No mention of the art class could be found, but there was a framed, hand-painted picture on the wall that had Cindy’s signature at the bottom. The image was a bowl of fruit. Avery turned the picture over. On the back was a stamp: Art for Life, their address, and the logo of a hand depicted as a paint palette. Avery put everything back the way she found it, headed outside, and hopped in her car.
MIT was called ahead to ensure they would allow her into Tabitha’s room. The dean’s assistant said he would take care of everything.
As soon as she hung up, Avery’s phone rang.
“It’s Jones,” came a Jamaican voice.
“Tell me something,” Avery said.
“Nothing out here, man. The cabin is empty.”
“What the hell have you been doing all day?”
“Research, man,” Jones complained, “investigating. Took a while to get up here. Had to get the keys, right? Then Thompson wanted to drive and he has absolutely no sense of direction. GPS got us all screwy. But,” he admitted with another swig of his beer, “we got here and turned the place over. Nothing. You sure the kid stayed here?”
“You wasted a whole day,” Avery said.
“You’re not listening, Black! We been working hard.”
“Two girls are dead,” Avery said. “Or maybe you forgot that? We’ve got a serial killer on the loose and you’re jerking around in a lakeside cabin. Get back on Cambridge surveillance. And this time,” she snapped, “I want a detailed report on my desk by tomorrow afternoon. I want to know exactly how you spent every hour. You hear me?”
“Aw, come on! Black. I’m begging you,” Jones cried. “That job is crazy. Ain’t no way to track a car for miles and miles like that. It’s impossible. I need like, ten other people.”
“Take Thompson.”
“Thompson?” Jones laughed. “He’s worse than Finley.”
“Remember,” Avery emphasized. “A detailed report on my desk tomorrow afternoon. Make sure Thompson understands. Screw this up and I call Connelly.”
She hung up.
How am I supposed to do anything in Homicide if half my team won’t even respect my authority? she fumed.
By the time she reached her next destination, the sky was dark.
Tabitha had lived in the heart of the MIT, just off Vassar Street. Her roommate answered the door; she was a small, mousy girl with long black hair, glasses, and a face covered in pimples. The room was large: a main living area, open kitchen, and two bedrooms.
“Hi,” the girl said, “you must be Avery.”
“Yeah, thanks for letting me in.”
“That’s her room, there,” she pointed.
The girl appeared dour and miserable.
“Were you two friends?” Avery wondered.
“Not really,” she said and walked away. “Tabitha was popular.”
Tabitha’s room was extremely cluttered.
The filing cabinet was more of a place to cram loose papers. A quick search uncovered everything from receipts to a resume and a smelly sandwich wrapper. The most revealing item was the number of pictures that lined the walls, all seemingly done by Tabitha herself: farm scenes, the MIT skyline, a bowl of fruit.
Avery looked at the back of one of the framed paintings.
A stamp read: Art for Life.
CHAPTER TENTY
Molly Green was having a rough night. She puffed a lock of blond hair out of her face, wiped her brow, and pretended to roll up her sleeves.
“Luke and Gidget!” she cried. “I’ve had just about enough of this!”
The house where she worked as a part-time nanny appeared large and empty. She stood in the oversized living room on the first floor and searched behind couches. Face against the sliding glass doors that led to the back porch, she cupped her eyes from the interior light and thought: They better not be out there.
No one was in the kitchen, closets, or downstairs bathroom.
A small side guest room was equally vacant.
“I’m serious,” she called, “it’s way past your bedtime.”
She stomped up the stairs in high heels, a black leather skirt, and the skimpy tank top she planned to wear to the party later that night.
“You better be in bed!”
Sure enough, both Luke and Gidget were hidden under the covers and giggling like mad because they’d once again outsmarted her.
The kids shared the single room and each had their own bed. A stark contrast could be seen between Gidget’s side of the room and Luke’s. Hers had actually been painted pink; it was neat and orderly, with toys in their proper place and clothes in their drawers. Luke’s side of the room was painted dark blue. All of his toys were on the floor, clothing thrown everywhere, and the walls were smudged with dirt and markers.
“Now I see how it is,” Molly said. “Make me run all over the house and then pretend you were asleep all this time. Nice try.”
The covers were thrown off and both of them vied for her attention.
“Read me a book, Molly.”
“Don’t turn off the hall light,” Luke said.
“Your parents will kill me if they find you up when they get back. You have to go to bed. No more books. I’ll leave the hall light on. You hear me? I find either of you roaming the halls again or trying to scare me downstairs, I become a squealer. And you know what that means.”
“No, no,” Gidget cried.
“Don’t tell Dad,” Luke pleaded.
“All right then. Bedtime. Good night.”
Once again, she shut the door, leaving it open about a quarter of an inch so they could see the hall light.
Back downstairs she thought: Ugh…Kids.
A quick look in the living room mirror confirmed that she still looked amazing– green eye shadow in place, lashes long, lipstick perfect, blue eyes sparkling.
You look hot, she thought with a squeal.
About twenty minutes later, as Molly was watching a taped edition of The John Oliver Show, Mr. and Ms. Hachette silently opened the front door.
Pleasantries were given all around.
Molly updated them on her night. “Dinner was great. Books were read. I gave them both baths. We ran around for a while and they went to bed. Nothing special.”
As always, the Hachettes asked if she wanted to say any longer, eat something, or just crash in the guest room. Molly declined.
All she could think about was the party, a huge Brandeis bash given by one of the biggest fraternities on campus. Three boys that she’d been seeing would all be there, but none of them were actually considered boyfriend material. Tonight, she was hoping to find someone new.
She grabbed her bag and skipped out the door.
Let the games begin, she thought, smiling.
He had been waiting outside for a while, hidden in the shadows of his minivan interior. For the last hour, he’d been there, watching and preparing for the right moment. He’d silently watched as Molly had searched the house for the kids and found them in bed. He’d seen the Hachettes enter the house.
He was parked on a very quiet street in a tree-lined neighborhood just northeast of Brandeis University, only a few minutes’ drive to the college and about a twenty-minute walk. Molly, he knew, would choose to walk. She would hop down the stairs, make a left onto Cabot Street, and then a right onto Andrea Road. After that, she usually altered her route based on where she needed to be on campus.
As he suspected, Molly skipped down the house steps and turned left.
He silently exited his minivan and moved to the back, where he pretended to be unloading something from the trunk space. He loudly shut the trunk, sighed, and stepped onto the street. Molly was headed directly toward him. He took off his cap and looked up.