All She Ever Wanted (23 page)

When Natalie saw the Giant Dipper, a vintage wooden roller coaster at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk, she felt like she was home. This beautiful, lazy city by the sea had hosted some of the best days of her life, and even though she'd lived in the town for only sixteen short months, there were familiar scenes everywhere she looked. "Do you remember when we rode the coaster?" she asked Cole, who hadn't said much on the two-hour drive from San Francisco.

"How could I forget? I think that's where I lost the hearing in my right ear."

Natalie was pleased by the teasing note in his voice. She'd been worried about him, but she sensed that he was bouncing back. "I didn't scream that loud," she said. "Anyway, everyone screams on a roller coaster. It's expected. The girl screams, and the guy holds on tighter."

"Ah, so that's the plan. You women are just too damn smart."

"It's about time you figured that out," she said with a smile. She hated to break the mood, but she saw him glance at the street sign and wondered if he knew where they were going. "Do you want me to check the map?"

"I think we're heading in the right direction. Haller Avenue should be coming up in about a mile." He paused. "Is that your cell phone?"

"Oh," Natalie said, realizing the ringing sound was coming from her purse. She flipped open her phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Natalie," Madison said. "Are you in Santa Cruz yet?"

"Just passing the boardwalk." She relaxed at the sound of Madison's voice. "I guess you got my message."

"I did, and I'm on my way, too."

"You're coming down here?" Natalie asked in surprise. "Don't you have to work?"

"It's difficult to concentrate in between dodging calls from the police. Did you hear from Detective Boland?"

"No," Natalie said with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "What did he want?"

"To reinterview me. I haven't spoken to him yet. If you have a lead on Malone, I want in on it. So does Laura. She's with me."

"Hi, Natalie," Laura said in the background.

"So what have you got?" Madison asked.

"Maybe an address for Malone. Apparently, he set up his corporation in the name of Jerry Williams. Does that ring a bell?"

"I can't say that it does, but we'll be in Santa Cruz within the hour. Shall we meet at the sorority house?"

Natalie hesitated. She'd been thinking about the sorority house since Cole had asked her to go to Santa Cruz, but some part of her did not want to make that stop. Still, how could she come all this way and not go there? It was the center of the entire situation. "All right. Hopefully, we'll find Malone before then. I'll ring you if we do." She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her purse. "Madison and Laura are on their way down here."

"I figured that." Cole peered at a nearby street sign. "Is that Haller?"

"Yes, and we want 2302." Natalie noted the numbers as they drove down the street. "It should be in the next block. There it is." Cole pulled over in front of a large two-story building with a sign in front that read sunrise living center. "It's a retirement home," she said in surprise. "Garrett Malone isn't old. Even with a disguise, he couldn't be older than fifty. This can't be right, but it's the address your investigator gave you."

Cole shut off the engine. "We've come this far. Let's check it out."

They got out of the car and walked through the front door. A woman dressed in casual clothes sat behind a desk in what was obviously a lobby area, with comfortable couches and chairs set around coffee tables. There was a television on in one corner, an elderly woman knitting in front of it.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"We're here to visit Jerry Williams," Cole said.

"Mr. Williams?" The woman appeared surprised. "Are you relatives?"

"No, we're friends," Cole replied. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, of course not. He just doesn't get many visitors. He's on the second floor, Room 210. Some days are better than others, you know. It's just the nature of it. You need to sign in before you go up." She pushed a clipboard across the counter. Cole signed it, then said, "Thank you," and they headed up to the second floor.

When they walked into Room 210 Natalie saw an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair. He was all skin and bones, very thin and fragile looking with eyes that appeared vacant and distant.

"Mr. Williams?" Cole said. The man didn't even blink. "We want to talk to you," Cole said, trying again. No answer. Cole shot Natalie a questioning look. "What's wrong with him?"

"I'm guessing Alzheimer's or some other type of dementia. I know one thing; he's not Garrett Malone. Maybe we have the wrong Jerry Williams. It's a common name."

"I don't think so. The fact that Williams lives here in Santa Cruz is too big a coincidence. Malone must have used Mr. Williams's social security number. That's the only explanation."

"Why would he go to so much trouble?"

"Because he was writing about a real event and trying to sell it as fiction. He didn't want anyone to know who he is, not his agent, not his publisher, maybe not even his friends."

"He wanted to protect himself. Keep his distance from the event while throwing the rest of us into the fire," Natalie finished. "I guess that makes sense. But how would Malone get this man's social security number?"

"He has to be connected to him in some way."

While Cole tried to get the old man's attention, Natalie moved across the room and opened the drawer by the bed. There were some blank notepads and pencils inside, a Bible, a box of chocolates, a CD player, and a book of poetry. Natalie opened up the book and caught her breath at the stamp. "Look at this," she said, holding it out to Cole. "Greg Martin, Ph.D., Professor of English Literature, Santa Cruz University. I know that name. He taught when I was there. I'm almost positive either Emily or Laura took a class from him. I remember, because he was considered pretty cute by professor standards."

"If he's still at the university, we can find him. Maybe we just found Malone. The initials are the same—Greg Martin, Garrett Malone."

"Maybe." Natalie still couldn't see how an English professor at the University would come to write a book about Emily, or about herself for that matter. "It's hard to believe he could have known so much about us, though."

"Not if he had Emily's journal."

"How would he have gotten her journal?"

"I don't know, but let's take this one step at a time. And think about this—an English professor would certainly know how to write a book."

"I guess."

"You don't sound convinced," Cole said, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I was just so sure it was Dylan or Drew or someone we knew more intimately. But Professor Martin—why would he take the trouble to disguise himself? What would his connection be to this man?" She waved her hand toward Mr. Williams, who had yet to acknowledge their presence in the room. "They don't have the same name, but he obviously came here to visit him."

"They're probably family of some sort. Let's go to the university and see if we can find this professor. He has a better shot at answering your questions than I do."

She nodded in agreement. "Let's pick up Laura and Madison on the way. Maybe one of them knows more about him. They're at the sorority house."

Cole's face paled. "That's the last place I want to go."

"I feel the same way, but I don't think this will be over until we do."

While Madison parked the car in the lot, Laura walked along the sidewalk in front of the two-story sorority house that had been her home for three years. She put one hand up to shade her eyes from the sun as she stared at the building. She'd had so many moments in this house, both good and bad. Coming back here wouldn't mean as much to Natalie and Madison as it did to her. After they'd left, the sorority had become her haven, her family of friends. While she'd never felt as close to anyone as she'd felt to Natalie, Madison, and Emily, she had managed to fit in and find a group of women with whom she could laugh and study, dance and party, and eventually share a graduation ceremony.

She hadn't been back to the house since that graduation, but it looked the same, maybe a new coat of off-white paint on the outside. White columns provided a covered walkway from the parking lot to the house. A border of flowers ran along that walk and a short patch of lawn led down to the sidewalk. The downstairs housed the library, living room, dining room, and kitchen, as well as the housemother's quarters in the back. The second story was all windows as bedrooms ran around the front, sides, and back, with communal bathrooms in the middle of the floor.

The very first day of rush, Laura had stood on this sidewalk with her friends, waiting to be invited in. It was the first house they had visited, and they had had no idea what rush meant. They had been shocked when the front door and second-story windows had flown open with dozens of girls in colorful costumes singing a sorority song and inviting them to come inside. It had seemed corny and silly and they'd laughed a lot, but they'd gone inside. A whole new world had opened up to them.

It had been Emily's idea to rush. They'd met some sorority girls their freshman year in the dorms and had envied their parties and closeness. Sorority life had looked like a lot of fun. They'd decided as sophomores to give it a try. And they'd made a pact; they'd join together or not at all. Fortunately, the Gamma Delta house had invited all four of them to join.

The front door opened now and a young woman walked out, headphones in her ears, a book bag over one shoulder. She couldn't have been more than nineteen. To Laura she looked like a baby. Had they really been that young, that carefree? The girl didn't pause or acknowledge Laura as she made her way to a bike parked at the side of the house. She hopped on and rode off, perhaps to her next class.

"It looks the same," Madison said, coming up beside Laura.

Dressed in a black miniskirt, black knee-high boots, and a silk sweater, Madison looked sophisticated and successful. Laura felt like a frumpy housewife in her Dockers pants and cream-colored sweater.

"Frowns will make you wrinkle," Madison told her with a smile.

Laura's frown disappeared at that familiar comment. "I think that's one of the first things you ever said to me. We were in our dorm room, and I was thinking how small it was, and how narrow the beds were, and wondering what I'd gotten myself into. Then you came in, a blond bombshell with a sassy smile, who told me frowns would make me wrinkle."

"Oh, please, I was hardly a bombshell at eighteen."

"You were then and you are now. Don't even try to pretend you don't know that."

"Okay, I won't. It must have been strange to live here after Emily died and we left." Madison gave her a curious look. "Especially that first week."

"It was really difficult for a long time. Emily and Natalie's room was empty the rest of that year. The following summer they painted it. Some new transfer students moved in, girls that hadn't been here that night. They'd heard the stories, but after they put their stuff in the room, it looked different. I didn't go in there much; I couldn't. I couldn't go by the side yard or out on the roof either. Actually, they nailed the windows shut until they could put up a guardrail. By the time I was a senior, everyone was back out there again, as if it had never happened."

"Except for you."

"Except for me. No amount of time could ever make me forget that Emily fell off that roof." Madison didn't comment on that, and Laura couldn't help wondering what was going through her mind. Madison seemed so casual, unconcerned, yet she was here. She'd taken off work to come to Santa Cruz, so she must be worried about something. "I know you didn't come down here because the police called you, Madison. Or even because Natalie had a lead on Malone. What is it you're looking for? And don't give me some flippant reply. I want the truth."

Madison didn't answer for a moment, then said, "I want to know if Dylan is involved in the book."

"Dylan?" Laura echoed, sensing there was more behind her words. "You like him, don't you?"

"He intrigues me. That's all. I'm curious. Don't make more of it than that."

"I think there is more, but I'll leave it be for now."

"Thank God! Speaking of men, I have a question for you. I know Emily had a crush on someone right before she died. Did she ever tell you who it was?"

Laura was surprised by the question. "I—I don't know. Why?"

"Maybe that man is the key to all this."

Laura shook her head as she tried to remember. "We were always talking about guys. I can't remember one in particular."

"Do you think Drew might know?"

"I don't know why Emily would have confided in Drew and not us," she said slowly, not really liking the tone of Madison's question.

"They were pretty close, weren't they?"

"I guess. You're not suggesting that ..." She could tell by Madison's expression that's exactly what she was suggesting. "You think Emily was interested in Drew? Are you serious?"

"He did go to her room that night."

"Yes, but he and I were planning to be together that night. If he was interested in Emily, he wouldn't have made such a point of wanting to be with me—would he?" She hated the insecurity in her voice. Drew had married her. He'd loved her. He still loved her. "And Emily, she wouldn't have gone for Drew. She knew I was interested in him."

"Which is why I asked. Emily used the word unattainable when she told me there was someone she wanted. And I was just trying to think who was unattainable, that's all."

"Unattainable? So you think it was Drew she wanted?"

"It was just a thought."

"You're wrong. They were friends, that's it. Maybe it was one of the Somerville twins, Dylan or Josh. Emily used to say that being Cole's little sister cut her off from a lot of potential dates, because everyone thought of her as the little sister."

"It wasn't Dylan," Madison said. "He had a huge crush on her, and he said it wasn't reciprocated. Although I never considered Josh. He wasn't around that much. He just came down with Cole sometimes."