You Will Never Know

by You Will Never Know (retail) (epub)

  “Ted—”

  He talked right over her, holding up his fingers in a row to emphasize his points. “One, no matter how professional that detective is, the word would get out. He’d have to check my alibi, go to the restaurant, talk to Ben Powell, and people would start talking. That’s a given.” He paused, went on. “Two, I could kiss that Concord development goodbye once those bowtie-and-sensible-shoe-wearing zoning board members thought that Ben and I had anything approaching dirty money.” Another finger. “Third, my real estate business here in Warner would fold up. I’d be finished in another month. Heck, I might even be investigated by the Board of Registration, get my license pulled. And fourth”—four fingers were now up in the air—“I would have pissed off Gus Spinelli, because our meet was supposed to be confidential. And trust me, you don’t want to go through life having pissed off a guy like Gus Spinelli.”

  Jessica unfolded her arms, wiped at her eyes, and said quietly, “What did he offer you, this Gus Spinelli?”

  “Some additional financing through a relative of his, nice and clean. We get that financing, we go back to the Concord zoning board showing that we’ve got the financial resources to proceed, and then we can start breaking ground in a month, start selling lots in two months.”

  She wiped at her eyes again. “What’s the interest rate?”

  Ted looked defiant.

  “Ted . . . the interest rate.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she exploded. “Fifteen? Christ, the highest we can charge for a business loan is under five percent, and you went with fifteen?”

  “We had no choice,” he said, and he surprised her by not raising his voice, not arguing, not putting up a fight. It looked like he had just given up. “We had no choice,” he repeated. “You know how tight things are, how stretched we are. Nobody would front us the money, Jessica. Nobody. Gus was our last option.”

  Seeing his defeated look and hearing the tone of his voice changed something inside her. Now she wasn’t so angry. Now she was feeling sorry for her husband.

  “Okay,” she said. “What next for you, him, and Ben?”

  Ted tried to smile. “Good things. Ben liked what he had to say. We should have the money we need in a couple of days.”

  “All right, but listen to me, Ted. You’re going to pay him back as quickly as possible. These guys, they love to get their hooks into you, they love to milk you dry. Don’t let that happen. I won’t allow it to happen to you and our family. Pay him off, say goodbye, and just make that development work, all right?”

  He nodded. “Jessica, I promise. I so promise.”

  She was exhausted and felt like walking a few steps into their bedroom and just collapsing. But there was one more thing to do.

  “Let’s get the kids down and talk to them, all right? We need to tell them what we told the detective. They need to know we’re protecting them. And we need to know exactly what they were doing last night.”

  Ted looked as relieved as someone being told that a physics final exam had been rescheduled for next week.

  “That makes sense,” he said, getting up from the chair. “I’ll go fetch them.”

  Five minutes later Jessica and Ted were standing in front of their respective children as they sat on the couch together. She couldn’t remember the last time they had talked to their kids like this, interrogating them, demanding to know what they had done. Over the past years, in an unspoken but mutual understanding, Ted had taken care of Craig’s problems while she had done the same for her Emma.

  Ted started. “Look, we had the police in here a while ago, all right? The detective was asking questions about Sam Warner and about you two.”

  No, Jessica thought, that’s not right. She wasn’t about to allow Ted to bring Emma into this.

  “Ah, actually,” she said, interrupting Ted, “Detective Rafferty was most interested in you, Craig.”

  “What?” he said, sitting hunched over, his hands on his knees. “Me?”

  Ted gave Jessica a quick, angry glance and then returned his eyes to Craig, and Jessica didn’t care. So what? It was Ted’s problem, it was Craig’s, and it certainly wasn’t hers or Emma’s.

  “That’s right, son. Apparently you went to the counselor when Sam bullied you.”

  Craig sat back against the couch. “Wasn’t bullying.”

  Jessica said, “Craig, the detective said there were four instances of Sam and you getting into a fight.”

  “Wasn’t a fight either.”

  Ted said, “So what was it?”

  The boy folded his arms, looked up at his father. “You know all about it, Dad. You had to sign that paper.”

  “But tell us again, so your stepmother can hear it.”

  “It wasn’t bullying!”

  “Craig, knock it off,” Ted said. “Tell your stepmother.”

  It was rare to hear Craig talk back to his father like this, and Jessica wondered what was going on in the boy’s mind. Craig glanced at Emma for a moment, as if he were hoping that she would say something or intervene in some way, but Emma kept her mouth shut. She had the slightly pleased look of someone who was not in trouble. The look was similar to what was on her face during award ceremonies, when she was waiting to step up and get what was hers. Contented pleasure.

  Craig said, “It was dumb stuff, that’s all. Knocking books out of my hand, bumping into me hard in the hallway, stuff like that.”

  Jessica didn’t want to say a word, but she felt like she had to do her part as a mom in this crisis. She didn’t want Ted to accuse her later of letting him be the bad cop in this meeting.

  “Then why did the guidance counselor and the assistant principal get involved?” she asked.

  Craig shifted his arms around as if he were trying to squeeze something hard, and he said, “Because some teachers and aides that didn’t know enough to mind their own business had seen it and whined about it.”

  “So you didn’t whine about it?” his father asked.

  “Dad, crap, no,” he said. “What’s the point? Sam—nobody crossed Sam. Nobody. I wasn’t gonna do anything like that.”

  Emma kept on looking pleased with herself, and even though she was Jessica’s daughter, Jessica didn’t like the smug look. What did her daughter know, and why wasn’t she saying anything?

  Ted turned to her. “Jessica?”

  Her turn now. “We need to make sure we know exactly what you two were up to last night. Emma?”

  Even with being put on the spot, Emma still looked self-assured, smug, as if she were prepping to race against a runner from junior high.

  “It was a scavenger hunt,” she said. “Okay? Just like we told you this morning. We both got invites, secret invites, to go out last night.”

  “Both of you?”

  Craig said, “That’s right. Both of us.”

  Ted said, “And do you know who sent them?”

  “No,” Emma said.

  “No,” Craig said.

  “All right, then,” Ted said, and he looked at Jessica, gave her a look as if to say, Okay, here we go.

  “Where were your phones last night?”

  Emma looked puzzled. Craig said, “What?”

  “Your phones—did you keep them with you last night?”

  Emma still looked puzzled, and then Craig shook his head. “Um, no. We didn’t.”

  Jessica nearly had to sit down from relief. It was true, what Emma had said. Neither she nor Craig had been in possession of their iPhones.

  “Go on,” Ted said.

  “Uh, the rules of the scavenger hunt said that we had to leave our cell phones behind. So we couldn’t use Google Maps. So Emma and I, we, uh, took some plastic bags—”

  A relieved voice inside Jessica started saying, Yes, yes, yes . . .

  Emma broke in. “That’s right. We wrapped the phones in the plastic bags, then put them under a bush near the Minuteman statue on the town common. Then we went out and got turned around, and the rain started .
. ”

  Jessica could sense Ted relaxing as well. Maybe this frightening little thing was about to wrap up.

  Then Ted surprised them all. “Where’re the notes?” he asked.

  Craig whipped his head around and looked at Emma.

  What? Jessica thought. What is going on?

  Emma said, “What notes?”

  “The notes you got about the scavenger hunt. About what you were both hunting for. Where you had to go. Where are they?”

  Craig started to talk. “I think mine is back at—”

  Emma interrupted. “We destroyed them.”

  “Really?” Ted asked. “Why? Why didn’t you keep them?”

  There was the briefest of pauses, and Emma said, “There were rules. Whoever runs the scavenger hunt, they don’t want other people to know what’s in it. So we had to throw away the notes when we were done. That way other teams couldn’t have an advantage if they started at a different time.”

  Jessica said, “Okay, we get it. Ted? Anything else?”

  Ted stared at his son and said, “Just this. I . . . I mean, Jessica and I, we’ve gone out on a very, very big limb for the both of you. The detective who was here a while ago asked us if you were both home last night with us, and we said yes. Do you understand?”

  Craig just nodded, but Emma said, “Yes, we do understand.”

  “And if you kids find out any more about who was running this scavenger hunt, you’ve got to tell us. That could be a lead that might help the police. If somebody took your phones and went to the town forest and . . . well, you understand, right?”

  Jessica followed up on Ted’s lead. “We trust you both. We . . . we’re a family. A blended family, but a family nonetheless. We both believe in both of you, and we don’t want either one of you to get into trouble. We both believe you don’t have anything to hide, and that’s why we told the police what we did. I hope you both appreciate that.”

  Emma said, “Gosh, yes, we do.”

  Craig said, “Oh, yeah. We appreciate it.”

  “Good,” Ted said. “Jessica, we done here?”

  Jessica said, “Yes, we are.”

  Later that Wednesday night, after a quiet and strained dinner of reheated homemade beef stew and rolls, she was in bed with Ted, her back to him, breathing softly, staring out the window at a nearby streetlight.

  “Hon, you still awake?”

  She hesitated before answering. What now?

  “Still awake.”

  “I think it went well. Don’t you?”

  She automatically replied, “I guess so.”

  “That story, though, about the scavenger hunt. I find it hard to believe, you know?”

  Out in the distance a train rumbled along the old B&M tracks north of Warner. She couldn’t remember who now owned them. There came the mournful sound of a horn as the train reached a crossing.

  Jessica quietly said, “I do, too. But I don’t want to ask them any more about it, all right? Can we just drop it for now?”

  Ted didn’t answer, and for a moment she thought he had drifted off. Then he said, “You’re right. I can’t believe our kids would be involved in something like what happened to Sam Warner.”

  It was as if Ted couldn’t say the word “murdering” or “killing,” she thought.

  He went on. “So we’ll drop it. Leave it be, hope the police get an early break in the case. As for what went on last night, it’ll be our family secret. How does that sound? A secret we’ll keep forever.”

  She reached around, grasped his fingers as the mournful train horn sounded again.

  “Yes,” she said. “A forever secret.”

  Jessica woke up. She had been dreaming about an earthquake, and she listened to another train rumble along a set of tracks closer to the house. Since the house was so old, trains on the near tracks caused it to shake. She looked over at the clock, saw it was 2:10 in the morning, just as the louder train horn sounded.

  She was thirsty. She swung out of bed, paused. Ted was breathing softly and deeply, and she had a flash of memory, of how her first husband, Bobby Thornton, had snored and coughed during the night, forcing her onto the living room couch when she couldn’t sleep. Ted wasn’t perfect, by God, but at least he never snored.

  Jessica went out to the kitchen, found a glass in the sink, rinsed it out, and took a satisfying swallow of water. It tasted good, cleared her throat. She put the glass back in the sink and it slipped from her fingers at the last moment, hit the sink hard, and nearly shattered. The noise scared her.

  She wanted to go back to bed, but there was something in the back of her mind, something that made her go to the staircase.

  When she got upstairs, she saw a light on in Craig’s room. With the age of the house, sometimes it settled, and the old doors would pop open. She remembered the first few months here, when Emma was convinced ghosts were haunting the place because closed doors would open on their own.

  At this time of the night Jessica felt that fear of the unknown, of thinking maybe Emma was right. Maybe this old house was haunted.

  Craig’s door was open about a foot.

  Jessica moved quietly over, peered in.

  Her stepson was sprawled out on the bed, one long leg dangling over one side. He was wearing checked underwear and a gray T-shirt that had ridden up, exposing his back, and one arm was over his face. His breathing was as slow and as regular as his dad’s. There were no lights on in his room save the screensaver on his computer, just a jumble of shifting, oozing lines of green and red.

  Jessica thought about the secrets that computer held, especially the source of that porn video.

  Any other mother or stepmother might have sneaked in and unfrozen the computer to see what could be found, but she wasn’t any other mother or stepmother. She backed out and went over to Emma’s door.

  It was closed.

  She waited a bit and then turned the doorknob and took a look in. The first thing she noticed was the scent of her girl, the scent of her running shoes and clothes. Any other mother would have found the scent disgusting, but she wasn’t any other mother. Jessica took a step in. She found the scent relaxing, reassuring.

  Her girl was huddled underneath the covers. A nightlight was on, bright enough to illuminate her trophies, medals, and ribbons, her posters of female track stars, and her homemade chart outlining her bright future. A memory ached inside Jessica as she recalled the times after Bobby’s death when they would share a bed because Emma had such scary nightmares and because Jessica . . . well, she found the presence and scent of her daughter reassuring when her husband was gone.

  Not that she missed him that much. No, it was just the emptiness of his not being there and the cold, cold feeling that she couldn’t rely on Bobby for Emma’s immediate future.

  She thought of what Ted had said earlier. Secrets. Family secrets.

  One secret was that private investigator calling from Portland, checking up on Grace’s belief that her brother had been murdered. Whatever was going to happen with this investigator was going to be a secret she would never, ever tell Ted.

  For a brief moment she was tempted to crawl into bed with her daughter once more, to be reassured and comforted, but instead she walked out and gently closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Emma waited until she heard the door click as her mother closed it and then slowly lifted her head from underneath the covers to make sure.

  Yep, Mom was gone.

  What Mom and stepdad Ted didn’t realize was that climbing the stairs caused so many creaks and groans that it was easy to know when one of them was coming up to the second floor. When Emma had caught the usual sounds a few moments ago, she had ducked under the covers to make sure Mom didn’t see anything.

  She hadn’t.

  Good.

  Emma went back to her iPhone, where she was carrying on two conversations at the same time with other girls on the track team, Kate Romer and Melissa McAllister.

  Ka
te: are u still in trouble with yr parents?

  Emma: just a bit. tomorrow shld be better

  Melissa: cant believe Sam W is dead

  Emma: i know

  Kate: what were u and C doing out late?

  Emma: NOYB lol

  Melissa: who’d want to kill Sam?

  Emma: dunno

  Melissa: poor Sam. such a sweetie. you feeling ok after Sat?

  Emma paused at that last message, fingers and thumbs hovering over the iPhone’s keyboard. He was a fucking creep, is what she wanted to type. Instead she wrote

  yeah I know

  followed by a frownie face, and then

  I’m feeling better

  Kate: r u going to Sam memorial?

  Again she paused, fingers over the keyboard. It was warm and safe under the covers, the iPhone light giving everything in here a soft, sweet glow. Times like this she wished she could stay under the covers forever and not think of anything, anything at all. Just her and her iPhone and her friends. That’s all she needed.

  Back to the keyboard, answering Kate’s message.

  I guess

  Then her iPhone pinged again. A third person was now texting her. “Shit,” she whispered.

  It was Craig, just across the hallway.

  Craig: Emma u up?

  “Shut up and go back to sleep,” she whispered.

  Craig: Emma I’m scared

  She switched the phone off, stuck it under her pillow, and rolled over, the covers still enveloping her, still protecting her.

  Before the Warner Savings Bank opened its front door that Thursday morning, branch manager Ellen Nickerson had a quick employee meeting in the lobby. Included in the meeting were the two young ghost employees, who had emerged from their small offices like young bear cubs emerging into the light for the first time in their lives. And overlooking it all was that framed photo of Larry Miles, dead in that climbing accident, smiling forever.