Forgotten Girls, The (11 page)

Jay nervously threw back his
second beer as he watched Ridley walk toward the bathroom. If someone had told
him he would be sitting at Ed’s Grill, sharing a beer with Ridley Westin, he
would have thought they were crazy. On one level, to say he was shocked was an
understatement—never did he expect to open his door and see Ridley there.
Strangely, though, on some deeper level, he wasn’t surprised. It was almost as
if he knew this moment would come one day. He just had no idea when.

Ed’s Grill was raucous and loud
and around the corner, so that’s where they had headed. He did not want his
wife to come home and see Ridley. He told her he would be home later. Much
later. They had walked to the pub in silence and drank their first beer in
silence, too.

When Jay first heard of the Freed murder
Ridley flashed through his mind. Seeing him now, though, he felt only pity. Jay
didn’t believe he killed this woman and, if he were honest with himself, he had
a hard time believing he killed Margaret either. Ridley was high-strung, cagey,
tentative, and withdrawn, but Jay’s gut told him he had not turned into a
killer.

Living next door to him and his
family for so many years gave Jay a perspective few others had. He knew the
Westins personally—well, he knew Mrs. Westin. Mr. Westin was never around. He
had witnessed up close her glee in emotionally torturing her son and anyone who
came to his aid. Jay would never forget the day he got locked out of his home
and knocked on Ridley’s door. Mrs. Westin answered, grabbed him by the collar,
forced him inside, and read him the riot act. She told him about a man in the
neighborhood looking for young boys to capture and kill. She warned him if he
ever got locked out again he would be killed. She called Ridley down and, in
front of Jay, started yelling at him about how he could be friends with such a
“stupid boy.” Ridley was mortified, Jay could tell, and Jay was scared. They
were only ten.

Another time, while on a play date
with Ridley down in the basement, his mother came downstairs unannounced, hid
behind a column, and spied on them. When they noticed, she jumped out and, in a
fit of rage, took Ridley by the ear and threw him against the wall, screaming
he ruined her surprise. After a few more incidents like these Jay finally told
his own mother, who forbid him to ever go into the Westin home again.

To the outside world, however, she
was all that the women in town aspired to be. A sought-after bridge player, a
valued doubles tennis partner, a revered hostess, a wife of a doctor, and a
member of the exclusive Greenvale Yacht Club. Most importantly, she was rich
and well connected.

Jay used to feel worried leaving
Ridley alone in that mansion, and when the kids at school befriended him but refused
to include Ridley, he felt even worse. Jay had gone along with it all, and a gnawing
sense of guilt had always plagued him. He never shook the feeling he had abandoned
Ridley, his childhood partner in crime.

Then Margaret was killed in the
Westins’ home.

Margaret Rapper, known in
Greenvale not only as an eccentric drunk, but abusive and nasty to anyone who
didn’t see things her way. She got away with it for years because she was rich,
and being rich in Greenvale meant you always had a friend by your side. Adrianna
Westin was that friend, roundly known as her sidekick. Jay vividly remembered
his mom saying how sorry she felt for Ridley having not only his own mother to
deal with, but that clown of a friend Margaret who was over all the time too.
They would see Margaret’s burgundy Bentley parked in front of the Westin home
for days on end.

So when Margaret was found dead and
Ridley’s mother pointed a finger at her son, many in town were shocked, including
Jay. He may not have been friends with Ridley anymore, but he knew him well
enough to know he was scared of his own shadow, riddled with anxiety and fear.
Not a rageaholic like Westin Sr. Not the sort to murder.

Ridley returned from the bathroom
and sat back down across from Jay. He took a swig from his second beer, looked Jay
in the eye, and finally began to speak.

“Look, man, I really appreciate
your hearing me out. I know what you probably think and I just, I just, I
didn’t know where else to go.”

Ridley poured out his heart, what
was left of it anyway.

“I don’t know, man, it’s messed
up. This Freed woman came to see me last week, ya know? She came to my house.
Told me she heard I was supplying JJ, this kid at the high school who’s dealing.
I don’t know how she knew. She was pissed. Warned me to stop, told me if I didn’t
she was going to report me to the police.” Ridley cracked each knuckle on each
of his scrawny hands and shifted back and forth in his seat.

“I denied it,” he continued. “I
told her to get the hell out of my house. I admit it. But man, I didn’t kill the
broad. I never set eyes on her again. I swear. You gotta believe me.” His voice
cracked as he wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. He looked desperate.

“And she just left when you asked
her to?” Jay sounded skeptical.

“Not at first. She started out
quietly, ya know, saying all sorts of things like, she didn’t care about my
past, she wasn’t interested in getting me in trouble, on and on, ya know? Like
trying to soften me up, ya know? It got hot only when Ma came down. That’s when
the heat got turned up real high.”

At the mention of his mother Jay
straightened his back.

“Your mother was there?”

“Yeah, Ma came down and wanted to
know why she was there. The woman got testy and Ma did too. She told Ma I was
supplying a dealer at the high school, that her daughter was in danger from the
stuff she was taking, that two girls in town died because of it, on and on. I
denied it and Ma backed me up. The woman became real upset Jay. So did Ma. The
two of ’em fought like I wasn’t even in the room.”

Jay sat quietly and listened.

“I’m gonna have heat all over me
now,” he continued. “All over the fucking place people are gonna be talking
smack, how she visited me, accused me of dealing. It’s gonna get out. Just
watch. I ain’t going back to jail again for something I didn’t do. I ain’t
taking the rap again for something I ain’t done.”

Jay peered at Ridley with a look
of deadly seriousness.

“What do you mean by that,
Ridley?” Jay asked quietly.

Ridley didn’t answer the question.

“All I am saying is I can’t go
back there. I can’t do it. I need help…”

Jay decided now was not the time to
pry into history.

“Who do you think tipped her off?”
Jay asked.

“I’ve been thinking about it,”
Ridley answered. “JJ swore to me up and down it wasn’t him. I had it out with
him after she left. But there’s this guy. We call him Mugger B.”

“Mugger B?” Jay asked.

“Yeah, man, Mugger B. He’s got a
girlfriend been causing all sorts of trouble lately. Mugger supplied JJ when I
was in the can. I came out and had a line to some stuff for almost half of what
Mugger was charging. JJ switched over to me, fair and square, simple economics.
Mugger’s girl was pissed. So was Mugger. They wanted me out of the picture.” He
paused, took a deep breath, then went on.

“Maybe they heard this lady was
asking around, maybe they saw it as their chance to pit us against each other
and, ya know, get me out of the picture.”

“So you think they told her about
you, knowing she would confront you, then murdered her so you could take the
rap?” Jay said doubtfully.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know
how else she would have found out, who would’ve sent her my way. I mean, her
kid goes to the high school and was buying a bag off JJ every month. Keeping
him toasty. She’s looking to shut it down and finds her way to my house?” Before
Jay could answer Ridley jumped in.

“And who the hell killed her, man?
And why? Maybe now they’re coming after me!”

Ridley looked genuinely scared as he
downed the rest of his beer. This wasn’t Jay’s forte, and he genuinely did not
know what to say or think. Given Ridley’s background and his fight with this
woman, it certainly didn’t look good for him. He could understand why he
wouldn’t want to throw his fate on the mercy of the police. But Jay was at a
loss. He had no idea what to advise Ridley or how to help him.

He did know one thing though. He
wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try.

“Do you know how to get in touch
with Mugger B?” Jay asked, regretting the question the second it popped out of
his mouth.

Ridley nodded.

“OK. We’re gonna set up a meeting.
If at any time I want to bail, I bail. When I’m done, I’m done. You got that?”

Ridley nodded eagerly. He looked
desperately relieved.

“Thank you, Jay. Thanks so much,
man.” He reached his hand across the table to shake Jay’s but met it in an awkward
clasp. Jay reached for his beer can for a last swig only to realize it was
empty.

“OK then,” Jay said, setting it
back down on the table. “Let’s go find Mugger.”

Greenvale’s historic cobblestone
sidewalks glistened under the radiant Saturday afternoon sun as Bella pulled
into town and slid her old, dented black Porsche 914 into a spot in front of a
place called Spa and Spin. Directly across the street sat the tiny organic café
where Erika said they would be. Bella felt like an intruder in a Norman
Rockwell painting as she crossed the street and walked toward the bright pink
awning where the name Pip’s Cakery was elegantly scrawled next to a black and
white drawing of Eloise at the Plaza. This was their Friday morning routine, Bella
noted, and they had chosen not to break it.

The row of black Range Rovers lined
up neatly, three in a row. Sure enough, just as Erika had predicted, the fab
three sat at a small table by the window sipping smoothies, leaning in toward
one another as though sharing some steamy, enthralling secret. Through the
window she could see Jenna laughing.

Bella had spent the early morning hours
looking through the dead girls’ files and the forensic report on Joslyn, which
had come in overnight. The charred clothes recovered in the Dumpster yielded
little except for a swath of fabric identified as black cashmere. According to
everyone with whom Bella had spoken so far, Joslyn wore ivory silk, with no
sweater or jacket. The black cashmere must have been worn by the killer, Bella
guessed. It must have been covered in blood.

Bella dressed the part for what
she imagined would be appropriate for a June weekday in Greenvale: white jeans,
white ribbed tank, a faded jean jacket, and open-toe metallic heeled sandals.
She wore a long turquoise necklace she found at the bottom of her jewelry box,
which wasn’t so much a jewelry box as it was a shoebox filled with old, unworn,
and forgotten items. A thin black rope choker around her neck, mascara, and light
pink blush finished the look.

The one outlandishly expensive
item she owned—a hunter green Proenza Schouler bag, a thirty-fifth birthday
present from Ryan—hung over her shoulders. He had given it to her as they sailed
around the Hudson on a spectacular clear, warm summet evening, a surprise he had
taken painstaking steps to keep secret. Gliding over the Hudson with him, the
lights of New York City sparkling around them, had been magical enough—the bag had
meant little to her in comparison.

Yet Ryan had wanted her to have the
kind of gift he knew she would never buy for herself; and, though she normally didn’t
do flash, today flash was just what she needed. She hid her badge and gun
inside, next to her cell, and looked more like a pretty Greenvale resident than
a sex crimes detective from the Bronx. Exactly the look she had aimed for.

A bell chimed when she walked
through the door and three curious heads lifted at once, and stared. Jenna was
the first to crack a forced smile, but the other two did not seem to recognize
her.

“Good morning,” Bella exclaimed cheerily
as she walked over to their table. “Just the girls I wanted to see. May I join
you?”

The question was rhetorical—before
they could answer she pulled up a chair to their small, round, Mediterranean-tiled
table and sat down.

“How’s it going?” Bella asked,
smiling. “You must be Kim,” she said, extending her hand.

“Hi?” Kim replied, suspiciously
and snootily. “Do I know you?”

 Jenna smiled, but her eyes did not.
She was pretending not to care, but Bella could tell she was not happy to see
her.

“I’m Detective de Franco. Please
call me Bella though,” she said chattily. “I am investigating the murder of your
friend Joslyn Freed. I am so sorry for your loss. I stopped by your home
yesterday but you weren’t there—this morning too. I left my number with your
maid.”

Kim had ginger red hair, an
angular face, and small, unblinking blue eyes that peered at Bella
suspiciously. She seemed rattled.

“Dede told me you stopped by,” she
replied, fidgeting with her straw. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. It’s been
crazy…” Her voice trailed and her eyes looked downward.

“How are you holding up?” Bella
asked with fake concern, getting the same phony vibe she got from the other
two. Bella deliberately dropped her bag on the table so they all could get a
look.

Stephanie, who had been staring at
her, now shifted her eyes to the bag.

“Is that a Proenza?” Stephanie
asked before Kim could answer. “Oh my god, that’s such a good knockoff,” she
chirped as she sipped her smoothie.

“Knockoff?” Bella cocked her head
and smiled. “No knockoff. It’s the real deal.” Bella feigned hurt and Stephanie
looked embarrassed.

“I have that color, but green is really
more winter, I think,” Jenna joined in disparagingly.

“Hmm. I was told military green is
year round,” Bella said.

“Whatever,” Jenna replied casually
in a high-pitched tone. “Just saying.”

Jenna certainly wasn’t trying to
ingratiate herself like yesterday; but then again, Mack wasn’t around.

The server came over and Bella
ordered a chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream and a chocolate croissant.
The three women looked at her like she was crazy.

“Do you have kids?” Kim asked,
checking her out.

Bella took this out-of-the-blue
inquiry in stride.

“No, I do not have children,”
Bella replied, smiling. Here we go again, she thought.

“Aww…too bad.” Kim looked
crestfallen for her.

“She’s a detective, Kim. Do you
know what her life is like?” Stephanie admonished subtly.

“So? Last time I checked there was
no law against detectives having kids.”

Kim shot Stephanie a fake smile,
and Stephanie returned the favor with one of her own.

“Hey, it’s OK, really,” Bella
intervened. “My life’s not set up for children. Kids would be way too much work
from what I hear.”

The three of them looked at one another
and Jenna spoke:

“That’s what full-time help is for.”
She laughed. Kim and Stephanie joined her.

“Ahhhh, yes, if you can afford it,”
Bella said carefully. “Not everyone can.”

She pictured all the young, single
mothers she knew who worked all day, used day care, and came home at night only
to bathe, feed, and care for their children, by themselves.

“Well, I would have been dead if
it weren’t for Chandra,” Jenna dismissively observed.

“Oh my god. There’s no way,” Stephanie
laughed.

They seemed very pleased with
themselves for needing and using full-time help, and the three of them shared a
laugh as though only they could understand the unique difficulty of raising
one’s child on one’s own. Not that any of them had ever done so. Time to end
the giggle fest.

“So Jos’s funeral is tomorrow?” Bella
remarked to the table in general, changing the subject to one more appropriate
for the occasion.

They quieted down, nodded, and,
for a moment, seemed like they might be ready to talk seriously, finally. When Jenna
spoke, however, it was only to ask Stephanie what she planned to wear.

“The black Chanel suit I got from
Patricia Reynolds with my Miu Mius,” she replied without missing a beat. “You?”

“My black Prada jumpsuit,” Jenna
answered.

The girls looked surprised.

“A jumpsuit?” Kim asked.

“Yes, it’s Prada and it’s black
and it’s silk, and I really don’t have anywhere else to wear it, so rather than
have it sit in my closet, I figured why not?” Jenna answered defensively.

“With what shoes?” Kim piped up,
clearly engaged.

“Either my red Louboutins or my
blue Manolos, depends on whether we go back to Jamie’s afterwards. Haven’t
heard the plans. Have you?” Jenna asked the two of them.

“He told me last night to come
over afterwards. I mean, us all to…” Stephanie faltered, then spit out, “Come
over afterwards.”

Jenna jerked her head back a
little and Stephanie looked stricken, as though she had said something wrong.
Bella caught it.

“So you spoke with Mr. Freed last
night, Stephanie? How is he holding up?” Bella asked sweetly.

“He, he called the house…to speak
to Jack, but Jack was at the gym.”

Just then the bell chimed and
Erika walked in, looking like she was about to sit down for a root canal. She glanced
their way and ambled over to the table. The women said hello casually and blew
kisses, except Jenna, who looked out the window.

No one offered to make room for
her at the cramped table or to get her a chair, so Bella stood up and, in an
overdramatic display of kindness and manners, gave Erika her chair and insisted
she sit. Erika did so as Bella went to find another seat and, a few seconds
later, came back with a small iron chair in her arms. She squeezed it between
Stephanie and Kim, making the small table just a bit tighter. None of the women
looked happy. Erika was stoic, Stephanie and Kim were cramped, and Jenna’s
artificial smile remained plastered on her face.

“Well, now that Erika’s here, I
can begin more formally,” Bella started with a smile. The women looked at one
another, realizing this meeting had not been accidental after all.