by R. L. Syme
“So, you know, too?” The edge in his voice told me I had to tread lightly.
“I don’t know anything, Austin.” I used his adult name, feeling like the Aussie nickname would be too diminutive right now.
“Well, you’ll know, soon enough.” He kicked at the wood railing and the whole deck shook. “I’m sure everyone will find out, since they’re looking into Claire’s murder.”
My breath went shallow, like when an animal hides from a predator and doesn’t want it to see any signs of life. I didn’t ask any more questions, hoping the truth would just spill out of him.
“Claire is my real mom.”
I pursed my lips, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
“Which means Nikki isn’t my real mom.” A sharp pain punctuated the words, like he was still in disbelief. “Not biologically.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Uncle Mike.” He looked down at his feet, leaning back and pulling against the railing. His face was hard and straight, not showing much emotion. It was hard to get a read on what was happening under the surface. “Y’know, when I saw her at the bank, she told me she was my aunt. She showed me the picture from the basement of my grandma’s house. She told me where to look in her old room to find the stuff she’d hidden that they probably hadn’t found.”
“They?”
“Grandma and my m—” He stopped, his lips pressed together, shaking. “Grandma and Nikki.”
“Why did Mike tell you?”
“I was over at Leo’s last night, playing Halo, and they didn’t know I was there.” His voice took on that empty quality again. “I went upstairs to get a snack and the basement door was cracked a little. I heard him and Aunt Jenna talking about whether or not they’d have to prove I was Claire’s son in order to get the money.”
The words flapped out in the breeze like the lonely flag over Auggie’s grave. I tried to gauge his mood. Some people needed a lot of comfort when they were telling you something tragic, and they had this way of emotionally grasping for it, usually with little looks. Austin hadn’t looked at me. Not once.
“Then they talked about whether they’d need a DNA sample from my real father. Uncle Mike said Henry would pay either way.”
My stomach tightened at the mention of Henry’s name. The thing that connected me to this situation—my short-lived friendship with Henry—was the one thing that I couldn’t reveal to Austin.
So, I just kept standing there, hoping he would continue.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and snorted. “Nikki is calling me.”
I almost said, your mom, and held it back. He seemed to have made the switch already. I didn’t want to get in his way.
“You should answer,” I said.
Austin shook his head, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. “She gets off work easy enough for her vet club meetings, like every time she turns around they’re doing something with her freakin’ vet club. If she wants to talk to me so bad, she can come find me.”
“Did you happen to find the knife?” I asked, feeling like the subject of Claire’s murder was about to pass, and trying to keep the momentum going.
“No.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure where it is.”
I forced a slow breath between my lips, considering the ramifications of what I was about to do. It was either swim or drown at this point. I was already in the pool.
“I know you gave it to Claire,” I said quickly.
He froze, all his muscles going on alert. “How could you know that?” he choked out.
“Your uncle Derek told me. He said she showed it to him when she got back from seeing you on Monday.” The words just kept tumbling out. “Austin, I’m worried that was the knife that killed her.”
Austin finally turned to me, his eyes wide. “How do you know that?”
“Deductive reasoning.” I held up my fingers. “She had the knife on her when she last saw Derek”—I ticked off one finger—“but it wasn’t logged into evidence”—I ticked off another—“and I saw a crime scene photo of her. The entry wounds were jagged and wide, like the serrated bottom edge of that handmade blade…”—A third finger.
His face curled up. “Are you sure that’s the knife?”
“Well, not completely sure. Only the police would know for sure.”
He walked toward the door of the house and I followed him. When he passed the bookshelf, I noticed a similar display to the one at Frances Barnett’s house. Big, formal pictures of three military men—possibly even the same pictures—surrounded by boxes. Only none of the boxes on Nikki’s display were medals.
Austin opened one of them. Small and made out of thick wood, it had rounded corners, and its beveled cover bore the remnants of dust. “Could it have been this knife?”
He held it out to me and I found myself holding an exact replica of the knife from the bag that Derek had received. Almost exact. This one had initials engraved in the hilt. LRV.
I turned the box toward the light. There didn’t appear to be any dust on the knife itself, and I hadn’t seen the box before Austin touched it, so I didn’t know if the dusty smudges were new or not.
“I suppose so.”
“Then the murder weapon may not have been the one Claire had.” He took the box back, placing it on the shelf. “Because grandpa made one of these for each of his daughters, his wife and her sisters, and all of their daughters. Each is engraved with the initials of the person he gave it to.”
“Who is LRV, then?” I asked.
“My grandma. Before she was a Barnett, she was a Vincent.”
“Why does your mom have hers?”
“They trade the boxes back and forth, depending on who’s hosting the vet club. They like to keep most of them together, as a whole set. Sometimes my mom has all the medals. Sometimes grandma has them all. But then whoever doesn’t have the display still has a box of these knives.” He ran his finger along the dust on the outside of the wooden cover of the knife box. “It was the last set he ever made, and he never engraved the big one. But I think they might have been for Aunt Cl—”
He stopped again, concern creasing his brows. He didn’t correct himself to mom, but it seemed like he wanted to. I couldn’t even imagine trying to assimilate a bombshell of secrets and lies like that at the age of seventeen. My heart was breaking for him.
His phone started ringing in his pocket—there was no ringtone, but I saw the flashing light. Probably his mother again.
“Do you mind if I ask you something, Austin?” I said, moving to the couch and sitting down. When he nodded, I continued. “What were you and Nikki fighting about earlier?”
His brow furrowed. “How did you know that?”
“I was in the shop across the street, and I saw you come out of the bank.” I tented my fingers, leaning forward. “That’s why I drove down the street after you. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“It’s all right, Miss Vee. You don’t have to worry about me.” There was so much concern in his tone, it took me back a little. He shook his head. “I’m not going to kill myself or anything. I’m just freaked about this.”
It seemed like an odd choice of words, especially considering what had supposedly happened to his biological father, and my skin chilled. “I’m not worried for your life, Aussie, but I’m definitely worried. This is a lot to take in.”
With a bit of a blank look, he walked over to the door and locked it. “Sure, it changes my whole life, but…” He rested his hand on the glass, looking out at the memorial for the man he’d spent his life thinking was his father. “I’m still going to the Naval Academy. I’ll still get out of this town in like six months. Nikki is still my family. She raised me, and she’s my aunt. It’s just. I would’ve liked to have known my real mom.”
“I can imagine.” I sat back, hoping the movement would make me seem more relaxed.
“I tried to tell Nikki that I knew about Claire being my mom. She was in her break room o
r whatever, so she was all by herself, but when I tried to say the words…” He broke off, leaning hard against the glass on the white-framed door. “There’s a reason why she never told me, and I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but it just makes me so angry when people lie to me like that.”
His fists closed, hard, and he pushed one of them against the door frame.
“She must know there’s something going on,” I said. “She’s worried about you. That’s all.”
“If she’s so worried about me, she shouldn’t have lied. That’s what hurt me. If she’d told me from the beginning, I wouldn’t have cared.”
With as much empathy as I could, I encouraged Austin to talk to Leo about the situation. He couldn’t let all of that anger and frustration well up inside him without venting it. I wanted to tell him to talk to Nikki again, but that seemed to be off-limits. The last thing I wanted was to make life harder for him. The kid deserved a break.
Finally, I said goodbye and left the house. As I pulled out of the driveway, I gave the Krantz house one final look. Something had felt incredibly off about the whole visit. I couldn’t quite put it together, but I knew my brain would keep working on it.
I stopped by the school on my way back to the bakery. It looked like the buses were all lined up, just getting ready for school to let out. Leo and Austin’s free final period and senior status gave them the ability to go to the open gym or the bakery after about 2:30pm, but the rest of the students were apparently still in their last classes.
As I turned to go up Mockingbird Lane, I happened to glance at Frances Barnett’s house. There was a familiar Harley sitting curbside, and there was no mistaking the very familiar helmet strapped to the back. It was Derek’s—black with orange flames.
I kept driving, but something else caught my eye as I passed the house. Derek was kneeling next to the side door of the garage, nearly hidden by a row of bushes, fiddling with the door. I made a quick pull-in, leaving the Tank on the curb, and ran back toward the Barnetts.
By the time I got to the door, he was gone, but there were scratch marks on the lock and the door itself was open.
Derek Hobson had broken into his mother-in-law’s house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
One side of the Barnett garage was empty—the side closest to the open door. A Jeep sat in the other slot. Blue, clean, shiny. I couldn’t imagine Frances Barnett driving that vehicle, but stranger things had happened.
I whispered Derek’s name into the darkened space, but he didn’t answer. If I kept following him, would I be breaking and entering? To be fair, the worst I was doing was “entering.” Derek had already done the “breaking.”
Someone had to save this man from himself.
With an indrawn breath, I pushed through the door leading to the house. A laundry room, leading into the kitchen. I didn’t see Derek in either room. I had to get him out of here. It would be worse for all of us if he got caught by Frances. She would have no qualms about having him arrested. Then the knife would be found, and if it really was the murder weapon…
I moved around the corner, whispering his name. There was a slight muffled sound somewhere ahead of me, and I was about to call out to him again when a flash of black darted out from around the corner. My heart jumped up to choke my breath off.
It was Derek, coming at me with a knife in his hand, low and by his side, but a flash of recognition stilled him. The weapon dropped out of sight, but I didn’t hear it clatter to the ground. He swore at me for a good thirty seconds before he got himself under control.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed.
“I saw you breaking in.” I had my hand over my heart, and my breath was barely recovering. “What are you doing here?”
“Returning this.” Derek held the knife up in a slower, non-murdery motion. It was the same knife from the duffel bag. Claire’s knife. “If they all think I’m going to roll over and take the fall for this, they’re nuts.”
“No. Derek.” I rushed forward, grabbing his arms. “As far as we know, the case is closed. They can’t set you up for something the police aren’t investigating.”
“So we’re going to let Claire’s murderer just go free?”
I paused, chewing on that. Of course, I didn’t want that any more than he did. We all wanted justice. “So that’s why they gave you the knife, then. If you don’t fall into line, we can set you up? That’s awful.”
“And I have a criminal record, Vangie.” He shook his head, backing into the living room. “The Sheriff has had his eye on me since I went in there on Tuesday.”
I followed a few steps, so the whole living room came into view. Blessedly empty. My heart wouldn’t return to its normal pattern.
Derek was talking about hiding evidence in a murder investigation, and by being in this house, I was conspiring with him.
Wouldn’t my father be proud?
Derek went around the corner, looking at the hutch that backed up to the kitchen. His hair was tightly caught up in a bun and he wore black leather gloves. He had clearly done this before. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel safer. Or not.
“What are you doing?” I asked, moving into the middle of the living room, toward the big American flag.
“Looking for the place you said this knife goes.”
“Over here,” I pointed at the flag, but my eyes went elsewhere. A book of photographs lay open on the table between the two high-backed chairs. There was an empty spot in the middle of one page, like a picture had been taken out.
Above it was a photograph of Nikki smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower. The orange digital numbers up in the corner, the way some cameras used to date photographs, gave the date of the picture as 1-14-99. At the bottom of the page was a picture of Nikki in a bikini in front of crystal clear blue waters. 2-3-99 was the date on that one.
“Where is it?” he asked again.
“On top of the flag,” I said absently, turning back a page. Nikki’s had traveled across Europe for a quite a long time, it seemed, staring late August of 1998. Not long after Auggie was killed. Just before that was a series of pictures from what looked like a lake trip, dated early August of 1998. The mountains in the background looked like the ones around Hebgen Lake, which was in Southwest Montana.
“You said there was an empty case.” Derek was at my shoulder, the smell of leather wafting past me like a breeze. “What is all that?”
“Pictures of Nikki, it looks like.” I flipped back another page, saw a familiar picture and paused. “Wait. This picture. This is from some ceremony when they started the co-op high school.”
“Yeah. So?”
I pointed to the man who had Austin’s profile. The man I’d first thought was Auggie Krantz. “Isn’t that Henry Savage?”
“Vangie. We need to get a move on.”
“Is it?” I asked, glaring at him.
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“Henry and Mike Van Andel. They look kinda chummy here.”
“This is why you’re going to get arrested, you know. Looking at old pictures from high school.” Derek tugged on my arm. “Yeah, they were friends. So what?”
“Mike didn’t seem very friendly when I talked to him about Henry the other day.”
Derek let out a long, loud sigh. “Will you just tell me where the display case is so I can leave this knife and we can get out of here?”
“I told you, it’s on top of the flag.”
“Yeah, I looked there.”
I turned to that side of the living room, confused. I had seen the case sitting there before, prominently displayed. But all of the medal boxes were gone. The knife case was still on top of the flag, though, and I pointed to it. “It’s right there. Put it in the empty hole at the top.”
“There is no empty hole.”
I took a step closer, and another, until I could see down into the case itself. An exact replica of the knife Derek held was lodged against the mounting pins. The bottom of the
hilt was smooth.
I reached out my hand, but he stopped me. “Don’t touch it,” he whispered.
“But that wasn’t there yesterday. The top hole was empty.”
Derek opened the case slowly, taking the knife off the pins and turning it over. The initials NLB were etched into the handle. Nikki?
Something Austin had said jogged my memory. They sometimes switched medals and knives, like a museum exhibit that moved from place to place. But I had just seen Frances’s box at Nikki’s. Hadn’t I? Her initials, LRV, were engraved in the handle.
Where had this extra knife come from?
“I can’t leave it here,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Dammit, Vangie. You said there was an empty space.”
“This wasn’t here yesterday. I promise, it wasn’t.”
He looked around, his eyes suddenly wild. Stuffing the NLB knife back into the box and closing the top, he said, “Put those pictures back. We need to go right now.”
I reluctantly set the picture book down, re-opening it to the correct page. Derek grabbed me, pulling me out of the room, but I stopped him. From the corner of my eye, I had seen an open cupboard door beneath the television. Another door was nested inside it, but this one was thicker. Metal. Like a safe door.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I knelt in front of the cupboard, peering into the safe’s dark depths. There were two brown picture albums that matched the one on the table, plus a couple of manila envelopes. No boxes of knives. I pulled one of the albums out, just to flip it open, and it was full of more pictures of Nikki—somewhere that wasn’t America, even one where she had on a burka—but these pictures looked more candid, and they were dated a year earlier than the other photos.
One of the pages had an empty space at the bottom, like in the other The picture immediately above it was of Nikki walking along an unfamiliar dirt-packed street. And above that, Nikki with Mike and Jenna Van Andel were walking on what appeared to be the same street. They all looked so young.