After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 101

“Was the show set in the 1950s?” Trent asked.

“Sixties or seventies. It was a little retro at the time and didn’t catch on.”

Cassie’s face drained of color.

“What?” Jenna asked.

“This was found when I was at the hospital. I thought it was a bad dream, a nightmare, and that the nurse who visited me was a figment of my imagination.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Cassie explained about being visited by a nurse dressed in an old-fashioned uniform, that she had woken to find the woman in her retro costume in the room.

“What?” An icy talon of fear slid down Jenna’s spine.

“She must’ve dropped the earring.” Cassie swallowed tensely. “Somehow she knew that Allie was okay.”

“When did this happen?” Jenna demanded.

“The night before I left the hospital.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I thought it was all in my imagination. Except for that.” She indicated the bit of jewelry.

Jenna was stunned. This was so bizarre! But maybe . . . could the nurse actually know where Allie was? Or was this some kind of cruel prank or, worse yet, something her daughter’s fragile mind had concocted?

But there was the evidence of the earring . . .

She handed it back to Cassie and tried to stay calm. What did it mean? What the hell did it mean? “I haven’t heard anything about your sister,” she admitted, moving the rocker slowly back and forth. “Shane’s talked to the Portland police but if they have any new information they haven’t shared it. I assume they don’t.” She rubbed her hands together, caught herself, and grabbed both arms of her chair. “Have you shown them this?” She motioned with a finger toward the bagged earring.

“Not yet,” Trent interjected.

“Detective Nash thinks I’m crazy or worse.” Something unreadable passed behind Cassie’s eyes.

“What?” Jenna stopped rocking. Her trouble radar, now on alert, ratcheted up a couple of notches. “You know something?”

“No.”

“Cassie?” She could always tell when her children were lying to her and right now Cassie was hiding something. “What is it?”

“Is Shane around?” Cassie asked. She’d turned deathly sober as she and Trent exchanged glances.

“He’s on his way home. I texted him when you called and said you were coming by. But what is it?” Then her heart stilled. “Is it Allie?” she whispered, fear knotting her insides. “Oh, my God.”

“No, no, no . . . I don’t know about Allie. I don’t. But . . .” She looked at Trent just as the sound of a truck reached their ears. The dog lifted his head, leaped from the couch, and began whining at the door.

“We’ve got something we’d like to show him and you,” Trent explained. “I’ll go get it.” Following the spaniel, he was outside in an instant.

“What?” Jenna asked, her pulse pounding. “What’s going on, Cassie? What’s he got to show me?”

Cassie’s expression turned even more serious and her lips barely moved as she spoke. “A mask, Mom. A mask of Allie that was left in my bag. I think someone broke into my apartment and left it there, you know, to freak me out.” Cassie’s eyes held Jenna’s. “Mission accomplished.”

“For the love of God, what’re you talking about?”

Cassie climbed to her feet and stared out the window. Rotating her chair, Jenna watched the two men approaching the house, Shane and Trent, both head-bent against the rain, the dog running circles around them. Trent was carrying what appeared to be a legal-size zipper pouch. Their boots echoed on the porch before the door swung open and the dog streaked inside.

For once, Jenna didn’t care about the dirty paw prints visible on the hardwood. “Show me,” she said, on her feet and walking toward the entry hall. Her gaze was fixed on the pouch Trent carried.

“In here,” he said, heading into the dining room. Jenna’s heart was thudding, her pulse pounding in her brain. She barely heard Cassie’s footsteps behind her as they collected around the dining room table and Trent unzipped the black pouch to retrieve a clear plastic bag. Inside was a thick piece of paper, an obscene twisted picture of Allie from one of her movie roles. Her mangled face was life-size, the paper trimmed around her hairline, and her eyes had been cut out for viewing holes.