by Brenda Novak
It was a guess. But it was close. “Not so much. I’d already assumed the risk by being where I was when I found her. I just took an interest when she needed it, gave her a shoulder to cry on and another chance to escape, and she was grateful. You must remember some of this. I’ve told you before.”
She didn’t respond to that last part. “Did you sleep with her?”
He shot her a glance. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious.”
“No. Not when I helped her out, and not when she helped me out, either.” Mona had been used by so many men there was no telling what diseases she carried. Besides, he’d never found her appealing. He’d just felt sorry for her because of the crappy way Shady and the others treated her.
Laurel kneaded her forehead. “But you’ve slept with other women since we’ve been together. Haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer. He knew she wouldn’t like the truth. Maybe they weren’t together anymore but certain feelings lingered.
“Wow. Where did that come from?” She gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked.”
He did. She’d asked because it wasn’t a lack of love or attraction that’d driven them apart, and that made it difficult not to fall back into bed. Not until the morning after, or maybe several mornings after, did they figure out they couldn’t get along. But it was his shortcomings that came between them, not hers. “What’s going on with you and your neighbor?”
She winced. “Don’t ask.”
“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you.”
“No, not ‘sleeping with him.’”
He wished he could see her eyes. “It’s not like you to lie.”
“I’m not lying, exactly.”
“So do you want to explain why you went bright red the moment he walked into the kitchen?”
She fidgeted with her purse. “We spent a few hours together at a cabin once. That’s all.”
He lowered the volume of the radio. “When?”
“Last night.”
“Oh, God. No wonder he hated me on sight,” he said with a laugh.
She turned accusing eyes on him. “I believe you were the one who started that little power struggle.”
Allowing his smile to persist—at least this subject distracted him from his illness—he gazed out at the velvet-green pine trees, the clear blue sky, the black ribbon of road. Laurel had been living in a good place the past twenty-four months. He liked knowing that. Imagining her and the kids happy here made him feel less guilty for letting them down in D.C. “Maybe you’re right.”
“You’re going to admit it?”
“I don’t see any reason not to.”
She adjusted her seat belt so she could turn a little more toward him. “Why didn’t you like him?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you think?”
“You’re jealous.”
“Damn right.”
He saw a hurt expression on her face and felt a fresh twinge of pain himself, pain that had nothing to do with his withdrawal from OxyContin.
“Will we ever get over each other?” she whispered.
The memory of making love to her, one of many such memories, filtered through his mind. “I hope not completely.”
“But our relationship is so…complicated.”
“Life is complicated, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Can you be attracted to two people at once?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“When I see you, I wish things could’ve worked out.”
He reached across the seat and took her hand, and suddenly the terrible cravings for OxyContin and the cramps he’d been feeling subsided just enough that he could relax for the first time since he’d arrived in Pineview. “We don’t have to be together to love each other.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “You helped me through a terrible time, Rex. You showed me what love could be like after the bastard I married made me feel I never wanted to be with a man again. I’m grateful to you for that.”
More guilt reared up—that he couldn’t continue to be what she needed—but he wasn’t going to let guilt or regret ruin this moment. After two years, he had her fingers entwined with his, felt a measure of forgiveness, and that was all he could ask for. He hadn’t experienced peace without the aid of chemicals in months and months. Maybe he wasn’t the man who’d become her husband and the father to her children. But he wanted her to be happy, even if it meant seeing her with someone else. “Just…let me ask you this.”
“What’s that?”
He scowled. “Does the man who replaces me have to be a cop?”
Releasing his hand, she gave him a playful slug. “I’m not getting together with the sheriff. Last night was a…a fluke. I hadn’t been with anyone…well, since you.”
That created quite an image. And not an entirely pleasant one. “So? How was it?”
A blush rose to her cheeks. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”
He lowered his window so he could put his arm outside. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?”
Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath. “It was good. It was really good,” she said with an embarrassed laugh.
“I wish I was happier to hear it.”
“If you’re not happy, why are you smiling?”
Because he was free. Because it felt as if he had a second chance at becoming the man he wanted to be. He wasn’t sure where this moment of contentment had come from or how long it would last. He didn’t know if he’d be able to maintain it, or if the OxyContin would try to regain control. But for now, he was happy just to be with her and have everything right between them. He was in charge of his own life for the first time in months, was exactly where he needed to be, doing exactly what he needed to do. One small victory for Rex McCready. “Beats the shit out of me,” he said.
She grabbed his hand again. “It feels great to have you back.”
He hoped he could stay “back.” That being part of each other’s lives wouldn’t get too painful to endure, like it always had before. Maybe, as close friends, they could finally achieve some stability.
They drove, windows down and hands clasped, music playing loudly until they reached Libby. Then Rex spotted a pay phone at the edge of a video store parking lot and pulled over. “There you go.”
Laurel’s smile disappeared as her mood shifted. “You believe Mona.”
“I believe Mona heard Horse talking about you. Whether or not he really knows where you are…” He shrugged. “That’s what we’re hoping your mother can tell us.”
A click sounded as she released her seat belt. “What if they showed up at her house?”
“We need to know.”
She opened her door, but turned back. “But what if she gave them the numbers I called from?”
He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered her. “You won’t know until you ask.”
Myles stood in the opening of Jared’s cubicle. “Grab Linda and bring her to my office.”
Jared’s eyebrows rumpled as he twisted around. “Right now? I’m still pulling my notes together.” He tapped the cheap combination calendar and clock near his phone. “See this? Our meeting isn’t for an hour.”
“I don’t care. I can’t wait any longer.” Like yesterday, Myles had spent most of the morning on the phone with the concerned citizens of Pineview, repeating himself, mollifying, placating, soothing and promising to find a killer he wasn’t sure he could catch. He and his investigators certainly weren’t going to solve this case on what they knew so far. And the more time that passed, the weaker their chances grew. He had to have fresh information, and he had to have it right away. He also needed to keep his mind fully engaged. Even with the pressure he was under, whenever he stopped moving or had half a second to himself, he began thinking about Vivian.
He didn’t like that, mostly because he couldn’t come up with a consistent reaction. One minute he was relivi
ng last night. The next he was picturing the rough-looking character who’d been in her kitchen this morning and wondering if their time at the cabin had been some sort of game.
Rex acted as if he belonged in Vivian’s house.
But a woman who just wanted a quick lay didn’t hold back the way Vivian had done…?.
“You’re a little uptight these days, Sheriff,” Jared complained. “If you don’t settle down you’re going to have a heart attack.”
“I’m thirty-nine.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m talking about an hour. Sixty minutes. I can’t have sixty minutes?”
“I don’t need a typed report, okay? For right now, let’s bypass your meticulous but time-consuming process. I just want you to sit down in my office and tell me what you’ve got.”
“What’s the rush?” He rummaged around inside his drawer for a pen.
Myles spotted a pen on the floor and picked it up for him. Jared’s desk was no cleaner than his car. How he could create such orderly reports and detailed investigations out of this chaos, Myles had no idea. He obviously didn’t feel he could be bothered with the mundane details of life.
“I’ve got everybody and his dog blowing up my phone,” Myles told him. “And in three hours, I have to meet with the mayor and tell him that we haven’t got a clue who killed Pat. Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to that. I want to be able to offer more than what I’ve been telling the people who’ve checked in with me already.”
Wearing a put-upon expression, Jared jotted a few notes on the outside of a manila folder. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”
“You got it.”
Myles planned to spend that time reading the coroner’s report, which the M.E. had faxed over a few minutes earlier. Instead, he received a call from Chrissy Gunther, who wanted to find out what he’d done with her tip about Vivian’s gun. He tried to convince her to trust him with the information, but she was having none of it, so he was infinitely relieved when Jared and Linda knocked on his open door. Waving them in, he told Chrissy he had a meeting. Then he hung up without even waiting for her to say goodbye.
“Sit down.” He eyed the files his detectives were carrying. Several were quite thick—a sign that they’d been doing their interviews. “So?” He rubbed his hands. “What have you found?”
Frizzy dark hair with a sprinkling of gray framed Linda’s face. The only way to tame it was to wear it in a ponytail, which she did, every day.
Dropping her stack of files in the middle of his desk, she slouched in her seat and met his gaze through a pair of glasses that always sat a little crookedly on her nose. “We don’t have a lot, but we’re making progress.”
That was a fairly standard answer. One he’d given himself at least a dozen times this morning. It wasn’t enough.
“Be more specific.”
She glanced at Jared, who nodded for her to continue. “What do you see here?” she asked, opening the top file.
Myles stared at a picture of the shoe impressions he’d already seen on the linoleum of the vacation rental. “Looks like the perpetrator was wearing athletic shoes.” Which he’d surmised when he saw them the first time. He hoped Linda wasn’t going to suggest that this was some kind of breakthrough.
“Correct. Do you notice anything unusual about them?”
He picked up the photographs so he could study each one. “No.”
“Look at the wear on the soles.”
“There is no wear.”
“Exactly,” Jared said. “All the nicks and gouges and wear patterns that make a pair of shoes unique to their owner are missing.”
The lack of imperfections suddenly jumped out at Myles. “They’re new?”
“They’d have to be, right?”
Linda seemed pleased by this conclusion, but Myles couldn’t imagine why. New shoes would only make it harder to tie a suspect to the crime scene. “And this is good why?”
“Hang on,” she said. “What else do you see?”
Tired of playing her guessing game, Myles put down the pictures. “I don’t see anything unusual. Tell me what you’re driving at.”
She set two pictures side by side. “We didn’t spot it at first, either. It wasn’t until we tried to figure out the size of those shoes that it became apparent.”
“What became apparent?”
“Pat had more than one assailant.”
Grabbing the two pictures again, Myles held them close. “That would mean two different pairs of shoes. But…every shoe impression here looks exactly the same.”
“Because they’re all from the same type of shoe. Both pairs are new. The only difference is size. Give me your ruler. I’ll show you.”
Myles searched through his top drawer. It wasn’t as messy as Jared’s, but he’d stuffed too much inside it.
Eventually he came up with a ruler and Jared measured.
“See? One is a size eleven. The other a twelve and a half.”
“You’ve verified this?”
“More than once.”
“You’re saying two men bought the same shoes at the same time.” Myles thought of the guys he’d found on the side of the road. They’d entered his mind so many times. Maybe it was worth stopping over at Reliable Auto to see if they’d picked up their vehicle. If not, maybe he could get hold of them, talk to them again…?.
Linda smiled. “They probably even bought them at the same place.”
Now they were making progress. “Where?” If they could find that out, maybe they could get the store’s surveillance tapes for the two weeks prior to the murder, see who came in to buy athletic shoes.
“According to the database, they’re Athletic Works Brand, which are sold at Walmart.”
They didn’t have a Walmart. The closest one was in Kalispell. There was no guarantee they were even bought at that location, but Myles was willing to try anything. “Have you spoken to the manager of the Walmart in Kalispell?”
“Yes. We’re going out there this afternoon.”
“Good,” he said, but his brief flash of hope had already dimmed. He tried to focus on how the shoe details fit with all the rest. “The odd thing is…this information contradicts everything we’ve established about the murder.”
Linda blinked at him from behind her thick lenses. “What do you mean?”
“If two men bought shoes to avoid leaving prints that could be traced back to them, they were planning a crime. Yet everything about the scene indicates that Pat’s murder wasn’t premeditated, from the choice of weapon to the lack of any effort to conceal the crime or dispose of the body.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, Jared clasped his hands together. “Maybe the murder wasn’t premeditated. Maybe it was meant to be a robbery.”
“You do that much planning? Get your buddy to go with you to buy shoes, then call up a Realtor and ask to see a house, just to grab a guy’s wallet?”
“Why not? It’s the perfect way to have a stranger meet you at a private location.”
“But a guy like Pat isn’t likely to carry much on him. Hitting a gas station would probably net you more.”
“They could’ve taken his car.”
“They didn’t.”
“I know. I haven’t quite figured that out,” Jared admitted.
“Maybe Pat fought them, like you were saying earlier,” Linda said. “Maybe he hurt one, and it really pissed him off.”
“If someone else was hurt, there should’ve been some evidence of it at the scene.” “Ron Howard” and his sidekick hadn’t been sporting any scratches or gouges. At least not that Myles could see. But maybe there were marks he couldn’t see. The lame guy had been covered from head to toe. His excessive tattoos had reminded Myles of prison inmates. Did they have a couple of violent ex-cons on their hands?
Jared jumped in again. “Not necessarily. Maybe the injury didn’t bleed. And they didn’t take the car because they knew it would link them to the murder.”
That made some sense. Myles rock
ed back. “What about the partial thumbprint on the door?”
“Turned out to be Gertie’s,” Jared told him. “After Pat died, she wasn’t thinking straight. Instead of using the phone right there on the counter, she stumbled outside and ran down the street to C.C.’s. Or so she said. I can’t imagine walking away from a phone that’s right in front of you, but…there you have her side of the story.”
Myles could imagine Gertie doing precisely what she’d said. He remembered how disoriented he’d felt when Amber Rose passed away, and he’d been expecting it, watching death’s inexorable approach, for months. “Her husband had just died in her arms, Jared.”
Jared cleared his throat and Linda shifted as if his words had reminded them both why he’d know about this particular situation, and he clenched his jaw, trying to contain his irritation. He hated dealing with the discomfort his loss created in others. That made it so hard to ever be normal, to carry on without feeling as if he was constantly being examined under a microscope. If the good citizens of Pineview perceived him as acting too distraught over Amber Rose’s death, they whispered things like, “He’s got to pick up and go on, for the sake of that little girl. You can only mourn for so long.” And if it seemed to them that he didn’t care enough, as if he was putting her death behind him as so many suggested, they began to doubt that he was being honest about his grief or that he’d ever really loved Amber Rose to begin with. Her death was bad enough. The extra attention he’d had to suffer over the past three years made it worse.
Or maybe, given that he’d made love with someone else for the first time last night, he was especially self-conscious today. Did the fact that he’d wanted Vivian so badly, that he’d thought of Amber Rose and yet that hadn’t lessened his desire, somehow take away from what he’d felt for his wife? Was he capable of moving on in an emotional sense? Had he finally reached that point after all the lonely months since he’d buried her? Or was it only hormones?
Trying to regain his focus, he thumbed through the rest of the files they’d brought until he came to the diagram of Pat’s many injuries. He’d already seen it, briefly, in the autopsy report, but this reminded him of the missing can opener. “Any more news on the murder weapon?”