As much as he hated to admit it, his cousin had a point. Troy just sat there and yearned for a drink.
* * * *
George called Jon on his way home. “I just saw Troy.”
Silence. Then Jon said, “I don’t resent him for how he’s handling this, I just want him to be fair. I realize that’s a lot to ask under the circumstances.”
Lights flashed by.
“His complicated feelings about you are probably as much a problem as his complicated feelings about Amy.” George navigated through an intersection, aware maybe he shouldn’t be driving, but was fairly sober if not completely. Well, maybe sober was pushing it. If he got pulled over, he’d be in trouble. “I get your concerns, but you have to admit, he has some reasonable doubts. If he knew about the Murray farm discovery—”
“I’m hoping he never does.”
Was that a warning? He’d always wondered if he should be afraid of Jon.
“Not from me.” George meant it. He kept secrets. That was one of his gifts. Look at burying Larimer. He’d never told a soul. Not one.
“Thanks.” Jon sounded composed. “I’m not anxious to be under Troy’s microscope but I can’t control that. I assume that since I’m not under arrest, I can go back to the cabin. Nice of him to call and tell me.”
“I have no idea what you can and cannot do,” George said truthfully. “Call the sheriff’s department and ask. If they found something, he didn’t tell me.”
“There’s nothing to find.”
That he believed. Jon would never be sloppy. At seventeen he’d been cold and calm after his first murder.
“As someone who has helped you conceal a body, I’ll just take your word for it.”
“Why exactly did you call?”
He wasn’t sure, and of course Jon would be reluctant to address that comment. George said, “I’m not sure about moral support and so forth, and I’m not sure either if I’m overstepping my boundaries, but I wanted to make sure both you and Alicia are okay. I’ll admit I’m not usually so courteous, but I don’t have a lot of friends.”
That was true. They were part of an elite and not highly-sought after crowd.
Jon gave a choked laugh. “Way to sell yourself, George. I have no idea what to do next, but I expect one way or another it’ll right itself. Troy will come after me or he won’t. The odd thing is that he and I both feel pain about Amy.”
“That’s not so strange.”
He’d been there for all of it, her infatuation with Jon, but then again her involvement with his cousin too.
He remembered that younger, carefree Jon Palmer. “This is one fucked up place, right?”
“I think I’ve been pointing that out.”
George almost missed his own driveway. His wheels squealed on the pavement as he realized it and braked. “I’m home. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
Definitely too many beers. If Troy had been in a different place mentally he’d never have let him drive.
George went in and traveled down the hallway, plonked down on the couch in his fake man cave that used to have a dresser that smelled like talcum powder, and clicked on the television. There was football on Thursday night now.
Tomorrow he needed to decide how to get rid of Amy’s corpse.
Chapter 20
I think what went wrong is that I realized I always needed to take care of myself.
My abandoned mother couldn’t really accomplish it. She did her best, but in the end it didn’t work very well because she was dependent on someone who’d failed her. She tried to instill in me the ideal that the world was a good place, but that’s just a lie and children know that. Why does a dog or cat stop at the edge of a doorway before venturing out? Because it knows something out there wants to kill it. That is the unfortunate truth. There are those who try to promote humanity and kindness, but danger is always around us. It scents the air and permeates the ground, and when you see a vulture soaring gracefully on dihedral wings in a blue sky in a circle, remember, they are a messenger of death. Scavengers of the corpse, the refuse of a life reduced to carrion fodder.
So, I decided I would not fail anyone, especially me.
Without that conviction, maybe I could have been steered in a different direction. I don’t know.
Jon saw the thin glazing of ice on the edge of the water and knew it was starting. Winter was creeping in, using a strategic machination to take over, yielding slightly by the occasional warm afternoon, but the insidious slide into the depths was coming.
Alicia had gone back to work. He didn’t blame her. There was no reason for her not to go, and as she pointed out, she had bills to pay. He’d offered to help but she’d firmly declined, and he was grateful for that, not because of the money, but because Connie had married him for venal reasons and he wasn’t interested in that kind of relationship again.
Amy’s car next door was now gone, the cabin was silent, and though when he walked in he could tell it had been searched, it felt like his alone again.
They’d taken his laptop and left a receipt. That didn’t make him happy, but then again, there was nothing on it to connect him to anything, so as long as they returned it soon, he was fine. There were his books, and that plain little coffee maker he’d bought for about fifteen dollars, and he still had a few bottles of scotch left.
The place wasn’t a ransacked mess, but it wasn’t tidy either and he wished he cared more. There was fingerprint powder residue on the table and certainly not everything had been replaced in the spot where he’d left it, but all in all they’d been decently considerate.
He made a cup of coffee, splashed in some whiskey, and sat down with one of the books about William Murray which was not exactly light-hearted reading, and tried to once again make sense of what might be going on.
It hadn’t worked for the past twenty years but was worth another go.
William Murray had come to the United States as a small child, and his family had settled in Minnesota on a farm, but that was hardly earth-shattering. His father had left for parts unknown when he was young, and William had lived with his mother and grandparents. His grandparents had caught the same ailment and died within hours of each other, leaving him with just his mother.
From there it had gone decidedly over to the strange side.
One day his mother had disappeared, ostensibly to join his father. At eighteen William had married Anna, the daughter of a neighbor, and they’d immediately started having children, ten of them in all, few of which survived to adulthood.
Jon didn’t even want to speculate on that. It didn’t mean much. Back then survival rates were much lower, especially with diseases like smallpox and polio taking their toll.
What was most compelling was that William had farmed and seemed to mind his own business, but still he was suspected almost immediately of the local disappearances by the sheriff at the time.
That was not reassuring. He knew the feeling. Not that he felt empathy for Murray, but it seemed like Jon was in the same leaking boat. All he’d wanted was sanctuary.
Well, not true, he’d also come for answers.
His mother’s death for one. Now that he’d had that experience with Alicia, he was more convinced than ever that what was out there had caused that sudden explosion of lust and even borderline violence. He had his share of problems, but forcing himself on a woman was not one of them. In essence that was what had happened to him as well, since as a seventeen-year-old boy he had been helpless to refuse or know how to react. He was at least grateful it had hit Alicia first and he hadn’t just dragged her into the bedroom. He still had a pretty high level of remorse over it anyway.
Was it a demonstration of power?
He wondered.
What was it flexing muscles out there, daring him to intervene?
He was resigned when a car pulled in. Troy was bound to show up again, but there was nothing new to see that he was aware of, so he didn’t even rise, but waited for the inevitable knock.
“You should lock your doors,” George said as he walked in, wearing a U of M sweatshirt that had seen better days, and baggy gray sweatpants. Jon knew what to get him for Christmas. It looked like he’d just gotten out of bed.
“Oh, God, real coffee? Where do you keep the cups?”
Jon had to laugh. “I think maybe there’s one more. Top shelf. I didn’t furnish this place. Help yourself. If you want milk or sugar you might be out of luck though. At Alicia’s house, yes, but here, not so much.”
He didn’t rinse the cup, which was probably a mistake, but in the great scheme of things, not the greatest catastrophe. George sloshed coffee in, brought it to the table and sat down to look over the lake. “This is a great view.”
Jon didn’t disagree. It just came with a lot of baggage. “I like it too, but it might not be as restful as I expected.”
“Is there any chance you killed Amy?”
That came from left field, so Jon barely was able to swallow his last sip. “What?”
“Did you?” George looked like his usual stoic self. “I’m well aware you have some psychological issues that might cause memory loss and you’ve admitted as much to me. I know better than anyone you have a potential for violent behavior if pushed.”
Not better. Alicia held that unique honor. She’d seen it firsthand.
“How could Amy push me? Where did this question come from?”
“I found her body at the Murray farm. I actually thought about burying it where we buried Larimer, but guess what, the bank has washed away, so I need to pick another location.”
Jon felt an almost frozen sadness. He’d never loved Connie, and that was his fault. But he’d truly loved Amy in his remote youth with an innocence and depth that wasn’t forgotten. He’d guessed she was dead, but still wasn’t prepared for it.
“Are you serious?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
There was no good answer to that question. At a loss for words, Jon instead looked out over the icy lake.
George said, “She was clearly murdered. Since the last victim was found there, it just occurred to me to look there.”
It had occurred to him too, but he didn’t dare go anywhere near there. He was already in trouble. “I can’t believe Troy didn’t think of it.”
“He did. They’d searched the farm thoroughly. It’s obvious she was killed somewhere else and then dumped there recently. The killer must have kept the body for a few days.”
Is there any chance I did that…no, no chance. That was good news. The blackouts lasted only a few hours.
“I didn’t kill Amy.” Jon could hardly speak.
“You’re sure? Jon, if she came here to see you and I’m told it looks like she was killed in her car, all you’d have to do is drive it somewhere remote and park it for a few days, and then drop the body off and bring her car back here to the next door cabin. This is beautiful country, but it is also full of woods and uninhabited areas.”
The frightening thing was George was right.
“Why would I point the finger of suspicion at myself?”
“If you weren’t lucid at the time, how the fuck would you know what you were thinking? Your theory that there’s this thing inhabiting this area, this spirit, ‘entity’ you called it, is either delusional because you want to explain something inconceivable to your rational mind, or scary as shit because then it could be anyone. For all we know it could be Troy. Amy was about to leave him and he’d like nothing more than to point that very finger your direction. The man I know wouldn’t ever hurt her, but your wacko take on the problem in this part of Minnesota makes anything possible. I don’t think you’d hurt her, either, but it makes more sense than some ethereal presence.”
“Wacko? Is that an official psychological term?” Jon gave a choked laugh, not of mirth, but George’s ruminations were at least correct.
“Absolutely. Psychologists came up with it. Include off his rocker, nutjob, not dealing with a full deck, and my personal favorite: looney bin fodder.”
“Very professional, there, George.”
“If you think surgeons don’t joke in the operating room while slicing open a patient, think again. Our coping skills as human beings are impressive. How does anyone fight a war, wantonly killing people they don’t even know? Speaking of which, Jesus, I don’t think I want any part of Black Lake but I can’t afford to move away. Why the hell did you come back here anyway?”
“I want answers. This is the only place I can get them.”
“What if you don’t like those answers? What if this is like the weather and just out of your control?”
It went back to Murray. Jon knew that. “I don’t know. Let’s solve the problem at hand. George, you have to tell Troy about Amy’s body. Let her be properly buried, let him grieve, let her family know what happened to her.”
His friend’s gaze was steady. “I wanted to give you the choice. Amy is dead, it doesn’t matter to her. If there is any chance you were involved…well, we’ve been friends a long time and I don’t think you’d ever mean to hurt her. I can’t protect her any longer, but I can help you. Mental illness is a tough enemy.”
Tried and convicted in one person’s mind anyway.
Jon shook his head. “I never touched her. I’ve been with Alicia most of the time anyway. Surely there would be blood-stained clothes…”
He stopped talking. That shirt from the day the young mother disappeared. He’d gotten rid of that.
Oh God.
“Just call him,” he said hoarsely.
* * * *
Alicia heard the news about Amy Walda’s body being found from a taciturn state police detective who came into the store to interview her. Unlike Hammond he was unfriendly and brusque, and there were several customers listening, which didn’t help at all with her stammering answers. When the man left, she realized Jon had been right. She had been treated as if it was possible she was aiding and abetting a criminal as an accessory after the fact, and even reminded it was against the law during the interview.
“I do not have a single reason to think Jon Palmer was involved in any way,” she’d said, telling the truth.
Almost.
Except his own hesitation, slight though it might be. Still, that was hardly evidence since his doubts about his stability weren’t based on any facts she knew of. It was not a lie to add, “We’ve spent a lot of time together, even before Amy Walda disappeared. He’s not who you’re looking for.”
“I thank you for the help, ma’am.”
She hadn’t been very helpful. She wished she could help Amy. She wished she could help Troy. She desperately wanted to help Jon.
And fix the world, or so her mother would point out.
None of that was really possible. So she sold beer and hard liquor to people who needed an escape and tried to order her own existence. Not always possible, but she’d give it a shot.
At the end of her shift she debated whether to go home or back to the cabin. Part of her felt Jon shouldn’t be alone, but for all she knew, he’d been arrested and she didn’t want to be alone at the cabin for even the time it took for her to walk from her car to the front door. If she heard that brittle childish laughter in the woods again, it was possible she’d pass out on the spot.
If she saw Larimer’s scarred face in a window again, same thing.
The skeptic had become a convert, there was no doubt about it. There was too much of the unexplained, too many questions…too much death.
George had just dropped in on her and she really needed to talk to someone. It was a complex mix, her and Jon, George and Jon’s friendship, Troy and George, Amy and Jon, then Amy and Troy…
His unremarkable car was in the driveway, so she pulled in behind it. At least with George, she thought, she didn’t need to worry about looking frumpy in her work clothes. As far as she could tell, George probably looked frumpy in a suit and tie. Alicia slung her bag over her shoulder and went
to the door. There was a curling piece of tape over the doorbell, so she knocked instead, and he answered fairly promptly.
“You’re lucky,” he said by way of greeting, “I was in the kitchen so I heard you. I know I have the television up too loud in the den, but who the hell cares, I live alone. I turn it down for pizza delivery, but otherwise jet plane engine decibels. Come on in.”
Alicia highly doubted that he’d changed a thing from the dated surroundings since his grandmother had passed away, but he had a point, he was a bachelor and probably just didn’t care. He pointed at a dining room table off the living room surrounded by old maple chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
He was right, the volume on the television somewhere was up pretty loud but then it went silent and he came back holding several cans. “It’s no secret to you I drink beer. I brought two of these, one for me and one for you and if you don’t want yours, rest assured it won’t go to waste. I have water and that’s about it otherwise. My entertaining skills could use some work. I take it you heard about Amy’s body being found.”
“Just a few hours ago.” Alicia decided that maybe the beer was a good idea. She opened it and shook her head. “Poor Troy.”
His expression was somber. “I feel bad for him too.”
“Why is this happening?”
“You think I can answer that question?”
“Besides Jon, you’re about the only person I can talk to about this. I assume he’s told you his theory.” Might as well throw it out on the table.
George didn’t even blink. Instead he sat back and looked at her. “Yeah, he has. We talked about it just this morning.”
A Cold, Fine Evil Page 16