Stranger in the Lake

by Kimberly Belle

  After a second or two, Chet digs around in his pocket for his phone. “Fine, but I just wanna state for the record that I didn’t show anybody these pictures she sent, and the plans we made to meet up on Tuesday night never happened. She went silent, and I ended up crashing on Jed Allen’s couch. Annalee had kicked me out.” Chet unlocks his cell and pulls up the string.

  I watch Chief Hunt’s expression as he scrolls through the texts, the way his lips purse and one brow crawls up his forehead at photos with what looks like a hell of a lot more than a simple flash of skin. My mind is racing, but I can’t think straight, can’t think of any way to stop this runaway train. All I know is that I need the questioning to end and everybody to leave. Chet slept with Sienna Sterling the day before she died. Jesus Christ.

  Chief looks up from the phone. “Where were you on Wednesday morning from, say, 2:00 a.m. on?”

  “Like I said, asleep on Jed Allen’s couch.”

  “Was Mr. Allen there at the time?”

  “Yeah. And so was his girlfriend.”

  “Can either of them confirm it?”

  “I mean...everybody was asleep, but I guess.”

  “I’m going to need a list of your whereabouts from the time you left the B and B until noon on Wednesday, along with a list of names and numbers of people who can back you up on it. Bring it by the station by closing time today. Oh, and if you delete this string from your phone, I’ll throw your ass in jail for evidence tampering.”

  He doesn’t wait for Chet to respond, or for Micah or anyone else to say goodbye. The chief hands the phone back to Chet and stomps out the door, leaving behind him a silence so complete I hear the engine crank on the front driveway. I stare at Chet. Chet stares at the floor. Diana stares at us from across the island, that stupid perfect corkscrew ponytail draped down one shoulder, and I hate that she’s here. I hate that she’s a witness to all this.

  I smack Chet with both hands on the chest. “Chet, what the hell? You said you didn’t sleep with her.”

  “That’s because you’re my sister. I’m not telling you that kind of stuff. Gross.”

  “This is serious!”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He groans, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I messed up, okay? When Sam showed me her picture on his phone, I completely freaked. I swear I didn’t know she was dead, and I’d never hurt her. You know me. I wouldn’t.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “What else? Because I can’t fix it unless you tell me now. What else are you not saying?”

  “Nothing, I swear. We were gonna meet up but she got busy. The last time we texted was Tuesday afternoon. She said she had something to do that night but would text me when she was done. She never did. Here.” He shoves his phone at my chest. “Take a look if you don’t believe me.”

  I clutch his phone in my hand but I don’t look at the thing. I’m too busy breathing through the fury, the panic.

  Paul steps up next to me, a supportive presence, but his words are aimed at Micah. “Can you talk to your dad? We need to know what we’re dealing with here, what, if anything, the police are holding back. She told Chet she had plans on Tuesday night. Can you find out if the police know what they were?”

  Micah laughs, a harsh sound without humor. “You know as well as I do that man tells me nothing. I have zero control over what happens next. He’s just following leads, is all, and Chet did sleep with her.”

  I wince.

  Paul turns to Chet. “I take it you can make that list?”

  Chet gives him a shaky nod. “Yeah, but seriously, man. We were all asleep. Is sleeping even an alibi?”

  “Yes,” Micah says. “Especially if there was some kind of security system holding you inside, or if you can find a neighbor to confirm your car was there all night. Your phone’s another piece of the puzzle, assuming it was on you that whole time. They’ll use it to verify if you were where you say you were, so be as specific as possible. Retrace your steps, and make sure to write down everybody you saw or spoke to that day. Every name you can think of, even if you didn’t have an actual conversation with them. The more people saw you around town, the better.”

  Chet thanks him, then scurries off to Paul’s study. Suddenly, I’m thinking about the Hostess cupcakes stashed in a shoebox at the back of my closet upstairs. Chocolate and sugar and preservatives. I want them so bad I contemplate marching up there. I want them so bad my teeth ache.

  I whirl to face Micah, then Paul. “Chet didn’t do this. You know he didn’t.”

  Diana sinks onto a counter stool. “Well, then he shouldn’t have lied. It doesn’t look good, you know. No wonder Chief Hunt is so angry.”

  “That’s very helpful, Diana.” I stuff as much condescension as I can in my tone—a page from her playbook. Paul’s palm presses onto my back, but I shake him off. “Thank you for pointing it out.”

  “Let’s all just calm down for a second,” Micah says. “Let’s think this through. As far as I know, the manhunt for Jax is still full steam ahead. There’s an APB out in three states and volunteer agents from Macon, Haywood, Transylvania and Swain counties beefing up the search. Even if Chet’s DNA was found inside Sienna, and I’m not saying that it was, consensual sex is not a crime. And if he’s telling the truth about seeing her last on Tuesday morning, that means he wasn’t the last person to see her alive. There were multiple sightings of both her and Jax in town all that day and into the evening.”

  Micah’s words do the trick. I blow out a sigh, and my shoulders relax a good inch.

  And then I think of something else. I saw Jax in town on Tuesday, too, when he stepped out of the shadows of the terrace. I am a witness.

  Tell Paul I need to talk to him.

  I whirl around to Paul. “Jax was looking for you. He wanted to talk to you. Why?”

  Paul frowns. “I don’t... What are you talking about? When was he looking for me?”

  “On Tuesday when I came to pick you up, Jax was waiting outside your office. He said, ‘Tell Paul I need to talk to him.’ The next thing I know, Sienna turns up dead and you run off to find him, and he shows up here wearing her scarf. Now it’s looking like all those things are somehow connected, and I want to know how.”

  The blood drains from Paul’s face. “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “I just want to understand, Paul. What is happening?”

  Micah pushes to a stand, moving around the island, coming closer. “Back up a second. Jax was here?”

  I nod. “Wednesday night. In Sienna’s scarf and Paul’s boots.”

  Micah cuts his gaze to Paul, shaking his head in disgust. “Why am I not surprised? What other handouts have you been sliding his way? Wait, wait—let me guess. Food, for sure. Money, too, probably.”

  Paul doesn’t deny either. He casts a pointed look at Diana, a silent communication like the ones we sometimes share, our married couple’s telepathy. Only this is a message I can’t quite read. I study her expression, trying to identify the emotion smothering her face. Worry looks like fear looks like disapproval. Or maybe all three.

  But of course Paul has been taking care of Jax all this time. Why else would Jax be waiting for Paul on that terrace? Why else would Jax show up here?

  The answer churns in my stomach, sending up a wave of nausea that makes my mouth water. I stare out the window and try not to throw up while the conversation moves on to the progress Micah and his team have been making—very little. Not a stitch of evidence, no sign of anything that would have been on her when she slid into the water. Her cell phone, maybe, or her jewelry.

  “A pair of gold hoops, a pearl bracelet, a watch and her grandma’s diamond-and-ruby ring,” Micah says, “all of which are pretty much impossible to find in a lake the size of Lake Crosby. Don’t go spreading that around town, by the way. Dad’s trying to keep the list of jewelry quiet.”

 
“You can’t honestly think you’re going to find her jewelry in the lake,” Diana says, filling a glass at the sink. “The killer would have to be a real idiot to put it in the same place he dumped her body.”

  Micah’s phone beeps, a muffled sound from deep inside a denim pocket. He fishes it out and checks the screen. “Looks like the guys have picked up something. Keep the doors locked and the alarm on, and don’t even think of stepping outside without backup. If Jax is desperate enough, we all know where he’ll end up.”

  Micah disappears out the back door, and a tingling starts on the top of my head. It spreads down my scalp, ringing in my ears with the one word he didn’t say.

  Here. Jax will end up here.

  28

  Buddy’s BBQ is little more than an ancient, rusted-out trailer shoved to the back of a clearing, but like most every night, the place is hopping. Packed with throngs of diners standing in clumps around the counter, spilling down its rickety deck. Cars are parked every which way on a stretch of trampled-down dirt, a field that’s more weeds than grass and scattered with picnic tables. On the opposite end, a giant smoker burps smoke into the nighttime sky.

  Paul leans into the windshield. “Are you sure about this place? It looks kind of...unhygienic.”

  They’re the first words he’s said since leaving the house, not that I’ve said much, either. I’m still worried about Chet, still pissed at Paul for sneaking out this morning and staying away all day, still confused about whatever had Jax and Paul looking for each other around the time a woman was murdered.

  And I can’t shake that feeling, that cold and oily wave that went through me when I thought Sienna was here because of Katherine, because of Paul. I can’t just scrub those suspicions away. They hold power now, simply by the act of thinking them. Even if I don’t believe them anymore, what does it say about me that I did? What does it say about my marriage?

  I kill the engine, drop the keys in my bag. “Don’t worry about the germs. By the time the food makes it to your plate, they’ve all been fried or smoked off.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

  We step onto the deck, and the gazes sweep over me and Paul with a disapproving thud. This is a Wrangler jeans and baseball-cap kind of crowd, and Paul’s brand of designer casual might as well be a three-piece suit. I scan the row of faces pointed our way, and I recognize every single one. Nobody smiles. Nobody says hi.

  “Tough crowd,” Paul mutters.

  I point to an empty picnic table under a pine tree. “Go save that spot. I’ll get the food.”

  I step to the window and Buddy doesn’t smile, but then again, Buddy never smiles. He lifts a chin in greeting, wiping a hand down his grubby apron. “What do you want?”

  “Two heavyweights all the way with strings. Two Cokes.”

  Buddy huffs an approving grunt. He doesn’t have a menu, and only a regular customer would know the lingo for their most popular sandwich, chopped brisket topped with everything but the kitchen sink. The strings are code for french fries. He turns and hollers the order into the trailer, then leans his head out of the window far enough to see Paul, sitting woodenly on the hard bench. He waves when he sees us looking.

  Buddy ducks back inside. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Paul. My husband.”

  “What happened to his face?”

  “Jax happened. Paul went searching for him in Balsam Bluff, and Jax didn’t want to be found.”

  Buddy grunts, I think in approval. “Balsam Bluff is the last place Jax’ll be. He’s too wily for that.”

  And thus the reason for me bringing Paul here. Buddy hears everything. He knows things, and assuming you’re the right person and you don’t ask for his BBQ recipe, he’s typically generous with his information.

  “What’s the word on the street? About the tourist, I mean.”

  Buddy’s eyes go squinty, and he stares me down. He knows I haven’t been around much since marrying Paul, and he knows this reception I’m getting from his regulars is why. I feel their gazes on me now, hear their murmurs and whispers behind my back, even though none of them will look me in the eye. It’s a proper mountain snub; I’ll give them that. But I’m hoping Buddy here is a different story.

  He looks past me, shakes his head. “That Chet thing. That’s just a distraction.”

  Something loosens in my chest, and I blow out a sigh. “A distraction from what?”

  “Unclear. But I don’t trust that Chief Hunt. Too many tales of him planting evidence, strong-arming false confessions. That’s why this thing with Jax, it just feels too convenient.”

  “You think Chief Hunt is dirty?”

  Buddy frowns. “I didn’t say that. But ask anybody here. They’ll tell you that man don’t play fair.” He slaps a palm to the countertop. “Food’ll be up shortly.”

  He ducks back inside and that’s it. Conversation over.

  I wait for the food, contemplating Buddy’s words. I knew Chief Hunt was mean and power-hungry, that his policies were biased against the working class, that the sight of him kicked my heart into gear.

  But dirty?

  Buddy reappears, shoving two cans and the baskets of food at my chest, and I suddenly can’t think of anything other than how starving I am, the smell of smoked meat and fried potatoes waking up a new, animalistic hunger. I haven’t eaten much since finding out I was pregnant, and then Sienna washed up and killed whatever was left of my appetite. Now my stomach is so empty it’s howling.

  Paul and I inhale our food, washing everything down with icy soda that chills me to the bone. The sun dipped behind the trees hours ago, and the temperature soon followed, nose-diving to somewhere in the midforties. One last weekend of sunshine before the rain moves in. I pull my coat tight around my body and shiver.

  “I need to ask you something, and I need for you to tell me the truth.” Paul glances around, but our picnic table might as well be an island. Nobody wants to sit close enough to us to overhear. Still, he leans in, lowering his voice. “Are you afraid of me?”

  No. The answer sounds in my mind, immediate and clear, but the word sticks to my tongue because I’m not entirely sure it’s the truth. When Paul lied, when he left on this crazy errand to Balsam Bluff, I wanted so desperately to believe in him that I made excuses for his behavior. But now, with the information I have today, I see the flaws in my thinking. This is a man who looked into a police officer’s eyes and lied, and convincingly. Who’s to say he isn’t doing the same with me?

  So am I afraid of him? Maybe.

  Paul nods. Looks away. “That’s fair. If I were sitting where you’re sitting, I’d be scared of me, too.” His gaze wanders back to mine. “But I swear to you, Charlotte, on my life and the life of our unborn child, I didn’t touch Sienna.”

  “Why did Jax want to talk to you?”

  “He needed some cash, a few supplies. I swear to you, it wasn’t anything more than that.” I roll my eyes, and he reaches across the empty baskets and wrappers for my hand. “You have no reason to believe me. I get that. But it’s the honest to God truth.”

  I stare at him, and he stares back, his gaze strong and steady. Is he lying? Telling the truth? I don’t know what to believe.

  “Listen, first thing tomorrow I want you to go to Sam. I want you to tell him you saw me talking to Sienna. Say you didn’t make the connection until tonight, when I told you it was the same woman.”

  “You want me to turn you in?”

  He nods.

  “Why the sudden change?”

  “Because I’ve been thinking about it, and this was my blunder. I won’t have you paying for following my lead, for saying something you knew was untrue in an attempt to protect me. You said it yourself. All it would take is one person who happened to be rolling by in their car, or some nosy neighbor who spotted us through an upstairs window, and we’re caugh
t—both of us. This way, you beat them to the punch.”

  “What about you? Sam will arrest you on the spot. I don’t know what the punishment is for lying to a cop, but—”

  “Five years.” Paul’s shrug is going for nonchalant, but it doesn’t quite get there. “I probably wouldn’t get that long, but this is a capital felony case, so they’d have to give me some jail time.”

  My stomach churns, and the back of my neck goes cold. Five years. That feels like an awful long time. “How do you know?”

  “I talked to an attorney.”

  This surprises me, though I suppose it shouldn’t. Paul, with his methodical thinking and color-coded to-do lists. Of course he’s talked to an attorney.

  He squeezes my hand. “At least think about it.”

  “I am thinking about it, and I don’t like it one little bit.” I snatch back my hand, drop it onto my lap. “Five years. Why did we lie?”

  “I already told you. I panicked.”

  “Yes, but why? Why are you running around like it’s your job to save Jax? What am I missing here?”

  He clicks the top of a ketchup bottle up and down a few times, then scrubs his face with both hands. “Jesus, this is all such a clusterfuck.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Paul. I know there’s more you’re not telling me, a lot more. You promised me answers.”

  “I never said you were an idiot.”

  “No, but you’re doing a damn good job of making me feel like one. Every time I turn around, I’m learning some big new secret.”

  “I don’t keep secrets from you. It’s just...stuff I haven’t gotten around to telling you yet. Like the fact I love green asparagus but can’t stand the white kind, or that when I was nine, I fell out of a tree and got fifteen stitches in the back of my head. It doesn’t mean I’m keeping it from you.”

  “What about the skunk somebody smeared all over Katherine’s car?”

  He picks up an empty can, shakes it, then drops it back to the table. “What about it?”

  “Oh my God. Really? I saw your face when I told you about the opossum. You didn’t say a word. I had to hear about the skunk from Sam.”