You Don't Want To Know - By Lisa Jackson Page 0,84

wrong. Had to! “But I just saw her,” she protested even as she remembered hearing the distant wail of sirens earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No . . . I don’t want to hear this . . .” She couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that Cheryl was dead. No, not just dead, but murdered? Heart drumming, denial pounding through her brain, she dug her cell phone from her pocket and started to call Ian when the phone rang in her hand.

Tanya’s name and number came up on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh, God, Ava, did you hear?” Tanya jumped in. “About Cheryl? That someone killed her? Right in her own home?” She was frantic, and the pit in Ava’s stomach turned sour. “I can’t believe it, just can’t. Nothing like this ever happens in Anchorville!”

“Slow down,” Ava suggested, though Tanya was only voicing her own thoughts. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack!”

“Okay . . . okay, so what happened?”

“No one knows. The cops are being pretty closemouthed, but I hear things, y’know, at the salon, and it sounds like some intruder just walked in and killed her. God. My client, well, Ida Sterns, tends to exaggerate, but she said they found Cheryl in her basement with her cats all around. One of them was even lapping up her blood!”

“Ugh!”

“But it’s true that Cheryl’s dead, Ava, and someone freakin’ killed her!” Tanya seemed near to hyperventilating. “The whole town’s on edge, just like they were when Lester Reece escaped from Sea Cliff. It’s nuts! Oh, Lord, I’ve got to run and pick up the kids, but . . . I know you see Cheryl. I just thought you should know. Oh, I’m getting another call. Shit! It’s Russell! Just what I need! God, what does he want? Oh, crap. He probably heard about Trent.”

“What about Trent?” Ava headed downstairs and into the foyer, toward the tall windows flanking the door. Dern was right behind her and stopped when she did. She looked through the glass to the gray day beyond. Across the water, the town of Anchorville was spread upon the shore, and there were strobing red lights on the hill near Cheryl’s house.

Dear God.

Tanya was still talking about Trent. “We just had a couple of drinks. NBD. Look I’ve got to go!” And with that she clicked off.

Numb, Ava turned to Dern. Something must have shown in her face because he grabbed her arm again, steadying her. “I’m sorry,” he said, and as he stared down at her, his fingers warm through her sleeve, she flashed on her dream. She remembered the stranger in her bed, the imagined lover sliding over her naked body with his own, the strength of him pressed against her abdomen, the fire of intense, hard-edged sexual desire shining in his eyes. The hands that had splayed over her spine, fingertips touching the cleft in her buttocks, had been strong, determined, and now, standing in this room, she felt that same wanton desire that he’d evoked, a curiosity about his prowess in the bedroom, a need to experience all that he’d promised.

If only in her mind.

She drew her arm from his clasp and put some space between them. “It’s just so hard to believe,” she said, clearing her throat and knowing her embarrassment was evident in the heat of her cheeks. She thought of Cheryl again and realized how little she really knew about her. She’d been married twice, but Cheryl had never mentioned that she’d had children, nor had Ava ever seen any pictures of children mounted on the walls or placed upon the small tables of Cheryl’s studio. “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to harm her.”

“That’s always the question,” he said as they heard the elevator hum to life, and soon Jewel-Anne and Demetria met them in the foyer.

“Did you hear?” Jewel-Anne asked. She was ashen, her eyes round behind her thick glasses.

“About Cheryl?” Ava asked. “Yes.”

“It’s so unbelievable . . . But it’s all over the news.” Jewel-Anne was fingering her iPhone.

“You knew Cheryl?” Ava asked, and was rewarded with a perturbed look.

“Anchorville’s a small town, Ava. Of course I knew her. Everyone did.” She bit her lip. “Does anyone know where Jacob is? Is he on the island? He’d want to know.” Before anyone answered, her fingers were flying over the tiny keyboard as she, presumably, texted her brother.

“It’s awful,” Demetria whispered, shaking her head as if to deny the tragedy. “There hasn’t been a murder around here in years. Since Lester Reece was convicted. You don’t