Red Nights

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I don’t like that we have to spoil the past hour with real life,” he tells me. “We can’t forget why you actually agreed to meet me today. While I’d like to think it’s because of my hot body and charming personality, I know better,” he says coyly. I don’t want him to feel like I’m using him. I’m not. This is confusing and messy, I want his help, but I want him just as much. More than anything, I want to forget about Tanner pointing a finger at him, calling him a suspect too.

  “Okay. Let’s hear it.” I slide my legs off of his and pull my knees into my chest.

  “Aspen was at a bar when the fire started,” he tells me, turning his head to look at me.

  “How do you know for sure?” I ask.

  “She was questioned, and her alibi was confirmed with—some girl named…,” he looks up in thought for a minute.

  “Jen?” Her old roommate. They lived together for a couple of years, but Jen moved out when she got married. I know they see each other once a month or so, so it makes sense. And although Aspen and I are close, Jen is her go-to whenever something big is happening in her life. Plus, since she was caught with Blake in the freezer that night, I can understand why she didn’t come running to me.

  “Yeah, Jen. They had a picture together on her phone and the date and time were pulled from it. So we can cross her off the list.” He says it like it’s just that easy. Like I can undo what I did to her. In my heart, I knew it couldn’t have been her; the girl is passionate about people and life and always finds the good among the evil. It would be hard for her to fake all that. I should never have made those accusations.

  Shit. I need to call her, or go see her. I need to make this right, even though it might be too late for that. I have to try.

  Hayes wraps his arm around me, pulling me from this unsettling reality. “I know this sucks,” he says. Actually, it’s one less person to distrust.

  “So now what?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming.

  “We keep moving forward.” He leans toward me, looking around the large empty living room. “Do you have a computer?” I grab the laptop from the kitchen counter and bring it over to him, along with the folder containing Blake’s password. “Ready?”

  I will never be ready to pry into Blake’s personal life, or find something incriminating whether about him or someone else. Dead or alive, it doesn’t feel right.

  “No. But let’s do it anyway.”

  I sit next to him, and he places the laptop over my bare legs. The cool of the aluminum sends a chill through my body. I pull up Blake’s webmail and open the folder beside me, careful to type in each number correctly. My stomach snarls as I watch the little spinning circle on the browser. It’s taking so much longer than normal. I might be sick. My heart is heaving in my chest when his email populates.

  I scan down to April 2nd, looking at each email. But it’s all junk. Hayes turns the laptop to face him and clicks a couple of folders on the sidebar—the saved drafts, which has nothing. Then, the sent folder, which also has nothing. “Was he an organized person?” Hayes asks.

  “Very. Guess it was a twin trait.”

  “And you said you had a phone bill…I take it he was on your plan?”

  “Yeah, he was. But there was nothing that stood out on the call list for last month.”

  “What about a text message log?” he asks. “If you’re the account owner, you should have access to it when you sign in online.” I didn’t realize that was something I could do. I never needed to know before. “Can you log in?”

  I enter my information and pull up my account. I’m tech savvy to an extent, but I have no idea where to find all of this data. I look over to him for direction, hoping since he knew this was possible, he also knows how to find the information.

  He takes control of the mouse and clicks on a few buttons. Within seconds, a list of messages from both phone numbers—Blake’s and mine—pop up. I click on his number at the top of the screen, and it eliminates all of mine.

  I’m getting more and more nauseous as I scroll through. I hit April 2nd and find a long list of text messages, half from Aspen, and half from Tanner.

  The first one of the day is from Aspen. I click on it, and the little box elongates, showing me the entire text.

  Aspen: One last time, for old time’s sake?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ACCORDING TO THE TEXTS, Aspen loved Blake. It also sounded like they knew this would be the end of things for them. But why?

  God, Aspen must have a broken heart right now. It explains why she was crying in her room those first few nights. She makes a whole lot of unfortunate sense right now. I have been the shittiest of shitty friends to her, regardless of them hiding their relationship from me.

  It makes me wonder what else I might not have known about my brother.

  Blake was a serial dater in high school, which I found funny. We were twins, one with a social life and one without. I wasn’t ever jealous, but I lived vicariously in a way through him and his entertaining stories about being with the “A-listers,” as we called them. When I moved home from college, he was with Mel. They had been together for a couple of years at that point and then broke up a little over a year ago. For a while I thought they might end up together, but she was so high-strung and he was…well, he was Blake. After Mel, there were random nights when he wouldn’t come home, but after the Tanner situation, we lived by “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  “You said Tanner bailed on his plans with Blake, right?” Hayes’s question pulls me from my disheartening thoughts of Aspen, but I don’t answer. “You okay?” Hayes asks. “Your phone is buzzing on the counter.”

  I look over and see the glow from the display. I hand him the laptop and run for my phone. I snatch it up from the counter to find an unknown number calling. I pick up as fast as my fingers will move. “Hello?” I say. The words pouring into my ear from the voice on the phone seep into my nerves. “What?” The things he’s saying don’t make sense. “I’ll be down within the hour.” He doesn’t even say good-bye before hanging up.

  I place the phone back on the counter and turn toward Hayes. His eyes are wide…waiting for me to say something. Anything.

  “I need to go in for more questioning.” I walk toward him, shambling as if my soul has been sucked out of my body. Again. “They’ve found ‘reasonable suspicion.’”

  Hayes stands up and walks into the bathroom, then comes back out with one foot already in his jeans. I’m still standing here half naked, not sure I know how to clothe myself right now.

  Reasonable suspicion?

  He walks back into the bathroom and returns with my pants. “Come on, I’m going with you.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I croak.

  He moves closer, his fingertips lightly touching my cheeks as he looks into my eyes. “I know. And we will make sure they know, too.” His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip. “I promise.”

  I’m in a trance as I struggle to pull my jeans back on. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

  “You need to cooperate. And you need to call your attorney.”

  “I will in the car. He came right away last time.”

  “Your attorney reacts that quickly?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  I’m shaking as we leave the apartment. The next thing I know I’m staring out the window on the passenger side of my car as we pull up to the station. He throws the car into park. The popping of the gears startles me. I look over at him, searching for comfort. “I’m tired of being scared.”

  He takes my hand and kisses the top of my knuckles. “You have nothing to be scared of, Blondie-locks. I’m here.” His lighthearted voice eases my nerves enough to help me step out of the car and walk toward the front entrance. “Just so you know, I’m going to have to sit in the lobby during the questioning. I won’t be allowed in there, but you know where I’ll be if you need me.”

  “Oh,” I say, walking through the door. “I understand.” B
ut it sucks. I find my hound-dog looking attorney, Mr. Williams, sitting in the waiting area. He doesn’t say hello or greet me in any way other than a quiet reminder to let him do all of the speaking unless told otherwise.

  I inform the woman at the front desk that I’m here, and I watch as she leaves her desk and yells down the back hallway for Earnst. My stomach churns at the sound of his name. I can’t stand this.

  A couple of minutes pass before Earnst opens the lobby door, looking at me, and then at Hayes. “Well I’ll be,” Earnst hoots. His emotional stagger from the normal no-nonsense-facade surprises me. “Mr. Hayes Peyton, in the flesh.” He walks over to Hayes and swings, giving him a smack on the shoulder. “What in the hell are you doing here? Come on in.”

  “I don’t think I should,” Hayes said. “I’m here as Miss Stone’s PI.”

  “It’s fine. Come on back,” Earnst insists.

  We’re ushered in, brought back into the same room I was in the first time. Earnst follows us and closes us into the room. Hayes takes a seat, making himself comfortable at the long table, leans back and folds his hands behind his neck.

  “I can’t believe you stepped back through these doors,” Earnst says to Hayes. “I mean, I knew she had a PI working for her, but I hadn’t heard it was you.” He pulls on the knees of his pants before dropping down into the chair across from me. “Anyway, glad to be working with you again, kid.” Hayes must have been one of the youngest detectives here. Everyone looks much older.

  “So what’s the deal?” Hayes asks, looking much more relaxed than I am right now.

  Earnst glances over at me, his eyes half-lidded, like he’s disappointed. He doesn’t even know me. Well, the “me” I was two months ago. “Miss Stone, could you tell me where you dropped your cigarette after you were through with it that night?” We’re back to this again. Why aren’t my answers sufficient the first time?

  “As she stated, she dropped the cigarette into a tin of sand on the back porch, like she’d done every night,” Mr. Williams says.

  “And how long after that cigarette did the fire start?” He has his pen to his paper, looking me straight in the eyes, waiting for me to answer rather than my attorney.

  Williams leans over and gives me the okay to answer. “Keep it simple,” he whispers.

  “I—I don’t really know. I washed up and went to bed a few minutes later. When I woke up, the house was on fire.”

  Earnst drops his pen and leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Here’s the thing, Miss Stone,” he says, “we found your tin, but there was no sand as you said in your previous statement. There was, however, brake fluid residue…are you sure you put your cigarette out in the sand that night?”

  “Yes,” I cry. “You think I put brake fluid in the can I used as an ashtray?” Williams places his hand down on my arm and nods at me to stop talking.

  Earnst laughs, and not in a friendly way. “No…I think you were more methodical than that.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. I can tell by the look on Hayes’s face, the redness in his eyes and the set of his jaw, he’s ready to lunge across the table.

  “Are there no other suspects at this time?” Hayes asks. Why is Hayes asking the questions Williams should be asking? What am I paying him for?

  “Not really,” Earnst says, lifting his pen and tapping it repetitively on the notepad.

  “What about Tanner Holt?” Hayes asks.

  Earnst laughs at his name. “What—you mean Tommy’s kid?”

  “Yeah,” Hayes responds, an angered lilt piercing his voice.

  “It wasn’t Tanner,” I say. “He’s been a family friend since I was five. I know him, Hayes. He wouldn’t have done this.”

  “I’ve already questioned him,” Earnst tells him, “His story checks out.”

  Hayes just glares at Earnst, and Earnst just glares back. It makes me even more uneasy.

  “Does Tanner have an alibi?” Hayes asks, pushing a little more.

  “Yeah, Tommy said he was watching the game with him that night,” Earnst says.

  “Have you considered Blake?” Hayes asks.

  “What? No!” I shout. “Blake wouldn’t—“

  “Blake is not a suspect,” Earnest interrupts. “Because of the high alcohol content found in his bloodstream, along with a slight overdose of sedatives, the toxicology report stated that he was passed out long before the fire was started, which would make it impossible for him to have set it.” Earnst laughs. Why is he taunting me? Why did Blake have sedatives in his blood stream? And why am I just hearing about this now? Blake hardly ever drank enough to get drunk. We may have had our moments in our college days, but that wasn’t something he’d do now. Especially alone. And especially if he was taking sedatives…but that doesn’t sound like him, either.

  “Why weren’t we informed of this?” Williams finally speaks up.

  “Her parents were notified,” Earnst replies.

  They never told me…

  Earnst lets out a hearty sigh. “Look, Miss Stone, I advise you to find yourself a good lawyer.” Williams looks offended, but he doesn’t respond. He must know he isn’t good enough for this case. “Oh, and I assume you’re planning to stay local throughout the duration of this investigation, correct?” Earnst asks.

  Why do I feel like the criminal when I’m the victim?

  I’m more disappointed and stressed out than I was when I got here as we slip back into my car. “I’m giving you the name of my lawyer,” Hayes says. “He’s a friend of mine, and he’s won his fair share of tough trials. The one you have now won’t do you any good.” I won’t argue that.

  “You’re not going to tell me that this is going to be okay any more, are you?” I try to ask with an even voice, but my breath keeps catching in my throat. Because no matter what he says right now, I know there’s a good chance that this isn’t going to be okay. Everything just feels like it’s being dragged out. What is the end result here? If they can’t find anyone else to blame, I get blamed? I get charged? I get put away? “It’s bad that Earnst had to confirm that I wasn’t leaving the area. Right?”

  “Was there brake fluid in your garage?” he asks, ignoring my questions.

  I think for a minute. I know I had a ton of car stuff in there. Any time my car sounded weird, Blake would go buy a bunch of things to fix it. He was handy to have around, brilliant with mechanics. He had been an auto body tech since he graduated from the local community college. But being who he was, he spent more time goofing off than actually getting the job done…hence his recent unemployment. “I’m assuming Blake had some out there.”

  “You think it was weird that Blake had been drinking and took a sedative?” he asks.

  “Yes. I do.”

  The lines on his forehead deepen, almost like he has a horrible headache. “I need you to sign back into your cell phone account when we get to your place.”

  We say nothing as we drive the rest of the way to my apartment. Hayes is hard to read; I just want to know everything going through his head right now. Does he think I’m guilty? That’s probably the only thing I want to know.

  We hike up the stairs, and I unlock the five locks. Once inside, he doesn’t stop to sit down or even take his sunglasses off. Instead, he grabs my laptop and powers it back up.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  He leans over me, placing his hands down on my shoulders, massaging them. “Trust me. Okay?” His words come as a welcome break from the chill he’s held on to tightly for the past few hours.

  I turn and look in his eyes, feeling a slight release of panic. “I do trust you.” Something has shifted in his mind, and I want to know what it is.

  His arms reach around me as he types the domain name and pulls up the login page. “Go ahead.”

  My fingers are shaking as I type in the information. I feel like I’m unlocking a vault holding the answers to this mystery. As soon as I click “Log in,” Hayes nudges me out of the way and navigates t
o the page. The page with the incoming and outgoing text messages pops up, and he tilts the laptop to the side and swings around to face it. He clicks on April 2nd and scrolls down until he finds what he was looking for. I close my eyes, disappointed. He’s going down the wrong path with this one and it’s a waste of time.

  But he presses his finger against the screen. “Motherfucker.”

  I open my eyes, focusing on what he’s pointing at. “What?” I can see now. A message from Tanner at nine o’clock telling Blake he was coming over with beer to make up for ditching the camping trip.

  “Tanner was there that night…”

  Hayes spins my chair around to face him. He clutches my thighs, leans in, and looks directly into my eyes. “Tanner brought the beers that Blake got drunk from. Tanner canceled the camping trip because he was busy with whatever, and his dad said he was watching the game with him that night…and yet, here he is.” He smiles and he runs his fingers through my hair. “This is real good.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have told us?” Has everyone lied about what happened that day?

  “Good question,” Hayes says. “I have an idea.” I can already tell by the look on his face that I don’t like this idea. “You’re still on good terms with Tanner, right?”

  “I think so. He’s been giving me some space, but I think we’re fine.” I stand up and lay my hands on his chest. “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m going to need you to get a little closer to him. Spend some time in his house and keep your eyes open for anything that stands out or seems unusual.

  I’m listening to everything he’s saying, but all I can think about is the fact that Tanner might be dangerous. I’ve known him most of my life. We were together for an entire year. He’s one of the sweetest people I know, and I can’t imagine that he’d do anything like this. It just doesn’t feel right. I mean, at this point, I’m in no position to ignore a possible lead, but God—if Tanner had anything to do with this…I want to go into his house, just to prove he didn’t do it.