“Let me guess. Sixteen years?”
Our eyes met, but mine must have scared her because she returned her gaze to her wine. “I, uh, I did something kind of horrible.”
My stomach tightened but still, I couldn’t imagine that a waif like Amber could even conceive of something horrible to do.
“I didn’t tell the whole truth about the day Bobby got killed.”
“Join the club.”
“He came into Westerling General Store that same evening he died.”
“I know about that,” I said. “It was after he dropped his car off at my dad’s shop. The store was the last place he was officially seen, aside from a few people who may or may not have seen him walking through town a few minutes later.”
“Right, well I was working that night. At the store. Bobby was real nice to me.”
The pride she took in the revelation made me nauseous and I now remembered reading her gushing statement about Bobby. “You sold him a Styrofoam cooler, right?”
Amber inhaled and sighed, but it barely raised or lowered her boyish chest. “Yes. He actually listened to me. Asked my advice, I mean.”
“About the cooler?”
“That’s right.” She sucked down the rest of her wine and glanced at Jersey for a refill, but he was deep in a shouting match with someone on the other end of his phone. She settled for rubbing her fingers up and down the stem of the empty goblet. “But, um, I didn’t tell anybody, not even my parents, ‘cuz I didn’t want to get in trouble or lose my job or anything. And I sure didn’t think Bobby was gonna get killed that night.”
Amber bit her lower lip again. A hint of outliner pencil remained on the upper one, but the lipstick itself had long ago hitched a ride on her chawed thumb and wine glass.
“None of us did, I’m sure.” I tried to project easygoing nonchalance to keep her talking.
“I let him steal beer from the store.” The words sprinted from her mouth now that they’d finally found an exit. “When he left with that cooler, it was full of beer.”
That was the big secret? That Bobby, along with half the teenage population of Lavitte, had sucked down a few beers on a hot August night?
Amber looked over in fear to see if I planned to lunge at her and wrap my hands around her neck. I felt no such compulsion.
“It’s okay, Amber. If he hadn’t gotten beer there, he’d have gotten it someplace else.”
“Thing is, it was at least two six-packs. Maybe three or four. He couldn’t have been planning to drink alone that night.”
She had a point. “Did he say where he was going?” I asked. “Or if he was meeting anyone?”
“Nope. Not a hint. I wasn’t brave enough to ask.” She giggled nervously. “I was kinda thrilled he talked to me at all. The thing is, I never told anyone that he’d bought beer that night and when I got older, I started thinking about all the weirdness of that night, and what if they’d done an autopsy on Shelby Anderson, and what if they’d figured out her and Bobby were drinking the same beer that night? Maybe it would have helped to know that. Or maybe there would have been beer cans as evidence somewhere to help track the events of the evening.”
As much as I liked her theory, and certainly hadn’t thought of it myself, I didn’t think the local forensics team would have been able to differentiate between Bud Light and Pabst Blue Ribbon in Shelby’s two-week-old, decomposed body. But it was an interesting thought. If Bobby wasn’t drinking with Smitty and Jasper that night, who the hell was he drinking with? And what had happened to that cooler?
“One more thing,” she said. “And this I definitely should’ve told the police in case Bobby used it.”
“Used what?”
“He shoved a disposable camera in that cooler. One of those cheap ones that you only use for a night. He didn’t think I saw him, but I did.”
I limited my reaction to a jaw clench and a mild tremble but my teeth chomped down hard on the lining of my mouth. “Camera? Bobby had a camera with him the night he died?”
“Well, he had it with him when he left the store that night.”
Stupid, emaciated wench. If the police had known that, they could have searched high and low for that camera. It might have offered real clues to Bobby’s whereabouts. Maybe he took a picture of his drinking buddies or of Artie’s Autos before his arrival. Maybe he got a photo of his killer.
I gasped.
Unbidden, a potential photograph flashed through my mind. An image I’d seen a few times myself. I saw it as a Polaroid picture unrolling itself like an accusatory scroll. First would come the heavy work boots, splattered with oil and red clay soil, then the grey jumper on the lean, slightly bowed legs. At chest level would be those magnificent, capable hands, still dirty from a hard day’s work, the nails stained with the grease that never quite came off. In the hands would be a gun, old and well-used. Then the narrow shoulders and veiny neck, and finally, my father’s face, his black saucer eyes filled with a visceral hatred as they stared at the helpless, squirming figure of Bobby Kettrick, wielding nothing but a disposable camera.
I needed that camera, but it might kill me to see it.
Chapter 33
Bobby… sixteen years ago
Bobby pulled Shelby in on the rope just enough so he could focus on her chest and make sure that her face was in the frame, too. Before Shelby realized what he was doing, he snapped the shutter twice on the camera he’d stolen from Westerling’s. He sure hoped that Amber chick worked every Friday from now on. He and Smitty and Jasper could make out like bandits.
“Bobby Kettrick! You stop that!” Shelby shouted.
“Why?”
“I don’t want nobody seeing those pictures!”
“Not even me?”
Shelby smiled and blinked her eyes slowly at Bobby the same way movie stars did to leading men. He knew she was hoping that these photos might win her the most coveted spot in the school—as his girlfriend. He watched her face flush just thinking about it. Who knew? Maybe he’d make it happen for her.
Bobby adjusted his boxers. He’d need to take off his jeans soon. It was getting crowded down there. He set the camera on the loft and held Shelby in midair, still close enough that she could see his expression, which darkened considerably from the shy, playful boy he’d been five minutes ago.
Bobby’s voice carried a new edge, sharp enough to draw blood. “I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do with those pictures, Shelby.”
Shelby frowned, uncomfortable with Bobby’s sudden change in demeanor. She clutched the itchy rope closer to her body, her shirt still dangling from her wrist, which was still attached to the primary rope.
Bobby grinned, but not the way he had earlier. “I’m gonna go down to Westerling’s General Store and I’m gonna develop those pictures. At least three copies. And the first set, I’m gonna keep under my pillow.”
Shelby couldn’t decide between being flattered or scared. She half smiled but then withdrew it.
“I’ll let you figure out what I’m gonna do while I’m staring at it. The second set, I’m gonna hang in the boys’ bathroom at the high school. You’re familiar with boys’ room, aren’t you, Shelby?”
Shelby’s face clouded over as she realized that a lot of the horrible stuff she’d heard about Bobby Kettrick might be true.
“And the third set, well that’s going right through the United States Postal Service. Gonna mail those pictures to your father. Maybe blow ‘em up into poster size first.”
Shelby forced a nervous giggle. “Bobby, would you get serious, please? I know you’re only kidding around. Come on, pull me in and we can finish those beers and talk a while.”
“Talk, Shelby? Talk? Gimme a break.”
“This ain’t funny no more,” she said. “Now you bring me in.” Shelby reached down and awkwardly grabbed the anchor rope with one hand, trying to pull herself in while muttering something about her father being right. Bobby let out the slack on the rope and Shelby found herself farther fr
om the loft than when she’d started.
“That’s not funny,” she said again, though it was evident to both of them that the humor of the situation had left the building several minutes ago.
She tried to reel herself in again, but Bobby released it some more.
“You keep doing that,” Bobby said, “and I’ll have to let go altogether.” He dangled the very end of the rope loosely between his fingers. With his other hand, he reached over to an open beer and sucked down a big gulp.
Shelby began to cry. “You’re a bastard, you know that, Bobby?”
“Oh come on,” Bobby said, softening his expression. “I’m just playing. You know I’m gonna let you in.”
“You are?” Shelby said, wiping her nose with her shirt.
“’Course. Did you think I was serious just now?”
Shelby breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. “I don’t know.”
“So you wanna come in now?”
“Yeah, I’m getting tired.”
“Okay. You just gotta show me what’s under that bra first.”
“What?” she said, shaking her head and trying to figure out which Bobby she was dealing with on a moment-by-moment basis.
“Show me what’s under there,” he said, dipping his head toward her chest before finishing the beer and tossing the can back over his shoulder.
“No way. I’ll sit up here all night ‘fore I do that.”
“Oh come on,” Bobby said. “I can already see everything anyway. With the sweat pouring down your chest, that bra is like glass.”
Shelby glanced down. Her mouth fell open in surprise and she almost laughed. “Ohmigod,” she said. “I am so embarrassed. I get dressed in the closet half the time ‘cuz my brothers are always buzzing about. I didn’t realize it’d gotten so sheer.”
“Come on, Shelby,” Bobby said, putting on his reliable self-pity face. “You’re the hottest girl coming into high school next year and you know it. I mean, look at you. You’re all grown up.”
Shelby’s need to be liked—maybe even popular—trumped any threats of sexual blackmail. As Bobby suspected it would.
He played his final card. “I mean, we could be a couple next year. That would be so cool.”
Shelby could barely contain herself.
Bobby could see her reviewing all the hushed conversations she and her friends had held over the years about when it was okay to go to first base, second, third, and all the way home. Right now, he’d settle for second. Apparently, so would Shelby.
“All right,” she said. “But you gotta throw down that camera. I ain’t having—”
Before she could finish her ultimatum, Bobby tossed the camera. It flew high in the air like a football in search of a wide receiver, then it peaked and fell towards the hay below, traveling fast for its light weight, as if carrying the darkness of its owner’s threats. It landed softly, making only a scuff of sound.
“There,” Bobby said. “See? I was just messing with you. Now come on, show your new boyfriend what’ll be under his prom date’s dress next year.”
That did it for Shelby. A freshman going with Bobby Kettrick to the prom? She’d be the envy of even the senior girls. “All right,” she said, “but then you really gotta let me in. This seat’s getting sweaty and my arms are about tuckered out.”
“I swear on my mother’s heart.” Bobby wasn’t even sure his mother had a heart. She was such a drip. Treated him like he was five, stood up for him when she should’ve whooped his ass, and worshipped the ground he walked on when she should have knocked his feet out from under him. Probably should’ve had more kids so she could’ve spread her attention around a little, but even with her laser-like focus on him and his dad, she never seemed to have a clue what either of them was really up to. Christ, how could she not know about his dad’s girlfriends over the years? Bobby knew of at least three, and he’d figured it out when he was twelve.
Shelby’s giggle and nervous intakes of breath brought him back to the present. Besides, he didn’t want to think about his mother right now. He gnashed his teeth and let his nostrils flare as he prepared to take in the fullness of the moment.
The bra had one of those front clasps, nothing but a tiny, throwaway piece of plastic. Amazing that it held at all. Shelby reached up and unhooked it. It was so hot, she had to shimmy to get the material from her skin. When it finally fell away, her breasts poured out, more beautiful than he’d imagined, far whiter than the rest of her. Like pure, virginal snow. They bobbed up and down as Bobby toyed with the anchor rope a bit. Hell, maybe he really would make her his girlfriend. For a little while, at least. It would take a good month before he could get his fill of those. He had to touch them.
“Okay?” Shelby said, her voice reminding Bobby how young she was.
Didn’t seem fair to put such grown-up boobs on a young girl. They were like something out of Playboy. How was a guy supposed to control himself? He began to question if he could.
Chapter 34
Allison… present
Amber wanted to be best buds after unloading her conscience on me, but I managed to dump her back on her husband, much to his dismay. My drink long drained, I hit the bar again to fuel me through the search for my real target. The bartender grinned upon seeing me alone for the second time that night. He ran his fingers through his hair—unsuccessfully due to all the gel—and tried out his best line. “I think this alcohol is catalyzing our reaction.”
He wouldn’t last a minute at Puccio’s. I winked, told him I’d be back later, and tipped him another buck. He winked back, but went too big and put his rotting back molar on display. Needing that drink more than ever, I turned and found myself staring into the plain, round face of John Smith, aka Smitty. Bullseye.
“What are you doing here, Allison? This is getting a little creepy.”
“Not that it’s your business, Smitty, but I’m here as Charlie’s date.”
“Charlie Loughney? He wasn’t even in our class. And neither were you.”
“He had the tickets,” I said with a shrug. “Don’t ask me.”
“Exactly how long are you staying in town?”
“Again, Smitty. Business. Not yours.”
He stepped closer, into the space where girls in self-defense classes were taught to act, not think. I’d always preferred the latter; it had kept me alive this long.
“You seem to be making it my business,” he said.
To throw him off, I took a step in his direction, into the space where boys are taught to kiss, not talk. Smitty preferred the latter. He took a quick step back and said, “Go away.”
I gave his casual outfit a quick up-and-down. Multi-pocketed khakis and a collared Polo with short sleeves as if to emphasize his moral standing against biceps curls.
“Surprised Elise let you out of the house like that, Smitty,” I said, invoking his mom’s first name.
“It’s none of your goddamn business how I dress for my reunion,” he said with a voice that told me he’d had three drinks so far, a bit stronger than he’d bargained for, and was sloshed enough that his guard would be down but not completely off. “Besides,” he said, “you wouldn’t know what it’s like to wear a suit and tie fifty weeks out of the year, Barmaid. Some of us go to great lengths to avoid them on vacation.”
Perfect. The opening I’d been hoping for. “Funny. Because I saw you Wednesday afternoon in quite a nifty suit.”
His only reaction was a slight retreat of his lips, as if a baker had punched his dough ball of a head from behind while trying to inject some air into it.
“You must be mistaken,” he finally said.
Bad move, Smitty. I worried again about the safety of our country in the hands of chumps like him. Why go the outright denial route? Why not make up something feasible or tell me to go fuck myself, as if what I saw or when I saw it was so inconsequential, it didn’t merit a response.
“No,” I said, enjoying the mental image of him up against the rop
es, “it was definitely you. Blue shirt, grey jacket, leather bag over your shoulder. Roomy enough for a short trip.”
“What short trip?” he said, as if forgetting that he had the option to toss a drink in my face. Then, with a look of sudden realization “Wait. Oh yeah. You’re absolutely right. But news flash, Allison, I’m not telling you where I was going or what I was doing.”
I could see he thought he had the upper hand now and was thinking about making a smooth departure. This would be my last chance to confront him before he left town. Time to jar the situation, abruptly and irreparably. “’Cuz I thought you might be going to visit Jasper Shifflett at Ravine Psychiatric. Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t in Oregon. Scared he might tell me something?”
I’d played my strongest hand so I waited. Smitty might send the entire cousin brigade after me now, and they might not be as manipulable as Ervin.
“Yeah, I knew he wasn’t in Oregon,” Smitty said, “but who gives a shit, because goddamn if he isn’t anywhere anymore, right Allison? He’s dead. It’s just me now, thank you very much. I’m the only one left.”
His anger grew, as if I had personally dispatched the other two members of his threesome. “You have any idea what it’s like to be in your early thirties and already lose your two best friends from high school?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “Let’s see if I can think of a comparably horrid situation.”
He didn’t even hear me. “Guess what?” he said. “It sucks. I mean, accidents happen, but—”
“What accidents?” I said.
He glanced at his drink but it offered no answer so he punished it by sucking it down. “Like this thing with Jasper. Food poisoning or something.”
“Oh, right,” I said, “you never know.” I hoped the empty conversational filler would encourage him to continue down this path until he tripped himself up again.
“I thought coming back here tonight might remind me that there were other people from my childhood, other connections I could look back on without feeling like my entire childhood was wasted shit.” The volume of Smitty’s lament escalated. “But you know who I end up seeing here instead? You. Like a reminder of everything that went wrong that night. I look at you and I see your dad, always lookin’ like some demented, evil owl. I swear, Bobby wasn’t even—”
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