Bad Memory Read online

  She was glad the tattoo parlors she cruised past were still shuttered this early on a weekend. No way to give in to temptation and quiet the small square of flesh that screamed for the sweet relief of the electric needle.

  Jessica pulled into the parking lot in front of Randy’s and parked next to Dylan’s beat-up old station wagon. The diner had been a part of the town since the fifties and had been snapped up at a good price by Dylan, with the help of a loan from his father, following the death of the original owner, Randy Brooks, eight years ago.

  It was just past nine, and Randy’s was still quiet ahead of the brunch crowd. The only customers were an elderly couple at a table in the rear of the room, the morning papers spread out on the Formica in front of them.

  A ceiling fan whirred softly overhead, and easy listening classics played on a radio with the sound turned down low behind the counter. Most of the noise came from the kitchen, where Freddie, the cook, was prepping for brunch. The metallic clatter and banging of pans and the hiss and spit of the grill drifted through the open service hatch, along with the smell of food cooking that made Jessica’s stomach growl.

  Dylan stood behind the counter, wiping down the surface, with a look on his face that suggested friendly customer service wasn’t on the menu today. At least not where she was concerned anyway. He glanced up briefly as Jessica dumped her bag on the floor and climbed onto a stool in front of him, then went back to his cleaning.

  “I assume I’m still on the shit list?” she said.

  A shrug. “The counter won’t clean itself.”

  “Looks pretty clean to me.”

  Dylan sighed and tossed the rag aside. Pulled a mug from a hook on the wall behind him and filled it with strong black coffee from an almost-empty pot that had clearly been providing the elderly couple with their morning caffeine hit. He slid it toward her.

  “You look rough,” he said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  It was true, though. Jessica’s pants and tee were rumpled, her short blonde hair greasier than Freddie’s pan, yesterday’s makeup smudged under red-rimmed eyes. She felt as bad as she looked. Her neck was stiff and her back ached from the impromptu sleepover in the Silverado. She took a sip of the coffee and pushed it away. It was lukewarm.

  “Where have you been?” Dylan asked. “I stopped by the trailer yesterday afternoon, and you weren’t there.”

  “That’s because I haven’t been home since yesterday morning.”

  She saw him stiffen, and his eyebrows lifted a fraction.

  “Okay.”

  “Relax, Dylan, I haven’t been out partying or picking up strange guys. I was working a case. Spent most of the day on the road, driving to Chowchilla to visit the women’s prison up there.”

  “I’m surprised they let you back out again.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re a real funny guy; anyone ever tell you that?”

  Dylan smirked. Almost a smile, Jessica thought. Definitely thawing.

  She went on, “Then I stayed over at Pryce’s apartment after dinner. Or, to be precise, I stayed over in his parking lot. We had a fight.”

  “You seem to have a habit of pissing people off, Miss Shaw. What did you fight about?”

  “This case I’m working on. The reason why I was in Chowchilla.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Sure, but first I want something to eat. I’m starving.”

  Dylan stepped over to the open service hatch.

  “Hey, Freddie, can you stick some breakfast on for Jessica, please?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” she heard Freddie yell back. “Be with you in five.”

  “And some fresh coffee too,” Jessica said, sliding the mug toward Dylan. “This sucks.”

  He smiled and shook his head. Tossed the tepid contents down the small sink behind the counter and set about making a fresh pot.

  “Michelle’s been looking for you,” he said. “She seemed real pissed. Says you got her fired.”

  Dylan had asked Jessica out two days after she’d arrived in Hundred Acres—and just a week after breaking up with Michelle. With his fiery red hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and freckles, he wasn’t Jessica’s usual type, but he was cute in a Damian Lewis kind of way, so she’d agreed to the date. Michelle had never forgiven Jessica for wrecking her hopes of a reconciliation with her man, and there had been bad blood between the two women ever since.

  “Michelle is a thief who got herself fired,” Jessica snapped.

  Dylan raised his hands.

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Did you know she was stealing from Jed Lockerman?”

  “Nope.”

  His tone was light, but something in Dylan’s expression made Jessica think he knew exactly what his ex-girlfriend had been up to while they were still together. But she didn’t challenge him on it. She was tired and wasn’t in the mood for another argument. Dylan placed Jessica’s breakfast in front of her, and she shoved a forkful of pancake and bacon into her mouth and said nothing.

  Dylan went on, “You also missed all the excitement yesterday. TV crews in town, interviewing folks about the murders that happened here back in ’87. Anyone ever tell you about it? A teenage girl killed her two best friends up at Devil’s Drop. Seems like she’s gonna be executed soon. I heard most of the reporters got doors slammed in their faces, though. Have left town already.”

  Jessica chewed, then swallowed, took a sip of coffee. It tasted much better this time. Then she told Dylan all about Rose Dalton turning up at the detective agency, the prison visit with Rue Hunter, signing the contract and pocketing the twenty-five grand, the argument with Pryce because of his old partner’s involvement in the original investigation. By the time she’d finished speaking, Dylan was frowning, concern written on his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You do know my dad worked the case too? He was the one who found the bodies.”

  Jessica suppressed a sigh. Having grown up in New York, she still couldn’t get used to small-town life. The Hundred Acres locals all seemed to be connected to each other somehow. Here, everyone made it their business to know everyone else’s business. Heck, you couldn’t even break wind without someone two streets away knowing about it. It drove Jessica crazy.

  “No, I didn’t know he worked the case,” she said. “But I guess it’s not a surprise, seeing as he’s been a cop here forever.”

  “He’ll be pissed at you too.”

  “Yeah? Well, Pat can join the club. I might start handing out membership cards.”

  Dylan smiled. “And you’ll probably get doors slammed in your face, just like those reporters.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Dylan picked up the fresh coffee pot and wandered over to the elderly couple to offer them both refills. Jessica heard the three of them chatting and went back to eating her breakfast. She finished the pancakes and bacon, pushed the dirty plate to one side. Her cell phone pinged and vibrated across the counter.

  “Who’s texting you?” Dylan asked from over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

  “No one,” she said. “It’s a news alert. I set them up on my cell phone for any new stories on the Hunter case.”

  She picked up the phone and read the message on the screen.

  Patty Meeks exclusive! Victim’s mother blasts “evil” Rue Hunter ahead of killer’s execution.

  Jessica spun around on the stool and faced Dylan. Broke into a grin and held up the phone for him to see.

  “Looks like someone in town is willing to talk about the murders.”

  11

  JESSICA

  Patty Meeks still lived in the same house she once shared with her daughter, Megan, before the murders took place.

  It was a single-story country rancher on a quiet street that fell someplace between the good side and bad side of town. A wide, low structure with wood siding painted pale yellow and to
pped with a once-white sloping roof. The lemon-meringue-pie house stood lonely on an acre of land, ringed by six-foot chicken wire fencing. A BEWARE OF THE DOG sign was nailed to the front gate, but, thankfully, Jessica didn’t spot any mutts prowling the yard.

  Like most properties in Hundred Acres, there was no neat patch of lawn or vibrant sprouting flower beds or pretty rosebushes. Just a scrawny, naked tree without any leaves and some determined weeds sprouting from the dirt between gravel stones.

  Jessica wondered if the house had always been this color or if the sickly hue had come after Megan’s death. Lemon slicked over gravestone gray or bland beige in an attempt to add some cheer to dark times. Maybe it had worked once, but not anymore. The place was tired and had an air of inevitable sadness about it, like a faded Hollywood starlet long past her prime.

  The place reminded Jessica of the house she’d shared with Tony in Blissville before he had died of a massive heart attack. They were both modest and a little rough around the edges, but Jessica thought the sorrow that filled every corner of a home following the loss of a loved one was what the two properties probably most had in common.

  She sat behind the wheel of the Silverado and read the news article again. The reporter had done a hell of a job of spinning a handful of quotes into an eight-hundred-word piece. Patty Meeks spoke of how the two girls had formed a strong bond since meeting on their first day of kindergarten, how she’d feared Rue Hunter was a bad influence on her daughter as they grew older, and how she blamed herself for not forbidding Megan from continuing their friendship before it had all ended in tragedy. More than thirty years had passed since the murders, but Patty Meeks told the reporter she would never be able to forgive her daughter’s killer, before adding that she welcomed the state’s decision to finally execute Rue Hunter.

  Jessica closed the web browser on her cell phone. She hesitated briefly, then pulled up the text messages app. Scrolled through her texts until she found the one she’d received just over a month ago:

  Hey Jessica, how are you doing? Let me know you’re okay. Been thinking about you a lot. MC xx

  Matt Connor.

  A fellow private eye whom Jessica had worked with in Eagle Rock last year as she’d investigated her biological mother’s unsolved murder, as well as her own disappearance as a young child. She’d allowed herself to get close to Connor before discovering he’d been deceiving her, just as she’d found out her father had also lied to her for years. It was little wonder she was now so unable to fully place her trust in any man—including Dylan.

  Jessica hadn’t replied to Matt Connor’s text, but she hadn’t deleted it either, and each time she read it, her stomach did a weird little flip. Her finger hovered over the reply button now, like it had done at least a dozen times over the last four weeks. She shook her head and dropped the cell phone into her bag. She was still embarrassed by how easily she’d fallen for Connor’s charm and his lies. He didn’t even know she was back in California, had no idea she was staying just over an hour away from where he was based in Venice Beach, and Jessica decided that was the way it should stay. No point getting involved again, especially not with Dylan on the scene now.

  Jessica flipped down the sun visor and appraised herself in the tiny mirror. The reflection staring back at her wasn’t great. She smoothed down her hair, licked a finger and wiped day-old mascara and eyeliner smudges from under her eyes. Sniffed under her armpits and decided she’d do. Then she climbed out of the truck and made her way toward Patty Meeks’s house.

  The sun was high and hot and stung her tired eyes. It felt heavy and uncomfortable on skin that itched for a cool shower. Jessica rehearsed in her head what she’d say if the woman opened the door. Hoped it wouldn’t be slammed in her face, like Dylan had warned. The gate creaked and groaned as she unlatched it and pushed it open. She paused, listening for the sound of barking, paws slapping on dirt, a warning growl. She heard nothing and quickly crossed the front yard, opened the screen door, and rang the bell.

  She heard the chimes echo inside the house, followed by light footsteps on the hallway floor. A pause just long enough, Jessica guessed, to press an eye to the peephole and decide whether to open the door or not. Then there was the harsh scrape of metal on metal as a security chain was fastened in place, before the door opened a few inches to reveal wary eyes above the taut chain.

  “If you’re a reporter, I already spoke to the press. I’ve got nothing more to say.”

  The woman was soft spoken, but there was steel in her voice.

  “I’m not a reporter.”

  “I’m not interested in buying anything either.”

  “I’m not selling. I’m a private detective.”

  “Who do you work for? What do you want?”

  “I’m employed by Ed Crozier. My client is Rose Dalton. Rue Hunter’s sister.”

  The door slammed shut before Jessica could say another word, and she stood there, stunned, thinking Dylan would be delighted to be proved right. Then she heard the jangle of the security chain being unhooked, and the door was thrown open again to reveal Patty Meeks.

  The newspaper article had used an old picture of Patty and Megan in happier times. Sitting in front of a Christmas tree, holding brightly wrapped gifts up to the camera, twinkling fairy lights and gaudy decorations in the background. A lifetime ago. The story carried no recent photography, so Jessica hadn’t known what to expect when she came face to face with the girl’s mother. But she could see now that Patty Meeks was still a striking woman despite the quiet fury radiating off her as she stood in the doorway. In the old photograph, the pair had looked more like sisters, sharing the same dark hair and blue eyes and fine features. Even now, Jessica would have placed Patty in her late fifties, no older than sixty, had she not known her daughter would have been almost fifty herself had she still been living.

  “You’re working on behalf of Rue Hunter?” Patty demanded. “You have ten seconds to explain what the hell you’re doing on my doorstep before I drag you off my property.”

  Jessica’s mouth suddenly felt as dry as the arid landscape surrounding Hundred Acres. She swallowed hard, worked up some saliva, and couldn’t remember a word of the speech she had rehearsed just moments earlier.

  “Technically, Rue Hunter isn’t my client,” she said. “But, yes, I’m being paid to look into the circumstances surrounding her conviction, and the deaths of your daughter and Lucas James, on her behalf. Honestly? I don’t know if she’s guilty or innocent. If my investigation supports her conviction, so be it. Her sister will be given a full report to that effect. If it casts doubt on her guilt, sheds some new light on what happened that night, wouldn’t you rather know the truth?”

  “That monster already confessed to what she did.” Patty Meeks spat the words out like they were rotten food. “She already admitted to killing my baby. What else is there to find out? There’s no mystery here.”

  “I met with Rue Hunter yesterday,” Jessica said. “She says she’s no longer sure she’s guilty of the crimes she was convicted of.”

  Patty shook her head. “She would say that, wouldn’t she? I bet Rue Hunter would say just about anything to avoid being put to death now that she finally has to pay for what she did.”

  Jessica shrugged. “It’s possible. Likely, even. But if she goes to the death chamber claiming she might be innocent, there’s always going to be that lingering doubt, isn’t there? That tiny chance that maybe she wasn’t guilty after all. Wouldn’t it be better to know for sure?”

  Patty Meeks stared at her for a long moment, and Jessica fully expected to find herself facing the white wooden door again. Then the older woman gave a small nod, turned, and walked down the hallway. Jessica hesitated, then stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her.

  She followed Patty into a living room that was furnished with mismatched and outdated items but was clean and neat. Patty perched rigidly on the edge of a faded floral armchair, and Jessica faced her on a matching couch that sagg
ed in the middle when she sat on it. There was no offer of coffee or iced tea or lemonade. This wasn’t a social call, and Jessica clearly wasn’t a welcome guest.

  She looked around. No dog bed or toys or hairs on the couch fabric. No smell of dog either—just a vague floral scent from a plug-in air freshener puffing out a fresh burst of perfumed air at regular intervals.

  “Something wrong?” Patty asked, following Jessica’s gaze around the room.

  “I was wondering where the dog is.”

  “There is no dog.”

  Jessica was glad. She didn’t like dogs. All that sniffing and licking made her feel uncomfortable. She was scared of them too. More than she was scared of people.

  “Oh, right. I saw the sign on the gate and assumed you had one.”

  “My partner, Allan, had a dog. They both passed a couple of years ago. Allan first, then the dog.” Her eyes met Jessica’s. “I kept the sign to deter unwanted visitors.”

  Jessica nodded.

  Hint taken.

  The air freshener puffed out some fresh scent.

  “What’s your name?” Patty asked.

  “Jessica Shaw.”

  “How long have you worked for Ed Crozier?”

  “Around six months.”

  “What’s he saying about you working for Rue Hunter?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. To be honest, I’m not sure he’ll be happy about me digging around, asking questions, upsetting people.”

  “It’s never bothered Ed in the past.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what private investigators do, isn’t it? Dig around, ask questions, upset people.” Patty Meeks gave a short bitter laugh. “In a place like Hundred Acres, everyone has secrets. And Ed’s line of work means he knows most of them.”

  Jessica thought of the locked filing cabinets in the office that even she didn’t have access to and figured Patty Meeks was likely right. Ed Crozier probably knew more about the private lives of the residents of Hundred Acres than anyone else in the entire town.