Shattered Shell

by Brendan DuBois

  Her skin seemed to pale, as if the valves inside her blood vessels had suddenly clicked shut. She slapped the cocktail glass down on a nearby table and said, her chin quavering, "Do you mean to say that our name is going to be in your magazine, in a despicable story about what happened to Kara? Henry, did you hear that? Our name, in his magazine, for everyone to read about our daughter."

  "Now, look here," Henry Miles began, his tone getting livelier, and I interrupted, saying, "Excuse me, no, the story was going to use a fictional name. No one would know. It would just be ---"

  "But of course they'll know!" Louise Miles protested, her tone furious. "How many crimes like that happen in Newburyport each winter, do you think? My God, Henry, think of the scandal if the neighbors found out. Especially if that rag mentions....”

  She paused and Henry took a step forward and said, "I think you should leave. We have nothing to say to you. Nothing."

  "Yes," his wife said, "and Henry, get Ross Tremblay on the phone. Within the hour, Mr. Cole, our lawyers will be contacting you, and if anything --- anything at all --- appears in your magazine, you can bet you'll be on the receiving end of a hefty lawsuit."

  I started to slowly put on my coat, trying to salvage whatever I could. "It wasn't going to be a part of the story, but you sound more upset about Kara's private life than about what happened to her."

  Henry Miles's lips tightened and his wife repeated, "Within the hour, Mr. Cole, within the hour."

  "Fair enough," I said, coat fully on. "But when he does call, it'll be a short conversation. I'll just mention a certain amendment that begins with the words, 'Congress shall make no law’, and then I'll hang up. And just so there are no more surprises, Mrs. Miles, I also intend to talk to Kara's brother."

  "Good luck finding him," she snapped. "I haven't seen him in years, and I have no idea where he is. Now. Head for that door or our first call will be to the police."

  The door sounded pleasant enough, shutting behind me, and I walked out, pausing to look back at the house. Everything seemed wrong, out of kilter. I was trying to reconcile the Kara Miles I knew --- the laughing woman with odd taste in jewelry, the outdoors adventurer who rock-climbed, and the woman who was also deeply in love with my best friend --- with what I had just seen, and it didn't make sense. There are enough stereotypes about the type of woman Kara is to fill a CD-ROM disk, and I hadn't been too sure what to expect about the kind of family she came from. But it was nothing like the expensive North Shore home and twin Audis and wealthy parents I encountered, who were more concerned about scandal than their daughter.

  I got to the Rover and opened the door. Felix looked over at me, arms crossed. "Must've had a lot of fun in there, time passing by as quickly as it did."

  "Not really."

  "What did you learn?"

  I turned the key, started up the engine. "Not a hell of a lot." We went down the driveway and at the stone gate I stopped and looked over.

  "All this money, all this privilege, all these expensive homes and toys, and up there are two old and angry people in a lot of empty rooms. Is this what they mean by the good life?"

  "I guess upward mobility ain't what it used to be."

  "I guess so," and then we left, heading back north.

  As I drove back into Newburyport, I made it a point to stay on the back roads. "One thing for sure, the Mileses don't have much of an imagination or much curiosity," I said.

  "Why's that?" Felix asked.

  "Mrs. Miles said that she had no idea where her son lived. But I do."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. Took me all of five minutes this morning, looking in the phone book."

  He shrugged. "Some people like to stay lost. Other people prefer not to go looking. Sounds like a fun family."

  "Not sure if 'fun' is the word I'd use."

  It was getting near four o'clock in the afternoon and already I had the headlights on. The depths of winter in New England have always tugged at the dark parts of my soul. In the summer it can be light until nine o'clock at night, but when the weather turns cold, it can be as dark as midnight before the five o'clock news. Nothing I can do except cope, but sometimes the cold weather saps my coping skills.

  We were in the western and rural part of the city, on Deering Road, and only by counting mailboxes and looking at house numbers with the aid of a flashlight where we able to find Doug Miles's home. It was a sagging structure with peeling paint, and it looked like a two-car garage that had earlier been converted into a residence. Snow and ice and frozen dog turds dotted the lawn, and the lights were off. A dog was barking at the house nearby, which was up on a hill, visible through the bare branches of some maple trees. The driveway was hard going. It was dirt and frozen solid with ice and snow.

  Felix wasn't impressed.

  "Are you sure this is it?" he asked.

  "Sure as I can be," I said. "Diane told me that Kara's brother lived in Newburyport, and this is the only Doug Miles in the book."

  "Can't believe it," Felix said, shaking his head. "This guy's parents look like they start their fireplace by burning worn-out dollar bills, and he lives in a shack."

  "Maybe he's a free spirit who doesn't want to get entangled in this oppressive, capitalist society of ours."

  "You believe that?"

  "No, but it was a better answer than just grunting." Outside, the wind had picked up some and I held my coat close. I could make out the steady hum of traffic on 1-95, out beyond the woods. Felix came over to me and said, "What do you want to do here?"

  "Honestly?" I asked. "Yeah."

  "Truth is, I want to fill in all the blanks and go back to Diane and say we've done our best. Cops, neighbors, landlord, co-workers, her family, I want to tell her that we talked to everybody out there."

  "Then what?"

  "Then maybe she's satisfied that we've done as much as we can. Then maybe you get paid and we all get to stay out of the cold for a while. Come on, let's see if he's home."

  There were no lights on inside. There was a shaded window and door to the left, and a closed garage door to the right. Sometime in the past, a dormer had been built on the left side of the residence, and what was probably a bedroom window was also dark. I knocked and there was no answer. Felix had a flashlight and played it over the house.

  "Doorbell?" he asked.

  "Sure," I said, pointing to a painted-over doorbell. "But I don't think it's going to ring much."

  A couple more unanswered knocks and Felix went around to the front window, shining the light inside. "Whatever Doug does for work and however he earns his money, I can tell you that he doesn't spend it on housekeeping."

  "That bad?" I asked.

  "Pretty foul. Clothes and magazines and shopping bags jumbled up in a mess. Look, I'm hungry and it's getting cold. Are we finished here?"

  "That we are," I said, and as I turned, I stopped stock-still.

  Felix kept on looking into the house. "So we can leave."

  "Nope," I said.

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Because he might not want us to."

  "Who?" Felix said, turning around.

  "Him," I said, "and don't ask me his name. We haven't quite been introduced yet."

  Before us was a Doberman pinscher, sitting quite attentively, ears cocked forward. Felix lowered his flashlight and the dog growled a greeting.

  "Well," Felix said.

  "My thoughts exactly."

  The wind whipped up and I shivered, and the dog kept its steady gaze on the both of us.

  "You wouldn't happen to have a doggy treat with you," I said.

  "Nope. The treats I usually have aren't for dogs. You know any dog commands?"

  "Like 'run away and leave us alone'? No, I don't. You got any other suggestions?"

  "One of us could run at the dog, while the other goes to the Rover."

  "Sure," I said. "Was that a suggestion, or an offer to volunteer?"

  "Well, what do you think?"

  "I've got the ke
ys. So. Ready to run at the dog?"

  Felix said, "You could always toss the keys to me, and you could run at the dog."

  "I'm a bad thrower. I might miss and the keys would drop ill the snow."

  Another growl from the Doberman, and he came forward a few steps, then sat back down on the snow.

  "I don't think he likes us talking," Felix said.

  "I think you're right. Why don't we wait for a bit, see if his master shows up?"

  "Then what?"

  "Well, at least we'll be able to talk to someone who can tall back."

  Felix clasped his arms around his chest. "That will be an improvement, but if I get any colder, then I will volunteer to take the dog on, understood?

  "Understood."

  "All right."

  The Doberman growled again. "Oh, shut up," Felix said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thankfully, we didn't have to wait long. My toes were starting to tingle with the cold and I was going to ask Felix if he was ready to make that run to the dog when I heard a woman's voice and saw the bobbing light of a flashlight approach. The Doberman's head canted to the side and the woman called out, "Krypton! Krypton, come here, boy!"

  The dog ambled over to her, short stub of a tail wagging, and "'olio said, "Jesus, at least I can move." The woman came over, her hooted feet crunching in the snow. She was heavyset, wearing a thick down jacket that was patched at the elbows, and she had long hrown hair that cascaded down the back of the jacket. Her blue jeans were tucked into the leather boots, and I blinked as she played the flashlight around my face and Felix's.

  "You looking for Dougie?" she asked, voice rasping a bit.

  "That we are," Felix said.

  "You friends of his?"

  "No, we're not," I said.

  "Oh." She came closer. "You guys cops?" There was a hopeful tone in her voice.

  "No," I said. "Should we be the cops?"

  "Hah." She lowered the light and said, "I was just hoping, that's all. Dougie is a kind you always expect will be found in the back seat of a police cruiser, and I was kinda hoping this would be his night. Well, if you're not cops, who are you, then?"

  I gave her my name and Felix's, and passed over my business card. 'We work for a magazine. We want to talk to him about a story we're doing. Are you his neighbor?"

  "Sort of, though I don't like it," she said. "The name is McPurdy, and this is my land and my house here. Dougie is just a tenant, and I'm just waiting to tell him that it's time he be moving on. I don't like his kind."

  Felix spoke up. "Is he in trouble, is that why?"

  "Not that I know of," Meg said, patting the head of her dog.

  "But I don't like his attitude, and I don't like the kind of fellas he's been hanging around. That's why I sent Krypton down here when I saw your lights. I thought it was Dougie coming home, or some' of his friends. Work for a magazine, eh? What kind of story?"

  I looked over at Felix and looked back at Meg. "It's kind or confidential, but we're working on a magazine article involving a member of his family. We just want to talk to him, try to get some background information. Do you know when he might be back?"

  "Dunno. He's been keeping odd hours, leaving in the middle of the day, coming back real late at night or early in the morning."

  "Does he have a job?" Felix asked.

  "So he says, and he tells me he works down at the docks in Boston, but I don't know of any job that he can keep such crazy hours. But he pays his rent every month --- mostly on time and with a money order --- so he does have some money coming in. I just don't see how he gets it, that's all."

  I put my hands back in my coat jacket. "Is there a chance he'll be back tonight?"

  "He could be," Meg said. "If he does come in, best thing for you to do is to come back real late tonight or real early tomorrow morning. That is, if it's important enough to bother him. Or you could just keep on trying to phone him, though I've seen times when I've called him and I know he's there, and he's just ignored the calls."

  Felix nodded at me and I said, "I appreciate your time, and I'm sorry we made you come out here in the cold."

  She waved a hand. "Not a problem, but do me one thing, will you?"

  "Sure," Felix said.

  "You chat to Dougie, you tell him I need to talk to him. I want him out of here."

  "It's a deal," Felix said.

  As she turned to walk back up to her house, I said, "Meg? Where did you get the name Krypton?"

  She whispered something to the dog and the animal turned and stared at Felix and me, muscles trembling, lips pulled back, growling.

  "That's why," she said. "I figure any superman type me or the dog runs into, Krypton will take care of him, real quick."

  "Nice name," Felix said, and I couldn't disagree.

  Back in my four-wheeler I had the heater on full and we stayed in the driveway for a few minutes, waiting for Doug Miles to show up, just talking. Funny thing about sitting like that --- the minutes seem to drag on as you wait for the heater to kick in, ready for the interior fill up with warm air, certain that you'll never be comfortable again. And in the space of a few minutes, you're nice and toasty and you forget you were ever cold, and you move on to other subjects.

  Like Doug Miles.

  "Well," I said. "What do you think?"

  "Two things," Felix said. "First, I don't know if my feet will ever get warm again. Second, I don't know. Doug seems like an interesting character, and I'll leave it at that. I'm not going to get I riled about anything until I talk to him. But if you'd like, I can poke around, see what I can find out. He's sure making his landlord nervous."

  "You want to wait for a while longer, see if he shows up?" '

  'Yeah, but only for a bit," Felix said. "I need to get some food before I faint."

  Long minutes drifted on by and I switched on the radio and I listened to some classical music and then I said, "To hell with it. Maybe he's out partying or something, but I need to find a bathroom, and fast."

  "You could always go behind the house," Felix offered.

  "Sure," I said, backing up on the bumpy driveway. "Meeting Krypton with my pants around my knees sounds like a wonderful idea."

  On the drive back we didn't say much of anything, just listening to the music and feeling our body parts thaw out. It was starting to snow and the news breaks within the music warned of a major storm heading up the coast. As we made our way up to Route I-A, looking at all the empty houses and cottages, and with me wondering which motel might go up in flames over the next few weeks, Felix said something that poked me, just a bit.

  "What was that?" I asked, as we headed up past Weymouth's Point.

  "Hunh?" Felix turned to me. "I said something like I bet you Diane will want to hear from us soon, one way or another, so she can get back to her life."

  "I thought so," I said.

  "Is there a problem?" he asked, just as we went by the intersection of High Street, where a few nights ago, a motel had burned to the ground. And Diane Woods had not been there, not for a while.

  "Not yet," I said, slowing down behind a grumbling town plow, its amber lights flashing, working to widen the roadway. "Not yet."

  When I got to Felix's house at North Tyler, I took him up on his offer to use his bath facilities, and I admired a new piece of artwork framed and hanging right next to the porcelain goddess: a sheet of U.S. currency, twenty-dollar bills, uncut and untrimmed. I wondered if it was his mad money.

  Afterward he was in the kitchen, coat off and wearing jeans and a black sweater, working on the stove, whipping something up, and he looked at me and said, "Okay, give."

  "What's that?"

  He undid a wine bottle, poured me a glass of white wine, and passed it across the counter. "I said, what gives? About halfway through the trip you shut right up and didn't say another word. Something's on your mind."

  I sat on a stool and held the glass in both hands. Unlike my usually unused kitchen, Felix's place always contains an earthy
scent of old spices and dishes, and the polished wooden cabinets contain dishes and cooking utensils that look like they belong on a home cooking show. He's an accomplished chef and sometimes that's enough to temporarily forget what he does for a living.

  I said, "It's something you said, about Diane and getting back to work."

  Felix was by the stove, switching on a burner. "All right. I said something about her getting back to work. Was that it?"

  "Yep." I traced a finger around the rim of the wineglass. "I'm just hoping that you and I haven't been wasting our time looking in the wrong direction."

  He looked a bit put back. "What do you mean? We've done everything right to the T. Started with the victim, talked to the landlord, neighbors, place where she works, and now we're wrapping it up with family members. How else could we have done it?"

  The wine looked nice and cold. I looked up. "But we never talked to Diane."

  He stood still by the stove, stirring spoon in his hand, looking steady at my face.

  "I'll be damned," Felix said. "You're right."

  Later we were at the dinner table, eating pasta with a light tomato sauce and a type of garlic bread made with goat's cheese that seemed to melt and ooze around in one's mouth. Felix said, "Talk to me some more. What do you think is up?"

  "Nothing I can prove, but something we should look at," I said. "It's also going to be something that might be dangerous to do."

  "Dangerous for you, or dangerous for the both of us?"

  "Just for me," I said, twirling some of the pasta on a fork.

  "Diane is a very private woman, and she won't be thrilled if questions start being asked about her."

  "So tell me again, why would we be asking questions?"

  I ate and swallowed and said, "Without getting into any of the details, let's just say Diane and Kara share a special friendship. Let's also say that what has happened to Kara has upset Dian tremendously, has almost ruined her life, and is also in the process of ruining her job as the sole police detective for Tyler."

  "All right, those are all givens," Felix said. "What's next?"