by Quinn, Lucy
It was Derek, coming at me with a knife in his hand, low and by his side, but a flash of recognition stilled him. The weapon dropped out of sight, but I didn’t hear it clatter to the ground. He swore at me for a good thirty seconds before he got himself under control.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed.
“I saw you breaking in.” I had my hand over my heart, and my breath was barely recovering. “What are you doing here?”
“Returning this.” Derek held the knife up in a slower, non-murdery motion. It was the same knife from the duffel bag. Claire’s knife. “If they all think I’m going to roll over and take the fall for this, they’re nuts.”
“No. Derek.” I rushed forward, grabbing his arms. “As far as we know, the case is closed. They can’t set you up for something the police aren’t investigating.”
“So we’re going to let Claire’s murderer just go free?”
I paused, chewing on that. Of course, I didn’t want that any more than he did. We all wanted justice. “So that’s why they gave you the knife, then. If you don’t fall into line, we can set you up? That’s awful.”
“And I have a criminal record, Vangie.” He shook his head, backing into the living room. “The Sheriff has had his eye on me since I went in there on Tuesday.”
I followed a few steps, so the whole living room came into view. Blessedly empty. My heart wouldn’t return to its normal pattern.
Derek was talking about hiding evidence in a murder investigation, and by being in this house, I was conspiring with him.
Wouldn’t my father be proud?
Derek went around the corner, looking at the hutch that backed up to the kitchen. His hair was tightly caught up in a bun and he wore black leather gloves. He had clearly done this before. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel safer. Or not.
“What are you doing?” I asked, moving into the middle of the living room, toward the big American flag.
“Looking for the place you said this knife goes.”
“Over here,” I pointed at the flag, but my eyes went elsewhere. A book of photographs lay open on the table between the two high-backed chairs. There was an empty spot in the middle of one page, like a picture had been taken out.
Above it was a photograph of Nikki smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower. The orange digital numbers up in the corner, the way some cameras used to date photographs, gave the date of the picture as 1-14-99. At the bottom of the page was a picture of Nikki in a bikini in front of crystal clear blue waters. 2-3-99 was the date on that one.
“Where is it?” he asked again.
“On top of the flag,” I said absently, turning back a page. Nikki’s had traveled across Europe for a quite a long time, it seemed, staring late August of 1998. Not long after Auggie was killed. Just before that was a series of pictures from what looked like a lake trip, dated early August of 1998. The mountains in the background looked like the ones around Hebgen Lake, which was in Southwest Montana.
“You said there was an empty case.” Derek was at my shoulder, the smell of leather wafting past me like a breeze. “What is all that?”
“Pictures of Nikki, it looks like.” I flipped back another page, saw a familiar picture and paused. “Wait. This picture. This is from some ceremony when they started the co-op high school.”
“Yeah. So?”
I pointed to the man who had Austin’s profile. The man I’d first thought was Auggie Krantz. “Isn’t that Henry Savage?”
“Vangie. We need to get a move on.”
“Is it?” I asked, glaring at him.
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“Henry and Mike Van Andel. They look kinda chummy here.”
“This is why you’re going to get arrested, you know. Looking at old pictures from high school.” Derek tugged on my arm. “Yeah, they were friends. So what?”
“Mike didn’t seem very friendly when I talked to him about Henry the other day.”
Derek let out a long, loud sigh. “Will you just tell me where the display case is so I can leave this knife and we can get out of here?”
“I told you, it’s on top of the flag.”
“Yeah, I looked there.”
I turned to that side of the living room, confused. I had seen the case sitting there before, prominently displayed. But all of the medal boxes were gone. The knife case was still on top of the flag, though, and I pointed to it. “It’s right there. Put it in the empty hole at the top.”
“There is no empty hole.”
I took a step closer, and another, until I could see down into the case itself. An exact replica of the knife Derek held was lodged against the mounting pins. The bottom of the hilt was smooth.
I reached out my hand, but he stopped me. “Don’t touch it,” he whispered.
“But that wasn’t there yesterday. The top hole was empty.”
Derek opened the case slowly, taking the knife off the pins and turning it over. The initials NLB were etched into the handle. Nikki?
Something Austin had said jogged my memory. They sometimes switched medals and knives, like a museum exhibit that moved from place to place. But I had just seen Frances’s box at Nikki’s. Hadn’t I? Her initials, LRV, were engraved in the handle.
Where had this extra knife come from?
“I can’t leave it here,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Dammit, Vangie. You said there was an empty space.”
“This wasn’t here yesterday. I promise, it wasn’t.”
He looked around, his eyes suddenly wild. Stuffing the NLB knife back into the box and closing the top, he said, “Put those pictures back. We need to go right now.”
I reluctantly set the picture book down, re-opening it to the correct page. Derek grabbed me, pulling me out of the room, but I stopped him. From the corner of my eye, I had seen an open cupboard door beneath the television. Another door was nested inside it, but this one was thicker. Metal. Like a safe door.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I knelt in front of the cupboard, peering into the safe’s dark depths. There were two brown picture albums that matched the one on the table, plus a couple of manila envelopes. No boxes of knives. I pulled one of the albums out, just to flip it open, and it was full of more pictures of Nikki—somewhere that wasn’t America, even one where she had on a burka—but these pictures looked more candid, and they were dated a year earlier than the other photos.
One of the pages had an empty space at the bottom. The picture immediately above it was of Nikki walking along an unfamiliar dirt-packed street. And above that, Nikki with Mike and Jenna Van Andel were walking on what appeared to be the same street. They all looked so young.
Derek yanked at me, and I finally returned the album to its place beneath the manila envelopes. He was so frustrated, he wasn’t even speaking.
As he dragged me out the door, Derek took out a cloth and started wiping down the surfaces around us—door knobs, exposed furniture, and what not. Since he had gloves on, I assumed he was trying to get rid of the evidence that I had left behind. If I’d known we would be breaking and entering, I would have brought gloves, too.
We got through the garage and out into the shaded yard without him speaking another word to me. He locked the door and pulled it closed behind him.
“We have to pretend like we were never here.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as we walked up the sidewalk, acting casual as could be, as if we had nothing to hide.
I stopped in front of his bike, which was only a few feet back from the Tank. “What are you going to do with it?”
He touched his pocket. “I don’t know. But I really shouldn’t tell you. I don’t want you to get in any trouble for me, Vangie. You need to get in your car and head somewhere you’ll be seen.”
“Like where? The bakery is closed. The church will be deserted.”
“A store or something. I’m going to John’s Bar, so don’t go there. We shouldn’t be seen together.” His eyes danced back and forth, like he was followi
ng the paths of the cars that puttered by us, still in the low-speed school zone.
“If we haven’t already been seen,” I said.
“Nah. The trees were high, and the lady who lives across the street drove off in Frances’s car with her just before you showed up. The guy next door—” he nodded to the place, “—is doing woodwork in his backyard. No one is going to see us. Come on.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “This obviously isn’t my first B&E.”
My phone started buzzing in my pocket, so I rolled my eyes at him rather than commenting. When I pulled out my cell, I saw my sister’s name on the screen. I said goodbye to Derek and asked him not to turn his phone off in case I needed to get ahold of him. By the time I swiped at my sister’s call, I was climbing into the Tank.
“Bad news,” she said, without even greeting me.
“Hello to you, too.” I gave her a little laugh.
“I just got a call from Ana at the denominational offices. She said that Peter put in a call to the bishop this afternoon.” The words sat there in the miles between us, like little bombs waiting to go off. I found myself holding my breath, so I huffed it out.
“I was afraid of that.”
“Vangie, what in the name of everything holy are you doing up there? You should not be getting in trouble again.”
Even though she was four years my junior, my baby sister had a type-A personality—scolding was her natural language. She always made me feel like a kid when she talked to me like that.
“I’m not,” I said with a squeak in my voice that belied my words. I so was.
“Well, you asked me to tell you if your name came up, and it did, so I’m telling you. But I don’t want to know anything about anything. I’m sick of trying to hide stuff from Dad.”
I slid the phone into the visor, clicking on the speaker option, and started the Tank. I didn’t want to stay parked in the vicinity of Frances Barnett’s house. I looked in the rearview mirror, but there was no sign of Derek’s bike. He must have turned around to go the other way, because I hadn’t seen him pass. There was now a steady stream of parents who’d just picked up their kids.
Priscilla’s sigh came through the speaker loud and clear. “Vangie, are you even listening to me? What do you want me to do now?”
“Can you find out what he said?”
“I don’t know. Ana is already acting cagey.”
“I thought she was your friend.”
“She liked my purse once, Vangie. Once. If you keep asking me to spy for you, I’m going to have to give her the purse or something.”
I shook my head, a tiny smile tugging at my mouth. “That’s not how spying works, Sil.”
“Well, it might have to.” A honking sound echoed through the phone, faintly. “Look, I have to go. Ty is here. Can I call you back tonight?”
I turned the Tank in the direction the feed store. Derek had said to be seen, and I hadn’t yet checked in for feedback on the macarons. Besides, I didn’t want to go back to the bakery just yet. “I have to go to bed early tonight,” I said. “We’re making macarons in the morning.”
“Then call me while you’re baking.”
“I can’t, I’ll have Leo there. I promised him I’d try to teach him everything I know. I mean, I don’t know much, but I’ll teach him what I can.”
We agreed to catch up the following afternoon. Her classes would be over, my lunch rush would be over, and her boyfriend was going out of town to a conference, so she would be around all night. I could sit on the couch in my office and catch up with her. If I didn’t get fired, of course.
I hung up with my sister as I pulled into the parking lot of the feed store. Danny Murphy wasn’t outside to greet me this time, so I headed inside to collect the comment cards for myself.
The interior of the feed store always smelled like livestock to me. I wasn’t sure why. They didn’t sell livestock. But it had the same earthy scent farms have, all hay and leather and mulch, and it was actually sort of comforting.
One of the sales girls greeted me and told me that I should head back to the office to find Danny. I weaved through the shelves, greeting people as I went. The more people who saw me, the better.
The ceilings of the store were high, but everything was cramped once you got through the door to the back. There had to be two levels of offices, because even at 5’9”, I could have probably reached the ceiling by standing on my toes. It made everything feel dark.
Danny Murphy called out my name when I walked into the first office. I leaned around the doorway, seeing him in the very, very back. He gave me his customary grin as I came through the door.
He gestured to the man standing beside him. “Pastor Vale, I don’t know if you’ve met Justin Brent.”
“I haven’t.” I leaned over the desk to shake the man’s hand. The heavy dark brows and short, thick hair apparently ran in his family. He could have practically passed for Joshua Brent’s twin. So, this was Emma’s brother-in-law.
“I know your brother,” I said.
“Oh, right.” He held the handshake for a little longer than felt comfortable. Perviness also apparently ran in the blood in the Brent family. “You’re the girl who owns that bakery.”
Woman. I corrected him only in my head, though, in case the temper was also hereditary. Joshua did not like to be corrected.
“You should taste her cookies,” Danny said, reaching behind him for a box, but when he opened it, there were only crumbs left.
“I really should,” Justin said with a leer.
“None left.” Danny’s sing-song tone and smile said he was either oblivious or he had chosen to ignore the man’s insinuation. “I just hired Justin to drive trucks for us. If you drop by with another batch, he’ll get to fill out one of those cards, too. Oh, by the way, let me pick those up for you, Pastor Vale. Just wait right here.”
He scooted around the desk and out of the room before I could think of a response. I crossed my arms, staring at Justin. He had that tired, bleary-eyed look that spoke of a bad diet and too much drinking.
“So, you’re driving truck for Murphy’s now?” I asked, trying to pass the time while Danny dug around in the adjacent office.
“I started on Monday. I’ll start solo runs next week, but I’ve done shifts with the other driver for a couple of big orders.” He touched the empty box with the tip of one finger, rubbing at the stamp on the cardboard. “So. Matchbaker, huh? What does that mean? You gonna find me a date with your baking?”
Shoulda worn my clergy shirt and collar. Anything to make him less interested and more polite.
“That’s not what it means,” I said, smiling sweetly, trying not to also blurt out that no amount of sugar would make him more palatable. That women weren’t won over by double entendres.
“Then what does it mean?”
“I read people.” I settled my arms a little tighter across my chest. “I help match them with what they’d like to eat or drink by observing them and making assumptions about their behavior.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned forward just enough to seem predatory. “And what do I want?”
I narrowed my gaze. “Given the untidiness of your general appearance, I would assume that you don’t have a wife or girlfriend, and from your attitude, I’m guessing that’s a long-term choice, rather than an accident of timing. You haven’t stopped leering at me since I walked through the door, which generally makes women uncomfortable, but since I’m only reasonably attractive for my age, I would guess it isn’t something you reserve only for super hot women, which makes me assume you probably get rejected. A lot. To deal with that rejection, you drink. A lot. Probably binge drink, if I had to guess, because your shirt can’t quite hide the gut you’re forming. You probably eat at the truck stop more often than you eat at home, or you’re eating greasy bar food, which is worse, and your skin looks like you haven’t seen a vegetable in the whole of your adult life.” I took a quick breath. “So I would say, what you think you want and what yo
u really need are two different things, Justin Brent, just like your little brother, because I’m sure you want to get in my pants, but what you need is a conscience.”
His jaw had dropped steadily as I continued talking, but he seemed to have been stunned into silence by the end, which was just the way I liked him. I had no patience for guys like that, for whom every woman was a target.
I recognized my judge-y inner voice and had to take a deep breath. My fists had formed tight balls, and I’d moved forward in a predatory stance. It was no longer Justin who was on the offensive. It was me.
The whole time I’d been talking, my vision had narrowed, my fists had clenched… This wasn’t about Justin Brent at all. A lump caught in my throat. It was about Edward.
I had to stop seeing him everywhere I went—in every man, in every situation, in every threat. There was no getting around how much he still affected me, but I wanted it to be over. Needed it to be over.
With a backward step, I opened my mouth to apologize, but Danny called out my name as he walked into the office, stopping me.
“I’ve found them,” he said, handing over the little white cards in a neat pile. I wanted to get out of the office as fast as possible.
Danny walked with me, and I didn’t say goodbye to Justin Brent. I was ashamed of how personal I’d made my dressing-down, and I recognized the same killer instinct I’d used with Scarlet earlier in the week. It was one of the things I disliked the most about myself. Sometimes, in looking for justice, I was willing to be unjust.
When we got about halfway up the first aisle, I realized Danny had been talking my ear off, and I hadn’t listened to a single word he’d said. I settled the cards into a neater pile and smiled over at him, trying to regain my composure.
But then I spun around toward the offices. I tried to think of an excuse to go back and apologize. There was no acceptable reason for my rudeness—and the last time I’d acted out like this, someone had died.
“Can you excuse me for a second?” I asked, touching Danny’s arm. “I think I forgot something.”