by Laura Kemp
He motioned for me to get in the truck, and I threw a glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, Mallard was watching from the window.
“My car—” I pointed at the Heap.
“Would probably thank me.”
A moment later he was opening his passenger door, ever the gracious gentleman to the woman he was about to interrogate. Once inside, he settled back against the seat and ran a hand over the back of his head.
“I didn’t want to make this about business.”
I didn’t either and was feeling kind of lousy about possibly being related to a woman who had lynched a man on a silly little vision. Wanting some admiration, I looked his way and then unzipped my hoodie for full black-shirt effect. It must have worked because his eyes went straight to my chest in an appreciative sweep.
“You make decent tips tonight?”
I nodded. “Mallard helped me out.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Then, with more gentleness. “You heard about the body?”
I nodded. I’d heard about a lot of bodies.
“It was found in the area where I pulled you over last night.”
“You pulled me over?”
My joke broke the mood and he laughed, settled back and reached across the seat, his arm resting just behind my shoulders. “I must have made an impression.”
I smiled, thinking of the mark on his face. “I think that was me.”
“Can you tell me what you were doing before I stopped you?”
I shrugged—not wanting to talk about Holly’s Barracuda cover or the Jello-shots or how lame I felt for not being able to get a date on my own. “We went out to the bar on 68.”
He nodded. “Notice anything strange about Stoddard?”
I shrugged, unsure how to proceed. “Jamie was upset. It’d been a year since—”
“I know.”
I fiddled with my necklace, remembering the day I’d followed him into town, wishing I could crawl into the passenger seat and here I sat, living the dream with absolutely nothing to say. Still, I knew silence was the best policy because if I opened my mouth the truth about my father would come out followed shortly by what I’d learned about Pam and Odessa Cook.
And why stop there? Why not fill him in on my dysfunctional childhood and neurotic mother? Tell him about Brad and the crappy Detroit Tigers T-shirt.
“Forensics puts the time of death around one o’clock.”
His words broke into my thoughts and stopped them cold.
“Right after you pulled us over?”
He nodded.
“And County Road 449?”
“I think Stoddard was taking you there.”
I swallowed, suddenly weak with fear. “Why?”
Dylan turned towards me, and I noticed the intensity in his eyes, the same way he’d looked at the lighthouse like he was trying to figure out something that didn’t make sense.
“You tell me.”
I shook my head. “He said he knew a shortcut to Lantern Creek… I believed him,” I paused, ran a hand over my mouth. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think, but if the homicide detective knew where you were last night he’d be interviewing you down at the station right now.”
“Instead of you?” I asked, impressed that he didn’t want to see me interrogated, wanting him to get to the point and ask me if Jamie had mentioned anything about wanting to murder me or anyone else on our so-called karaoke date.
“Isn’t that a better option?”
I shrugged, “It could get you in trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
I looked down at my hands and smiled.
“So, you’re willing to forget everything?”
He didn’t answer right away, just slowed the truck and pulled over on a wide spot that overlooked Lantern Creek’s pride and joy: an enormous limestone quarry that employed half the men in town.
“If you tell me you don’t know anything then I believe you.”
I looked him, held his gaze. “I don’t know anything.”
He smiled, and the effect was startling, hurling me headlong into a mixture of emotions I had no idea how to deal with. “If it had been any other guy with you last night—”
“Why does it matter?”
He looked out the window at the lights of the quarry sparkling far below us. “I told you we didn’t get along.”
I put my hand to the side of his face, not knowing why I was doing it but wanting to comfort him.
“Was it because of Karen?”
He looked over quickly. “I never bought that bullshit story about a deer running in front of them. None of her friends did either—or her parents. I played ball with her older brother in school. We grew up together. She was like a sister.”
He stopped abruptly and I felt my heart warm to him.
“Why would he hurt her? I mean—they were engaged—he obviously loved her.”
Dylan shook his head, brought his hand over to cup mine as it rested between us. “I don’t know what went on behind closed doors. I just know Stoddard.”
“Let it go, Dylan,” I whispered, feeling the pull of his presence, the wanting deep within my belly that went far beyond the physical. “There’s nothing you or her family could have done.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
I smiled, my lips inches from his. “Start believing it.”
He closed the distance between us in an instant. I felt his mouth cover mine, the sensation of dizziness and static playing heavy against my rapid heartbeat.
His breath fanned my ear, my lips found his cheek, kissing the spot where I’d struck him the night before. He said my name, carried away by the same thing I was experiencing as his mouth travelled down my throat. “I don’t know what it is about you.”
All rational thoughts left me as his hand found my breast, kneading its way under the tight black shirt.
“Dylan—” I touched his arm, felt him tense.
“Don’t,” he sighed against my neck. “I want you.”
I wanted him, too, but not in the front seat of his truck overlooking the quarry where the vast majority of Lantern Creek teenagers had lost their virginity.
“Dylan,” I pushed at him again.
“What?” he asked, raising his eyes to mine and in that moment, he came to his senses, pulled away and muttered, “Justine, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I breathed, still trying to get my bearings as he flopped back into his own seat.
“I’m usually not like this.”
I thought about Jen Reddy and her penchant for police scanners. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He swallowed, visibly upset. “I’ll take you back to Huff’s.”
I didn’t look at him as I pulled my shirt down, smoothing the wrinkles like a Victorian lady after a good romp in the boudoir.
He didn’t speak again until we reached the bar.
“I have a bad feeling about Suzy Marsh.”
I chuckled, trying to put him at ease. “Don’t most people have bad feelings about murder?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve taken a personal interest in your”—he paused, searching for the words—“well-being.”
I smiled, looked down at my lap. “Pretty obvious.”
“Please call if you remember anything else about last night.”
I bit my lip, suddenly shy when he’d had his hand up my shirt only ten minutes before. “Can I just call?”
He smiled softly, touched the side of my face.
“How about when you get home. Your car gives me the creeps.”
“That makes two of us.”
He got out of the truck and circled to my side. Opening the door, he helped me out and then stood holding me, his arms tightening around my back as we stood in the darkness.
“Don’t forget.”
Did he think I was a lunatic?
“I won’t.”
He leaned down, kissed me lightly on the lips�
��his touch igniting the memory of what had happened inside the truck.
Somehow, I found the strength to pull away and crawl into the Heap.
For the first time, I was disappointed when she kicked to life on the first try. Waving through the window, I was able to get a good head start—dreaming of what I would say to him as I lay in bed that night.
Humming to myself like a schoolgirl, I thought of Dad, wondering if I could ever get my mind back on track with Dylan in the picture.
But I liked him in the picture—liked feeling that someone wondered and worried and had my back, so if I wanted to indulge in something that made me feel good, why not?
I knew why…
Because of Robert Cook.
If I did luck out and find him, or give up when the trail ran cold—could I stay in Lantern Creek just because Dylan was here? Would he pack up and follow me wherever it was I wanted to go?
Considering we ever got that far.
A kiss was not a commitment, and I had the feeling I could get some serious competition where his affection was concerned.
The humming stopped, the schoolgirl now a sober realist. I’d always wanted to be swept off my feet by a decent guy—but now found the scenario just as complicated as being ignored by a bad one.
I was lost in thought when I pulled into my driveway and found Holly’s Lumina missing from its customary spot. Girl talk would have been nice but Dave the dock boy had entered the equation and she’d have her own conundrum to figure out soon enough.
Climbing the stairs, I was surprised to find the kitchen door slightly ajar.
Holly probably forgot to lock it…
That was it…she was in such a hurry to get to her man that she forgot to pull it shut.
Entering the darkened kitchen, I felt something brush against my pant legs and almost screamed before I heard Joey greet me with a high-pitched “meow.” Scooping him up, I groped for the light switch.
The living room suddenly sprang to life under the bright glare of the kitchen’s fluorescents and I was relieved to see everything in its proper place—or whatever that meant to two girls who lived on the sloppy side.
Not that I hadn’t tried to reign Holly in, but all her years living from one escapade to the next left little time for housekeeping. Which left me wondering what my excuse was.
I was just picking up my cell phone when I heard a faint noise from the direction of our porch. Joey arched his back and I had no choice but to drop him. Scampering away, I hoped he’d flush out whatever I imagined to be hiding in the darkness as long as that something was no bigger than a mouse.
But nothing happened. Minutes passed as I considered calling Dylan and asking him to once again rush to my rescue.
No—I would just do a quick sweep of the house and save myself the trouble of looking like a fool. Setting my cell phone down on the kitchen counter, I searched for a suitable weapon. The butcher knife seemed grandiose, but it was better than a cheese grater, so I grabbed it and tiptoed down the hall, intent on confronting the worst figment my imagination had ever created.
The fifteen feet to my bedroom had never seemed so long as I made my way down the paneled hallway, listening for any sound that might alert me to danger.
When I finally reached my room, I hit the light switch, not daring to drop the butcher knife for fear the man in the long riding coat would be waiting. The man who had somehow been involved in the Ebersole murders if my visions were to be trusted.
My story scare you some?
The room lit up and I was faced with a purring Joey, who was sitting in the middle of my unmade bed cleaning his left paw.
Exhaling for the first time since I grabbed the butcher knife, I slumped against the wall and slid into a seated position while my eyes focused on my closet door. It was wide open, the Abercrombie and Fitch bag toppled to the side when I knew I’d left it upright.
I scooted over, stood up, and reached towards my high shelf while pushing my shoes aside.
Nothing…
Frantically I swept the shelf, knocking purses to the floor before dropping to my knees and looking under my bed.
Nothing…
I would never have misplaced Dad’s present. And Holly didn’t know about it, wouldn’t have touched it if she did.
I was just about the cuss and break something when I heard a board creak on our back porch.
Weak with fear, I crawled to the window, gripped the sill, and peered out.
A man was staring back.
Chapter Ten
Reeling backward, I fell on my backside.
I tried not to scream, tried not to imagine what Dylan or Holly or Mom would do when news of my brutal murder hit the morning news.
I just needed to get out before he got back in.
Seconds later I grabbed my cell phone as my watery kneecaps found the front door and then the staircase. Twenty seconds and I was dashing across our driveway towards the Heap. Locking myself inside, I started it up and dialed Holly’s number.
Four rings and her voicemail kicked in: This is Holly… You know the drill…
“Holl,” I began, my voice bending like a joint. “Wherever you are, I need you to stay put. Don’t come home. I think someone might have broken in and—”
My phone went dead.
“Dammit!” I cursed myself for not sending a text first. My one and only charger was somewhere in the vicinity of our laminate counter and I sure as hell wasn’t going back inside to get it.
Now I couldn’t call Dylan. Or the police.
The Sheriff’s Department didn’t seem half as appealing as his big lake house and so I peeled off towards Grand Lake. Maybe he could call dispatch, send someone out to check the place while I curled up in a chair, sipping something warm that he’d prepared for me.
Yes, this whole “taking a personal interest in my well-being” was quite intoxicating considering my track record.
Even that delightful thought couldn’t distract me from the fact that all was dead in Presque Isle County this time of night, including a girl named Suzy Marsh who may have wound up on the wrong side of the guy I’d been on a date with the night before.
But the man on my balcony didn’t carry himself the way Jamie did.
And why the hell would he want my old birthday present?
I cursed myself for never opening it, for never getting past that hideous kitten because now I would never know what Dad had wanted to give me.
I was driving so fast that I almost missed the turnoff to Dylan’s road. Slamming on my brakes, I skidded to a halt before the Heap finally gave in, belched and called it a night. I turned the key once, twice, three times and still, she refused to comply.
“Dammit!” I cursed again. No phone. No car. No charger. No Dylan.
But I did have two legs.
Five minutes later and the lake house was in sight. I stopped, listened to the night sounds. Crickets were calling from the forest crevices, and somewhere deeper the eerie sound of a barred owl pierced the rhythm they created.
HIS NAME IS RED ROVER
I stopped walking, hugged myself to keep warm.
ADAM?
It seemed natural that I could hear him, as though it had always been.
DID HE KILL SUZY MARSH?
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
I swallowed hard, not wanting to believe that a murderer was inside my apartment messing with my things, wondering how I could present this particular piece of evidence to Dylan without sounding nuts.
I couldn’t.
His house was now in view. A light was on upstairs and I hurried towards it like a beacon in a November gale.
Laying my forehead against the wooden surface of his front door, I pounded with the flat of my hand as hard as I could. Several seconds passed with no response and so I pounded again.
A shadow flickered across the upstairs window and I took this as my cue to call his name. I was rewarded with the sound of someone running down the stairs and fumbling with the lock
on the front door. Seconds later he yanked it open and stood before me, bare-chested and in red boxer shorts.
“Justine?” he asked, taking me inside with one swoop of his arm. “What’s going on?” Then, after a glance outside, “Where’s your car?”
“I walked,” I began, my voice unraveling with relief. “My car died out on the turnoff and I tried to call you, but the phone charger was up in my apartment and I was scared to go back in and I didn’t know where else to go and I’m really sorry—”
“Hold up,” he said while shutting the door behind us and I could tell calling me stupid was the last thing on his mind. “You need to sit down and tell me what happened.”
The living room was off the main entry, a huge space with vaulted ceilings and wooden beams that created an atmosphere not unlike the lobby at Three Fires. A lamp was burning at the far end of the room and he led me to a chair beside it.
“Need something to drink?”
I shook my head, my gaze travelling over the smooth expanse of his chest.
“Let me throw on some clothes.”
I wanted to tell him not to bother, that the sight of his half-naked body was calming me considerably but refrained while he ran back upstairs only to appear moments later in a gray hooded sweatshirt. Sitting down beside me, he waited while I tried to collect myself.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that and tell me what happened. You said you’d call—”
“I know. I should have but I called Holly first and then the phone went dead,” I looked up and blurted, “Someone broke into my apartment.”
His eyes widened. “While you were home?”
“Before I got there,” I explained. “I saw him on the back porch.”
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. “Did he see you?”
I thought back to the moment I’d seen his face, or what I’d thought was his face but there hadn’t been anything but darkness where the nose and eyes and mouth should have been. Nothing but a tall figure with a wide-brimmed hat.
I felt myself sliding lower in the chair. “Yes.”
“Shit, Justine,” he paused in front of me, put a hand to the side of my face. “I’m calling Dispatch.”
“You don’t have to,” I began, thinking of my room and how I’d left my underwear on the floor and how silly it was to be worrying about what a patrol officer would think of my housekeeping skills at a time like this. “I’m sure he’s gone.”