by Donna Doyle
But for now, she was maintaining the ruse that she could handle the violence and the fear. What her kids felt about it, Troy didn’t know, although he did know that the beatings only took place after the kids were at school. They would have to know, when they came home and saw their mother, that she’d been hit again. What would happen in the summer, when the kids were off school and home during the day? Ollie, whose real name was Carl Olivetti, had only been Destiny’s boyfriend since early in the year, Troy knew. He’d moved into town after getting the job at the factory and it was just Destiny’s luck to meet him. She wasn’t a bad sort of person, but she had lousy judgment. Ollie wasn’t the first of her boyfriends to have spent time in jail, and he probably wasn’t the first one to hit her. But he was the first to do it so often.
Troy’s drive back to the police station was shadowed by the sense of futility that always accompanied police calls like this one. There was no way to get through to a woman of Destiny’s mindset that she deserved better. Eager to get away from Truman Avenue, Troy turned left at the intersection. The route took him past the smaller apartment complex where Mia Shaw lived. He passed the mailboxes on the other side of the building. At least there hadn’t been another rat in her mailbox.
But the phone call, that was disturbing. Someone wanted to scare her, and even if there was no intention to follow up on the threat—although that couldn’t be guaranteed—it wasn’t just a prank.
Travis Shaw couldn’t be behind it. Not from prison.
But who would do it? Someone who was part of the drug network that Scotty Stark, and then Travis Shaw, had worked? Who was working it now?
As he paused at the red light, Troy’s mind sorted through the bits and pieces of minutiae that, when assembled, pieced together the puzzle of crime in Settler Springs. There were always connections. They weren’t apparent at first, but he needed to sort the pieces, just like doing a puzzle. First, create the outer frame of the image. Those pieces were less varied, they shared more colors and they defined the outline of the mystery. Then, put the matching colors together. Link them to the frame, piece by piece. Everything would fit, even if, at the beginning, it seemed as if there were no connections.
But there were always connections. And there was always someone, unseen, forging those connections.
9
Blaming Lucas
Good Friday dawned gray and gloomy with a threat of rain hinted at behind the pale sky. Kelly went for her morning run, choosing a route around the town in the early hours when people hadn’t yet gotten started on the day. It was then that she could enjoy the quiet of the small town and appreciate the charm that it had.
After her run, she went home, showered, and settled down for breakfast. Her own breakfasts weren’t as indulgent as the ones she enjoyed at the Café, but she didn’t enjoy going there by herself anymore, not when she had gotten used to Troy’s company as she launched into the restaurant’s “Hungry Man Breakfast” while he commented on her metabolism. She made toast, covered it with crunchy peanut butter, peeled an orange, and made coffee. A leisurely morning was something alien to her and she ate her breakfast while watching the morning news program. The forecast for Good Friday was drizzle, but Easter was predicted to be sunny.
Her own spirits brightened by that weather report, Kelly went over her plans for the day. She had told Hayley that she would help her decorate the church for Easter Sunday, but that would be later in the afternoon, after the Good Friday services were over. Hayley was so troubled by the dissension surrounding the Maundy Thursday seder that Kelly was concerned the young woman, new to church leadership and the ego wars that often went with it, would scale back her involvement in order to avoid controversy.
But she had some things that she needed to take care of at the library first. The library was closed for the weekend in observance of the Easter holidays. A three-day weekend was a delight, but it inevitably threatened to put Kelly off schedule. If she went to the library today, when there would be no patrons and no distractions, she could get moving on the kids’ sleep-over the following weekend. She could count on Lucas to help with setting up, but she needed to go over the plan for the evening’s activities. Chloe wanted to have the kids eat cereal and milk for their nighttime snack, but Kelly wondered if parents would be expecting a real meal, in which case the kids might be hungry for more than Cheerios.
Kelly drove to the library and parked in the back. If anyone saw her car out front, they’d know she was there and they’d want to come in, even though the library was closed. She felt slightly guilty at her ploy, but as she unlocked the back door to the library and entered the dark quiet of the building, she was pleased. She’d be able to work and to concentrate.
She went to her office and opened the door.
Lois Stark, sitting at Kelly’s desk, with the moneybox in front of her, looked as startled as Kelly was. “What are you doing here?” Mrs. Stark demanded.
“I have a few things to take care of before next weekend’s sleepover,” Kelly replied. Her eyes went to the moneybox.
“I didn’t have time to make the deposit,” Mrs. Stark said, her face flushed as if the subject were not a pleasant one. “I came in today to take care of it. And I found that someone has been in it, and I know who!”
“There’s money missing?” Kelly asked dubiously.
“A check is missing! And I know who took it!” Mrs. Stark said in triumph, holding the deposit slip in her hand as if it were a banner. “It’s the check from me and my husband. I told you we were donating one thousand dollars to the memorial fund.”
“Yes . . . but why would anyone steal a signed check made out to the library? Are you sure it’s not misplaced?”
“It’s not misplaced!” Mrs. Stark said angrily. “I know who took it. That Krymanski boy. He saw me making out the deposit. He must have looked in the money box after I put it back in the cabinet.”
“Didn’t you lock the cabinet?” Kelly inquired, keeping her tone even despite her reaction to the accusation against Lucas.
“Of course, I did!”
“Then how did he get into it?”
“I didn’t lock it right away,” Mrs. Stark said. “I was distracted for a moment.”
“Was that when Donna Hasinger came in and you were talking to her about the church festival fundraiser?”
“It might have been,” Mrs. Stark said, reluctant to admit that she was culpable for leaving the cabinet door unlocked.
“I still don’t why anyone, including Lucas, would steal a check. It’s no use to anyone but the library. And you and Mr. Stark, of course, as the donors.”
“You know very well that boy has it in for my family. Remember what he did to my brother’s house at Halloween?”
“Regardless of that, Lucas would not have had the time to go into the moneybox and search for a check from you,” Kelly said. “It’s ridiculous to even think that.”
Mrs. Stark’s cheekbones reddened, as if rouge had suddenly been applied. “He’s a thief and he comes from a family of thieves, and everyone in town knows it. I don’t want him in this library anymore, do you hear me? He’s nothing but trouble, just like all the Krymanskis.”
“You can’t bar him from the library with nothing but your own suspicions!”
“I’m the president of the library board and I most certainly can do just that, Kelly Armello, and you’d better listen. I’ve had enough of you and your ways. You think that because you and that police officer are friends, you can do whatever you want and no one is going to stand up to you. Well, you’ve got a lesson to learn and the Starks are going to teach you!”
Mrs. Stark drew in her breath and exhaled it slowly. “However, my husband and I will make good on the donation. I’ll make it in cash and I’ll deposit it tomorrow.”
“What difference does it make, cash or check?” Kelly exclaimed.
“Cash doesn’t have anyone’s name on it, obviously. You’ve given that boy entirely too much freedom and he thinks he can d
o whatever he wants, including coming into this office and stealing out of the moneybox.”
“You would accuse him with no evidence?”
“I know the boy and his family, and I know what they’re capable of. What do you know, hidden away in the library? You don’t know anything about the world.”
“I know when someone’s innocent,” Kelly said. “Even if people want him to be guilty rather than letting the real culprit take the blame.”
Her meaning was unmistakable. Scotty Stark had strangled his girlfriend because she was pregnant. Until Troy and Kelly had worked together to prove that Lucas, who had been accused of the murder, was innocent, the police force under Chief Stark’s leadership had been content to let Lucas take the blame, solely because of his family’s reputation and because it was easier to blame a Krymanski than to suspect a Stark.
The two women were silent, their gazes locked.
Mrs. Stark broke first. “I’ll be back tomorrow to make the deposit,” she said.
“With the thousand dollars from me and my husband. You will include it in the newsletter as a donation from Police Chief and Mrs. Roger Stark.”
“Has he been reinstated?” Kelly inquired.
“He will be!” Mrs. Stark returned the moneybox to the cabinet and locked the door. “And then things will change in this town. Your boyfriend will find out fast that he needs to mind his own business and not interfere with things that have nothing to do with him.”
“Investigating a murder and drug deals is very much his business!” was Kelly’s quick retort. “And he’s not—”
But Mrs. Stark was already out of the library.
Kelly sat down, drained by the exchange. She had run into her share of detractors and not all library patrons were genial, but she had never encountered genuine malice before. It was obvious that Lois Stark was an enemy. How ridiculous it seemed, to define someone as an enemy. That belonged in books and movies, not in real life. Small town librarians didn’t have enemies.
She wished she could talk to Troy. But she knew that this was a weekend he had long been anticipating. By now he would be finishing his half-day shift and heading home so that he could change and leave for his fishing weekend at Leo Page’s camp. She had agreed to look after Arlo and feed the dog and let him out while Troy was away. But she didn’t need to do that until the evening.
In the meantime, it was Good Friday. She could hear the sound of the forecasted rain as it fell against the windows, as if to remind her that this was a day destined for sorrow.
10
Death at the Lake
Leo’s camp had no pretensions. It was designed for him and his friends who wanted a base when they went fishing in the warm months and hunting in the cold. It did have electricity and indoor plumbing and propane heating, which would be good for keeping off the chill of the damp Friday.
Troy built a fire in the fireplace and, using a stick he stripped from a tree, then peeled, roasted hot dogs over the flames, watching as the outside of the meat turned black from the heat. He’d brought food with him, but Leo had warned him that cooking facilities were primitive. There was a fire pit outside, but that was no use in the rain, which, true to form, had fallen steadily most of the day. But
Troy had brought food in a cooler and as he inserted the hot dogs into the buns and spread mustard and onions on top, he leaned back in the comfortable chair and watched the flames.
It was good to be away. Away from work and the behind-the-scenes scheming going on in the mayor’s office, the sense of futility when handling domestic violence calls where beaten women like Destiny wouldn’t bring charges against their abusive boyfriends, the concern over the growing drug activity in the town.
Troy stretched out his long legs and let his mind drift aimlessly.
Arlo would have enjoyed it up here, but an exuberant dog didn’t make for a successful fishing outing. Kelly would take good care of him while Troy was away, and Arlo was fond of her.
Kelly would like it up here. She liked the outdoors, and she wasn’t one of those pampered women who fussed over her nails or her makeup when she was active.
The evening at Logretti’s had proven that she could, when the occasion suited, deck herself out in full female regalia, but her day-to-day routine was simple and attractive.
That ex of hers . . . Troy wondered why they’d broken up. What kind of fool would let a woman like Kelly go? Maybe someday she’d fill in more of the details about the relationship and the break-up.
Would there ever come a time when Kelly would want to be more than a running partner on the weekend and a crime-solving accomplice when Settler Springs was embroiled in a murder? It wasn’t much to build a relationship on. But how much did he even know about relationships? Not much, if Angela was anything to go by.
Did he even want a relationship? He’d avoided marriage so far, and until Kelly, hadn’t been able to see himself settling into the traditional kind of relationship that was expected of a man in his thirties. Early thirties; plenty of time for that. Marriage, a family, those were things that he’d regarded as future milestones. Not now.
But Kelly Armello, she had done something to that timeline. He wasn’t exactly thinking marriage, but he couldn’t see himself with anyone else. And with a girl like Kelly, that meant a wedding and a ring and a family. They hadn’t talked about it, but he knew that much about her.
Being with her would change him. He sensed that too. Did he want to change? Would he change her as well, and would she still be as irresistible to him if she changed?
Troy finished his beer and decided to call it a night. He would be getting up early in the morning for a day of fishing, and come tomorrow night, he planned to be eating his catch. When the fire was out, he went to bed.
The next morning, he was awake before dawn broke and out the door just as the very first pink strands of light in the sky were appearing. The rain was over, and the morning promised to be sunny. The grass was still wet, the ground slippery, from the day’s rain yesterday, requiring Troy to watch his step or risk falling in the mud as he went out to pick his spot by the lake. There would be other fishermen here, he was sure, but he intended to beat them all to the best spot. Leo had told him where he wanted to set up.
“About a hundred yards from the camp,” Leo had said, “there’s a cozy little spot, trees all around, but not so many that there’s no sunlight. The sun shines through and it just brings out the fish on that side of the lake. You’ll be feasting on fresh trout.”
That was just what Troy had in mind. Diligently he followed Leo’s direction and found the spot. This had to be it. The sunlight was glinting through the leaves of the trees and even though spring was getting a late start, the branches were already green with foliage, having shaken off winter’s barrenness.
It certainly was beautiful up here, even in early spring when the trees hadn’t yet assumed their full majesty. The lake was twenty miles away from the Trail, and a marathon runner could have made the journey by foot but much of the terrain up this way was rugged, steep and, because of so much mud from the rains, not an easy trek. But there was a sense up here that the clutter of civilization was far away and, this early in the morning, Troy enjoyed the sense that he was the only person who was awake for miles around. There was a log to sit on, right at the edge of the lake, as Leo had told him, placed in just the right location for comfortable access to the water.
Leo said the hunting was good up here and Troy was welcome to join him when deer season began. But with staffing the way it was at the station, especially if the mayor followed through on the plan to drop Kyle from the force, there was no way that Troy and Leo would both be able to be off at the same time.
Resolutely, Troy turned his mind away from thoughts of the machinations going on with the mayor. This was his weekend to relax and enjoy his freedom away from all of that.
He felt a tug on the line. The familiar excitement surged within him and he leaned forward, ready to balance the weig
ht of his body against the tension of the line. He tugged gently, not using force in case he would lose the fish on the other end. But the tug remained, unchanging, and he stood up, wondering what size of fish was on the line. If the fish was as big as it seemed to be, he’d have more than enough for multiple meals. Maybe even enough to share some with Kelly. He’d invite her over for supper. She didn’t think he could cook. Well, he wasn’t much of a cook, but give him a fish he’d caught and cleaned, or venison from a deer that he’d killed, and he wasn’t bad in the kitchen—
Troy frowned. Something was wrong. He knew the give and take of having a fish on the line. This wasn’t what he was used to.
Troy muttered an oath and then was immediately contrite. Out here, in the purity of nature, cursing seemed blasphemous, a violation against the sanctity of the pristine landscape. For him, this was what church was to Kelly, he supposed. A place where the perfection that had been ordained at the beginning of time was maintained and protected.
Troy waded into the cold water of the lake. He’d probably hooked a basketball, he though sourly, or a tire that some oaf had thrown into the water. He reached down below the water to release his hook.
And immediately raised his arm. It wasn’t a tire and it wasn’t a basketball. What was caught on the end of his line felt like a hand. Cold and rigid.
Steeling himself for what he had to do, Troy reached down again and pulled. He felt some kind of clothing. He pulled again, straining to bring up whatever had floated to the surface and gotten caught on his fishing hook.