Unspeakable (24 page)

Olivia sighed. “I don't know what to say to that.”

He'd disappointed her, too. But now wasn't the time to go into it.

“There's going to be a memorial service Saturday, in Poulsbo,” he said. “I'll email you the details. I really hope you can make it. At the same time, I totally understand if you decide not to attend.”

She didn't ask if Corinne would be there. She just assumed he'd be bringing her.

Olivia sniffled. “Let me think about it.”

“Of course,” he said. “Listen, do me a favor and don't bite my head off. But I just need to say it. I've missed you, y'know?”

Olivia took a deep breath. “I—I'm really sorry about Sue and Jerry and the kids.”

Then she hung up.

She leaned over her desk and cried—dark, inconsolable sobs. She wasn't sure how long it went on, but she went through several Kleenexes, which were usually for her clients. Then the lights flickered again.

Unsteadily, Olivia got to her feet. She grabbed her purse and headed for the office door. Switching off the lights, she stepped out to the waiting room and locked her door. She was about to head out to the hallway when she heard a door shut somewhere downstairs.

Olivia froze. She didn't think anyone else was in the building. She listened for another moment, and didn't hear anything, not even the rain. She opened the waiting room door and found the third-floor hallway almost completely dark. If not for the light in the waiting room behind her, she wouldn't have been able to see her hand in front of her face.

“Is—” Olivia hesitated. She was about to call out,
Is anyone there?
Then it occurred to her that it was a pretty stupid question. Anyone quietly standing there in the pitch blackness wasn't likely to answer her. She thought once again about the man who had been following Collin Cox.

Olivia reached into her purse and took out the flashlight. Switching it on, she directed the beam along the hallway—and the different doors. The light was wobbly, because she couldn't keep her hand from shaking.

Reluctantly, she set the lock catch and closed the door to the waiting room. She was swallowed up in darkness now. With the flashlight as a guide, she made her way toward the stairs. She spotted the light switch on the wall—at the top of the staircase. Olivia flicked it up and down. Nothing.

Someone must have gotten into the electric room and tinkered with the power.

She hurried down the stairs as quickly as she could. The flashlight made frenzied shadows on the steps and the wall.

At the second-floor landing, she could see some light from the street coming through the window in the lobby door. Olivia raced down to the first floor. She shined the flashlight down the shadowy hallway, and didn't see anyone.

As she turned around again, a man on the sidewalk hurried past the door. Startled, Olivia let out a gasp. She almost dropped the flashlight. It took a few moments to get her breath back—and find her key for the street door. Her heart was still racing. She took one last look toward the stairs. She noticed that the glass door encasing the building directory was ajar. Someone had managed to unlock it.

Olivia ran the flashlight beam over the directory—with the white lettering fixed in the grooved black velvet. Everything was the same, except for her name.

All the letters had been turned upside down.

S
he couldn't stop staring at the back of Corinne Beal's head.

Clay's girlfriend—and the mother of his baby, which she'd be popping out in five months—hung all over him in the front pew. She kept wailing and sobbing at full volume every few minutes, while everyone else in the Stone Chapel at Cherry Grove Memorial Park grieved quietly. It seemed as phony as it was distracting.

The clean-lined, modern chapel seated about a hundred and fifty mourners and was packed to full capacity. At the front of the sanctuary—above a cherrywood crucifix—was a large screen for video and pictorial tributes to the deceased. Over to one side was a podium, where one speaker after another shared a special sentiment about Jerry, Sue, Gail, and Chris. An assortment of sweet, evocative images of the Pelhams was displayed on the screen during the readings. It was really heartbreaking—especially when one of Chris's fifth-grade classmates came up to talk about how much he missed his best friend. But every memorial homily was interrupted by a mournful yowl from Corinne in the first pew.

The North Kitsap High School girls' choir stood in front of the chapel, on the other side of the pulpit. They provided beautiful hymns between the speeches. It was pointed out early in the service that Gail had auditioned for the girls' choir only a week before her death. All twenty or so of the choir girls wore black. No one stood out—not the way Corinne seemed to scream for attention in her silky, slinky royal-blue number with black polka dots. It showed off her baby-bump. Her blond hair was swept up and she'd pinned some black netting in it—with dark blue sequins, no less.

There weren't any caskets at the front of the chapel. The four bodies were still with the county coroner while an investigation into the fire continued. Jerry's brother, Mike, had decided along with Clay that there would be a quiet burial later—attended by family only. Mike and his wife, Cathy, had arranged the memorial. Olivia knew them from several different family functions over the years.

Cathy had greeted her in the reception room before the service. “Now is probably not the time to be catty,” she'd whispered. “But really, what's the deal with Clay's supposedly grief-stricken girlfriend? Sue and Jerry met her once—back when they were in Portland last month. They couldn't stand her. And she's acting like she's just lost her best friends. Oh, and wait until you get a load of what she's wearing. It's like something from the Lady Gaga funeral collection. Everyone misses you, Olivia. Of course, you know that Sue, Jerry, and the kids adored you. You're coming to the reception afterwards, aren't you?”

Olivia had always liked Cathy. But she'd already made up her mind to catch the ferry back to Seattle right after the service.

Sitting in a pew in the back, she'd been so consumed with grief and distracted by Corinne's shenanigans that she hadn't really paid much attention to anyone else in the congregation. It wasn't until she stepped out of the chapel and opened her umbrella that Olivia spotted Collin Cox among the mourners. Her first thought was that he might be stalking her. But he was dressed for the memorial service in a tie, blazer, and khakis. He filed out along with the others—toward the parking area and the chapel's lush, green grounds. The rain fell lightly, almost a mist. He didn't open his umbrella until an older couple came out of the church. Then he held the umbrella over them as they headed toward the row of cars along the side of the road.

“Collin?” she called.

He glanced toward her, and his mouth dropped open. He looked stunned to see her.

Olivia started toward him.

He quickly hustled the older couple toward a BMW.

Olivia stopped abruptly at the edge of the parking lot. She could tell he didn't want to introduce them to her. She remembered writing that note to herself the other night:
Stampler—Poulsbo—grandparents?

Standing beneath her umbrella, she watched him hold the door open for his grandmother. He said something to his grandfather, who was climbing behind the wheel. Then with his umbrella overhead, Collin trotted toward her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, out of breath.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Olivia said. She glanced toward the BMW. “Are those your grandparents?”

He nodded. “Listen, I'd rather we not talk here, at least not in front of them.” He looked back over his shoulder at the car. “I tried to explain to my grandfather about what's happening to me, and he's totally in denial. He figures if I just stay away from therapists and hypnotists, my problems will all go away. He'd be really pissed off if he found out I went to see you on Thursday. Can we meet later—in town? How did you know I'd be here anyway?”

“I didn't,” Olivia said. “Sue Pelham was my husband's sister.”

Collin just stared at her and blinked. “Wait a minute,” he whispered. “You're the aunt who taught Gail how to hypnotize people. No wonder you had the same technique as her. Gail was like practically my only friend here—her and Fernando.”

Olivia started to put it together in her head. Collin was Gail's blue-eyed crush, the one who had acted “weird” last Saturday night. Gail had always struggled to lose weight, and Collin's other friend was named Fernando. Now it made sense that Collin's loutish alter-ego had emerged during their session on Thursday night and asked, “So where's the fat girl and the Mexican guy?”

Collin had told her to Google the name Wade Grinnell, and Olivia had even written it down. But she hadn't researched this Wade person. Instead, she'd looked up Collin Cox, expecting to find something about him having a breakdown after his mother's death. But there was nothing. Then again, she hadn't researched him very thoroughly. She'd still been in shock over news of the fire that had killed Clay's sister and her family. The brief talk with her estranged husband—especially the part when he'd told her that he really missed her—had been on her mind, too. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about the power outage in the hallways on Thursday night—and the bizarre rearrangement of her name in the building directory.

She shifted her umbrella a bit, and her eyes searched Collin's. “The other night, after you left the building, you didn't come back, did you?”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

Olivia thought about the man who may or may not have been following Collin. She studied the vulnerable expression on Collin's handsome young face. Should she warn this already troubled kid that someone
might
be following him? Dare she risk unnecessarily messing him up even more? She hesitated, and then shook her head. “Nothing, I think someone was just playing a practical joke on me. Forget it.”

Craning his neck, Collin glanced past her umbrella and gave a little wave.

Olivia looked over her shoulder and saw his grandfather standing outside the car. He had the driver's door open, and the windshield wipers were going. He held a program from the memorial service over his head. He gave his grandson an impatient, exasperated look.

Collin turned toward her again. “Listen, I gotta go,” he whispered. “But to be honest with you, I didn't call your friend Marlys. And I can't get my grandfather's permission to see you. Do you really need his consent? Couldn't you see me at least one more time? None of the other hypnotists I saw needed permission from a guardian.”

“I'll bet none of the other hypnotherapists knew they were dealing with someone who may have multiple personality disorder. I'm sorry, but if this
Wade
persona is real—and he's clearly real to you—then this is serious, Collin. And it's way beyond my level of expertise.”

“Please,” he whispered, “just one more session. No one has to know.”

Olivia felt so torn. Part of her longed to help this poor kid, but she knew it would end up getting her into a hell of a lot of trouble. She looked over toward the chapel again, and saw Clay in a black suit—and a black-and-maroon tie she'd bought him for his birthday two years ago. He held up a big umbrella, and Corinne was hanging on his arm. Corinne didn't seem to notice her, but Clay had. He was staring at her with a forlorn look on his face.

“Please,” Collin repeated.

Olivia turned to him. “You need to give me some time. I have your phone number. I'll call you.” She noticed his grandfather over by the BMW, glaring at them. “You better go now. Tell your grandfather that I'm Gail's aunt, and that we've met before. You won't be lying.”

Collin glanced over his shoulder, and then leaned in toward her. “Thanks,” he whispered.

He turned and started for the car. His grandfather ducked back inside. Collin was about to reach for the back passenger door when someone else approached him. It was a handsome, lean, thirtyish man with wavy brown hair and a dark blue suit. He didn't have an umbrella.

Collin didn't look happy to see him.

 

 

“Well, hi,” he muttered, stopping a few feet away from the BMW. “What's going on? What are you doing here?”

“Didn't you get my emails?” Ian Haggerty asked. “I sent two.”

Collin shook his head. He nervously glanced back at the car.

“Well, it's not the first time that's happened with my server,” Ian said. “Anyway, I saw you called and hung up the other day. I also read that two of your classmates had died. I wasn't sure how close you were to them—”

“They were my only friends here,” Collin said, his voice cracking a little.

“Then I guess I was right to be concerned about you.” Ian shrugged. “I would have called, but all I have is your grandparents' home line, and I wasn't sure how my calling to chat you up would go over with your grandfather—or my boss. I'm already in enough trouble at work. Anyway, I read about the memorial service, and took a chance you'd be here.”

“So you came all this way?” Collin asked.

“Sure, I didn't have anything else going on. Plus, like I said, I was concerned. . . .”

“Well, thanks,” Collin said. He shot another look toward the car.

Ian stepped closer to him. “So—am I still
persona non grata
with your grandfather?”

Collin shrugged evasively.
Persona-non-whatever
sounded like one of his grandparents' expressions. “I'm not sure what that is,” he said under his breath. “But if it means my grandfather probably isn't thrilled I'm talking with you, then yeah.”

Ian nodded. “Well, I guess my timing here sucks. If you ever want to get together for an old bull session, just give me another call and leave a message. You can . . .” He trailed off as the BMW's driver's door opened and Old Andy stepped out.

Collin sheepishly glanced at his grandfather. He was about to apologize for keeping him waiting. But to his utter surprise, his grandfather broke into a friendly smile and approached Ian. “Well, hello. How've you been?” He put his hand out for Ian to shake.

“I'm fine, thanks, Mr. Stampler,” Ian said, pumping his hand. Then he waved at Dee in the passenger seat. She waved back.

“I tell you, my friend,” his grandfather said. Collin could see he'd forgotten Ian's name. “We could sure use you looking after the house again what with everything that's been going on around here. It's a sad, scary state of affairs. These poor folks—first their house gets broken into, and then the fire. At the same time, Collin's other good friend got picked up by some . . .” He trailed off, shook his head and sighed. “Anyway, it's been awfully rough. Tell me, are the Seattle police interested in either case? Do they have any leads?”

Ian shook his head. “I wouldn't know, Mr. Stampler—”

“Andy,” he said.

“I wouldn't know, Andy,” he continued. “I'm not here on business. I have friends on the Peninsula, and their daughter—my godchild, in fact—she was singing in the choir today. She wanted me to come listen to her.”

“Well, those girls did a lovely job. Be sure to tell your goddaughter that for me. What's her name?”

“Brooks, Amanda Brooks.” He turned toward Collin. “In fact, we were—um, thinking of grabbing something to eat at Crepes Nuevo. Collin, you're welcome to join us.”

Collin realized Ian was suggesting a rendezvous place if he needed to talk with him. He automatically glanced at his grandfather for his approval. But he got a furtive, sour frown.

Ian must have seen it, too. “Then again, it might not be the right time,” he said, patting Collin's shoulder. “It was a pretty emotional service for everybody.”

Collin shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah, thanks for the offer, but maybe another day.”

“Listen, Collin, we should skedaddle,” his grandfather said. He grinned at Ian and pumped his hand again. “Nice running into you again, my friend.”

“You, too, sir,” Ian said. Then he shook Collin's hand and held on to it for a moment. “It was good to see you, Collin. I'm really sorry about both your friends. Feel free to ring me up anytime, okay?”

“Thanks,” Collin said.

He felt defeated as he climbed into the backseat of the BMW. He couldn't help resenting his grandfather for that one little frown. He really needed a friend right now. And Ian would have listened to him. He couldn't discuss anything with his grandfather. And right now, he wasn't sure if Olivia Barker would even see him again.

His grandfather got behind the wheel and shut his door. “What's his name again?”

“Ian,” Collin said.

“This goddaughter, Amanda, do you know her?”