Tar Heart (A New Hampshire Mystery Book 3)

by Mira Gibson

  Downstairs, Cody raised his voice, something about grounding Mary that she didn’t catch entirely, but Hannah’s cutting response came high-pitched and clear as a bell—“You want to punish her?”

  Cody stomped his way up the stairs, Hannah trailing after him with light, pattering footfall.

  Expectantly, Mary stared at her bedroom door, its profound absence of a lock, the tattered Kanye West poster peeling off of it, corners curling where she hadn’t taped them down.

  Hoping like hell he would continue on down the hallway—she wouldn’t survive a long-winded lecture—she glanced at her purse beside her. The faux-leather flap wasn’t flush, but arching backwards against a pillow, leaving the pinch of blow she had stolen in plain view. Mary had scrambled for a tissue, tapped a breath of Holly’s cocaine into it, pocketed it madly in that bedroom. She made quick work of stuffing the purse under the comforter and covering the lump with a pillow just as Cody rapped his knuckles on the door.

  “Mary?” he asked, sounding gentle, kind.

  She didn’t trust it.

  “Studying,” she called out, as she swiped her Algebra II textbook off the floor and returned to the bed with a hop.

  It wasn’t until the door cracked open that she realized the book was upside down in her lap.

  Cody edged into the room, taking shallow steps and avoiding a pile of sweaters as well as her gaze. His brows were knit tightly together and the particular bend of his mouth was a look she hadn’t seen on him before.

  Angling in, Hannah folded her arms, her head tilting with a hint of sympathy, blue eyes wide and discerning. “We’d like to talk to you about what happened, make sure you’re okay.”

  Cody’s expression hardened as he finally looked at her, planting his fists on his hips. Whatever was weighing heavily on his mind, Mary got the feeling he hadn’t clued Hannah in.

  “I’m okay,” she said, but realized she had sounded too relaxed. Her sister’s brows shot up as if no one in their right mind would be okay if in Mary’s position so she quickly revised her answer. “I didn’t even know someone had gotten into the house. I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Can I have a word with her alone?” he asked Hannah.

  “You guys can’t ground me,” she blurted out. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Though kindly, Hannah asserted, “For the time being it would be best for you to stay here at the house if you’re not at school.” Before Mary could object, she added, “Only until Cody catches whoever did this.”

  “So I can’t see my friends,” she complained, emphasizing the injustice.

  “They can come here,” she suggested, but Cody snapped his eyes to her as though it might not be so cut and dry. Meeting him halfway, Hannah said, “As long as one of us is home.”

  Mary didn’t have it in her to argue. She felt sweat beading across her hairline. Her face felt hot. She hoped her cheeks weren’t beet-red. “You shouldn’t have asked me to babysit.”

  She was looking at her socked feet and Hannah had to fight to restore eye contact. When she had it, she said, “Mary, what happened wasn’t your fault.”

  The look on Cody’s face seemed to contradict that statement, but she nodded, demonstrating she was willing to forgive herself.

  Cody breathed, “May I?”

  And Hannah shot back, “She already spoke with the police. What other questions could you possibly have? I don’t want her sitting here all night blaming herself after you treat her like a criminal.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. Please.” He was holding her arm, leaning into her ear, and as he spoke softly Mary got the distinct impression his long-ago suspicion of her was re-emerging—messages scrawled in dirt, handwritten instructions, Ask Mary in connection with her mother’s abduction, body parts surfacing, Mary turning a revolver against her own thigh and pulling the trigger, all evidence of her guilt.

  She hadn’t done it then, hadn’t butchered her own mother in a twisted effort to bring God into the devil’s house, and she hadn’t taken Tucker. But though Cody had come to understand her innocence concerning the Hermit Lake Tragedy, she sensed he wouldn’t believe her now.

  Hannah urged him back, her expression a patient mix of disappointment and confusion, but when he widened the door for her to excuse herself, she relented, offering Mary a brittle smirk before stepping into the hallway.

  As Cody closed the door, it felt like all the air was rushing out of the room. Gently, he nudged clothes aside with his socked feet, making his way to her messy desk where he removed a pile of magazines from the chair, set them on a precarious stack of novels and pen boxes, and sat.

  Clearing his throat, he seemed to struggle with how to begin. “You can start seeing Judy again if you like.”

  He had to be kidding. Mary had gone through months of therapy with Judy St. Clair, slogging through one-on-one sessions as well as joint sessions with her mother, but all that had ended once Cody began bouncing the family from town to town as though his career was more important than her mental health. Her mother, Kendra hadn’t been able to keep up and eventually moved back to Sanbornton, choosing Judy over all of her daughters. As far as Mary could tell, the red carpet Cody had rolled out for them was fast retracted the second he had won Hannah’s heart.

  Whatever he was getting at with this offer wasn’t for Mary’s benefit, but his own.

  “I don’t want that,” she said in a small voice. “My friends are all I need.”

  His question sounded more like a statement. “Roberta?”

  “You have a problem with Roberta?” she challenged, dragging her algebra book off her lap and resting it on the bunched up comforter beside her so she could draw her knees to her chin as she leaned against the wall.

  Cody rolled his chair a few inches forward to compensate, planting his elbows on his knees.

  She felt examined.

  “I don’t want you spending time with her anymore.”

  “Why?”

  He narrowed his eyes, studying her, and for an anxious moment she thought he might detect her waning high. “She’s a bad influence.”

  Mary snorted a weak laugh and shook her head. “I’m not giving her up. She gets me.”

  “Judy gets you,” he countered.

  “No, Judy analyzes me and recites psych verbatim when the moment calls for it. Roberta knows the real me.”

  “I know how smart you are,” he said frankly, his tone indicating a jump in topics.

  Thrown, she decided to play dumb. “Is this about my grades?”

  She was met with silence, Cody studying her, and she knew he wasn’t going to let her get away with the innocent act she’d mastered.

  From out of nowhere he stated, “Roberta works at a place called Diamonds.”

  Stunned—how the fuck did he know?—her heart started punching in her chest. She didn’t blink, terrified that he would take the slightest movement as confirmation. Gradually, she told him, “Roberta works at a pizza place.”

  “She works at an escort service,” he shot back.

  In desperate hope of ending the conversation, she launched into a performance—shock and confusion, conjure a tear—sticking to her innocence routine. “I had no idea. You’re right. She’s a bad influence.” His face wasn’t softening like it should so she kept blathering on. “Seeing Judy might be a good idea. I can go after school. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Maybe,” he allowed, but his tone had deepened as though he knew he had her cornered. Setting the stage, he insisted, “Please don’t use your intelligence to lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  He cut in with, “Stop.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down her neck, but she was too scared to blot it. She swallowed instead, wishing her mouth hadn’t gone dry.

  “I’m not going to be punitive,” he began leveling with her. “I’m not going to assert tough love or walk you through the jail cells at the precinct so that the meth-heads and hookers can horrify you into acting your age. I also haven’t to
ld Hannah and I might be willing to keep it that way if you work with me.”

  Realizing she had been biting her lower lip, she pressed her mouth into a thin line.

  “I saw the Diamonds website,” he went on and the implication was a fist to her gut.

  She wasn’t merely in deep shit because she had been stealing away to the lounge and running wild with extravagant, mysterious men, relishing their attention and the thrill of living a secret. The fact Cody had found out meant that he knew Rose Wythe had worked there and assumed Mary would have insight as to who killed her. If he didn’t know how Benjamin fit in, he soon would.

  Her voice was a thread. “Please don’t tell Hannah.”

  He exhaled loudly as though he couldn’t make any promises. “You’re not going back there. You’re not leaving this house except to go to school. If I see any sign you’ve snuck off, I will tell her. But I’ll only make this deal with you if you answer my questions.”

  “No.”

  He stared at her, astonished.

  Though she was uncertain of her friend’s involvement—she’d lain awake at night puzzling over the dark affair that she’d never been able to make sense of, choosing time and again to believe Roberta incapable of murder—doubts shadowed her thoughts. She knew she couldn’t tell him anything without incriminating Roberta and that was something she refused to do.

  “Do you understand that two people have been killed?” He took a moment to temper his anger and when he continued, he spoke so firmly that her hands began trembling. “You knew Rose Wythe to some degree, because you worked with her. Her son was taken while you were supposed to be watching him.” He let out a rocky breath. “Mary, I know you. I know you’re a good person. You didn’t do this. That’s not where I’m going with this. But I think you know a hell of a lot and I need you to start talking.”

  Stonewalling him, she shrugged. “All I can tell you is I’m a cliché. The sexually abused seek out sexual scenarios. It’s very sad. I went to Diamonds for my own reasons. I am what I am.”

  “Don’t give me that. You can’t pin this on your past.”

  “What do you think I’m going to tell you?” she asked impatiently, her tone a bit biting even for her taste. “You think I know who killed Rose?”

  “Who was she friendly with there? Who disliked her? Did she get into any fights?”

  Mary snorted a laugh. “I have no idea.”

  Rolling towards her in his chair and cursing when the wheels got stuck on a tee shirt, Cody jabbed his finger to underscore his point. “Rose was paid off. That club gave her thousands of dollars not to come back and I need to know why.”

  “Roberta and I are at the bottom of the food chain,” she insisted. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “You know. I can see it in your eyes.” When she said nothing, he asked, “Did you like Rose?”

  The question disarmed her and she was suddenly dying to answer him. She hadn’t talked about Rose since the murder. Roberta had shut down the few attempts she’d made. The hard and fast truth was that she had liked Rose. She’d even loved her. But she loved Roberta more and couldn’t open that vault. Not without a hell of a lot of help.

  She angled her stark blue eyes up at him, her lip curling slyly. “I feel like a beer.”

  Skeptically, he cocked his brow. “You’re going to tell me everything for one beer?”

  “I’d bring the case if I were you.”

  He seemed reluctant getting to his feet and glanced over his shoulder at her several times on his way to the door. As he wrapped his hand around the knob he pointed out, “You have school tomorrow.”

  “We both have something the other wants. Don’t give me a reason not to talk.”

  Heaving a deep, apprehensive breath, he opened the door and told her this better be worth it.

  As soon as she heard him padding down the hallway, she urgently scrambled for her cell phone, tossing the pillows off the bed, throwing the comforter aside, and hunting through her purse.

  She found Roberta’s number in her cell as quickly as possible, tapping the text message app, opening the thread she kept with her best friend, and hitting the Send icon.

  Her stomach bottomed out after three rings and when Roberta’s outgoing message blared in her ear instead of her friend’s melodic voice, panic surged through her veins like ice water.

  Quietly, she rushed through her message. “He knows. Cody wants me to tell him everything. Why the fuck aren’t you picking up?” She groaned and concluded the call with, “You have to come up with something. Tell Ron... I don’t know... this is going to blow back on us bad.”

  Hanging up, a swell of dread overwhelmed her, but she snapped out of it the second she heard Cody approaching the door. She tucked her cell into her purse and threw the comforter over it, as he rounded into her bedroom, his arms cradling a case of Miller Light.

  She was impressed he had brought the whole case like she’d asked. Getting past Hannah had probably been a trick to pull off.

  He eased the door shut with his elbow and high-stepped over her nest of clothes. As he slid the case onto her desk, the stack of magazines toppled to the floor and he muttered, Shit.

  “No games,” he warned, cracking the lid off one of the bottles and handing it to her.

  Eagerly, she chugged the beer, tipping her head back and catching the drips from the corners of her mouth.

  She caught him uttering, Jesus, and quickly set the bottle between her legs in response.

  As soon as he was settled in the chair, he said, “Let’s not waste time.”

  “You don’t want one?”

  “Everything you know about Rose... conversations, arguments, start talking.”

  “I don’t want to go to the station. I don’t want to make a statement.”

  Asserting the condition had only peaked his interest.

  She slugged the rest of the bottle, drinking it in record time, and then held her hand out, ready for her second. He looked alarmed, but cracked open another beer. The alcohol was offsetting the coke in her system so when he handed her the cold one, she didn’t hesitate to chug it.

  Setting the bottle between her legs, she reiterated, “Promise me you won’t make me go to the station.”

  “You have to trust me.”

  His ambiguity made her nervous, but she wrestled the feeling down into the pit of her stomach and poured beer on it.

  “Roberta and I were hanging out at Proctor Preserve near the lake, just chilling and trying to talk to guys. This was right after the school year started.”

  She studied his reaction for a beat—the flexing cheeks, the narrowing eyes, which told her he didn’t like straining to figure out how this connected to Rose Wythe.

  “It matters because we didn’t meet Rose first,” she offered, not quite ready to come out with it.

  “Who did you meet first?” he asked, prodding her along.

  “Roberta saw this flashy car pull into the parking lot and it like stole her attention. Her eyes were glued to the man stepping out of it. I knew she was going to talk to him, or try to. She always thought the senior boys were a waste of time, like she would entertain herself with them if no one better was around.”

  “Who was the man?” he asked impatiently.

  It was difficult to get the name out, but she made herself say, “Benjamin.”

  Immediately, Cody pitched forward in his chair. She had never seen him so poised and the thrilled glint in his eyes had her suddenly self-conscious.

  When she still hadn’t elaborated, he asked, “She talked to Benjamin?”

  “She didn’t have to. He approached us. At first he seemed guarded and I thought he was going to try to sell us dope or coke or something. He looked slick like that, but also boyish. But then I noticed his tie was all crooked and loose around his collar. He looked, I don’t know, like he was coming apart at the seams.”

  Drinking more beer, she reminded herself to omit Roberta as much as possible from the story
.

  “If you really want to know,” she went on, but paused to get some air in her lungs. “It was like Benji could tell what Roberta wanted, like he could read her face or something. He didn’t really look at me so much. He basically, like, implied he was into her, you know, because she clearly wanted him. But he said he needed a favor.”

  Catching on, he guessed, “Benjamin put you guys up to working at Diamonds?”

  “It’s not his place, Diamonds. He doesn’t work there or anything,” she corrected. “He suspected Rose was working there. He wanted us—or Roberta really and then she dragged me along—to like try to get into the place and confirm his wife hung out there, like spy on her.” Skipping over the parts where Roberta had engaged in an illustrious affair with the man so that Cody wouldn’t discover Roberta had been with Benjamin the night of his murder, Mary shifted gears. “I got to know Rose a little bit. She was tough, but like so protective of us. Look,” she said abruptly. “I didn’t have to do what I did there. I didn’t have to stay or keep going back. But I liked it.”

  She couldn’t even look at him she was so filled with shame.

  As if to assure her that he wasn’t judging, Cody placed his hand on her foot, but it only made the moment more awkward. Shying away, he said, “You don’t have to grow up so fast.”

  She smirked but it felt like a grimace.

  “We told Benji that Rose worked there,” she went on. “And that was that, kind of.”

  “So you didn’t see him again?”

  Melding lies with the truth, she offered, “I saw him around.”

  “Was Rose a business partner at the club?”

  Drinking more to work up the nerve—this was the question she didn’t want to have to answer—Mary avoided eye contact and wracked her brain for alternative versions of the truth.

  But there weren’t any.

  Finally, she admitted, “Rose wasn’t like the rest of the girls. She didn’t have the same deal. Diamonds takes like fifty percent of whatever you make. You have to cash out after each shift. But Rose never cashed out. She was like paying rent and never disclosing what she pulled in.”

  “Why would she get a better deal?”