Wicked

Tracie whirled around and gasped as she saw a dark figure reaching out for her. The breathing was real! She hadn't imagined it! But before Tracie could open her mouth to scream, strong hands struck her in the small of the back and she was falling into the pool.

Tracie struck out at the hands that were holding her down. It was probably one of the guys and she was going to absolutely kill him when he let her up for air. This was a nasty trick. Tracie hated to be dunked.

Tracie reached up to grab the hands and that was when she realized that the person who'd shoved her was wearing gloves. Why would he wear gloves on a hot summer night?

She had to take a breath of air! Spots began to swirl before her eyes and Tracie hit out with all her strength. But the hands just kept holding her head beneath the water. Tracie struggled frantically, her lungs screaming out for oxygen.

And then her struggles began to cease.

That was when an awful thought crossed Tracie's mind, the last rational thought of her life.

The hands were wearing gloves because they intended to kill her . . .

CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER
BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER
LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER
FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER
SUGAR COOKIE MURDER
PEACH COBBLER MURDER
CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER
KEY LIME PIE MURDER
CANDY CANE MURDER
CARROT CAKE MURDER
CREAM PUFF MURDER
PLUM PUDDING MURDER
APPLE TURNOVER MURDER
DEVIL'S FOOD CAKE MURDER
GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER
CINNAMON ROLL MURDER
RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER
BLACKBERRY PIE MURDER
DOUBLE FUDGE BROWNIE MURDER
WEDDING CAKE MURDER
JOANNE FLUKE'S LAKE EDEN COOKBOOK

 

 

VIDEO KILL
WINTER CHILL
DEAD GIVEAWAY
THE OTHER CHILD
COLD JUDGMENT
FATAL IDENTITY
FINAL APPEAL
VENGEANCE IS MINE
EYES
WICKED

 

WICKED

JOANNE FLUKE

KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

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Copyright © 2016 by Joanne Fluke

 

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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

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ISBN: 978-1-6177-3236-2

ISBN-10: 1-61773-236-2
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: August 2016

 

eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-237-9
eISBN-10: 1-61773-237-0
First Kensington Electronic Edition: August 2016

 

PROLOGUE

 

It was over a hundred degrees in the shade, and Eve Carrington was too hot even to smile at the handsome truck driver who pulled up beside her at the stoplight. One glance in the rearview mirror told her that he probably wouldn't have reacted anyway. The heat had ruined her expensive new hairstyle, her makeup was streaked by beads of perspiration, and the cream-colored linen blouse she'd bought especially for today was impossibly wrinkled.

The stoplight was a long one, and while she was waiting, Eve did her best to repair the damage. She brushed her midnight-black hair, touched up her makeup, and applied new lip gloss. There wasn't a thing she could do about her wrinkled blouse, but she'd brought four suitcases of clothing with her and she'd change just as soon as she arrived.

The light turned green, and Eve sighed as she stepped on the gas. Instead of broiling in this horrible heat wave, she could have been enjoying the private beach at Hampton Cove. All her friends had left for the beach last night and this was the first year she hadn't gone with them. At this very moment, she could be sipping an ice-cold drink and reclining on a chaise longue under a striped umbrella while handsome waiters hovered, just waiting for her to beckon for a refill. Why had she ever signed up for this stupid writers' workshop when it was bound to be the hottest, most boring month of her life?

Eve reached out to check the air-conditioning vent. Cool air was pouring out, but the noon sun was so hot, it warmed the frigid air the moment it came out of the vent. The interior of her car felt like a sauna, and it was all Ryan's fault that she was so uncomfortable!

They'd planned to spend the entire month of August at the beach, but Eve's boyfriend, Ryan Young, had signed up for a workshop in creative writing. He'd told Eve that he was sorry he couldn't go to Hampton Cove with her, but he didn't want to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime.

The opportunity of a lifetime? Exactly what was that? she had asked. And Ryan had explained that this particular writing workshop was being led by Professor Hellman, who had connections to several large publishing firms in New York.

Eve had shrugged. So? What good would Professor Hellman's connections do for Ryan?

Ryan had laughed and told her she couldn't possibly be so dense. She knew he wanted to write historical fiction. He'd told her all about it. This workshop was important because Professor Hellman had promised to take the best three workshop projects and submit them to his publisher friends.

Eve had listened as Ryan had described the workshop. The writers would live in the Sutler Mansion on the edge of campus for four weeks. Professor Hellman would come in every Friday to critique their work and give them advice. Only ten students were being accepted, five guys and five women. That meant there was better than a thirty percent chance that the professor would choose Ryan's manuscript and send it to New York.

Normally, Eve wouldn't have batted an eyelash. There were plenty of handsome guys at Hampton Cove, and she could have had a pleasant vacation without Ryan. But one thing about the workshop worried Eve. Ryan would be spending his vacation with five other women, and he'd be with them day and night. It sounded like a recipe for romance to her, and she wasn't about to let another woman pick up her handsome boyfriend.

Eve had called her father and asked if he could pull some strings. As he was a distinguished alumnus who contributed heavily to various college funds, one word from him had done the trick. Ryan had been delighted when she'd told him that she'd been accepted at the workshop, but he'd also been puzzled. He'd had no idea that Eve was interested in creative writing.

Eve wasn't interested in creative writing, but here she was, dripping sweat, driving across campus to the Sutler Mansion. And to make matters even worse, she didn't have the foggiest notion what her project would be. It would have to be good. Ryan thought she was as dedicated as he was, and she certainly didn't want to make a fool of herself.

She checked her map and drove around the corner, and there it was, the Sutler Mansion. Eve gave a groan of dismay as she parked in front. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie with its wavy glass windows and dark shutters. Ryan had told her that they were renovating it for faculty offices, but it was clear they hadn't started yet. The Sutler Mansion looked as if it might fall down around their ears!

Two girls barged out of the front door as she started to get out of the car. Eve smiled as she recognized them. Cheryl Frazier and Tracie Simmons, two of her sorority sisters.

“Hi, Eve!” Cheryl, a pretty redhead with her hair in a ponytail, rushed up. “You're late.”

“I know. I had to stop on the way to pick up some things.”

“We'll help you unload.” Tracie brushed her curly brown hair out of her eyes and grabbed one of Eve's suitcases. “Everybody's already staked out their rooms, but Cheryl and I saved the best one for you.”

It was no less than what Eve had expected. She had the best room in the sorority house, too. It was only right. Since her money paid for most of the parties, and her father had arranged to have the whole place redecorated, it wasn't surprising that all Eve's sorority sisters treated her like a queen.

Eve let Cheryl and Tracie carry everything up the front steps. “I can hardly wait to get inside and cool off in front of the air-conditioning.”

“Bad news, Eve.” Cheryl shook her head. “We don't have air conditioning . . . just fans, and they don't work very well in this kind of heat.”

Eve gave a little sigh. This was turning from bad to worse. She followed them into the house and sighed again. It was slightly cooler inside, but not much. “The brochure said there wasn't a pool, but I had no idea we'd be living in a place without air-conditioning!”

“Look on the bright side, Eve,” Tracie said. “It's supposed to cool off tonight, and you've got the only room on the girls' floor with a balcony.”

“The girls' floor?”

“That's right,” Cheryl explained. “The guys are on the second floor, and we're on the third. The fourth floor used to be servant quarters, and those rooms are off-limits.”

“Why?” Eve was curious.

“Because they haven't started fixing them up yet. There could be loose boards and weak spots in the floor.”

“We've got a surprise for you, Eve.” Tracie started to grin. “Your room's right above Ryan's. He's got the second-floor balcony and I thought it might be romantic, like Romeo and Juliet.”

Eve sighed. Tracie was always trying to be romantic. “Romance like that I don't need! Did you forget that Romeo and Juliet killed themselves in the end?”

“I never thought about that!”

Eve smiled at her. “I'm glad I have a balcony. I can leave the door open and maybe I'll get a breeze. Who else is on our floor, Tracie?”

“Beth Masters. She's got the room next to you.”

“I'm sure you've seen her around campus.” Cheryl noticed Eve's totally blank look and she went into detail. “Beth's got light brown hair and she wears glasses. She's had a couple of her poems published in the
College Chronicle
.”

Eve shrugged. “I probably know her. It just doesn't ring a bell. Tell me about the guys, Tracie.”

“There's Ryan, of course. And Jeremy Lowe's here. I'm sure you remember
him
!”

Eve winced. She remembered Jeremy very well. She still couldn't believe that he'd actually had the nerve to ask her for a date. “Unfortunately, I do. He's the frat guy who put the dead lobster in our pool.”

“That's Jeremy.” Cheryl sighed. “I just hope he doesn't play any of his dumb practical jokes on us. And then there's Scott Logan. He does those in-depth things for the
Chronicle
.”

“I've met Scott. Who else?”

“Marc Costello.” Tracie frowned slightly. “His father does the Channel Seven sports and I went out with him once. Marc's cute, but he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body.”

Eve knew. Tracie was always looking for romance, but the kind of man she wanted was only found in books.

“Dean Isacs is here,” Cheryl went on. “I know you've seen him around campus. He's a music major, really tall and skinny with long black hair.”

“The guy who always carries his guitar?”

“That's him. Dean wants to write a rock musical.”

“That's mildly interesting.” Eve sighed. With the exception of Ryan, the rest of the guys didn't interest her at all. “I thought there were supposed to be five girls. Who's the other one?”

Tracie looked a little puzzled. “Somebody named Angela Adams. But she's not here yet.”

“Angela Adams?” Eve repeated the name. “I don't think I know her.”

“We don't know her, either. She's a new freshman and she's enrolling in the fall.”

“A new freshman?” Eve was surprised. “I thought this workshop was only for current students.”

“So did we. I don't know why they made an exception, but I guess we'll find out when she gets here.”

* * *

“We have to finish fifty pages a week?” Eve stared at Ryan in shock. “But that's a lot of work!”

“Of course it is. This workshop is intensive. You didn't think we were going to sit around and play games, did you?”

“No. Of course not.” Eve shook her head. “But I didn't realize we had to do quite that much. How about this computer keyboard and screen? What's the setup?”

“It's exactly the same as a personal computer. We're all hooked into a network. The main CPU's up in the fourth-floor hallway, along with the high-speed printer. When you want to print out you, just send it up there and the pages print out.”

Eve frowned at the small student desk with its secretarial chair. She wasn't looking forward to spending long hours, alone in her room, working on a project that didn't interest her. “How about food? Is it being catered?”

“Catered?” Ryan laughed. “That's a good one, Eve. If I didn't know you better, I'd swear you were serious.”

Eve laughed, too, but she hadn't been joking. “Then we have a cook that comes in?”

“No caterer, no cook.” Ryan shook his head. “We're roughing it, Eve. We're all going to take turns in the kitchen. The schedule's up on the bulletin board.”

This was even worse than she'd thought. “Then I guess we don't have maid service, either.”

“No way. It's up to us to keep the place clean. We've got a dishwasher in the kitchen and a laundry room right next to the back door.”

“I guess that's . . . handy.” There was no way she'd wash her own clothes. Most of her things had to be dry cleaned anyway. She'd just stuff them all in a laundry bag and drive them out to the cleaners.

“You'd better hurry up, Eve.” Ryan glanced at his watch. “Get into your grubbies and meet me in the ground floor library. We've got a meeting at four.”

“A meeting?”

“With Professor Hellman.” Ryan headed for the door. “We're going to discuss our writing projects with him before we start.”

“Wonderful. Thanks, Ryan.” Eve waited until Ryan had left, and then she glanced at her reflection the mirror. She thought she looked very fashionable in her red sleeveless dress. She'd put on heels and was wearing her ruby earrings, but perhaps that was too dressy for the crowd here.

Eve thought about it for a moment, and then she went to her closet to see what else she could find. Cheryl and Tracie had been wearing shorts and T-shirts when they'd come out to help her with her luggage, but if that was the way they were supposed to dress for the workshop, she was out of luck.

Why hadn't she stopped at the store to buy some designer shorts and tops? Eve surveyed the contents of her closet. She finally settled for a pair of tan slacks that had been especially tailored for her, and a forest-green silk shell that hugged her figure and almost matched the color of her eyes.

Eve chose a pair of hand-sewn moccasins and slipped them on her feet. She looked casual, but elegant, and that was fine with her. Let the rest of them wear jeans, and shorts, and wrinkled tank tops. She had her standards, and even if Angela Adams was dressed to the teeth, Eve knew she could stand her own.

She was about to leave her room when she heard a creaking sound. Eve stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and shivered slightly. It sounded as if someone were walking softly on the floor above her. But that was impossible. The fourth floor was deserted, and they weren't supposed to be up there.

Old houses creaked. Eve knew that. It was probably nothing but a floorboard expanding in the heat, or a cat or a squirrel running across the roof. Eve glanced up, her heart pounding hard, but there was no way she wanted to go up there and look for the source of the noise. She just pulled open the door and hurried out, into the hallway.

The third floor was deserted and Eve shivered. It gave her a slightly creepy feeling to be up here alone and she felt like glancing around to make sure no one was following her as she rushed to the door that led to the stairs.

Eve arrived at the library, breathless. But no one noticed that she was out of breath. Everyone in the library was gathered around the newcomer. Angela Adams had arrived.

Angela was gorgeous, with long blond hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. Her lips were full, her teeth were even and white, and her smile was perfectly lovely. Dressed in immaculate white shorts and a lavender-colored stretch top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, she was holding court in the center of the room. She was tanned to perfection, and her legs and arms were golden from hours in the sun. Angela Adams looked like a model for a designer line of expensive beachwear.