Dead Set

by Melissa Pearl

  He rang the doorbell with gloveless hands and then shoved them back in his pockets. A gust of wind blew his hair sideways, chilling his cheeks and making his nose tingle. Maybe it wasn’t so mild out here after all.

  The door opened.

  “Barbara Dans?” Lucas said.

  The petite woman in the doorway hesitated. She looked like Alaina, Lucas thought. The same tiny build, the same blue eyes and blonde hair, although the woman standing in front of him wore hers just shy of shoulder-length, and it was streaked with silver.

  The woman nodded and offered a tentative smile. “You must be Mr. McGowan.”

  “Please, call me Lucas.”

  She opened the door wider and gestured him inside. He stepped over the threshold and kicked off his boots, leaving them on the mat to the right of the door that had been placed there just for that purpose. He’d never realized taking off shoes was a Minnesota thing until he’d spent time elsewhere. He just thought it was something everyone did, a courtesy thing. He was wrong.

  Barbara led him into a small, formal sitting room.

  “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, perhaps? I just put a fresh pot on.”

  Lucas nodded. “Coffee would be great, thank you.”

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Just cream.”

  “Make yourself comfortable.” She motioned to the seating available in the room, two Queen Anne-style chairs cushioned in a soft blue, and a two-seater sofa, upholstered in gray but fluffed with pillows that matched the chairs.

  Lucas watched her leave. She was silent, her stocking feet making no sound on either the thick carpet in the sitting room or the wood floor that presumably led to the kitchen. Instead of sitting, he surveyed the room. It was clearly where the family accepted visitors: nothing was out of place, and apart from a smattering of family photographs, the room was completely devoid of personal touch. There were no games or puzzles out, no books or magazines left open on the coffee table, no telltale rings left behind from coffee mugs or water glasses.

  He moved toward the credenza and bent down to study the photos on display. His eyes were drawn to the ones with Alaina: her on what looked to be her graduation day, another on a ski trip, and still another of her in a canoe. This was his favorite: her nose sunburned, a triumphant smile on her face, her paddle hoisted up in the air. Her spunk and attitude came shining through in that photo, and sudden desire made his chest tighten. He wondered what it might’ve been like to meet her under different circumstances.

  She’s a client, he reminded himself.

  “Don’t go there, man,” he muttered under his breath and tried to turn his thoughts to something else, but then noticed the boy who was by her side in each of the pictures.

  His throat constricted.

  Noah.

  He’d seen pictures of the boy on his social media accounts and had noticed the resemblance to his sister right away. But seeing them in the same photos, side by side? Their features were almost identical. Same blue eyes, same bone structure, same smile. If they’d been closer in age, they could’ve easily been mistaken for twins.

  He didn’t hear Barbara return, but he felt her presence because he turned back around and she was standing there, a tray in her hands.

  Her eyes darted to the pictures and then just as quickly shifted away. She breathed in and then smiled, a pained, sad smile.

  She set the tray down on the polished wooden coffee table, and Lucas took a seat in one of the chairs. She handed him a mug and picked up the other. There was a plate of cookies, too, plain shortbread and small round cookies that had been dipped in chocolate.

  “Thank you for allowing me to swing by, especially on such short notice,” Lucas said. “I won’t take much of your time, Mrs. Dans.”

  “Please, call me Barbara,” she said. She sipped her coffee, then set her cup back down and sat up straight. “I’m not sure why you’re here.”

  Lucas tried to assume a relaxed, friendly posture. He could see her unease and knew she would be reluctant to talk.

  “I’m sorry about your son.” He met her gaze and continued to look at her when she cast her eyes downward. “He sounds like a good kid.”

  She nodded, her head still tucked to her chin. “Yes.”

  “Your daughter has some…questions. About the circumstances surrounding his death.” Lucas paused. “I was hoping you might be able to offer some insight.”

  Barbara lifted her cup with a shaky hand. She took a long sip, almost as if she thought the liquid she was swallowing would somehow fortify her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  Lucas hadn’t expected her to say anything different. It had been clear from the moment she’d picked up the phone earlier that morning that she was reluctant to talk to him and even more reluctant to meet with him.

  He decided to cut to the chase. “Your son’s death was ruled a suicide, correct?”

  There was a subtle nod.

  “Did Noah seem different to you prior to that day?” Lucas asked.

  Barbara tilted her head just enough so she could look at him. “What do you mean?”

  Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. Sad? Depressed? Upset about anything?”

  “He was not suicidal.” Her words were forceful.

  “Okay.” Lucas nodded. “But did he seem depressed at all? Tell you about anything that was bothering him?”

  “He was not suicidal,” she repeated.

  Lucas let out a small sigh of frustration. During his years as a police officer, he’d been involved in a couple of suicide cases. Denial had been a common denominator in both: family members refusing to believe that their loved one had committed suicide. He understood the desire to operate from this place of disbelief; most people did. This refusal to accept the facts was usually accompanied by profound sadness, too. Anger soon followed. Barbara Dans was clearly still in denial and overwhelmed with grief.

  Lucas shifted gears. “Did he have a girlfriend?”

  Barbara shook her head.

  “What about friends? He had good relationships with them?”

  “I believe so.” Her voice was hollow. “He never indicated otherwise.”

  “Activities? What did he do in his free time?”

  Barbara picked up a shortbread cookie. She held it with two fingers, the dessert poised just above her lap. “He always had homework,” she said. “And he played games. Video games.”

  “Video games?” Lucas said. “Like Xbox or PlayStation?”

  “No. Online games,” Barbara said. “I don’t know much about them. He played on Steam.”

  Steam was a popular gaming website, with a multitude of role-playing games available. Players bought access to the game, usually via gift cards or online payments, created a profile, and then played with people all over the world. Lucas was well-versed with the digital platform after dealing with a swatting case just before leaving the force, a kid from the cities who’d called in an emergency hoax to prank a gaming buddy of his in Aspen Falls.

  “You don’t happen to have his account information, do you?”

  Barbara frowned. “You think he… You think this happened because of a video game?”

  “No, I don’t. But that information might be helpful, to see if he’d spoken to anyone online about situations he might have been dealing with.”

  Barbara’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Why would he confide in total strangers? He has—” She stopped and swallowed. “He had me and his father. He had his sister. He worshipped her. If there were issues he was dealing with, he could’ve talked to us!”

  “I understand,” he said gently. It was obvious to Lucas that the conversation with Barbara was going nowhere. She wasn’t ready to talk.

  “Can I ask a favor before I leave?” he asked.

  She waited silently for him to elaborate.

  “Can I take a look at Noah’s room?”

  She stiffened in her chair.

  “I won’t touch an
ything,” he said quickly.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Well, I’m here because your daughter asked me to come. To look into her brother’s death.”

  “Yes, but why?” Barbara asked. “What is that going to do? What are you… What is she hoping to find?”

  Lucas was quiet for a minute. He didn’t think now would be the appropriate time to tell a woman grieving the death of her son that her own daughter thought it might not be a suicide. And considering Lucas was not at all convinced that was the case, it felt like an incredibly reckless thing to disclose.

  “I think she just wants some answers,” he finally said. “Some closure, if you will.”

  Barbara’s blue eyes were watery, her mouth pinched tight. It was clear that she was using every ounce of strength she had to keep her composure.

  Lucas stood, hoping it might prompt a response from her.

  The cookie she’d picked up moments earlier was still in her hand. She drew in a breath and stood.

  “Fine,” she said. She dropped the cookie back on the tray and straightened the hem of her gray sweater. “It’s downstairs.”

  Lucas followed her out of the sitting room and down the hall toward the kitchen. The walls were lined with more photos, yearly school pictures from the looks of them. He watched Alaina grow from a kindergartner to a senior in high school, all in the span of fifteen feet. Noah’s photos were mounted just below hers, and he also morphed from a gap-toothed kindergartner to a young adult in the ten seconds it took to walk the hall.

  Barbara stopped at a closed door. “It’s down here.”

  “The basement?” Lucas asked.

  She nodded. “He moved down there about a year ago. He stayed up late on weekends, playing his games, and he didn’t want to keep us up while he played.”

  Lucas processed this bit of information.

  “It’s a walk-out basement,” Barbara said, a little defensively. “And his room has a nice egress window. A lot of light, actually, for a basement room.”

  “I’m sure he loved having his own space,” Lucas said. He hesitated. “Should I let myself down?”

  Barbara gave a stiff nod. Her eyes were swimming with tears and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling.

  Lucas grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. He descended the carpeted steps and found himself in a large open room. It looked like a family room, furnished with worn leather couches, most likely castoffs from an upstairs room, and a large TV that had probably been the pinnacle of technology twenty years ago.

  There was nothing that stood out in the main room. He took a few more steps, noting the open doors that led to a laundry room, bathroom and utility room. There was one door left, one that was closed.

  Noah’s room.

  Lucas was sure of it.

  He pushed open the door, his heart rate quickening a little. He knew the body had been removed long ago, but there was still this sense of anticipation, of dread, knowing what had happened in this room just weeks earlier.

  The first thing he noticed was that the room was remarkably clean for belonging to a teenage boy. The bed was made, the slate gray comforter pulled straight, the blue pillow sham aligned perfectly with the bed pillow behind it. There was a bookshelf lined with books, but they were all flush with the edge of the shelving, and the tops were all covered with a thin layer of dust, indicating Noah hadn’t disturbed them recently. A monitor took up most of the surface of the desk in the room, the actual computer sitting on the floor next to it. A single can of Mountain Dew sat next to the mouse pad and mouse, along with an empty Twix wrapper. Typical teen snack. Or breakfast.

  He stole a glance at the closet door, a lump forming in his throat as he surveyed the location of Noah’s death. It was opened just a crack and Lucas approached slowly. With his toe, he nudged the door open. The closet was just as neat as the rest of the room: clothes on hangers, with a handful of dirty clothes piled in a laundry basket on the floor. One sock hadn’t made it into the basket and lay next to it.

  Lucas let out a breath. He didn’t know what he’d hoped to find by looking in Noah’s room, but he knew what he had found.

  A whole lot of nothing.

  He didn’t want to admit it, but the trip to the Dans home had been a total bust. Barbara wasn’t able to talk yet, and there was nothing of importance, no glaring clues visible in Noah’s room. He could dig through drawers and shelves, but he’d promised Barbara that he wouldn’t touch anything.

  He was just about to head back upstairs when he spied the trash can tucked between the bed and the dresser. It was almost overflowing, mostly with candy and chip wrappers.

  Lucas hesitated.

  He’d said he wouldn’t touch anything. But he’d meant personal belongings. Mementos.

  Trash was a different story.

  He crouched down next to the can and tipped it over. Wrappers shook out, falling to the carpet. And papers did, too.

  Lucas sifted through the garbage, grabbing papers and examining them as he did so. There were some graded homework assignments—Noah got good grades, Lucas noted—and some loose-leaf paper that he’d used as scratch paper for math. Pre-calc, by the looks of it. Lucas wrinkled his nose. He’d hated that class.

  He reached for a balled-up piece of paper, expecting to see more indecipherable equations. He unfolded it and scanned the sheet in front of him.

  And froze.

  It was Noah’s handwriting; it matched everything else he’d seen in the pile of trash.

  I know what you did.

  Lucas’s hand trembled. He dropped the paper and reached for another crumpled piece. Smoothed it out.

  I know what you did. And you need to come clean.

  He moved faster now, unfolding the last one with such force that he almost ripped the paper.

  I know.

  9

  Wednesday, March 21st

  12:05pm

  Lucas was late.

  Alaina glanced at the time displayed on her phone. He’d said noon and it was already five past. She let out an impatient sigh and hopped off the couch, being careful not to disturb the piles of paperwork surrounding her. She padded into the kitchen of her tiny bungalow and warmed her coffee in the microwave.

  She’d originally just been a coffee-in-the-morning person, but as her workdays stretched longer and as fall morphed into winter, she’d slowly upped her consumption. Besides water, it was pretty much the only thing she drank most days.

  The microwave beeped and she removed the now-steaming mug, heading back into the living room just as the doorbell rang.

  Alaina set her mug down on the coffee table before opening the door. Lucas was there, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, his breath blowing clouds of white smoke.

  She held the door open and waved him inside. He bent down and untied his boots, then set them to the side, next to the pairs of shoes she kept by the door. She tried not to stare at his shoes, at how much bigger they were compared to her size 5 pairs. It was a little disconcerting seeing his parked next to hers; any man’s, really. Men didn’t come to her house.

  “You’re late,” she told him.

  He gave her an impish grin, and she hated that she noticed how charming it made him look.

  “Sorry,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all. “Got stuck at the tracks.”

  Alaina faintly remembered the whistle of a train horn and grudgingly realized he was probably telling the truth, but still. She allotted for those types of delays: for trains barreling through on the north-south lines, for hitting all the stoplights in town, for slick road conditions.

  “Are we going to stand and talk, or should I sit down?” His smile was even more disarming this time.

  She felt a blush rise in her cheeks. “Of course.” There was something about Lucas McGowan that caught her off-guard, that made her feel a little less confident, a little less sure of herself.

  She didn’t know if she liked it.<
br />
  “Can I get you some coffee?” She tried to remember if there was any left in the pot or if she’d have to make more.

  But Lucas shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  Alaina picked up the papers she’d left on the couch, stacking them neatly before setting them on the table next to her coffee. She picked up the mug and sat down, then nodded for Lucas to take a seat beside her.

  He lowered himself onto the couch, his leg almost touching hers. His close proximity made Alaina’s heart thump erratically. She knew he wasn’t purposely sitting close to her or trying to invade her personal space. It truly was a small couch, almost a love seat really. She’d chosen smaller furniture to fit the scale of the room, and it had never been an issue before. But now, with this hulk of a man sitting next to her—he’s not that big, you’re just small, she had to remind herself—it felt as though it had been sized for a Barbie doll. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body, could smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave. She swallowed. Hard.

  She shifted, as subtly as possible, pressing her left side against the armrest, feeling a stab of disappointment when she could no longer feel his heat.

  “So, you visited my mother.”

  Lucas gave a slight nod, but his attention wasn’t on her. His gaze traveled the room, his eyes resting momentarily on photos and artwork as he did his assessment.

  “This is a nice home you have,” he commented.

  Alaina knew it was. It was the first house she ever bought, and she’d poured hours of blood, sweat and tears into this tiny little home.

  “How did you find this place?” he asked.

  “It’s not exactly hidden,” she said dryly.

  He grinned, his brown eyes refocusing on her. His grin was charming, his eyes warm, and her heart started thumping again.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he told her. “I mean how did you come to be here? It feels like such a lucky find.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” she remarked.

  But as soon as she said it, Alaina realized that wasn’t entirely true. Luck had played a small role. She’d had the cash on hand to buy it when it came up for sale, and she’d made the decision that she was going to embark on this adventure, to see if she could make a go of it, right before the house was listed. Luck had probably played a part in the timing of things, but not in the finished result. That had all been hard work.