In Close

by Brenda Novak

  Sure enough, Leanne’s voice rang out a few seconds later. “Hello? Can I come in?”

  Claire raised her eyebrows at him. “Should we let her?” she teased.

  Isaac didn’t respond to her question. He stood and returned his revolver to his waistband. “Man, I’m jumpy,” he muttered, and went back to work, leaving her to answer the door.

  She did, but a bit reluctantly.

  “Hi.” She summoned a pleasant expression even though, after the past week, she had no idea what to expect from her sister.

  Leanne studied her. “Hi.”

  Claire hated how awkward it was between them. “Did you need something?”

  A frown appeared on her face. “I have to need something to visit my sister these days?”

  In case she hadn’t noticed, they were no longer on the best of terms. “Look, Lee, my life is out of control at the moment. I can’t be the same person I’ve always been for you. I need some time to—”

  “You don’t want any more grief about Isaac, and I get that,” she cut in.

  They had other problems, but they could start with that. “So…why’d you come?”

  “I want to help.”

  Claire had never heard those words from Leanne. “You mean…clean up?”

  “Whatever you need. Talk about Mom. Tell you what I remember.” Her gaze fell to the floor as if what she had to say next wasn’t easy. “Everything that’s happened, especially the fire, really scared me, Claire. I know I haven’t been the best sister in the world. I’ve got…issues I need to work on. We both know that. And I plan to make some changes. But—” she seemed to be struggling with tears “—I didn’t hurt Mom. I swear it. What I did with that tape and Joe—it was stupid and I’m embarrassed. That’s why I reacted the way I did.” She looked up. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Claire bent to give her a hug. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She sniffed, confirming the tears Claire had heard in her voice. “And if I’m jealous of your hot boyfriend, well…who isn’t?”

  Blocking Isaac’s view of them with the door, Claire gestured toward the kitchen. “He can hear you,” she mouthed.

  “It won’t be news to him,” she said, but then her grin instantly faded. “I owe you an apology where he’s concerned, too.”

  Claire’s stomach muscles tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “If you don’t it’s because he’s too good a guy to make me look bad. But I’m sorry all the same. Sometimes I…I have no idea why I do the things I do. Life just gets me down, and I make it worse. It’s…illogical but…it’s me.”

  Claire felt the tension in her body begin to dissipate. She understood, because she’d watched her sister struggle through life almost from the day she was born. Claire could certainly forgive her; she’d been forgiving her for years, but she’d rather have it that way than cut her younger sister out of her life. She was grateful that, for once, Leanne had something kind to say about Isaac. The acknowledgment felt great.

  Stepping back, Claire opened the door for her sister’s wheelchair. “Come on in. We’re just sorting through stuff and trying to get it in order.”

  “At least I hung out with you enough before all this to know where everything has to go. That makes me a little more valuable than Isaac.”

  “I love you both,” Claire said.

  Leanne gaped at the admission. “I knew you loved me. You’re supposed to love me. But him? Really?”

  She was asking about David, but Claire didn’t want to address the subject, so she shrugged it off with a joke. “Shh, it’ll go to his head.”

  “That happened fast.”

  Claire smiled at the memory of the six months she and Isaac had spent together ten years ago. Their feelings for each other had been simmering a long time. “Not really.”

  Leanne sobered. “I’m happy for you,” she said, and seemed to mean it.

  “Thanks.” Realizing that this might be the best opportunity to ask her sister the hard questions she still had to ask, she motioned her into the back bedroom and closed the door. “I do have some questions about Mom and…and what happened…with Joe.”

  Leanne shifted in her seat as though bracing for the worst. “I hope the fact that you brought me here means you haven’t told Isaac about that.”

  “No.” And now Claire was glad because her sister could truly forget that mistake. “But…did Joe really…expose himself to you, Lee?”

  They could hear Isaac still cleaning in the kitchen. Claire wondered what he thought about this private moment, but she doubted he’d mind.

  Leanne’s cheeks went pink as she shook her head. “No. It was all me. I just… I was so mortified when he went to Mom that…I had to come up with some reason for what I did.”

  Claire crouched at her side. “That lie could’ve ruined his life, Lee.”

  Fresh tears hovered in her sister’s eyelashes. “Sometimes I’m afraid it did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t hurt Mom. But—” her chest rose as she drew a deep breath “—I’m afraid what I said got them into a fight. That he killed her and I’m to blame.”

  No wonder she hadn’t wanted Claire searching for answers. No one would want that to come out. Her guilt explained why she’d been drinking, too, and some of her other self-destructive habits. “That’s a lot to carry around, Lee.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “Too much. Sometimes I…I have to dull the pain.”

  With sex and alcohol. Claire squeezed her arm. “It’s off your chest now. Let it go. Even if Joe killed Mom, you’re not to blame. What you did was bad, but you were only thirteen. Kids make mistakes. And causing a fight isn’t murder. If he made that choice, he’s responsible for it.”

  Self-recrimination caused Leanne to wring her hands. “But I’ll always feel like she’d still be with us if only I hadn’t…done what I did.”

  “Where on earth did you get the idea of creating that tape?” Claire asked.

  “Katie’s older cousin was…sixteen. He introduced us to…certain things.”

  “He didn’t molest you, did he?”

  “He had sex with both of us. More than once. Katie thought she loved him. I thought I loved Joe.”

  Claire felt her own eyes burn with tears. Her little sister had been so young. “Mom and Dad didn’t know?”

  “Of course not! Neither did Katie’s parents.”

  “Where’s this cousin now?”

  “Who cares? I never want to see him again—or Katie, either.”

  So that was why they’d lost touch. It all made sense now. “But what if Joe didn’t do it?” Claire asked. “He has to have done it. He and Mom were so upset that day.”

  Claire thought of Don Salter burning everything in their mother’s case files. “Can you name one reason Don Salter might have any interest in our mother?”

  Leanne blinked several times. “Did you say Don Salter? No. Except…he and Dad used to be close. Have you asked Dad about him?”

  “Not yet.” But it was interesting that Don had a stronger tie to Tug than he did to Joe, at least back then. “Do you know if Joe and Don are or were ever friends?”

  “They weren’t before, but…these days Joe and I pretty much avoid each other, so I have no idea who he might be friends with. Why?”

  “I found a copy of our mother’s case files in the studio the night I was attacked. David had them. His handwriting was all over the interviews and stuff. I brought them here, but they went missing during the break-in. Don was seen burning them the day of the fire.”

  Leanne’s jaw dropped. “So you think…Don Salter did this?” She waved at the door to indicate the wreckage beyond it.

  “We don’t know. We only know that he burned the files.”

  “I can’t tell you any more. Jeremy’s the only Salter I’m really familiar with, and that’s mainly because he has one heck of a crush on you. He’s been stalking you for so long I don’t even notice him a
nymore. But I bet, for five minutes of your time, he’d tell you anything you want. You should give him a call.”

  Claire glanced at the clock. “Maybe in a little while. He’s not there, but he has to come home sometime, right?

  The phone kept ringing. The doorbell, too. So far Detective Davis, Sheriff King, Deputy Clegg, Tug, Joe, Isaac and Claire had all come by. The noise and the threat of someone barging in and finding that he wasn’t really gone made Jeremy’s head swim. He couldn’t even come out of his father’s bedroom for fear someone would knock at the door. Or the phone would start up again.

  Did the police know his father was dead?

  They couldn’t. People who’d come had called out for Don as if he was alive. But why did they suddenly want to talk to him? Jeremy’s father hadn’t had this many people come to see him in years.

  Covering his ears, Jeremy mumbled, “They can’t know. They can’t. How could they?” Maybe he wasn’t the smartest person in the world, but Mrs. Hattie was his closest neighbor, and she lived clear down by the highway. No way could she have heard the gunshot. Jeremy helped plant her garden every spring. At eighty-one, she couldn’t hear him talking even when he was standing right beside her.

  So maybe it wasn’t that they thought his father was hurt or…or worse. Maybe they planned to ask about something else—like the fire. Was Detective Davis trying to reach him about that? Because Don couldn’t have set it. He was dead before it started. Jeremy got confused sometimes, but he was sure of that.

  Unless he did it as a zombie…

  No, Jeremy had to remember what was real and what wasn’t. Zombies weren’t real. His father had told him that. And something not real couldn’t set fires.

  Which meant someone else did it. But who? The same man his father had hired to kill David?

  Just thinking about the possibility that David’s murderer was back in Pineview made Jeremy curl up even tighter on his father’s bed. What his father had done was bad. Really bad. What made it worse was that he said he’d done it for Jeremy. Because that couldn’t be true.

  “You’re a liar, Dad. Liar, liar, pants on fire.” He’d never wanted anyone to get hurt.

  There was another knock at the door. Hugging a pillow to his chest, Jeremy squeezed his eyes closed. “Please go away,” he whispered.

  “Don? Don, you there?” It was a man’s voice. “It’s Detective Davis. I’m here on official business.”

  Again! Davis kept coming back!

  “I’d like a word with you, please.” Bang, bang, bang. “Don? Come on now. I see your car’s in the garage.”

  How’d he get into the garage? Had he opened the side door?

  “If you’re in there, open up.”

  Jeremy held his breath, waiting to see if Davis would bust in like he’d seen the cops do on TV. He knew he should probably answer and tell the detective that his father wasn’t home. But he couldn’t think of a good reason for him to be gone. He’d had one but he couldn’t think of it right now. He was too scared. And what if the detective didn’t believe him? Or…or what if Jeremy started to cry when they were talking?

  He felt like crying already. He wasn’t himself. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t say what needed to be said. He’d never been so miserable, even after his mother left. “Go away,” he whispered again.

  The detective knocked some more. He yelled again, too. Then finally…silence.

  After what seemed like a very long time, Jeremy lifted his head to see the clock. Eleven-thirty. That was late. No one was supposed to be coming over during “late.” His father told him it was rude to bother people after ten o’clock.

  Why was everyone being rude?

  It was the fire. Because of the fire they’d keep coming and keep coming until they eventually broke down the door. They wanted to know how his father started the fire. But he didn’t! They wanted to blame it on him. Why were they coming here? Had his father hired Les Weaver again? Had Les told them that?

  It was all so confusing…?.

  Another fifteen minutes ticked past before Jeremy got up the nerve to climb off the bed and creep down the stairs. Was someone on the other side of the front door, listening for noises coming from inside?

  The idea of that made his stomach hurt, especially when he imagined Detective Davis or Deputy Clegg at the window, watching him through the cracks in the blinds. It was easy to spy on someone. He knew because he’d been spying on Claire since he was a kid.

  “Detective Davis?” He rested his forehead against the door as he waited for a response, but there wasn’t one. The detective had left. He cracked open the door, just to be sure, and saw something white flutter to the ground. When he stooped to pick it up, he realized it was a business card.

  “J-Jared D-a-v-i-s. L-Lin-coln C-Coun-ty In-ves-tiga-tor.” He had to sound out the words. The note on the back was even harder to read because Detective Davis had written it in cursive.

  “I have…to…t-talk to…you. It’s im-por-tant… Call me.”

  The fire was important. That meant they’d keep coming back.

  “What do I do?” he breathed. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the bullet hole in the wall, which suddenly seemed so big, so obvious, that he was sure anyone who walked in would see it.

  He had to leave. He had to gather all his survival gear and head into the mountains. That was the only answer, the only way to avoid prison and the cuckoo place.

  Even after all his planning, all his dreaming, the idea of being alone out in the wild terrified him. But if Claire wasn’t safe in Pineview, maybe she could go with him.

  28

  The house was finally as restored as they were going to get it, at least until the insurance kicked in to replace what had been broken, but Isaac wouldn’t hear of spending the night. He said he wouldn’t sleep anywhere he couldn’t adequately protect them.

  Claire didn’t want to stay, either, but Libby was a thirty-minute drive, and it was already midnight.

  “Aren’t you tired?” she asked.

  “Not tired enough to close my eyes while there’s a killer running around,” he replied, and she had to admit he made a good point. She hadn’t forgotten the fire. If they stayed, whoever had tried to kill them might try again. And a fire at her place could endanger Leanne, too. Claire couldn’t even imagine how hard it would be to get her crippled sister out of a situation like the one they’d been in two nights earlier.

  “You’re right.” She yawned. “But do we have to go all the way to Libby?”

  “You have a better suggestion?”

  “It’s summer and sort of warm. We could camp out.”

  “Sorry. I don’t think sleeping under the stars would make us any less vulnerable.”

  “Even if no one knows where we went?”

  “I vote for the security of four walls and a locked door. I’ll drive. You can sleep in the truck.”

  She felt bad about giving out on him. He had to be tired, too. But she leaned against him and dozed off almost as soon as they’d left Pineview and would’ve slept the whole way if Isaac hadn’t suddenly let up on the gas.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.

  Claire lifted her head from his shoulder. His gaze was riveted on the rearview mirror. Sitting up, she twisted around to see what was going on, but she could find no obvious reason for him to be concerned. A pair of headlights cut through the dark several car lengths behind them, but why would that be a problem? “What is it?” she asked, still groggy.

  “Someone’s following us.”

  The grogginess fell away. “How do you know?”

  The highway was the most direct route to Libby, and it wasn’t unusual for two cars to travel in tandem for the whole thirty minutes.

  “Because this is someone who never leaves Pineview.”

  “You know the driver?”

  “It’s Jeremy Salter.”

  She twisted around again. “Are you sure?”

  “A few seconds ago, he came up close enoug
h for me to be see the make and model of the car. If that’s not his Impala it’s one that’s identical. And his is sort of distinct.”

  Claire wasn’t upset by this. Jeremy had been part of her life since she could remember. His showing up actually seemed sort of fortuitous, since they’d been looking for him, anyway. They’d stopped by once more before leaving town to see if he was home yet. “He must’ve followed us when we left his house. I thought someone was there.”

  “The question is…why wouldn’t he answer his door?”

  “Who knows? With Jeremy, nothing’s ever very clear.” Except his devotion to her, which was a constant she’d often felt she could live without. “Does he want us to pull over?”

  “He hasn’t flashed his lights or done anything else to indicate that.”

  She thought of all the small gifts he’d brought her over the years, how excited he was to have her cut his hair, how he seemed to appear almost everywhere she went. “Pull over. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  “Not yet. I want to wait until we get to Libby, just in case.”

  “In case he’s dangerous?” she asked. “Jeremy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “In case it’s someone else, someone who might not be as harmless. His father could be driving his car.”

  It could easily be Don. She’d seen him behind the wheel of Jeremy’s Impala at Joe’s place, hadn’t she?

  “This is so weird,” she murmured, and waited nervously through the next fifteen minutes, until they reached Libby.

  All the businesses were closed, but Isaac found a well-lit service station and pulled in. “Hand me my gun.” He’d stuck it under the seat so it wouldn’t be in the way and she could sleep against him.

  Claire did as he asked, then watched her side mirror as the Impala pulled in behind them. “Is it Jeremy?”

  “Yeah.”

  She let her breath go in relief, but Isaac didn’t put his gun away. He waited until Jeremy got out and they could see that he was unarmed.

  Isaac lowered his window, but Jeremy trudged up to her side instead. Claire wasn’t surprised.

  “Claire, I’m so glad I found you.”