“What made you split up?”
“She’s a fuckin’ nutcase. And the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
“I’ve had a hard time tracking down sources. I’ve gotta interview three family members, and it doesn’t seem like Mara has many.”
“We’re not family. We never were.”
“Alright.” I shrug. “They’re paying five hundred bucks though. So if you know anything, it doesn’t take much to get paid.”
Randall shifts in his seat, considering.
“And you’ll give me Tori’s address?” he says.
“Sure. When we’re done talking.”
Randall grunts his assent. “Whaddaya wanna know?”
“What was Mara like when you knew her?”
“Fuckin’ annoying. I never wanted another kid in the house. My boys were bad enough. Ungrateful too—she’s eating my food, wearing the clothes I put on her back, and she has the fuckin’ gall to skulk around the house glaring at me. Plus her and her mom were at it all the time like cats, fucking’ squallin’ and causin’ a racket.”
“Did you see any early evidence of her talent?”
Randall scoffs. “Drawin’ pictures is supposed to be a job now? Don’t make me laugh. Fuckin’ lazy, just like her mother.”
I don’t expect any actual insight from this man. There’s only one piece of information that interests me, and I’ll play through this charade until I get it. The rest is all just fuel on the fire. Though I can’t let him see any hint of the fury stoking inside me with every word that comes out of his disgusting nicotine-stained mouth.
“You said her relationship with her mother was bad?”
“Fuckin’ hated each other. Tori wished she never had her. Said it all the time. I told her she should pack her off to some relative, but there wasn’t anybody to take her. Besides, Tori had some weird thing about her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She talked shit on her nonstop. But she was obsessed with reading her journals, her text messages. She’d wear Mara’s clothes and her perfume. Especially around me.”
My jaw ticks.
“She thought that would attract you?”
“Fuck if I know. She was jealous as hell. Always screaming at me if she thought I looked at Mara.”
This is the delicate part, where I have to put out the lure without scaring off the fish.
I give a low chuckle, the kind that tells a man that locker room talk is on the table.
“Well … Tori wasn’t getting any younger.”
Randall snorts. “That’s for damn sure.”
“And Mara’s pretty enough …”
Randall takes a long pull of his beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and belching softly. Then he leans forward, fixing me with his bloodshot stare.
“That woman would have let me do anything to her daughter. She offered her up when she realized I was really gonna leave her. Flat out told me I could have her.”
I keep the friendly smirk fixed on my face, pitching my voice low and amused.
“Why didn’t you take her up on it? Or maybe you did …”
“Wasn’t worth it by then. That cunt was gonna get me tossed in jail. And the daughter’s all fucked up. A fuckin’ spaz. There’s something wrong with her. She’s some kinda retar—”
He breaks off, eyes flicking to my upper lip, which is curling into a snarl I can’t control. I have to turn it into a laugh that comes out harsh and braying.
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah.” Randall takes another swallow of beer, face closing up, sitting back in his chair again.
I tipped him off. Couldn’t keep hold of myself. I’m fucking sloppy.
Where’s the old Cole when you need him?
I take a long, steady breath. Deliberately slowing my heart rate. Shelving all thoughts of Mara sleeping peacefully back at the hotel. Crushing my fury, and the sickening sense of disgust that threatens to overwhelm me every time I look at Randall’s smug face.
I clear my mind of everything but the goal.
When I do, the old Cole is right there waiting for me.
Hello, old friend.
The room sharpens. The babble around me separates into distinct conversations. I smell the hops in Randall’s beer, and note a pine sap stain on his left sleeve—evidence that he’s been out in the woods sometime recently.
I can practically hear his heart beating.
I lean forward again, taking off my cap and running a hand through my hair.
“You might be right,” I say in a conspiratorial tone. “I know one fucked-up thing about her. My boss won’t let me print it, which is a fuckin’ shame.”
Randall can’t resist this. He leans forward on his knees, too, piggy eyes glittering.
Everybody loves a secret.
“What is it?”
I look around as if making sure nobody can hear us. I already made damn sure this booth in the corner was out of sight, but it gives the proper effect.
“Guess Mara needed some cash a while back. She filmed a porn.”
“She did?”
Randall’s trying to play it cool, but I hear his breath catch. I see the way his thick hand clenches around his beer bottle.
“Yeah. Some nasty, dirty shit. She bought it back from the studio, doesn’t want anybody getting their hands on it, but you know the internet never forgets.”
“You found it?”
I grin, molars grinding in the back. “You’re damn right I did.”
Now I sit back, triumphant, sipping my own drink. Waiting for what I know is certain to follow.
Another long silence from Randall. Then the low, urgent mutter, “You think you could send that to me?”
“I’ve got it on a flash drive back at the hotel.” I take another drink of my beer, letting him squirm. Watching the flush rise up his neck. Then I put out the real lure: the one he can’t possibly resist. “Some crazy shit in some kinda schoolgirl outfit …”
He needs it now. He has to have it.
“You can send me a copy, can’t you?”
“It sounds like we’re negotiating.” I give him a smile with just enough sleaziness to seem genuine. “You got something for me? What about Mara’s dad—you know where he lives?”
“I don’t even know his name,” Randall grunts. “Tori never said shit about him.”
Damn it.
“Well, I need pictures for the article. Any old photographs, yearbooks, letters …”
“I didn’t keep any a that shit,” Randal scoffs.
“Too bad.” I pretend to give up on the idea.
Randall can’t let go of the prize. He’s licking his lips, clenching that beer like a grenade. Then he thinks of something.
“I got a picture of her mom fuckin’ some Nazi.”
I grin. “That sounds like a trade. Bring it to my hotel room.”
“Nah.” Randall shakes his head. “I can’t drive that far. I got a cabin fifteen minutes from here. You can follow me up.”
“Even better.”
15
Mara