The Trophy Hunter (29 page)

“Just a moment, please.” Then…nothing. For
more than a moment.

Shivering, Jess rolled up her car window,
leaving only an inch or so at the top. Then she heard the sound of
the gates grinding open. She quickly zipped the Camaro through the
opening, skidding on the icy pavement as she did so. She hoped the
guy wouldn’t change his mind and close the gates, making sandwich
filling of her beloved red Camaro.

Inside the gates, Jess looked around the
courtyard of a Mediterranean-style villa. Dry fountains adorned
with…
Is that what I think it is?
A marble cherub on one held
his small penis forth to descending snowflakes.
Cold enough to
shrink even a stone pecker.

Roy met her at the door. She knew him by his
voice. “Walk this way, please.”

At least he’s not limping.

The man with the high voice stood perhaps six
feet tall, but bent at the shoulders. And thin to the point of
emaciation. He reminded Jess of a carving of Don Quixote.

Jess followed Roy across a vast foyer, past a
winding staircase, into what appeared to be a library from the
ceiling-high rows of books that filled one wall. Another wall was
devoted entirely to wildlife art. Jess recognized some of the
artists from work in Diana’s collection.

“Ms. Edwards?” a woman’s voice inquired.

The lighting in the room was dimmed by the
thickening storm outside. Jess had to look twice to see where the
voice came from. The woman came toward her in an electric
wheelchair, its motor barely audible. She had apparently been
watching Jess through an oval window that faced the front gate. A
small pair of binoculars lay on an antique table by the window.

“I didn’t tell your…houseman my name,” began
Jess. Fingers of discomfort constricted her throat. She had the
sudden, inexplicable feeling of being in the wrong place at the
wrong time. The dark red plush carpet and the walls, papered in a
black-and-white scroll pattern, seemed like relics from a different
era.

“You’re Darren’s friend. You’re black.
You’re…beautiful. You must be Jess Edwards.”

The woman smiled, revealing perfect white
teeth against light olive skin. Although her sentences were
clipped, she had no accent, Texas or otherwise.

As Arlette drew closer, Jess could see the
fine lines in her taut skin. The woman’s chiseled jaw line was
either the legacy of excellent genes, or the work of a skilled
plastic surgeon. While her onyx-black hair color surely came from a
bottle, the brightness of her gray eyes gave her a youthful
appearance. Nonetheless, Jess guessed her age at about sixty.

“So, Darren has mentioned me?” Jess began.
This was so totally surprising that it knocked whatever planned
spiel she had right out of her head.

In answer, Arlette threw back her head and
laughed, a throaty sound, which in younger days Jess surmised would
have been quite alluring. She could well imagine the woman’s
husband wanting to preserve many of his wife’s qualities. There was
nothing out on the net about her being terminal, but…the chair? She
obviously wasn’t in the best of health.

“I have M.S.,” said Arlette, her expression
sobering. “I can see that Darren hasn’t told you. From the way
you’re staring.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was.” Jess
felt an unfamiliar bewilderment.

“I was in remission for a number of years. So
Anthony and I put it off.”

It?
Jess watched Arlette cock her
head, looking as if she expected a comment. Jess had none.

“I assure you, it’s not an uncomfortable
subject for me. Nor should it be for you. Like you, I value the
quality of my life.”

Like me?
“You’re telling me this
because…?”

“Because you’re one of us, of course.”

Chapter 55

“What do you mean, one of us?” asked
Jess.

“You are kidding. Right?” Arlette’s brows
arched, pulling at her thin skin.

“Is my friend, Diana
one of us
?”

A pouty expression claimed Arlette’s face. “I
don’t know any Diana.” She cocked her head again and seemed to
assess the situation. “I think Darren may be mistaken about you. I
think you’re not who he thought.”

Jess’s curiosity took over, quelling her
apprehension. “I’ll play your game. Tell me who he thought I
was…and who you think I am.” Jess smiled sweetly.
This old gal’s
a certified nut case.

“I think you mean harm to Darren. You’re
probably wearing a wire.”

“A…wire?” Jess raised an eyebrow. “Why in
hell would I, for Chrissake?”

“You don’t need to curse.” Arlette wheeled
her chair around so that she was facing the window. “The procedure
is virtually unknown, but not illegal. It basically died with Dr.
Ara. In this country, at least.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s pretty much
alive on the net.”

“If one knows what to look for.” Arlette
picked up a phone from the table that held the binoculars. She
pushed in a number.

“But, to be eligible for the procedure, one
has to be more or less…dead.” Jess backed rapidly toward the
door.

“Darren? I think you’d better get over here,”
said Arlette on the phone. “Oh, good,” she added.

Jess turned the door knob. It seemed
stuck.

Arlette returned the phone to the table and
wheeled around to face Jess. “He’s already here.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t give a fuck about your
assisted suicide. So, I’m not wearing a fucking wire. Okay?”

Jess gave the door handle a mighty jerk and
this time it gave. She stood looking at Darren Rogart. He had a
smile on his face and a cell phone in his hand.

“Your timing couldn’t be better, Jess.” His
smile widened. Then he winked.

Anger gripped Jess. She clamped a lid on it,
then asked through clenched teeth, “Where’s Diana?”

“Let’s talk,” he said softly. He motioned
with his head, “out here.”

Arlette wheeled across the room, an anxious
look on her face. “Darren, where are you going?” she bleated.

He stepped into the room just long enough to
give Arlette a reassuring pat on the arm. “Be right back. I just
have some business with Jess.”

As he drew Jess down the hall after him, his
tight grip on her right arm pinched and made her want to smack him.
He’d never figured out that she was left-handed.

Before she did any smacking or even thought
of using the Glock in her boot, there was something she needed from
him.

“Where’s Diana?” Jess demanded when they were
back in the foyer.

Letting go of her arm, he put a finger to his
lips and steered her toward the front door. “Let’s just go out to
my truck.”

“The fuck you say. I’m not going anywhere
near your truck.” Jess backed way rubbing her arm and weighing a
bunch of unattractive options.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that Mrs. Cruz-Ramos
isn’t all that stable.”

“She thinks you’re Doctor Death,” said Jess.
“Are you?”

Rogart looked around before answering. She
supposed it was to see if Roy was skulking in the shadows. “She’s
delusional,” whispered Rogart, circling his index finger at the
side of his head. “She has the idea I’m going to help her kill
herself, then do her up like Eva Peron.”

“Darren…”

“Of course I wouldn’t do something like that.
I wouldn’t even know how.” He laughed nervously.

Jess’s eyes narrowed. “Where would she even
get the idea that you’d do it? And why would she think that I…”
Jess felt an unfamiliar tremor in her voice.

He opened the front door. “Come outside a
minute.”

Jess poked her head out. It actually looked
like the snow was letting up.

“You don’t really think I’d do something like
that, do you?” His eyes widened as his smile faded.

Jess shrugged. “Peron paid Dr. Ara a hundred
thou for it back in the fifties,” she said. Rogart looked mildly
surprised as Jess added, “But Eva was already dead.”

“Jess, come on!” He put a hand on her
shoulder and looked her straight in the eyes as he continued, “Mrs.
Cruz-Ramos…she wants me to call her Arlette…she’s a fine artist.
But she’s going down hill fast. Why do you think Roy is here?”

“The houseman? They seem like a well-matched
pair.”

“Roy’s not her houseman. He’s her nurse. She
has dementia.”

Maybe, maybe not.
“You’re evading my
first question. Diana met you in Morrison. Where is she?”

He put on an
Oh, that
expression.
“She’s at Joe’s cabin, trying to persuade Trisha to come back with
us and raise her baby.”

Jess tried not to blink. “And what does Joe
have to say about that?”

“Trisha says she hasn’t seen him since she
got there.”

“How did Trisha get into the cabin?”

“What is this, the third degree?” he asked,
the smile stealing back. “He keeps a key for her under a flower
pot.”

How original.
“How’d she get
there?”

“I have no idea. I suppose she has friends,
kids with wheels.”

As they rounded the side of the house, Jess
saw the silver Dodge Ram. “I see you’ve got new wheels,
Darren.”

“It’s Larry Strickland’s,” he said, as if it
were the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t you mean
was
?”

“Penny Strickland sold it to me cheap. That’s
why I felt the obligation to help her find Trisha.”

They paused before the passenger side of the
truck. “You never registered the truck?” Jess thought she saw just
a flicker of something in his eyes.

“Penny didn’t want to report the sale on her
taxes. She never actually signed it over to me.”

Jess backed out from under his hand on her
shoulder. “Tell you what, I’ll follow you in my car.”

He laughed. “You’ll never make it in that
little toy of yours.” He looked up at the roiling sky. “This storm
isn’t over. It’s just getting started.”

Still she held back, knowing half of what he
said was probably lies, but also knowing Diana might be counting on
her.

“You want to see Diana, or what?”

Jess looked him up and down. They were about
the same height. He was probably stronger, but she had the Glock
and could probably get to it before he did her any damage.
Probably.

He held the door open for her. Jess got in
and slammed it after her, keeping her eyes on Rogart as he got in
and started up the truck. The front gates swung open as they
approached, then closed behind them. Rogart headed west into the
mountains. As they left the populated area of Evergreen, he
accelerated. The truck bumped roughly over ruts in the road,
traveling farther into thickening forest coated with flimsy snow.
Rogart’s quiet now unnerved Jess. They’d ridden in silence for
several minutes when she pulled out her cell.

“Who’re you calling?” His tone was calm
enough, but she caught something in it, a minute change in
timbre.

“I thought I’d try Diana again.”

“Won’t do you any good. No reception at the
cabin.”

She opened the phone anyway and pressed. At
the same instant, Rogart accelerated around a wrenching curve,
throwing her toward him. She bent away toward the passenger door,
reaching down for her Glock. He braked suddenly, skidding to a
stop. Over the screech of brakes, she heard a cell phone ring
somewhere in the truck. As she glanced left, Jess saw his hand come
out of his overcoat pocket. Hers was on the Glock when she felt
something sharp pierce her neck.

Chapter 56

It took less than twenty minutes for Diana to
get back to Evergreen. But it had seemed like an hour. She’d been
so sure that Rogart would follow her. Was it possible that she’d
nearly run down an innocent man? Crap. No way. She could imagine
all the other things Jess would be saying about now.

She pulled into the parking lot of a bank and
gathered her thoughts as she glanced at the car clock. Nearing 4:00
p.m. Did Evergreen have a police station? If it did, what would she
tell them?

Rogart’s entire story to explain his
relationship with Trisha Strickland didn’t track. Nevertheless,
she’d bought it. At least, part of her had. But all the
inconsistencies and things that seemed just a bit off paled by the
sight of the silver Dodge Ram. That vehicle had been her nemesis
since it had followed her from the gym in January. She’d assumed it
had been Joe Flannigan driving. And she’d thought his motive was
clear. He was pissed at her for not taking his case and, in his
eyes, causing him to lose his grandchildren.

But with Jess on Colfax, it had been a
different Dodge Ram. Different license plate. Damn! As she’d sped
by the truck that was now connected to Rogart, she hadn’t had the
proper angle to read the license.

The only thing that made sense was a
connection between Rogart and Cutler, the computer guy. But Cutler
was the guy Jess said had raped Lori Rogart. Maybe Rogart didn’t
know. She still couldn’t wrap her brain around the idea of a father
teaming up with his daughter’s rapist. Maybe it was some kind of
internet porno scheme after all. They must be using Trisha. But,
jeez! Why the video in her own bathroom? Jess was right when she
said that they’d be looking for young stuff. Not
thirty-something-year-olds. This line of thinking was going
nowhere. She had to find a phone.

Diana pulled across the street, entered a
restaurant and looked for public phones and restrooms. She’d
thought of using the phone first, but by the time she saw the
Ladies
sign, she realized that she was about to pee her
pants.

When she did use the phone, her first call
was to Jess. Voice mail again. She next entered her own office
number and Tamara’s voice brought her back from the twilight
zone.

“Diana, we’ve been so worried,” gasped
Tamara. “Jess and Dr. Bell have both been looking for you. Where
are you? Are you okay?”