Grace found Jessica sound asleep on one of the sofas near the building’s entrance. She had to shake her awake.
“Here,” said Grace, taking her by the arm. “Let’s get you home.”
“I hope we don’t get stuck in a ditch,” said Jessica. “The roads will be a mess tonight.”
“Don’t worry. My truck can get through most anything.”
It quickly became clear that Jessica was uncomfortable with silence. The more Grace withdrew the more she talked.
“Hannah and I met two years ago when I started working in the administrative offices,” she said. “She’d come in to pick up her class schedule for the new term. It was so mundane and yet that was the moment that changed everything for me.”
Jessica didn’t wait for Grace to reply before detailing the circumstances of their first evening out together and how long it took to admit that they had feelings for each other.
Bundled up in their coats, gloves, and scarves, they pushed open the double doors and headed outside. Grace was beginning to wonder if Jessica had any friends she could talk to. Keeping her relationship with Hannah secret for two years would have been lonely and, now that Hannah was gone, it was about to get a lot worse. Grace locked arms with Jessica and together they ploughed through the northerly winds that were blasting across the parking lot.
“I’m not ready for winter,” said Jessica. “I’m not ready for anything.”
* * *
Jessica’s side yard butted up against the railroad tracks that ran through the north end of town. The mournful whistle of a passing train was the first thing Grace heard upon opening the car door. The fallen snow was already turning soupy and the dark puddles trembled as the great lumbering locomotive passed like a shadow through the neighborhood. Grace regarded Jessica for a few moments. The woman had yet to make a move. She sat in the front seat of Grace’s pickup truck staring at her house. Grace went around and pulled open the passenger-side door. Jessica was like a child. Grace coaxed her out into the night and led her to the front door where she fumbled about looking for the keys, checking her coat pockets, backpack, and purse in turn.
“Always the last place you look,” Jessica said, sliding the key into the lock and opening the door. “I could never get my head around leaving my door unlocked. People around here are too trusting.”
Grace didn’t mention her dog, the three dead bolts on her door, or the handgun that was hidden in her shoulder bag. After nearly two years of living without it, she’d started carrying it again. She no longer felt safe in Bolton.
“People around here don’t always know what’s best,” said Grace.
Grace turned on the lights in the front room while Jessica stood watching her from the cramped entryway.
“Come and sit down.” Grace helped Jessica out of her coat and led her into the living room. “I’ll make us some tea.”
The digital clock on the microwave put the time at twenty minutes to three in the morning. Grace went through the cupboards until she found some mugs and a couple packets of tea that looked vaguely herbal. She put the kettle on the electric stove and switched on the heat. She should have asked Jessica if there was anyone she could call before they left the campus. Now it felt like it was too late. She peeked out into the living room. Jessica still had her hat on. She was curled up under a blanket on the far end of the sofa.
“Here,” said Grace. She handed Jessica a cup that had GO BEARS written on the side.
Jessica wrapped her hands around the warm mug and said a quiet thank-you.
“There’s another blanket on the back of the chair if you want it,” said Jessica.
Grace sat in an armchair and sipped her tea. “You have a nice house. Have you lived here a long time?”
Jessica didn’t answer. She’d traded her mug for a small, carved figure of a bird. She turned it over in her hands several times before returning it to its place on the side table.
“Hannah carved this for me from a piece of wood she found when we were out hiking near Big Sky. Have you ever been so happy that it actually makes you fearful? Until I met Hannah, I never felt like I had anything to lose.”
“The police haven’t confirmed anything yet. There’s still a chance it wasn’t Hannah in the house the night of the fire.”
Jessica kept her voice low. “Grace, I’ve been living on hope for far too long already. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Is there anyone I can call? I don’t think you should be on your own.”
“You can go if you like. I’ll be fine.”
Grace didn’t believe that was the case, so she stayed put.
Jessica’s chin dropped to her chest and some of the tea tipped out onto the blanket. Grace took the cup and Jessica mopped up the mess with a tissue.
“Grace, have you ever done anything you regret?” she asked.
“I suppose so, but I think it’s a pretty common feeling.”
“I did something stupid. I’m worried—”
Grace cut her off.
“You got drunk. Stop beating yourself up,” said Grace.
“You misunderstand me.”
Grace didn’t want to hear any more. She was already more involved than she wanted to be. Besides, Jessica was too drunk to know what she was saying, and if she knew something about the fire at Peter and Hannah’s house she could go speak to the police. Grace wasn’t her confessor.
“You should try to sleep,” said Grace.
Jessica took hold of the wooden bird again.
“Will you stay?” she asked.
“If it’s okay with you I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Hannah was sorry. I think you should know that. She wanted to speak to you about what was going on with Peter and so many things. It was just a matter of time.” Jessica’s voice caught. “And now there is no time.”
Grace led Jessica to the bathroom. “Let’s get you ready for bed. My aunt always used to say ‘God’s mercies never end; they are new every morning.’”
“Do you actually believe that?” asked Jessica.
Grace studied Jessica’s face and found someone who didn’t need to hear the truth.
“There’s always a reason to hope,” said Grace. “Until you know for sure, you need to believe that anything is possible.”
Thursday
Grace sat up on the sofa and looked around. She’d been sleeping heavily so it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. A car’s headlights trailed across Jessica’s living room wall. Grace checked her phone. It was coming up on six thirty in the morning, but it was still pitch-black outside. She’d been having a nightmare. Someone was pulling off her clothes. All she could do was watch. She had felt like she was trapped in her own body.
The hallway light was on. Grace kicked off the blankets and went to investigate. Jessica must have passed out on her way to the bathroom. She was halfway out her bedroom door, sprawled across the carpeted floor. Grace gave her a gentle shake.
“Jessica,” she said. “Wake up. Let’s get you back into bed.”
Jessica’s pulse was very weak and there was a pool of vomit beneath her head. Grace took hold of Jessica’s shoulders with both hands and shook her hard. Jessica’s head rocked back and forth but her eyes did not open. Grace went into the bedroom and switched on the light. There was an empty bottle of prescription medication on the nightstand next to the phone. Grace read the label while she waited to be connected to emergency services.
“I need an ambulance to come to 23 Copper Road,” said Grace. “I think my friend has overdosed on Xanax.”
8
Thursday
Macy’s guilt multiplied along with the calories, but the triple stack of blueberry pancakes on the plate in front of her was calling her name. Working flat out had done nothing for her exercise routine. She went to the gym half as often as she used to, and the only running she seemed to do on a regular basis was chasing her son around the house. Full of good intentions, she’d carefully considered the daily sp
ecial on the menu board, resigning herself to the poached eggs with spinach, but a waitress had walked by with a stack of blueberry pancakes for another customer and all of Macy’s willpower evaporated. She dribbled a bit more maple syrup on the pancakes and wondered if she should order the eggs anyway. A little protein might soften the sugar high that was surely coming her way.
She scanned the front page of the local paper. A short article about the ongoing investigation into the fire featured a photo of an ambulance being driven away from the house. Snow was just starting to fall when they’d finally removed the remains at around nine the previous evening. Macy checked the time. Ryan was supposed to be meeting her for breakfast with news from the medical examiner in Helena. Without proper identification of the bodies, her investigation was going nowhere. She caught sight of Ryan speaking to the hostess and waved him over to her table.
He sat down in the chair opposite and ordered some coffee from a waitress who’d come to give him a menu.
“Large Americana, black please,” he said.
“Would you like to order while I’m here?” The waitress pointed to the wall. “The specials are on the board.”
Ryan gave Macy’s pancakes a reproachful glance before ordering the poached eggs and spinach.
“What on earth are you trying to achieve, Detective Greeley?” he asked. “A hyperglycemic coma?”
Macy’s mouth was full of an unholy trinity of blueberries, pancake, and maple syrup. She swallowed the pancakes along with her pride. “I have zero willpower.”
“I hope Aiden likes women on the large side.”
She sipped her coffee. “Please say you have news from the medical examiner.”
He unfurled his napkin. “We have a positive ID on Peter Granger.”
“And the other victim?”
“That ceiling beam did some serious damage. Shattered the skull, pelvis, and rib cage. Dental records won’t do so they’re having to look at other means of making a positive ID, such as DNA, which will take some time.”
“But you’re sure the body is a female.”
“Absolutely.”
“What’s the ME’s gut feeling?”
“You know Priscilla, she’s being tight-lipped. Won’t think of sharing her findings until all the facts are in.”
“And do we have a cause of death on Peter Granger?”
“Given the state of the remains you’d think it was the fire that killed him, but that’s not what happened.”
Macy pierced a pile of pancakes with her fork. “Ryan, stop being so cagey and spill.”
Ryan moved to one side as the waitress served him his coffee. He waited for her to leave before speaking again.
“There’s evidence that he’d been tied up at some point … deep ligature marks on his wrists and ankles.”
“How could you know that if the bodies were so badly burned?”
“Two things saved us from losing all the evidence in the fire. First and most important, the victims were lying under not only a duvet but also a polyester blanket, which is a decent flame retardant. Only the areas that were completely exposed were heavily charred. In Peter’s case this was the entire left side of his body and his head. The female victim’s legs and head were exposed, but her arms and torso were well protected. It also helped that she was wearing a sweatshirt that happened to be flame resistant. Have you heard of a clothing brand called Carhartt?”
“Vaguely.”
“The company started off making clothing for workers in blue-collar industries, the railroads, the oil fields, that sort of thing. They might be considered trendy now, but a lot of their clothing is still produced at a high industry standard. Our victim probably wasn’t even aware that she was wearing a sweatshirt that was NFPA 2112 compliant. It didn’t prevent all the damage, but that in combination with the duvet and polyester blanket means we have something to work with.”
“Any indication she was tied up?”
“Nope.”
“Tell me about these ligature marks you found on Peter Granger.”
“The ligatures were restrictive enough to lacerate the skin. We’re thinking a thin-gauge wire was used. You can actually see where the skin separated.…”
Macy held up her hand. “That’s enough detail at the breakfast table. Could it have been some sort of kinky sex act that went wrong?”
“Would have been some pretty aggressive foreplay.”
“Any wire found at the scene?”
“Nothing so far, but we did find trace metal in the wounds. We’re thinking he’d been tied up for some time, possibly days.”
“Shit. So what actually killed him?”
“A severe skull fracture most likely caused hemorrhaging in the brain. Poor guy was dead before the fire started. Tox screen should tell us if he was otherwise impaired.”
“So, your hunch that this was arson holds true.”
“Looks that way. The fire was probably set to cover up a murder.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. What about the house itself? Has it revealed any clues to what happened that night?”
“No, not yet. The weather moved in last night. It’s too big a structure to protect it in full but they did what they could. You’ve got to admire the crew we’ve got over there. They’ve been working flat out to secure the crime scene. I’ll head over there after breakfast and do what I can. Any suspects?”
Macy shook her head. “Nothing glaring.”
“There was that incident at the university. Did they find any fingerprints in the office?”
“Only Hannah Granger’s.”
“Tell me what you have so far.”
“So far I have a writer with money problems, a wife who was having an affair, an overly efficient PA who should feel resentful for not getting credit for writing Granger’s novels, a woman who claims she was Hannah’s lesbian lover, a missing crime novel that Granger was supposedly working on, a nosy neighbor who was prone to complain, and several colleagues at the Bridger Cultural Center who found Peter Granger’s behavior offensive.”
“What about stalkers? Apparently all these literary types have them.”
“Pippa Lomax is the most likely candidate, and she’s safely tucked away in her home in Wisconsin. There may be others. We’re in touch with his publisher, as they get most of his fan mail. Plus we’ll interview everyone who attended his workshops.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Pippa Lomax was one of his students. It stands to reason there may be more like her out there.”
“What about insurance fraud?”
“A possibility, but there is no single individual that stands to benefit and the art foundations listed as beneficiaries in the case of death aren’t exactly hard up for the cash.” She handed copies of the household’s insured contents to Ryan. “The insurance company has provided us with a list of artwork that’s supposed to be in the house. Let me know if something is missing. Arson may have been used to cover up theft and murder.”
Ryan’s phone rang. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Take your time,” said Macy, holding up her hands. “I’ve somehow managed to get maple syrup all over me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Macy had just finished drying her hands when her phone rang. Alisa was more excited than usual. Macy held the phone a few inches away from her ear.
“I’m right here, Alisa. No need to shout,” said Macy.
Alisa apologized. “I’ve been on the phone with Bolton College. Jessica Reynolds was admitted to the hospital this morning. Attempted suicide.”
Macy’s heart sank. “Is she okay?”
“She’s conscious but weak. They’re assessing her.”
“Are we sure it’s a suicide attempt? Any reason to suspect foul play?”
“It seems pretty straightforward. She’s admitted to taking the drugs. It was a prescription she’s been taking for anxiety. Xanax, I think.”
“As I recall from her statement, she liv
ed alone. Who called it in?”
“I have no idea but I’ll find out.”
“Thank you, Alisa.” Macy checked the time. It was just coming to nine. “I’m about to finish a meeting with Ryan. Let me know if you hear anything more.”
“Have they identified the bodies yet?”
“The male was definitely Peter Granger. There were ligature marks on the wrists and ankles and the ME believes he died as a result of a skull fracture. Tox screen is pending. We’re still waiting on clarification on the female. I was supposed to make a formal statement this afternoon but I think we should give the ME a bit more time.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of rescheduling. Is tomorrow afternoon okay?”
“That should be fine.” Macy headed back into the restaurant. “I’ll speak to you later.”
Macy’s plate had been cleared.
“Ryan,” she said, slipping into her chair. “I hadn’t finished my breakfast yet.”
He pointed his fork at Macy. “Your mother may have told you to wear nice underwear in case you were in an accident, but I think there’s a strong argument for taking it several steps further. Have you ever attended an autopsy of a person who’s been living on a diet that’s high in sugar, alcohol, and fat? It’s revolting.” He pushed a bowl of sugar cubes across the table. “But if you really want to continue down that path knock yourself out. By my calculations you had about a dozen more sugar cubes’ worth of food sitting on your plate. Enjoy.”
“You really are the most annoying man I know.”
Macy waved the waitress down and ordered another cup of coffee.
“What took you so long in the bathroom, or am I not allowed to ask that anymore?” said Ryan.
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