by Jeff Shelby
We came up empty-handed.
Gunnar looked as frustrated and defeated as I felt. I knew he’d wanted to find hard evidence that pointed to someone else being responsible for the drugs. For me, I’d simply hoped to find something that definitively pointed to it not being my son. Because I couldn’t get the pick out of my mind.
“Can I hold on to that pick?” I asked Jill.
Her hand immediately disappeared into her pocket, as if she thought I might wrestle it from her. “Why?”
“Because it’s evidence.”
“Shouldn’t the sheriff have it?” she asked.
It was a fair point. Since the sheriff was the one who was planning to bring charges, any clues that might point to someone other than Gunnar being responsible should be brought to his attention. Immediately.
But I knew the sheriff. And I knew how he “investigated” things.
“I worry about turning it over right now,” I said.
“I won’t.” Jill’s hand was still in her pocket, her fingers curled into a fist. “I’ll keep it until he comes back. If he comes back.”
“Jill.” Gunnar spoke. “Can you give it to Rainy?”
“Why?”
“Because she asked for it,” he said simply. “And because she wants to help.”
Jill stayed silent, unmoving, her fist still clenched in her pocket.
Gunnar’s expression changed, and he frowned at his daughter. “And because I trust her.”
Jill glared at me and I tried not to take it personally. She was upset about what had happened to her dad, and unlike him, she didn’t trust me. She knew we’d been involved in a relationship, and she knew it had ended. And, according to her, she’d been told about after Gunnar had had a few drinks. I didn’t know for certain, but I thought that alone might have skewed his presentation of what had really transpired. If I was being fair, I couldn’t blame her for where her loyalties lay.
But I also really wanted that pick.
“Fine,” she said with a huff. She pulled out the pick and thrust it toward me. “Take it.”
My fingers closed around it and I shoved it into my jacket pocket before she could change her mind.
The last thing I wanted was to have that pick in my possession, but I needed it.
Because I had some questions that needed answering.
Questions that only my son could answer.
TWENTY
I walked back home, but I didn’t go to the main house.
Instead, I turned and headed down the freshly plowed driveway until I was standing in front of the guest house. I had no idea if Luke would be inside, or if he was in my house, but I figured I’d start there.
I stopped at the front door, my hand poised to knock. Should I knock? It was my house, after all. But Luke was staying there, and he deserved privacy. I waited half a second before making a decision. I grabbed the door handle and turned the knob before I could change my mind.
The living room was empty, and I couldn’t hear the shower running.
“Luke?” I used my normal voice, not a shout.
There was no response.
I stepped further into the guest house, noting that he’d continued to make himself at home since the last time I’d been inside. Luke had never cared much for housekeeping as a kid, and it looked as though he’d continued to feel that way into adulthood. There were empty soda cans on the coffee table along with a half-eaten bag of potato chips. Another pair of discarded socks had joined the pair I’d seen the other day, and a wadded up t-shirt was on the floor nearby.
“Luke?” I said again, a little louder this time.
I was met by more silence.
Maybe he was back up at the house. This created a bit of a complication, considering Laura would also be there. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him about a guitar pick found in Gunnar’s barn with his sister hovering nearby. With any luck, she’d be preoccupied with Connor’s arrival, but there was always the chance that she’d be tuned in to our conversation. That didn’t feel like a risk I wanted to take.
I was just about to leave when I heard a voice upstairs in the bedroom.
Luke’s voice.
I listened. It sounded as though he was on the phone, as the conversation was one-sided. His was the only voice I heard.
“Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice growing louder as he approached the staircase leading back into the living room.
“No, I know,” he said. “Yeah, I can do whatever you need. I already told you that.” There was a pause. “I know, and this gig is important to me.”
I felt weird being there without him knowing. I was about to call his name again, to announce myself so he knew I was standing in the living room, when he spoke again.
“Wait. Is that even legal?” The agitation in his voice was obvious. He sighed. “Okay, fine. Yeah. We can figure out details later. I know. I’ll do my best to get it. I promise.”
My throat suddenly felt dry, and I was having a hard time swallowing. Who was he on the phone with? And what were they talking about?
Before I could formulate another thought, Luke appeared on the stairs. He had showered after his short stint shoveling, and his hair was damp, his chest bare.
He looked surprised to see me. “Hey. Shoveling and blowing all done?”
I nodded. “We finished a while ago.”
“Yeah?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Whoa, I didn’t realize the time. I’ve been working on a new song and I guess I lost track.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, his eyes flickering with concern.
“I don’t know.”
He grinned, oblivious to the emotions coursing through me. “I know how to cheer you up.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the couch. “Sit. I’m gonna play you my new song.”
He grabbed his guitar from the wall where it was propped up. He sat down next to me. “It’s a little rough,” he warned.
He bowed his head, his eyes locked on the guitar, and began to play.
And just like every other time he played for me, I was blown away. I’d never had any musical talent, and Charlie, the kids’ dad, hadn’t either. Sure, I could sing along fairly in tune with the radio, but every attempt I’d ever made at learning an instrument—clarinet in elementary school, guitar in middle school—had ended in absolute failure. So to see someone I helped create, someone I brought into the world, be able to produce music, was akin to a miracle.
Luke finished the song and looked up at me with a smile. “What did you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
His smile widened. “It needs some work, but I think I’m getting there.” He stuck the pick he’d been using between his lips so that both hands would be free to retune the guitar.
It was a Nirvana pick, similar to the one that felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket.
My smile, and my mood, faded.
Luke wasn’t looking at me, but he must have sensed this because he glanced up. “What’s wrong?”
It was now or never. I didn’t want to ask the question, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear the answer, but I knew I had to. Not just for Gunnar, but for me.
I dug the pick out of my jacket pocket and laid it on the coffee table.
He glanced at it, confused. “Where did you get that?”
“Is it yours?”
He shrugged. “Probably. Did I leave it in the house somewhere?”
I let out a slow breath. “No.”
He frowned. “So where was it?”
“In the barn.” I paused. “Gunnar’s barn.”
TWENTY ONE
“Gunnar’s barn?” Luke echoed.
I nodded.
He didn’t say anything.
“How did it get there, Luke?” My voice was trembling.
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I…I don’t know.”
My hope plummeted. “Did you put the drugs in the barn?”
He leaped off the couch, his eyes wide with alarm. “What? No! Of course not.”
“How did it get in there, then?” I hated the questions I was asking, hated where our conversation was going and what it might mean.
He paced the living room, his hand brushing back his wet hair. “Okay, the driver from the airport initially stopped at the wrong house.”
This was the first I’d heard of this. “What?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure of the street number, but knew the name of the road. I figured it would be easy to find. Your driveways are right next to each other so he just picked one. I knocked on the door of the house and when no one answered, I went to the barn.”
“Of Gunnar’s house?”
He nodded.
“How?” I asked. “Our houses look nothing alike. You’ve seen pictures of my house, Luke. I sent them to you.”
“I know, but that was ages ago.” He bit his lip. “And…I didn’t open them.”
“What?”
“I know, I feel bad, but when you sent the link from the real estate listing, it was a super busy time for me, and I just never got around to opening it. All the other pictures you’ve texted me have been the inside of the house, or the garden or chickens. That kind of stuff.”
I had no doubt he was telling me the truth about not opening the link; this was typical Luke. Where Laura would pore over every image, looking for ways to dissect what she was looking at, Luke would tell himself he would get around to it later. And then promptly forget.
But that still didn’t explain why he’d gone to the barn…or how he’d lost the pick.
“So you went to Gunnar’s and when no one answered the door, you headed to the barn?”
He nodded again. “I thought I should look around for you before just barging into the house.” He managed to look a little sheepish. “Especially since I didn’t know if I was at the right one.”
“What happened when you went to the barn?”
“Nothing. I looked around in there, saw the chickens and the tractor and realized I was probably at the wrong house.”
“I have chickens,” I reminded him.
“I know.” He gave me a small smile. “But I know your chickens are outside because you texted me pictures. And I was pretty sure you didn’t have a tractor.”
At least he’d paid attention to some of the pictures I’d sent him. “How did the pick end up in the barn?”
“It must have slipped out of my pocket.” He motioned to the jacket hanging on the doorknob of the coat closet. “I was wearing that jacket when I got here, and it was the same one I’d worn home from my last gig. I have picks everywhere. Because I lose them all the time.”
His explanation made sense. Well, more sense than my son bringing bricks of marijuana from California and hiding them in my neighbor’s barn.
But I still had an uneasy feeling.
“Why did you leave? Because of the tractor?”
He hesitated.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just…there was a woman in the corner of the barn when I walked inside. She didn’t see me, but I realized it wasn’t you and that I was in the wrong place.”
“A woman?” I raised my eyebrows. “What kind of woman?”
His brow wrinkled. “Uh…a human kind?”
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “Old, young? What did she look like?”
“Oh,” he said, his expression clearing. “She was older. Probably a couple years older than you. Blondish hair. About your size, maybe a couple of inches taller. I didn’t get a great look at her.
Was he describing Lucy, Gunnar’s ex-wife?
“Where exactly did you see her?” I asked.
“I already told you. In the barn.”
“Where in the barn?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was right at the entrance and she was inside, sort of by the chickens.”
I thought about this. After everything Luke had just told me, I was convinced of one thing. He’d had nothing to do with the drugs. His being in the barn, and leaving the guitar pick there, had been a simple mistake, and didn’t make him a suspect in any way. It didn’t explain the weird phone conversation I’d overheard, but I wasn’t going to focus on that right then.
I was thinking instead about the other person who had been in the barn. Luke said it was a woman—or at least he thought it was. An older woman with blondish hair, a few inches taller than me. It wasn’t even to create a sketch, much less put together a line-up, but there was one person it instantly made me think of.
Gunnar’s ex-wife.
I had no idea if it was Lucy or not. And I was really stumped as to why she would have been in there, especially on the same day that the drugs had been found.
But I really wanted to find out.
TWENTY TWO
I was back at Gunnar’s, holding a container of homemade fudge.
But this wasn’t a social visit. I was there to see Lucy, and to ask her some questions. I just needed a reason to be there, and bringing by homemade goodies was a great excuse to head back over. I had boxes of fudge in the house, and even some in the car, ready to hand out at a moment’s notice as makeshift holiday gifts.
I didn’t know what to think about the idea that Lucy might have been in the barn. I did know, however, that I felt horribly guilty for even considering my son as a suspect. And the hurt he’d expressed after the interrogation was over had made me feel like the worst mother ever. I’d apologized, and he’d accepted, but I still ached with guilt.
Lucy, however, was another story. I had no loyalty to her, and no attachment. If there was a chance she knew something about the drugs, or if she had some kind of involvement in planting them there, I wanted to know about it.
Both scenarios seemed highly unlikely. Gunnar had welcomed her back to the house with open arms, and there didn’t seem to be any animosity between the two of them. There might be a chance the drugs were hers—after all, she had come to Gunnar’s needing a place to stay, so she would have had to bring her possessions with her…including drugs, if she had them. But I had no reason to think she’d plant them to frame her ex-husband. At least not yet, not before I asked some questions and did some more digging.
The only problem was, I wasn’t sure how I was going to go about asking her the questions I needed answers to. But I was going to try.
Jill opened the front door. She’d changed out of her fuzzy lounge pants and was now wearing tight black leggings and a maroon colored top. Her hair was brushed, her face made up.
“Why are you back here?”
I hadn’t expected such a direct question. To be honest, I hadn’t anticipated her answering the door. I’d secretly been hoping that Lucy would answer herself, and that I could ask her directly without having to explain to the other occupants in the house why I was there.
“Um, I wanted to bring by some fudge,” I said, holding out the box.
Jill didn’t take it. “Why?”
“Why not?” I smiled. “It’s my secret family recipe. The best fudge you’ll ever have.”
Jill raised her eyebrows. “Better than the stuff in Ocean City? On the boardwalk?”
I’d never had the fudge there, but I nodded, anyway. I was pretty confident in my fudge-making abilities.
“I guess you’ll need to be the judge of that,” I told her. I extended the box even further and she took it reluctantly.
“I was wondering if your mom was around,” I said, as casually as possible.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
I tried to keep my cool. “I realized I didn’t get a chance to talk to her earlier. About what happened yesterday with the sheriff.”
“You talked to her then,” Jill reminded me.
“Well, yes, but I thought of some more things to ask her.” Like what she was doing in the barn the morning the drugs were discovered.
“Hmm.” Jill stared a
t me, her expression revealing nothing. “Well, she’s upstairs right now. In her bedroom.”
“I can wait,” I said. “I’m not in any hurry.”
“With my dad,” she added, a coy smile appearing. “I’m actually not sure what they’re doing…or how long they’ll be.”
My cheeks burned. “Oh,” I said, nodding, trying not to sound as embarrassed as I felt.
Gunnar was upstairs.
In a bedroom.
With his ex-wife.
“You can wait,” Jill said, throwing the door open wider. “It might take a while. It’s been a long time since…”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence but I knew what she was implying.
“No, that’s okay,” I said quickly. I wanted to talk to Lucy, but I didn’t want to wait for her to finish having sex with my ex-lover in order to do it. “I…I can come back later. At a more…convenient time.”
Jill chuckled. “I’m not sure when that will be. Maybe you should call first?”
I pressed the box of fudge into her hands. “Yeah, okay,” I mumbled. “I’ll do that.”
Jill closed the door and I was left standing on the doorstep with images of Gunnar and Lucy together in bed.
And it bothered me.
Not just the fact that I was thinking about it. That wasn’t what was bothering me. The image itself made my stomach turn, and a surge of emotion swirled through me. I didn’t want to identify it, didn’t want to give it a name, but I knew what it was.
Jealousy.
I sighed and headed back to my own house.
I had no reason to be jealous. Gunnar and I were through. I was helping him out as a friend, because that was all we were. If he wanted to get back together with his ex-wife, even if it was just a little holiday fling, he had every right to do so. It was no different than me sleeping with Declan. I didn’t have to explain my behavior to anyone, and he didn’t need to, either.