CHAPTER FOUR
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Max’s question jars me out of my surveillance stupor. It’s past ten on Wednesday morning, and we’ve been sitting in the front seat of Max’s pickup outside Adair’s house for at least an hour. Even with the windows rolled down, the truck is heating up.
I’m not keen on telling him my stepfather is guilty of more than armed robbery.
“Gee, that’s a tough one.” I pretend to think. “Let’s see, we think a woman who murdered her husband might be a Ringer inhabiting somebody else’s body. Oh, and it could be one of our friends.”
“Since when are you and Adair friends?”
Adair is our number one suspect. No surprise there. The Adair I’ve known since grade school wasn’t always sweet, but she didn’t used to go around calling other girls names and slapping their faces. Okay, as far as I know she’s only done that to me, but it’s still out of character. And she did disappear for a few days last week. I’d even gone hunting for her to make sure she was okay.
“We’re not friends, but I’d still be bummed if Constance Hightower stole Adair’s body. That would mean Adair is dead, right?”
“Somebody’s dead,” he says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have found that body on the beach.”
With the sun shining out of a cloudless sky, it seems like the events of last night didn’t happen. That’s wishful thinking. The Black Widow’s sister did tell us her twin was inside someone else’s body moments before a false bomb threat conveniently separated us. And then there’s the matter of Roxy’s dog and cat.
But still...
“We should be trying to figure out how something like this is possible.” Max doesn’t seem to have any of my lingering doubts. He probably wasn’t awake half the night, either. His eyes are clear, his shorts and T-shirt look crisp and his dark hair is thick and shiny.
“Maybe the Black Widow is an alien using Adair’s body as her host,” I say. “You know, as a fertile breeding ground.”
He looks so confused I’m sure he’s never seen Alien vs. Predator. I don’t even know why I keep trying.
“That’s not what’s going on. I doubt the Black Widow is the brains of the operation. She wasn’t in the country when you and I went missing.”
“And you know this how?”
“Last night I read everything I could find about her. One of the stories mentioned she spent the entire winter at a resort in Bali.”
“Must be nice to have that kind of money.”
He wets his lips. “Let me run a theory by you. It’s no secret Constance was living it up on her dead husband’s dime. But the consensus was that she couldn’t beat that murder charge, that it was a miracle she even got bail. What if somebody recognized how desperate her situation was and offered her a way out?”
“I’m not following.”
“Think about it. If the Black Widow is a Ringer, she can hide in plain sight. She won’t have to go to trial. Or back to jail.”
“That would mean whoever’s behind this is in it for the money.” World domination and pure evil seem like better motives to me.
“Greed explains a lot of things.”
“Not everything. Who has the capability to pull off something like that?”
“It’s not as far-fetched as it seems,” Max says. “Have you heard of mind uploading?”
He’s not the only one who can research on the Internet. I read just last night that mind uploading is the hypothetical process of scanning and mapping a brain in detail and then copying it into a computer. Very cyber punk. “Yeah, but it’s a lot different than body switching.”
“My point is technology’s constantly changing,” Max says. “Until Dolly the Sheep, we didn’t think cloning was possible. Why couldn’t someone have figured out how to transplant a mind into another body?”
“Let’s say you’re right. How does a carny like Roxy fit in? And what about the clown with the syringe?” I can picture the clown’s white face with the grinning red lips and feel the evil emanating from him.
“I don’t know.” Max nods at Adair’s house where she emerges from the front door dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt too big for her. Her short, blond hair lies against her scalp, for once not gelled and sculpted into stylish tufts. “But maybe we’re about to find out.”
Adair doesn’t drive to the carnival, like I expect her to. She heads straight to Hunter’s house, gets out of the car and marches up the sidewalk like she’s on a mission. Coming in the opposite direction is Porter McRoy, the shy boy who’s the object of Becky’s crush. Adair brushes by Porter, barely acknowledging him.
“Wonder what Porter’s doing at Hunter’s house,” I say.
“And what Becky’s doing with him.”
“What? Becky’s here? Where?”
Max indicates the beat-up blue Civic in the Prescott driveway. Sure enough, Becky’s in the passenger seat. Max parked his pickup a half-block down the street to lessen the possibility we’d be spotted. I don’t have to worry that Becky will see us. Her eyes are only for Porter. When he gets in the car, she leans toward him for a kiss. When did that happen? A few days ago, she could hardly get Porter to talk to her. Porter backs the Civic out of the driveway. I’m pretty sure the car has bucket seats, but Becky’s head is close to his.
“How could you do this to me, Hunter?” Adair’s shrill voice penetrates the quiet of the neighborhood. While I was watching Becky and Porter, she reached the house. She stands outside the open front door, waving her arms. “I’ll never forgive you!”
Hunter steps out of the house, both hands upraised. He’s obviously offering a rebuttal, but we can’t hear from this far away. Unlike Adair, he must not be yelling.
“You think I believe that?” Adair shouts. “I’m not an idiot!”
Hunter takes another step toward Adair. She rears back and shoves him with two hands. He stumbles backward, his back slamming against the edge of the door.
“I won’t take the fall for this,” Adair says. “You better make it right. Or you’ll be sorry.”
She stalks off as Hunter rights himself. He doesn’t attempt to stop her. Adair doesn’t turn around. She yanks open the car door, slams it and pulls away from the curb, tires screeching. After a moment, Max puts the pickup in gear and follows.
“What do you think that was all about?” I ask Max as he tails her through the neighborhood. Adair drives too fast, barely slowing for stop signs. Max does a good job of keeping her car in sight while not going over the speed limit. “Do you think Hunter’s involved in this body-switching thing, too?”
“That’s not Hunter’s style.” His reply is quick.
“How do you know what Hunter’s style is?” I can’t shake the feeling that Max knows more about Hunter than he’s telling. “I thought you two were strangers.”
“I know guys just like him. Hunter’s not that hard to figure out,” he says. “Did you see which way she went? Right or left?”
“Left.” I abandon the conversation thread to help him tail Adair to a four-story chrome and glass office building on the edge of town. Adair is entering the glass double doors as we pull into the parking lot. Doubtless there’s an elevator in the lobby.
“Maybe we can figure out which floor she went to.” I’m out of the pickup the moment he parks. When we get inside the building, however, none of the numbers above the elevator are illuminated. She must have taken the stairs.
“Let’s see what kinds of businesses have offices here,” Max suggests.
The directory on the wall lists a dentist, a general practitioner, an optometrist, a dermatologist, a realtor and an insurance agent. There’s no way to tell which one Adair is visiting. Our only option is to wait.
It’s too hot inside the truck. We find a spot in the shade under a tree behind the parked cars. We’ve got a sight line to the front door, but I’m pretty sure Adair won’t be able to spot us when she comes out of the building. The heat is stifling. After about thirty minutes, sweat trickles down the
side of my face.
“You look like you could use something cold to drink.” Max stands up and tosses me his car keys. “Just in case Adair goes on the move.”
Since there’s a convenience store next door, Max won’t be long. I doubt I’ll have to drive off without him. I lean back against a tree, crossing my feet at the ankles, wondering how private eyes can do this kind of work for a living without falling asleep.
The double doors burst open, and Adair rushes out, her expression maniacal. I duck down and move farther out of her sight line. She still runs directly for me.
“Did you think I wouldn’t see you, bitch?” She’s out of breath, and her chest heaves up and down. “Don’t you know about windows?”
Too late I realize several of the upper-floor offices have windows facing the parking lot. Getting to my feet, I put the width of a car between us.
“That’s right,” Adair all but shrieks. “You should be afraid of me.”
She’s acting like a crazy person. Like somebody whose cover is being threatened after she paid a fortune to get away with murder. Could we really be on the right track?
“Why are you so angry?” I ask, fishing for information. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You’re following me!”
Well, yeah, but I’m not about to admit that. “Why would I follow you?”
“Because you’re a crazy bitch, and I’m gonna make you sorry you were ever born.” She darts around the car, her nails exposed like claws. I barely move away in time to avoid getting nails raked down my face.
“Adair Marie Adams!” The voice is shrill and authoritative. It belongs to Mrs. Adams, Adair’s mother. She stalks across the parking lot, her lips set in a horizontal line. “Get away from Jade this instant!”
Adair stops advancing on me and looks at her mother. “But, Mom. She—”
“You heard me,” Mrs. Adams interrupts, pointing a finger at her daughter. She takes her car keys out of her purse and remotely unlocks a sleek silver sedan. “Wait in my car. I don’t want you driving when you’re like this.”
“But—”
“No more buts. Get in the car, Adair.”
With a last, hate-filled glare at me, Adair obeys. Mrs. Adams crosses to where I lean against Max’s pickup for support. My stomach is turning somersaults.
“Are you okay, Jade?” Her voice is gentle. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”
I’ve still got the faint bruise on my cheek from when Adair slapped me in the hospital, but that’s not what she means. “No, she didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”
Mrs. Adams sighs and runs a trembling hand over her face. “Allow me to apologize for my daughter. You must have noticed she hasn’t been herself lately.”
Does Mrs. Adams know about the Ringers? Is she considering the possibility that Adair isn’t really Adair, too?
“I have noticed,” I say carefully. “You’re not alone in this, Mrs. Adams. I’ll do what I can to help.”
Mrs. Adams lays a hand on my arm. “You’re such a sweet girl, Jade. I was afraid Adair’s friends wouldn’t understand.”
Could we be talking about the same thing? “Understand what?”
“Her personality change and mood swings. I didn’t get it myself until today when we got the diagnosis. That’s why I met her here at the doctor’s office.”
“What diagnosis?”
“Adair won’t be happy with me for telling you, but you deserve to know why she’s been different,” Mrs. Adams says in a quiet voice. “She has hyperthyroidism.”
“Say what?”
“She has a severely overactive thyroid. I should have figured it out when she started losing weight, because thyroid disease runs in my family. But I didn’t think to get her tested until a few days ago. We only now got the results.”
“You mean hyperthyroidism is the reason she’s acting so erratic?”
“Definitely. The doctor said it explains the anxiety, the irritability, the restlessness.”
The explanation seems too pat. “Yeah, but could something like that really explain everything? Like the way she shouted at Hunter this morning?”
Mrs. Adams brings her hands to her flushed cheeks. “Oh, dear. She said she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but I hoped she wouldn’t act of it.”
“A piece of her mind about what?”
“She was upset that the police questioned her about Hunter’s poisoning. I tried to tell her it’s routine for them to talk to a victim’s friends, but she wouldn’t listen.” She pats my hand. “I’ve got to get to the drugstore to fill her prescription. Thank you for understanding and being such a good friend.”
I wouldn’t go that far. Hyperthyroidism doesn’t explain why Adair went after the guy she knew I liked.
Mrs. Adams gives me a final smile and heads for her silver sedan. Adair sits in the passenger seat with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes straight ahead. She looks a lot more like a rebellious teen than a conniving killer.
Not even a minute after the sedan leaves the parking lot, Max returns carrying two cold drinks. He hands me one. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”
“Oh, yeah.” I pop the top on the soda can and take a cold sip for fortification. “We can cross Adair off our list of possible Ringers.”