“Son of a bitch,” Maggie swore. “You think it’s possible she arranged all of this herself? She kidnapped herself ?”
“I think Chelsey Webster is one very cool customer.”
Maggie was quiet for a moment. Down the hillside, the Duluth skyline glittered. “She couldn’t have done this alone.”
“You’re right,” Stride agreed. “If it really was her behind all of this, then she had help. Not only in faking the kidnapping, but in killing Jonah Fallon, too. She’s had a partner from the very beginning.”
40
Serena walked into the bar on Grand Avenue.
Aerosmith rocked the jukebox, loud enough that she couldn’t hear anything else. A few customers played pull tabs; someone shouted as they got a lucky card. The closed-up air smelled of beer and cheap perfume. Serena could imagine Nikki Candis here, night after night. Nikki playing darts, clapping for the country band, watching the Super Bowl. Nikki drinking until closing time, trying to drown her pain. Nikki hitching a ride with a man who would take her home and take her to bed.
The dead woman’s presence lingered in the bar like an echo. Delaney had told Serena at the beginning: If my mother was going to haunt anywhere, it would be there. That was her place.
Yes, it was.
Nikki’s credit card records showed dozens of visits to the bar. They all knew her here. They knew what she was like. A blackout drunk. If you were looking for someone to take the fall for an accident that was really a murder, Nikki Candis was the perfect patsy. She wouldn’t remember a thing.
It was a busy night inside. Twenty- and thirtysomethings crowded shoulder to shoulder, talking, laughing, and dancing. Standing by the bar door, Serena felt hunger washing over her like a wave. The desire never went away. Pour me a drink, and keep pouring. Absolut Citron. Two ice cubes. God, it would taste good. Smell good. The glass would be chilled in her hand, and the vodka would be silky on her lips. She could imagine the bliss of that first swallow.
No.
No.
Never again.
Serena made her way to the bar. There was one empty stool, and she took it. When she glanced at the person next to her, she noticed a woman about her own age who had messy, highlighted brown hair. If this were another life, if the woman were wearing skinny red jeans, it could have been Nikki. But then the woman, sensing Serena’s stare, glanced her way. She was a stranger. Nikki was long gone.
“Well, hello again,” said a smooth voice from the other side of the bar.
There he was. Jagger.
Hot, literally hot, with a glow of sweat on his forehead. He made being sexy look so effortless. His eyes were laser beams that drilled inside her, as if she were the only other person in the bar. Serena noticed the woman on the adjacent stool taking jealous note of Jagger’s interest in her. Some men just had instant erotic appeal, particularly for women of a certain age.
Even married women.
Women like Chelsey Webster.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Jagger said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Serena didn’t smile. “That’s what I said, but I came back for you.”
“Lucky me. Do you want a drink?”
“Club soda.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “Good choice. Good for you.”
Serena saw him examining her face with wary concern. She could tell that he saw something that he didn’t like. It was probably the new hardness on Serena’s mouth and in her eyes. The flirtiness, the desire, the vulnerability of the woman who’d crashed off the wagon, was gone.
She was sure he’d already guessed why she was there.
You’re scared, Jagger.
You’re scared because I’m here to take you down.
But the bartender pretended that nothing had changed. Tonight was just like the other two nights. He flipped a pilsner glass in his hand, then went to the fountain and filled the glass with ice and unleashed a spray of club soda. He reached under the bar for a lime wedge and draped it over the edge of the glass with a flourish. Then he slid the club soda across the bar.
Another smile. So suave. So cool.
He was very attractive. She still felt it, but now she was disgusted with how she’d behaved. She’d almost let herself be seduced by a monster.
“We need to talk,” Serena told him over the tumult of the crowd. The heat of the bar made her thirsty, and she drank the club soda in a couple of swallows.
“So talk.”
“Outside.”
“I’m working,” Jagger said.
“Not anymore. You’re done for the night.”
His easy smile couldn’t hide a ripple of fear. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her phone. She saw that she’d missed two calls from Stride, but she didn’t call him back, not yet. She went to her photo stream and opened up the picture she’d taken from her laptop.
She put her phone on the bar for Jagger to see.
It was the photograph she’d found in Nikki’s files. The photograph Delaney had taken in the dark fairyland of the reception, a picture of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace.
It was a photograph of Jagger and Chelsey, kissing like lovers at the wedding of Susan and Jonah Fallon.
Serena leaned close enough to whisper to him. “I know what you did. I know everything.”
He stared at the picture. The smile bled from his face. So did the charm. Steel and ice took over his features, and just like that, he was a dangerous man. He was capable of violence. He was the kind of man who could climb into Nikki’s Toyota Highlander and go hunting for a jogger on the back roads.
Serena used her finger to slide the screen to the next picture, where she’d scanned the staff list Nikki had assembled for the Fallon wedding. These were the people she’d hired to serve at the reception.
She used her long nail to point at the name she’d found on the list. Mick “Jagger” Galloway.
He’d bartended the reception.
Somewhere during the night, he’d also seduced Chelsey Webster, or Chelsey had seduced him. Either way, it was the beginning of an affair that would lead them both to murder.
“Outside,” Serena said again.
Jagger waved at the other bartender and mouthed, “Break.”
He grabbed his leather jacket, and the two of them left the bar together. The cool air outside was a relief, but the echo of the jukebox left an odd ringing in Serena’s ears that refused to go away. In the darkness, she stood next to her Mustang, which was parked at the curb. Casually, Jagger took a few steps down the sidewalk, but he didn’t look ready to run. He still looked unconcerned with everything that was happening. As she watched him, he reached into his back pocket, and Serena tensed, ready to draw her weapon. Instead, his hand emerged with a pack of cigarettes, and he lit one and allowed the smoke to form a cloud around his head.
“So what is it I can do for you?” Jagger asked.
“The best thing you can do is confess,” she told him. “Tell us everything. As soon as we talk to Chelsey, she’ll turn on you in a split second. When we get a little older, we women aren’t so sentimental, even when the sex is great. She’ll throw you under the bus, Jagger. She’ll say it was all your idea. You forced her, or you blackmailed her, to go along with your scheme. The whole sick murder conspiracy, starting with Jonah Fallon. Trust me, she’ll cut a deal and let you take the fall.”