Never Coming Home

by A.R. Wise

  Chapter Twelve

  Lincoln worried that the conversation about the crime had dredged up too many bad memories, and that Angel’s mood would remain sour throughout the rest of the night. Luckily she seemed to forgive him by the time they got to the restaurant.

  He took her to a fine dining establishment called ‘Jai’ in downtown Boulder, which served a unique Italian-Japanese fusion menu. There was a glut of hungry patrons at the door, and the waiting area inside was packed. Lincoln walked confidently past them to the hostess stand. “I’ve got a table reserved at the bar under the name Pierce.”

  “Sorry, we don’t take reservations for the bar…” The hostess was new.

  The manager saw Lincoln and hurried over. She was tall and thin, in a sleek black dress and heels that added four inches to her already impressive height. “It’s okay, Molly. I’ll take care of this one.” She had an accommodating smile as she welcomed her guests, “Mr. Pierce, right this way.” She led them past the bar to a line of booths along the far wall. It was the quietest part of the restaurant, and there was a card on the table that read, ‘Reserved’.

  “Will you be needing menus?”

  “That’d be great, Dawn. Thanks,” said Lincoln.

  After the hostess left, Angel offered an uncomfortable grin. “I guess they know you here.”

  “This is one of my favorite places in town. I’ve never been much of a cook, so after the divorce I became real familiar with local restaurants.”

  “I take it this one’s good?”

  “The food’s not bad, but that’s not the reason I’m a regular.”

  She was glancing at the menu as she asked, “Oh no? Then why are you a regular?”

  A waiter interrupted their conversation as he brought over a martini. Lincoln didn’t even have to place an order. “Here you go, Mr. Pierce,” said the mustachioed waiter with a smile. “Can I get the lady started with a drink?”

  “Oh, um, I’ll just have an iced tea.”

  “One iced tea on the way,” said the pleasant waiter before walking away.

  “Feel free to order something a little stronger if you’d like. It’s all on me.”

  “No, that’s okay. I don’t drink.”

  Lincoln considered asking if she cared that he was drinking, but he didn’t want to hear her answer. He’d met plenty of former alcoholics who hated being around drinkers, and he didn’t want to risk having to send the martini back if Angel revealed she was a recovering addict.

  The bartender at Jai used the highest quality ingredients, even going so far as to import organic olives instead of the standard jarred and pitted variety. Nothing could sour a martini quicker than an off olive.

  He brought the martini’s rim to his lips and paused to enjoy the aroma of juniper. He took a satisfying sip, and the crisp, cool liquid soothed him.

  “You should see yourself,” said Angel.

  “What do you mean?” he asked after setting the glass back down.

  “You should see how you look when you’re drinking.” She was smiling, as if teasing him. “Your whole demeanor changes. Your face relaxes. You close your eyes and stop scowling. It’s like I’m watching you fall asleep.”

  Lincoln chuckled. “I guess I never realized I did that. Wait a minute, are you saying I scowl a lot?”

  “Maybe not always,” said Angel as she rested her chin on her hands, her elbows propped on the table. “I just met you an hour ago. Maybe the drive up the mountain put you in a bad mood. I don’t know. It’s just that right then, when you were taking that drink, you looked like a man walking through the pearly gates – leaving your sins in the grave.”

  “Is that where you leave them? I’ve had mine packed up with all those skeletons in my closet.”

  She smiled, laughed, and then leaned back as the waiter brought her iced tea. When he asked if they were ready to order, Angel apologized and explained that she hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. He agreed to give them more time, and left them alone.

  Angel asked Lincoln what was good, and he listed a variety of things that he’d tried in the past, but explained he normally ignored the regular menu and ordered from the sushi bar. She agreed to let him order for her, and he filled out the paper slip that listed the wide variety of rolls available.

  “How’s your daughter’s cancer doing now?” asked Angel to get the conversation going again after the waiter left with their order. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “No, I don’t mind. Heck, I’m the one asking you a ton of personal questions. You should get the chance to lob a few my way. Darcy’s doing good, for the most part. She beat the leukemia, but that’s a battle you never really win. The chemo tore her up, but she made it through. She still has to go in for checkups once a month. She’s never going to be completely healthy. You wouldn’t know it by looking at her, though. The kid’s a fighter.”

  “Good for her.”

  Lincoln nodded while deep in thought. He imagined his little girl in the oversized leather chairs designed for adults at the chemotherapy clinic, IV bags filled with putrid chemicals beside her dripping poison down tubes into her port. It was an image that would never stop haunting him.

  “I don’t know where she gets her strength from,” said Lincoln as he pinched the stem of the martini glass. “It must be from her mother. She sure as hell didn’t get it from me.” He took a drink, and tasted a hint of sourness, as if a lemon had been mixed in with the olives. “Talking about it helped her a lot. She started going to a cancer therapy group every week. That’s her safe place. She gets the chance to pour her heart out to people who’ve been through the same sort of thing.”

  “Getting the chance to talk to people who know what you’re going through is a big help,” said Angel. “That’s something I struggled with for a long time. Not very many people can relate to a mother whose son got chopped up and fed to animals.”

  Lincoln nodded in agreement, but their conversation was struck by a sudden, uncomfortable silence. He knew that he needed to change the subject, and he tried to think of something to say.

  Angel took it upon herself to point the conversation in a new direction, “Darcy’s band is playing tonight, right?”

  “Yep, at a bar in Loveland.”

  “I haven’t been to see live music in ages,” she mused as she toyed with the straw in her drink, raising it halfway out and then letting it drop back in. “Maybe after dinner we could swing by there. What do you think?”

  Lincoln was hesitant. “We could, but… well, there’s something you should know. Her band’s called The Murder Betties. They got the name from the case. Like I said, Darcy was friends with the Kline girl, and she never believed that Trent was guilty. A lot of their songs are about Trent and the murders.”

  “Oh.” Angel’s response was quick but expressive. It was as if Lincoln had physically struck her.

  “Betty and Devin disappeared right around the same time that Darcy’s cancer was at its worst. Back then the story was all over the news, and Darcy saw how sad everyone was. It didn’t occur to me until we were in therapy that Darcy was watching the news footage of your family and the Klines crying and pleading for the kids to be returned. I think she imagined what would happen after her own death. It probably tore her up inside. That’s why the first songs her band wrote were all about the murders. I’ve always tried to convince her to write some more upbeat songs, but she never listens to me. The happiest song they play is a cover of Lesley Gore’s ‘It’s My Party’, but Darcy changed the lyrics to say, ‘It’s my body and I’ll die if I want to.’ I guess it’s her way of taking control of the cancer.”

  Angel frowned and said, “That’s morbid.”

  The waitress brought over miso soup for them both, and before they were finished, the first plate of sushi arrived. Lincoln and Angel focused their conversation on more pleasant topics not associated with death, cancer, or murder. Lincoln enjoyed her company. Her understated beauty didn’t hurt either.

  He as
ked why she decided to live so far up in the mountains, and she explained that her family owned a large expanse of land in the little mining town of Eversprings. Her father had set up a religious camp on the land, but it closed down shortly after his death, leaving the family with a lot of real estate and nothing to do with it. She’d grown up there, and knew most of the people in town. She only moved to Boulder after marrying Frank. He preferred urban environments, and Boulder had been a good compromise between the backwoods of Eversprings and the crowded streets of Denver. However, life in Boulder wasn’t cheap, and after the divorce Angel wanted to move back to Eversprings, but by that time Devin was already in school. She thought it’d be best not to uproot him. She began to sell off portions of the land that she’d inherited to afford life in Boulder, but after Devin’s murder she had nothing holding her back. She moved back to the quiet solitude of the mountains that she’d missed for so long.

  Lincoln was on his third martini by the time they finished their meal. He felt good – relaxed.

  “It’s nice to get out of the house,” said Angel. “Thanks for this.”

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you,” said Lincoln. “You’ve been more than open about everything. I appreciate it.”

  “Have I convinced you to call it all off? The investigation, I mean.”

  He looked across at her in an attempt to discern how serious she was. “Not quite yet. I don’t think we’ve got all the answers.”

  “You’ll never have all the answers.” She used her straw to stab at the ice in her glass. Her comment and demeanor led him to believe she was annoyed, but then she smiled and said, “That’s what one of the detectives told me. He said that he’d never worked on a case where all the questions got answered. The trick is answering just enough that you’re able to convince yourself you know the truth.”

  “Maybe the cops walked away too soon.”

  She shook her head. “If anything, they didn’t walk away soon enough. They dragged a lot of good people through the mud, and ruined a lot of lives. It was an open and shut case, with a mountain of evidence that should’ve buried Trent alive. But here we are, a few days away from the ten year anniversary, and I’m still getting visits from private investigators because the police let it turn into a circus. The whole time I was trying to get them to focus on Trent. I knew from day one that he had something to do with it.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Lincoln.

  “Because he was a Satan-worshipping delinquent. Devin used to tell me all about the stuff Trent was into. That kid was…” she paused. “Evil. He was pure evil.”

  Angel Harcourt’s hatred of Trent Kline was evident as she spoke of him. Her normally serene, comely visage contorted as if some unseen foe was torturing her. Her left hand clenched into a fist, and her brow furrowed as she stared at the table instead of Lincoln.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you tonight?” asked the waiter, startling them both as he seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “No, that’s okay. Just the check, thanks.”

  “I guess we should get going,” said Angel.

  “I’ve got to be honest,” said Lincoln as he glanced out the window at the darkening sky. “I’m not looking forward to driving you back up that mountain.”

  She squinted slightly and glanced over at his empty glass. “I don’t think you’re driving anywhere tonight.” Angel put out her hand, palm up. “How about you give me the keys. I’ll drive you home.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I’m not doing it for your sake,” she said with her palm still outstretched. “Let me drive.”

  He sheepishly handed over the keys while promising that he was all right. He was about to ask how she planned to get home, and offer to get her a cab, but then he wondered if this was a ploy on her part to get herself an invitation into his apartment. Lincoln had been enjoying their time together, but he hadn’t considered it romantic until now. His love life died with his marriage, and he’d never been interested in resurrecting it. Now, as this gorgeous woman sat across from him, he wondered if this night was headed in a direction he never expected. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, or if he even wanted to. He paid the check, and then led Angel out.

  She got in the Mercedes and adjusted the seat and mirrors.

  Lincoln gave her directions back to his apartment, and avoided discussing whether she would stay the night with him or get a cab back to Eversprings. He wasn’t certain how to tactfully broach the subject, but as she parked behind his apartment building he knew that he had to come up with something to say.

  “Want to come in?” he asked, feeling as nervous as a teenager on a first date.

  “Well, I think I’m going to need to crash on your couch. Unless you want me to steal your car.”

  “Oh, right,” said Lincoln. “Sure. That’s fine. I can… yeah, that’ll work.” He silently chastised himself for how ridiculous he sounded. “I’ve got plenty of room.”

  He led her through the apartment building’s entrance and down the hall to his door. He explained that he didn’t often have visitors, and that the apartment wasn’t as clean as it should be. She promised she didn’t mind, but he still felt embarrassed as he opened the door.

  Lincoln welcomed her in and then started to clean off the couch. His apartment wasn’t a disaster, but it suffered the neglect of an owner who never expected anyone to visit. As he cleaned, Angel looked at the pictures on his wall.

  “Is this Darcy?” She was pointing to a photograph from a couple years earlier of Darcy and Lincoln in Denver.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s beautiful.” Angel pointed to another, older picture of Lincoln, Darcy, and Ellen. “I take it this is her mother.”

  Lincoln felt awkward, and remembered his daughter warning him about having pictures of his ex-wife hanging up. “Yeah, that’s Ellen.”

  “She’s pretty. I can see why you’re still hung up on her.”

  Lincoln was caught off guard by the comment. “Hung up… What do you mean?”

  Angel winked at him and smiled. “Not many guys keep so many pictures of their ex-wives all over the house.”

  Lincoln looked at the wall and was forced to notice just how many pictures of Ellen were up there.

  “I know what it’s like.” Angel raised her hand and pointed at her ring finger, revealing the slightest indentation. “Sometimes when I go out, I still wear my wedding ring. It’s sort of pathetic, but I prefer to think of myself as a married woman. I didn’t want the divorce. I spent a lot of years trying to convince Frank to come back, but he was too busy enjoying a bachelor’s life.” She shook her head, deep in thought. “I’ve never been able to understand how some people can love another person with all their heart and then just turn it off with the blink of an eye. Maybe it’s because of how I was raised, but I bought into that whole ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ thing.”

  She returned her attention to the picture of Lincoln’s daughter and ex-wife. “Darcy looks like her mother.” Angel glanced over at Lincoln, squinting as she studied his features. “But she’s got your nose.” She looked back at the picture and her voice was distant as she mused, “Devin looked like his dad. I never thought he looked anything like me, but some of the people at church used to say he had my eyes. Sometimes I try to imagine what he might look like today – all grown up. I think he’d be handsome. Strong. An outdoors kind of guy. That’s what I like to think.”

  Lincoln wasn’t sure what to say.

  After a moment of silence, Angel looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, “I wonder if I’ll even recognize him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed up and said, “When I see him in heaven.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can’t wait to give him a hug. I might never let go.”

  Lincoln was at a loss for words.

  Angel looked at the couch and asked, “Can I sleep there?”

  He nodded and said, “I’ll get you a pillow a
nd some sheets.”

  Arthur

  The Murder Betties were opening for another band, so Arthur made sure to get there early. The venue was small, and resembled a middle-school auditorium, with drab, fabric seats on a riser in the back and a section up near the stage where the chairs had been pulled out to allow dancing. There was a bar at the back, but no stools. The lights were still on, intense and bright, so Arthur kept to himself in the corner where the shadows granted anonymity.

  The band was setting up their equipment on stage, and Arthur spotted Darcy helping with the drums. Each of the band members were wearing black and white clothing, with a blood red scarf and matching lipstick. Darcy had on a leather skirt and pinstriped top, and she had her hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She glanced over at the crowd, and paused as she looked in Arthur’s direction.

  She waved.

  Arthur felt panicked, and quickly looked away. He’d been recognized.

  His distress was short-lived. A man standing a few feet away at the bar was who earned Darcy’s attention. He waved back to her, and Darcy walked over to the edge of the stage before jumping down and then coming over.

  Arthur pulled the bill of his hat down and thought about leaving as Darcy came closer, but his curiosity got the better of him. He was too enticed by the danger of staying, and even moved closer so he could eavesdrop.

  “Bentley, you came,” said Darcy as she hurried over.

  The tall, strong brute she was speaking to waited by the bar as his beer was served. “Of course,” he said as he set his drink on a coaster.

  The bartender walked over to Arthur and asked, “What can I get for you?”

  Arthur waved the man away without speaking.

  “All right, let me know if you need anything.”

  Bentley had said something to Darcy that Arthur hadn’t heard. More people were coming into the building now, and the commotion made it hard to hear. Arthur moved closer.

  Darcy was leaning on the bar, her back to Arthur as she spoke with Bentley. The killer got close enough that his elbow brushed hers, which startled her.

  “Sorry,” he said, his heart thumping as the threat of detection caused a surge of adrenaline.

  Darcy turned and offered a pleasant, “No problem,” before continuing to speak to Bentley. “I’m so used to seeing you in a suit. For a while there I thought that’s all you wore.”

  “No, I hate suits,” said Bentley. “Before I met your dad I only owned one suit. He’s the one who convinced me to go get some more.”

  Darcy sighed. “I don’t know what it is with him and his suits. I swear to God, he would’ve worn suits to amusement parks if we would’ve let him.”

  “I’m excited to hear you play. I listened to the stuff you have on your site. It’s pretty good.”

  “Do you really like it, or are you just being nice?”

  “I really like it,” said Bentley before taking a sip of beer. “I’ve never been a huge punk fan, but I liked what I heard of your stuff.”

  “Good. The only reason I started playing in a band was to get some hot fanboys that I could use and abuse.” Darcy was obviously flirting, which Arthur hated. Her forwardness unexpectedly angered him. He wanted to punish her for it. She continued, and even placed her hand on Bentley’s arm, “Hey, I’m going out with Polly after the show. She’s the singer in the band. You should come with us.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got to be at the office tomorrow morning. We’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Yeah, because my Dad’s going to be there bright and early,” said Darcy sarcastically. “Let me guess, he normally strolls in around noon stinking of gin and breath mints. Am I right?” She didn’t give him a chance to say anything before continuing, “I’m not going to take ‘No’ for an answer. You’re coming out with us after the show. All right?”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  “You’re right, you don’t. I’ll come grab you after our set.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Darcy returned to the stage, leaving Bentley and Arthur standing together.

  Arthur glanced over at the robust, stout man Darcy had been flirting with. He was taller than Arthur, and had wider shoulders. He could present a problem, especially if he was working on the case with Lincoln.

  “You’re friends with the band?” asked Arthur of Bentley.

  It was noisy enough in the club that Bentley had to ask, “What’s that?”

  Arthur spoke louder, “I asked if you’re friends with the band.”

  “The bass player’s dad is my boss.”

  This was a bad idea. If Bentley was working on the case, then there was a chance he’d seen Arthur’s picture at some point. Even if the photo was old, there was still a chance the young sleuth might recognize him. He shouldn’t be speaking to him like this, but the thrill of danger was intoxicating.

  “She’s pretty hot. Are you and her…” Arthur bumped his fists together.

  “No,” said Bentley.

  “Probably a good idea. It’s never smart to fuck the boss’s daughter.” He laughed, but Bentley didn’t appreciate his sense of humor. Arthur should’ve quit talking, but he enjoyed provoking Bentley. “She’s pretty good looking though. If you’re not going to hit that, maybe I’ll take a stab at her.”

  “Good luck,” said Bentley as if the notion were preposterous.

  “You don’t think she’d go for an old guy like me?” Arthur never looked at Bentley directly, and kept himself slouched against the bar, his shoulders raised to hide his cheeks and his hat pulled down.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Bentley was trying to graciously end the conversation, but it was clear he was getting annoyed. He finished his beer and set the glass on the bar before walking towards the bathroom.

  Arthur thought about following him in. He fantasized about attacking Darcy’s friend, stabbing him in the back like a prison shanking, or knocking him down and then beating his head against the urinal. The thought entertained him, but he was too scared to try anything like that against the big man. Instead, he stayed by the bar and watched as Darcy helped her bandmates prepare for the show.

  Soon the lights dimmed, and the club manager got on stage to announce the first band. The crowd cheered as Arthur stood silently observing, disgusted by the people around him.

  The lead singer, who Arthur had learned was named Polly, walked to the microphone and said, “Thanks for coming out! We’re The Murder Betties.” They immediately launched into an abrasively loud song that hurt Arthur’s ears. Some of the people in the crowd headed to the front of the stage to dance, and Arthur saw one of them was wearing a t-shirt with the band’s logo and a ‘Missing’ picture depicting Betty Kline.

  That made him laugh. Little did the crowd know who was standing in their midst.

  The Murder Betties played a relentless set, hardly pausing between songs and bouncing around the stage the entire time. The lead singer frequently got down off the stage to interact with the crowd, but Arthur kept his eyes on Darcy. At one point, she stepped up to take over as lead singer on a cover of an older song, replacing some of the lyrics and speeding it up as she screamed, “It’s my body, and I’ll die if I want to!” During the song she glanced out at the bar and pointed. Arthur looked in the direction she’d pointed and discovered where Bentley had moved to.

  When the band finished their set, Darcy came over to speak with Bentley again. She was approached by multiple people who wanted to express how much they enjoyed the show, and she graciously thanked them. She was sweaty and exhausted, but in good spirits as she leaned against the bar beside Bentley.

  Arthur moved closer to eavesdrop.

  “How’d you like it?” she asked.

  “It was great.”

  “Thanks. I was so off on ‘Death Toll.’ That was the third song we played. It took me half the song to get back in time with the girls. I don’t know what my problem was.”

  “I didn’t notice,” said Bentley as he
set his empty glass on the bar. “To me you sounded perfect.”

  “Thanks. Hey, I’ve got to go take down the gear. If you help I’ll get you backstage.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  She took his hand and started to lead him up to the stage. Arthur felt a surge of anger and hatred as he saw the two of them holding hands, and he felt the need to intervene. He grabbed Bentley’s shirt and said, “Don’t fuck her.”

  Bentley stopped, incensed. “What’d you say to me?”

  “It’s a bad idea,” said Arthur. “Trust me.”

  Bentley let go of Darcy’s hand and approached Arthur. “Do we have a problem?” Arthur was about to say something, but Bentley raised a finger and said sharply, “Keep it shut, or they’ll have to peel you off the floor. Got it?”

  “Big man,” said Arthur with a forced grin. He was terrified and exhilarated. Blood surged through him with such intensity that his pulse throbbed in his ears. “You’re a big tough guy, huh?”

  “You’re goddamned right.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Darcy as she tried to intervene.

  Arthur moved away and kept his head low so that the bill of his hat hid his features. “Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

  Confronting them like this was a stupid mistake, and one that Arthur regretted. He’d let his emotions get the better of him.

  “It’s all right,” said Bentley to ease Darcy’s concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You sure?” asked Darcy. “I’d be happy to get one of the bouncers to beat this shithead into ground beef if you want.”

  Arthur walked away, gritting his teeth as he did. The last thing he heard Bentley say was, “No, he’s not worth the trouble.”