Just around the hook of the trees, I could see the lights of my house reflected on the mist that had formed on the lake, precisely like I could see the lights of his when I was on my pier in the evenings.
Any further sign of humanity was much farther away.
“I know it’s fall, and cold, but it’s weird that those two rentals haven’t been booked the entire time I’ve been here,” I remarked.
“It isn’t, considering I own them, and I cancelled the bookings when you came to town.”
I was sitting beside him, not nestled into him as I would’ve liked to be after his spectacular speeches during dinner, but he had his arm around my shoulders and there was closeness.
I didn’t want to mess with that, so I twisted only my neck to look at him.
“What?”
“I own everything at this end of the lake. As the road goes, five miles from end to end. Except your house.”
“Holy crap.”
“Came home to MP because it was a good place to raise my family. But the idea of it cleared through the block I had about it when my dad drank himself to death and left me all of this.”
I had no idea.
I communicated that by saying, “Whoa.”
“Yeah. Long time ago, he got drunk, did it while playing poker, was on a losing streak, bet your place to Fred Nance. They didn’t like each other when they started the game. They liked each other a lot less when it was over. Dad tried unsuccessfully for over fifty years to get that land and house back. Fred wasn’t gonna have it. To the point he had it in his will that after he died and that lot was sold, since he had no wife and no kids and wasn’t a big fan of the rest of his family, it’d go to the state of Washington before he’d let me buy it.”
“That’s one mighty grudge,” I noted.
“Dad had been dead over a decade, and I did nothing to the man to deserve being cut out like that, so…yeah.”
“Did your dad do…other things like that?”
“This land was his dad’s land. And his dad’s before. And his father before that. The people who owned it before didn’t own it, according to white man ways, since they were Native Americans. That’s how far back it goes. Dad didn’t quit drinking. But he did learn his lesson about poker.”
“Well, at least that’s good.”
And it was.
What he said next was bad.
“Beat the shit outta me, which was okay, seein’ as once he started doing that, he quit beatin’ the shit outta Mom. Problem with that was, she could take it, but she wasn’t a huge fan of him dishin’ it out on me. So she hid baseball bats and knives around the house. Meant when he’d get in the mood, a weapon wouldn’t be too far off, and apparently, a woman sober as a judge and determined to make it so you don’t lay your hands on her boy makes even a drunk stand down. I cannot tell you how many times I came home from school and his shit was out on the deck. She loved him, though, and took him back. Then she loved him and didn’t take him back. He lived in a shack that way for years until she died.”
He pointed to the left of us.
And kept talking.
“No running water. No heat. Electricity from a generator. He bathed in the lake. What he couldn’t cook on an old Weber outside, he ate at the Double D. First thing I did when I came home was tear that shack down.”
This didn’t surprise me.
“How did your mom die?”
“Breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry. She sounded like something.”
He nodded. “She was beautiful. She was ballsy. She met a guy who loved her more than himself and moved him into her ex-husband’s house that she did not own, but Dad never turned her out, and they lived it up. Until he stood at her side through the shit of cancer. He lives in an RV now, on the road, chasing the end, lost without her. Just like Dad. When she was done with him, he was lost without her. Problem with him was, he was lost when he was with her too.”
“I’m getting the whole ‘beer whenever’ thing now,” I murmured.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“Did you like your stepfather?”
“Learned how to love from him, what I didn’t learn from Mom.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You’d be correct.”
I studied his profile. “You’re messing up my puzzle.”
His body shifted in surprise against mine. “What?”
“The Cade Bohannan I met after his daughter came ’round to alleviate her boredom and curiosity, defying your punishment. Mr. The Fewer Words Spoken is not this Mr. Let It All Hang Out.”
He roared with laughter.
Since he had never done that around me, I was both struck and captivated.
The moon was diffused by clouds.
His outside lights were on, they dispelled some darkness, but they didn’t fully reach us.
I could see him, yet he was in shadow.
And he was beautiful.
However.
“What’s funny?”
“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” he muttered to the lake, his beard still forming a grin.
I turned in the curve of his arm.
“Why did you say that?”
I asked this instead of, why don’t you do it?
He looked down at me.
“Larue, you’re you.”
“That’s indisputable.”
“You’re pretty as hell. Famous as fuck. Talented like crazy. And I’d been a fan of yours for thirty years. I was pissed at my girl. Worried about her. And I had to show at your place to get her, try not to embarrass her. And try not to embarrass myself.”
“You were…nervous?” I asked in shock.
He turned more to me. “Babe, you’re pretty as hell. Famous as fuck. Talented like crazy. I watched you on TV for over seven thousand minutes, and your show was funny, but like I said, I tuned in for you. I read your book three times. You open the door and you’re prettier in person and your ass is better than when you were twenty-four. So, fuck yeah, I was nervous.”
“So you weren’t talkative at first because you were nervous?”
“Nope,” he answered. “Got over that real quick when I realized you wanted to jump me.”
I sat back into the chair and glowered at the lake. “I so should have put on sunglasses.”
He chuckled and squeezed my shoulders with his arm.
“Then you wouldn’t shut up so I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” he went on.
“You can really stop talking now,” I invited.
He didn’t accept my invitation.
“Though, that Five Voices of Criticism was some deep shit, baby.”
I was rethinking my desire to jump him, or vice versa (though, not really).
“And in my hermetically sealed box, I filed away that you’re one serious hardass. A small-minded chemistry teacher, who will mean dick to my beautiful daughter in the glorious life she’s gonna lead, under your chopping block? I’d advise against the school board. There aren’t enough teachers in the country to pass your tests.”
“You keep speaking, but I might never do it again,” I warned.
He gave me another squeeze.
“I don’t talk a lot because you can’t observe when you’re flapping your mouth,” he explained.
A point to ponder.
“Right.”
“But we can’t get to know each other if I don’t tell you about me.”
“Right again.”
“You pissed?”
He sounded surprised.
As he would be, since I wasn’t pissed seeing as there was nothing to be pissed about, even the teasing, which was sweet.
I was disappointed.
“No. I’m upset because I wanted to jump you so much, I didn’t realize you were nervous and that was probably cute. But instead, all I saw was hot.”
“I’m not broken up about that,” he muttered.
I rolled my eyes at the mist on the lake.
It lightened beca
use headlights hit it.
We both turned, nearly bumping heads as we watched the Mustang pull in, followed closely by silver Ram (Jess) and black Ram (Jace).
The Mustang skidded to an angry halt and Bohannan murmured, “Oh fuck.”
“I’m thinking she wasn’t a fan of chaperones.”
We both stood.
Wearing nice burgundy cords and a cute pink sweater, a tan, cropped jean jacket fashionably accompanying these, Celeste tramped down to the pier.
Jess got out and headed our way.
Jace got out and did the same.
Her father and I waited.
She unleashed.
“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaduh!”
I heard air release from Bohannan’s nostrils, which meant he was trying not to laugh.
Other than that, nothing from him.
I guess this was on me.
“Honey, you know why I’m here, yes?”
“Delphine, Jace and Jess sat behind us at the movie!”
I looked beyond her to where her brothers stood.
“You couldn’t be more stealth?” I asked.
“Dude’s gotta know that dude’s gotta be cool,” Jace declared.
“I think he got the message,” Jess added.
I returned my attention to her. “I know this is lame, but one day, you’ll understand how awesome it was to have two protective brothers.”
“That day is not now,” she pointed out.
“I understand,” I said soothingly.
“Will took us to The Lodge for dinner. They sat at the bar and stared at us the whole time. He didn’t even try to hold my hand.”
“That was an unexpected score,” Jace mumbled to Jess.
They bumped fists.
I gave them a laser-focused You’re Not Helping glare that was so strong, it had to penetrate through the shadows.
“Perhaps your father will give them a tutorial on boundaries,” I suggested to Celeste, at the same time I was suggesting it to her father.
“I’m probably never gonna get another date again,” she lamented.
“Another unexpected score,” Jess noted.
There it was.
My glare didn’t penetrate through the shadows.
She whirled on them. “God! I hate you!”
Bohannan’s phone rang.
I went still.
Jace and Jess’s attention whipped straight to their dad.
Celeste’s body jolted.
Bohannan took the call, stepping away from me.
“What’s happening?” Celeste’s voice was trembling.
I didn’t have it in me to reply, my laser focus was now on her father.
“Yup. Yup.” Pause and, “Good.”
Good.
I twisted my tush around and melted to the loveseat, primarily because my legs could no longer support me.
“Yeah. Good. Yup. Right. Okay. Tomorrow. Later.”
Bohannan hung up and now his laser focus was on me.
“Welsh is in custody. The hostages are at the hospital. Their families have been informed, transported and are with them. They’re still sorting through shit, but they got enough to pin the bomb on him, and the pictures sent to Booth. Caught with the women, and with the rest, he’s never gonna feel freedom again.”
For reasons unknown to me, people expressed that they wanted to be “strong” and hold their shit together in times like these.
I didn’t know how it communicated strength to pretend you didn’t feel such extreme relief and release that something tragic and terrible that was happening to you, and worse was happening to others, was over, you might be temporarily insane with it.
Which was what I was.
I folded double, and with face in my hands, I wept uncontrollably.
I did not feel Bohannan gather me in his arms.
I didn’t feel him lift me in them to carry me to the house.
I didn’t feel my ass hitting pistachio velvet, and his hold remaining tight on me.
I didn’t feel anything.
I didn’t think anything.
Except Their families…are with them.
Twenty
Fugly
Celeste and I were at the grocery store.
I was free.
Free.
Free.
Free.
And as a celebration, I was carving jack-o’-lanterns.
And my sixteen-year-old, twenty-seven-year-olds and fifty-five-year-old (Celeste told me Bohannan’s age) were carving with me.
Celeste was all in.
The other three didn’t know about it yet, but we’d spring it on them after we filled their bellies and got them compliant.
It was the afternoon after it all went down.
I’d woken up, still half-catatonic from my crying catharsis, to immediately experience near panic because I didn’t know where I was.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long before it hit me.
I remembered the phone call. Bohannan holding me. Being on his couch. Sensing the kids loitering close. Eventually getting it together enough to perpetuate my first breach of their domain that didn’t include the kitchen, living room and powder room, this being Bohannan guiding me upstairs to a bathroom. He handed me an electronic toothbrush, a new head and a tube of paste.
I remember hearing Jess murmur, “She likes it low.” And Bohannan’s reply of “Set it at sixty.”
I remember Celeste walking in with some cleanser and moisturizer.
I remember that I didn’t care Bohannan was there when he led me to a big bed, and I took off my boots and socks and jeans and sweater, to stand there in my panties and a thin thermal while he threw out a blanket over his comforter.
I remember he pulled the covers back.
I remember he tucked me in.
Kissed my temple.
And I was out when he turned out the lights.
I sat up to see he did not put me in a guest bedroom.
Instead, I was in his bedroom because no guestroom would have that view of the lake, which was uninterrupted at window level across and around a corner, and it was expansive, because the room was huge, and last, it was insane as in, insanely amazing.
I assessed the bed to see he hadn’t slept in it with me, which was good. I wouldn’t want to miss that.
I also noticed the room was a study of shades of sand and lake blues and forest greens, the perfect mixture of masculine and feminine.
One could say Grace Bohannan had failed as a wife, a mother, and arguably (and I’d argue the pro side of this) a human being.
But the woman was talented with interior design.
I also saw a note on the nightstand closest to me. It was held down with my phone and a plain keyring with three keys on it, one with a red band around the bow, one with blue and one with white.
I picked up the note, and upon scanning the bottom and assessing the thing scrawled there might be Bohannan, I took a number of memories of him further to see if he might have exhibited signs he was a serial killer, because his writing sure made him seem like one.
Once I’d decoded enough letters to decipher the note, I read it.
Babe, (Incidentally, I’d never tell him this, but I thought that was a nice start.)
We’ve all hit it. Text me when you wake up. Your choice for dinner tonight, whatever you want, it’s yours. (What I wanted was a jack-o’-lantern carving ritual, but I’d utilize this offer to get my way if that was needed.)
FBI wants a debrief. Call them when you’re ready. Old habits, text me when you leave my house. Text me when you make it to yours. That’ll fade. It hasn’t now. But you always keep your doors locked and the security set when you’re home, forever. (Very sweet.)
Keys are blue, the big house. Red, the twins’ house. White, the barn. (I had no idea why I’d need a key to the boys’ house or the barn, but points to the man for being so thorough so shortly after officially declaring his interest in me.)
Lock
up when you leave.
At the end, there was what might be an x to indicate the first kiss he’d ever given me (not including the temple one, which I’d decided officially not to count), or it might be part of the rather elaborate, but even so, mostly illegible B in Bohannan.
And that was it.
I texted him before I got out of bed.
He texted me right back, in the middle of me making said bed.
You doing okay?
My reply, I’m free. And I added an effect, that being fireworks exploding when the text opened.
I’d made the bed and was dressing when he sent, Yeah, baby.
I sent three dozen hearts-surrounding-face emojis, two dozen flamenco dancers and a hang ten.
He didn’t send emojis, but he thumbs-upped my text.
I finished dressing, texted him I was leaving, left his house, locked up, practically skipped to my house, got another thumbs-up on my text and texted him again when I got inside my place.
His reply, Good. See you tonight.
I made coffee. Took a cup upstairs. Took the longest shower in my personal history, symbolically washing Bob Welsh away. Dressed in a lounge outfit, and called my daughters, leaving messages for both to call me back when they had a minute, but telling them I had very good news.
I then called Agent Palmer who gave me some specifics about what had gone down and what was going down.
It included the fact that once they’d pinpointed him, and were pretty sure it was him, they started investigating other things, and they did this double time while strategizing a takedown to get the women free from where they were relatively sure he was holding them, as soon as safe and possible.
They had not so far, at his house, or at the other house where he was keeping the women, found much (outside the women, oh…and a great deal of evidence of the extent of his obsession with me).
However, they had visited a variety of stores and internet cafés in his area. The stores were where they had witness accounts and store receipts of purchases of bomb-making paraphernalia. The cafés were where they found cached (even though deleted, they were restored) internet search histories of unhinged web searches he’d done on computers he had logged into.
They might have a line on how he got his hands on the poison that fortunately did not take out Bookworm.
But regardless, he’d already confessed, as he would, to a number of charges around kidnapping, assault, sexual assault and other.
The Girl in the Mist: A Misted Pines Novel Page 11