Devil’s Drop.

  The Supra wasn’t designed for off-road driving, and it lurched and bounced wildly over the rough terrain as they slowly ascended the dirt trail. With the highway lights now far behind them, the darkness was thick and heavy and suffocating, like a blanket thrown over a birdcage. The branches of the Joshua trees on either side reached out like gnarly monster fingers.

  Rue shivered. Maybe Devil’s Drop hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  There had been rumors of perverts creeping around, peering through car windows, and jerking off at the sight of teenagers getting it on. Most folks in town had stopped using the make-out spot in recent months. No one wanted to put on a show for dirty old men. When they had come up with the plan for the four of them to meet at Devil’s Drop, though, the anticipated absence of other kids had been seen as a bonus. Now Rue wasn’t so sure. The place felt eerie tonight.

  They reached the clearing, and the car’s headlights swept over Lucas’s Toyota Cressida, and she could see the shadowy silhouette of two people sitting in the back seat. Rue breathed out a sigh of relief and finished her beer.

  Lucas and Megan had waited for them.

  Rue hooked her fingers through the straps of the sandals, opened the door, and placed her bare feet on the warm dirt. It was time for the swap. If she was being honest, she was glad to put some distance between herself and Lucky. The guy might be hot and rich, but he was also a grade A jerk. As far as Rue was concerned, Megan could do better for herself. Her friend lacked confidence; that was her problem. She had no idea just how much of a catch she was. Megan hadn’t even told Rue and Lucas about Lucky for two whole weeks because she was convinced his interest in her was some kind of elaborate prank.

  “Maybe catch you later,” she said.

  “Hey, tell Megan to give me a few minutes, okay? I need to go take a leak. That beer has gone right through me. Feels like my bladder is about to explode.”

  Rue shook her head. “Too much information.”

  Lucky jogged back toward the trail in search of a thick-enough cluster of trees and foliage to provide some cover, while Rue made her way to Lucas’s car. Neither Megan nor Lucas got out to greet her as she approached. They were probably pissed at her for being late, for letting them down as usual.

  She gripped the handle of the rear passenger door, and it felt wet to the touch as she yanked it open. The dome light above the dash blinked on, weak and yellow. She immediately noticed a red stain on Megan’s white jeans, and the first thought that flashed through her mind was, Man, what a time to get your period, and a really heavy one at that. Rue’s eyes traveled up to where the wooden hilt of a knife protruded from Megan’s chest. She looked at her friend’s face. Her eyes were wide open and unblinking, her mouth and chin streaked scarlet. Megan wasn’t moving, didn’t seem to be breathing.

  Rue’s insides turned to ice. She dragged her gaze to Lucas, who was in the back seat next to Megan. Same story. Unseeing eyes staring straight ahead, his complexion the color of wet newspaper. His tan shorts were soaked dark red. He was as still as a statue and every bit as lifeless.

  No.

  This wasn’t real.

  It was a joke—that’s all.

  Lucas and Megan’s way of getting back at Rue and Lucky for being late.

  A fake knife. Fake blood. Fake death.

  “Come on, guys, this isn’t funny.”

  Her voice, thick with fear, didn’t sound like her own.

  Rue pushed Megan hard, and she flopped to one side.

  “Quite acting. You got me, okay? Now stop it. This isn’t funny.”

  Fireworks exploded somewhere in the town below, and she jumped, but Lucas and Megan didn’t even flinch at the sudden crash of noise and color. Rue dropped the sandals on the dirt. The warm, pleasant booze haze was long gone, replaced by a cold numbness. Her fingers tingled. She crawled over Megan to reach Lucas and grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

  “I mean it, Lucas, stop playing stupid fucking games.”

  She pulled up his T-shirt, and her fingers found sticky, gaping flesh above the hip.

  “No.”

  The word was strangled. It hurt to breathe.

  Rue scrabbled backward violently and fell out of the car, pulling Megan part of the way with her, the girl’s long dark hair brushing the dirt. Music was playing somewhere, and she remembered Lucky was waiting in his own car.

  This wasn’t real; it was a hallucination, a bad trip. She’d had a lot to drink, been smoking pot. Maybe she’d dropped a tab of acid and forgotten all about it, or someone had popped a pill in her drink.

  Rue squeezed her eyes shut tight.

  Saw the wicked glint of a knife.

  A black-and-white plaid shirt being ripped apart.

  Dirt falling on a stranger’s face and filling his open mouth.

  She opened her eyes.

  Lucas and Megan were dead. The realization hit her like a runaway freight train. She reached over and pulled the knife from Megan’s chest and stared at it. Somewhere in the fog of her brain, she registered it was the gift she’d bought for Lucas for their one-year anniversary. Something raw and primal stirred in the pit of her belly and grew inside her until, like a cork bursting from a champagne bottle, it exploded from her lips in the form of a terrible animal howl. She fell to her knees and screamed and wailed and moaned and whimpered until she heard footsteps running toward her.

  “What the fuck did you do?”

  Lucky was standing about fifteen feet away, his eyes wild and terrified.

  “They’re both dead,” she said in a stranger’s voice.

  “Oh Jesus,” he whispered. “No. No way. This can’t be happening. Fuck.”

  Lucky backed away, and then he was running back to his car. There was the dull thunk of a door shutting, the roar of an engine, a flash of headlights. Then there was nothing but a dust cloud left in his wake.

  Rue watched in a daze. Then, as though in a dream, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled through the dust cloud and followed where the glowing red dots of the taillights had disappeared through the trees.

  She was still clutching Lucas’s knife tight to her chest.

  40

  JESSICA

  “What are you saying, Jessica?” Ed asked.

  “I think Megan was killed because she was Bruce’s daughter. Either by Tom Lucchese or Bruce himself.”

  Ed whistled through his teeth. “That’s quite a claim. What about Rue Hunter?”

  “I never really bought the double motive,” Jessica said. “The idea she killed Lucas and Megan in a jealous rage and then robbed them of their possessions? It doesn’t sit right with me. One is an act of passion; the other is cold and calculated. It should be one or the other. Then there’s Megan’s relationship with Tom Lucchese, which makes the jealous rage theory seem far less likely.”

  “If there was something going on between Megan and Tom. I find that harder to buy than the prosecution’s double motive claim.”

  “Jed Lockerman told me he saw Tom Lucchese pick up Rue outside Cooper’s the night of the murders. From what Lockerman said, it sounded to me like the ride had been planned in advance. Not the random, impromptu favor Tom claimed it was.”

&n
bsp; “You like Tom Lucchese for the murders?”

  “No, I think Bruce is the more likely suspect.”

  “Why? At least we know Tom Lucchese was at Devil’s Drop that night. There’s nothing to suggest Bruce was there too.”

  “It all comes back to motive,” Jessica said. “If Tom had discovered he was dating his half sister, his anger would have been directed at his father, not Megan. However, if Bruce had somehow found out his son was romantically involved with Megan, a bad situation had just gotten a million times worse for him. His wife was paying a PI to tail him; he was already facing the possibility of a very expensive and public divorce.”

  “Bruce wouldn’t have known about me or the divorce plans,” Ed countered.

  “You told Patty, though. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you don’t think she would’ve passed on that information to Bruce?”

  Ed’s face colored an even deeper shade of red than usual.

  “I guess she might have.”

  “If the truth came out about Megan, it wasn’t just his wife he was going to lose; it would have been his son too.”

  “Okay, let’s say you’re right—how do we prove it?”

  “That’s what I’m still trying to figure out.”

  Jessica’s cell phone chirped. She read the caller ID. Polly Perez. The wannabe actress she’d tracked down to a strip club in Vegas while working a previous missing persons case. After her visit with Tom Lucchese, Jessica had asked the dancer to do some digging for her.

  She swiped to answer.

  “Hey, Polly. You got something for me?”

  “Yes, I do,” Polly said. “But you need to be in Vegas by this evening. You’ll see why.”

  They arranged a time and place to meet, and Jessica ended the call. She began gathering up her stuff.

  “Sorry, Ed, I gotta go.”

  “Where?”

  “Vegas.”

  “Tom Lucchese?”

  “Let’s just say I ain’t going all the way out there to play the slots.”

  Jessica turned into the lot of Buddy’s Truck Stop & Café on North Las Vegas Boulevard.

  The place had big front windows and was busy with the dinner crowd. She figured Polly wouldn’t appreciate an audience, so Jessica found a space in the farthest corner of the parking lot out of sight of diners.

  She was early, for once, so she lifted her cell phone from the charger on the dash and googled the number for Lucky’s Casino. Jessica asked to speak to the owner, told the front desk attendant she was a friend of Mr. Lucchese’s and the call was urgent. After a blast of “Viva Las Vegas” down the line, Elvis’s dulcet tones were replaced by a pissed-sounding Tom Lucchese.

  “Miss Shaw,” he said impatiently, “I thought we agreed I wouldn’t hear from you again.”

  “I guess I lied. I have a few more questions.”

  Jessica was met by the sound of dead air. She would have preferred to say what she had to say to Lucchese face to face, see his reaction. But that would tip him off that she was in Vegas ahead of her meeting with Polly. So it had to be now.

  “Were you and Megan Meeks dating at the time of the murders?” she asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t even know the girl.”

  “Did you know Megan was your half sister?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, but Lucchese said nothing.

  “Did your father kill Megan to cover up the truth?”

  Silence.

  Then there was a click and a series of beeps as Lucchese ended the call.

  Jessica shoved the cell phone back into the charger and saw Polly Perez walking across the lot, head moving from side to side searching for the Silverado. Jessica flashed her lights.

  Even dressed casually in jeans, a light sweater, and sneakers, Polly was a knockout. Her glossy black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her dark eyes were warm and intelligent. She was petite with the kind of killer curves that brought to mind a younger Salma Hayek. Polly might not have been deemed beautiful or unique or talented enough by Hollywood’s top casting directors, but Jessica was pretty sure she was a big hit with the regulars at the Midnight Lounge, where she performed every weeknight.

  The woman climbed into the passenger seat, and they exchanged greetings.

  “You got some information for me?” Jessica asked.

  Polly nodded. “You got the money?”

  “In the glove box.”

  Polly popped open the compartment in front of her and found the slim brown envelope and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. It contained $200 in crisp twenties fresh from the ATM. Jessica hoped the information would be worth the payout.

  “What have you got for me?” she asked.

  Polly said, “When I first started working at the Lounge, Tom Lucchese came in one night and paid for a couple of dances. Then he offered more cash for some ‘extras’ off premises. I declined. It’s not my style. Later, when I found out he had a reputation for hitting on the dancers, it came as no real surprise. His whole family-guy image is a farce, and all the girls in the clubs know it. When you told me you wanted information on him, I asked around and discovered one of the girls at the Lounge had a thing going with Tom Lucchese a while back. It lasted about six months or so and finished the night he raised his hand to her and gave her a black eye and a burst lip. Jenna couldn’t work for a week after the beating.”

  Jessica wasn’t surprised to learn Tom Lucchese had turned out to be a cheat and a bully, just like his father. But she needed more.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, I spoke to Jenna myself. She says Lucchese had money problems. He’d had a little too much liquor one night and was boasting about how smart he was and how rich he’d be if he didn’t have to hand over 30 percent of his takings every month. Unsurprisingly, he seemed real pissed about it.”

  Jessica sat up straighter. “A protection racket?”

  “Maybe,” Polly said. “Jenna didn’t know who was picking up the cash, but she was with Lucchese at the handover one time. His wife and kids were visiting the wife’s parents out of town, so he and Jenna were planning on spending the night together at a fancy hotel in LA. Lucchese made the drop while Jenna waited in the car.”

  “So she knows where and when these meets take place?”

  Polly nodded. “A rest area just off the Mojave Freeway. On the last Thursday of every month.” She stared at Jessica in the gloom of the truck’s cab. “Do you see now why I had to give you this information this evening?”

  “Yes, I do,” Jessica said.

  Tonight was the last Thursday of the month.

  Polly Perez left to get ready for her shift at the Midnight Lounge, while Jessica ate a burger and fries at Buddy’s Truck Stop & Cafe. Then she took up position across the street from Lucky’s Casino and waited.

  Forty minutes later, Tom Lucchese emerged wearing a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He climbed into a Chevy Malibu that looked a few years old and was parked right outside the front door. The relatively modest wheels suddenly made sense. He turned onto North Las Vegas Boulevard. Jessica put the Silverado into drive and pulled into the traffic behind him. She hung three cars back as Lucchese cruised along the main thoroughfare before taking East Lake Mead North Boulevard heading west and joined I-15 southbound. Jessica stayed with him on the freeway.

  The sun dropped into the horizon, and the sky turned a darker shade of blue, and the bright lights of the Strip blinked on to the east. The blazing white of the Mirage; the purples, pinks, and greens of the High Roller; the glittering black pyramid of the Luxor. Soon, the shiny, towering megaresorts were replaced by the long, low buildings of business parks that housed furniture showrooms and car rental firms and tour companies. After a while, there was only vast, empty desert on either side to keep Jessica company as the dark sky turned from navy to eggplant.

  She followed Lucchese’s Chevy for 125 long miles, keeping her eyes fixed on the twin red dots of his
taillights. Eventually, around halfway between Vegas and LA, his blinker flashed, and he guided the car onto the next off-ramp. Then he took two quick left turns and merged onto I-15 heading north back in the direction of Vegas.

  Jessica was confused. Had he spotted the tail? Gotten spooked and decided to turn back without making the drop? She banged her hands against the steering wheel in frustration.

  “Shit!”

  She stayed with him and was trying to decide her next move when Lucchese signaled for an exit signposted for the Clyde V. Kane Rest Area. She breathed a sigh of relief. The place was in the middle of the Mojave Desert, but it was well lit and had modern restrooms and covered picnic tables and plenty of bays filled with RVs and eighteen-wheelers and regular pickups. Lucchese found a spot, and Jessica drove past before parking behind a Winnebago farther along the rest area. Lucchese didn’t know what kind of vehicle she owned, wouldn’t have been suspicious of the black Silverado, but Jessica figured it was a good idea to keep herself and her wheels out of sight anyway.

  She fitted a zoom lens to the Nikon she used for surveillance jobs, got out of the truck, and crouched behind one of the rear wheels of the Winnebago. She looked through the camera’s viewfinder and adjusted the lens until Lucchese’s car was in sharp focus.

  Then she waited.

  Fifteen minutes later, a familiar vehicle drove into the rest area. Part of her wasn’t completely surprised to see the sleek silver Dodge Ram, but her heart still thumped against her rib cage. The lavish home, the cash used to set his son up in business. It all made sense to her now.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  The Dodge backed into the bay right next to Lucchese’s Chevy.

  Jessica pressed her finger down on the shutter-release button and began clicking.

  41

  PRYCE

  Twenty-four hours after going through Charlie Holten’s cell phone records, the explanation for the call to Hundred Acres still bothered Pryce.

  Or the lack of explanation.

  Following his short conversation with the woman who’d answered yesterday, and establishing who the number belonged to, Pryce had mulled over what to do next.