by David Bell
Chapter Fifty-four
“I remember the look on Jesse Dean’s face,” Regan said. “He looked almost pleased, like he was happy to be there, watching this happen.”
“Happy to be watching you or watching Logan?”
“I don’t know. Both. He just seemed to have a look on his face that said this was exactly where he wanted to be.” She ran her hands up and down her upper arms as though she was cold. “I rolled away. Derrick had Logan on the ground and held on to him. While that was happening, I . . . pulled my clothes back on and buckled my pants. When I got home that night, I found the blood. It was kind of a mess. But I didn’t notice it then, I don’t think. I was so relieved and scared at the same time.”
“I would guess so.”
“Eventually Logan was standing up. I thought Jesse Dean was going to jump all over him, but he didn’t. They just stood there staring at each other. That was the scariest part of the whole thing for me, that long moment when the three of them faced off that way. Do you know why?” She sighed again. “I really thought they were in it together, that Derrick and Jesse Dean were going to join with Logan and finish what he started. I was going to run, just get out of there. That’s when Logan started mouthing off to Jesse Dean.”
“What did he say?”
“Again, I don’t remember all of it. Logan told them to leave him alone. And I know Derrick said something like, ‘You can’t get it on your own, so you have to force a girl this way.’ Jesse Dean didn’t say much. He was quiet while Derrick and Logan argued with each other. But I do remember the last thing Logan said to Jesse Dean. He said something about Jesse Dean failing two grades and how pathetic it was that he was always hanging around where the high school kids were. He made fun of the trashy little house that Jesse Dean lived in. He was lashing out, being nasty and cutting.”
“He could be that way. I’ve seen it.”
“It happened so fast, Jason. I wasn’t even sure what was going on. I thought they were just wrestling. It almost seemed playful. They were both on top of Logan. Jesse Dean raised his fist three times and brought it down three times. Just like that. Bam bam bam. Three fast, hard punches. Then Derrick was pushing Jesse Dean back, away from Logan. And Jesse Dean kept trying to get at him.”
Jason could imagine it. He remembered the quick, savage beating he had seen Jesse Dean give Brad Barnes at that party all those years ago and all over some minor slight—a jostled beer, a bumped arm. What would he do if a rich kid insulted him over his lack of brains and station in the world?
“Jesse Dean killed him,” Jason said. “Just like that.”
“Derrick eventually got Jesse Dean away, and it was Derrick who bent over the body, over Logan, and checked him out. He was dead. Derrick figured it out right away.”
“They were defending you. They should have called the police.”
The look Regan gave to Jason told him all about the foolishness of his statement. “People like Jesse Dean don’t call the police apparently. Believe me, I suggested that right away. Derrick might have suggested it too, although not as forcefully as I did. Jesse Dean had already been arrested twice, he said. He was on probation. He asked me a question that night, one I’ll never forget. He said, ‘Who do you think they’re going to believe? Me, a guy with a record, or some rich kid with a rich father?’ I understood what he meant. I believed it. They were defending me. They saved me from God knows what else. But how would the whole situation have looked? Jesse Dean killed Logan. Mostly Jesse Dean, but Derrick was there. The whole town thought of Jesse Dean as a thug, a criminal. We all did.”
“You’re right.”
Regan looked at that distant spot in the room again. “And I would have had to tell the police about it. Maybe I would have had to go to court and testify. I don’t—” She kept looking at that distant spot, but her words felt more intensely directed at Jason. “It was embarrassing. I know I shouldn’t have been embarrassed. I know it wasn’t my fault. But still . . . and, to be honest, I thought about you. I thought about the fact that you would hear what happened to me, what you might think about me.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“I did, though. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. I’m just telling you everything that went through my mind that night. And why things ended up happening the way they did.”
“Why did things happen the way they did?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happened to Logan that night that he acted that way? He seemed . . . like he’d reached some breaking point. He acted like he wanted to throw everything away.”
“He had that streak in him. He always talked about leaving.”
“But that night? So suddenly and so crazily? Why did it happen then?”
“I don’t know.”
Jason became aware of the muscles in his legs and back. They had been clenched, and he’d barely moved for several minutes. He didn’t want to stretch or stand up. He feared he’d break the spell they were under, the one that allowed the truth of that night to finally come out.
Regan said, “So they buried him out there. Jesse Dean and Derrick. I was in a fog while it happened. I just sat there in the woods, alone, while they went off and did what they had to do. And when they came back, Jesse Dean stood over me. He told me that they weren’t going to tell anyone what happened if I didn’t. And if I did say anything . . .”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He didn’t. Not exactly. He said that if I told, he’d claim I asked them to kill Logan. Even then, sitting there in the middle of the woods, I knew that wasn’t a real threat. If the police wouldn’t listen to them about what they did to Logan, why would they listen to them about anything else, right? I could have told the truth, and the police would have believed me. I had bloody underwear to show them. No, Jesse Dean didn’t have to threaten me. I wanted it to go away, to stay buried out there. I told the truth to the police when I told them that Logan said he wanted to run away. That’s not a lie. He always did say that. It’s funny the little things I remember from that night.”
“What do you mean?”
“I dropped my purse. In the middle of Logan’s . . . attack and the aftermath, I left my purse lying up there. Jesse Dean saw it and gave it to me. I’ll never forget that. Jesse Dean Pratt had just killed a guy, but he took the time to hand me my purse. My sunglasses weren’t there. I never got them back. For all I know they’re still up in the woods on the Bluff. Anyway, I don’t know when Hayden got involved. I heard there were letters and cards sent to Mr. Shaw, but I didn’t know who was writing them. I figured Jesse Dean was behind it somehow.”
Jason stood up. His body felt like a coiled spring, and he finally needed to stand and walk around the room a little bit. He heard the cap on the bourbon bottle being unscrewed, the sloshing of liquid into a glass. He’d never seen Logan clearly. Logan had always stood above him, loomed over him really, and Jason managed always to make excuses for his callous and snobby behavior. Not only had Jason not seen Logan clearly, but he simply hadn’t known him. Jason had spent the past twenty-seven years carrying around the memory of someone who never really existed. That memory was as dead as the body buried out in the woods.
Jason turned around. “I think you have a problem.”
“What?”
“The police know that Hayden was involved.”
“So?”
“Even if she doesn’t know why they killed Logan, she knows that they did it. And she wrote those letters. She heard them discussing you out at the cabin. Do you see? The police are going to come and talk to you. They’re going to want to know about your involvement, and you’re going to have to tell them.”
“I don’t care if they know at this point. I guess my kids will find out. I always thought I’d tell them when they were old enough. They might as well understand the ways of the world.”
�
�But the police could still think you were involved. They could say you were involved, that you covered up a crime.”
Regan closed her eyes. She looked like she was praying, her head slightly bowed. “What you’re saying is that I could get into trouble because there isn’t anyone to corroborate my story. Jesse Dean and Logan are all dead. Derrick is in enough trouble himself.”
“Right. And those guys . . . they may be miscreants, but their families . . . Everybody is going to think they’re guilty. That’s what the police will conclude based on their records and reputations.” Jason sighed. “Sierra is going to hear these things about her dad.”
Regan opened her eyes after a moment and said, “What if I were to tell you that there is someone who can corroborate my story? Someone I told all about this right after it happened?”
Chapter Fifty-five
Jason woke in a chair. His neck hurt from the way his head hung while he slept, and his brain hurt from the whiskey. Someone—Regan—had draped a blanket over him, and when he sat up, it fell down his body and pooled at his feet.
“Shit.”
He checked his phone. Two missed calls and texts from Nora. He called her immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have called sooner, but I fell asleep.”
“It’s okay.” Nora didn’t sound convinced, but she was trying to be agreeable. “Hayden explained some things to me last night. She said she thought you might be out for a while.”
“I have one more stop to make this morning, and then it’s home.”
“Okay.” She paused. “I hope this is the end of all of this. It should be, shouldn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“You know the police are looking for you. Detective Olsen already called here once.”
“I know. I’ll get back to him in a little bit.”
“He said he was coming over to talk with Hayden and Sierra. I got the feeling Hayden might be in some kind of trouble. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you when you get back. Especially Sierra. She’s worried about her dad.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. I think she had a long night, but Hayden was with her the whole time. She’s a good mother.”
“She is. I know. I’m just trying to find out some last pieces of information.”
“Should I tell the police where you are or what you’re doing?”
Jason stood, trying to work the kinks out of his body. “No,” he said. “They’ll know soon enough.”
“I like living here,” Nora said. “But I like it because you’re here. I don’t want to lose that.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
* * *
On the way, after he and Regan had mostly been riding in silence, Jason felt compelled to say something to her he’d been meaning to say since the night before.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you. With Logan.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’ve been talking to you about him a lot over the past couple of weeks. Ever since Colton came to me and brought him up again. I didn’t know that every time I mentioned his name, I was dredging up some awful memory.”
She reached out and patted his hand. “You didn’t know.” She stared out the window as he drove. “It made me angry sometimes. I blamed you, and you didn’t know. It’s why I said you needed to stop idolizing Logan. He wasn’t who you thought he was. He wasn’t who any of us thought he was.”
“You just knew sooner than most.”
A sign on the side of the road told them they had crossed into Barker County.
* * *
They entered a middle-class neighborhood. The houses were postwar construction, mostly ranches with neatly manicured lawns. They passed by two joggers, a healthy, smiling couple who waved without missing a step. Regan’s phone told them where to go in search of the address they found in the phone book.
“It’s up there on the right.”
They eased to a stop in front of the house. It was yellow brick with a large picture window across the front. Brightly colored perennials filled several planters on the porch.
“It’s a nice house,” Regan said.
“Not as nice as she could have been living in.”
“Should we have called her first?” Regan asked.
“This is fine.”
“Should we have called the police?”
“I’ve thought about that the whole way. I don’t think so. She’s old. Let’s make sure she still remembers what we need her to remember. And let’s make sure she’s willing to repeat the story to Olsen. If she is, she can really help Derrick. And everybody.”
“Wouldn’t Olsen have already been here? When they found Logan’s body?”
“I’m sure he was,” Jason said. “But if she hears from you, that might make her more willing to talk now. Right?”
Regan nodded and opened her door. Jason came around the front of the car, anticipation building in his chest. He took a deep breath, and when he came beside Regan, the two of them walked up to the house together.
Chapter Fifty-six
The woman who opened the door wore her gray hair in a short, sensible fashion. She was thin and wore a plain white button-down shirt and large glasses. She looked at the two faces before her, moving her head a little from side to side as she studied them. It didn’t take her long to smile when the recognition passed through her brain.
“Oh,” she said. “Well.”
“Mrs. Shaw?” Regan said. “I mean, Mrs. Tyndal? Do you remember us?”
“Of course I do. Of course.” She blinked her eyes. “This is a surprise. But not really surprising, I guess. It’s always good to see old friends.”
Jason stared at the woman. He hadn’t seen her in . . . he couldn’t even guess how long. He saw the familiar face from his childhood beneath the wrinkles and the years. He held few memories of her. More than anything else, he remembered this woman as a series of impressions, most of them taken in at a distance. He saw her at a few of the baseball games he and Logan played at the Little League park in town. He saw her driving away from the Shaw house, waving as she went up the street. And he remembered seeing her at their high school graduation, standing near the back of the crowded gymnasium with a man by her side who must have been her new husband. He tried to reconcile her kindly appearance with the monstrous story Colton shared. Had this woman thrown her young son down a flight of stairs in a drunken rage?
“We’re sorry we didn’t call,” Regan said. “But we needed to talk to you.”
The woman turned her gaze on Jason. She continued to smile, but it appeared to be coming with more of an effort. “Jason,” she said, but she didn’t say anything else. And Jason didn’t know what to say in response. He averted his eyes, looking to his left and off at the house next door, another ranch with another nice yard. “Well,” she said. “Come in. Please.”
They entered the living room. A thick carpet covered the floor, muffling their steps and giving everything a hush. The room was spotless, the walls white. Mrs. Tyndal pointed to the sofa, and he and Regan sat side by side while Mrs. Tyndal brushed at her short hair with her hand and settled into an overstuffed chair. She crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap. Before she could say anything, an elderly man appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen. He wore long shorts and a polo shirt and carried a newspaper. He took in the scene without speaking.
“Andrew?” Mrs. Tyndal said. “These are friends of mine from Ednaville.”
He looked in their direction but still didn’t speak.
“They’re friends of Logan. My son, Logan? Remember?”
The man nodded slowly and then turned and walked back into the kitchen. Mrs. Tyndal kept a smile plastered to her face when she turned back to Regan and Jason. “Andrew is a little . . . slower these days. He forgets some things.”
&nb
sp; “That’s okay,” Regan said.
“Yes,” Mrs. Tyndal said. “Forgetting has its benefits.” She looked over at Jason. “You know, Jason, I read about your parents’ deaths in the newspaper. I meant to send you a card each time, but I didn’t know where you were living. Apparently, you’ve been back here in Ohio for a while.”
“About five years.”
“Home is a draw, isn’t it?”
“To some extent, yes.” Jason cleared his throat. “I was going to tell you how sorry I am about Logan, but I guess it wasn’t a surprise to you that he was dead.”
Mrs. Tyndal rubbed at a thick, arthritic knuckle. “I should tell you how sorry I am for you. The two of you were close, and I know you went through some difficult times when Logan . . . when everyone was wondering where he was. Believe me, I’m sorry about that.”
“And I’m sorry too,” Regan said. “For that.”
“It’s okay,” Jason said. “I think I understand why things happened the way they did. At least from Regan’s point of view.”
“But now you want to know my side of things,” Mrs. Tyndal said. “You want to know why a mother would find out that her son had been killed and not do anything about it? Is that right?”
“Yes,” Jason said.
“It’s no surprise that I’ve asked myself that question on more than one occasion over the years. More than one.” She looked over at Regan. “But it’s not really my decision to tell that story now. I can only tell it if it’s okay with Regan. And since you’re here together, I suspect it is.”
“It is,” Regan said. “I already told him most of it. We just need you to confirm it. And, if that’s okay with you, confirm it with the police. They’re going to need to know that I told you these things back then, right after Logan died. They’re going to need someone to verify my story. Jason’s brother-in-law, Derrick, is in some trouble. It would help to have someone to back up the story I have to tell.”