Brenda Novak

by Home to Whiskey Creek

  There it was. The cinder-block retaining wall separating the lawn mower shop from Lovett’s Bridal.

  After a brief check in her rearview mirror, she put on her brakes, but someone was coming up behind her, so she turned into Lovett’s and waited for that car to pass before walking over to take a closer look. This had to be the place. She could see the damage. The wall had a big crack in it and streaks of paint—white paint.

  Standing back, she took a picture of it with her cell phone. She wasn’t sure why. She just wanted some kind of proof that the vehicle Kevin, Tom, Derek or Stephen had used had been white.

  Feeling uneasy about being out alone, she hurried back to her 4-Runner. But once she was inside, with her doors locked, she wasn’t quite ready to go home. She needed more time to regroup. So she drove through the center of town, past A Room with a View, a B and B that had taken over one of the prettiest Victorians; A Damsel’s Delights, which reminded her that she still had to thank Noelle for the necklace she was wearing; 49er Sweets, with its barrels of saltwater taffy; a photography studio called Reflections by Callie, owned by one of Noah’s closest friends; Harvey’s Hardware; Whiskey Creek Five & Dime and several other stores, most of which hadn’t changed since she’d left.

  Just Like Mom’s was coming up on her right. Other than a few updated Halloween decorations, it hadn’t changed, either. Painted a tacky purple, it had a forest of fake flowers stuffed into window boxes that desperately needed to be emptied and cleaned. In order to sell it, she knew she should throw out the contents of those boxes, plant real flowers and give the place a facelift. But she’d come to help Gran, not upset her. She had to ease her grandmother into the idea of cutting ties with Whiskey Creek.

  The restaurant stayed open until eleven every night except Fridays and Saturdays, when it closed at midnight. Since it was nearly eleven, there weren’t many people inside. When she passed she could see Darlene, with her brassy yellow hair, through one of the wide front windows holding a pot of coffee as she made the rounds.

  Addy needed to determine how things were going at the restaurant, whether it was even viable to sell, and only Darlene could tell her. But before she dove into the management of the restaurant, she wanted to wait until she wasn’t sporting so much evidence of her ordeal.

  Maybe she’d go in after the weekend, on Monday.

  Beyond the restaurant was Crank It Up, Noah’s bike shop. It was as dark as the rest of the businesses, but she parked at the curb and gazed in at the posters she could see, thanks to the streetlights, near the register. Noah was featured in one of them, wearing a silver, sleek-looking helmet, a Crank It Up bike shirt and black spandex shorts that showed the muscles in his legs as he balanced, at a complete standstill, on a big red boulder. She didn’t recognize the cyclists in the other posters, except the autographed one of the disgraced Lance Armstrong.

  She leaned forward, studying the Halloween Specials of bike tune-ups and other gear advertised on the windows, the green awning that hung over the walkway and the horse hitch that had been turned into a bike rack out front. Noah seemed to have done well for himself.

  Would Cody be a partner in Noah’s business if...if she hadn’t caused that cave-in?

  The thought of what she’d cost Noah made her sick. She hadn’t meant to kill Cody. She’d been acting out of desperation, pain and humiliation, had merely been trying to get away.

  But that didn’t change the harsh reality.

  With a sigh, she twisted around to look down the street. Normally, she loved the Halloween decorations shop owners put up at this time of year. But tonight the glowing jack-o’-lanterns and gauzy ghosts that adorned so many windows, doors and trees seemed to be jeering at her. The fake cemeteries were even worse, since she knew Cody had been buried just around the bend, in the real cemetery located next to the only “haunted” B and B in the Sierra Nevada foothills.

  She wondered if the newly dubbed Little Mary’s really had a ghost—because if the girl who’d been killed in 1871, possibly by her own father, could come back, maybe Cody could, too.

  Feeling a chill, she rubbed her arms. She didn’t need Cody’s ghost to frighten her. His four live friends posed enough of a risk.

  She imagined Kevin, Stephen, Tom and Derek sitting at home, watching TV with wives or girlfriends who had no idea that they’d raped a girl when they were younger. What would she do if she were one of those women? If she learned that the man she loved, the man who slept with her at night, had done something so heinous?

  You tell anyone about graduation and I’ll kill you. I’ll stab the old lady, too.

  One of those men was frightened that word would get out. They should all be frightened by the possible consequences. In California, there was no statute of limitations on aggravated rape, and aggravated rape included rape by more than one person. It’d been fifteen years, but they could still go to prison.

  The only problem was...if she came forward, she’d have to face the consequences of her actions, too. And, even though part of her felt terribly guilty about Cody’s death, the psychologist who’d helped her recover, once she got out of school and had the money for therapy, insisted that none of it had been her fault. Dr. Rosenbaum said she’d been naive not to be more careful about the company she kept. But sixteen-year-olds were often too innocent for their own good. She’d said that Addy had done nothing to deserve what had happened, nothing to provoke them. Dr. R. also said she was required to report the assailants, but since Addy refused to give their names, that hadn’t gone very far.

  Anyway, Addy knew she’d never speak up as long as Gran was alive, even if she decided to do so later. Dr. Rosenbaum had agreed that dragging it all to the forefront would probably do her more harm than good, since there was no guarantee that justice would be done, so she didn’t press her for the information.

  After starting her truck, she drove two blocks over, to the high school. She was sitting there, staring at the stone face of the main hall and the words Eureka High when she noticed headlights coming up behind her.

  A moment of panic made her heart skip a beat. She was afraid she should’ve listened to Gran once again, until she saw the police decal on the side of the door.

  Sagging in relief, she rolled down her window as Chief Stacy pulled alongside her.

  “There you are,” he said. “Your grandmother told me you were out, but damned if I could find you.”

  “You’ve been looking for me?”

  He smiled. “I have great news.”

  Addy tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Given that he was searching for a man she didn’t want caught, she wasn’t sure his idea of good news would match hers.

  His next words confirmed it. “I’ve found the owner of that knife.”

  She imagined, as she so often had, what it would be like if the whole nasty truth came out. Some of the citizens of Whiskey Creek would take sides, probably a lot of them. She’d have her champions, but she’d also have her detractors, people who remained stubbornly loyal to the men who’d raped her. Noah and his family would likely go into denial and refuse to believe Cody could do such a thing. They’d be furious that she’d dare besmirch his memory. And if the case went to trial, the defense attorneys would do all they could to portray her as asking for what she got by dressing too scantily, or coming on to Cody, or...something.

  Maybe it wouldn’t even go to trial. She could claim they’d raped her, but how would she prove it at this late date?

  Nothing was ever cut-and-dried, especially in a small town like this, where the Rackhams and their friends held so much sway. Only one thing was certain: no one would come out of it unscathed.

  “Who—” she cleared her throat “—who is it?”

  “Officer Jones went to pick him up. They’ll meet us at the station.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’d like you to come see for yourself, see if anything about him is familiar from that night.”

  * * *

  Aaron Amos?

  Addy almo
st sank to the ground in relief when she saw who was sitting in the hard, plastic chair at the police station. There was no way Aaron could be the man who’d attacked her. He had no connection to what had happened in the mine, hadn’t even been invited to the party.

  “You have the wrong man,” she said before Chief Stacy could ask.

  “What?” He signaled for Officer Jones, who’d been sitting with Aaron, to step aside.

  “It can’t be him,” she insisted. He’d have no way of knowing about the night Cody died, much less have a reason for dragging her back to where it had occurred. Besides, she hardly knew Aaron. Although they’d been in the same grade, they’d been on opposite ends of the social spectrum. She’d been a straight-A student, at the top of her class; he’d gotten himself kicked out of school several times for fighting or ditching, and barely managed to graduate. They’d had no real interaction. She couldn’t think of a less likely culprit.

  “Told you I didn’t do it.” Aaron stood as if to walk out, but Stacy blocked the exit.

  “Hold on a sec. You sit down. We’re not through here.”

  “Of course we aren’t,” Aaron responded. “Any time you can think of an excuse to harass me, you do it.”

  “You’re going to get yourself into even more trouble if you don’t shut your damn mouth,” Stacy warned.

  Aaron plopped back in his seat. He was bigger than Addy remembered, and still handsome in a rebel sort of way—but edgier, more hard-bitten and angry. He was, after all, one of the Fearsome Five, as the Amos boys had come to be called. Ever since their father went to prison for knifing a man during a bar fight, they’d been left to shift for themselves. Dylan, the oldest, had dropped out of school at eighteen and taken over his father’s auto body shop. He’d managed to turn the business around and keep his brothers together—and now that they were older, he kept them employed—but he hadn’t managed to steer them out of trouble. There was some question as to whether he’d tried very hard; before his marriage to Cheyenne, he’d often been a participant. Addy had been living in Davis an hour and a half away and yet she knew Aaron and his brothers had been arrested from time to time. Ed loved to report on the hell-raising Amoses.

  Chief Stacy turned to her. “How do you know it’s not him? This son of a bitch has always been a troublemaker.”

  “That doesn’t make him guilty of abducting me.”

  “He owns the knife I found in your plants.” He lifted the knife from the center of the table, as if seeing it might remind her of how damning this evidence was. “Who else could it be?”

  Addy could understand why Stacy would like Aaron to be responsible. That made for a quick, easy answer. Stacy was dying to teach the Amoses a lesson, to show them who was boss in this town. But Aaron wasn’t a kidnapper or a would-be rapist. Other than a minor bar fight, he’d never been arrested for anything violent, which was how he’d always escaped with fines or community service. Stacy thought he finally had him dead to rights and could really see him punished.

  “I—I can just tell.” For a second, she wondered if Kevin, Tom, Stephen or Derek had put him up to it for money or whatever. But he wasn’t the type to be anyone’s pawn. Whoever had awakened her wasn’t that tough or embittered. Her kidnapper had been too frightened of his own actions. “Stop it! I—that’s not who I am,” he’d said in a tortured, pleading whine.

  Aaron would not have behaved that way.

  “The man who took me didn’t have a distinctive voice, but he didn’t have Aaron’s voice, either,” she said.

  The police chief pulled out the chair he’d commandeered from Officer Jones, essentially telling her the same thing he’d just told Aaron—have a seat because we’re not finished yet.

  “You need to take your time and think this through,” he cautioned. “Memories can be tricky. And, like I said, we’ve got hard evidence linking him to the crime scene. This knife belongs to him. I’ve had several people tell me so.” He angled his head in Aaron’s direction. “He even admits it, says it was a Christmas gift from his older brother.”

  Aaron’s eyes narrowed into slits whenever they focused on the chief of police, but he didn’t seem to feel strongly about her. Thank goodness. That gaze, and the tension in his body, reminded her of a snake, tightly coiled and ready to strike.

  “Someone must’ve taken it out of my jockey box,” he told her. “I didn’t even know it was gone until this bozo—” he indicated Jones, who stood behind them “—showed up at Sexy Sadie’s and used finding that knife as an excuse to pull me out of the bar. I certainly didn’t threaten you with murder, and I’d never threaten an old lady. I might be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”

  She believed him, but the same couldn’t be said for the police. Stacy seemed convinced he’d already solved the case.

  “How do you know Milly was threatened if you weren’t there?” he asked.

  Aaron made a sound of incredulity. “You’re kidding, right? Everyone knows. We live in a small town, which is why you get to run around pretending to be so damn important.”

  “I told you to watch your mouth—”

  Addy broke in, before the situation could escalate. “What color is his vehicle?”

  They blinked at each other. “He drives a black truck. Why?” Stacy asked.

  “I thought it might be a car,” she lied. “Anyway, this isn’t going anywhere, Chief. He’s not the one. He—he would have no reason to do what the real culprit did to me.”

  The police chief scowled at her. “He intended to rape you. That’s the reason.”

  Aaron kicked the table. “I didn’t even know Adelaide was back in town! Anyway, why would I need to rape anyone? The night she was abducted I was in bed with Shania Carpenter.”

  Addy felt her jaw drop. “Cody Rackham’s girlfriend?”

  “Cody’s been gone a long time.” He shrugged and gave her a half grin. “She’s still crying over him, and she’d rather have his brother if she can’t have him, but I don’t mind. Makes me feel safe, I guess,” he added with a chuckle. “Anyway—” sobering, he addressed Stacy again “—she was at my place the whole night. She’ll vouch for me.”

  “So how’d your knife end up in Milly’s flower bed?” Stacy demanded.

  “I told you. Someone must’ve taken it out of my truck.”

  “Who?”

  “How the hell should I know? Anyone could’ve done it. I never lock my truck. Never felt the need. Most people don’t want to run the risk of what I’ll do to them if I catch them stealing from me. And I park all over town—at Sexy Sadie’s, the body shop, my place....”

  “Where is he?”

  A determined, quietly menacing voice intruded, coming from the entrance of the building. Addy looked through the inside window to see Dylan Amos stalking through the reception area like a bull charging at a red flag.

  His hair was mussed on one side, and she guessed he’d been in bed when he received the call that his brother had been taken to the police station. Under different circumstances, showing up so rumpled might’ve made him look boyish, even harmless, but the rock-hard set of his jaw and the flintiness of his eyes convinced her that if he chose to unleash his anger, he’d be anything but harmless.

  Someone who’d seen Aaron get arrested at Sexy Sadie’s must’ve alerted him, she thought. Addy didn’t get the impression Aaron had been afforded his one call. That might be part of what had Dylan so furious.

  “In here, Dyl!” Aaron shouted, but he seemed more upset, rather than less, that his brother was now involved.

  Dylan strode past Officer Willis, who made a halfhearted attempt to stop him but didn’t succeed. Once beyond that first line of defense, Dylan came into the small interrogation room as if he had every right, even shouldered Officer Jones to one side. “What the hell’s going on this time?” he asked Stacy.

  The police chief raised his hands in a placating manner but his voice took on a warning note. “Settle down, Dylan. This has nothing to do with you.”
r />   “It does if it involves my brother.” Dylan’s gaze settled on Aaron. “What’d you do?”

  Aaron sighed as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Nothing. But they’re calling it a lot of things. Kidnap. Assault. Attempted rape. They’re coming up with anything they can.”

  Dylan’s hands curled into fists. “Rape?”

  Aaron’s eyes flicked to those closed fists, but he didn’t flinch. He sat taller. “I didn’t do it.”

  “That’s serious shit, Aaron,” his brother said. “I won’t stand by you if you’ve fallen that low.”

  “What are you talking about?” Aaron jumped to his feet. “If you want to hit me, then hit me, damn it! We’ll go at it right here. But I swear to God, Dyl. You know me. I’d never hurt a woman.”

  Dylan studied him as if he was weighing what he heard with what he knew of his brother. Then, apparently coming to the conclusion that Aaron was telling the truth, he relaxed and turned to Stacy. “He didn’t do it.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I do. So the way I see it, you have two choices, Chief. Either charge him, at which point he’ll lawyer up, make bail and be released. Or let him go.”

  Stacy hated Dylan even more than Aaron. Addy could feel the animosity in the room. So could Officer Jones, as well as Officer Willis, who’d followed him as far as the doorway. They both fidgeted nervously. It was a cardinal sin to make Chief Stacy appear foolish. But Addy believed Dylan understood enough about the criminal justice system to know he was correct. If Stacy was going to charge Aaron, Aaron had the right to an attorney. If he wasn’t going to charge him, and Aaron refused to talk, Stacy needed to let him go.

  She held her breath while she waited, hoping Stacy would back off. All he had as evidence was a pocketknife that’d been discovered in the wrong place. That knife didn’t have any fingerprints on it. Unless they found forensic proof that Aaron had been in her room, or an eyewitness who saw him with her that night, the prosecutor wouldn’t have enough to make a case, especially if Shania backed up Aaron’s alibi.