The Killing Place (An Alexa Chase Suspense Thriller—Book 6)

PROLOGUE A small house on the outskirts of Flagstaff, Arizona 10:00 PM Tamara Drew, as she called herself now, stared at her phone, wondering if she should go through with it. She was tired of her new life, tired of her daily lies, and wanted some real human contact. She had bought a burner phone at a convenience store, like some common criminal. A phone that couldn’t be traced. She hadn’t used it yet. It had no names or numbers in the contact list. Not like “Tamara’s” phone, which had the number of the real estate agency where she worked as a receptionist, the numbers of a few acquaintances who couldn’t really be called friends, and the number of a law enforcement office in Phoenix she had promised herself she would never call. No real numbers. No real people she had real feelings for. All those numbers were written in her tidy handwriting on a little piece of paper she had hidden in her pocket before she moved here. She had that out now, for the second time in three years. It lay unfolded in her lap, its bent edges like outspread, welcoming arms of her old life. Tamara had decided she needed to call one of those numbers. Mom? No. She was approaching eighty and had a bad heart. The shock might kill her. Tamara wasn’t even sure she was still alive. They’d tell her, right? Maybe not. James? No. Bad idea. James had probably forgotten about her anyway. The bastard. Rebecca? Yes, her sister. That’s who she should call. They’d always been pretty close. And while Rebecca would be seriously mad at her lack of contact for the last three years, she wouldn’t do anything stupid like tell anyone Tamara had called. So she’d call Rebecca. Her sister could be relied on to tell her all the news without blabbing. Rebecca had always been the good sister, the one who led a respectable, boring life, and disapproved of her little sister’s antics. Tamara had always found that annoying, but Rebecca’s level-headedness was an advantage in this situation. It would keep Tamara safe. Still, three years … Tamara took a deep breath and began to punch in the numbers. About halfway through she abruptly hung up and dropped the burner phone like it really was burning her. It could, if she didn’t use it carefully. She knew that. But she couldn’t resist. She had to call. Picking up the phone, she took another deep breath, and punched the number in quickly, before she could change her mind. The phone rang. Tamara felt a spike of panic and nearly hung up. A second ring. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Hope and disappointment mingled in Tamara’s heart. Quickly replaced by terror as the phone picked up and Rebecca’s familiar voice said, “Hello?” Tamara opened her mouth, but no words came. “Hello?” Rebecca said again. “R-Rebecca?” “Who is this?” Tamara suddenly felt stupid. Had Rebecca forgotten the sound of her own sister’s voice? Maybe no one had missed her. Maybe they were glad she left. She was about to hang up when Rebecca said, “Oh my God, Helen! Is that you?” It had been so long since she’d been called by her real name, Tamara almost wept. “Yes, it’s me! Sorry, um, I haven’t called.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Tamara realized how stupid they sounded. But what do you say when you haven’t spoken to your sister or anyone else you knew for three years? “Sorry you haven’t called? What the hell, Helen. You just vanished!” “I left a note,” Tamara/Helen said, blushing. “A note that explained nothing.” “And I can’t really explain now. I’m sorry.” “Are you in trouble?” “I was. Not anymore. How’s Mom?” “This is because of James, isn’t it? Are the police looking for you?” “No. I’ve spoken with them. They know I’m innocent.” Well, more innocent than James and his friends, anyway. “Then why did you leave?” Rebecca asked. “Please don’t ask any questions. I can’t explain. How’s Mom?” “All right. Her joints hurt. She’s worried about you. She hardly talks about anything else.” Despite the tears welling up in her eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a bit satisfied at the jealousy she could hear tinging her sister’s voice. Rebecca had always been the good one, the one Mom and their later father had admired and praised. The one with the good grades and presentable boyfriends and good career prospects. Helen had been the opposite, and while the past three years living as Tamara had seen a lot of changes in her life, she’d never catch up to her sister. “How’s your family?” Helen asked. “They’re fine. I had another child. A baby girl, just a year ago. I named her Cheryl, after Aunt Cheryl. But what about you? Where are you? What happened?” Tamara sighed. “I can’t really explain. I’m all right, though.” “You don’t sound all right.” “I just miss my old life.” “Then come back. No one made you leave!” Oh, yes they did. “Rebecca, could you do me a favor?” “What? Anything.” She means it. She really does care. Helen smiled. “Could you just talk for a while, and I’ll listen? Talk about your baby girl. And the other kids. And your job. Mom. Anything. I just want to hear all about it.” “I don’t understand. You leave without saying goodbye and then nothing for three years, and now you want an update?” “Rebecca, please?” “Oh, all right. But after that I want an explanation.” Tamara Drew, who once had been known to everyone as Helen Beachy, settled back on her sofa and listened as Rebecca filled her in on three years of news. It was strange. She had always found her family and friends boring. And the little town of Benson twice as boring. But three years of news made for a lot of events, and she realized that those simple, everyday things—the births, the marriages, the family vacations, the minor ups and downs of daily life—were what she had been missing all along. She listened in satisfied silence, more relaxed and at peace than she had been for three long years. The tension all came back when her sister suddenly said, “So enough about all of us. What about you?” Tamara hung up. It felt like wrenching her heart out. Tamara got up and paced in her little living room. So strange to hear all that. Three lost years of life, stuck living in this little dump with a dead-end job and no friends. She hated living here. Hated Flagstaff, hated her job, hated it all. The fact that she had to stay here made her hate it even more. Her doorbell rang. Tamara let out a little yelp and backed away to the hallway. She stood in the darkened hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom of her tiny little house. No one ever rang her doorbell. Who the hell could that be? Her doorbell rang again. Tamara cast about for an escape route. She could go out the window of her bedroom, but whoever that was would probably hear her. Maybe if she just stayed quiet, they’d go away. A female voice called through the doorway. “Lance, are you home?” Tamara let out a gust of air in relief. The name, and the female voice, calmed her. She called out, “No, Lance lives next door.” “Oh, sorry. You must be Tamara, Lance’s neighbor.” “That’s right,” Tamara said without thinking. She tensed. Should she have admitted that? Well, the name was on her mailbox! Plus it was a woman out there. Nothing to worry about. But why hadn’t she read the name on the mailbox? Silence. She must have left. Tamara, shaking her head, went to the kitchen to open a can of beer. Just then, she heard the crash of the front door getting kicked in.