Don’t Talk to Strangers: A Novel (46 page)

“Very interesting theories, Dr. Street. Honestly, I’m totally blown away right now.”

“He must have realized when the bodies were found, because you screwed up and dropped
evidence, that he’d raised a killer,” I said. “He made you promise not to do it again,
didn’t he? And then I came to town, and the rumors and the gossip started, and you
knew it was your chance to grab Skylar and throw him under the bus.”

I thought he might smile. His lips quirked. “Crazy talk.”

“Oh come on, Robbie. Like I could sell this to Ken Meltzer. With all the evidence
pointing at your dad. Ken adores you. Besides, you know I’m not a cop. You want to
frisk me or something? You think I’m wearing a wire? You want to check my phone? Maybe
the FBI has a recording device in it. Maybe a big black helicopter will swoop down.
That would be a fitting end, wouldn’t it? Lot of drama and attention. I’m sorry I
couldn’t arrange it for you. This is for me, for closure.” I took my Glock out of
the holster, held up my arms, my phone in one
hand, my Glock in the other, made a circle. “Go ahead,” I challenged him. “But make
a move for the gun and I will shoot you.”

Robbie didn’t touch me. He watched with something that looked like amusement. His
dry eyes were lit with the new fire and fear and delight of being seen for what he
was, what he truly was. In the end, I knew his ego would win. The thing he believed
in most of all was his ability to con the world. He watched me with his clever predator’s
eyes, sizing me up, judging his risk, my weaknesses.

“Lot of things weren’t adding up,” I said, lowering my arms, returning the Glock to
the holster. “And then one of Melinda’s friends called me. The girls knew you and
Melinda were flirting or whatever you were doing, and they were hiding it, protecting
her, because they knew her parents wouldn’t approve. And when they heard about your
dad, they thought that by continuing to protect Melinda’s secrets, they’d exposed
Melinda to him, through you. They still haven’t put it together. Because you’re the
cute guy with the guitar, right? I realized you were the reason Melinda and Skylar
were pulling away from school activities. Because the adorable little psychopath in
the neighborhood was seducing them.”

“A psychopath,” he said. “Is that what I am?”

“We both know you are.”

“Because I like them when they first get tits?”

“No. Because you can’t feel their pain. Your dad, he’s a thug and a killer too. But
he’s different. He doesn’t crave it. He feels remorse. He could stop.”

“He’s an idiot,” Robbie said. “So easy to get him all torqued up. When he found the
phone on the road he was so mad I’d done it again. Especially with you here. He said
the searches were starting. I told him I wanted to fuck with her like he fucked with
that Tracy girl. I was in the car that day he talked her into getting in, in the front
seat. He told me Tracy was lying down because she got sick. But I knew he hit her.”

“So you got your dad all worked up. You knew he’d go out there to clean up the scene
and make Skylar disappear. You set him up. Just like you set me up. You knew I’d spark
to him with your black eye and
his finger in my face at the park, the clever hint you dropped on Main Street. Well
played.”

“I have to admit it was easier than I thought. I’m learning a lot about human nature.
I’m smarter than you think I am.”

“Maybe,” I said. I started walking back to my car. He followed me. Of course he would:
I was feeding his ravenous ego. “There is one thing I’m curious about, though. I think
I understand, but I want to be sure. These girls liked you. Melinda and Skylar would
have gotten in your car. So why con them with the breakdown? Why risk doing it in
the open?”

“Because not doing it is riskier.” He said it matter-of-factly.

“You want to get control right away. Is that it?”

“Gotta show ’em who’s boss,” he said. “Get them in the car and they get squirmy and
start worrying about their mommies and daddies and where you’re taking them. They
can spook and bail.”

“Ah. You tried it before,” I said. “And screwed it up. Did she report you?”

“Seriously? I’m the cop’s kid. Who’d believe some weepy teenage girl? And I’m a heck
of a nice guy.” He took a deep, exaggerated breath and blew it out. “You think we
could talk sometimes? I like talking to you.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” I said, and opened my car door.

He looked down at me with those innocent blue eyes. “She looked so pretty in your
mascara, Keye. I thought you’d want to know.”

I took a last look at him as I pulled away, skinny and sweet and battered and not
at all like the monster he really was. I switched off the voice memo app on my phone,
hit
PLAY
, and listened. I heard my voice and Robbie’s. I praised the smartphone gods, touched
the
SHARE
button, and emailed the entire conversation to the Hitchiti County Sheriff’s Department.

Epilogue

I drove the way I’d fantasized over breakfast. I drove like I’d stolen the car, top
down, hair flying behind me. I drove toward the thing that always grounds me, sets
the world right after it’s tipped up on its end, connects me again, mends what’s broken
and numb. I drove toward the marsh and sand and gnarled live oaks until the scent
of Jekyll’s briny, seductive coast rose up over the hood of my Impala, musky and voluptuous
and ripe. A Low Country girl had raised me. My mother had fished and played and come
of age on the banks of the Albemarle Sound, and she wove gorgeous, vivid, harrowing,
romantic tales about the geography that had shaped her. And in doing so it had shaped
her children. Jimmy and I both are terrified of the sea while being irresistibly pulled
to it.

I saw my phone lighting up on the seat next to me as I crossed the causeway bridge.
First Rauser’s ringtone sang out, then Meltzer’s. No designated ringtone for the sheriff.
Not yet. I didn’t answer for either of them. I needed to think. I needed bare feet
on the hard-packed sand. I needed salt air. And miles between us. Just for a minute,
an hour, a day. I needed to be alone. I needed to make decisions.

When I heard the default ring a second time, I reached to silence the ringer. I had
expected to see the sheriff’s name again, but I saw a
954 area code instead. I thought about Robbie talking about learning human nature.
Curiosity got me.

“Keye Street,” I answered.

“My name is Ching Lan Lin,” she said. Her voice was smooth, unaccented. “Do you recognize
my name? I’m your mother.”

Acknowledgments

One of the many things I didn’t realize when I began the Keye Street series is what
a collaborative process book writing is and that it takes an army of people to help
a writer get it right. I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded by exceptionally smart
and generous professionals.

Huge thanks to my amazingly dedicated team at Random House who believed in a new voice
and nurtured this series. I have tons of starry-eyed adoration for you all.

Thank you Special Agent Dawn Diedrich from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and
Dr. Jamie Downs, Coastal Regional Medical Examiner, Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

Thanks to the gang at Victoria Sanders & Associates, to Chandler Crawford and Angela
Cheng Caplan for everything you do. And a special thanks to Victoria Sanders, who
made this possible.

Benee Knauer, friend, best research assistant ever, straight shooter, what would I
do without you talking me down a couple of times a year? Thank you.

And to Ken Meltzer, animal lover and high-bidder in the character name giveaway to
benefit homeless animals and the Lifeline Animal Project, who graciously agreed to
let me have my way with his name and reputation. Ken, I hope your wife approves.

About the Author

Amanda Kyle Williams worked with a PI firm in Atlanta, was a process server, a freelance
writer for
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
, and owned a small business. She is active in the humane community and one of the
founding directors at LifeLine Animal Project, a nonprofit, no-kill animal welfare
organization based in Atlanta, Georgia.

Williams is the author of
The Stranger You Seek
, her Townsend Prize for Fiction and Shamus Award–nominated suspense debut, and
Stranger in the Room
. Williams is currently hard at work on the next Keye Street novel.