Inevitable Sentences Read online

  When Lizzie wasn’t on duty she seemed to wear the extreme opposite of her work uniform: black slacks, white blouse, and light blue duster similar to a lab coat. Lizzie’s personality also changed. The hardworking nine-to-fiver morphed into the woman who now sat across from Priscilla, the carefree girl-about-town. The two women were as different as women could be. Despite her petite size, Lizzie’s flamboyance could eclipse Priscilla’s stodginess. How they had become and remained friends all those years still amazed Priscilla.

  “Hello to you, too.” Priscilla’s voice sounded as cold as the wind outside. “Why would you go back to a place where you weren’t happy? You’ve only lived here six months.” Priscilla knew the answer. Lizzie never stayed anywhere for long. Usually it was because she’d gotten into some sort of trouble—never anything to get arrested for, but close. Six months ago she’d fled Florida to get away from the wife of the man she was visiting in prison. According to the prison employee gossip, his wife was still hunting for Lizzie. Lucky for Lizzie, the prisoner’s wife never ventured as far north as Georgia, let alone the UP. When Priscilla confronted Lizzie about that situation she shrugged it off, laughed, and announced, “She didn’t catch me, did she?”

  Lizzie was bouncing in place. “Yeah, well, you know me. I can’t light in one town too long,” Lizzie said. “I get so bored. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “You know exactly how and why.” Priscilla swallowed some water. “I came back to the place where I feel the most comfortable and that I know best. I needed the familiarity and the stability.”

  “Boooorrrring!” Lizzie stretched the word out for emphasis at the same time she gave the water the evil eye. “Hello! We need something more than water to drink.”

  “I was waiting for you to get here before I ordered.” Priscilla slid a menu over to Lizzie. “We can order food and drinks at the same time. I can’t stay here all night.” Would Lizzie hear and understand her warning? The last time they got together, Lizzie went on until midnight about her lackluster love life and her need for more of a challenge at work. “You know I have to be at the prison early, and I have a long day because I also work at the lighthouse tomorrow,” Priscilla added in an efficient tone she hoped emphasized that she was not fooling. “And I don’t want to fall asleep halfway through the day, or while driving on that long, dark road to the lighthouse. It could take hours for someone to find me.”

  “You shouldn’t be working through your own problems by counseling those women anyway,” Lizzie nearly hissed at her. “You’re wasting your time. You need to lighten up, have some fun.”

  Lizzie’s comment infuriated Priscilla. She had violated ethics when she told Lizzie about the safe house, thinking Lizzie would volunteer to give her own life some meaning. At least Priscilla had addressed her personal problems, unlike Lizzie, who only made excuses or never saw anything wrong with her behavior. Priscilla didn’t have time to refute Lizzie because the waitress came to the table.

  “Hi! I’m Tess, your waitperson for the evening. Ready to order?”

  Tess was way too cheerful for Priscilla on such a dreadful night.

  “Yeah,” Lizzie said, without asking Priscilla if she had decided. “I’ll have your house stout.” Her attention promptly went to the menu. “Want to share a Greek pizza?” she asked Priscilla.

  “Sure. I’ll have the stout, too,” Priscilla said, relieved that Lizzie had chosen something sensible for a change. She wouldn’t be begging to taste her entrée as she always did when Priscilla ordered something different. Lizzie was more like Priscilla’s kid sister than a friend. Lizzie had never grown up. Did she envy her?

  Tess finished writing down the order. “I’ll be right back with your beers,” she said.

  Both Lizzie and Priscilla nodded.

  Tess hustled away.

  “I’m surprised you chose something on the healthy side, which you rarely do.” Priscilla sounded like her own criticizing mother.

  “What’s not to like about the Greek pizza—marinara sauce, spinach, feta, mozzarella, tomatoes, and black olives?” Lizzie raised a finger for each ingredient she listed. Her eyes glinted when she added, “Then washed down with the best beer in Michigan. Yum.”

  “Yes, but the pizza is that awful vegetarian stuff.” Priscilla clearly mimicked a comment Lizzie had made many times in the past.

  Tess returned with their beers. “This is my favorite, too.” She smiled as she set a glass in front of each woman on coasters with a picture of a lighthouse. “The pizza will be here shortly.” She smiled and headed to a family of four two tables over, who was ready to pay up and get home.

  Both Priscilla and Lizzie sipped their beers. “Ummm. Tastes perfect,” Lizzie gushed.

  Priscilla ignored her comment. “Now that you’ve dragged me here in such horrid weather, what is so urgent that you couldn’t wait another day or two to tell me?” Priscilla’s irritation was evident.

  Lizzie set her beer down and leaned back against the red vinyl seat. As she studied Priscilla, Lizzie nibbled her lower lip. Not a good sign. She always did that when she was about to either do something stupid or she already had done something stupid and had been caught.

  “Well?” Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to hear this before the evening is over.”

  “I won’t be in Marquette in three days. That’s why I had to see you tonight. I also need your help.” Lizzie sounded more restrained than Priscilla had ever heard her before.

  She set her beer down, her stomach suddenly feeling like it had the many times Dwayne had punched her. She’d known Lizzie for how many years? This was the first time she’d ever seen her eyes turn bitter and dark. Nothing before had ever seemed to change Lizzie’s upbeat outlook, even if it should have. “What is this all about? I’ve never seen you so serious.” Priscilla’s tone dropped to a hesitant whisper.

  “You know Chad Wilbanks.”

  “Yes. I’ve seen him around the prison and know his history. Why?” Did she really want to know the answer? Although Priscilla had never counseled Chad, she knew from the prison grapevine he could be charming and persuasive.

  “We’re in love.” Lizzie’s eyes immediately changed to a clear, vibrant chocolate color.

  “Oh, Lizzie, no! Not again.”

  “Yes. We are. This time it’s the real thing.”

  Priscilla lowered her head and pressed her thumb and forefinger against her temples to stop the dizziness. A vile sourness rose into her throat. It was worse than she’d suspected. She could only imagine how Lizzie had woven her into some insane plot.

  Lizzie spoke up again. “We need your help.”

  Tess set the pizza on the table and cheerfully said, “Enjoy!”

  Neither Lizzie nor Priscilla acknowledged her. Priscilla had no idea what Lizzie’s definition of help could be.

  Tess shifted from foot to foot and asked, “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, no. Thank you,” Priscilla answered without taking her eyes from Lizzie and flapped her hand to send the waitress away.

  “Okay.” Tess scampered off.

  The smell of pizza, which had sounded good a few minutes earlier, now made Priscilla want to throw up.

  “What can I possibly do?” She didn’t even want to hear what Lizzie had concocted.

  Lizzie checked the area to make sure no one could hear. She bent over the table and motioned for Priscilla to do the same. Their heads nearly touched. “I’m gonna help Chad escape on Sunday. Then we’re outta here. We’re headin’ south.” Lizzie beamed as though she had announced she’d won the lotto. “Way south to Mexico.”

  “What?” Priscilla shouted.

  “Be quiet. Damn. Do you want all Marquette to know?” Lizzie slid back again, took a slug of beer, and defiantly crossed her arms over her chest.

  Priscilla assessed the now empty restaurant. “I don’t think there is a chance anyone will hear us. All the smart people have gone home.”

  Both were silent. Priscilla didn’t k
now what else to say. Or perhaps she was afraid if she opened her mouth she’d get sucked into Lizzie’s scheme, as she had too many times since grade school. But an escape? Chad was in prison for life. He was watched closely.

  Yet he did work with Lizzie in the kitchen. Priscilla drummed her fingers as she thought about it. How closely did Mackey or Jones or the other officers really keep an eye on them? How far did the lovers think they could get before they were found? Where in hell would they live in Mexico?

  There were too many questions that Priscilla bet Lizzie had never bothered to consider.

  “You look like someone stomped on your head.” Lizzie pulled a slice of pizza from the tray and chomped a huge bite. Sauce dripped down her chin. She wiped it away with her hand and chewed enthusiastically.

  “I guess I feel that way.” Should she ask more? No. Let Lizzie give her whatever information she wanted. Priscilla didn’t dare sound too eager or interested.

  “Since you don’t seem to wanna press me for the whole story, I’ll go ahead and tell you.” Lizzie pushed the tray toward Priscilla. “Pizza?”

  Priscilla shook her head. She was no longer hungry. Maybe if she sat perfectly still, Lizzie would leave. She didn’t want any part of Lizzie’s crazy plan.

  “I need your help,” Lizzie repeated, overemphasizing each word.

  “You’re talking about getting a serial killer out of prison.” Priscilla began to hyperventilate. If she got involved, her own life would be over. She’d go to prison herself if—no when—they were caught.

  “Yes. But let’s get this clear.” Lizzie’s eyes turned that dark, cold shade again, the eyes of a person who would stop at nothing. The person facing Priscilla was so unfamiliar it frightened her. “Chad is an alleged serial killer.” Lizzie crunched down on the pizza and flopped back. The vinyl bench crackled under the pressure. She chewed leisurely and defiantly, never diverting her gaze from Priscilla. “Stop breathin’ like some star overactin’ her part.”

  Priscilla took several more shuddering breaths, and said, “What exactly are you asking me to do? I could lose everything I’ve got after—”

  “It’s the before part I want to talk to you about,” Lizzie said. She finished off her beer and signaled Tess for another.

  Priscilla searched the room for the pounding she heard and then it dawned on her. It was her own heartbeat pulsing into her head. She could feel the blood throb in her temples. She lowered her hands and studied Lizzie. “You should talk to Pilar’s mother about Chad before you do this. Maybe she could shed some light on who Chad really is.”

  “You mean talk to the Gross Pointe snob who thought her daughter was too good for Chad? Give me a break.” Lizzie picked up her empty glass and slammed it down when she remembered it held no beer. “Celeste is Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes. She’s almost as clueless as you, thinkin’ you’re goin’ to save those women at the lighthouse.”

  When Lizzie started to drop the “g” from her words, it meant she had either drunk too much or was sliding into her street slang persona. Either way, it would be useless to remind Lizzie in her current state of mind about Celeste’s successes. Moreover, no matter what Priscilla said, she doubted that Lizzie was about to be persuaded to leave Chad in prison where he belonged. Priscilla held her tongue, all the while wondering how Lizzie could be this dumb. How did any woman get caught in the manipulative hands of a dangerous man? Priscilla sighed. Hadn’t she herself fallen into the same trap with Dwayne? The injuries her ex-husband inflicted had scarred her permanently.

  Priscilla also wished she’d never told Lizzie about her work with Celeste or that Celeste was even in the area. She had shared that information when she thought she could trust Lizzie. She had actually thought Lizzie would be happy for her and the positive role she played at the safe house. Whatever had made Pricilla think she could rely on her wild friend?

  Suddenly Priscilla was concerned about what Lizzie had told Chad about the safe house and Celeste. Surely he wouldn’t think Celeste would help him. Besides, it seemed he certainly had Lizzie to aid and abet him, anyway.

  “Priscilla, I’ll make this very clear.” Lizzie spat the words out. “You have until Saturday evenin’ to decide whether you’ll help me get Chad out.” She paused when Tess brought the beer.

  “Finished with the pizza?” Tess asked. She eyed the untouched plate and half-filled glass of beer in front of Priscilla.

  “Yes,” Priscilla answered before Lizzie could.

  Tess cleared it away. “Can I get anything else for you two? Some dessert, maybe?” She took little care to mask her annoyance, no doubt wanting to get on the road rather than catering to the last two lingering patrons.

  Both Priscilla and Lizzie shook their heads. They never took their eyes off each other.

  “I’ll get your check,” Tess said, eagerly snatching water glasses and condiments from the table.

  Priscilla forced a nod and smiled at Tess. Surely she’d like to go home early on such a miserable night. Who wouldn’t?

  “We go on Sunday,” Lizzie finished her interrupted scenario.

  “You’re crazy if you think you are any different from all of Chad’s other victims.” Priscilla couldn’t believe how gullible Lizzie was. What a reminder. Hadn’t she been the same way with Dwayne?

  “He’s only been convicted of one murder. Susan Mitchell. And that was an accident.” Lizzie sounded convinced. “It was nothing. It was a lover’s quarrel that got outta hand because they were high.”

  Priscilla inspected the paper napkin she had shredded into several pieces. “Have you forgotten the fact that Susan had been raped and stabbed over and over, like Chad’s other victims?” Priscilla remembered the newspaper article about Susan. She was killed in the basement of Chad’s aunt’s house while he was house-sitting. He also never reported the so-called accident to the police. How could Lizzie be blind to such solid evidence?

  “It was consensual sex,” Lizzie insisted. Her neck had turned a deep red and the crimson color exploded into her cheeks. “Those other dead women were alleged victims. Chad has never been found guilty of their murders.”

  “Come on, Lizzie. It’s the same MO. Besides, Chad has been linked to the other murders. Since he was already serving life without parole, the prosecutor decided not to waste money on more trials.” Priscilla slumped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Try to change my mind, her whole posture demanded.

  “What of it?” Lizzie gulped down her entire glass of beer.

  “Be careful. You could be Chad’s next victim.” Priscilla leaned forward to say this in her best counselor tone.

  “Not a chance. What’s more, I’m nothing like those other women—Susan and that Pilar Brookstone. I don’t look like them, either. That’s why Chad loves me. I’m different.”

  Priscilla reached across the table and flipped a piece of Lizzie’s hair. “You’ve dyed your hair to resemble theirs.”

  “It’s more close to my natural color. You know that.” Lizzie smacked Priscilla’s hand away.

  “You’re right—you don’t look like the rest of the victims, except the hair.” Priscilla sighed. “I heard they all bore a resemblance to Maryann, Chad’s mother.”

  “Ha! I told you I wasn’t the same.” Lizzie sported a pleased grin. “If you really want to talk about change, check out yourself, Ms. Ph.D.” She waved a hand at Priscilla. “You used to model to pay for college. Now you’re thirty pounds heavier and wear out-of-date hippie outfits like that big overshirt and broom skirt you’re wearing tonight. And you’ve stopped wearing makeup. You’re as pale as a ghost, except for those freckles.” Lizzie smirked and pointed at Priscilla. “They get a shade darker when you’re upset. Like now.”

  “You wear too much makeup,” Priscilla fought back with the silly, childish statement. Lizzie’s makeup resembled the kind the goths wore—whitish foundation; dark, heavily lined eyes; and almost black lipstick.

  “What are you hiding from?” Lizzie passed right over the makeup comment
and directed her challenge to something meatier. “What are you afraid of?”

  Priscilla didn’t answer. Yet she knew Lizzie was right. When she was thin she had dressed more in style. What did that get her? Dwayne. The result? He beat her, especially if any other man glanced at her. She finally gathered the right words to answer Lizzie. “I’m happy the way I am. I don’t have to worry about getting into bad relationships. That’s your department.” The last statement was for Lizzie’s benefit as much as her own. “If a man wants to date me, he does it for who I am today, not some sexy chick he wants to conquer.”

  “My, my. Aren’t you Miss High and Mighty?” Lizzie sneered. “Well, get off your high horse. You’re upset with yourself and jealous of me because you’ve lost your sense of adventure and I haven’t. If you ever had one.”

  “Speaking of that, does Chad know about your other adventures?” Maybe this could dissuade Lizzie from her cockamamie scheme.

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes at Priscilla. “What are you getting at?”

  “You’re nothing but a groupie.” Priscilla nodded as Lizzie’s eyes widened.

  “What?” Lizzie crinkled her forehead and frowned. “How do you see that?”

  “You follow notorious killers around like a girl following a rock star.” Priscilla began to feel better. She might be able to persuade Lizzie she had a bad and perhaps a dangerous habit.

  “I still don’t get what you’re talkin’ about.” Lizzie crossed her legs and bobbed the one on top up and down. The furious motion made her whole body jump with each movement, shaking the table.

  “Yes, you do.” Priscilla actually wagged a finger at Lizzie. “You even wrote to Scott Peterson. You like to live on the edge. You always have. You’re doing it again with Chad.”

  “You’re wrong.” Lizzie waved her hand back and forth. “I may have done that in the past—”