and being a bachelor wasn’t all that bad. She seemed to feel the same; at least for the time being she wasn’t making noises about moving in together or getting married. But then, she, too, had taken her turn in the divorce department.
Jockeying through traffic, Hayes turned his thoughts to Bentz again and decided the guy deserved some kind of break. Hayes would meet with him and see what Bentz wanted. Even if he already knew he wasn’t going to like it.
To say Bentz’s new accommodations were less than five-star would be a vast understatement. Room 16, overlooking the sun-cracked asphalt with its faded parking stripes, would be hard pressed to earn two stars, but Bentz didn’t care. The two double beds had matching, if washed-out, paisley spreads and faux oak headboards screwed into the wall. There was a sad desk and bureau from which a TV straight out of the eighties eyeballed him. The attached bath was tiny, with barely enough room for him to turn around. The towels were thin, but it all looked clean enough. Probably not up to Olivia’s standards, but good enough for Bentz.
He was unzipping his bag when the phone rang and the number of Olivia’s cell flashed on the display.
“Hey,” he answered. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“Were you?” She sounded lighthearted, and for that he was relieved. In the past few days she’d tried to be supportive, even joke with him. Most of her attempts had fallen flat and he knew she was concerned, even troubled, about the trip. Twice he’d offered to cancel and both times she had insisted he follow through. “You just do what you have to do, and when it’s over come back home, okay?” Olivia was not the kind of woman who would sit around and wait for a man. This time, though, she was attempting to do just that, though it went against all her natural instincts. He appreciated her sacrifice and had promised her he’d wrap things up and return as soon as he could.
“You’d better be working ’round the clock,” she said sternly.
“I’ve only been here a few hours.”
“And it’s seemed like an eternity,” she whispered. For a moment he almost bought into her act, but she blew it by chuckling. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help that.”
He swallowed a smile. At least she was joking, kidding around with him. “Okay, fair enough. You got me.”
“So what do you know?”
“Nothing yet.” They talked a few minutes and she told him she’d had dinner with Lydia Kane, a friend she’d met while in grad school. He gave her the name and number of his motel and promised to call her the next day.
“Be careful,” she said. “To be honest, I don’t know what to wish for. That you find Jennifer is dead and that someone is just playing a sick game with you…or that she’s really alive.”
“Either way will be messy.”
“I know. I mean it, Rick. Don’t take too many chances. We need you.”
“We?”
She hesitated just a second. “Yeah, all of us. Kristi and me, well, and Hairy S and Chia, too.”
“I’ll be home soon,” he promised, but they both knew he was just placating her. He had no idea when he’d return to New Orleans.
“Just let me know how many wild geese you catch.”
“Funny girl.”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“Most of the time. I’ll call you.”
He hung up and considered taking the next plane east. Why not? She was right. He was still chasing a ghost and he was either being set up or losing his mind.
He bet on the first.
And knew he was going to ride it out.
He had to.
CHAPTER 7
For Bentz, dinner consisted of the prepackaged cheese and crackers and diet Coke he found in the vending machine in the breezeway leading to the pool area.
He bit off the cellophane as he walked back to his room, then went to work. He’d already made lists of the people Jennifer had been closest to. He would start trying to track them down while munching on the oily crackers and processed cheddar.
He figured some of Jennifer’s nearest and dearest might still be in the area, so he could set up meetings. That was, if anyone was willing to talk with him. No doubt he’d be considered persona non grata with most of them. As for the acquaintances who had moved, he’d have to hunt for them and make an attempt to contact them by phone.
And what will you say to them? That you think you’ve seen Jennifer even though you buried her twelve years ago?
He didn’t have an answer for that one, he thought. He set up his laptop with its Internet card on the scarred Formica desk, cracked the blinds so that he could view the parking lot, and settled into the straight-backed chair.
Dredging a cracker through one of the tiny plastic troughs of cheese, he noticed a blue Pontiac from the late sixties pull into one of the parking slots. The guy behind the wheel, wearing a plaid driver’s cap and a goatee, grabbed a couple of bags from the front seat and climbed out. Immediately a tiny spotted dog that looked like it had a little bit of Jack Russell terrier in it hopped onto the pavement and danced at its owner’s feet. With surprising agility, the man locked the car with his key, then, whistling and calling to “Spike,” hauled his two plastic bags and a small briefcase into the room adjoining Bentz’s.
Once the door closed Bentz turned his attention back to the laptop and the issue at hand—Jennifer’s acquaintances. He’d have to play it by ear with them. He didn’t plan to tell any of Jennifer’s friends that he’d thought he’d seen her, not unless they volunteered some sort of information about fake “hauntings” first.
But getting them to open up would be a trick.
Anyone who knew anything about Jennifer’s death would have maintained silence for twelve years, keeping the truth not just from him but from his daughter and the police. Bentz, ex-cop and ex-husband, would be hard-pressed to pry anything from those who had known her.
He’d already put together a short list of friends pared down from all her known acquaintances. These women had been the closest to Jennifer. They would most understand her, most likely to have been her confidantes.
Shana Wynn, whose last married name he knew of was McIntyre, had been one of Jennifer’s best friends and, as Bentz recalled, a real bitch. Beautiful. Smart. Out for number one. She and Jennifer had been college roommates and they’d had a lot in common. If anyone knew that Jennifer had faked her own death, it would be Shana.
Tally White also made the “must interview” list. Tally’s daughter Melody had been a friend of Kristi’s in elementary school. Jennifer and Tally had gotten close. Real close. Both women had been divorced.
Fortuna Esperanzo had become a friend of Jennifer’s when they’d both worked briefly at an art gallery in Venice.
Then there was Lorraine Newell, Jennifer’s stepsister, who hadn’t liked Bentz from the get-go. A dark-haired prima
