Chained

by Eileen Brady

  Talking to the inn’s owners and getting Jeremy entwined in our local murder was not in my game plan. I tried to be diplomatic. “Maybe we can wait until after my guest leaves.”

  Cindy piped up. “You never know what might happen.”

  Her words would prove more prophetic than I would ever have guessed.

  ***

  Before I knew it another day had ended. Looking out the window I saw only the black night of a moonless sky still with no snow. My workday had been a blur of patients and problems. I’d eaten my lunch standing up. If it weren’t for walking Buddy, I probably wouldn’t have gotten outside at all.

  Frustrated with life in general, I called the one person who always gives me great advice—whether I took it or not. He answered the phone after the second ring.

  “Hello, Gramps?”

  “Hey, sweetheart, how are you?

  Just the sound of his raspy voice made me happy. I sunk into the sofa, wondering why I’d felt so blue earlier.

  “I’m fine. Overworked, as usual.”

  We’d had this conversation before so his wise words were familiar. “You’ve got to pace yourself. I learned that the hard way.”

  “I’m trying. One of these days I’ll get it right.”

  For a few minutes we chatted about inconsequential things—the latest gossip at the independent senior facility he lived in, silly stories from the Internet, and everyday stuff. But I couldn’t fool him. He knew I had something on my mind.

  “Gramps, I’ve got this situation going on that I’d like to talk to you about.”

  Through the phone I heard each inhale and exhale. Scars in his lungs from twenty-five years of being a firefighter then an arson investigator made breathing difficult for him. Sometimes the medications worked wonders and sometimes they didn’t.

  “Trouble with Luke?” His guess was a surprise.

  I abruptly sat up on the sofa almost knocking Buddy off his doggy pillow.

  “Not even close. Luke is back with his high school sweetheart and for all I know he might be engaged again.”

  “I’m sorry, Katie.” He waited for a moment, probably not sure of what to say. My social life had always been a mystery to him.

  “Don’t be.” That immediate response came out a bit more brusque than I had meant it to be. “Anyway, you were right about one thing. I’ve gotten myself twisted up in that cold case I told you about.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” He probably was shaking his head in frustration with me. “How long has this young fellow been missing?”

  “Ten years. He graduated high school in June and decided to leave that August. The day he disappeared he left a note on the kitchen table for his mother saying he was on his way to Los Angeles to start the adventure of his life.”

  A thumping sound came from the phone.

  “Is someone else in your apartment?” Hopefully, we weren’t on speakerphone.

  “It’s only Pete. I promised to play poker tonight with a couple of the guys. Anyway, don’t worry so much. Whoever did this is probably long gone.”

  “You’ve got a point there, but what am I supposed to do? The family asked me to look into it.”

  Gramps didn’t answer right away but when he did it was direct and to the point. ”Honey, you could always say no.”

  After we hung up I thought about what he said. Why didn’t I just tell Flynn’s family that I couldn’t help them? Who am I kidding? I’m not a professional investigator and I’m certainly not going to get paid for my efforts. This crime, as I was learning, wasn’t just a simple cold case. It was a frozen solid iceberg-sized cold case.

  I didn’t have any personal ties to Flynn or his family.

  So why did I feel compelled to follow it through?

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, frustrated by my lack of progress and still spooked by the phantom Diabolo, I contacted Flynn Keegan’s family. I wanted to get the names of students he hung out with and try to learn more about his final day in town. Bruce and Lizette’s relationship was also on my radar. Only Flynn’s sister, Fiona, was available and willing to talk to me on such short notice. Last time we met she’d barely said a word to me. This time I needed her to spill the family secrets.

  Could Fiona really be as Goth as she appeared? I got my answer when she opened the door. Dressed in black pants riddled with zippers and studs, today her lower lip sported a small safety pin. A cropped T-shirt glowed with gaping skulls while her mouth echoed the effect by becoming a dark hole outlined with thick black lipstick.

  My tan cargo pants and brown jacket read “boring,” at the polar end of the fashion spectrum. To make up for it, I tried to put some enthusiasm into my greeting. “Hey, Fiona, thanks for meeting with me.”

  A grunt is all I got in return.

  Her crooked finger invited me in and brought me into the foyer. She used her boot to slam the door shut, then marched straight down the main hallway of the house. I followed, wondering about her destination. We stopped in front of a room with one of those joke privacy signs warning visitors to stay out. After pausing for a moment she took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.

  It was a bedroom, stuffy from dust and disuse. From the movie and sports posters on the walls and shelves of trophies, I assumed this had been Flynn’s room. Color bathed the walls and stars glimmered on the ceiling. No beige here.

  “Flynn’s room?”

  Fiona confirmed that with a grunt and flung herself on the bed.

  I noticed some photographs scotch-taped on the wall above a worn wooden dresser. One captured a dark-haired girl and Flynn in formal wear at what looked like a prom, a fake Eiffel Tower glowing in the background. Another looked like a picture of a very young fair-haired Fiona holding a puppy. There were two funny strips of photos, from one of those machines you find at the mall, featuring Flynn and a pretty blond girl making faces and sticking out their tongues. The last image showed Flynn and a group of guys in swim trunks standing in front of a “Danger. No Swimming” sign. The grins on their faces and their wet hair suggested they’d ignored it.

  “Can you tell me about these pictures?”

  Fiona reluctantly pulled herself up on her elbows.

  “That’s senior prom night. This is me with Brandy, our dog, when she was a puppy. She died two years ago. Next one is my brother and Angelica goofing off. Then you’ve got Flynn’s gang, the guys he hung out with all the time. They were quarry-diving and almost got caught by the cops.” A hint of admiration penetrated her general gloom.

  She stared at me as if daring me to ask another question. Her original passionate plea for me to help find her brother’s killer seemed to have dried up. But behind her anger I saw something else—frustration, sorrow, and bitterness. I decided to take a chance and dig deeper.

  “It’s not easy to lose a brother.”

  Accusing eyes caught mine. “How would you know?”

  Since she had sprawled across most of the bed, I claimed a spot on the far corner. “My brother and mom were killed in a car crash when I was fifteen. Like you, I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

  I heard her breathing harshly, in short deep bursts.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No problem. Don’t forget I’m here trying to help solve your brother’s murder. Everything you tell me matters.”

  That got her moving. She sat up, gave me what passed for a smile, and walked over to the photos on the wall I had asked about.

  “Okay. So this is a picture of him and Shiloh Alberts. He went to the senior prom with her but they broke up pretty soon after that. I remember she and her mom were out of town when my brother left, because my mom went crazy and called all of Flynn’s friends trying to find out where he was.” She skipped the puppy picture and went on to the next. “Here’s Flynn with Angelica, his on and off girlfriend through m
ost of high school. She was super jealous and possessive, he told me one time.”

  I wondered how upset Angelica became about not going to senior prom with Flynn.

  Fiona paused at the last picture. “These are the guys he basically hung out with twenty-four/seven. Left to right they’re Rusty Lieberman, Nate Porter, and Denny Alantonio.”

  “Were they all in the same year in high school?”

  “Yep. Rusty, he’s the guy with the red hair, is the smart one; Nate’s more quiet; and Denny…I’m not sure if you could label Denny. Maybe the jokester?”

  After taking a few mental notes I went and stood next to her. I needed to put the names to the faces. They were all teenagers, mostly the same height and weight, except for Nate, who came up to Flynn’s shoulder. “Did the guys have many fights with each other?”

  Blank eyes met mine.

  “Can you remember any incidents, or something unusual that happened around the time of Flynn’s disappearance?”

  She scrunched up her face, causing the ring in her eyebrow to play peekaboo.

  “Not really. It was a long time ago. They were guys, you know, always punching each other and goofing around. I’m not sure what I can tell you.”

  “Did any of them come to the house on a regular basis? After school?” In my heart I felt like I was grasping at straws.

  Her answer took a while. She stared at the pictures before closing her eyes, at least trying to remember. “I think Rusty came by to study just before tests a couple of times, and Nate used to pop in to borrow Flynn’s bike. That, I remember ’cause Flynn got mad one day when Nate didn’t return it. The other guy, I didn’t see much. Denny had a job after school, I think, at some car dealership.”

  “That’s very helpful.” I tried to compliment Fiona as much as possible. The less stress she felt, the more she might recall. “Any idea where most of them are now?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Rusty is a doctor. My mom told me she saw him the other day and that he’d joined his father’s practice. I think Denny started selling real estate because I’ve seen his picture in ads all over town. His face is even on the grocery cart at ShopRite. Nate lives here in town, still working at the Country Store. I don’t think he ever left Oak Falls. Whenever I go in to buy a cone, he’s always nice and scoops me an extra big portion of ice cream.”

  “Does he ever ask you about Flynn?”

  A funny look wrinkled her brow. “No.

  I glanced around the room one last time. “Alright, I’ve got plenty to go on for now. Do you mind if I take these two pictures?” I pointed to the prom and quarry photos. “I’ll make copies and bring you back the originals.”

  “Don’t bother. Mom’s got a bunch more.” With a swift gesture, as though she couldn’t wait to get rid of them, she ripped the tape off the wall and handed me the pictures. “Can’t stand to look at them now. Used to be I’d imagine him having fun in L.A., happy he got out of this crappy little town. That’s been replaced by the image of my brother lying dead in the woods.”

  I knew exactly how she felt.

  “Fiona, after my mom and brother, Jimmy, died from a hit-and-run accident, I pretended they were out shopping or running errands and would be home soon. I knew it wasn’t true but it was comforting in a weird way. I think everyone has to find their own way of coping with trauma. Have you seen a counselor?”

  “Yeah. A bunch.”

  “Did they help?”

  “Some. All I know is as soon as I save enough money, I’m out of here. Flynn tried to escape but didn’t make it—but I will.” The belligerent tone in her voice didn’t invite any dispute. “You know I messed up before he took off. I told him if he left without me I’d never talk to him again.”

  One more piece of guilt this young woman carried around with her. “Fiona. If Flynn had lived, I’m sure he would have called you.”

  “You think?” Hope was in her voice.

  “I’m positive.”

  She allowed herself to smile at me. For a moment I saw the resemblance to her brother she’d been hiding under all the makeup.

  On our way out I caught her off guard. “One more thing, and I apologize if this is too personal a question. Why do you hate your father so much?”

  Her face turned into a furious mask. “Let’s see. He hit my mother, my brother, and me all the time for no good reason while we were growing up. I know he’s got money but do you think he shares it with his family? No. Instead, he sits on it like a fat frog. Mom had to practically beg for school expenses and clothes and stuff for me.”

  “Did he ever…?”

  Fiona must have read my mind. “When I was nine his goodnight hugs changed. They made me uncomfortable. Flynn put a special lock on the inside of my bedroom door so I’d feel safe. Told my dad he’d kill him if he ever touched me again.”

  Good for Flynn, I thought.

  “He hates my Goth look.” Her face showed a smug satisfaction. “Good old Bruce gets his pleasure from verbal abuse these days.”

  The eyes that looked back at me were Flynn’s, only buried in mascara and misery. Fiona was coping as best she could. Those black Goth layers camouflaged her pain.

  I’d used a rotten attitude and constant sarcasm to deflect the pain of dealing with my lousy father.

  With the pictures safely tucked into my purse I left Flynn’s childhood home and got into the truck. Before I started the engine I took one last look at the quarry photo. All the guys had defied the rules and dived in together.

  Curious that the only one Fiona had seen over the years had been Nate. I also found it odd he never asked her about her brother. Maybe he didn’t need to ask because he knew Flynn was dead.

  “One step closer,” I whispered to the glossy image. “Flynn, just help me get one step closer to finding out what happened to you.”

  Four figures smiled back at me, frozen in their innocence.

  On the way home I detoured into town, hoping Nate Porter, the quiet one of Flynn’s gang, would still be around. Ten years was a long time ago, but he might still remember where he was the day Flynn disappeared. The Country Store, where Nate worked, was located in an old farmhouse with a huge wraparound porch. It sold everything from tourist stuff to exotic specialty foods to local jams and jellies. As a nod to the modern world, a long freezer compartment carried a wide variety of flavors of locally made gelato. Another favorite, the cotton candy machine, stood near a big jar of pickles.

  I was in luck. Not only was Nate alone in the store, but he seemed eager to talk to me.

  “Yeah, I sure felt bummed out when they identified those remains as Flynn.” Nate busied himself by unpacking a box of coffee mugs made in China, emblazoned with the town’s name.

  “Did you keep in contact with his family?”

  His mumbled answer was barely audible. “No. Too painful, I guess.”

  I never would have recognized Nate from that old quarry picture. The slim, dark-haired boy in the photo had become a man with receding hair and a big beer belly. His puffy red face and mottled nose hinted of too many late nights drinking at the local taverns.

  “So, what do you think happened to him?” I asked that familiar question, after he finished stacking the mugs.

  He regarded me thoughtfully. “I’ve been wondering about that myself. The only thing I can come up with is he hitched a ride with the wrong person.”

  “Was that something you did pretty often?” I tagged behind him as he went into the storeroom and continued to bring out stuff to stock the shelves. “Hitched rides, I mean.” According to the posted hours the store would be closing in about twenty minutes. At this rate it might take a few hours to get the answers to my questions.

  A short curse word spilled out after he hoisted a particularly heavy box and placed it on the countertop near the cash register. Nate continued to work after catching his breath.
“Hitch rides? Sure as hell, we did. In high school the only one who had a car was Rusty. Since his mom always had a meeting somewhere and his dad worked in Kingston, they bought him a sweet ride his senior year. A Jeep, an old one, but hey, it worked. We called it the rocking chair because of the way it rode. You know, back and forth.” He demonstrated with his hands and for a moment the shy young boy emerged.

  He stopped for a second to search for something on the top shelf.

  “How did you wind up working here, Nate?”

  A look of surprise, as if it was obvious, was directed my way. “My dad and uncle own this place. I’ve been working here at one thing or another since I was thirteen. Sort of pre-destined, as it were. I was here in the shop the day Flynn left town.”

  “Working.” Okay, now I had his alibi, but how would I prove it?

  “Yeah, until closing.”

  “Remember any of your customers?”

  “Are you nuts?”

  To calm him down, I changed gears. “Flynn wanted to go to Hollywood, I hear.”

  “We all were going to go.” His voice shifted and became a bit wistful. “Of course I had big dreams, too, back then but, like most things in life, they didn’t pan out.”

  “What were your big dreams?” I pulled out a stool and sat down while he straightened out the countertop.

  Regret flickered in his eyes. “I wanted to be a writer. In high school I wrote all kinds of things, mostly poetry and short stories. My dream was be a famous novelist. Have my picture on the cover of Time magazine. Corny, isn’t it?”

  “No, I don’t think it’s corny at all.”

  “Neither did Flynn. He used to tell me that I should go with him to L.A. We’d surf and get suntanned and he’d become a movie star and I’d be a famous writer.”

  “But life intervened…”

  “Yeah, reality has a way of doing that. Now I only drink like a writer.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “Funny.” It really wasn’t funny, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “You know, Flynn never lost the dream to make it big. He would have succeeded, too, if only…” Nate’s voice cracked and he turned away.