The Girl in the Woods (22 page)

At the bottom written also in Jennifer’s minuscule handwriting:

The card had been addressed to Ted, but its tone didn’t feel right to Birdy. It seemed like it was written to someone else. She double-checked the date. It had been sent
after
the first pregnancy note. Something was wrong, out of sequence. She looked closer. The envelope was not the same as the first one that held the other prickly pear card. She placed it on top of the first card. The new one was slightly larger. Normally, she knew, greeting cards came with matching envelopes.

The next letter was addressed to Ted, three weeks after the pregnancy note.

The next letter was addressed to a Rodney Roderick in Denver. It had been postmarked Scottsdale, but had been returned to sender: Jennifer Drysdale.

Birdy sat there, thinking of the letters and what they meant—and almost as importantly
—why
had they been left on her doorstep and by whom? It seemed obvious that Jennifer was on a mission. She was looking to find a husband—and she was doing whatever it took to do so. She’d played the pregnancy card. The religion card. The I’m-so-beautiful-it-hurts card. She had more cards to play than a Vegas dealer.

Desperate and on a mission.

Whoever had left them there wanted to make sure that Birdy Waterman and Kendall Stark held no doubts about Jennifer Roberts.

She wondered if it was the same person who had called 911 insisting that Ted Roberts’s death was a murder.

It had to be. But who?

Above her desk was a picture of Darby Moreau. When her eyes landed on it, Birdy put Jennifer and Ted Roberts out of her mind.

B
renda Nevins was everything the media had portrayed her to be. She’d done her hair and makeup for the interview with Kitsap County sheriff’s detective Kendall Stark like she was going to be chatting with Ryan Seacrest. Kendall couldn’t take her eyes off her. Not only was Brenda stunning, she acted as though Kendall was there to court her when the women sat down in a small interview room at the Washington Corrections Center for Women near Gig Harbor.

“I hope you’ll give me a good report,” she said.

“What report would that be?” Kendall asked.

“People will ask about how I look. They seem obsessed with my appearance. I finished first in that online poll about the sexiest woman behind bars. And I was against Lindsay Lohan at the time.”

“Well, Lindsay has had some major bumps in the road,” Kendall said.

“This hasn’t been a bed of roses either,” Brenda said. “Sure I have my admirers inside and out of here and I do what I can to keep myself ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“The day I’m free. You see, I know it will come. Sooner or later.”

“What makes you so certain about that?”

“I’m innocent,” Brenda said. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Kendall let that one sit there. It was like a UFO had landed. There was no way to even comprehend the audacity of Brenda Nevins.

Jennifer Roberts was looking like a Girl Scout.

“I’m here about Tess Moreau’s daughter, Darby,” Kendall said, keeping her gaze locked on Brenda’s eyes.

Brenda’s eyes didn’t blink. “I read the papers and I watch TV. Mostly TV. I expected someone would try to blame me for that too.”

“So you’re not surprised?”

She shook her head and unbuttoned her third button.

“Hot in here,” she said.

“Why aren’t you surprised?” Kendall repeated.

“Because bad things happen to bad people.”

It was snark bait, but it was too good to pass up. “So, you must be a bad person, Brenda.”

“I’ve noticed that your eyes are on my breasts,” Brenda said.

Kendall ignored the remark. This woman probably was mentally ill. A killer, for sure. A self-delusional narcissist that thought everyone lived to wallow in the splendor of her charms.

“Let’s focus on why I’m here.”

“Those were idle threats,” she said. “If you’re talking about what happened between me and Tess Moreau and that other guard, what’s-her-name.”

“Missy Carlyle,” Kendall said.

Brenda smiled. Her veneers needed a little rework.
Too bad
, Kendall thought. Oral repair work was one of the benefits the state didn’t offer inmates. They’d pull teeth, provide dentures, but no one got one bit of cosmetic dentistry. That perfect smile wouldn’t be perfect forever.

“Yes, Missy Carlyle,” Brenda said. “Fun, that one.”

“You didn’t think it was so fun at the time. In fact, you swore you’d get even.”

“I guess I did. So what? I’m here in prison and the kid’s dead out there somewhere. I had nothing to do with that. Maybe you should ask Missy Carlyle.”

“We intend to,” Kendall said. “I want to show you something.”

“That sounds vaguely dirty, detective. I’m all yours.”

Kendall retrieved the note that Tess Moreau had provided Birdy. She put it on the table and turned it so that Brenda could read.

And she watched her every move.

Brenda looked down at the note.

“How original,” she said, her tone annoyed and deadpan at the same time.

“Did you send this?” Kendall asked.

“No,” Brenda said. “I didn’t. I don’t even know where Tess the Mess lives.”

Kendall tried to disarm Brenda by playing up to her. “I bet you could get someone to do anything for you.”

Brenda rotated her shoulders a little. “You have no idea.”

Kendall didn’t take the bait. She had a pretty good idea what Brenda was getting at. If she was going to have lunch later she didn’t want the visual to impede the enjoyment of her meal. The idea of Brenda and Missy on the dog-grooming table had already been seared into her imagination. That was enough.

“Have you ever asked anyone to do your bidding? You know, Brenda, would you have ever thought to maybe manipulate someone into doing something for you on the outside?”

Brenda smiled. “Of course I have. I have more money in my canteen account than I had in my bank account when they arrested me.”

“Right,” Kendall said. “I suppose people just give it to you.”

“No one just gives you anything, detective.”

“Right. You have to ask for it.”

Brenda fidgeted with the fourth button on her blouse.

Oh God, please stop,
Kendall thought.

Brenda moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You don’t know much about how to get what you want, detective. You don’t ask for anything. If you ask for something, that implies that the person you’re asking can say yes or no. With me that’s not an option. I don’t like leaving things to chance.”

Brenda liked to brag and Kendall sent her in that direction.

“So what do you do?” she asked.

Brenda grinned. “Easy. I tell them to do it.”

“Or what? Or else?”

“If I have to,” Brenda said.

“Is that what you did to Missy Carlyle? After all, if she hadn’t been so loud you wouldn’t have been caught and you wouldn’t have been in the hole when you were going to get that big TV special. You know, the one that was going to make you an even bigger star.”

A cold smile came over Brenda’s face. “I know what you’re doing. You’re mocking me. But I’d rather be in prison than have your humdrum boring life.”

Kendall got up. She wasn’t mad, just disgusted. She tapped the window in the door for the guard.

“Hey, don’t go,” Brenda said, her tone now pleading.

Kendall turned around and looked at her. “Are you telling or asking me to stay?”

Brenda turned her shoulder, her blouse opening a bit. “You know how I do things,” she said.

“Yes, Brenda, I do,” Kendall said. “That’s why I’m leaving now.”

 

 

On her way out to the superintendent’s office, the Kitsap County detective passed by the employees of WCCW Wall of Fame. Tess’s photograph caught her eye right away. The records clerk—Support Person of the Month for October—was wearing a light gray blazer over a dusty pink blouse—the same style but a different color than the one she’d been wearing when Kendall and Birdy first met her. Tess probably had one in every color. All on sale, of course. Or maybe, even better, from a representative’s sample sale.

Kendall found her way to the offices upstairs. She hadn’t met the new superintendent. While she knew confidentiality laws would keep information gleaning to a minimum, she asked the floor secretary if she could stop in.

“She’s expecting you, detective,” the secretary said.

The superintendent was a surprisingly cheerful woman named Janie Thomas. In her early fifties with soft, pearl gray hair and a ready smile, Janie had been on the job for a very short time. Already, it was clear, she suffered serious Brenda Nevins fatigue.

“The shows still call for her,” Janie said, getting up to greet the detective. “Not network, but cable. And not as much,” she said with obvious relief.

“I can see why they love her—and she loves the attention, doesn’t she? She’ll probably try to go over the wall the day they stop asking her for interviews,” Kendall said.

Janie offered coffee, but Kendall’s stomach felt queasy from the encounter with Brenda and she declined.

“You get what you needed from the interview?” she asked.

“This was more a due diligence interview than anything concrete,” Kendall answered. “People like Brenda don’t know how to tell the truth. They only know how to try to get what they want. They’ll do anything. And if anyone wrote a book on the world’s biggest narcissist they’d put Brenda’s picture on the cover.”

Janie smiled. “Did she unbutton her blouse?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Kendall rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, she did. I honestly don’t know why she bothers with buttons when Velcro would be so much easier for her.”

Janie laughed. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman,” she said. “She’s so blatant about it that it would be hilarious if it weren’t so twisted. She did that to a reporter from the
Seattle Times
last week and the poor guy practically wet his pants with embarrassment. He didn’t even finish the interview.”

“She thinks she’s all that,” Kendall said.

Janie sat down behind her desk, cluttered with paperwork, and Kendall took a seat across from her.

“What can you tell me about Missy Carlyle, Ms. Thomas?”

“Not much,” the superintendent answered. “Not that I don’t want to. But the state keeps info around here on lockdown. I can tell you the basics, from what I know. When she worked here, when she left.”

“Why did she leave?”

Janie shook her head. “Personnel matter. Confidential.”

Kendall thought it might go this way. “I’ll come back with a court order.”

“And I’ll give it to you on a silver platter. Believe me, this is a black mark on all of us here.”

“Without getting into specifics, can I ask you a few things?” Kendall asked. “Just to confirm?”

“You can try,” Janie answered, a wry smile on her face.

“Dog-grooming table?” Kendall asked. “Always used for grooming dogs?”

Janie saw that this was going to be a bit of a game. She was up for it.

“Mostly but not always,” she said.

Kendall liked this woman.

“There was a photo missing from your Wall of Fame,” she went on. “Was it Missy’s?”

“Yes, I believe it was taken down.”

“Is every inmate’s mail read before it goes out?”

Janie sighed, but it was an exaggerated sigh, the kind that says so much more than words. “Yes, detective, every sordid and boring word.”

“Right. Incoming too?”

“Yes every word of those too.”

“Tess Moreau is one of your best employees?”

“Her photograph hangs on the Wall of Fame,” Janie said. “Deservedly so.”

“Is she truthful?” Kendall asked.

Janie met Kendall’s gaze head on. “Her portrait is on the wall, detective. She is the best employee—and most trusted—we’ve ever had.”

 

 

Kendall picked up her badge, phone, keys, and ID from the locker provided for their storage. She glanced over at a display case showing the craft items made by the inmates. All were hideous in her opinion. She wondered whose murderous hands had done the crocheted tea cozy. She got Birdy on the phone.

“Hi, Birdy, I’m just leaving the prison.”

“How’d it go with Brenda Nevins?”

“You and I are going to have lunch today and a psycho-bitch-from-hell throwdown. If you thought Jennifer Roberts was something else when you chatted her up in jail, you ought to have experienced Brenda Nevins.”

“That bad?” Birdy asked.

“I feel like going to the curb and scraping the bottoms of my shoes. She practically tried to flash me.”

“She sounds like a charmer,” Birdy said. “Did you get anything you can use?”

An elderly couple walked from their Oldsmobile to the front entrance of the prison. Visiting hours had started. They looked so sweet, so upset that they had to go see their little girl there. Suddenly, Kendall didn’t feel sorry for them. It was possible that they had a hand in whatever it was that turned their little princess into a drug addict, a murderer, a child rapist. After sitting with Brenda Nevins for an hour, she wanted to blame someone.

Kendall slid into her car and turned on the ignition.

“Not sure,” she said to Birdy. “That depends on what Missy Carlyle has to say.”