After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 142

“Hayes,” Cassie said, her voice a croak, her stomach threatening to heave. “Detective Hayes. He called. I talked to him.”

“Briefly.”

“Yes.” She nodded, her gaze glued to the hideous masks. “Where . . . where did you get these?”

“You can’t tell me?”

“No!” Cassie said.

“You’re sure?” Nash was so damned calm. Cassie was suddenly claustrophobic, the walls seeming to shrink.

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve never seen those two before in my life. I thought . . . I mean I believed I had the only one. Where did you . . . where did you get these?” she asked, her voice strangled, her mind whirling. What the hell was going on here? What was with all the masks? Why would the police have them?

“These were found on the victims.”

“What?” Cassie’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t understand.” She didn’t want to.

“On the bodies. Placed over their heads. Both here and in LA, when they were killed on nights you were in both cities.”

“Oh, Jesus.” She felt the blood drain from her face. “I don’t understand.” This was making no sense at all. Why in God’s name would anyone go to the trouble to leave the masks on the dead women? And why was the detective staring at her so intently, as if she expected Cassie to tell her something new, offer up more information? Or . . . Jesus God, was she waiting for some kind of confession? No . . . that couldn’t be it. Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades.

“How well did you know Brandi Potts?”

“I didn’t.”

“Did you ever see her?”

“I—I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Nash’s gaze was hard. Scrutinizing.

“Well, maybe on the set? That last day? But I don’t remember her.”

Nash slid another piece of paper forward, the picture of a pretty woman with red hair and sharp features. “This is Brandi Potts.”

Cassie stared down at the photo and shook her head. “I might have seen her. But really, I don’t remember.”

Another picture was pushed over the top of the first, the same woman, staring upward, her face ashen, her open eyes with a fixed gaze. She was obviously dead.

“Jesus,” Cassie whispered and her stomach roiled. Spit collected in her mouth and she had to look away. “I don’t remember her.”

Nash hesitated a minute, then said gently, as if they were good friends,“Why don’t you tell me how you found the mask that you brought in?”

“I thought I already did.” Cassie wasn’t going to be fooled by the sudden shift in attitude. Rhonda Nash was anything but her friend. She set her jaw and stared right back at the detective. She explained again about discovering the mask in her suitcase after being scared to death by the cat and feeling that someone had been in her apartment. After a few clarifying questions, Nash steered the conversation to the previous night.

Cassie wasn’t quite as clear as she explained about her text and meeting with Brandon McNary, then the feeling that she was being followed on the way to her car. She held back, though, and didn’t admit to the missing hours in her life. Confessing to losing track of time or even blacking out would only open a door she’d prefer to keep firmly shut.

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah.” Cassie nodded tightly and the muscles in the back of her neck stiffened.

“You’re sure?”

Why did the simple question seem like a trap?

Without another word, Nash pushed the masks to one side then reached into her file and came up with a glossy picture. “Is this you?” she asked as Cassie, her heart turning stone cold, stared at a photograph of herself behind the wheel of her Honda. She saw the timestamp, remembered the flash as she pulled a one-eighty in the middle of the street in order to follow the bus.

“Yes.” Cold dread congealed in her blood.

“So how did this happen?”

“After I left Brandon, or rather, after he drove off, I got into my car—”

“After feeling that you were being followed?”

“Yes. Anyway, I was starting to leave Portland and . . . and I thought I saw Allie. She . . . she was waiting for a bus, which came.” Cassie’s heart was pounding, and it was all she could do to remain calm. “I think she got onto it, but the bus blocked my view of the stop, so I made a U turn to follow it and hopefully catch up with her.”