The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (best novels in english .txt) 📗

So much for studying, eh?

Five minutes later, I find the Clee girls perched on a short stone wall behind their dormitory, smoking pungent clove cigarettes that they quickly begin to hide when I approach.

“Feel free to keep them out, ladies,” I tell them. “I’m not ATF.”

One of the twins, whom I recognize as Brooke from her many social media accounts, smiles at me.

“You want one?” she says, offering up a square, elegant package of some hipster brand. Brooke Clee is shorter and stockier than her sister, and she’s far more social, based on her thousands of followers, friends, and fans. She is fond of late-night confessions and revealing selfies.

Hannah, meanwhile, eyes me warily. She holds up her cell phone like it’s a stun gun. “So where are you from? Who let you onto school grounds?”

I tell them my fake name, show them my fake credentials. “The Bureau sent me here for some follow-up questions. We’re all very concerned about Paige, and would like to find her as quickly as possible.”

“We spent hours with you guys already,” Brooke says. “What more is there to ask?”

“You should be going through our father’s attorney,” Hannah adds.

“Relax, ladies,” I say. “This isn’t formal. I came up here to get a better sense of Paige’s school life. Who her friends are, the kinds of things she enjoys…”

Brooke loosens up, but it’s clear her sister isn’t having any of this. “You should be down on the island looking for her, not up here,” Hannah says. “I’d still be down there if my father didn’t insist I return for classes.”

“And where would you be looking?”

Brooke leans forward, wispy smoke curling out of her petite nostrils. “Think about it. She didn’t fly home, and she didn’t walk. The only other way off that island is by boat.”

Hannah turns to shush her sister, but Brooke flashes eye daggers in return. “What? Are we supposed to protect that trust fund jerk? For what?”

“Does this jerk have a name?” I ask.

“Brooke, stop being a moron. This is what they do—ask the same questions over and over again and hope you say something different. I’m calling Daddy’s lawyer.”

Of course we know the trust fund jerk’s name already. And, my dear Matthew, I know you didn’t send me here to squeeze information out of these two. You sent me trekking up here in the cold snow to push their buttons and see what happens.

So I push.

“Before you call your father’s attorney,” I say, “you guys should know something.”

Hannah’s eyes narrow. “What’s that?”

“We’re fairly certain Paige is dead. And there’s been a huge reward offered for closure on the case.”

The look on their entitled little faces tells me that indeed I’ve pushed the right buttons.

“How…” Brooke stammers. “How can you say that?”

Chapter 6

JANA (continued)

Now here’s where I get to turn my “friendly FBI agent” persona into something more sinister. It’s not as much fun playing the good girl, the straight woman, the high-cheekboned representative of law and order.

I much prefer the role of the woman who wears a professional face for all the world to see…until the mask slips slightly, and what’s underneath is someone you’d never want to meet.

“The only way she left that island on a boat,” I tell them, “is if someone wrapped her body in a tarp and gave her a burial at sea. No…I think she’s buried in the sand somewhere. Close your eyes and picture it, ladies. Your best friend, at the bottom of some dank hole, while somebody shovels sand over her body. Her arms. Her legs. Her face. Until there’s no trace of her.”

“Stop saying she’s dead!” Brooke cries.

But I’m more interested in Hannah’s reaction to my little rant. She’s not a bad actor herself, and she looks like she’s trying really hard to keep a firm grip on the wild thoughts running through her mind.

“Fine,” I say. “Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she’s alive and well. Maybe you two know her disappearance is a hoax. Maybe you’re even in on it. Maybe the whole trip to the island was just a convenient way to help your friend disappear.”

And then there it is…the tell.

You know how when you cut yourself deeply there’s a thrill of panic throughout your body, even before the pain begins or the first drop of blood is spilled?

I see that thrill on their faces now. They know something. They quickly recover and do their best to hide it from me, but it’s too late.

So I build on it.

“Closure will happen, ladies. When the reward is large enough, nothing is kept secret for long. So I’d like you to think about that. For all I know, your time is already up.”

Hannah now holds the phone to her ear. “You’re not FBI. I’m calling campus security.”

Chapter 7

SECURITY

The guard appears within seconds—which is what they’re paid to do. When you have a campus full of the offspring of the world’s elite, you’d better be sure that your security is top-notch and ready for action at a millisecond’s notice.

Hannah and Brooke Clee relax the moment they see the familiar uniform round the corner of the dormitory. To most students, the guards here at St. Paul’s are like glorified babysitters with badges whom you can easily bribe to do your bidding. Did your car break down when you’re trying to sneak beer on campus? Heck, they’ll have it towed to a garage and store the cans in your minifridge for you. The guards aren’t here to tell the students what to do; they’re here to keep the scumbags out.

Like this fake scumbag FBI agent, who Hannah probably assumes is just another tabloid reporter looking for a scoop. Absolutely shameless.

“My daddy is going to destroy you,” she hisses at Jana. “There won’t be anything of you left.”

Jana Rose, meanwhile, says nothing. She simply slips the bland professional mask back over her face as the burly guard approaches.

“You’re going to have to come with me, ma’am,” the guard says.

Jana blinks. “Ma’am? Do I look