“What time?”
She dug in her black croc bag for her phone and started scrolling. Found what she was looking for and held the phone out to Leo.
“I wish you had come to me with this the moment you heard that Lucas Erickson was dead,” he said.
“Vonda Brown Garrett, may I introduce my cousin, Sheriff Leo McCaskill.” To him, Sarah said, “If you put that together with the time Janine arrived …”
“Narrows the time of death. You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?” Leo asked Vonda, who shook her head. “Anyone see you?”
“That I couldn’t say,” Vonda replied. “I was too shocked. If that’s how he treated people …” She let the words trail off, but Sarah knew what she was thinking. She felt the same way.
If that’s how Lucas Erickson treated people, then she wasn’t surprised that he was dead.
And she wasn’t sorry.
30
This time, the lights in her rearview mirror were a good sign.
But if Vonda Brown—Vonda Garrett—hadn’t killed Lucas, then who had? Had the killer seen her? Was she in danger too? As Janine might be.
Sarah parked in the turnout, leaving room for Vonda’s car. The two women picked their way down the narrow shoulder, the balloon sailing above them. Together, they unwound the ratty, wind-torn ribbons and tied the balloon to the post, below the cross. Vonda leaned in and kissed Michael’s picture.
“Rest easy, baby brother,” she said.
Minutes later, on the steps of the lodge, Vonda hesitated. “I’m not sure I should be here. I’ve caused you all great pain, and it’s not my intention to blame anyone.”
“We owe you the truth. It won’t change the past, but you deserve to know.”
“Hey, sis, I think we found the link,” Holly called as the two women walked in. She was sitting at the game table, a notebook and the Sampler box in front of her.
Nic and Janine entered from the kitchen, the doors thwunking behind them.
“And I’ve solved another mystery,” Sarah said, and introduced Vonda.
“It’s you who’s been decorating the cross,” Holly said.
“Michael deserves to be remembered. He died during a difficult time for my family, and I never wanted to come up here until now,” Vonda said. “As time went on, I wanted to put the pain of losing him in the past. My boys were born prematurely a few weeks after his funeral, and my energy was focused on getting them healthy. They’re fine,” she said, smiling. “Almost as tall as Michael was. And older than he ever got to be.”
“How much does she know?” Janine demanded. “What did you tell her?”
“That’s why she’s here,” Sarah said. But when they were seated on the old leather couches and chairs, Vonda held up a hand.
“My turn first. I sent the letters to the three of you, and to Lucas. I never meant to frighten you, and I am so sorry. I—I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“That partial fingerprint on the envelope will probably turn out to be hers,” Sarah said.
“What did you mean?” Nic asked gently. “What did you want?”
“I hoped one of you would reach out and fill in the blanks. Lucas had been his friend, his roommate, and I wanted him to take responsibility.”
“Why not sign the letters?” Nic continued. “Give them a chance to respond?”
Vonda’s expression was mortified. “All I can say is, being in Missoula, where Michael went to school, where he played ball, where he lived for four years, it made me a little crazy. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Sarah could understand that. Grief made you do the inexplicable, sometimes.
“The letters had nothing to do with my mother,” Janine said. “Thank God.”
“My parents never believed they’d been given the whole story,” Vonda said. “The coach and some of Michael’s teammates came to San Diego for the funeral, and you all sent cards and flowers, but we always thought we were missing pieces of the puzzle.”
Piece by piece, they filled in the picture for her. How Lucas had baited Janine and finally attacked her in one of the cabins. How she’d run from him, how Michael had tried to help her and stop Lucas. How Lucas swore he wasn’t going to go to prison for a slut—Sarah couldn’t bring herself to repeat what he’d really said—from the wrong side of the tracks and jumped in Jeremy’s car just as Sarah and Jeremy returned from their ride. How the two boys raced after Lucas, trying to keep him from what seemed like suicide, only to become the victims themselves.
Vonda covered her mouth with her hand. “The sheriff didn’t tell us any of that. Was he charged with what he did to you?”
“No,” Janine said. “He’d already been accepted to law school and the sheriff implied that I’d be ruining his future. That it would be he-said, she-said and did I want to put myself through that? I decided no, I didn’t. Sarah will tell you that’s her fault, that she discouraged me from pursuing it, and I used to think that. But the truth is, I made the decision. She acted out of love. I acted out of fear.”
“When the crash was ruled an accident and no charges were filed, my parents were devastated. I remember Dad saying ‘It’s 1996 and there’s no justice for a young Black man in a white state.’”
“I can’t say that race wasn’t a factor,” Nic said, “but Michael was a star. People all around the state loved him. I’d like to think the highway patrol investigators honestly did see it as a tragic accident. They didn’t know about the assault, either.”
“And the assault?” Vonda asked. “‘Boys will be boys’? I’m the mother of two sons. Boys don’t attack girls.”
Janine kissed the top of her head. “This girl’s got dinner almost ready. You’re staying.”
Being tired of secrets, Sarah told herself, didn’t mean she had to blurt out everything all at once. There was no need to tell Vonda about her nightmares. And she wasn’t ready to tell her sister and her friends, old and new, about the deal Connor, Jeremy, and Lucas had worked out. Later, after she’d worked out what it all meant for her.
* * *
“So here’s what we found,” Holly said, leading Sarah to the table where she’d been sorting the letters. “It’s the link between Anja and the Ladies’ Aid Society.”
“Darn it, I never did get reading glasses,” Sarah said.
Vonda dug a pair out of her handbag and held them out. Leopard print. Figured.
“December 1, 1923,” Sarah read.
My dear Caroline,
Forgive me the long delay in thanking you for your kindness during those dark, difficult times last year. You could not have been a better friend to me and my family. I trust Con received Frank’s check for our dear Anja’s burial plot and gravestone.
“So the Laceys paid for it,” she said, glancing up.
You are the perfect custodian of my beloved Whitetail Lodge. I know that you will love it as much as I did, and make it the best home in the world for your family.
We are finally settled here in St. Paul, in a large home on Summit Avenue near my brother. The children love to regale their friends and cousins with tales of life in the wilderness. I am sure their parents think we lived among the savages.
Sarah made a face, then continued.
I have one more great favor to ask. Had I paid more attention to the well-being of our household staff and not dismissed my premonitions, Anja would still be with us. Her final days would not have been plagued by unwanted attentions, and worse. I know there are many women in difficult situations who cannot afford to leave them, even to save their lives. I am enclosing a check for one hundred dollars and ask that you use the funds at your discretion to benefit those in need. Women who are unable to seek help or whom others are unwilling to help.
“Oh my God. This makes so much sense. When was the first loan made? Caro mentioned it in her journal.”
“The loan to Hulda Amundsen,” Holly said. “In February 1924. I think that hundred would be around a thousand today.”
“Guilt money,” Janine said.
They were solving all the mysteries. Except the one that had brought them all together.
Who killed Lucas Erickson?
And was it one of us?
SATURDAY
Twenty-Two Days
31
“Still no luck.” Sarah dropped the rusty needle-nose pliers on the kitchen counter, along with the coil of old phone wire she’d snared from the mill’s tool room on her way out Friday afternoon. “I guess I do need glasses.”
“And no chance the tech guys make house calls on Saturday,” Holly said. She was dressed casually, in leggings and an oversized T-shirt, and purple running shoes with no socks. “You ready to go?”
“Five minutes,” Sarah said, and raced upstairs to change. She’d meant to scrub her once-white shoes before the games, but there wasn’t time. Despite her fears that they’d roused the ghosts of the lodge, she’d slept soundly and woke to clear blue skies and a calm lake. She’d taken her coffee down to the shore, away from the others, to have a little talk with Jeremy—or rather, the part of him that lived in her mind. Then she’d tried unsuccessfully to splice the wires in the phone box.
“You sleeping on the job?” she asked her dead husband. “I could use some help here.”
No reply. Which was probably a good sign, all things considered.
Now they drove toward town, Holly at the wheel so Sarah could text the kids. The balloon she and Vonda had tied to Michael Brown’s cross bobbed lightly above the wild grasses.
They passed power company crews working on downed lines and road department crews slinging branches into a giant chipper.
“It could be years before all this storm damage is cleaned up,” Holly said, pointing at a fallen spruce, its root ball the size of a Volkswagen bug. “So many owners don’t live here. Not that they don’t care, but they’re not eyes-on. And it’s hard to make all the arrangements long-distance.”
“Becca’s real estate agency does property management too. They have more work than they can handle.”
For all that she hated the finagling, Connor, Lucas, and Jeremy had saved Porcupine Ridge, but there were still a few other large holdings in the area. What would happen to them in the long run? And then there were the residential properties. The Hoyt place, with its lake house, two smaller houses, and outbuildings, would be safe in her family’s hands. As Becca had said yesterday, some of these old homesteads would be cherished for what they were, but others were ripe for trophy homes and overdevelopment.
Everyone here is excited to see you! Sarah texted her daughter. We need to make plans! The plan had been that the kids would come here with her to sprinkle some of Jeremy’s ashes on Bitterroot Lake. Now she understood, more than ever, why he’d been so insistent that she bring a bit of him back to Montana.
Dot, dot, dot, her far-off daughter replying.
What? No! I promised I’d start my summer job the week after finals!!!
She pushed CALL. Abby picked up on the first ring. “Hi, honey. We’re heading into town to watch your cousins’ soccer games. What are you up to?”
“Trying to finish my paper for psych. Tonight’s the Meryton ball.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten. Sounds like fun. And your dress is perfect.” Abby had sent her photos from the visit to the costume shop with her roommates, English majors who’d talked her into attending the Jane Austen Club’s annual dance party. Easy to do, with Abby’s love of pretty dresses.
Two weeks until Abby finished her first year of college. So much happening so fast, and no way to slow it down.
“I miss Dad, Mom.”
Twenty-two days. When was it supposed to get easier?
“I know, honey. I do too.” They’d turned off the highway toward Deer Park and the south end of the lake came into view. “I know you’re excited about the job and about getting back to Seattle, but I’m only asking you to come here for a few days. Spend some time with your grandmother and your cousins. We’ve been sorting out the family stuff. Aunt Holly found some great dresses in an old trunk, though you might have to fight her for them.”
“Mom, you’re not staying there, are you?”
Was she?
“A little longer, anyway. When you and your brother get here …”
“Oh, good luck with that. Mom, you have to come home. You can’t stay in that dusty old place. What would I—how would I—” She broke off, and Sarah heard girl chatter in the background. “I have to go. But Mom, you have to come home. You have to.”
The line went dead.
“That went well,” Sarah said after a long silence.
“Look at it from her point of view. Going back to Seattle means life going on as normal. But only if you’re there.”
“Life is not normal.” Sarah heard the brittleness in her voice. “It is not going to be normal for a long time. She has to understand that.”
“Yes, but you’re not at that point yet. Not anywhere close. Don’t expect her to beat you to it.” Holly parked in front of their childhood home and shut off the engine. “You coming in?”
“No. I want to sit for a moment. Maybe call Noah.” What had Abby meant, wishing her good luck getting Noah to Montana for a few days? What did she know that Sarah didn’t?
Was she losing her kids, too?
No, she told herself. Don’t be dramatic. Holly was right. Abby was afraid of losing her, and that meant being where she was supposed to be, doing what she was supposed to be doing.
There was no playbook for any of this.
Noah didn’t answer, no surprise, so she left him a voice mail, putting on a chipper tone, about how beautiful Montana was this time of year and remember, they’d talked about the kids coming here for a week or two after school got out, blah blah blah.
What was taking her mother and sister so long? She was halfway out of the SUV to go check when the front door of the blue Victorian opened and her mother emerged, Holly behind her. She waited while Peggy got situated in the front seat, then opened the back door. Holly stopped her before she climbed in.
“She showed me,” Holly whispered. “The paintings. Is that what it looked like?”
Sarah nodded.
“I don’t know whether to be jealous that the dreams didn’t come to me,” Holly said. “Or grateful.”
* * *
The soccer fields sat between the grade school and the junior high, two blocks east of the courthouse and across the street from the law office. Children, adults, and dogs swarmed the place, while kids in brightly colored uniforms and knee-high socks clustered on the field. Sarah exchanged greetings with a couple of old friends, accepting condolences and making promises to get together.
“Nice to have a brother who stands out in a crowd,” Holly said of Connor, head bent, listening to his wife, one big hand resting on her back.
“Sarah!” Brooke rushed forward and enfolded her in a warm embrace as Holly and Peggy greeted Connor. “My big goof husband told me he finally ’fessed up to you. I won’t ask how you’re taking the news. I can imagine the answer and I don’t want to make you swear in front of your mother.”
“Not that she hasn’t heard all the words,” Sarah replied. “But thanks. I owe your parents a thank-you note for the flowers and the hospice contribution.”
“No worries,” Brooke said. The kids, nine and eleven, rushed up and Sarah found herself wishing her kids were that age again, not caught up in the zig-zag whiplash of launching their own adult lives while reaching with a back foot for the security of the one they’d left.
The one that no longer existed.
Aidan and Olivia ran back to their teams and the adults drifted toward the bleachers, Sarah lagging behind with Brooke.
“Oh, there’s Misty Erickson and her mother-in-law,” Brooke said at the sight of a trim blonde in her mid-forties, a broad-brimmed straw hat shielding her face, a gray-haired woman beside her.
“I barely know her, but I should say something.” They watched as an older couple greeted the Ericksons, he enveloping Lucas’s mother in a hug, she embracing Misty, and the opportunity was gone. Sarah could feel Brooke’s relief.
“Hard to know what to say, isn’t it?” she said, and her sister-in-law flashed her a grateful look. It wasn’t just this moment, or Misty’s loss, that they were acknowledging.
“Now that he’s told you about his deal with Jeremy,” Brooke said, “I’m hoping Connor will feel less stressed. It’s a big job, trying to keep the company relevant, as he likes to say.”
“Work and family are a tough balance sometimes,” Sarah replied. “But it’s good to have a husband who believes in what he does.”
Her husband had put his trust, and a big chunk of cash, into her family’s business. On the field, Aidan and Olivia and their teammates were going through warmup exercises led by one of their coaches, a thirtyish woman with a ponytail and killer quads.
Jeremy had invested in their future as well as hers and that of Abby and Noah.
She changed the subject. “Hey, I can’t believe all the packing you two did in the lodge.”
“We didn’t get very far. But wow, some great old stuff.”
“One thing I haven’t found yet is my grandmother’s china and stemware. White porcelain dishes rimmed in gold and dark red crystal—it’s called ruby glass.”
“Oh, yes! Olivia was helping us one day and when she saw those glasses, she was smitten. You know,” Brooke said, as if confiding a secret, “she’s not a girly-girl. Which is fine.”
“Abby would have run track in a frilly dress and a tiara if she could have gotten away with it.” It was fun to share a moment with Brooke over their unconventional daughters.
“That fabulous dollhouse that’s a replica of your mother’s house? I loved it. She couldn’t care less. So when she fell for the dishes and glasses, we took them. She eats her cereal out of one of the porcelain bowls and drinks her juice from one of the red-and-gold tumblers every morning. I’m sorry—I should have told you.”
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