Sunset Beach(95)

“Makes sense,” Drue agreed.

“He beat her, you know.”

“Who?”

“Allen. Her husband. The bastard knocked her around. He was abusive. There’s been a study done. In England. Did you know that sixty-five percent of men who kill their romantic partners have been physically abusive in the past?”

“Did Colleen tell you he was hitting her?”

“She didn’t have to,” Vera said. “This one time, I remember, I got to work early and saw Colleen was in one of the examining rooms with Dr. Garber. He was stitching up her lip and she had a tooth knocked out too. She claimed she’d tripped, but that was clearly a lie.”

“Did the police know about that?”

“I told one of the detectives at the time, but he didn’t believe me,” Vera said. “There were no police or hospital records, and Colleen hadn’t complained to friends or family that her husband was abusive.”

“Probably she was ashamed,” Drue said.

“And that wasn’t the only time he hit her. She’d come to work with bruises on her arms. It got so that she’d wear long sleeves every day, even in the summer.”

“I don’t understand. If her husband was beating her, if she maybe suspected he was cheating on her, why wouldn’t Colleen leave?”

“People always ask that question,” Vera said. “But forty years ago, a girl like Colleen didn’t have many options. She didn’t really get along with her parents, and Allen controlled all the money. He actually had her on an allowance!”

Drue thought back to the binder on her kitchen table, of the picture of a demurely smiling Colleen on her wedding day.

“Have you talked to the police lately, about your theories about Allen Hicks?”

Vera shook her head. “Not in any official kind of capacity. Everybody’s dead now, you know. Colleen most likely, Allen, both their sets of parents, even Dr. Garber. Plus, it’s hard to investigate a cold case when you no longer have any of the official investigative file.”

Drue feigned surprise. “Really?”

“It’s gone. The whole file. It was only discovered missing ten years ago. But it could have been gone much longer than that.”

“What happened to it?”

“I wish I knew,” Vera said. “I’d give anything to read it. I’ve put out feelers, on my blog, but it’s still missing. Like Colleen, come to think of it.”





44


August 1976

She slid the Camaro into a slot around the back of the Dreamland and walked rapidly through the light drizzle that had begun falling at dusk, cinching the raincoat tighter as she walked, her heels clicking against the parking lot pavement.

As she approached the unit, the blonde began unbuttoning the coat. She’d seen his cruiser parked in the usual spot so she knew he was inside, waiting. She’d had to cancel the previous week because it was Allen’s mother’s birthday, and all day she’d been fantasizing about the coming evening.

Colleen threw the door open and stepped into the darkened room, holding the raincoat open to reveal the outfit she’d spent a week’s grocery money on: black lace push-up bra, black lace garter belt, black fishnet hose.

“Surprise!”

He was reclined on the bed, illuminated only by the blue flicker of the television set, wreathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

His chuckle was low and throaty and only vaguely familiar.

“Well now, that is a nice surprise.” He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray resting on his chest.

The blood drained from her face, and her fingers fumbled as she hastily belted and buttoned the raincoat.

“What is this?” she demanded. “Where’s Brice?”

Her lover’s partner, the cop he called Jimmy Zee, was obviously highly amused. “Brice couldn’t make it tonight. He sent me instead. In fact, your boyfriend won’t be making it with you ever again. It’s over.”

“I don’t believe you.” She glanced around the room, unsure of her next move.

Before she could leave, he made a show of holding up a rectangle of laminated paper. “What? You’re going to leave without taking what you came here for?”

She felt herself flush, and she released the doorknob and tightened the raincoat belt. “What I came here for is none of your business,” she said haughtily.

Jimmy Zee swung his feet off the bed and laid the rectangle on the nightstand. He reached into the pocket of his sports shirt and produced another rectangle of paper, which he placed beside the first.

“Driver’s license. Social security card.”

He studied her face. “You’re now officially Donna Woods. You look like a Donna, you know that?”

Colleen edged closer to the bed. She snatched up the documents, then turned on the lamp on the nightstand to get a better look.

“This picture,” she said coldly, holding up the driver’s license, “looks nothing like me. The hair is the wrong color. The weight? Are you kidding me? I’ve never weighed one hundred sixty pounds in my life. Ever. This thing is a joke.”

Zee was unmoved. “Women change their hair color all the time. They lose weight. That’s what Donna Woods did.”

“I want to see Brice,” Colleen said. “Does he even know you’re here?”