by B. B. Hamel
“What are you doing here?” Kristi asks her.
Cora keeps that smile plastered on her face. “Just wanted to talk to you.”
Kristi shakes her head. “I got nothing to say about him.”
I raise an eyebrow. That’s about the most suspicious thing she could have said.
“Please, Kristi, I know you didn’t have anything to do with it,” Cora answers, not missing a beat. “But you might know something important.”
Kristi glances at me and back to Cora. “I don’t know.”
“Go fucking talk to her!” someone inside shouts.
“Shut the fuck up, Nancy!” Kristi shouts back.
Another woman appears at the door next to Kristi, sucking on a cigarette. She looks just like Kristi, except twenty years older and garishly done-up. Her hair is teased and big like an ‘80s model, but her eyes are vacant. She gives Cora a hard look.
“Kristi’ll be right outside. Right, girl?”
“Okay, fuck, fine, Nancy.” Kristi steps away from the door and it slams shut.
Cora looks back at me, totally bewildered. I just grin and shrug at her, not really sure what’s going on myself. But a minute later, just as Cora’s about to knock again, there’s a sound from the back.
“Around here.”
We step off the little front stoop and follow around to the back of the trailer. Kristi’s standing back there, smoking a cigarette, a little white dog yapping at her heels.
“Stop it, Beyoncé,” she says, knocking the dog away. It bounds off and sniffs a corner of their tiny lot.
Kristi stands there, arms crossed, cigarette in her mouth. She looks a lot younger than I first thought. She’s about Cora’s size, maybe a little smaller, and she might even be considered pretty if it weren’t for the hard years she’s been living.
“How are you doing?” Cora asks her.
Kristi shrugs. “Fine. Who the fuck is that?” She indicates me with a jab of her cigarette.
“This is Wyatt,” Cora says. “He’s an old friend of Atticus’s.”
Kristi perks up and looks at me. “You’re that cop, aren’t you?”
I nod. “Atticus talked about me?”
“Sure, sometimes.” She laughs. “He always thought it was funny that his old best friend turned out to be a cop and he turned out to be, well, him.”
I smile at her, not really finding it funny. She laughs again like it’s actually hilarious.
“Kristi, have the cops talked to you yet?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Nancy moves around a lot. This is her third trailer in two years. I bet they don’t even know I’m fucking here, those idiots.” She sneers at me and I just smile back.
“You’re probably right. Still, you should get in touch with them.”
“Fuck that. Cops always just assume you’re guilty, you know? I know a guy that got murdered. I bet they think I did it.”
“Did you?” I ask her softly.
“Fuck no.” She spits on the ground. “But it’s not like he didn’t have it coming.”
“How did he have it coming?” Cora asks her.
She shrugs. “Atticus was a fucking asshole. Always talking a big game, always trying to find some way to make money. But in the end, he was just another little shrimp shooting all his cash down his veins.”
I glance at Cora and I can tell that hurts. She’s doing a good job of keeping a straight face, but the way her hands twitch makes me think she’s holding herself back.
I don’t understand why Kristi is talking shit about Atticus like this, but I have my suspicions. “So he deserved to die?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Not really, but that’s what happens when you run with the Niners, right?”
“No,” Cora says softly. “He didn’t deserve that.”
Kristi looks at her and realizes her mistake. She sighs. “I’m sorry, kid, okay? Atticus wasn’t all that bad. We had some good times. But I can’t help you.”
“Where were you when he died?” I ask her.
“Here,” Kristi says. “With my mom.”
I make note of that. “Did he ever talk about anything? Maybe he owed someone money? Someone pissed at him for robbing them?”
She laughs again at that. “You’re describing half the town now,” she says. “I thought you were a smart detective or some shit?”
I smile pleasantly at her. I don’t know what Atticus saw in this girl, though. Maybe she was a pair of tits that would put up with his junkie bullshit, but still. “I’m talking someone dangerous, Kristi. Maybe someone in the Niners?”
She shrugs. “Some guys, maybe.” She clearly looks uncomfortable and flicks her cigarette, spilling ash on the ground. The little white dog comes bounding over and she kicks him away again.
“Who exactly?” Cora asks, beating me to it.
“Just some fucking guys, okay?” Kristi glares at me. “Maybe you can figure it out.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” I ask her. “You knew him really well, better than we did.”
She hesitates a second. I can see something in her face, maybe a glint of her humanity from back before she became a junkie, but that quickly vanishes.
“He was an asshole,” she says again. “Dumped me like, three weeks ago. So fuck him, okay? I’m done with this shit.” She flicks her cigarette away, walks over, grabs the dog, and heads back to the house. The dog struggles like it wants to get away.
I glance at Cora.
“Wait, Kristi,” Cora says. “Please, can you give us anything?”
She pauses at the back door. “Yeah, okay, fucking fine. Be careful of the Niners and leave me the fuck alone.” She opens the back door and slams it behind her as she disappears inside.
Cora groans and turns back to me. I give her a tight smile and we head back around to the front of the house.
“What do you think?” she asks me finally as we walk away from the trailer.
“I think she’s hiding something,” I say. “I couldn’t shake that feeling the whole time.”
“I felt it too,” Cora admits.
“Why is she staying with her mom right now instead of in town, in her own place?”
Cora shakes her head. “It’s strange.”
“And the cops haven’t talked to her yet?” I glance back over my shoulder. “I think she’s hiding her. I don’t think she expected us to find her so soon.”
“Think she’ll run?” Cora asks.
“I don’t know. But I think she knows more than she’s letting on.”
We walk in silence for a second, and when we finally make it back to the car, Cora looks at me. “She was afraid,” she says.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“Really afraid.”
I meet her gaze. “Who did this…”
“Dangerous,” Cora finishes for me.
We look at each other for a second before climbing into the car. I pull away, my mind still trying to work out how Kristi is involved in all of this.
7
Cora
Atticus looks down at me. His eyes are glowing red, two pinprick dots in the otherwise black room. I’m stuck to the bed and shaking, trembling, terrified, but I don’t know why.
“Go ahead,” I say to him. “Go ahead. Go ahead.”
He grins a wicked grin and slams the knife down into me over and over again.
I wake up with a start. I’m sweating, practically shaking. I get out of bed and stumble into the bathroom where I palm some water into my mouth straight from the tap. It’s lukewarm, but I feel like I might get sick.
I used to have nightmares when I was younger. My mom called them night terrors. Atticus was the only person in the world that could calm me down when they hit. He’d get into bed with me and sing softly until I’d fall asleep again. We were really young back then, and I haven’t had a night terror since I was a kid.
My pulse slowly comes
down. I walk out into my living room and get a cold glass of water. I sip it, staring at the back wall, trying to make sense of the dream.
When I hear something outside. It sounds like the trash. At first, I think it’s a cat, but I hear it again.
I walk to the window and peek through the blinds. I peer down the side of the house and I can just barely make out a dark figure, rooting through my trash.
I jump back, eyes wide, the terror from my dream striking back into my chest again. I nearly drop my water as I turn and run back into my bedroom.
I dial without thinking. The phone rings and I’m shaking with horror. Someone’s out there, right now, going through my trash. Maybe it’s a fucking homeless guy, or maybe it’s the people that had Kristi so afraid.
I’m about to give up when he finally answers. “Yeah?” he grumbles, voice heavy with sleep.
“Someone’s going through my trash,” I hiss into the receiver.
He pauses a second. “Cora?”
“Someone’s going through my trash,” I hiss again. “Right now.”
“There’s a person outside of your apartment?”
“Yes!”
He sounds more awake now. “Lock your doors. Stay where you are. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Please hurry.”
“Call 911 if they try to come inside. Can you do that?”
“Yes, just hurry.”
Wyatt hangs up the phone. I stare at my bedroom door before shutting it and locking the handle.
I’ve never been this afraid in my entire life. Sitting in my bed like that, listening to every single little sound from outside, I keep imagining how it must have been when Atticus was killed. I bet he was terrified, so beyond afraid. He probably didn’t understand what was happening as people brutally murdered him. And now that might happen to me.
Time slips past. I don’t know how long I’m sitting there, horrified, when suddenly someone’s knocking at my door. The bell rings again and again, and then my phone starts to ring.
It’s Wyatt. I answer right away.
“It’s me. Let me inside.”
I slowly come out of my bedroom door. I creep up to the front door and peer out the top glass. Wyatt’s standing there, looking grim. I throw open the door and he comes inside.
I hug him without thinking. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay.”
“He was out there,” I tell him. “I swear. I saw him.”
“I know,” he says. He shuts the door and locks it before fully letting me go.
“Did you see him?”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But your trashcan was open.”
I stare at him. “He must have run when he saw you pull up.”
“That’s my guess.” He sighs and we move further into my living room. He puts me down on the couch and refills my water from the refrigerator.
“What the hell was that?” I ask him. “Why would someone go through my trash?”
“Hard to say,” he answers, sitting next to me. His big body is reassuring in the dark night. He looks tired but alert, wearing the same clothes as earlier. “But I doubt that it’s a coincidence.”
“That what is?”
He looks grim. “That this happens right after we visited with Kristi.”
My eyes go wide. “You think she…?”
“I don’t know,” he says before I can finish. “Could be that they were watching her, too. Saw us show up there and talk to her.”
“Or she told them.”
“Maybe.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”
“Shit,” I say softly.
He watches me for a second. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a breath. “I think so.”
“You should get some rest.”
“Yeah.” I laugh a little. “I feel silly now.”
“Don’t. I told you this might be dangerous. Are you sure you don’t want to back out?”
“I’m sure,” I say, not really feeling it. “I’m not walking away.”
He nods. “Okay. I’m going to sleep on your couch tonight, if that’s okay.”
I’m surprised by that, but I shouldn’t be. “You’re going to be my bodyguard tonight?”
He grins. “Exactly.”
I smile back and my heart picks up. “Okay,” I say. “I mean, you don’t have to. He’s gone now.”
“I’m here, so I might as well.” He eyes my couch. “Doesn’t look any worse than the bed I’m sleeping on.”
I laugh a little bit and get up. I find him a blanket and a pillow then toss them to him as I come back into the room.
He catches them and puts the pillow behind his head. “Thanks,” he says.
“No, thank you. You really don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.”
I stand there, suddenly very aware that I’m in a skimpy little tank top and some old short shorts, my hair a mess from sleeping. He’s giving me this look that sets my whole body on fire and I’m suddenly afraid of what I just let into my life.
“Well, make yourself at home. I mean, have whatever you want.” I gesture around me.
“And what if what I want is in your room?” he asks softly.
My eyes go wide. “I, uh…”
He grins at me. “Just kidding.”
I nod and laugh a little uncertainly. “Sure, right. Well, good night.”
“Night.” He stretches out on the couch.
I stand there a second, wondering at that comment. Is he saying that he wants to come into my room and sleep with me? But no, I’m just Atticus’s annoying little sister, and he’s still Wyatt Reap. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, not like that. He’s just being a good person right now.
Still, he’s giving me that look, and I know what it means. He’s thinking about what’s on underneath my tank top… and I think he knows it’s nothing.
There’s a hunger in his gaze that shocks me. For a second, I want to tell him to follow me back into my bedroom. He’s so handsome, so intelligent, funny, and smart. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, and he happens to know me really well, or at least he used to. We have a lot of history together.
Instead, I turn and walk quickly away.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know why. This has been such a strange night, starting with the night terror, and now Wyatt sleeping on my couch. He’s going to be out there in the morning, or at least I think he will be. Saturday morning with Wyatt Reap sounds so incredibly… nice.
I get back into bed. I leave my bedroom door open a crack for some reason, maybe as an invitation.
But if he notices, he doesn’t do anything about it. I fall asleep not too long later, and fortunately the night terrors stay away.
8
Wyatt
I should have had her just call the cops. I didn’t need to go rushing over there like some fucking knight in shining armor.
I get up just before the sun rises and sneak out before she wakes up. I head back to the motel and shower there, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing back in Mason working this goddamn murder case.
I spend most of the day at Starbucks in the next town over, using the WiFi and doing some research. I don’t hear from Cora, which is fine by me. I check in with her around noon, just to make sure she’s okay, and she texts back right away.
I flip through Facebook pages, using Atticus’s account. I’m trying to find anything that stands out, any strange connections, any odd messages. His password was in the folder that Cora gave me, so I’m guessing she already went through this process with his account, but it can’t hurt.
It’s a bizarre exercise. There’s not much on his page, since he clearly rarely used Facebook, if ever, but there are so many people I recognize. I don’t have a Facebook anymore, since I think Facebook is creepy as hell, but Atticus clearly added everyone from school at some point. It’s so str
ange, and soon I find myself skipping through a ton of pictures, totally forgetting about what I’m supposed to be doing.
Hours slip by, and I have to buy a couple of coffees just to keep the baristas from glaring at me. But as I’m passing through some pictures, I spot something odd. I have to go back and stare, before I realize that Atticus is in the background.
I exit the pictures. The guy’s name is Reggie Ryan, a dorky kid I knew back at school. He was the kind of guy that everyone basically ignored, not because they were mean, but just because he was so forgettable. He did good in school and I guess I assumed he moved out of town already, but apparently he’s still in Mason.
And regularly drinking at a bar called Hottie’s.
That gives me an odd idea. I flip through a few more pages, and sure enough, it looks like everyone drinks at that bar. I don’t remember it, but that’s not surprising since I left town before I could legally drink. I grab my phone and call up Cora.
She answers right away. “Hi, Wyatt,” she says.
“Do you know a bar called Hottie’s?”
“Sure,” she says. “Pretty crappy place. Why?”
“Did Atticus used to drink there?”
“I think so,” she says, not sounding sure. “I don’t really go in there.”
“Huh.” I hesitate a second. “In the mood for a drink?”
“Are you asking me out?”
“Absolutely I am,” I say, smiling.
“In that case, come pick me up at seven.”
“See you soon.” I hang up and lean back in my chair.
If people that knew Atticus drink at Hottie’s, then that’s the place we want to check out. It’s probably a dead end, but it’s worth a shot.
I pack up my things and head out, smiling to myself as I imagine taking Cora out on a date.
Hottie’s is a standalone place tucked at the far corner of downtown Mason, a little squat building that looks like it used to be a Pizza Hut. The neon “H” on the neon sign out front is burned out, so really we’re heading into “ottie’s” right now.
I glance over at Cora. She smiles at me calmly. She looks fucking good, I can’t deny that. Short skirt, hair pulled back, blouse showing off just enough of her perfect breasts. She looks like she’s going out on a date, and I wish I had something nicer to wear. Unfortunately, I’m in the same old clothes, a button-down and jeans, since I don’t have much else to wear.