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AT 2:00 A.M. the doorbell started again. This time it was accompanied by sharp rapping on glass.
Again, Kate struggled out of bed and again her foot got caught in her pants leg. “Why should I bother?” she mumbled. “Why don’t I just go to the door in my T-shirt and undies? Better yet, I’ll stay in bed and let Jack and Aunt Sara handle it.”
The doorbell kept going in spurts, like a siren warning of an approaching tornado. She grabbed a pair of sweatpants off a hook and pulled them on.
As before, Jack was by the front door. In spite of the noise, he was leaning against the jamb, his eyes closed, half-asleep. Sara was sluggishly walking toward them. She’d put on a silky blue pajama set that looked like it was from a 1930s Carole Lombard movie.
“Who is it?” Kate asked.
“Three girls,” Jack said. “I know their parents but not them. But I’ve heard enough to know that they travel in a Mean Girl pack. Nastiest of the nasties. You know, it would help if girls didn’t become pretty until they reached twenty-one.”
“Ugliness would have stopped you in high school?” Kate asked, yawning.
Jack didn’t reply, but placed himself in front of the door, then opened it. He wasn’t going to let this batch run into Sara.
Sure enough, three very pretty teenage girls ran in and slammed into him. For all that it was the wee hours of the morning, the girls were beautifully groomed: shiny, styled hair, so much makeup a circus performer would be envious, and clothes that could grace the cover of a fashion magazine.
“Oh, Jack,” the middle one said. “You have to help us.”
“Yes, Jack,” the blonde one said. “We don’t want to go to jail.”
The last girl was looking at Kate. “Is this your girlfriend everyone talks about? I didn’t know you liked red hair.” She stroked her own dark locks. “I could dye mine if you—”
Sara spoke up. “Is this about Janet Beeson?”
“Yes,” the first girl said. She was the tallest and seemed to be the leader. “Sheriff Flynn told my father he wanted to talk to us at eight a.m. We don’t know what to say.”
Jack was standing by the door. “How about the truth? Now that that’s settled, you can go home.”
The girls didn’t move. The taller one started to cry in a way that didn’t mess up her makeup. The others followed her lead.
Jack looked like he wanted to join them. “We have nothing to do with this case so there’s no reason for you to tell us anything, and certainly no reason for you to be here at two in the morning. Save your story for the sheriff.”
“But everyone in Lachlan knows you solved the last case,” the tall one said.
“Yes.” The blonde wiped her eyes—and didn’t so much as smear her three shades of eyeshadow. “You were brilliant.”
They were nearly afloat in self-pity.
“Come on,” Sara said tiredly as she led the way to the living room. “Tell us why Sheriff Flynn wants to talk to you.”
The girls sat down on the couch, the tall one in the middle. “I’m Madison and this is Ashley and Britney.” She didn’t tell which was which.
The blonde spoke up. “We weren’t very nice to Mrs. Beeson.”
Jack was still standing. “Did you kill her?”
The girls’ eyes widened in horror. “No,” Madison whispered.
“Then there is no problem. Just tell the sheriff that you were rotten little snakes to a lovely old woman, then go home and start being nice to people. Everyone in town will appreciate that.” He half turned, his arm held out toward the door.
The girls didn’t move. They just sat there looking at Kate and Sara with pleading eyes.
“Jack,” Sara said, “could you get them something to—?”
“No.” He sat down. “I don’t want this town to hear that we entertain guests all night long.” He looked in warning at the girls. “Do your parents know where you are?”
They shook their heads.
