Bonnie went out, leaving the front door open in case the phone rang while she was outside. She jogged off the porch and over to the car, enjoying the warm night air on her arms. If John were home, he’d make them Brandy Old Fashioneds and they’d sit on the porch looking for the moon over the barn. There didn’t seem to be a moon tonight, just lots of clouds. A bat swooped by and Bonnie ducked, then laughed at herself for startling. She didn’t mind the night birds at all. In fact, she thought they were fascinating. She had wanted to put up a bat house near the barn, but John wouldn’t hear of it. He was afraid of rabies. She opened the car door and grabbed Swampy. The car door shutting seemed like an unnecessary disturbance on this quiet night, and she apologized for the sound, though there was no one close enough to mind it. Her nearest neighbor was a half mile away.
She locked the door behind her, then paused in the hallway to look into John’s office. The phone had not rung and there was no sense in waiting for it. At this point, he probably thought she was sound asleep and would be afraid of waking her and Johnny. She flipped the record over and sat down with Swampy. Another chapter of poor Sybil’s life wouldn’t keep her up too late.
After only two pages, Bonnie had to pee.
She came out of the bathroom to find a man standing at the top of the stairs. She jumped, a high, thin sound coming out of her, a scream she stifled because she recognized the man and because she did not want to wake Johnny. She glanced across the hallway at Johnny’s door. It was still closed. She looked at the man before her. The hall light lit the top of his filthy John Deere cap and caused a deep shadow across most of his face. His hands trembled at his sides.
“Carl?”
He did not move or even lift his face to look at her.
“Carl. It’s me, Bonnie. What do you want, Carl?”
He still did not move.
“Do you need some money? Is that it?” Bonnie’s voice rose involuntarily. Her father had once told her that dogs notice things like that. That’s what people mean when they say dogs can smell fear, that they hear the pitch of your voice change, they sense your heart pounding, they smell the sweat on your palms. She cleared her throat and tried to calm her voice while gripping the fabric of her nightie and drying her palms. “Carl. Don’t move. I’ll get you a few dollars. All right?” Bonnie stared at Carl, waiting for acknowledgement that he had heard her, that he understood one single word she had said, but he gave her no sign of comprehension.
Her first step away from the bathroom was shaky and Bonnie had to concentrate to stop herself from trembling. She went into her bedroom quickly, turning on the light and grabbing her purse off the bed. She was just opening her wallet when Carl rushed in from the hallway, moving with a speed that took her breath away and left her without a single instant to prepare for the blow he landed her. His shoulder connected with her ribcage and she flew backwards onto the bed, aware that her wallet was in her hands, caught between them, and coins had flown out of the open cavity to bounce and roll on the wood floor of her bedroom. She heard one spinning on its edge before it clattered to a stop. Carl flipped her onto her stomach and grabbed her by the hair. She cried out and was terrified more by the sound of her cry than by Carl’s rough handling of her. She did not want to wake Johnny. She did not want Carl to know that Johnny slept on the other side of that door. He jerked her around by the hair and she clawed over her head without catching hold of anything. He grabbed her black belt, the one she had worn to dinner, and looped it around her wrists then slammed her back onto the bed and bound her to the headboard. It happened so quickly. Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut as tears streamed down her face. Dear God, please keep Johnny safe.
Chapter Seventeen
Jess and Beckett pulled into Skoghall, tired from the morning’s visit with John Sykes. They hadn’t expected the meeting to be so emotionally draining, and they had driven back with the windows down and music playing, neither of them speaking more than a few words. After checking on Dave and Shakti, they walked across to the Water Wheel Café, letting their curiosity and hunger guide them. A string of bells hanging on the screen door chimed as they entered. The café was empty, but welcoming with the windows open, a breeze carrying the scent of the garden inside, and the sound of the water wheel slowly lapping at the spring as one paddle after another dipped into the water. Jess and Beckett took a table near the window and waited.
Robin came out of the kitchen and grabbed menus on the way to their table. “Welcome to the Water Wheel.” He wore the same broken in running shoes and t-shirt as when Jess first met him. Lucky shirt, Jess thought, or he didn’t have time to pack much when Tyler asked him to run the place in the middle of the busy weekend. “Oh, hello,” he said when he saw Jess up close. “I have your dishes in the back.”
“Thanks.” Jess smiled, making an effort to show him she wasn’t always surly. “This is Beckett.”
The men shook hands and exchanged introductions. Robin had a soul patch on his chin. Jess couldn’t decide if she hadn’t noticed that before or if it was a new addition to his face. Beckett asked about the wait staff, and Robin explained he was acting as server and chef at the moment, cutting staff hours whenever he could to recoup the losses incurred between Tyler’s leaving town and his own arrival.
“Think he’ll make it work here?” Beckett said when Robin had retreated to the kitchen.
“Hope so. I wonder if Tyler is ever coming back.”
“I wonder.” Beckett’s face darkened momentarily. He changed the subject. “So, what do we do next?”
“Find him.”
“John doesn’t think that will help.”
“But Bonnie does, and she’s the one I have to worry about. We know the killer was a Vietnam vet. Where do we find information on vets?”
“The VA hospitals? American Legion?”
Jess let her gaze drift out the window to the bird feeder. Several squirrels foraged beneath it and a blue jay perched on the top of the shepherd’s hook. “What if we find him? Then what?”
Beckett shrugged. “I guess we tell the police and a lawyer, see if we can get John out of prison before he…”
“Dies.”
“Yeah.” Beckett pushed his hair away from his face and blew out a long breath of air. “Jesus, Jessica. What are we getting into?”
“I hope we’re getting out of it.”
Robin brought them their food. The black bean burgers were beautiful, dressed with sprouts, blue corn chips, and a fresh tomatillo salsa on the side.
“Is this Tyler’s recipe?” Jess asked.
“All mine,” Robin said.
“This looks fantastic,” Beckett said.
“Thanks. Enjoy.” Robin retreated.
Jess gestured after him. “The café isn’t suffering any for his being here.” She topped her burger with some of the salsa. “Now, John said he was diagnosed with cancer fifteen months ago, right?”
Beckett nodded around a mouthful of food. “Oh man, this is really good.”
“When did the haunting pick up for Cathy?
“Early 2013, I think.”
“See?”
“See what?” He took another bite of his burger. “Aren’t you starving? Eat. Eat.”
“What if Bonnie knew that John had cancer? What if she started haunting Cathy because she was upset about her husband’s illness and wanted Cathy to do something about it?”
“I don’t know, Jess. That seems kind of far-fetched.” Beckett pointed at her plate.
“Why?” Jess picked up the burger and took a bite. “Oh…you’re right,” she said with a hand covering her mouth. “This is delicious.”
“How could Bonnie know about something happening over in Hadley?”
“Because he’s her husband.”
“Okay, say you’re right. Then what?”
“Then I move in and she puts the pressure on me, because time is short. John said the doctors are giving him a few weeks to a few months.”
“Then we’d better get busy.�
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Jess carried her dishes, final remnants of the party, out of the café, feeling for the first time in days like she was making real progress and was on the way to saving her house. As she and Beckett started across Main Street, Lora came out of the antique store and called to Beckett. She waved him over and he left Jess in the street, hugging her spanakopita pan. Jess watched him bound up the steps and push his hair behind his ears, seeming overly attentive to Lora. Lora tilted her hips, a flouncy skirt swinging with the movement, then led him inside. Jess knew she had no right to be jealous, but she did not like the way Lora looked at Beckett, her… So they had slept together. What did that make them, anyway? He hadn’t held her hand or touched her at all since they left the correctional institution, and those touches now seemed like a friendly comfort more than an indication of a developing relationship. “Stop it, Jess.” Even on a quiet day, it was stupid to stand in the middle of the road, so she finished crossing the street and set her dishes down on the sidewalk.
Jess smoothed her hair back into her grasp and slid a hairband off her wrist. She tilted her head and saw a small, round face in the window over the antique store’s front porch. The girl from the closet looked pale behind the glass. A slight wave in the old window pane distorted her face. Yet Jess could see that she had fair hair styled in old fashioned ringlets. Even through the glass, her green eyes seemed to glow. Her blouse was closed around her neck and had puffed sleeves, an unusual look unless she was a flower girl in some wedding or playing dress up with Lora’s antique clothing. Jess waved to the girl and she lifted a hand to press her palm against the glass. She smiled down at Jess.
“Who are you waving at?” Beckett joined Jess on the sidewalk.
“That girl.” Jess pointed at the window and Beckett looked up. “She’s gone. Does Lora have a daughter?”
“No.”
“Oh. What did Lora want?” Jess tried to sound casually curious.
“She has a customer coming to pick up a sideboard. She needed help moving it near the front door.”
“Do all the ladies of Skoghall come to you for moving help?”
“So far just Lora and you.” He took her hand and turned them toward the hardware store again, pausing to kiss Jess on the brow.
“Hang on.” She bent to get her dishes from the sidewalk and when she stood, Jess thought she saw the lace curtains in the antique store’s front window swish. She hoped so. She hoped that Lora had been watching.
Jess enjoyed the blue sky as she drove her and Shakti back to the house. On the drive to Hadley, they’d seen those sprinkler contraptions in fields and Beckett, whom Jess noticed often made close observations, said the crops should have been taller by now. She turned into her driveway and rolled past the barn, eyeing the smokehouse through the side window. She parked in front of the garage and opened the passenger door for Shakti. The puppy tumbled out of the car and immediately set nose to the ground. She followed some invisible trail in a meandering path across the drive and under the sugar maple where she circled before deciding to squat. A squirrel abandoned the feeder when Shakti approached and barked at her from a higher branch.
Jess was anxious for Bonnie to know that she had met John, and was hoping the news would appease her. When she thought of how long Bonnie and John had suffered, it made her miserable. She went straight upstairs to the office, Shakti at her heels. Jess paused in the doorway and peered into the room, as though it belonged to someone else and she wanted to make sure that someone wasn’t home. Shakti turned and went into the bedroom instead. “Abandoning me?” Jess called after the puppy. She couldn’t help her nerves, despite the confidence she felt at the café only an hour before. It seemed so simple a plan. Find the Vietnam veteran and exonerate John Sykes before he dies of cancer. Now, with that little cowboy pointing his pistols at her, it seemed impossibly complicated. Jess sighed.
She stood before her desk and lifted the sheet of paper in the typewriter. It was still blank except for the question at the top, “What is his name?” She moved the typewriter and set up her computer. Shakti came in dragging a rope toy and curled up underneath the desk to chew happily. Jess arranged her feet around the puppy and began her search for area VA Hospitals and American Legions.
Jess slumped forward to fold her arms on the writing deck and lay her head atop them. She fell asleep with the sun coming in full through the uncurtained windows, bright across her face. While she slept, her heart rate accelerated, her pores seeped enough sweat to dampen her shirt, and her eyes darted behind her lids. It was nighttime, warm and slightly damp. And dark, the moon and stars lost behind low-hanging clouds, the sort of sky favored by werewolf and vampire movie makers. A baby was crying. She felt constricted. Too tight. She wanted to scream. The baby’s cries grew louder, more urgent, and then they seemed far away. Her feet hurt. The pain was excruciating. The baby. The baby needed her and she couldn’t go to him. She heard a door creak open. Jess woke gasping for air with her hands clawing at her throat. She had to blink back the light while her eyes adjusted. When at last she could see, she was looking through the branches of the sugar maple at the smokehouse. The wind had come up and the door of the smokehouse swung open and shut, banging against its frame.
Jess looked into each corner of the room, but there was nothing there. She lifted her feet one at a time to look at their bottoms, to touch them where they hurt, and wonder that nothing was wrong with them. She heard a small sound, a whimper of fear, and pushed her chair back to look under the desk. Poor Shakti was still there, trembling. “Come…” Jess had to clear a croak out of her throat before she could speak properly. “Come here, Bear.” She reached out to the puppy. Shakti fell forward into Jess’s hands and she lifted her from under the desk. While she stroked the puppy’s head, Jess calmed herself enough to gather her wits. She looked down at the computer. She’d been copying addresses and directions off the internet into a document. At the end of her were two words: find him, the cursor blinking beside the M. “She likes to type,” Jess said to Shakti. She looked out the window again at the smokehouse.
That door had been padlocked.
Jess carried Shakti outside and across the yard. She stopped just before reaching the smokehouse, afraid of what she would see. The door banged against its frame. The padlock was on the ground, its shank bent backwards. Jess reached out and grabbed the door with one hand, the other wrapped under Shakti’s armpits. She took a step forward to see inside, fear grabbing at her throat.
Nothing.
Whatever Bonnie had wanted her to see had disappeared with the dream. Jess sighed in relief. Shakti squirmed and Jess set her down, already recovered from her fright, Shakti set off happily sniffing. Jess picked up the lock and turned it over, then tried to bend the shank with her hands, even though she already knew that was impossible.
A tall woman with silvery hair cropped close to her head opened the door. The first days of June were hitting eighty, but she was dressed for air conditioning in dark linen pants and a long-sleeve top of gold and lilac swirls. Laden with jewelry, including diamond rings and a tennis bracelet of significant weight, she sparkled in the doorway in which she stood with a cocktail in her free hand. “You must be Jessica,” she said. “Come in.”
Jess had had no trouble tracking down Marlene Wilkins. She had become a small business owner and civic servant from the early 1980s until she retired a few years ago, a transition that garnered a few local headlines. Marlene had seemed to welcome the opportunity to talk about old times, and Jess was given directions to a newer home in the hills around Red Wing.
The house was the opposite of Jess’s old farmhouse, clean and contemporary with a great room, a high sloping ceiling with skylights, and a view of the hills behind the house. It wasn’t perched on a bluff top, overlooking the Mississippi with a vantage shared with eagles, but Marlene wasn’t exactly hurting in her retirement years. She motioned for Jess to sit on a white leather sectional sofa. Jess struggled to not fall backwards into the deep cushions.
“You must be thirsty,” Marlene said. “I have a cocktail at 4:00 every day. It’s one of the luxuries afforded by retirement. A lack of responsibility, you could say. It’s a nice transition point before the evening comes on. Care to join me?”
“I’ll have what you’re having, I guess.”
“Good girl.” Marlene practically bounced out of her chair and went to a sideboard holding a mirrored tray, crystal decanter, and ice bucket, as well as other bar-tending accouterments. Jess watched as Marlene plucked a lime wedge from a small dish and squeezed it over her drink.
“Thank you.”
Marlene crossed her legs, managing to somehow assume a lady-like posture in the overstuffed chair. “So, you wanted to talk about Bonnie Sykes? I haven’t heard that name spoken in years. Decades maybe.” Marlene paused to shake her head. “How long has it been?”
“Forty years this month.”
“Forty years! Am I really so old?” She put both hands to her cheeks as though checking her skin against time. She lowered her hands to her lap and her face suddenly looked older, having fallen into an expression of grief. Marlene shook her head and reached for her drink. “That poor girl.” The ice cubes clinked against each other as she tipped her glass. “Why exactly are you interested in Bonnie?” Marlene fixed her gaze on Jess with a sudden unnerving intensity.
The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) Page 18