“Wait, I know that land.” Eddie had looked around a lot before deciding to buy the property on the Sapphire River. “And guess who owns it?”
Bob rubbed his face. The kid looked tired.
“Papa Van Slyke,” Eddie said.
Bob, alert now, nodded. “Interesting. Hunting cabin on the property?”
“Shit if I know. Let’s go find out.”
“Seems like a dumb place to hide.”
“Not if nobody official seems very interested in finding you.”
“Okay.” Bob closed the door on the way out.
They found the road and about half a mile in a two-track pathway. Bob shined the flashlight in the dark, but they didn’t see any cabin. Still they kept riding. Eventually they saw a truck with the name of the garage on the side. “Bingo,” Bob said.
The place was dark, but then it was after midnight.
They walked right into the place, door unlocked. Bob led the way, and Eddie almost walked into him because Bob stopped just inside the door, his flashlight trained on a dead body on a fancy carpet. The mechanic. His head was split open and congealed blood pooled underneath him. Just as they heard a car engine, Eddie noticed no blood had seeped anywhere except onto the rug. Shit.
Bob and Eddie stood there, Eddie dialing Harlan, hoping this new guy getting out of a plenty roomy SUV was not the one who had come to roll the body up and cart it away. Bob flashed his light. “That’s Dean.”
“The ex-cop Lily knows?” Eddie had already hung up with Harlan. Dean came up to the door, took in the scene, and used his own phone to call Harlan. He spoke too low for Eddie to catch his words. But it seemed as if Harlan had let him in on the case. Whatever. He didn’t know what he was doing here except that Lily reminded him a little bit of Courtney at that age. Angry. Lost. Artist who didn’t understand what she was yet.
Bob made introductions as the three men stood there not touching anything, waiting. Eddie was impressed with the ex-cop’s detecting skills. He and Bob knew the area, knew the story, had been working on this thing for Lily all day. Dean had found it in what? An hour?
“Well, boys,” Dean said, “looking at this as an outsider, I’d say the cousin didn’t kill the wife after all.”
Eddie and Bob were silent a beat. Eddie’s mind went through the information like a stack of index cards. He was missing a few of them, but Bob caught on fast enough.
“Papa Van Slyke,” Bob said. “Had to be. He’s got a meeting with Lily tomorrow. Dr. Fass, I mean, Courtney, thought it would be good for closure.”
“That’ll work,” Dean said.
“What?” Bob said over the sound of another engine running up the road. Just as quickly the vehicle rammed into reverse and got the hell out of there.
“The cleaner,” Dean said. “Van Slyke may have done the killing, but he would want someone else to get rid of the evidence. A professional.”
Damn. This guy was good. Eddie felt a little sorry for Bob. He’d been trying so hard to help Lily and be her hero, and now this guy shows up out of nowhere.
“Maybe the tire tracks will help the investigation,” Bob said.
Dean smiled kindly. “Not likely to be found. But Lily had that plan and it takes the DNA lab a few days to get a match, if they find anything they can use, hair, fibers, blood.”
“Lily said her dad’s coming over at one. After lunch,” Bob said.
“That’ll give her plenty of time to set her trap,” Eddie said, all the index cards finally lining up in his mind.
Bob nodded. Dean didn’t say anything, but he nodded too. Eddie had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Chapter Nine
Lily’s father pulled up five minutes late. That was fine. Somehow—slow news day? Dr. Fass magic?—there were reporters in the street. They took photographs of Papa like he was a celebrity. It sickened Lily. She plastered a fake smile on her face, remembering she wasn’t alone. She had a team. Their plan was solid. The entire room was wired with videocams and voice. Lily had hidden them in strategic locations and had, after much deliberation, decided Papa’s weakness was still going to be bourbon. Beside an old-fashioned crystal decanter on a bar cart from the 1920s, she aimed her best camera, disguised in the cocktail shaker, directly at the chair she intended to herd him toward. Around the shaker, soda, a carafe of wine, and assorted bottles filled out the tableau. But a Waterford bucket full of ice and the bourbon was the knife that would loosen the taut thread of Papa’s lies. Her cameras, stashed on the mantel, on a table, in that cocktail shaker, caught every angle of the room. She’d finally have her confession.
When she’d first heard that her father had killed her mother, Bob breaking the news while Dean stood stoic at his side, something clicked. It made terrible sense. She was all in from the moment she saw the idea of a revised plan in Dean’s eyes. Not that any of it would be admissible in court, but YouTube was a power unto itself. And Lily just needed to hear him say the words. Like she’d needed to hear her cousin. She had a moment of anxiety. What if this turned out like that? No. It wouldn’t. There was a clear plan here. It was different. Dean was in charge. Bob was behind her, all the Brymans were. And her gun was still with Harlan Murphy.
Dean and Daniel had skills and resources Papa wouldn’t be prepared for—her father (she hadn’t called him Papa in years, but the name had stuck and now everyone else did) didn’t know one thing about Dean, who was parked at the kitchen table, his laptop monitor watching everything in the room. Dr. Fass was here too. She’d coached Lily on how to handle the hypothetical conversation with her father. She’d also arranged media interviews after the meeting. Everyone, local and national, wanted an exclusive with Lily.
Lily’s team had advised she stick close to the Bryman property and offer “no comment” and she had done so. No reason for Papa to think she’d go rogue once he pulled out of the driveway after their talk.
Dr. Fass was facilitating a “healing” process between Papa and Lily. What a joke, but it got him here. He wanted to look cooperative. He didn’t know she knew they’d found the mechanic’s body at his hunting cabin last night, that DNA evidence had been collected and put on fast track with state and local authorities.
“I’m afraid of him. Really afraid.” Lily gave Dr. Fass one final look as Papa walked up the wide steps to the Bryman manse.
Just an hour earlier, Dr. Fass had asked how her father had come to be known as “Papa” to all the world.
“I used to call him that—before—”
“The rape?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, good. We can use that. It might trigger something in him.” So Lily started thinking of her father as Papa again.
“Own that fear you feel. Use it,” Dr. Fass said, opening the door.
“Hi, Papa.” Lily smiled as cameras clicked. Remember how close you once were; remember how you adored him, Dr. Fass had counseled. Lily took her father’s hand and pulled him into the big room, leading him past the bar cart with the bourbon clearly labeled on an engraved silver insert. Dr. Fass disappeared up the staircase, as they’d discussed. Lily ignored the bourbon on the cart and chose a bottle of water, setting it off to the side as she lifted a cut crystal glass, tossed in a few glittering ice cubes from the ice bucket, and asked her father if he’d like something. She tried to remember not to think of him as Dad or Father or Monster, but Papa.
“Small batch?”
“Hmmm?” Lily pretended not to know what Papa was talking about. He took the glass from her hand and lifted the stopper from the decanter. Poured generously. She picked up her bottle of water, twisted the top, and drank straight from the bottle as she headed to the sofa.
“Let’s get this charade over and done,” Papa said. He sat in a leather wing chair as far as possible from the sofa where Lily stood, pretending uncertainty. It was the spot where she’d aimed the cocktail shaker. He was a predictable man.
“It’s not a charade to me,” Lily said. “I want to apologize for—for�
�” She wasn’t acting. This was hard to say.
“For murdering your cousin in cold blood?” Papa took a large swallow of his drink. The glass never left his hand.
“Yeah, that.” Tears sprang, and she let him see them. “I—lost it for a minute.” She set her water bottle on the side table where another camera was hidden in a lamp. She’d be sick if she took another sip. “Papa…” She let the name hang in the air for a second or two. “Do you know why he was here?”
“I don’t know shit except you killed him.”
Lily didn’t bother to correct his characterization of the scenario.
“Where’s the family? Where’s this shrink?”
“The family are out. My therapist thought it best if we had privacy, so we wouldn’t feel inhibited by her presence.” It was true. Dean was in the kitchen, monitoring the room with a laptop. The family were all out in the back, safely tucked into a garage office.
“So we’re alone?”
“It’s okay.” She laughed, nervous. “The police still have my gun.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid, little girl. But you should be.”
She noticed the slight bulge under his jacket. Holster. He’d called her “little girl,” which meant her act was working. He stood and went over to the cocktail trolley for another drink. Not unsteady on his feet. Yet.
“I am, a little,” she admitted. Let him think he had the upper hand, and anyway, it was true.
He strolled over to the fireplace, resting an elbow on the mantel. Yes, he was a big man. Tall and intimidating. But Lily didn’t feel intimidated anymore. She felt something else. Anger. She waited until he took a healthy slug of his drink, then pounced. “Did you kill Mom?”
Papa swallowed, but his eyes bulged with the effort not to spew or cough. He left the drink—almost empty—on the mantel and marched toward her, roaring, “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” She kept her tone soft and matter-of-fact. “See, I’ve had time to think about it and now that they found the mechanic’s body—”
Papa choked. His face turned red. “When? How do you know that?” He stopped in the middle of the floor. “You’re lying.”
“In the cabin.”
Papa grabbed his glass and filled it so full it sloshed over the rim and onto the rug as he walked to the sofa, sat, and faced her. He ignored the mess he’d made and she did, too.
“It’s not what you think, Papa. I want to know because of what I did. Are we, is there something different about us? That we can kill people? Shouldn’t I feel bad? Do you, Papa?” She looked at him through adoring eyes, the ones that believed he knew the answer to every question in the universe.
He drank. Good. “She was going to divorce me.”
“No! She wouldn’t!” Lily’s surprise was real. Her mom had not said a word to her about any divorce.
He nodded. “Yep. That business with your trust.”
“I understood about that—I told her I did. Her money is your money. Any lawyer knows that.”
“Well, yes.” Papa relaxed, his legs unbending, his fingers unclenching. He gave her an assessing look. “You’re more like me than I realized.”
She smiled, happy little girl being praised by her beloved Papa. “So it’s okay not to feel bad?” But she did feel bad. Not that her cousin was dead, not exactly. But that he’d somehow ruined her for Bob. He’d made her different from other people. She’d killed someone and when you did that, you changed inside. It wasn’t that she’d gotten cold or ruthless or insane. Just different. Outside the circle of normal.
“Guilt is a wasted emotion,” Papa said, draining his glass again and glancing at his watch. He put his hand in his pocket, and Lily held her breath. What if he killed her right here? Right now? But Dean wouldn’t let that happen. Papa pulled out a cell phone.
“Our little reconciliation scene has gone well, but I’ve got business.”
Yes. The mechanic. He’d have to figure a way out of that one. He would. He always did.
Damn. He was phoning his driver. “Can you open the gate at the back?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He’d expected her to do this for him. Then he spoke to the driver. “Pull in when you see the gates open. I’ll come out the back.”
Double damn! No confession and he was heading into the dining room, straight toward the kitchen at the back of the house. And Dean.
Lily hurried to the arch opening into the dining room and grabbed her father’s arm. “Papa, wait.” They were still in camera range. Just.
He shook her hand off his arm, but he stopped. He patted her shoulder. She tried not to shudder.
“I just wish you could stay longer, that’s all.” She pulled at his hand, hanging back. If he left video range, voice range, all of it would be lost, a waste. Part art, part truth, zero result. Papa had not killed the mechanic. Someone else, someone professional and probably out of the country by now, had done that.
“Need to use the facilities?” She’d try anything to keep him from leaving camera range.
“I’m good.”
“Your driver hasn’t pulled through the gate yet.”
“Well, you need to open it for me. Where’s the keypad?”
“I, uh, they told me, and I’m trying to think…” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I’ve been medicated.”
“They’ve got you well protected. You may get off with a slap on the wrist. Powerful friends with too much money. I should have such problems. You did well, little girl. Probably keep your gun in the pocket of those blue jeans, huh?”
Eyes down, she nodded. “When I have it.” She turned slightly so she wouldn’t block the camera on the mantel. It was nestled into a hollowed out wooden owl. “I’m sorry Papa—not for killing him—he took my place in your heart.” Ha. Like he had one. “And for that, well, it’s like I said, I can’t feel sorry he’s dead.”
“No great loss,” Papa said. But he stayed. She knew he liked flattery. Almost as much as bourbon. The stuff should be working on him by now. Loosening his tongue. Think, Lily. What could she say to get him to spill? He’d been crazy about her cousin. Why would he say it was no great loss?
“Mom was a loss to me,” she said.
“I already told you why I did it. She was going to leave. Sue me.”
He didn’t seem to realize that he’d just admitted to murder. She was sure the owl caught it.
And then he was gone, out the back door, Dean and his laptop disappeared. She ran outside for one last look, and to see if Dean was out there. Her father, no need for the Papa charade anymore, had never seen him. But still. She didn’t want them to meet.
The tinted window glided down. “When you get your gun back, be careful not to shoot your ass off,” her father said. He laughed, and she tried for a rueful grin. Dean stood by the door and used a subtle thumbs-up to punch the code from the garage wall. The minute the taillights cleared the wrought iron gates, he led her into the house.
“He’s got some scrambling to do,” Dean said. Lily smiled.
After she’d freshened up inside, she came out back, where the gates were now open and the family sat behind a bank of wide tables. Dean escorted her to a chair near the middle, next to Bob. He sat on her other side. Dr. Fass was there. Ruby, too, brave girl. A guy Dr. Fass knew from her other life was making preliminary statements. Lily would answer no questions until her exclusive interview with a national magazine, directly after which she had another interview on live local television. She felt like she had to do this stuff for Dr. Fass and the Bryman family. For Ruby. Everyone could get closure, Dr. Fass said. Lily just wanted it over.
Dr. Fass answered a few questions, just general things about PTSD and how Ruby was doing. Dean played the voice part of the taped confession. He didn’t explain where it came from, but everyone in town knew Lily was a videographer. It was not a felony to practice your craft. And the questioners had stopped calling her a “shooter.” She was now a young woman who had avenged her mother’s
death and stopped the rape of an innocent girl. She was a hero. But she didn’t feel like one. She felt empty. Numb.
****
Bob watched as Dean pulled out of the state park next to Blue Heaven. He sat in the gazebo above the lake, waiting for Lily. She’d been avoiding him, had moved back into the bungalow last night but then asked to see him this morning. There was one highway that led out of town, and Dean was on it. Somehow, it didn’t lessen the tension in Bob’s gut. Dean headed west, toward Lake Michigan. He didn’t wave good-bye.
Lily came out just as Dean’s tail lights were fading from view.
“It’s not what you think with him,” she said, sitting next to Bob and taking his hand.
“I don’t think anything. I don’t know what to think. You need time. I love you. I can wait.” He knew he had to shut up or lose her. She already seemed gone, far away with her own thoughts, looking out to the big water. Which had been the moment he’d lost her? When she shot the gun? When Dean got to town? Before? He’d never ask, never know. Maybe, if she stayed, someday…
“I’m leaving,” she said. “Gonna chill someplace random for a bit.”
He nodded because he couldn’t speak. He watched her walk away, get in her car, and head down the same highway Dean had just disappeared into. With a shiver of relief, Bob noted that Lily turned east instead of west.
Chapter Ten
When Courtney was a little girl, she’d been playing tag, fallen onto a tin can and cut her knee. It didn’t hurt. Her skin opened up, split in two, looked like peanut butter and jelly all the way across her leg, just under her knee bone. A few of the girls screamed and ran home. Other kids helped her cross the street to her own house because her leg wasn’t working right.
Her mother had been at the grocery store, so her dad had to take her to Doc for stitches. Thirteen of them. That didn’t hurt either. Not even when Doc gave her a shot. What hurt was having to stay on the front porch and watch the other kids play. She lasted a day. Two. But, on the third day, the tension was so great it made her move. She jumped up and went across the road to Cheryl Tanner’s house. Cheryl’s dad had just put up a fence, a wood one, with a top the size of a balance beam like Courtney had seen on the Olympics. It was three feet tall and none of the kids could walk it. Courtney just knew she could balance, stitches or no.
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