Chapter 6

Mac immediately swiped to her favorites list and called Taft. She looked at her bedside clock. 12:33 a.m. The line rang a couple of times and then he answered, "What is it?", sounding solidly awake.

"I just got a call from Gavin Knowles." Quickly, she brought him up to speed.

"Did you call nine-one-one?"

"No. I don't know where he is and I don't know what happened. I don't even know if it's real. Knowles isn't entirely trustworthy. But it sounded real. I think it's real."

"You said he was with his parents? Do you know where they live?"

"Yes. If they're at the same place as when we were in high school."

"Do you want me to come get you?"

She thought about the urgency in Gavin's voice. He'd been frightened. It wasn't a trick . . . was it? "Yes," she said firmly.

He was at her place in twenty minutes. "Some traffic," he told her as she hobbled down the stairs in a rain jacket, the sweats she'd fallen asleep in, and a slipper on her injured foot. Taft was in the same jeans, gray T-shirt, and black jacket he'd worn to her place. The rain was lightly falling as he helped her into the car.

"You need that taped," he said again, shooting a look at her ankle as he started the engine.

"I know. Stillwell Hill. Toward the East Glen," she answered.

The East Glen River ran southward, defining River Glen's eastern perimeter. There was new housing construction, a large development, on the southeastern end of the city that butted up to the city of Laurelton and a strip of unincorporated county land where Mac had once had an incident with a killer and been run off the road. She couldn't drive by the area without thinking of it, as she did now, though the thought was fleeting as her attention was on Gavin's call.

The Knowleses lived on the exclusive ridge where older, sprawling estate homes had held reign for decades until recently, when large parcels of land had been lopped off and divided into lots sold to home builders. But there still remained a number of untouched estates, and Leland and Brighty Knowles owned one of them, Art and Coral Stanhope another.

They were flying up Stillwell Hill and Mackenzie kept her eyes on the underbrush on the passenger side. Maybe the crash had been here? Somewhere near here? She'd heard it through her cell phone; that was a fact. Something had happened to Gavin, but was it here?

They reached the Knowleses' property without seeing any evidence of an accident and Taft slowed down and looked over at her.

"I don't know," she said.

Her cell phone rang at that moment and she yanked it out of her pocket and answered the unrecognized number with an anxious, "Hello? Gavin?"

"Hello. This is Officer Marks with the Laurelton Police Department. Is this Mackenzie Laughlin?"

Mac's heart plummeted. "Is this about Gavin Knowles? Is he all right?"

"Ma'am, you spoke to Mr. Knowles this evening?"

"Where is he?" Taft whispered to her. They were idling in front of the Knowles estate.

She shook her head and said into the phone, "Yes. Did he tell you that? Are you with him? Was there an accident?"

He hesitated. "Yes, ma'am. A witness said he was on the phone when it happened and we have his last number as yours."

"A witness? Someone called it in. Is Gavin okay? Where are you?"

"Ms. Laughlin, it sounds like you're in a car?"

"Yes, I'm . . . a passenger and I just came up Stillwell Hill. We're looking for him." She knew a lot of the River Glen officers, but they'd crossed into Laurelton territory here, and she'd never heard of Officer Marks. "Did someone call in the accident? Is Gavin okay?"

The officer hesitated again. Initially relieved that someone had alerted 911, she didn't misinterpret the unspoken messages Marks was giving out.

"Officer Marks, is Gavin Knowles alive?" she asked, swallowing.

"Someone from the department will be calling you back."

As soon as Marks clicked off, Taft, who'd heard Mac's side of the conversation, said, "Musta happened on the downside of the ridge," and hit the accelerator again.

"Someone said that Gavin was on the phone. They got the number and called me."

Taft nodded. He'd gleaned that. "He's dead?" he asked grimly.

"I don't know."

A half mile later, they saw the rhythmic red-and-blue flash of a police car light bar emanating from around a corner. Taft slowed as they made the turn. They'd traveled the crest of the ridge and were just starting its downward slope. In front of them was a patrol car with an officer standing outside, talking to three people in varying states of dress, coats over pajamas and hurriedly thrown-on clothes. Over the cliff edge on the right side Mackenzie could just see the glint of metal from the back left fender of a silver Mercedes sedan that was tipped forward and jammed into several trees. The wink of red taillights moving down the road proved to be the back of an ambulance.

"They've already got Gavin inside," she said.

Another car was parked on the road. A dark green Lexus. A man in business clothes was leaning against the back of the vehicle, looking spent and bedraggled in the continuing drizzle. The witness, Mac guessed.

Taft pulled over and Mac got out and stood by the front fender, her left hand on the hood for balance. "Officer Marks? Mackenzie Laughlin. I used to be with the River Glen P.D." She saw then that there was a phone in a plastic evidence bag. They'd gotten her number and bagged the phone.

Taft got out and came around to her side of the car to stand by her. Both of them looked at Officer Marks, who was somewhere in his thirties and regarded Mackenzie through hard eyes, as if the accident were somehow her fault. The three people in haphazard dress appeared to be from the house across the street whose wrought iron gates were swung wide. Mac figured they'd been awakened by the crash and had come out to see what had happened. This proved true as Officer Marks requested they return to their home. The group reluctantly complied, at least as far as the gate at the end of their long drive, where they remained, shivering in the rain.

"EMTs got here pretty quickly. That your witness?" Taft asked, pointing to the man in the business suit.

Officer Marks ignored him and asked Mackenzie, "Were you meeting with Mr. Knowles?"

"No, we were just on the phone. Are they taking him to Laurelton General?" And not the morgue . . .?

"What were you discussing?" he asked.

Mac looked at him. He was the responding officer, not a detective. She didn't owe him that information, especially since his attitude was somewhat hostile. She said evenly, "Gavin Knowles's brother, Officer Tim Knowles with River Glen P.D., was killed in the line of duty last week. I was with Gavin at the funeral today."

The officer's eyes widened and he inhaled a sharp breath. They stared at each other in the rain for a few moments and then Mac swiped her damp forehead and said, "I'm going to the hospital."

Taft helped her back in his Rubicon, Mac putting her arm around his neck to aid her hop to the passenger door. She looked down at her wet and muddy slipper, feeling Taft's sturdy arm holding her close. She thought of the whole day—the ankle sprain, the dreary weather, the meetings with Gavin and Leigh and her feelings about them both—and was swept by a wave of emotion that left her drained.

"Wait," Marks demanded, but Mackenzie didn't look at him.

Taft moved back to the driver's side. He glanced toward the bedraggled witness, who seemed to be unaware of the rain and cold. "What happened here?" he called to the man.

The man lifted his head to look at Taft and then straightened. Caught in Taft's headlights and dashed with blue and red flashes from Officer Marks's light bar, his face was ghastly pale.

Marks ordered, "Sir, would you mind waiting by your car?"

Ignoring him, the man said to Taft, "I didn't see the car go off the road. I heard the crash and I came around the corner and he was over the edge. The car was bouncing like it might just break right through the limbs. I thought it was going to go right down, but it just hit that one—"

"Sir!"

"—tree and stopped cold. I called nine-one-one and pulled over. They were here fast. They got him out but—"

"SIR!"

"—I think he was already dead. He looked dead. They did CPR, but—"

"That's enough!" Officer Marks's voice was the crack of doom. He looked around wildly, as if expecting a raging riot. "We'll wait for Detective Rafferty!" he declared.

"September Rafferty?" asked Taft.

The officer turned slowly to look closely at Taft. Mac recognized that Marks felt he'd been challenged by Taft, by both of them. She sensed the young cop bristle and said, "We both worked for River Glen P.D. for a while and have worked with officers from Laurelton."

If she'd hoped to defuse the situation, she quickly learned that was not the case when Marks snapped, "You both need to get back in your vehicle. Stay there until the detective arrives."

"Rafferty can meet us at the hospital," said Taft.

"Gavin's parents live just down the road," added Mac. She hooked a thumb behind her as she and Taft got back into the Rubicon and said to Marks, "Leland and Brighty Knowles."

"We have the information," he snapped out as she slammed her door shut. Taft pulled away.

Mac shook her head. "What was that all about?"

"He doesn't know where his authority begins and ends," said Taft as he navigated the curves down the hill and into Laurelton.

"Marks had no authority to keep me there."

"He can complain to Rafferty when she gets to the scene."

They reached Laurelton General fifteen minutes later. The hospital had been built on a hill, so the first floor on one side was the third floor on the other. They pulled into the parking lot off Emergency on the downward side of the building. The ambulance was still there, but Gavin had already been rushed inside.

Mac got out and tried to hurry toward the entrance, damning the sudden clutch of pain that shot up her leg and caused her ankle to give way. She stumbled and ducked her head against the light drizzle.

"Wait," Taft ordered, remote locking the car as he came around to her once more. He wrapped his arm around her, beneath her breasts. Her attention was divided between the pain and annoyance of her ankle, and the awareness and warmth of being cradled by Taft.

"You need that ankle looked at as long as we're here," he said.

"Are you kidding? I'm not paying ER prices. I just want to know about Gavin."

"You can do both."

"I don't think so."

They worked their way into the Emergency Room waiting area. Mackenzie shifted away from Taft as soon as they were out of the weather. She swiped at her damp, lank hair. He suggested she sit in one of the faux leather gray chairs arranged around the periphery of the room, but if he was getting information, she wanted to be with him.

The place was dead quiet except for the muffled noises, maybe shouts, they could hear behind the double doors that led to the examining cubicles. There was one nurse seated behind a counter in a booth-like area surrounded by plexiglass. Her eyes dropped to Mackenzie's wet and muddy slipper as she and Taft approached.

"We're here about Gavin Knowles," Taft alerted her. "An ambulance just brought him in. He was in an accident up above Stillwell Hill."

"Are you a relative?" she asked, looking from one to the other of them.

Mackenzie put in, "No, but his parents have probably been alerted. I'm a friend. I was talking to him on the phone when he crashed." She could hear the tension in her voice but it wasn't penetrating the nurse's stolid demeanor.

"You'll have to wait, ma'am."

Mac was ready to keep pushing, but Taft told the woman, "Thanks," and pulled Mackenzie away to one of the chairs.

"He's alive," Mac said.

"Yeah. She didn't deny that they brought him here."

"He's behind those doors, not at the morgue."

Taft nodded.

Mac thought back to the conversation with Gavin in the cemetery parking lot, her annoyance with him. Maybe she should have listened harder. She'd thought his ranting about The Sorority was part of his grief. Rage before acceptance. But now she wasn't so sure. "What do you think? He was positive someone was after him and then I heard screeching, braking, and his screaming and the crash. The phone went dead on his scream. He wasn't paranoid, as far as I know."

"You're second-guessing yourself."

"Maybe. I feel kind of guilty. All I was thinking about was that I didn't like him and didn't trust him, and I still don't."

He nodded.

"You don't have to stay. I can Uber home."

"I'm staying."

"Taft, thank you, but—"

"I'm staying," he repeated and Mac subsided, grateful.

Twenty minutes later, Brighty and Leland pushed through the door into Emergency. Brighty wore dark gray slacks and a white shirt beneath a long black coat, tied at the waist. She'd slapped on lipstick and her mouth was a gash of red against her white pallor. Leland's face was haggard and slack. He was in wrinkled gray slacks, a cream shirt open at the throat, and a navy jacket. Mac had seen them earlier in the day and they'd both been put together, solemn but calm. Now, with this second tragedy, they were rumpled and spent.

Both Brighty and Leland were taken through the hydraulic doors that led to the inner sanctum. Mac caught a glimpse of a green curtain around a cubicle and the stockinged foot of whoever was behind the curtain. The noise she'd heard earlier had subsided, though there were two ER personnel—nurses, maybe—standing beside whoever was on the gurney inside the cubicle. Brighty and Leland stopped and looked at the occupant who was obviously Gavin.

The hydraulic doors hissed shut.

Half an hour later, the doors opened again and the Knowleses walked out, Leland's arm around his wife's waist much as Taft's had held Mackenzie. Brighty was struggling to walk, fighting emotion. She looked on the verge of collapse, like she wouldn't be able to make it to a gray chair before she fell. Mackenzie automatically straightened as if to help her and Taft did the same, moving in front of Mac to offer aid. Brighty ignored Taft, her eyes on Mackenzie. She pulled herself together with an effort. Leland squeezed her hand hard and said, "No, Brighty," but she brushed him off and stepped in front of Mackenzie, bristling with anger.

Mac wanted to shrink back into her chair, but managed not to.

"His last words were for you," Brighty told her in a voice sharp enough to cut through steel. " ‘Tell her it was Kristl.' That's what he said. ‘Tell her it was Kristl.' I don't care what he says, it was all of you high school girls who ruined his life. All of you girls who tormented him and Ethan Stanhope. And then Tim . . ."

"Brighty," Leland murmured.

She swept on, "Your dad was a cop and he and you influenced Tim to join the force. If it weren't for you . . ."

Taft stiffened beside her, but Mac held up her hands. "Last words?" she repeated. Her heart had seized on his last words were for you .

"He's not dead," Leland put in quickly, shooting his wife a glance. "They're taking him to ICU."

Brighty rounded on Leland. "He's in a coma and I can tell they think he won't come out of it!" She turned back to Mackenzie. "And it's your fault. All of you!"

With that she marched blindly toward the doors, stopping at the last moment and heading down the hallway toward the hospital elevators, where she slapped her palm down furiously on the button about twenty times. Leland worked his way to her, moving like a condemned man.

* * *

It wasn't Detective September Rafferty who showed up at Laurelton General twenty minutes later. It was a slim woman with dark curly hair and slanted blue cat's eyes who looked around the room and saw Mac and Taft. Her gaze sharpened on Taft, and Mackenzie knew she recognized him, had likely heard about his reputation for being a thorn in the department's side. His two stints on the force had been contentious, and he fit far more easily in private investigation.

"Sandler," he said, recognizing her as well.

"Well, well, well," she responded, eyeing him up and down.

"Hi, Gretchen. Didn't know you were back."

"Jesse," she acknowledged. "L.A. didn't work out."

Mac guessed they were about the same age, approximately six years older than she was. The look Gretchen Sandler gave him was one of cautious appreciation. Mac had seen that look before from women who were intrigued by him.

One more reason he was off-limits.

"What happened to Rafferty?" he asked.

"Busy on another call. It's been kind of a wild night." She gave Mac a cursory look before asking, "Why were you at the crash site?"

"You spoke to Officer Marks?" asked Mac.

"He told me you were following the ambulance to Laurelton General. Fill me in."

"I was on the phone with the victim, Gavin Knowles, when he crashed. He thought he was being followed. I don't know if that's true. I heard the crash. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Officer Marks seems to think it was something more than a single car accident."

"I just want to hear facts, Ms. . . . ?"

"Laughlin. Mackenzie Laughlin."

"You look familiar," she acknowledged.

Taft said, "Like me, she used to be with RGPD."

"Like you? Let's hope not." Her smile was faintly ironic. She turned her attention back to Mac. "Marks seems to think this could be more than an accident. The victim's parents feel the same way. I'd like to know what you know."

"Only what Gavin believed," she responded honestly. "He thought someone was following him. He was . . . panicked. And then I heard the crash. Is there evidence it was a two-car accident?"

"Haven't got the report yet." Then she allowed, "Possibly. Was that the gist of your whole conversation? He called you because he thought you could help?"

"We'd had a conversation earlier. At the grave-site service of his brother, Officer Tim Knowles."

She gave a deep nod. "I understand he was a good man. I'm sorry about losing him. You think this had anything to do with that?"

"I . . . don't know."

Her blue eyes narrowed on Mac, who could feel Taft tensing beside her. He knew as much as she did about all that had transpired since this morning—no, yesterday morning as they were approaching three a.m. Maybe it was time to lay her cards on the table. Who was she protecting anyway?

"Gavin blames classmates of ours from high school for the death of a high school friend and he's been pretty vocal about it lately, I understand. His brother's death seemed to exacerbate that some. I don't know for certain, but when he called, he blamed them."

"Classmates? Plural?"

"Yes, well, currently one of them specifically, Kristl Cuddahy, but all of them—us—over the years." She then explained about Brighty and Leland saying much the same thing to Mac.

"These were your friends that he blamed, but he called you?"

"I wasn't really a friend. It wasn't . . . I was on the periphery. It was high school," she added, as if that explained it all. "Gavin mentioned Kristl, but it felt like he was pulling a name out of a hat. Kristl's part of the group, but I don't think she has any more enmity toward Gavin than the rest of them."

"Who are these people?" Sandler repeated. She'd pulled out a small booklet and a pen.

They call themselves The Sorority.

"Girls from high school. A clique. There have been bad feelings between Gavin and them ever since his friend, Ethan Stanhope, died on graduation night." Mac then explained about Ethan's car accident not long after attending the party at Gavin's parents' house that a lot of their classmates had attended.

"And these girls were there. This clique."

"Yeah."

"And you?"

Mac could feel her skin heat up under the questions and she sensed Taft's interest in her answers as well. "I went to the party but couldn't make myself go in. I saw Ethan Stanhope in the driveway and he teased me about being in the school's spring play. He died later that night. From what I've heard, Gavin never got over it and has blamed The Sorority ever since. That's what they called themselves."

"These friends of yours."

"Friends . . . classmates . . ." Mac's ankle was throbbing and she could feel exhaustion creeping in around the edges of her subconscious. "Gavin asked me to look into Ethan's death. He was upset at his brother's death, but Tim Knowles's murderer was shot and killed, so there's no mystery there. I don't know what Gavin really wants from me. Some sort of resolution."

"And this accident?"

"I heard the crash. Was it two cars hitting, or him going off the road? He said someone was following him."

"One of this ‘sorority'?"

Mac spread her hands. "He was good at blaming them but he never came up with any evidence."

Taft said, "Maybe he can answer your questions himself."

"Maybe." Sandler glanced away, looking around the ER as if searching for someone. "All right. Give me your information and we may be calling you."

Mac gave her all her pertinent contact information. It seemed like Sandler thought she might be going down a rabbit hole on this one and Mac didn't blame her. A lot of Gavin's theories came from his desire for a justice that might be unattainable. Still, his voice had been filled with panic. Either his conspiracy theories about The Sorority had made him paranoid, or someone had pushed his car off the cliff. Examination of the vehicle should clear that up.

Mac hobbled on her own back to Taft's SUV. She didn't want any further closeness with him when she was feeling so strangely vulnerable. She leaned her neck against the headrest and closed her eyes as he drove them through the dark wee hours of the morning back to her apartment. She felt tired to the bone and wasn't as convinced as the detective appeared to be that there was no case. And now that she'd had time to think it bothered her that Brighty had blamed her for being part of The Sorority, which she wasn't, and maybe even that her father had been an officer and therefore she was complicit in Tim's decision to join the force. Where had that all come from? Her father was gone long before Tim had even graduated high school.

"What are you thinking?" asked Taft.

"Brighty Knowles mentioned my dad being a cop, like he'd influenced Tim somehow. She was throwing blame all over the place." She opened her eyes and pressed her lips together. "It's a little thing among everything else, but the more I think about it, the more it bugs me."

"People do strange things when they're grieving. No social handcuffs. It can be really raw."

"I'd like to think that way, but it pissed me off. I should be feeling sorry for her, but I'm just sitting here, pissed. Guess that makes me the bitch."

"She was out of line."

"Thanks, but I'm still the bitch, right?"

His brows lifted. "I'm not touching that one."

"Smart man," she said, her soul feeling a little lighter.

After a few moments of companionable silence, he said, "I remember your father."

Mac blinked. "You do?"

"Met him once when I was with Portland P.D."

She straightened and half turned in her seat to look at his profile directly in the lights from the dash. She saw him flick her a look. She realized the scent of rain was on him and it smelled good. "How did you meet him?" she asked.

"Random. I was off duty in River Glen. There was a domestic dispute at a barbecue at the house next door to where I was. Little girl was in the street, crying, so I went over to see what all the screaming was about. Your dad and Cooper Haynes came and brought things under control."

"How come you never told me?"

"You don't talk about your father. I never interfaced with him again, and he was gone by the time of my short-lived stint on the River Glen force."

"My dad died when I was high school but he seems so present all of a sudden, with all my classmates contacting me and Tim Knowles's death. I don't know. It's weird." She purposefully changed the subject. "Sandler seems to think it might all be in Gavin's head, another expression of grief."

He grunted in agreement.

"But Gavin said someone was following him, and there was a crash. He said, ‘They're following me,' actually. I thought he meant The Sorority, but maybe not."

"Tell me about this sorority."

"It's just what that group of girls called themselves." Mac filled him in on Natalie, Kristl, Erin, Leigh, Mia, and Roxie.

By the time Taft dropped her off, and insisted on once again helping her up the stairs, the rain had finally stopped, though Mac felt chilled to the bone, made worse when Taft deposited her at her door, taking his warmth with him. She crawled back into bed, expecting to have trouble falling asleep, but she drifted off instantly, dreaming of rain and car taillights and the rhythm of lovemaking.

I wake from sleep, but my mind spins like a hamster in a wheel as I review over and over again how much care I've taken to cover my tracks. I parked the van and walked around it, examining the front fender. It was crushed, but then it already had been. Yes, if Forensics gets hold of it, it will likely have some paint chips from Knowles's Mercedes, but detectives will have to connect this particular vehicle to the crash and I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen.

I walked away from the van to where I'd hidden my car, parked down an alley from the empty lot with the for-sale signs inside the windows of the rows of pathetic looking vehicles for sale by owner. I chose the site because I knew the owner of the nearly abandoned property with its weeds pushing through the cracks in the concrete: an old and feeble man with major hearing loss. He also doesn't give a shit about the vehicles parked for sale on his property. He doesn't give a shit about anything, really, except the news station he keeps on twenty-four/seven. That he rails on about to whoever's within hearing, usually no one, as he's too slow to catch anyone who's left their car parked on his lot, victim to the elements.

I then drove home . . . home . . . there is no home. There's just a place to be for the hours that I need to sleep. But tired as I am, I'm also exhilarated. I've stopped the harassment. My plan wasn't as carefully thought out as I'd hoped, but maybe sometimes, not often, but maybe sometimes that's for the best.

And on the unlikely chance anyone comes sniffing around about the accident that had to have killed Gavin, they'll find I was home at the time. My phone was home and I was asleep. I did it. I killed someone who deserved to die. Again.