Page 133 of Sunset Beach
“I don’t know where to begin,” Drue said. “I went to the hotel last night, and figured out that it was Neesa Vincent, not Jaz, on video, working that night, and like I kinda suspected, it was the head of housekeeping who killed her.”
“What? How’d you find all this out?”
“It’s too long to go into over the phone. But one thing I wanted to tell you. Neesa said she talked to an investigator. But Zee’s reports said he couldn’t find her. I can’t get past the idea that Zee should have figured this whole thing out. Ben, I really think Zee is up to his ears in this thing.”
“Are you sure?” Ben asked. “I mean, have you talked to your dad or anybody else about this? That’s a pretty radical theory, Drue.”
“I know,” she admitted. “And I guess I’m kinda keyed up because I haven’t had hardly any sleep.”
“Okay, well, we should definitely talk before you go accusing Zee of stuff,” he said. “Oh shit. I gotta go. My next session is starting. I’ll call you as soon as I get out, okay?”
“Talk soon,” Drue said.
53
August 20, 1976
Colleen was momentarily paralyzed with fear. The barrel of the revolver was pointed directly at her. She glanced around, frantic for help. A homeless man was slumped over on a nearby bus bench, the pages of a newspaper ruffling gently in the faint breeze while pigeons pecked at potato chips from a spilled bag. A pair of elderly women occupied the next green bench over, their heads bent together, deep in conversation.
She should scream. Or run. Or both. But her feet were rooted to the pavement, her mouth bone dry.
“I said, get in the goddamn car.” The driver reached over and wrenched the door handle open. “Now! Or I swear to God, I’ll kill you right here.”
Colleen obeyed, setting the train case on the floorboards by her feet. With the gun lowered, she could concentrate on the woman’s face, and she gasped involuntarily. The driver was Sherri Campbell. Brice’s wife.
“Put your hands out in front of you,” the woman ordered. Colleen did, and a moment later a pair of handcuffs were snapped across her wrists.
“Why are you doing this?” Colleen’s voice was hoarse.
The light changed and the car began moving, picking up speed. “Shut up,” Sherri replied. “I don’t want to hear a word from you.”
Colleen studied her captor’s face. The features were regular, but contorted in barely controlled rage.
She began to softly weep, hating herself for being weak and afraid, and as her terror mounted, she was unable to choke back the sobs.
“Stop that!” Sherri backhanded her so hard, Colleen’s ears were ringing. A trickle of blood ran down her chin, merging with the unstoppable tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clenching and unclenching her shackled hands. “It’s over between us. He said he’d never leave you. That’s why I was going away.”
Sherri shook her head. “Lying little bitch. I don’t believe either of you.”
“It’s true,” Colleen blurted. “I swear. I was headed for the bus station. Look in my purse. I have a ticket. For Atlanta.”
“So what? You’d come back. Or he’d go there. To look for you.”
“No! That’s why I’m going away. Alone. To start over. A new job, new name, new life. Someplace nobody knows me.”
“So you can latch onto somebody new, screw some other woman’s husband, ruin another woman’s life.”
“Never. I’m done with that. This was all a horrible mistake. You don’t understand. My husband? He beats me. Brice was trying to help me. He wanted to lock Allen up, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Brice, he’s a good guy. We didn’t mean to hurt you. Things just… happened.”
Sherri slapped her again, hard, without warning.
“Donotsay his name again. I don’t want to hear my husband’s name come out of your filthy mouth one more time.”
Colleen nodded, mutely.
They were leaving downtown, headed west on First Avenue South. She looked out the window, hoping to catch someone’s eye, to somehow signal the danger she was in.
