In the Waning Light

by Loreth Anne White

  “Someone who corroborated Ty’s claim that he dropped Sherry safely at that Forest End trail. Someone else who saw a vehicle parked on the spit that evening.”

  She stared. “And this is why you’re doing this? Writing this book?”

  “I started with the intention of just telling Sherry’s story as we’d all understood it. But now I’m not so certain whose story it is. Or what The End is.”

  “Shit,” she said quietly. “But who else could have done it?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. If you think of anything, any ideas, will you call me?”

  She nodded, but her eyes were unreadable.

  Meg switched off her recorder. “Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate it.”

  “No worries. Hope it helped.”

  Meg packed her tote, checked her watch. Blake had suggested she bring Irene over to the marina for dinner. She had a few hours to spare before then. Perhaps she’d see if Tommy was available—she was burning to hear his side of the story now. Hooking her tote over her shoulder, she got to her feet, then stopped at a silver-framed photo on the dresser.

  “This your daughter?”

  “Brooklyn, yes.”

  “She’s beautiful.” Meg glanced up, and felt a strange pang in her chest, thinking of Sherry, and a baby that died with her. “She looks like a mix of both you and Tommy.”

  A wry smile twisted Emma’s mouth. “Best parts of both of us, thank God. Her seventeenth birthday is coming up.”

  “I heard. Tommy invited me to the big bash. I’ll see you there?”

  Sharp heat flashed through her eyes. “No. Maybe.”

  Meg hesitated, uncomfortable. “It really did end badly?”

  Emma snorted, stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “It’s being around that new wife of his that makes me sick. Exact replica of Sherry, except a little more white-blonde than gold. And taller. Norwegian with an accent to match, and all of twenty-five years old. Not much older than Brooklyn. Not much older than Sherry when she died, either.” She went to the front door, opened it.

  Meg pulled on her boots and coat. “I heard about his second wife, Deliah,” she prompted, deeply curious now. “That must have been tragic.”

  “Tragic,” she echoed, no emotion to the word. “He got her business, though. Deliah had inherited Sproatt Renovations and Design from her father shortly before the accident.”

  The door closed behind Meg with a firm snick. She was grateful for the fresh air. As she walked back to her truck, she noticed Emma watching her from behind the drapes.

  Sherry, Sherry … what were you doing that summer? Did any one of us really know you?

  How does one know anyone, Meggie-Peg? By how they look? By what they do? Or say? Like I said, it’s a marvel we trust at all …

  Leaves skittered across her path in a sharp gust of wind. A fine mist of rain started to fall. In her truck, she called Tommy’s assistant.

  It was four in the afternoon when Lori-Beth Braden Thibodeau turned her SUV back into her driveway and maneuvered herself out of the driver’s seat into her wheelchair in the pouring rain. She’d received a call from the midwife just after the cops had taken Sally that morning—Holly had gone into labor. She’d raced down to Chillmook at once. Alone. She’d not wanted to call Henry. Her most fervent hope was that baby Joy would arrive, and become hers before doom hit. And she was certain doom was going to hit now. In what form she did not know yet. But Holly’s contractions had proved false. Braxton Hicks. Afterward, the midwife said it was a sign her body was getting ready. It should be soon now.

  She wheeled into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, wondering if she should take a hotel room in Chillmook so she could be close. Thinking about her baby, making plans—it kept her mind off the other things. It’s all she wanted—all she was living for right now. And she’d do anything—everything—to make it happen.

  She was sitting in the kitchen sipping her drink and eating a slice of toast when Sally walked in.

  Her heart stopped. Carefully she set her mug down. Her sister’s face was waxy and white, dark bags under her eyes.

  “What happened?” Lori-Beth’s voice came out hoarse.

  Sally took a seat at the kitchen table, and rubbed her mouth.

  “Did they charge you?”

  She inhaled deeply. “No. Not yet. I got a lawyer. She’s good.”

  “Did you do it, Sally? Did you vandalize Meg’s house? Did you shoot out her windows?”

  Sally’s eyes locked with her sister’s. And an indescribable kind of weight pressed down on Lori-Beth. This could not be happening. She was going to wake up. It would all be a dream.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “I’d do anything for you, LB. Anything.”

  Lori-Beth stared, her brain folding in over itself. “What do you mean, ‘for me’? Why would you terrorize Meg Brogan for me?”

  Sally got up, poured a coffee, reseated herself. She reached across the table, took Lori-Beth’s hands. Her eyes glittered with emotion. “I heard Henry on the phone. Twice. I—”

  “You eavesdropped on my husband’s phone calls?”

  “LB, listen to me. Henry’s been weird. I … I don’t trust him. I’ve been watching him. For you—I have your interests at heart. The first call that night came from Geoff Sutton—”

  “Geoff?”

  Sally nodded. “Henry was totally strung out by it—he told Geoff never to call him again on the home number, and he arranged to meet him near Whakami Cove early the following morning. I followed him.”

  “So that’s where he went. What happened?”

  “They talked.” Sally took a sip from her mug, hesitated, then said, “They hugged. Touched.”

  Lori-Beth stared at her sister. Inside her belly she started to shake. “So … so you know. What Henry is.”

  “I’ve suspected.”

  “How could I not know? For all these years. I … I only just found some stuff on his computer. I—”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “I don’t believe you—you’ve been through his things? His private things?”

  “I’d do anything for you, Lori-Beth.”

  Lori-Beth regarded her sister in stunned silence.

  Who was this person? Who was her husband? Can we ever really know anyone at all?

  She cleared her throat. “What does it mean, him seeing Geoff?”

  “I don’t know. But right after Geoff called that night, Henry phoned Tommy Kessinger.”

  “Tommy’s his boss—he often phones Tom.”

  Sally leaned forward, cupping her mug in both hands. “Henry told Tommy that Geoff Sutton was back. He told Tommy that Blake Sutton knew Geoff was on the spit the night that Sherry Brogan was killed, and Blake covered for him all these years, but now he planned to tell Meg, for her book. His fear was that the Sherry Brogan case might be reopened.”

  “Why would he fear that?” Lori-Beth’s voice was going tight, high, and she couldn’t help it. “We all know who did it … right? It was Ty, right?” Sally said nothing. Fear speared deep into Lori-Beth’s bowels. “What … what did Tommy say? Why was Henry even telling Tommy this?”

  “He seemed to want Tommy to do something about it.”

  Lori-Beth closed her eyes. This was all too much. She didn’t understand it, didn’t want to try and unpick it for fear of what lurked, what terrible thing might have been done. “What,” she said, very quietly, “was Tommy’s response?”

  “His words were ‘It has nothing to do with me. I was never there. We both know that … And we know what the evidence will show if they take another look.’”

  “What does that mean? What evidence?”

  Sally took her sister’s hands again. “I don’t know, LB. I’m guessing it means they might find something to implicate Henry if the case is reopened.”

  “That doesn’t make sense! Henry could never have hurt Sherry. Or raped her. He … he’s not like that.”

  “I don’t k
now what’s going on, but it’s made Henry scared. And it all started with Meg Brogan’s return, her dragging the past up like that. Next thing Geoff is back in town, and everything’s going to shit.”

  “So you thought spooking Meg off was the answer—is that what happened? You tried to scare her off? You think whatever is going on is that serious?”

  “If Meg stopped her line of questioning, things could go back to normal. At least until you got the baby. I know how much she means to you. I know you won’t cope if the adoption doesn’t go through.”

  “You’re mad, Sally,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “And what wouldn’t you do to bring baby Joy home safely? It was my chance,” she said softly, her eyes gleaming. “My chance to give something back to you. For what I did.”

  “I heard about the vandalism—awful. I’m so sorry,” Tommy said as he motioned for Meg to take a chair in his home office in front of the gas fireplace that flickered cozily. “Have the cops arrested anyone yet?”

  “I don’t know.” Meg seated herself and set her tape recorder and notebook on the low coffee table between them. Tommy had been doing some work from home and had agreed to squeeze her into his busy schedule. Blake would be furious she was doing this alone, but this was Tommy. He was virtually family. And Meg had no doubt he’d be more forthright with her alone. She was also hot to talk to him after listening to Emma. She’d cracked open a dark window into Sherry’s life, and Meg needed to probe further.

  “Would you like some tea? Coffee? I can get Liske to bring some.”

  “I’m all tea-ed and coffee-ed out. The perils of interviewing,” Meg said with a grin, but inside she felt walls go up at the mention of Liske. She’d met the latest wife at the door upon arrival. Emma was right. A Sherry clone, but sleeker and more platinum. Big blue eyes and a Nordic accent. Young. Very young to Tommy’s forty years. It felt like a betrayal to Sherry’s memory, although it shouldn’t—Tommy had a right to his life after a sad divorce, and the loss of his second wife. “You ready?”

  “Fire away.” He leaned back into his armchair with a smile, an accomplished man at ease with himself.

  She pressed the record button. “When was the very last time you saw Sherry?”

  He moistened his lips. “It was the day before she was killed. We met in the village, went to the arcade, and then she came over to my place. We made out.” He palmed his hand over his thatch of dark blond hair. “I’d have killed Ty Mack myself, you know. If your dad hadn’t. I can see how it happened. I …” His voice faded, and he inhaled deeply.

  “What did you and Sherry talk about that final day, Tom? What were her last words to you?”

  “‘See you tomorrow.’”

  “And what do you believe happened the following afternoon?”

  “Same thing everyone believes. She went to the spit with Tyson Mack, and—”

  “Why do you think she went with him?”

  His eyes flickered. “I don’t know. A lark. Perhaps she wanted a ride on his bike.”

  Cover for me, Meg … tell Dad we went to see that movie …

  “Did it make you angry? That she went with him?”

  He blew out a puff of air. “Yeah, of course it made me mad. Because it got her killed. But that was Sherry—she was fun, spontaneous, flirtatious. But she never, ever crossed the line.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Our relationship line.”

  Meg glanced up from her book, held his gaze. “So you didn’t know that she was seeing other guys?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You had no suspicion she was being unfaithful?”

  “Meg, what are you driving at here?”

  Meg paused. “She was a few weeks pregnant when she died.”

  Tommy did not blink. He did not move a muscle. It was as if he’d turned to stone. The clock on the wall ticked. He cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was thick.

  “Pregnant?”

  “The autopsy results revealed—”

  “Whose baby? Mine?”

  “No, Tom.”

  He surged to his feet. “Whose?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Why … why didn’t I know this? When did you find out? How?”

  “My mom was conducting an investigation of her own. She’d secured a copy of the autopsy rep—”

  “Why?” he demanded, blue eyes crackling, his cheeks coloring. “Why was Tara investigating? What was she investigating?”

  Meg waited a few beats for him to settle. Then said, “I know it’s hard, Tommy. It’s hard on all of us. But it appears things were not quite what they seemed. My mom was beginning to believe that my father might have killed an innocent man.”

  He stared down at her. Slowly, he seated himself on the edge of his chair. “Tara thought Ty Mack was innocent?”

  “She thought it was possible.”

  “Was this stuff, this autopsy report, in those file boxes that Irene discovered in that wall safe, after the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced out the window, dragged his hand over his hair, and cursed softly. “I don’t see how Tara could even begin to think that. All the evidence pointed to Ty.”

  “There seems to be some other evidence that was not properly accounted for, or investigated further.”

  “Like?”

  “The pregnancy, for one. No one knows who the father is. It puts another potential suspect into the picture. It could give motive. If Sherry wanted to keep the baby, and he didn’t, perhaps the father needed to keep it quiet for some reason, and she refused.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. I … I just can’t see Sherry doing that. I …”

  “I know. Things, people, my sister—it appears nothing is what it seemed.”

  He dragged his hand down hard over his mouth, then gave a snort. “I don’t know why it guts me like this. I mean, it’s over. It was a long, long time ago. We’ve all moved on.”

  “It’s a natural reaction, Tommy. It’s a shock to think we don’t actually have closure.” She paused. “Even more of a shock is the realization that the real killer could still be out there.”

  His eyes flared to Meg. He stared. “Have you spoken to Kovacs about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? Is he reopening an investigation?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you think he will.”

  “It’s my intention to get there.”

  “Fuck.” He surged to his feet again, paced. “I can’t believe this. After all this time.” He spun. “And you have all the records.”

  “My mother got most of the records from Ty’s defense counsel.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Do you want to give it a break?”

  “No. No, it’s okay. I want to talk about this.” He reseated himself. “I’m sorry, it’s just a shock. I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it all. Go on.”

  Meg inhaled, nodded. Breaking his gaze she turned a page in a notebook. She felt hot. Uncomfortable. “Do you have any idea who Sherry could have been seeing, on the sly? Who might have made her pregnant?”

  He shook his head. “I must have been totally naive, or self-important. I believed she was faithful.”

  “And that day she was killed, you were with Ryan Millar.”

  “Yeah. In his garage, tinkering with my wheels. I was there the whole day, until I got the call that Sherry was missing.”

  “And you never heard anything about a red VW van parked at the spit, near the trail to the make-out grove that evening?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No. Why? Was there one?”

  “A witness saw one, yes. Another witness identified the presence of an older-model VW van at the trailhead behind the houses in Forest Lane, around the time Tyson Mack said he dropped Sherry off. That second witness confirms that Ty’s bike was there just seconds earlier.”

  “This is serious. This … this is evidence. Why was none of this used?”
r />   “Police did not feel the witnesses were credible.”

  “But you do?”

  “Ty Mack’s defense counsel does. Lee Albies planned to prove it if they ever got their day in court. But Ty was killed. And Ike Kovacs closed the investigation. Tommy—one more question.”

  “Shoot.” His voice was flat. His eyes were distant, as if he was reliving the whole, horrible period in time.

  “You and Emma visited my mom on and off during the time my dad was awaiting trial.”

  “Yes, we needed to. We all needed to talk. It was a way of keeping Sherry alive a little longer for all of us.”

  “And how was my mom during these visits? Did you get a sense she was depressed?”

  He nodded. “She was taking a lot of medication.”

  “She never told you about her suspicions that Ty might be innocent?”

  “Never.”

  “Her suicide didn’t come as a surprise?”

  A sadness turned down the corners of his eyes. “No, Meg. It did not. Emma was studying pharmacology, and she’d seen the collection of pills that your mom was taking in the bathroom. She told me what they were for—anxiety, depression, insomnia. Tara was on a bad cocktail.”

  Meg’s pulse beat faster. “Emma said this?”

  He nodded.

  She hesitated. “Your marriage with Emma was not good, I take it.”

  He snorted. “I hate to say it, but …” He glanced at the recorder. “Off the record?”

  Meg reached over, hit the off button.

  “Emma proved to be a passive-aggressive. A pathological liar. She lied to me. Everyone. Even the police. She told both me and the cops that Sherry had called her to say she was going to make out with Ty. That was a lie. Sherry was going to the spit with Ty to buy Ecstasy. Both Emma and Sherry were dabbling in ‘e.’ We’d all tried it. Ty had contacts. I think Ty must have made advances on Sherry when they were alone, and she said no, and that’s when things went sideways. Emma did not tell the police the truth because she felt it would implicate her in the drug angle. And years later Emma let slip that she’d lied to me about what Sherry said on the phone, because she wanted me to believe Sherry was being unfaithful.” He paused. “I came to realize Emma could do some very dark things to get what she wanted. And she wanted me. She wanted Sherry’s guy. It turns out she’d coveted just about everything Sherry ever had.”