Читать книгу The Night in Question - Kelsey Roberts - Страница 11

As Kresley was looking around to see if any of these supposed roommates were home, Matt marched in like some recruit, his attention honed on a photograph on the entertainment center. There was no question. It was Janice. Turning the photo toward Kresley, he asked, “Who is this?”

As soon as she saw the image, she heard the words in her head again. Trust no one. “I—I don’t know.”

“Her name is Janice Cross,” Matt said.

Kresley shook her head.

He reached her in three long strides. His blue eyes blazed as his fingers closed around her upper arms. “Think! She’s six feet tall, has short brown hair.”

“I know her,” Kresley managed. “I don’t know how I know her. Or why.”

“That isn’t very helpful,” Matt said, scowling.

“I’m doing my best here,” she shot back. “Kendall said my memory would come back in fits and starts so you’ll just have to wait until I have the right fit or the right start. Now, thank you for everything you’ve done.” She went to the door and opened it. “I need to shower and try to figure out where my bank is so I can see if I have enough money in my account to hopefully pay the mean landlady. So, good bye.”

Grudgingly, Matt left.

Kresley was glad to be finally alone. She went to the kitchen first, opening the refrigerator to find only a jar of mustard surrounded by a half-dozen Chinese take-out cartons. There were several magnets on the fridge, all for restaurants that delivered.

The dishes in the dishwasher were clean and the place was tidy. She went down the hallway and found the first bedroom. In one bedroom, she picked a pair of size-ten panties off the floor. No way they belonged to her. Going to the closet, she found half the clothes were size ten; the others were a size six. Several gowns hung in the back, all with the expensive, exclusive label, Gianni.

Going to the second bedroom, she picked up a pillow and sniffed the faint scent of perfume. That didn’t send a cascade of memories flooding back, either. She was so frustrated. Clearly there were other women sharing the apartment with her. If just one of her roommates came back, she could maybe get some answers to her questions. Opening the closet in this room revealed size twos and size fours. The size-two slacks were too long to be Kresley’s, and, like the other closet, there were several Gianni gowns—these were a size two.

Of all the clothing, the size fours were the most conservative and the most casual. The kind of thing you’d expect a graduate student to wear. Like me?

She decided this must be her bedroom. One she shared with a size two woman. All she saw was white furniture and girl stuff. Lots of pink things. Lots of lime green. A treadmill sat in the corner. Instead of its intended use, it was covered with blouses, dresses and slacks waiting to be ironed. There was a weight set as well as a kickboxing book on one side of the room. Kresley checked the treadmill clothes. Size two. By default, that made Kresley the kickboxer. There was a message board on the back of the door, but it had been wiped clean, leaving only hints of what had been written there. Two words, one started with the letter O maybe? Or D? Then what looked like a phone number since there were ten numbers beneath the top line. Too faint to make out.

Her search of the living room, dining room and computer nook also yielded nothing unique or special. It was a nice apartment. The only thing that was missing were her roommates. Her first instinct was to call and report them missing, but she didn’t really know if they were missing. They could be on vacation, out shopping, spending the day at the beach—anything was possible. But the prickling sensation on the back of her neck told her something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Then she realized what was missing. There wasn’t much in the way of personal items. No credit cards, no driver’s licenses, no catalogs, no junk mail. And no telephone. Not a single landline.

“Maybe we all used cell phones,” Kresley said aloud. She added that to her list of things she needed to figure out.

There was a laptop in the small alcove. She powered it on and it asked for a password. Kresley’s frustration level went up several notches. If it was her computer—which was only twenty-five percent possible—then the password was probably something she’d remember easily, like her birth date. Except right this instant, she didn’t remember squat.

She cursed softly, then walked down to the leasing office. It wasn’t that she wanted a bonus interaction with the landlady, she just needed to borrow a phone.

It took some doing, begging actually, and giving her the lone gold earring as collateral, to get the woman to loan Kresley her cell phone. Going back to her apartment, she had the weird feeling of being watched. Glancing around, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary and berated herself for being a wuss. Kresley called information for a number and then waited as the call was automatically dialed.

“Gabe Langston.”

“Mr. Langston, we haven’t met but my name is Kresley Hayes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little disoriented. I was wondering if you could find out if I had a cell phone and if so, who the carrier is. Oh, and you don’t happen to remember my birthday, do you?”

“April thirtieth,” he said without missing a beat. “You’ll be thirty at the end of the month.”

“Good for me,” adding that to her list of less-than-pleasant things. “My bank info?”

“Don’t worry, turning thirty doesn’t hurt as much as being shot.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Is my guy there?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get worried if you see a large blond guy with a neck like a redwood. He works for me.”

“Why would I see him?”

“He’s going to be watching out for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone attacked you with a knife, then shot you and then tossed you in the Atlantic to drown. Matt and I agree that this person probably assumes you’re dead, but just in case, Matt asked me to have someone keep an eye on you.”

A chill danced along her spine. “I think my roommates are missing.”

“When were they last seen?” Gabe asked.

“I’ll find out from my landlady when I return her phone.”

“Do that and then give me a call. In the meantime, I’ll work on that bank information.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She clicked off, and headed for the bathroom to finally shower.

Very careful not to get her bandages wet—not an easy task by the way—Kresley enjoyed the feeling of the water pouring down on her. She was salty, sandy and sticky. And scared. The salt and sand washed off. The scared did not.

Knowing her name didn’t mean she knew who she was. But at least it had given her something to focus on other than what might have happened out in the ocean. Though she was grateful to Matt and Gabe for their protection, she wondered if it was enough.

Going into the living room, she picked up the photo of Janice and herself at the beach. It was fairly recent; her own hair was the same length. Carefully, she slipped the photo out of the frame and stuck between the photo and the cardboard backing was a small slip of paper with a phone number.

She stopped toweling her hair dry and dialed the number. It rang six times, then went to voice mail. Unfortunately it was one of those pre-recorded voicemail announcements and not personalized. “Hi, this—” she started, then snapped the phone shut. What if the number belonged to whomever it was who’d tried to kill her? Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her voice in the two syllables.

“Maybe you need to get a grip,” Kresley told herself as she went around the apartment checking every lock.

She dried her hair, applied some makeup and managed to contort enough to dress in a green sleeveless, ruffled-neck blouse and white capris. Going back to the computer, she entered her birth date as a possible password. She was rewarded with a bright red error screen. Kresley tried her birth date backward. Another red error screen. Then just for the heck of it, she tried the ten digits she’d found hidden beneath the frame. Bingo she was in. Sort of.

There were several file folders in the computer, and many of those led to subfolders. The Gianni folder was the only name she recognized. The main folder contained five subfolders. Janice, Emma, Paula, Abby and Kresley. Unfortunately, no matter what she tried, the computer wouldn’t let her open any of the files.

Giving up, she went to the Internet and typed in the telephone number that had gotten her into the computer. It wasn’t listed on any of the public sites. Then she searched for herself and found her cell phone number. Writing it on a small piece of paper, she hit the redial number on the phone and again had it automatically connect her with Gabe Langston.

“Langston.”

“Hi, it’s Kresley. Any luck finding my bank or cell company?”

He rattled off account numbers and the names and addresses of the closest branches and stores. “You own a lime-green VW Beetle,” he added. “Is it there?”

Kresley peeked out of the drawn drapes. “No.”

“I’ll have someone check the parking lot at the docks.”

“I’ve found a phone number and some names. Is there any way—”

“Read them off.”

Kresley did as he asked and in a matter of seconds, he had the names of her roommates. Emma Rooper, Abby Howell and Janice Cross. Only Paula remained unidentified.

“That’s interesting.”

“What?”

“Janice Cross. That’s the woman in the photo that Matt was so interested in learning more about.”

KRESLEY FIGURED her landlady would be a lot more accommodating if she showed up with the back rent. She was glad Gabe had warned her about her thick-necked shadow because he stuck to her like glue as she walked the block and a half to her bank.

She was a lefty with a bandaged left hand and unfortunately the withdrawal slip required her signature. If they asked for ID, she was toast. If she had to guess, her identification was somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic. The best she could muster was an old expired driver’s license she’d found in her panty drawer.

A thin sheen of perspiration covered her as she waited in the orderly line, created by burgundy velvet ropes. The entire time, she prayed silently. Prayed that she had enough money. Prayed that she wouldn’t get snagged by lack of identification.

A year later—okay, it just felt that long—Kresley stepped up to the available teller. “Hi, I’m—”

“Kresley! What happened to your hand?” the young brunette woman with the cheery smile asked.

“Um, accident with a knife,” she said as she slid the withdrawal slip across the veneered counter.

“You should be more careful….”

Kresley tuned her out, not to be rude but because she was relieved at not being interrogated. She’d been so terrified of not being able to answer questions, she’d actually written her address and birth date on the palm of her good hand.

“Here you go,” the teller said with a wave and a broad grin. “One money order, a receipt and a hundred dollars.” The teller set them out as if dealing a hand of cards.

“Thank you,” Kresley said, sticking it all inside her empty purse and stepping away from the window.

Her next stop was the phone store where she bought a cell phone. Then, as the sun was setting, she walked the short distance back to her apartment complex, in search of her landlady. She knocked on the door and the landlady yelled to come in. She’d supplemented her central air conditioning with a large window unit that made a strained rattling sound. Her apartment was the same floor plan as Kresley’s, though instead of a living room, she had it set up as an office.

“What now?”

“I brought back your phone and I want to clear up my back rent.” She reached into her purse and handed over the money order.

Scowling, the woman pursed lips that were poorly outlined in an unnatural orange-brown. “I’ve been hounding you for months. How come you can pay now?”

“Does it matter?” Kresley asked.

The woman shrugged and her dull brown eyes narrowed. “Need something else?”

“I want a copy of the rental agreement and background checks on me and my roommates if possible.”

“Sure,” the landlady shrugged and rolled a cheap office chair over to the filing cabinets and took out a file marked 1B. She rolled over to a copy machine, managing to do everything without ever leaving her chair. Kresley thanked her.

Her response was, “Yeah, well, just remember next month’s rent is due in sixteen days.”

Returning to her apartment, Kresley heard a car pulling into the lot. The sound spooked her, so she jerked her head to see if it was her thick-necked bodyguard.

It was Matt’s Jeep.

“Before you get mad,” he began before he even cut the engine. “I’m here on Kendall’s orders. She said with the concussion someone should check on you. I’m just—” Matt stopped in mid-sentence to answer his cell. “DeMarco.”

“It’s Gabe. The Coast Guard just found the Carolina Moon.”

“And?”

“Lots of blood and lots of bodies.”

“Janice?”

“Sorry, all I got from my contact was two female victims and three male victims.”