Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 03 - Saving Sasha Brown

by Rob Cornell

  Collin almost tripped on one of the boots.

  Beyond the tile stretched a spotless Berber carpeting. I had a feeling Debra Brown was one of those “no shoes on the carpet” kind of moms. Especially not snowy boots.

  Carrie took Collin’s hand. Laying it on thick, I thought. But the smile on that kid’s face and the color on his cheeks turning his acne a bright crimson said it all. Carrie had him under her wiles, and good.

  “Let me go get my mom for this guy. Then we can…ya know…talk and stuff.”

  Pretty sure Collin was hoping for more of the “and stuff” than the talking. Carrie had six years on the kid. I hoped she knew how to let him down easy.

  He untwined his hand from Carrie’s with painful reluctance, judging from the pinch to his face. Then he ran out of the front room through an archway that appeared to lead to the kitchen. “Mom,” he shouted. “That guy I told you about is back.”

  I stepped into the house, closed the door behind me, and turned to Carrie while we had the moment alone. “What are you trying to pull?”

  “What? Collin’s had a crush on me since he broke puberty. I’m going to use it to my advantage. Is that what you private eye’s do?”

  “The seduction thing is a little heavy-handed. Go easy on him from now on. Besides, you’re supposed to be searching for those things I listed.”

  She lifted her chin with a royal sense of entitlement. “And little Collin will give me a grand tour. Trust me.”

  Trust her? She didn’t weigh much, but based on what I’d seen recently, I still couldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.

  By that point, Collin returned with his mother close behind, so our discussion ended there.

  I don’t know what I’d expected. After all I had heard, I guess I thought Mrs. Brown would look like a shriveled old crow of a woman.

  Not so much.

  She looked a lot like Sasha.

  She had the same white-blonde hair with a hint of a wave. It came down over her shoulders to the middle of her back and I swore pixies must have visited her every morning to brush out the beautiful locks. She even had her bangs cut in a straight line like Sasha’s. And the same blue eyes, though Mrs. Brown’s carried a weariness that Sasha’s had been too young to nurture. Unlike Sasha, Mrs. Brown wore blue and white ribbons tied in her hair.

  Yes.

  Ribbons.

  Her physique did nothing to detract from her beauty. She wore a pair of jeans I wouldn’t call tight, but they hugged the right curves the way jeans were meant to. She wore a loose, peach button-up shirt, but it couldn’t totally conceal her ample bust. Besides, she had the top two buttons undone, enough to reveal a tease of cleavage and the cross on a chain around her neck.

  Then she spoke, and I knew right away she could probably sing as magically as her daughter had.

  “Mr. Brone, is it?”

  I couldn’t remember if I had told Collin my name or not. I must have. But the way she said it made me feel like she knew more about me than I’d shared with her son. She must have seen something in my expression that showed my confusion.

  “I did some research online,” she said. “I was especially interested with that incident with the woman a couple years back.”

  She was talking about Autumn.

  I didn’t really like talking about Autumn.

  The wet boots on the floor next to me reeked of soggy leather.

  I tried to steer the conversation onto the street I wanted to follow. “Do you have a few moments to talk?”

  “I’ve been through a lot this week. I don’t really need someone of your…reputation ruffling things.”

  I shook my head. “You’ve got me wrong. My job is to unruffle things. Smooth it out. Get answers.”

  Her eyes flicked to Carrie standing at my side, both of our boots dripping melted snow onto the square of tiles by the door. “Is it true you hired him to find Peter?” Her voice sounded chipper, even with the drop of venom in the mix.

  “Yes, ma’am. Holden, Rachel, and me—”

  “And I, dear.”

  Carrie scrunched her shoulders toward her ears. “Holden, Rachel, and I hired him.”

  “I assume you or your father paid for it.”

  “Just me,” she said. “From my allowance.”

  Mrs. Brown sounded like a schoolmarm, which clashed so hard with her outside appearance, it was like an alien speaking through her human body. (Yeah, I need to cut back on the horror/sci-fi flicks.)

  “Wasn’t that the money you planned on using to go on your mission trip with Sasha?”

  Carrie ducked her head. She mumbled something, but I didn’t understand it standing next to her.

  Mrs. Brown seemed to understand it perfectly, though. She stormed across the living room and slapped Carrie across the face.

  Carrie’s head swung to the side from the impact, but she otherwise did not react. She let her head drop back, her chin on her chest.

  “Hey,” I shouted, louder than I’d meant to, but the woman had startled me with the attack. “Easy there. You’ve got no right slapping her like that.”

  Mrs. Brown lifted one blonde eyebrow. “Her mother and I have much in common. She would have approved.”

  “Her mother isn’t here,” I snapped. “But I am. And I don’t approve.”

  She looked around her, eyes wide, taking in her living room. The dusty organ in the corner. The loveseat along the wall. The two foot-tall crucifix with miniature Jesus nailed to it hanging above the couch. “Yes,” she said slowly. “This still looks like my house. Certainly, we’re not in your house.”

  “All right, I get it.” I didn’t want to back off. I shouldn’t have, for Carrie’s sake. But I didn’t even know what she’d said to earn the slap. I wouldn’t let myself be fooled, though. However much she looked like her sweet daughter on the outside, Mrs. Brown had a demon living inside.

  As if she knew what I was thinking, Carrie whispered, “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have.”

  Shouldn’t have what? That’s what I wanted to know. I couldn’t let this veer off in the wrong direction, though. I took a deep and disapproving breath, before asking again, “Do you have time to speak with me, Mrs. Brown?”

  “Do you swear, Mr. Brone?”

  Now there was a left-field questions. I stammered a second. “I don’t have the cleanest mouth.”

  “Well, you can clean it up while you’re in my home. Also, I’d appreciate you remove your boots before coming inside. I’ll meet you in the family room. It’s straight through the kitchen.” She spun on her heel and sauntered back through the archway she’d come out of.

  Collin peeked through the arch as if waiting for his mom to slip out of sight, then he turned back to me as I tried to take off my boots without stepping in a puddle in my stocking feet. “Dude, you aren’t going to last a minute with her.”

  It sounded like gloating, but I heard the fear behind it, and the hitch in his voice as if he were ready to cry. I didn’t envy his position. A teenage boy with hormones raging, a strict religious mother, a missing father… Even without the tragedy of his sister’s suicide, he walked a fine line. And he still had three years of it at the very least. Longer, if he stuck around like his sister had.

  Rather than address Collin’s comment, I looked to Carrie as I wrestled my second boot off. “What did you say to her?”

  Carrie shook her head. She slipped out of her boots a lot easier than I could mine. She lined them up with the other pairs and started off toward Collin.

  I half-stumbled, half-reached for her. When I grabbed her arm, my clumsy maneuver almost took us both down. We managed to stay upright, and I managed to kick my boot off. Some of the slush around the sole spattered the carpet even though the boot itself landed on the tiles.

  Man, I’ll be lucky if I make it out of here alive.

  I had Carrie by the sleeve of her coat. I tugged her back toward me and tried looking into her eyes. She kept her eyes low, refusing to mee
t my gaze.

  “Help me out here,” I said. “I just let that woman slap you without doing anything about it. You owe me—”

  “I wrote you a check,” she said with a serrated edge. “I know what I owe you.”

  “I wasn’t talking about money.”

  “Then it’s none of your business.”

  I let go of her sleeve. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll ask her instead.”

  That got Carrie’s attention. He looked up at me with eyes as wide as plates. “You can’t. You can’t.”

  “Then just tell me yourself. What’s the big deal?”

  Creases ran through her forehead. Her eyes squinted as if she were in physical pain, forming creases at the corners that could one day turn to permanent crow’s feet. “It was mean. I never should have said it.”

  “How bad could it have been?”

  Her shoulders sagged as if weighted by something heavy. “It’s all God’s plan.”

  “What is?”

  She waved her hands. “No. That’s what I said. She asked me about the money for going on a mission with Sasha. I said, ‘It’s all God’s plan.’ That’s why she slapped me.”

  I got the feeling Carrie was a little less zealous than her friends. “You were mocking her?”

  Carrie lifted one of her seemingly weighted shoulders. “It’s what she always says when something happens we don’t like. It’s her fucking answer for everything.”

  Collin drew in a long, exaggerated gasp. “Carrie! You just said…” His voice turned to a whisper. “…the F-word.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. I’d never noticed looking at her, but even through her winter coat I felt a bone pressing outward as if she were emaciated. To look at her, she seemed perfectly healthy, but I wondered then how good her diet was, if she might even have an eating disorder like anorexia. It was none of my business, and most definitely beyond the lines of my investigation. But let’s be honest…

  When had I ever colored within the lines?

  Last time was probably third grade. Maybe not even then.

  She glared at Collin. “You’re sister’s dead and you still give a shit about swearing?” She hissed. She bared her teeth, which looked dull around the edges, as if something had eaten off the enamel. “You’re as bad as she is.”

  So much for the Mrs. Robinson routine getting her the grand tour. Truth be told, I liked Carrie better with the rough edges showing. I doubted, however, that Mrs. Brown would approve.

  I gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Easy does it,” I whispered.

  Collin stood looking shocked, whether at Carrie’s words or the message I couldn’t tell. The rims of his eyes turned red, on the verge of tears.

  Carrie had a flow of her own tears going already. She wiped at them, nodded to me, then slipped out of my grip and crossed to Collin. She gave him a hug, his spindly body practically disappearing into the fluff of her winter coat. “Let’s go upstairs and play some checkers.”

  Collin nodded, eyes watery now, as if Carrie’s tears had become contagious.

  They went down a hallway to the left, out of my sight. Then I heard the sound of their footsteps creaking on a set of stairs, the sound rising with them to the second story.

  Checkers?

  I thought all kids Collin’s age played video games. Probably another sin on the list.

  Finally bootless, I made my way through the archway which led directly into the kitchen. From there I could see the family room on the other side, the floor plan wide and open, with a large transition between kitchen tiles and family room carpet.

  I unzipped my coat as I passed through the kitchen.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter 12

  I found Mrs. Brown on the couch, her legs tucked up underneath her and a magazine in her lap as if this were just another day in the life. Except she had dark circles under her eyes and a tremor in her hand as she tried to turn a page but couldn’t seem to get her quivering fingers to cooperate.

  She gave up trying to turn the page and tossed the magazine across the room. It landed neatly on the logs in the dead fireplace. From where I stood at the border between rooms, I could glimpse a part of the magazine’s title: His Word.

  Mrs. Brown looked up at me. “It’s a silly magazine anyway,” she said as if I required an explanation. “One of those ‘modernize the church’ articles at least in every issue. I’m going to cancel my subscription.”

  It sounded like she meant to prove something to me.

  I didn’t give a damn what she read in her spare time.

  “May I take off my coat?” I asked.

  She waved a dismissive hand.

  I took it as a ‘yes’ and shrugged out from under the heavy down, which, in the heated house, seemed to weigh a ton. I took the coat with me to a nearby recliner that faced the small TV—still a cathode ray, not a flatscreen—at a right angle to the couch. I sat down and immediately sank into the indentation of a heavier person. My legs dangled over the edge, feet not quite touching the floor. The rocking mechanism itself had worn down so much, it offered no resistance and tipped me backward against my will.

  Not the best interviewing posture. I struggled to slide to the edge of the chair and it thankfully rocked forward again, my feet landing flat on the floor.

  “I appreciate you seeing me,” I said.

  One of her blonde eyebrows rose. “What else would I do? I’d like to find my husband, too.”

  You mean the same husband you sliced open with a knife then lied about it to the medical staff that stitched him up? I smiled. Sometimes that makes the snarky thoughts go away.

  Didn’t work this time.

  So rather than open my mouth and put a foot in it, I stayed silent, waited for her to add more.

  “Are you at all close?” she asked. “To finding him, I mean.”

  “I’ve hardly started, to be honest. I spoke with his brother, but as his spouse, I’d think you would have the best information.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t find Peter at Matt’s house.”

  “Matt’s got a pretty big house. So if he’s harboring your husband, there are plenty of places to hide.”

  Now her other eyebrow lifted to join the first. “You think he’s doing that? Hiding Peter in his house?”

  “I don’t like to rule things out, but I didn’t get that impression when I spoke with Matt.”

  “They’re probably over there drinking and swearing and watching movies with those harlots in them who don’t know how to dress proper.”

  Harlots was a word I hadn’t heard in a while. Nice touch.

  The heat kicked on, sighing from the floor vents and carrying a smoky, metallic scent.

  “When, exactly, was the last time you saw him?” I asked.

  Her hand came up and toyed with her blouse’s collar. “We had a small argument in the kitchen.”

  “But nothing to send anyone to the emergency room?”

  An actual smile touched her lips. “You heard about that.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Brown. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to draw my own conclusions.”

  “I’m crazy. That’s what Matt thinks, right?”

  “I think he feels you’re a bit…extreme.” A lie. Matt thought straight up the woman was nuts, but I hadn’t come here to cast stones, and wasting time on how Peter’s brother felt about her wouldn’t do much for my finding Peter.

  “Extreme?” Her voice sounded craggy when she repeated the word. “I do my very best to please God and raise my family. Without Him, I never would have made it this far.” She hung her head. “Why He has forsaken me despite my efforts, I don’t know.” Then she looked up and stared me in the eyes. “But the Lord never doles out what the spirit cannot handle.”

  I carried strong disagreements to that philosophy. I knew a guy, in fact, with a lot of dead relatives who would very strongly disagree. But I kept all t
hat to myself and pushed on.

  “Is there anyone else besides Matt that your husband might have sought out?”

  “He didn’t have a lot of friends. His bowling team that I set him up with. The Holy Bowlers. Through church. But he didn’t see them outside of the games. And I don’t believe a single member would have taken his sinful self in, especially without telling me.” Her hand moved from fluttering her collar to the cross on the chain around her neck. She worried at it with thumb and forefinger.

  “You and your husband didn’t share beliefs?”

  Her gaze turned soft. She stared off to one side. “Seemed like he used to. Seemed like we had a lot more in common than we do now. Especially before his drinking.”

  Some lights went on here for me. A possible lead I could follow. “Does he have a problem?”

  “He drinks. It’s a problem.”

  “Has he ever got in trouble because of it?”

  She shook her head. “Not outside of me catching him at it.”

  “Did he ever sign up for a twelve-step program, or something like that?”

  “He didn’t need a program,” she said, sounding like she wanted to spit. “He needed moral guidance. But I could only do so much.”

  I had forgotten my definition of drinking problem differed from Mrs. Brown’s. As in, if he drank at all, it was a problem.

  I turned away from the alcohol discussion, trying something else. “Did he keep things from his time in high school? Any old yearbooks or anything?”

  Her brow furled. “Why?”

  “Sometimes people leave old contact info in the books. There could be an old friend or crush he contacted in the last few days.”

  “You think we went off to live with someone from high school?”

  “No, ma’am, what I’m doing is collecting information. The more I have, the better chance I have of finding and following his path. If he contacted an old friend, he might have left that friend with an idea of where he was headed next. See?”

  She frowned. “You don’t have to talk to me like a child.”

  I didn’t bring up the whole incident of her correcting Carrie’s grammar or smacking her, technically a grown woman now, across the face. I stared her down and waited.