River Road

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Mason felt a little whisper of warmth, the kind that didn’t come from the whiskey.

  “I know,” he said. “If you suddenly vanished without an explanation, Aaron and I would never stop looking for you.”

  “That’s how it is with family. At any rate, the story goes that Colfax took advantage of Brinker’s depression and more or less pushed Brinker into selling out.” Deke paused. “There were some who hinted that Colfax didn’t give Brinker a fair price, that he knew at the time that Brinker wasn’t really thinking straight. Whatever the case, the deal was made. A few months later, Brinker was dead of a heart attack.”

  Mason wrapped one hand around his glass of whiskey and lounged back in his chair. “Even if Colfax took advantage of Brinker, the buyout still would have been a big deal. Lot of money involved.”

  Deke looked intrigued. “Sure. Those two were both multimillionaires by the time they arrived in Summer River. Warner’s worth a lot more now. Where are you going with this?”

  “Not sure yet. You wouldn’t happen to know who Brinker’s heirs were, would you?”

  “No. I wasn’t paying that much attention. The only thing I can tell you is that whoever they were, they didn’t live here in Summer River. Word would have gotten around real quick if that had been the case.”

  “I’ll ask Lucy to follow the money from Brinker’s estate,” Mason said. “That’s her area of expertise.”

  “What do you think the information will tell you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Huh.” Deke pondered that. “Is this how you usually work one of your old cold cases?”

  Mason swallowed some whiskey and lowered the glass. “Pretty much. I keep asking questions—turning over rocks—until I get some answers.”

  “You must have some sense of direction.”

  “In my experience, you usually can’t go wrong if you follow the money. Thirteen years ago a lot of cash changed hands. It would be interesting to know who got it. And who didn’t.”

  Deke studied him with a piercing look. “You could be opening a real can of worms here.”

  “Or not. Thing is, it’s become clear that Lucy is going to open that can one way or the other. I don’t want her doing it alone.”

  “That would not be a good idea,” Deke said.

  They drank a little more whiskey in a companionable silence.

  “I found something interesting in the old files on the Scorecard Rapist,” Mason said after a while. “At least one of the investigators believed that there was a second person involved in the assaults, possibly the photographer.”

  “Son of a bitch. If that’s true, he’s still out there.”

  “Or she,” Mason said.

  “Hard to imagine a woman helping some bastard do something that vicious to another woman.”

  “You and I both know that both sexes are capable of cruelty and violence.”

  “Yeah.” Deke ran his fingers through his buzz-cut hair. His eyes darkened with memories. “I know. But even after some of the stuff I saw over there, it still amazes me when a woman does something downright evil and unforgiveable.”

  “You were raised in different times,” Mason said.

  “Maybe. Think that if there was a second person involved in the rapes he or she might still be here in town?”

  “It’s a possibility. And that’s what has me really worried. If the second perp is still here, he or she will be running scared now that Brinker’s body has been found along with some proof that he was the Scorecard Rapist. Hell, even if the other perp doesn’t live here now, odds are he or she will hear about the discovery of the body soon and start sweating.”

  Deke raised his brows. “Because there’s a chance that the case will be reopened?”

  “Right, although I don’t think that’s very likely. Whitaker isn’t interested in doing that. The real problem is Lucy. If there is someone else out there and if Lucy starts asking too many questions in the wrong places—” Mason stopped talking.

  “Got it,” Deke said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You meet a lot of folks at the store. Sooner or later, Becky sees everyone in town come through the front door at her café. Between the two of you, you’ve got the town covered. People talk. I want you to listen closely to anyone who brings up the subject of Brinker’s body.”

  “Hell, that will be everyone in Summer River. But Brinker was only nineteen when he ended up in Sara’s fireplace. Seems to me that if there’s any useful intel to be had on him, it would come from people who were closer to his age at the time. You, for instance.”

  “Lucy and I will cover that angle. But I’d like to know if any of the locals who were adults back then take an interest in the news of the discovery of Brinker’s body that goes beyond the normal curiosity factor.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Deke said.

  He knocked back the last of his whiskey.

  “Thanks.” Mason stood and collected the glasses. “I need some sleep. Got to put a plan together in the morning before Lucy starts opening too many closets. No telling what might fall out.”

  “Summer River is like any other small town,” Deke said. “Lot of secrets. Lot of closets.”

  Mason headed for the stairs.

  17

  Joe lumbered to his feet and crossed the room to rest his head on Deke’s knee. He watched Deke with his wolflike eyes. Deke put his hand on the dog. They communed together in silence as they often did at night. Just a couple of aging warriors, home from the wars, Deke thought. He and the dog understood each other as no one else except another warrior could.

  He contemplated the conversation he’d just had with Mason. One thing was clear: Mason was looking a lot better than he had a couple weeks ago when he had shown up on the front porch, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes had had the same look as the eyes of the thirteen-year-old kid who had been waiting for him in the offices of the child protective services agency all those years ago—like he’d witnessed the end of the world and nothing the future held would surprise or astonish him.

  That thirteen-year-old kid had looked like he’d never laugh again or trust anyone again except his younger brother. But raw determination had burned in the kid. His dying father had given him a mission to complete. That mission had a single objective—to protect Aaron. One look at Mason and Deke had known that the kid would carry out that mission or go down trying.

  According to the child protective services people, Mason had anger-management issues. They claimed that he had acted out in the three foster homes he and Aaron had been placed in over a period of three months. There were reports of fights with other boys in the homes and one incident in which Mason was accused of attacking an adult male relative of one of the foster parents. The well-intentioned child services folks strongly suggested counseling.

  But Deke had been pretty sure that regardless of what had occurred in the foster homes, Mason had just been doing his job, taking care of his younger brother. He could tell by the relief in the caseworker’s eyes that she knew that, too. That’s why she had pushed through the paperwork so damned fast it had made everyone’s heads spin.

  Within an hour Deke had stowed Mason and Aaron and their few belongings in the SUV and hit the road.

  Life had changed for all three of them that day.

  When Mason grew up he had not gone off to a war zone on the other side of the world. Instead, he had become a soldier in another kind of war, the never-ending battle against the bad guys at home. He had taken on a new mission. When Deke had found him at the front door two weeks ago, it was obvious that Mason hadn’t come back to Summer River because he needed a break, as he claimed. He needed some healing.

  Deke had recognized the shadows in Mason’s eyes because, in spite of the counseling and the meds, he saw similar shad
ows when he looked in the mirror.

  Mason had returned to Summer River carrying the heavy weight that only a man who believes that he has failed to complete the mission could know.

  18

  Lucy’s phone rang just as she opened the closet in Sara’s bedroom. She glanced at the familiar name on the screen, took a deep breath, braced herself and answered.

  “Hi, Mom. I’m fine. Everything’s under control.”

  “What in the world is going on there in Summer River?” Ellen demanded.

  The academic world had its own accent, a cool, assured “I just published another peer-reviewed paper—what have you done lately?” edge that never failed to irritate ever so slightly those who lived outside the bubble that was the college environment. This morning, however, Ellen’s usually well-modulated tones were laced with genuine alarm.

  “Sounds like you’ve heard the news,” Lucy said.

  “They found Tristan Brinker’s body inside Sara’s fireplace?” Ellen’s voice rose slightly on the last two words. “I can’t believe it. The media is saying that the authorities think he was that serial rapist who was in the news at the time.”

  Lucy studied the row of exotically printed dresses, long skirts and flowing tops that had been crushed against one side of the closet. No wine-country casual for Sara. She had been heavily into the New Age look.

  “There is definitely some indication that Brinker was the Scorecard Rapist,” she said. “Sara seems to have been certain of it. There was a newspaper with a headline about the rapist sealed up alongside the body. Nothing has been proven yet, but the local cops are going with that theory.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine the shock of having a body fall out of the fireplace. And your aunt’s fireplace, at that. She was a vegan, for heaven’s sake.”

  “She killed him, Mom. She didn’t eat him.”

  Ellen sailed right past that. “Sara was antiwar. Antiviolence. Anti-guns.”

  “She didn’t use a gun. It looks like her weapon of choice was the business end of a poker. We found it inside the fireplace as well.”

  “It’s just so hard to imagine your aunt killing someone—especially in what sounds like a premeditated act.”

  “They say that most people can and will kill under the right circumstances.”

  “Yes, I know,” Ellen said. “There was a notorious case a few years ago in which a female academic murdered a few of her colleagues because she didn’t get tenure, of all things.”

  “Imagine that,” Lucy said. Having been raised by academics, she did not have any problem at all envisioning such a scenario.

  “Still, it’s hard to wrap my head around the idea of Sara killing someone.”

  “It was somewhat disconcerting,” Lucy said. “Fortunately, I wasn’t alone when I found the body. Mason was with me.”

  “Who is Mason?” Ellen asked. “The contractor you brought in to do the upgrades?”

  Lucy smiled. “Not exactly. Remember Mason Fletcher?”

  “No.”

  “He was the person who brought me home on the night of Brinker’s last party.”

  “Now I remember the name. He was the young man who convinced Sara that you should leave town immediately. She was quite sure he knew what he was talking about. I had to cancel a conference to pick you up at the airport in San Diego.”

  “Whoa. Mason told Sara that I had to leave Summer River? He’s the reason she hustled me out of town the next day? Well, damn. I should have guessed that.”

  “All I know is that Sara called me the next morning. She said a young man named Mason had talked to her a short time earlier and claimed that you were in danger. She said that she was going to drive you to the San Francisco airport and put you on the first plane to San Diego. She told me to meet the plane on the other end and not let you out of my sight until she called to tell me that everything was okay.”

  “So that’s how it went down. I never got the whole story from her.” Lucy paused, thinking about the timing. “Did she ever call you to confirm that everything was all right?”

  “Yes, about a week later. But she sounded odd—not like her usual self. That was when she told me that you were safe but that you could not stay with her again there in Summer River. She never explained her decision, but she was adamant.”

  Lucy closed the door on the jumbled contents of the closet. “She didn’t want me to have to sleep in a house with a dead man in the fireplace. Bad karma.”

  “Good grief. She killed him that same week, didn’t she?” Shock and disbelief shuddered through Ellen’s voice.

  “The timing fits. Do you remember anything else about Sara’s reaction to the events that week?”

  “I’m not certain—it’s been thirteen years. To tell you the truth, I thought at first that Sara might have been overreacting. I knew you would never be so stupid as to get sloppy drunk at a party and put yourself in danger. Then Sara explained that the bastard had intended to drug you.”

  “They think the Scorecard Rapist used a date-rape drug.”

  “Yes, well, the possibility that drugs were involved explained Sara’s panic. I panicked, too. So did your father. That’s why I canceled the conference and why Richard and I made sure that you were never alone that week. We didn’t relax until I got the call from Sara saying that Brinker was believed to be dead and that you were safe.”

  “I remember,” Lucy said. “You and Dad never let me out of your sight. You even made me sit in on your classes so that I was never alone.”

  “We were both very worried. We talked about going to the police, but we had nothing but Sara’s suspicions to go on. Let me tell you, Richard and I were never so relieved in our lives as we were when we got the call from Sara telling us that Tristan Brinker was believed dead.”

  Memories of that week floated through Lucy’s mind. She had not really understood what was going on. But she had sensed that somehow her parents were united that week, bound together by their mutual love for her. In her teenage naiveté she had even dared to hope that they would dump their new spouses and remarry each other. That little fantasy had, of course, been shattered once the call from Sara had assured Ellen and Richard that the danger was past.

  “The only other thing I can remember is that, in addition to being worried about your safety, Sara was also concerned for the young man who brought you home that night,” Ellen said.

  “Mason. His name is Mason Fletcher.”

  “Mason Fletcher, yes.”

  “She was afraid that he might be in danger?”

  “I got that impression. I think what alarmed her was the possibility that he might try to deal with Brinker himself. She said she did not want him to do that.”

  “Aunt Sara was worried about both of us.”

  “So she got rid of the source of the problem. Permanently. Who knew your aunt had such a fierce side? It must have been incredibly traumatic for her. And it does explain the changes in her behavior. She was never quite the same after that summer.”

  Lucy opened a drawer and studied a tumbled array of yoga tops. “The shadow.”

  “What?”

  “There seemed to be a shadow around her after that summer. Even when she was enjoying herself, you could feel it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by a shadow, but given what we now know, it’s highly probable that she suffered some post-traumatic stress. Perhaps that’s what you detected.”

  “Yes.” A thought struck Lucy. “But I never noticed the same shadow around Mary.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think Sara kept her secret even from Mary. Sara probably didn’t want to burden her with the knowledge. Or, as Mason suggested, maybe she didn’t want to take the risk that Mary might accidentally let the secret slip. Whatever the case, Sara carried the full weight of killing
Brinker to her grave.”

  “Evidently.” There was a short silence on Ellen’s end of the connection. “Speaking of Mason, I’m a little sorry to hear that he is there in Summer River.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why?”

  “Sara always felt that Mason had a lot of potential and would someday make something of himself. I take it that didn’t happen.”

  “Mason never had to make something of himself.” Lucy crossed the room to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. “He is now what he was intended to become.”

  “Dear, you know it annoys me when you talk like Sara. I can’t translate that New Age jargon. What on earth are you trying to say?”

  There was no explaining Mason, Lucy decided. “Never mind. Mason doesn’t live here in Summer River. He’s just visiting, spending some time with his uncle. Mason went into law enforcement.”

  “I see.” There was a faint, significant pause. “He’s a cop?”

  It wasn’t disapproval in her mother’s voice, Lucy decided—more like a tinge of disappointment, as if Ellen had hoped to hear that Mason had obtained a Ph.D. in quantum physics or chemistry. Lucy knew that note well. She had heard the same regret in the voices of both of her parents when she had informed them that she was going to work as a forensic genealogist. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to grad school?” Ellen had asked. “You have so much potential, dear.” Her father had been more blunt: “You’re wasting your education. Genealogy isn’t a profession, it’s a hobby. You don’t need a degree to draw up a family tree. Any sixth-grader with a computer can go online and find out where her great-great-grandparents were born.”

  “Mason was a homicide detective for a few years,” Lucy said. “Now he and his brother run a security consulting company.”

  “Do you mean one of those companies that supplies guards for shopping malls and office buildings?”