The Dead Season

by Tessa Wegert

  “Of course not.” Cheryl’s voice was shaky, but she held her head high. “Robbie’s an upstanding citizen of this town with a wife and a young child. He’s the executive director of the Chamber of Commerce!”

  “I don’t doubt that,” I said. “What about as a teenager, though? What was he like then?”

  Cheryl’s eyes flipped to her son.

  “You don’t need to answer that, Ma. This is ridiculous. Shana, I think you should go.”

  “You were soft on him,” I told Cheryl. “You said so yourself. You gave him free rein to do what he wanted, not realizing he’d take it so far. You think it was Crissy who started him using, but he got there all on his own. For a while, he had it under control. Did things start to go downhill before Brett left, or was it after, when Robbie siphoned Brett’s drug supply? You knew,” I said to Robbie. “You knew Brett was leaving. And you knew why.”

  Abe knew, too. He must have discovered his father was selling drugs at the drive-in. He’d seen something that night that I hadn’t, and I finally thought I knew what it was.

  In a small town like Swanton, secrets aren’t secret for long. Robbie had heard—from a kid in his class, or a friend of a friend—that Crissy’s father was dealing. I wondered if it was greed that made Brett oblivious to the risks, or if he’d planned to deliver his children from their free fall all along. Either way, the money would be too tempting to resist.

  “My best guess is that you talked to Crissy at the movies,” I said. “Russell Loming saw her with a kid your age, and I’m sure that if I showed him your school photo, he’d be able to ID you even now. You and Crissy were arguing. Maybe you wanted a hit, maybe she wanted the same from you. However it played out, Crissy let it slip that she was leaving town with Brett and Abe that night. She even told you where Brett was meeting them. So you went out there, knowing Brett would have brought his entire stash along with his other belongings. By the time my brother showed up at the fishing access with Crissy, Brett was already lying dead in the woods. All you needed to do was get rid of his car.”

  Cheryl clapped a pale hand over her mouth. “That’s some story,” Robbie said as he clasped his mother’s shoulder, just as he’d done to Felicia at the hospital. He gave me a patronizing smile, but two fuchsia circles had formed on his cheeks.

  “You do a convincing job of pretending it doesn’t bother you that Suze and Crissy hang out,” I said.

  “It doesn’t. I don’t give a shit what Crissy does.”

  “I don’t think she’d say the same about you. I thought it was strange at first, the two of them getting close after circling each other’s orbits for so many years, but Suze told me how it happened. They became friends shortly after you and Suze got together. After all this time, Crissy finally found a way into your head. Don’t get me wrong,” I said, showing him my hands. “I think she genuinely cares about Suze, but Crissy remembers more about that night than she’s ever told anyone. She knows you regularly bought drugs from Loming, and that you had a hand in her doped-up adventure in the woods. She also knows you knew her dad was a dealer. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t believe Crissy has a clear picture of what you did to her father, but when his remains turned up not far from the boat access where she last saw him, she pieced it together. She’s a lot smarter than you think she is.”

  Robbie’s lips were partially hidden by his beard, but I could read his expression through his wide, blank eyes. “I’d say that’s when you started to panic,” I went on. “It had to occur to you Crissy might remember you were at the boat launch, too. If she did, and she ever decided to tell Suze . . . well, desperate measures. I know you took an extra-long lunch today, Robbie, and I suspect I’ll be able to find a neighbor who saw your car outside Crissy’s house.”

  “Do you even hear yourself? None of what you’re saying makes sense. I came here for lunch today—didn’t I, Ma? I was here.”

  Cheryl bit her lip. I’d just seen her eat lunch alone. After a minute, though, she nodded. I pressed on.

  “It doesn’t take long to sneak a few pills into someone’s coffee. Believe me,” I said stolidly, “I know. But committing one murder doesn’t make you an expert. This time you were sloppy. Suze must have told you my partner and I interviewed Crissy at work, and you knew they were meeting up today. Without having a clue how far we got with Crissy and what she told us, you were probably freaked. You couldn’t have her exposing you as the person who gave her the meth, or revealing you were present at the crime scene that night. You saw your chance, and you took it. I’d say it’s likely you’ll be charged with both homicide and attempted murder.”

  “No.” Cheryl’s voice was little more than a squeak. There was a dull, dusty quality to her skin that made it easy to imagine what she’d look like dead.

  “Still want to deny it, Robbie? You don’t have to answer that,” I said. “The chief of police will want to hear this all firsthand. For now, I just need you to know you have the right to remain silent, and that anything you do say can be used—”

  That’s when Robbie lunged.

  They say it takes about seventy repetitions of a movement to develop muscle memory. Over the years I’ve had an opponent’s arms around me hundreds of times, but all I could think of was my pitiful reaction when Sensei Sam challenged me in the dojo. I’d frozen that day, clammed up. And yet, when Robbie came at me with anger streaming from him like smoke, my body knew what to do.

  Cheryl yelped as he shoved her aside and brought his weight down on my shoulder, sending me staggering sideways. A hot white flame of pain erupted in my upper arm. At the edge of my vision I saw Cheryl’s horror-stricken face as she rushed from the room. Erynn. The kid was in the house, just down the hall, and her father was on a rampage. No sooner had I righted myself than Robbie’s hands clamped my throat. There was a moment when the immense pressure on my windpipe sent my system into shock. Eyes streaming, I gaped at his face, red with outrage and rigid with determination, and thought I’m screwed. But my hands . . . those were free.

  I was barely conscious of the moment when my arm shot out, doubled back, and weaved over and under Robbie’s unyielding forearms. With my left hand I clasped the knuckles of my right and yanked upward with all my might. It was a basic self-defense move, a surefire escape plan I’d learned in maybe my second year of karate. It was all about leverage. The action wrenched his hands from my neck. I didn’t waste any time capitalizing on his surprise. When he reached for me again, I braced his hand against my sternum, sank my weight, grabbed his neck with my right hand, and pulled. He yelped with pain as his wrist bent backward onto itself, and in seconds Robbie was on his knees.

  If I’d had my cuffs and my weapon, our tussle would have come to an end. Instead, Robbie rose from the floor with the blind confidence of someone who knows they’re doomed no matter what. It couldn’t have been easy, spending two decades congratulating himself on concealing a crime only to be exposed by a woman he still thought of as an inconsequential kid. He was about to be stripped of everything that mattered—his reputation, his job, his family—and as far as he was concerned, I alone was to blame. I was fighting a man who had nothing more to lose.

  In Cheryl’s tidy beige living room, we stood sweaty and panting, circling each other like hunter and prey. I brought up my fists and assumed the fighting stance I’d practiced in the safety of a studio. Robbie just laughed. His hands hung by his sides, weighted down by fists.

  “Did you really think no one would find out?” I asked. “Even after you drugged Crissy? Even if you’d succeeded in killing her?”

  Robbie gritted his teeth and said nothing.

  “Your mother just watched you assault me. Her reaction to my questions corroborates my theory about your involvement in Brett’s death. She’s a witness to it all—and your kid’s asleep in the next room. Come on, Robbie. Think this through.”

  But Robbie wasn’t interested in being
reasoned with. He swung at me but missed as I evaded his fist and caught his wrist with my left hand. With the fingers of my right bundled into the head of a snake, I struck at the hollow of his throat and kneed him in the groin. He doubled over, gasping for air, and my lips curled into a smile. I was feeling good, as nimble and alert as during my best moments in class, on those green-flag days when conditions are perfect and everything falls into place. I imagined it was Bram I was fighting, and that I had just one chance left. I was high on my success, luxuriating in the pure, clean power of my limbs. Maybe I’m okay after all, I thought. Maybe I’m better than ever.

  The blow came from the left, an open-palmed strike that spun my head halfway around and obliterated my balance. My limbs unspooled like balls of yarn and I collapsed onto the carpet. There was a high-pitched ringing in my ear that made me think of those drive-in mosquitos, and I tasted the sharp tang of blood where I’d bitten a chunk out of my tongue.

  Crouching to lean over me, Robbie laughed again, spittle flying. The sound left me cold. He said, “I wasn’t going to kill him, all I wanted was his stash. But I’m not sorry I did.”

  I drove my right knee between his thighs a second time, rolled out from underneath him, and scrambled to my feet. I turned toward the kitchen—I needed a weapon, something to help me finish this—but Robbie caught me by the neck and hauled me back.

  “Your whole fucked-up family’s better off dead.” His arm was wrapped around my shoulders, his breath hot on my ear. “It’s pathetic. There were three of you out there, and it took you twenty fucking years to figure this out.”

  “Three,” I croaked. “What are you talking about?”

  “That weird little freak,” said Robbie. “He showed up on his bike when I was in the woods with Brett. A few minutes sooner, and he would have seen everything.”

  This was it, the reason I was in Swanton. Abe saw Crissy and Doug and Robbie on Hook Road that night. Abe knew Brett wouldn’t leave him and his sister behind with Felicia—not after she hit him—and Abe needed me to figure out what happened next. I’d tapped away at the town’s armor for days, desperate to hit upon a chink, and I’d finally found it. I was done.

  The idea played out so beautifully in my mind I knew it couldn’t fail. Just as I could have—should have—done in the dojo with Sam, I dropped to one knee. The movement put Robbie off balance, and for a moment he slackened his grip on my arms and was forced to lean forward. With my back to him, I summoned all my strength and thrust my fist upward toward his chin. His teeth slammed together with a sickening clack.

  “Robbie.”

  Cheryl stood in the doorway, holding a sleeping Erynn against her chest. “Stop this. Stop this now.”

  Robbie’s eyes alighted on his tiny daughter, and a look of horror washed over his face. Cheryl’s chin quivered where she held it against the crown of the child’s head.

  “I called him,” she said in a small voice. “The police chief. He’s coming.”

  As I wiped saliva and blood from my mouth, Erynn opened her brilliant blue eyes.

  From where he swayed in the living room, Robbie Copely closed his.

  THIRTY-SIX

  After Fraser Harmison arrived, made his arrest, and took my statement, I went home. I’d come to think of my parents’ house that way again. It wasn’t my only home, but my roots slinked under its foundation just as surely as those belonging to the maples in the yard. As always, Mac was right. Concealing Bram’s crimes didn’t magic them away. I could hide from my past in Swanton all I wanted, but it wouldn’t cease to exist.

  I slept fitfully that night, and when the alarm on my phone sounded at 4:00 a.m., I slipped into my jeans and flannel shirt in the dark and tiptoed out of the house to take the well-traveled road west once more. Before dawn the highway was eerily quiet, and I sped the whole way, imbued with a ham-handed dose of verve that I found profoundly satisfying until I remembered I wasn’t done yet. I’d done what Bram had asked me to do. In this game, there was just one move left.

  Tim’s cottage sits on Goose Bay. I hadn’t seen it in person, but I knew he’d topped out his budget on a 900-square-foot shack with no heating, and had done most of the renovation work himself. I arrived just as he was getting up, and Mac joined us soon after. Hot coffees in hand, we sat in the living room around the fire Tim had built in the potbellied stove. He’d cooked a batch of pancakes, and the house smelled like a sugar shack. I liked everything about his place, from the knotty pine walls to the stacks of books that didn’t fit on his overstuffed shelves and the heavy wool blankets draped over the couch. The tiny house was Tim, through and through.

  “Robbie Copely,” he said, rolling his mug in his hands just as he’d done with the beer. “I’ll be damned. Karate, huh?”

  “Think Sensei Sam has room in class for one more?” Mac asked.

  I smiled. “Maybe even two.”

  As they wiped the sleep from their eyes, I explained I’d given Robbie a grilling before leaving town. “Far as I can tell, the summer of 1998 was when he went from a casual drug user to a junkie.” I’d seen the transformation in the pages of Doug’s old yearbook, connected the dots based on Cheryl’s attitude toward Crissy and her references to Robbie’s reckless teenage years. “When Brett started dealing, and Robbie found out, he raided Brett’s stash. Things were starting to get serious between Brett and Cheryl, so Robbie didn’t worry about replenishing his supply. By then both Brett and Russell Loming had noticed the missing dope. Robbie was young and stupid, but it didn’t occur to him that his access to the drugs might be compromised.”

  Then came the night of June 20th, when everything changed.

  “Robbie confessed to approaching Brett at the drive-in,” I said. “As soon as he found out from Crissy that Brett was leaving town, Robbie threatened to expose him to both Felicia and Cheryl unless he handed over the rest of his supply. Brett refused. He’d been dealing drugs to minors, even friends of his own children, but it was a means to an end, a way to save money for the move. In the meantime, Brett had cottoned on to both Crissy and Robbie’s growing addictions. According to Cheryl, Brett was the first to notice Robbie’s weight loss and sallow skin, while she remained in denial. Brett didn’t want to be responsible for making things worse.

  “He also suspected Robbie of the theft. That was one of the many reasons Brett had to leave Cheryl and Swanton behind,” I said. “He couldn’t stay and risk Robbie ratting him out to Cheryl and the police out of anger and spite. Like it or not, Brett had been actively fueling Robbie’s habit. I’m sure skipping town seemed like the only solution. It would allow Brett to get his kids someplace safe, curb Crissy’s drug use, cut Robbie off from his supply, and save his own ass, all at once.”

  “So where did the plan go wrong?” Tim asked, leaning forward. The room shimmered with heat, and it gave his face a ruddy glow.

  “When Brett arrived at the boat launch to wait for Crissy, Abe, and Doug, Robbie was already there. He hid in the woods and took Brett by surprise. Wielding the biggest stick he could carry, Robbie struck Brett from behind and dragged his body past the tree line where it wouldn’t be seen. Robbie claims he didn’t mean to kill him, though that won’t be much comfort to Crissy and Felicia. His intention was to give himself enough time to clean out Brett’s supply from his car.”

  “That car,” Tim said. “What happened to it? Doug told us it was there when he and Crissy arrived at the meeting place, but later, when he came back, it was gone.”

  I took a sip of coffee. Heat shimmied down my throat. “After Doug left to get my mother, and Crissy was alone, Robbie approached her. He hadn’t had time to dig through Brett’s car, and he wasn’t willing to give up his shot at the drugs. The details will all come out when Harmison does his interview, but I’m guessing Robbie convinced Crissy he was there on Brett’s behalf and promised to bring her to him. That explains why both Crissy and Brett’s car were gone when Doug go
t back. Robbie must have hidden his own car somewhere down the road and taken Crissy in Brett’s instead. Here’s what I do know,” I said through a yawn. “Robbie offered Crissy meth. She’d been prowling for a hit of something at the movies—she was nervous about the plan to leave town, and Doug says she was an emotional mess—so she probably jumped at the chance. But Crissy had never done meth before, and Robbie was just as ignorant about the hard stuff. The dose was too heavy. He told her to snort it—easier that way, and whether he knew it or not, there’s a greater likelihood of psychosis and hallucinations. He probably drove her around for a while, waited until she was good and looped. Then he walked her deep into the woods. Crissy was out of it by then, but not enough that she didn’t detect danger. She tried to fight Robbie off and he hit her, like he did with Brett. They’d been friends, and even dated, and he basically left her for dead. He doubled back, and got rid of Brett’s car.”

  Mac’s eyebrow inched upward. “The lake?”

  “Or the river,” I said. “It was right there, easily the most convenient option if he wanted to ditch it. That kind of thing happens now and then, stolen vehicles recovered from the bottom of Lake Champlain or the Missisquoi. Once Brett’s car was taken care of, Robbie walked back to his own and went home.”

  Scratching at his dark stubble, Tim stretched his arms over his head. “There’s still one thing I don’t get,” he said. “Why was Crissy protecting Robbie? Even if she was fuzzy on the details, she had to remember Robbie gave her meth that night. The kid literally left her high and dry in the woods, and it took her two days to get out. Why didn’t she report him to the police when the search party found her?”

  “I’m hoping she can answer that.” Would I ever have the chance to ask? Thinking of my cousin, the present-day version that lay prone in a hospital bed, tugged my mouth into a scowl. Before I left Swanton for the third time that week, Harmison dispatched an officer to Robbie’s house, where I suspected he’d find a near-empty bottle of oxycodone. Robbie had already confessed to sneaking the drugs, prescribed months earlier for his back spasms, into Crissy’s mid-morning coffee.