Leave Me Love (6 page)

BRIDGETTE AND I
talk much during the thirty-minute drive to Dover, which suited me just fine. My head hurt, and I didn't want to have to carry on a conversation, particularly one that would likely lead to fighting, since she was determined I quit my job and I was equally determined to make my own way.

Instead, I texted Ash, smiling as he recounted his own day and asked about mine.

The snow had almost melted away, but you could still see the cold in the air, our breath turning to white smoke before us as we carried our overnight bags into the mansion. Mrs. Beaumont greeted us both with quick hugs and cheek kisses. "Oh Catelyn, we've been worried sick about you."

"I'm okay, Mrs. Beaumont. Thanks for letting us stay for the weekend."

She flipped her hand dismissively. "Any time, dear. Any time. Our house is your house." She fidgeted with a string of pearls around her neck as her eyes landed on my new necklace. "Oh my goodness, where on earth did you get that?"

I looked down at the diamond heart. "Ash."

She raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea you two were so serious. That piece is worth a small fortune. It looks lovely on you." Her eyes darted around in a nervousness I'd never seen in her before. "Let's get you girls settled. Your father is in his study," she said to Bridgette. "We don't want to disturb him. He's been in a mood."

As if on cue, Mr. Beaumont stomped out, a frown on his face. "It's too late for that. You three are like cackling hens chattering about nonsense. Please keep it down, I have work to do."

He looked at me, his eyes unreadable. "Good to see you, Catelyn." Making eye contact with his daughter, he scowled. "You two try to stay out of trouble, will you? The Beaumont name has enough drama for a lifetime."

Mrs. Beaumont tried to apologize but Brig was already dragging me upstairs. "God
! My dad just gets worse with age. I think he and Mom need a weekend away. A good lay would do them both good."

"I thought most kids didn't like imaginin
g their parents having sex." I couldn't remember what I imagined at fifteen.

She shrugged and tossed a pale blond strand of hair over her shoulder. "They're humans. They have needs. I mean, I don't want to see it or anything, but I get that they need to get it on now and then. My dad's been spending more and more time in his office lately. I think Mom's feeling neglected."

"That sucks," I said, lacking any better response.

I went to the guest room and flopped on the bed with a novel, not even bothering to unpack my bag, instead shoving it under the bed.

I didn't get far in the book, and honestly couldn't remember what I'd been reading, when Brig came in and sat down next to me. "How's your head?"

"Fine."

"Good. Look, Catelyn…” She paused, then cleared her throat and plunged ahead. “I know you're trying to be independent and all, but you have a rich boyfriend."
And queue the arguing.
"You can't keep doing your phone job. It's gross. Besides, it's not fair to Ash, even you have to admit that." She said this like a teacher schooling a young child who's been naughty.

M
y temper flared behind my eyes, literally making me see red. "You seem awfully concerned about
my
boyfriend, Brig. Why is that?"

She stood and faced me, small fists on hips. "What is
with
you? It's like you're a different person since… everything."

"Maybe I
am
a different person, have you considered that? Maybe being kidnapped and tortured changes someone."

She rolled her eyes.
Rolled her fucking eyes!
"You were barely tortured. Ash saved you, and you repay him by continuing with a job that is basically cheating on him."

I pulled my bag out from under the bed and reached in for the
manila envelope I'd brought. "Let's talking about cheating, shall we?" I shoved the pictures into her hands. "Care to explain why you're cozying up to
my
boyfriend at his fucking house?"

Her face went pale
as she looked at the photos, and her lower lip trembled. "It's not what it looks like, Catelyn." Then she looked up, her face defiant again. "Where did you get these?"

"Doesn't matter where I got them. I see you throwing yo
urself at a man you admitted having a crush on. Is there anything you want to tell me?" I was shouting now, completely out of control, and I couldn't stop this feeling that I was about to explode.

Mrs. Beaumont pushed open our door, her face etched
with worry. "Girls, Mr. Beaumont left for the office, said it was too loud for him to focus. I'm heading out for a few hours. Are you two okay?"

I avoided eye contact
, hiding my enraged face, but Brig smiled, always able to put on a mask when needed. "Yes, Mom, go have fun. We'll be fine."

Mrs. Beaumont
hovered there a moment, her handbag clutched to her side like a shield against our angry words, then nodded and left the room. "The house is empty, so lock up if you leave," she said from the hallway.

I sunk to the bed, drained from the fighting, from all these unwanted emotions surging through me like poison. Before I could say anything to Brig, before I could figure out what I wanted to say or should say, my phone rang.

I listened to the man on the other end, nodding as he spoke. "Okay, I'll be right there." I hung up, staring at Bridgette. "I have to go. The impound lot called about
the Bruiser. I have to go sign some paperwork. Can I borrow your car?"

She pulled the keys from her pocket and tossed them at me a little too aggressively. I didn't bother thanking her, just stormed out of the hous
e, slamming the door—which would have felt more gratifying if the door had slammed properly, but it was heavy and big and seemed weighted against me, so it lacked the proper crash-bang of a good slam. I felt stuffed full of fireworks. I wanted to punch something.

Instead, I took to the slick roads, turning up the music until I couldn't hear my own thoughts anymore.

I arrived at the impound lot just before they closed and introduced myself to the twenty-something hippie-looking guy working the front desk. "Hi, I just got a call to come here and sign some papers about my car? Catelyn Travis?"

He typed something into a computer, his grease
-stained hands leaving trace marks on the plastic-covered keyboard. "Um, hmm, yeah you already signed for this. No one from here called you today."

I checked my phone and showed him the incoming call. "That's your number, right?"

He scratched his head. "Yeah, no, that ain’t us. Sorry. Your car's already been handled."

"Are you sure? Why would someone call me pretending to be you?"

"Dunno."

"Can I talk to your supervisor?" I asked, my stomach clenching into a pit.

"Um, hm, not really, you know? Because, like, I'm all alone here today."

"Right. Okay, thanks." I
turned and got into Brig's car, pressing dial on my phone to see where this number lead. All I got was a disconnect message and more questions than answers.

My hands shook
, and I started the ignition and pulled out of the gravel parking lot and onto the street.

The entire way back to Bridgette's my mind turned
the strange scenario over and over. Did the Midnight Murderer call me? Was it a mistake?

I had
nothing concrete when I pulled up to the house.

I knew something was wrong immediately when I saw the front door open.

I ran through the house, calling for Bridgette.
Crunch.
I'd stepped on glass. A broken cup was scattered on the floor. The coffee table had been flipped over. An ottoman had been upturned. Red words—

My throat closed up.

Red words covered the wall.

I have your friend. Find what I need and you might see her alive again. Fail, and I'll send her back in pieces.

TIME SEEMED SKIPPED
, frantic, like the scattered heartbeat of a dying hummingbird. I called Detective Gray.

"T
his isn't my jurisdiction," he said.

"Then coordinate with the local police force
. Call in favors. I don't care. I told you the Midnight Murder is still out there, and you ignored me. Get your ass here!"

"Miss Travis—"

"Don't fucking
Miss Travis
me. Do your fucking job." The f-bomb seemed my new go-to profanity lately. I'd become a harsher version of myself.

He sighed. "Fine. I'll be there."

I hung up and paced the room.
Have to keep moving. Have to keep moving.
Because if I stopped, I'd have to think. And I couldn't think about my best friend… Because if I thought about my best friend…

I took quick breaths. Sharp. Clean. I focused on them.

The Beaumonts came home. Had I called them? I couldn't remember.

"Catelyn, what's wrong?" Mrs. Beaumont asked.

I kept pacing, pulled my hand from my mouth. I'd been chewing on my nail. "Bridgette's…"

"Yes?"

I stopped moving. "She's gone."

They froze.

As if on cue, the police arrived. They scoured the house looking for clues, taking notes, taking pictures, leaving markers everywhere. Gray and another detective, Clark, with nondescript brown hair and a face you'd forget in a second, took down my statement.

"I left because I got a call that I needed to sign forms for my car. When I got there, they already had my signature and said no one called me. When I got back, this is what I found."
I was shaking, my head pounding behind my eyes, the lights and sounds and crowds of people making me dizzy.

Clark
frowned. "The Beaumonts said you were arguing before they left. What were you arguing about?"

Was I a suspect
? Absurd. I ran upstairs, accompanied by an officer, and handed them the photos. "Someone slipped these under my door at our dorm."

Gray raised an eyebrow. "Was something going on between Bridgette and Ash?

I shook my head. "Someone wanted me to think there was."

Clark
examined each picture, realization spreading across his face. "You're dating Ashton Davenport?"

"Yes."

His eyes fell to the diamond heart I was unconsciously fiddling with.

"I see." He stuck the pictures into an evidence bag.

Ash showed up
and I ran into his arms, tears finally spilling where before they'd been pent up in fear and interrogations. "They think I had something to do with this," I said.

"That's ridiculous." He kissed my head and held me as he took in the scene around us.

Detective Clark came over, Gray on his heels like a trained dog. Clark showed Ash the photos. "Do you know who took these?"

Ash
looked at the pictures and then to me. "How long have you had these?"

I explained to him what happened and when
.

H
e sighed. "This is absurd. Bridgette was worried about Catelyn after the hospital stay and came over to talk to me about what we could do to help her. Nothing untoward happened. I don't know who took these pictures, but it was clearly someone trying to hurt Catelyn."

"It was the Midnight Murderer." I pointed at the wall covered in red. "He's done this before. Wrote me a message in my dead cat's blood."

Gray sighed. "The words are written in lipstick."

I put a hand to my heart. "Thank goodness. I thought it was—"

"I understand. Shock blinds a person." He opened a nicotine packet. Popped the gum in his mouth.  "You've been through a lot lately. You should really consider… oh, why do I even bother? Call me if you remember anything else." He walked away, shaking his head.

Ash held me by the waist.
"He's right, you know. You have been through a lot."

"And?"

"I know someone who can help. An old friend of the family."

"A therapist?"

"A good one."

I pressed my head into his chest, tears welling in my eyes. "Maybe."

An officer walked up to Detective Clark, lowering his voice. "That ottoman is heavy, like real heavy. Who you figure flipped it over?"

Clark frowned. "Someone who worked hard to make this look real. Too hard." They both glanced at me.

Before I could say anything in my defense, someone hollered from the patio. "Detective, we found blood. A lot of blood."

And then I saw
red behind my eyes, bright and viscous. It pounded through my head and body until I saw nothing at all.