On a Dark Tide

by Valerie Geary

  Brett forced herself to relax, knowing that the second she put up her defenses, he’d stop talking. “Oh yeah? Anything in particular?”

  He shook his head and scuffed his toe in the gravel. “No. It’s just, she was about Elizabeth’s age, you know?”

  Brett nodded.

  “Well, older, but still, I don’t really think I realized how awful it must have been for you and for your parents. To lose her like that.” His voice cracked. He took a second to gather himself again before continuing. “I loved her.”

  Brett was glad for the dark to hide her surprise. She remembered boys like Marshall and Eli hanging around her and Margot a lot that summer. But she never saw anything more than flirting, certainly nothing that would have qualified as a meaningful relationship. A childhood crush, maybe, but not love to be recalled in a shadow-filled parking lot two decades later.

  “I mean, I thought I did at the time, anyway,” Marshall rushed on with an uncomfortable laugh. “I don’t know if we’d had longer together, if it would have lasted, or if it was just a summer fling or what. I don’t know, but sometimes I think…” He waved his hand in front of his face like he was waving away a fly and laughed again, ducking his head, embarrassed. “Never mind, it’s stupid. Forget I said any of that. I just wanted to tell you, you know, thank you for taking care of Elizabeth, and that I’m sorry. I wish...I don’t know, I wish I could have done something back then to stop her from going into those woods, maybe, or, I just… I wish I could have been there for Margot the way you were here for my daughter yesterday.”

  He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a stiff hug. He smelled faintly of smoke and beer and day-old cologne. She didn’t hug him back, just waited for him to let go, then turned and walked to her car.

  “What was that all about?” Jimmy asked.

  Brett shook her head. Her mouth was dry, her heart thumping too hard. “I’m not entirely sure. He told me he was in love with Margot.”

  Jimmy craned his head to look out the back window, but Marshall had already disappeared inside the bar.

  “I don’t remember seeing anything in Margot’s file about Marshall being interviewed.” Brett twisted in her seat to face Jimmy. “Did you talk to him when you were here the first time?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No, but I guess that’s who I’ll be talking to next.”

  “Be careful.” She glanced at the rearview mirror, certain she’d seen something moving in the shadows outside the bar. Now, there was only stillness.

  “I’m always careful,” Jimmy said.

  “I’m serious.” Brett drove in the direction of the motel where Jimmy was staying. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  “Aw, did you hear that?” He scratched behind the Chihuahua’s ear. “I think she’s starting to like me, too.”

  When she pulled into the motel parking lot, Jimmy asked her if she wanted to come inside. “I have a six-pack in the mini-fridge. We can raid the vending machine.”

  Hope glittered in his eyes.

  “Goodnight, Jimmy,” she said, taking the dog from him.

  If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He leaned and pecked her on the cheek.

  After Jimmy let himself into his motel room, Brett sat another fifteen minutes in the parking lot, trying to figure out what her problem was. Jimmy was a nice guy, they got along, and she liked him. She liked him a lot, she realized. Then why not let herself be happy? Why not get out of the car, go and knock on his door? He’d let her inside. He’d be sweet.

  She didn’t deserve sweet.

  Brett thought of the last time she saw Margot alive. They were sitting on the dock together, kicking their toes in the water. Margot stood suddenly and peeled off her sundress, her favorite green bikini underneath. Watch me, Brett. A leap, a graceful arc into the water. She stayed under so long that Brett almost ran for help, but as she was turning to go, Margot popped up again, laughing, gulping air, swimming back to the dock. The sound of voices approached, feet slapping the dock boards. Brett shouted at Margot, saying, You promised you’d take me to the pool today. You promised. Brett never swam in the bay. But Margot pulled her sundress on over her head, told her not to be a baby, told her not to tell Amma and Pop. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before it gets dark. But she wasn’t. Brett tried to picture the faces of the kids her sister had run off with, but they were silhouettes in her memory, backlit against a burning orange sky.

  Chapter 26

  Clara broke another egg into the bowl, whipped a fork through the yolk, then added salt and pepper. The mixture sizzled when she poured it into a hot pan. She moved a spatula around the edges as the eggs cooked.

  Marshall came downstairs with heavy feet. He shuffled into the kitchen and sat down at the table with a groan. “Is there coffee?”

  She didn’t need to look at him to know he was blurry-eyed, half-asleep, and probably hungover. The stench of beer and stale cigarette smoke wafted off him, along with the stench of another woman’s perfume. She poured him a cup and handed it over with too much force. Coffee slopped over the rim onto his hand.

  He hissed when the hot liquid touched his skin. “Watch it.”

  “Did you have fun last night?” She went back to scrambling eggs.

  He groaned again.

  “I have friends in this town, too, you know.” She scraped the eggs onto a plate and slammed them down on the table in front of him.

  He winced. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Janelle Montgomery called me from the Pickled Onion. Said she saw you talking to Brett Buchanan. Said you left the bar with her.”

  “Janelle Montgomery needs to mind her own business.” He shoveled eggs into his mouth.

  “Were you with her last night, Marshall?” Clara stood over him with her arms crossed.

  “I was at the bar with Eli.” He reached for his coffee. “Brett was there with someone else, a friend of hers, but yes, I saw her. We talked.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing. I thanked her for taking care of Elizabeth the other day.”

  “And where did you go after?”

  “Nowhere. Home.”

  He’d stumbled in close to four in the morning. Clara had only been pretending to sleep when he flopped into bed beside her.

  “Bars close at two, don’t they?”

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where is this coming from, Clara?”

  “Where were you?” The question echoed flatly through the room.

  He stared at her for a second before answering, “Eli and I were both too drunk to drive. We split a cab. We went by his place first, and I stayed for a few more drinks, then I walked home.”

  “Promise me you weren’t with her?”

  He gave her a hurt look and said, “Clara, please. I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. But no, I promise, I wasn’t with her.”

  She searched his face, wanting to believe him, but he had said the same thing to her twenty years ago. Trust me, Clara, I love you, not her. Nothing happened. She’s just a friend. She had believed every word he said. And then, not even two days after that, she caught them up at Lover’s Lookout, and later, he’d come to her apologizing. He hadn’t meant it to go so far, but now that he had, he wanted to be with her—with Margot. Not with Clara. She had believed him, trusted him, and he had broken her heart. But that was years ago when they were still kids.

  Marshall had come back to her, and he was still with her now, and she had to trust that commitment, trust him. They were completely different people with a completely different understanding of love and loyalty.

  She took his hand and dropped into the chair beside him. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I do. I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a stressful weekend.”

  “That might be the understatement of the year.” He smiled at her, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  She smiled bac
k and got up to refill his coffee.

  Elizabeth came into the kitchen with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her soccer bag over the other. She grabbed an apple and headed toward the door without saying a word to either of them.

  “Elizabeth?” Clara called after her. “Did you remember your shin guards? They were hanging up in the laundry room. I don’t want to get a call an hour before practice asking me to bring them to you.”

  “Actually… Dad, can you pick me up from practice today?” Elizabeth asked sweetly, one hand on the front door.

  “Sure thing, sweetheart.” Marshall looked at Clara and shrugged.

  Clara sighed and let her go. The door slammed. A few minutes later, the bus rumbled past, shuddering the entire house.

  “She’ll come around,” Marshall said. “Just give her some time.”

  Elizabeth had avoided her all weekend, leaving the room whenever Clara entered, hiding upstairs with her radio on, using Marshall as an intermediary. Clara could admit she’d made a mistake. She should have stayed at the festival, should have never left Elizabeth by herself the way she had, but at the time, Clara thought she was doing the right thing. Elizabeth was bleeding. She needed a Band-Aid. How was Clara supposed to predict what would come next?

  Marshall brought his plate to the sink, then wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling his nose against the back of her neck. “You know how girls can be, so sensitive sometimes. She takes after her mother.”

  His voice was teasing and gentle, but she pushed him away, swatting him with a towel. “You stink.”

  He lifted his arm, sniffed, and made a face. Then he cupped Clara’s chin in his hand. His expression was serious, his eyes searching hers. “Are you going to be okay today?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He studied her for another few seconds. “I don’t know. Like you said, this whole weekend’s been rough. I’m worried about you, that’s all. You’ve been acting a little off. Jumpy or, I don’t know, not yourself.”

  “I’m fine, Marshall. I told you, I’m tired.” She turned away from him and busied herself at the sink, scrubbing plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

  “I can stay home today if you want.”

  She shook her head. “You know how this town likes to talk. You need to get back to the office and show your face. Let people know you have nothing to hide.”

  He kissed her temple, then went upstairs to take a shower.

  * * *

  Yesterday morning Clara had spent two hours talking to a man who introduced himself as Detective Walker. He’d sat on her couch, drank her coffee, his voice a low drone as he asked questions about the Halloween festival and Zach’s death.

  What time did you get to the festival?

  Who did you talk to?

  What did you see?

  Did you talk to Zach? Did you see Zach at all? Did you know he’d been stabbed?

  Tell me again, where did you go after you left Elizabeth?

  He jotted Clara’s answers in a small notebook, seeming to be utterly bored with the whole interview. She answered his questions as thoroughly as she could. She got to the festival around ten to oversee the cookie decorating booth. She talked to a lot of people, but not to Zach. She hadn’t seen Zach since the Miller’s costume party the night before. If she had seen Zach, she would have avoided him. No, she didn’t know he’d been stabbed. And no, she hadn’t seen anything suspicious.

  Detective Walker thanked her for speaking with him, then handed over his business card and told her to call if she thought of anything else.

  After he was gone, Clara went into the bathroom and splashed her face with water. She’d gripped the edge of the sink, taking deeper and deeper breaths until her pulse returned to normal. Then she’d joined Marshall and Elizabeth in the kitchen where they were making nachos for dinner. Marshall had raised his eyebrows at her, a silent question—how did it go? She’d smiled at him. Fine, it was fine.

  Everything would be fine.

  Things would settle down again. Life would go back to normal.

  Zachary Danforth had always been a troubled kid, the kind of kid who had no one and helped no one, whose story would have never turned out well even if he’d wanted it to. If not now, something like this would have happened eventually—a violent, untimely death was always going to be his end.

  Chapter 27

  At her desk on Monday morning, Brett flipped through the photographs she’d collected from Zach’s room. She’d looked at them at least a dozen times in the past few hours, but rather than finding answers, she had only more questions. There were a number of powerful men in these pictures—city leaders and prominent businessmen, councilmembers, even a few cops, uniformed officers and brass alike. Upon closer examination, it was clear every one of them was participating in some kind of illicit activity. Buying drugs, hiring prostitutes, keeping company with known criminals. These photos were evidence enough to ruin a few careers should the wrong person get his hands on them, and sufficient motive for someone to want Zach dead.

  Brett locked the photographs in her top desk drawer to look at again after getting coffee from the break room. She was thinking in circles but getting no closer to narrowing down a suspect. Zach had lost consciousness on the way to the hospital and remained unconscious until he died. The witness interviews had revealed nothing. Everyone saw Zach after he’d been stabbed, not before. There were no fingerprints on the knife. Brett was waiting to hear back from the medical examiners’ office and the lab to see if they’d found anything interesting.

  When she entered the break room, she found Officer Fellowes already measuring grounds into the filter. The other woman smiled at Brett as she poured water into the coffee maker.

  “Heard it was a bit of a rough weekend around here,” Nancy said. “Fresh pot will be ready in a few minutes.”

  The machine burbled and hissed as coffee streamed into the pot.

  “I don’t know how you do it.” She leaned one hip against the counter, folding her arms over her chest and studying Brett.

  “Do what?”

  “Work with dead bodies and murder and all of that.” A shudder rolled through her. “It’s too gruesome for my tastes. And it’s not really the type of work you can leave at the office, is it? Do you have kids?” She tilted her head to one side.

  The coffee pot was half full. Brett willed it to brew faster. “No. I don’t.”

  “Ah. That explains it. I couldn’t imagine working with all that darkness and not having some of it rub off on me, you know?” She shook her head. Tiny diamond studs glittered in her earlobes. “Parking enforcement can be boring, but I’ll take boring over bodies any day.”

  She laughed a little and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. She poured coffee into them both. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “I can do it.” Brett reached to take one of the mugs from Nancy.

  She laughed again. “Right, sorry. I’m so used to taking care of the boys around here.”

  Brett stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.” Nancy’s smile never faltered. She sipped her coffee, which was nearly white for the amount of cream she’d added.

  “The other day, the front desk officer gave you a message to give to Eli.”

  Her neatly shaped brows bunched together in confusion. “He did?”

  “He told me he did.”

  Nancy thought for a moment and nodded. “Right, I remember. I left it on Eli’s desk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The change was subtle. Nancy’s eyes narrowed. Her shoulders lifted slightly, and her fingers tightened around the cup. Her voice turned razor-sharp when she said, “Of course I’m sure.”

  “He told me he never got it.”

  “Are you accusing me of something? Because if you are, just come out and say it. I’m a straight-talker. Always have been, always will be. I don’t play games with people, and I don
’t like it when people play games with me.”

  “You left it on Eli’s desk. You’re sure? That’s all I’m asking.”

  “And I told you, yes, I did. I dropped it in his inbox like Mike asked me to.”

  The two women stared at each other, the silence tense between them. Then Nancy said, “I have work to do,” and brushed past Brett, leaving the break room as Eli was entering. She smiled at Eli but didn’t stop to chat.

  Eli poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Did you have fun last night?” Brett asked, taking her mug and moving toward the door.

  “Brett, wait.”

  She paused and turned toward him. His hair was tousled, and there were dark bags under his eyes. Stubble shadowed his chin.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “About last night. I was drunk.”

  “You were a dick.”

  “That too.” He gave her a half-smile, one cheek dimpling. “Forgive me?”

  She sighed and nodded. “Only because I owe you one for helping out with my grandmother. And because you’re going to promise that you’ll never pull that kind of shit with me ever again.”

  His cheeks flushed red.

  “Right?”

  “Right,” he said meekly.

  “Good. Now that we have an understanding. Is everything okay with you and Irving? He’s not coming down on you too hard about this Danny bullshit, is he? I’ll talk to him if he is. I’ll tell him it was my idea to tag along on that interview.”

  “Don’t bother. Danny’s just rattling cages. It’ll blow over.” He frowned into his coffee mug and then looked back up at her. “Are you sure we’re good? Because I really am sorry about what I said. I don’t really think any of that—”

  “Eli,” she interrupted, holding up her hand to silence him. “We’re good.”

  She took her coffee to drink at her desk.

  * * *

  Two hours later, the medical examiner’s office called.

  “Are you sure?” Brett asked Charlie.

  “I know that you and I are still getting to know each other, Detective,” he said, “but how about I let you in on a little secret. The only time you’ll ever get a phone call from me like this is when I’m sure. Damn sure. Take it to the bank sure. Stake my life on it sure. So, am I sure? You bet I’m sure. Never been more sure of anything except the day I said my wedding vows. I’ll get the written report to you by the end of the day.”