Last Seen Alive Page 12

  Vulnerable.

  Oh my God, Chyna thought. Zoey looks so open, so trusting. Suddenly Chyna’s hands began to jitter because although there was no one else in the photo, Chyna could feel a gaze that had been trained on them that night, the night before Zoey vanished. Not the gaze of an amused adult. Not the gaze of an admiring but harmless teenage boy. The gaze of a predator, someone out of the camera’s range who had scrutinized them, analyzed their personalities on the basis of their expressions, and coolly judged their susceptibility.

  In horror, Chyna realized at that exact moment, as the camera flashed, Zoey had been chosen as the trusting, reckless victim.

  CHAPTER SIX

  1

  “Fond memories?”

  Chyna whirled around, nearly dropping the framed photo. She let out her breath in a gust when she saw her uncle, Rex Greer, standing in her bedroom doorway, smiling.

  “Oh, Uncle Rex!” she cried, rushing toward him. He was a big man—at least six foot two—with a solid build. Chyna felt his strong biceps beneath his jacket when he hugged her, and she was certain he was only a couple of inches larger around the waist than he had been ten years ago. His older brother, Edward, on the one hand, had always looked his age—handsome, yes, but a bit stodgy, with prematurely white hair and rare smiles. Rex seemed to have stopped aging at forty, with dark brown hair silvered only at the temples, brilliant blue eyes like Ned’s surrounded by laugh lines, and a smile most women couldn’t resist. And hadn’t.

  “Did you bring your wife?” Chyna asked. “Let’s see, would this be number seven or eight?”

  “You’re just as sassy as ever.” He grinned at her. “It would have been number four if she hadn’t flown the coop a couple of months ago.” Rex held Chyna out in his arms and looked deep into her eyes. “Honey, I am so sorry about your mother. Everybody loved her, but you…” He paused, pressing his lips together. “You meant the world to her. I

  want you always to remember that, Chyna. You were her dream child. She adored you.”

  Chyna’s eyes filled with tears and he hugged her again. “I’m so glad you’re here, Uncle Rex. Ned is just devastated, but you know how he is about death and funerals—”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t even help you make the funeral arrangements,” Rex said in irritation. “You don’t have to say you didn’t mind doing it by yourself. I’m sure you did mind, no matter how much you protest. I wish I could have gotten here sooner, but I was down with the flu when I got the news about Vivian.”

  “I told you not to move to Maine.”

  “I will be leaving soon now that I’m a bachelor again. I long for sandy beaches and rushing waves—”

  “And girls in bikinis.”

  He laughed. “At my age, all I do is look, but looking wouldn’t be bad. After two winters in Maine, I’ve seen all the boots and bulging down-filled jackets I care to for a while.” He glanced at the photo she still held. “I remember the day that was taken. I thought it was the best Fourth of July barbecue we’d ever held here. Your dad got all ruffled over that drunk pawing the women—”

  “Ron Larson.”

  “I didn’t remember his name—just what a buffoon he was. I could have gotten into a good fight with him if your father hadn’t stepped in and stopped me.”

  “Dad was always good at diffusing bad situations.”

  Rex looked again at the photo. “You and dear little Zoey. God, you look young. Not to say you aren’t aging slowly— I’d never guess you were twenty-eight—but you still had that innocent look in your eyes back then.”

  Chyna tensed, considering that she’d just been thinking how much more innocent Zoey had looked and that very night, while the photo was being taken, so much more innocent and malleable that the abductor had picked her rather than Chyna. “Rex, do you think Zoey looked younger than I did?”

  “Younger?” He peered at the photo. “Well, not exactly

  younger, but somehow different. Maybe a little more…” Chyna almost stopped breathing, waiting…. “open, childlike. Gullible. She never struck me as being the savvy girl you were, Chyna, even before you started having your visions.”

  “I haven’t had a vision since I was about thirteen,” Chyna lied without a qualm. “I wasn’t fibbing back then, but I think I might have had some slight brain damage they didn’t detect at the time of the boat accident that caused the problem. Anyway, it healed on its own.” She was repeating the same falsehood she told everyone who’d known her back when she used to divulge innocently the fact that she had visions. “I’m just your average woman now.”

  “Nothing about you is average, Chyna.”

  “I disagree. Anyway, I was looking at this photo and thinking about Zoey. She was taken the next night and we all assumed she was abducted by the guy she went to meet at the lake. But just now, thinking about how many people were at that barbecue who saw how cute she was and sweet and, well, gullible like you said, maybe she wasn’t taken by the guy she met at the lake. That night I saw her meet someone and then I went to sleep. I didn’t see what happened, but maybe she and the guy parted company and then she was coming back up the hill and someone—maybe even someone who’d seen her at the party or someone who was mad because she’d met that guy—was waiting for her. Maybe that person dragged her off and … and …”

  Rex reached up and put his fingers to her lips. “Poor Chyna, still obsessing over this. I’d hoped that with time the pain would begin to dull.”

  “Rex, there were other girls! It wasn’t an isolated incident. Besides, the pain over losing Zoey will never dull for me. Maybe if I knew what had happened, it would help, but not knowing is just intolerable!”

  “I know, honey. You’ve always felt things so deeply, but try to calm down. I didn’t mean to sound patronizing when I said I thought time would make the pain dull. I guess it was more of a wish than a belief.” He sighed and Chyna realized

  he looked paler than usual and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. He’d said he’d had the flu. He was probably worn-out from the trip. “You look like you could use a drink and a rest before a hot fire,” Chyna said. “The family room is so much cozier than the living room and the wood in the fireplace is all ready to go. I’ll fix you a vodka martini—it won’t be as good as Mom’s, but I’ll try. You go relax, and we won’t say another word about Zoey.”

  He smiled at Chyna and she thought of how alike yet how different he and her father had looked. The shape of the eyes was the same; the spirit behind them was completely different. “You’re every man’s dream, Chyna. If you weren’t my niece, I’d ask you to marry me,” Rex said warmly.

  “So I could be number five? No thanks,” Chyna returned with a teasing tartness. “Oh, you’ll find I brought a companion with me when you get to the family room.”

  Rex raised a dark eyebrow. “A young man?”

  “No, a young woman. Blond. Beautiful. Smart.”

  Rex smiled. “She sounds wonderful.”

  “And she loves playing Frisbee and fetch-the-stick.” Suspicion crept into Rex’s expression. “Her name is Michelle. I’m sure you two will hit it off famously.”

  Ten minutes later, Chyna carried two vodka martinis into the family room, where Rex sat on the couch beside Michelle, speaking to her in French. “Is she answering you?” Chyna asked.

  “Most passionately. I think we’re engaged.” Chyna handed him the martini. “She’s adorable.”

  “I know. And Mom would have a fit if she saw her sitting on the couch like this.”

  “Vivian only had one old-maid quality—no animals on the furniture.”

  “Oh, is that quality restricted to old maids, Mr. Sexist?”

  “Guess I did slip up there. I try to keep my tiny bit of sexism a deep, dark secret.” Rex sipped his drink. “Almost as good as your mother’s, Chyna.”

  “Thanks. I know she was the master, which is funny, because she came from a teetotaling family.”

  “With whom she didn’t get along and whom she deci
ded to be as different from as possible.”

  Chyna nodded. “I’d forgotten that you met her even before Dad did. Wasn’t it when she was twenty?”

  “Nineteen. We met at one of those keg parties fraternities throw on Friday evenings.” Rex smiled. “Every girl there was jealous of her. She was not only gorgeous, but she could drink them all under the table and act not only totally sober but classy as hell.”

  “So you asked her out.”

  “Of course.” Rex took another sip of his drink. “We had a lot of fun for a while, and then I introduced her to my older brother. I never had a clue he would fall for her. Frankly, as much as I admired Edward, at the time I thought he was one of the stodgiest guys in the world—smart and strong and honorable and all that, but stodgy.”

  “And Mom didn’t.”

  “Well, I guess that wedding ring she let Edward put on her finger six months later proved she didn’t. Sometimes I wonder if things would have lasted if I’d married her instead. It takes me about one minute to figure out the answer. No. We were too much alike. Each of us needed a stabilizing influence. She found hers in Edward. And as much as I love you and Ned, as much as I love visiting here, I don’t think I could ever have fit into this life. I would have been a lousy father. I have been a lousy husband. Four times.”

  “Maybe because all of this—the house, the children, being president of the bank like Dad, and belonging to at least five community clubs, life in general in a small town—just wasn’t for you, Rex,” Chyna said. “And it still isn’t. That doesn’t make you an awful person. Just different from your brother. And wouldn’t the world be a boring place without diversity?”

  “I suppose so, although I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life.”

  “Oh,” Chyna said as if disappointed. “I didn’t know that. How odd of you. I’m sure no one else has.”

  Rex laughed. “And they say geniuses have no sense of humor.”

  “I’m not a genius and if one more person calls me that, I’m going to hit them over the head with a frying pan.”

  “Your rather heated reaction to being called a genius is why everyone keeps calling you one. They’re pushing your buttons, Chyna dear, although you are a genius.”

  “I’m certain if you asked Owen Burtram at the funeral home, you’d get a different reaction. He wasn’t too impressed with me today.”

  “I went to school with Owen. He always was a creep. And proud as a peacock. Was he mean to you, honey?”

  “No. He just acted like I was being a cheapskate for having Mom cremated.”

  Rex’s eyes widened. “You’re having Vivian cremated?”

  “It was a surprise to me, too, but it’s what she wanted. Ned and Beverly gave me a letter she left requesting cremation, no ceremony, and for me to take her urn back to New Mexico.” Rex stared at her. “I’m not making this up. It sounds as crazy to me as it does to you, but I can show you the letter.”

  Rex shook his head. “I know you’re not making it up, Chyna. I don’t need, or want, to see the letter. I’m just surprised that Vivian didn’t even want a ceremony, much less not want to be buried beside Edward.” He sighed. “What doesn’t surprise me is her leaving explicit instructions for you. I’m not saying Vivian didn’t love Ned, but it was you she trusted more than anyone. She might have been afraid that Ned wouldn’t do as she asked. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but we nearly had to drag him to your father’s funeral. Leaving her cremation in his hands—” Rex lifted his arms. “She probably thought he just wouldn’t have the strength to make arrangements for something he’d consider so drastic. To him, being buried would be bad enough. Being burned to ashes …”

  Chyna winced, then nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Honey, I’m always right.”

  “Except when it comes to picking wives,” she said sweetly.

  The phone on the end table beside Rex rang. Smiling, Chyna motioned for him to answer while she went to pour

  him another martini. When she came back, he held out the receiver to her. “It’s your lovely sister-in-law, Beverly.” He spoke into the receiver again. “Here’s Chyna, Bev, but I assure you, I’m a much more charming conversationalist.”

  When Chyna took the receiver she could hear Bev giggling in the background. She adored Rex’s cosmopolitan style and wit. “If my wife ever runs away with another man, I’ll know immediately who he is,” Ned said lightly. “Wish I had a little bit of Rex’s savoir faire myself.”

  “Hi, Chyna,” Beverly said almost gaily. “I’m glad Rex finally made it in.”

  “Me, too. We’ve been having an interesting talk—”

  “And a few martinis.”

  “One. I have had one martini!”

  “Okay, Chyna, don’t get jerked out of shape. I was just teasing you.”

  “And I was teasing back.”

  “Good. I’m glad we’re not having a fight because I have a favor to ask.”

  Oh no, Chyna thought. She was tired. She was rattled by what had happened at the mortuary. She wanted to spend more time with Rex, who could always make her forget her troubles. “Name the favor.”

  “Well, I was placed in charge of a gaggle of children, including Ian and Kate, to take out trick-or-treating. Ned was going to hand out candy at our house, but he just called and said he has a guy coming in around seven—trick-or-treat time, naturally—who wants to look at a new Lincoln for himself and a used Mercury for his son. The man who stays at the dealership until eight tonight is sick, so Ned has to go back. He can’t pass up selling two cars.”

  “No, he can’t. So what do you want me to do? Sell the cars for him?”

  Beverly giggled again. “No, silly, although you might be more of a salesperson than Ned when it comes to men. Oh, don’t tell him I said that, but you could roll around on the car hoods in sexy poses to really grab male customers’ attention.”

  “Yes, I’m notorious for posing on car hoods.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Bev laughed while Rex raised eyebrows at Chyna. “What I had in mind was giving you an option,” Beverly went on. “You take out the kids—”

  “The gaggle of children in costumes?”

  “Yes. Oh, Chyna, they’re very sweet. Or you could stay here and hand out candy at our house. I know you get hardly anyone at your place, but we get tons of children all loaded with toilet paper to lace in your trees if you don’t give them candy.”

  “Children certainly are wonderful creatures,” Chyna said drily.

  “I hate to ask, but—”

  “You take the gaggle around the neighborhood and I’ll hand out the candy.”

  “You will? Oh, Chyna, thank you so much. We have plenty of candy. It’ll be fun.”

  “That’s what they told people who reserved a room on board the Titanic.”

  “Don’t be silly. The kids are darling, the weather is supposed to be mild, and trick-or-treat time only lasts two hours. I’m sure Ned will be home to relieve you before it’s all over.”

  “Sure he will, Beverly. I don’t even believe there’s a man wanting to buy two cars. Ned just wanted the evening off, and he knew old softie here wouldn’t be able to decline helping you.”

  “Oh, Chyna, don’t be a sourpuss.” Bev sighed. “I’m so relieved. You work with children all the time. I’m sure you’re very good with them. I have several different kinds of candy. Be sure to bring a blazer or light jacket in case it’s a bit chillier than the weatherman predicted.”

  Three hours later, Chyna mentally cursed the weatherman as she stood freezing in the open doorway wearing a corduroy jacket as the temperature steadily plunged fifteen degrees lower than expected. As group after group of skeletons, ghosts, vampires, and werewolves arrived at the door holding out their baskets for treats, Chyna mentally composed a

  scathing letter to the weatherman she intended to write as soon as she got home and send out in the morning.

  When she noticed a child dressed as Little Red Riding Hood staring
at her with a mixture of fascination and fright, Chyna realized she’d begun to talk to herself, or rather to the weatherman, conveying how angry she was because his temperature prediction had been so inaccurate. Half of these children would be sick tomorrow because they weren’t dressed warmly enough. The little girl in a red cape looked at Chyna with huge blue eyes and finally asked, “Are you talking to someone invisible?”

  Chyna forced a wide smile and said cheerfully, “You caught me! Did I scare you?”

  “Well, yeah,” the little girl said, “although some of the kids down the block said you’ve been talking to invisible people for a while. I wanted to see it for myself.” Oh, wonderful, Chyna thought dourly. I’m the talk of the neighborhood. Beverly will be thrilled. Chyna gave the little girl an extra peppermint patty and Tootsie Roll, another bright and hopefully normal smile, and cursed the weatherman again.

  She’d left Rex at home to cover any trick-or-treaters they might get. “But we only have half a bag of butterscotch balls and they look at least a year old,” he’d complained.

  “Uncle Rex, we get about ten trick-or-treaters a year. They don’t want to climb the hill. If any hardy souls do, give them one of your martinis. I guarantee they’ll leave happy.”

  Chyna could have cried with relief when at eight thirty Beverly arrived home with the children, Kate sulking because her mother had made her put a denim jacket over her “princess” gown, Ian crying because some “big kids” had made fun of his Donald Duck costume.

  To top it off, on the way home Kate had popped a piece of unwrapped candy in her mouth just to defy her mother. As Chyna was rooting through her purse, looking for her car keys, Kate suddenly turned white, broke into a drenching cold sweat, and threw up in the hall before even making it to the bathroom. In a panic, Chyna and Beverly loaded both

  children into Chyna’s rental car and rushed them to the local hospital emergency room.