Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

“I guess I could have stopped it,” she admitted. “But we’d hit bottom, and there didn’t seem to be any other way. Besides, I couldn’t let the people who had destroyed my family go unpunished. You people on Willow Tree Court were the worst offenders. Ray took notes during his sessions with your children. Some were in his private journals, some in the school records. I stole everything he had about the kids on Willow Tree Court. So I knew all of your secrets — and all your weaknesses.”

She let out a long sigh. “Even before Ray was killed, I planned to take that insurance money and whatever I’d get for selling the house — and use it to destroy you and your neighbors. That’s the real reason I moved onto your block, Jeff. I didn’t care about being near you. I just wanted to see the devastation closeup.”

It looked as if Jeff was struggling to talk, but all he could get out was a warbled groan.

She touched him with her toe again. He was on fire. “You know, at just about the time I accidentally met you, Jeff, I contacted the man who killed my husband and hired him to kill Kay Garvey. He murdered Angela for me, too. He did such a thorough job on my husband, I knew he’d take care of those bitches with the same efficiency, though I suppose he could have handled Angela’s death differently. . ”

Gazing down at him, she sighed, “Oh, my God, look at you. You should see yourself.”

Jeff had thrown up. Pale gray bile ran down the side of his mouth and formed a puddle under his neck. Blood oozed out of his nostrils. He stared up at her. Spasms began to rack his body.

“You know, it’s funny how I’ve lived on that cul-de-sac for a while now, Jeff,” Jenna said. “I kept wondering if you’d ever notice me. Ray used to say you people only cared about yourselves, your families, and your small circle of friends. I think he was right. I didn’t go to his funeral, because I didn’t want anyone from Willow Tree Court to recognize me — in case they came. I was already planning to move onto your block then. I already knew what I had to do.”

Jeff’s breathing became a death rattle. The crimson color began to drain from his face. He was totally still, and his eyes were listless.

“But I didn’t know how I would kill you until three months ago,” Jenna continued. “That’s when I learned that my daughter, Tracy, had died on the street from a lethal combination of drugs and alcohol. She was only sixteen years old. My sweet little girl. .”

Jenna began to cry, but her voice was angry and accusatory as she leaned over him. “A lethal combination of drugs and alcohol, that’s when I knew how you’d die, Jeff. That’s when I knew. . ”

He stopped breathing. The room was quiet.

She could hear kids splashing and laughing in the pool outside the sliding glass door.

Naked, she walked over to the sofa and reached for her purse. Jenna took out a small pair of scissors. She picked up Jeff’s T-shirt from the bed and then carefully cut a piece off the sleeve.

He’d almost lost her on Interstate 5 but managed to keep a tail on her car from the Marriott — all the way to a grimylooking pool bar called the Side Pocket on Aurora Boulevard in North Seattle. The name was on an illuminated sign advertising Budweiser on the side of a squat one-story, gray building. BAR — POOL — GAMES — FOOD was painted in big red letters on the building. Neon signs for Rainier and Corona lit up the only window — by a red door that had ENTRANCE painted across it in white.

Pulling over on a side street, he watched her park the car and walk inside. She wore her sunglasses and a trench coat. But he could still picture her naked from forty-five minutes ago, when she’d stood over Jeff Dennehy in that poolside hotel room.

He counted until two hundred before he climbed out of his car, cut through the parking lot, and stepped inside the tavern. Peanut shells littered the floor, and Jimmy Buffett’s “Come Monday” played over the speakers. The gloomy place’s only good source of light was above the three pool tables, where some good old boys were racking them up. No one was playing darts or pinball at the moment. A few people hunched on their stools at the charmless bar and only one of the booths was occupied — by Dennehy’s girlfriend and a lean, swarthy man with shiny black hair and a pockmarked face. It looked like she was having a Coke. The man was cracking peanuts and nursing a shot glass of something with a beer chaser.

At the bar, he ordered a Corona and paid for it. Dennehy’s girlfriend and the thug she was with didn’t seem to notice him wandering over to the next booth. He set his beer down on the varnished wood tabletop.

“No, let’s put a hold on the Lynette Hahn hit for now,” she was whispering. “She’s still suffering and I want to prolong that. I may even save you the effort and take care of her myself. I’ve gotten a taste for it now.”

“Well, if you think I’m giving back your down payment—”

“Relax, Aldo,” she said, cutting him off. “You can keep your lousy down payment.”

“You bet I will,” he replied, a bit huffy. “I still think I should have been paid more for the Alder Court job. . ”

Sipping his Corona, the man in the next booth listened carefully. This was what he’d wanted to hear.

“I was paid to take care of only one person, not three. And that teenage bitch bit me, too. I should get workman’s compensation.”

“It was just supposed to be Angela in the house that night,” she replied. “I had no idea they’d canceled that field trip for her boyfriend’s daughter. You’re right when you say the job was only for one. But you should have aborted instead of doing all three of them.”

“I think I was pretty damn creative, making it look like another cul-de-sac killing,” the thug bragged. “And the cops are none the wiser.”

The man in the next booth took a peanut from the basket on his table and cracked it open. So — his copycat was a hired killer named Aldo, and he was working for Jeff Dennehy’s girlfriend — or former girlfriend. From the look of things back in that hotel room, he was pretty certain Jeff Dennehy was dead.

“You know”—the woman sighed—“a simple robberymurder setup — like the one you pulled on my late husband — would have been infinitely better. Copying a high-profile murder spree only invites a more scrupulous police investigation. I think your ‘creativity’ there is going to turn around and bite you on the ass.”

In the booth behind her, the man grinned. He kind of liked her. She was very astute.

“Well, if you’re not happy with my work,” Aldo was saying, “maybe you should hire someone else to handle the Dennehy woman and the two kids.”

“I don’t want to close the door on our relationship yet, Aldo,” she replied. “But you’re right about Molly and the two kids. I think I want to handle them myself. Like I said, I’ve developed a taste for it now.”

He didn’t linger. He’d heard enough to know who had imitated his work and why. Dennehy’s girlfriend and Aldo didn’t seem to notice him when he scooted out of the booth and ambled to the doorway.

Even with the overcast skies, it seemed bright outside compared to the gloomy bar. He returned to his car and waited there.

She stepped out — alone — ten minutes later. She put on her sunglasses and headed to her car. He watched her drive off. He didn’t need to follow her. He already knew where she lived.

He stuck around for Aldo, who remained inside the Side Pocket for the next few hours. It grew darker, the streetlights went on, and the tavern’s parking lot became more crowded. Under the car seat, he kept a small hunting knife, the same one he often used when cleaning a house. He took it out and admired it several times while waiting for his prey.