In the Waning Light

by Loreth Anne White

  “Meg, that’s not fair. You’re not thinking st—”

  “Forget it. I’m done.” She grabbed her purse from the table, and walked woodenly to the door. Deep inside, her blood started to boil. Part of her desperately wanted to believe Blake, to hear him out more fully, to pull apart his story and try to see when he knew what, and how it might have affected his decisions. But the other part, the old part, was slamming up walls. And it felt easy that way, to be hard. To be livid. To lock out the hurt and the pain of betrayal that was going to buckle her if she let it in.

  Just finish the job. Do what you came to do. Then get the hell out of this place and its sick, twisted roots.

  Blake surged to his feet and grabbed her arm, stopping her as she made for the door. She swung around, vibrating now, with anger, affront, and yes humiliation. “Don’t,” she said, her voice low, cool. “Do not touch me.” Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to allow them. She was back in her old zone, and by hell she liked it here. Walls up high and safe.

  “Where are you going?” he said, voice low, eyes narrowed.

  “To the Whakami Bay Marina. For one helluva party.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “And you are?”

  She turned, and yanked open the door. Wind gusted inside, clamoring the office bells. She stepped out into the stormy night.

  “You lied, too, Meg!” he called after her, the wind snatching his words. “You lied to cover for Sherry that day. Do you think she might have lived if you’d told the truth right away? That everything might have turned out different? Do you shoulder no blame at all?”

  “Damn you,” she growled under her breath and ducked out from under the covered deck and stepped into the rain.

  “I tried to protect my brother!” he yelled. “You tried to protect your sister; you always did. How are we so different?”

  She spun around as something struck her like a mallet between the eyes. She marched back up to him and faced him square under the deck awning.

  “You know what I dreamed last night, before you made love to me? I dreamed I saw the face of the person chasing me—the face that has been eluding me for the last twenty-two years. And it was Geoff’s face. I dreamed it was him who attacked me that night, and left me for dead. I heard his voice yelling, ‘Don’t run, Meggie, don’t run!’ And you know what? I wrote it off as my wild imagination, because how could it be Geoff? Now I’m wondering if it was true.”

  His face paled. He said nothing.

  She started to shake inside. “How much do you trust your own brother, Blake Sutton? Who have you really been protecting all these years—a murderer? A rapist? Will Geoff’s DNA match one of those two unidentified profiles? Because you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to tell Kovacs everything tonight.”

  “Meg—”

  She refused to hear him out. She spun around and strode out into the rain. She climbed into her rig in her mother’s red dress and fake fur, and she drove off, leaving him standing outside his tumbling-down marina.

  CHAPTER 24

  Blake watched her go. Hollow. Shaking. Bereft. Fucking hell. He’d been an idiot! Fucking Geoff. He raked both hands over his wet head, fighting a ferocious urge to hunt her down, bring her back right this instant. But the harder he pushed Meg right now, the further she’d run, and he knew it.

  Her words about his brother floated up like a black, slippery oil to mingle with his own dark memories: The blood on Geoff’s shirt. His flotsam bag found near Meg’s body. The haunted look in his brother’s face that night in the boathouse.

  Was it possible?

  Her dream didn’t prove anything. They needed proof, or an admission, so fine, let her tell Kovacs. Let the chief deputy find Geoff and Henry, question them. At least there’d be a ton of cops at the fund-raiser for the sheriff.

  Right now he had to deal with Noah. His kid was an exploding volcano. Triage. Thunder split the sky over the bay, and rain and wind redoubled its assault on his marina, ripping one of the buoys free from its moorings in the rafters. The orange buoy crashed into the crab boiler, and bombed across the gravel, where it smacked to a standstill against the garage wall.

  Blake ducked back into his house, shed his wet gear, and stormed up the stairs. He hesitated outside Noah’s door. Then he knocked quietly.

  No answer.

  He knocked louder.

  “Go away!”

  Blake closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. “Noah, I need to talk to you.”

  “Go away.”

  “Please, champ. I’m not mad at you. All you did was tell the truth. I understand what you were doing, and why, but I do need to talk to you. I want to see your face.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Blake opened and closed his fists. He could hear tears in his boy’s voice and it gutted him.

  Thunder rumbled again, and the whole marina building seemed to groan and shift as it braced against the mounting wind. Blake hurried downstairs and put on the radio. He tensed as he heard the host announcing that a tsunami watch had been issued as a result of the tremor late this afternoon. Worst-case scenario was that the two fronts would collide offshore, a few miles out from Shelter Bay, shortly after midnight, creating an epic storm with gale-force onshore winds that would coincide with a pushing high tide, and possible tsunami. A sailors’ nightmare come to life. He needed to start sandbagging.

  And the more he thought about Geoff, and Henry, and them being secretive gay lovers, the less likely he could see them brutally raping Sherry. Something just didn’t fit.

  He turned his mind back to the conversation he and Meg had had after her flashback over dinner.

  “I had a flash of Sherry. Her naked body … She was lying on her back, spread-eagled in mud. I … had the sense I was fleeing from that image. And that there were several shapes around her wanting to come get me …”

  Several shapes?

  There was also the photo of the red van outside Ryan Millar’s house. Ryan, who was Tommy’s alibi. Ryan, who years later was rewarded with a fat vehicle maintenance contract from Kessinger-Sproatt. And there was the mystery father of Sherry’s baby. Plus another two unidentified DNA profiles. Plus someone had possibly tipped off Jack Brogan. Who? Ike Kovacs? The sheriff who’d, against protocol, handled the investigation himself?

  And what about Tara Brogan, who felt she was being followed? Geoff hadn’t been in town during that period. And he’d been nowhere near Shelter Bay when Jack was tipped off, and again when Tara died.

  And what of Emma, who’d allegedly lied to the police?

  Anxiety speared through Blake, and worry for Meg’s safety tonight reared afresh.

  He grabbed his cell and hit the number for his emergency sitter, dragging his hand down hard over his mouth as the phone rang. He wasn’t going to get through to Noah himself tonight. But he could keep his son safe while he went after Meg, once he’d sandbagged the Crabby Jack side of the marina building. He paced as the phone rang. Water lashed the windows. It was almost full dark outside now, clouds low and black. The foghorns sounded repeatedly.

  “Hello,” came a voice though his phone.

  “Anna, this is Blake Sutton. Can you babysit on short notice?”

  “How short, Mr. Sutton?”

  “Right away short.”

  “I … Wait. Maybe. Can I call you back in a sec?”

  “Please.”

  She hung up.

  Blake shrugged into his slicker and grabbed his gloves and an oilskin ball cap before heading out to his truck, which he’d backed up to the deck area. He hauled himself up into the bed, and began offloading sandbags with a thud. He’d almost cleared the load when his cell rang. He ducked under the awning, and answered.

  “It’s Anna. My mom will bring me in about twenty minutes.”

  Relief washed through Blake as he pocketed his phone. He resumed hauling the offloaded bags one by one around to the front deck area of the Crabby Jack cafe, where he began stacking them into a w
all. His muscles burned and sweat dripped under his gear. He welcomed the burn. The physical action, the sense of purpose, was keeping him sane while he waited for Anna. He heard a vehicle coming down the drive. Dropping the bag in hand, he hurried around the side of the building, fully expecting to see his sitter. Shock slammed as he recognized the silver Wrangler.

  Geoff.

  Blake marched toward the car like an angry ox. The door opened as Blake reached it. He leaned in and grabbed his brother’s lapels, hauling him out. Rain slashed silver in the Jeep’s headlights, the engine still running.

  “Where in the hell have you been?”

  “Jesus, easy, Blake.” Geoff put his hands up in surrender. “I promised I’d be here to sit Noah, and here I am. Just a few minutes late.”

  “It was Henry, wasn’t it? That’s who you went to meet.”

  Geoff paled.

  A gust slammed rain at them, but the brothers were focused solely on each other, oblivious to weather and plummeting temperatures. “It was Henry’s red VW bus parked near where Sherry was murdered, wasn’t it? Was it the same bus that picked her up at the Forest Lane trailhead right after Ty dropped her off safe?” Blake was vibrating now, terrified by the look in his brother’s eyes, the pallor of his complexion, the fact he wasn’t denying any of this.

  “It was you, Geoff. You ran after Meg that night, yelling for her to stop. She remembered. It was you who hurt her, you fuck!”

  Wind tore at her umbrella as Meg marched along the paved walkway that led toward the brightly lit Whakami Bay Yacht Club and Convention Center. Rows of lanterns swung wildly between banners that declared: KOVACS FOR COUNTY SHERIFF! Music thumped from the building—a massive, modern affair with a pitched and angled roof and lights way up in steel rafters.

  High-end yachts creaked along the boardwalk and swayed against moorings, halyards rattling on masts as wind and tide pushed into the harbor.

  Electricity thrummed through Meg’s veins as she neared the glass doors. She was driven by a tunnel-visioned focus, her mind closed to the rest of the world. Her goal was to get in there, find Kovacs.

  The big automatic doors slid open, and a blast of wind yanked her umbrella inside out. A valet came running out. Taking her broken umbrella, the man ushered her inside and asked if she’d like to check her coat. She realized she was shivering uncontrollably, and declined.

  “Later maybe.” She forced a smile. “When I warm up a bit.”

  Meg entered the massive convention area. Clusters of blue-and-white helium balloons bobbed everywhere. Banners strung from steel and wood rafters declared KOVACS FOR CHILLMOOK COUNTY. People in evening gear milled in groups. A long bar had been set up to the far right, and a raised dais toward the back hosted a shining grand piano where a man in a black tuxedo tinkled the ivories while a woman in a curve-hugging sequined gown crooned a husky lounge song. According to the sandwich board at the entrance, BROOKLYN’S 17TH BIRTHDAY CLUB BASH WITH LIVE BAND was “happening” upstairs. It must be this bash that accounted for the thumping techno bass she’d heard outside.

  Meg scanned the crowd in search of a familiar face. She spotted Tommy and Dave Kovacs almost instantly. Both wore suits and stood slightly taller than most of the crowd. They were conversing with a group up near the raised dais with the pianist.

  She made a beeline for Kovacs.

  Tommy glanced up, caught sight of her coming. He separated from the group and came to meet her. He smiled, touching his hand to her elbow. “Meg, thank you for coming.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Emma at the bar. Adrenaline kicked through her. “I thought she wasn’t coming,” Meg said.

  Tommy followed her gaze.

  “She wasn’t. But now there she is. Ignore her. She’s drunk. As usual. And you’re wet. Here, let me take your coat.”

  “No. I need to see Kovacs.” She started to push past him.

  He frowned, and held on to her arm. “Meg, are you okay? You look feverish.”

  She drew her coat closer over her chest, still shivering.

  “I’m fine. I just need to talk to Dave.”

  “Listen, relax—just give him a minute. See that gray-haired guy he’s talking with? That’s the mayor of Chillmook. And that woman with him is the CEO of the Chillmook County Newsmedia Group. The gentleman to her left is one of our campaign’s top financial backers. Let me get you a drink.”

  Emma was watching them now, from across the room. Meg could see Ryan Millar further down the bar, also watching her. The memory of Geoff chasing her suddenly slammed through her again. Her heart began to race, fear circling … wait, Meggie … don’t run …

  “Is Henry Thibodeau here?” she said.

  Tommy’s frown deepened. “No, he hasn’t arrived yet. Meg”—he drew her aside slightly—“talk to me, what’s going on?”

  Gaze locked on Emma, she said, “My mom wrote in her journal that she told both you and Emma that she thought Ty Mack might be innocent, and that she was trying to find out who might have tipped my father off.”

  “If she did tell me, Meg, I really don’t recall. Tara said a lot of things that didn’t make sense at the time, and sometimes we just let her ramble.”

  She glanced up, met his eyes. Compassion softened his features. “Your mother was consumed by grief, Meg. She was also desperate. Her husband was awaiting trial for murder. She was grasping at anything. And the medication … who knows what she wrote in that book, or was thinking. I probably wouldn’t read too much into it.”

  Anger sparked into her blood. “You’re saying my mother was nuts?”

  “I’m saying, just think about it all in context. Now, let me get you a drink.” He started to lead her toward the bar. But Meg held her ground.

  “Emma said she called you to alert you to the fact Sherry was going to the spit. Did she?”

  “No. Why would she say that?” Realization dawned in his eyes. His mouth hardened. He glanced at his ex and uttered a soft curse. “Oh, I get it,” he said quietly. “My jealous ex is not only bitter, she’s turned vengeful. Why else would she even be here tonight, if not to try and embarrass me?” He met Meg’s eyes. “Her vindictiveness started to get worse when I married Liske. She tried to turn Brooklyn against us, too, and I see what she’s doing now. She’s trying to pin motive on me—give me some reason to have hurt Sherry.” He snorted softly. “And you and your book are the perfect tool for Emma. Because that’s what this looks like. After all, they always go after the boyfriend first, don’t they? But they cleared me, Meg. I volunteered a DNA sample. I had a solid alibi—”

  He halted as Emma pushed off the bar and started to weave through the crowd toward them, glass in hand. Tommy raised his chin, nodded at Ryan across the room. Ryan started toward Emma.

  “Ryan will take her home,” he said. “It won’t be the first time.”

  He always had a bit of a rep …

  “Your alibi was Ryan,” Meg said. “And in the police report you swore that you were with him from ten a.m. until eleven p.m. on the day of Sherry’s murder.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “You were with him the entire time?”

  “It’s in the statements.”

  “Did Ryan own a red VW van?”

  “What?”

  “Did he—yes or no?”

  “Meg … what does this have to do with—”

  “A witness, Tom. Someone saw a red VW van parked on the spit during the time Sherry was likely killed. And someone else places a VW van at the trailhead earlier, where Tyson Mack said he dropped my sister off safe.”

  Not a muscle moved. His eyes didn’t flicker. The piano music stopped and something louder started, with percussion.

  “Yes,” he said, raising his voice over the increasing drum noise. “Ryan Millar owned a red VW van. But he bought it defunct from Henry Thibodeau the winter after Sherry was killed. He bought it to refurbish it.”

  Meg rubbed her brow. She felt feverish. Okay, that made sense. The new
s photo that she’d seen in the Shelter Bay Chronicle had been published two years later. So Henry had owned the red van at the time of the murder, and then offloaded it to Ryan. It was most likely Henry driving it, who’d gone to meet Geoff, as Blake had said.

  “Who were these witnesses?” Tommy said, having to bend down and talk directly in her ear now. The music was going louder. “Are they still around now?”

  Kovacs looked up, and saw them. He stilled, drink in hand, watching them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ryan trying to lead Emma toward the doors, and Emma was arguing with him. Tension, claustrophobia, tightened around Meg’s throat. A rushing noise began in her head.

  “I need to talk to Dave Kovacs now. I need to tell him what I’ve found out.”

  Tommy hesitated, then said, “Good, this is good. Because he’s reopened the case on the quiet.”

  “Kovacs told you this?”

  “He told me you were working with him.”

  A cold feeling snaked up her chest. So much for “on the quiet.” She shot another look at Kovacs. He regarded them intently. Fear tightened in Meg’s throat.

  The drums thumped louder. Tommy winced at the noise, took her elbow. “Come, let’s go talk somewhere quiet and private. My yacht is right outside the front entrance. I’ll get Dave to join us.” Tommy lifted his hand and made a motion to Kovacs. He nodded, making a sign that he’d come in two minutes.

  Meg hesitated. Perhaps Kovacs was not the best person to be looking into Sherry’s case right now, given his father’s involvement and his political interest in the outcome. Her mind went to the photo she’d seen of him in the archives. And the sense she should be remembering something about him intensified. The buzzing grew louder in her head. She was sweating now, but still shivering.