“What about Gary and Susan?”
Ingrid gave the question a sober, hostile frown. “What about them?”
“They got along reasonably well?”
“Susan gets along with everyone.”
“We noticed she had a tattoo on her leg,” Jen said. “R&T. Do you have any idea who T might be?”
“I don’t know that my daughter has any tattoos,” Ingrid said.
Her use of present tense and mild evasiveness were troubling. Nadine decided to push. “Gary didn’t bring a date for New Year’s. Was that odd?”
“Not especially. He works awful hours, up and down the I-5 in that truck.”
“Any girlfriends you remember? Or boyfriends?”
“What does that have to do with anything, Miss—“’
“Kelso. Nadine if you prefer. It probably has nothing to do with it, ma’am, but it helps give us a better sense of things.”
“I really don’t see how.”
The tea bag had broken in the pot. Nadine tasted particles of waterlogged leaves. She set the cup down on the glass coffee table, watching the older woman. There was something Ingrid wouldn’t say. Or wasn’t up to saying.
“What happened on January 1st?” Nadine said.
“Let’s see. I got up. Cleaned the kitchen. By then Bobby was awake and wanted breakfast. I made us crêpes and eggs. They’d brought over their laundry, so Susan and I folded bedsheets while the boy watched some stupid old thing on TV.”
Ingrid sipped her tea and grimaced. She fetched a milk carton and a bowl of brown sugar. As she improved her drink, she said, “Susan took Bobby home around seven. Before that we had turkey sandwiches for dinner. For lunch, too. Susan wouldn’t take leftovers, since their power was still off.”
“She talked to Andrew that day?”
“I imagine so.”
“This is a difficult question, Ingrid,” Jen said. “Please don’t imagine I enjoy asking it. Was Andrew depressive at all? Could he have been less than careful with the generator?”
Ingrid’s eyes shined. “Not a chance,” she said. “Whatever that man was going through, he’d never endanger his son.”
“What about Susan?’
A vigorous headshake served as denial. “She was my daughter,” Ingrid said. She leaned forward and made a mewling sound. Her tea cup splashed to the carpet, soaking the red shag black. “My daughter. She was my daughter.”
Nadine waited outside as Jen consoled the grieving woman. She thought of her conversation with Jimmy. How she’d answered reflexively, “She’s my mother,” to her ex’s gentle question about her mother’s mental health. Similar to Ingrid’s response about her daughter’s emotional state. As if a family bond could fend off time, and fate, and the governing dark.
How did the rest of that poem go? Something about a soundless sky.
The residential street was whisper quiet, if not exactly soundless. The faint occasional shush of a car on the highway. The moon up behind the house, a luminescence through dark clouds.
Nadine Kelso was hungry and tired, and knew in her bones that she wasn’t leaving Castle Rock any time soon.
Chapter 11
A solitary caged light burned over the front entrance to the police station. Neither of them were eager to go in. The chief yawned, which sparked a yawn of Nadine’s own.
“I’m going to pack it in for tonight,” Jen said. “Are you driving back to Seattle?”
“I figured I’d stay in town,” Nadine said. “Until we have a clear understanding of what happened and why.”
The chief nodded. It was unclear if the decision pleased her. “The Traveler’s Lodge is nice enough,” Jen said. “It’s at the north end of town. Kelly will give you a rate. If anything breaks during the night, I have your number. Otherwise, let’s meet back here at nine.”
“See you then,” Nadine said. “Pleasant night’s rest, Chief.”
Nadine drove her Pilot up Main Street, pulling into the parking lot near a hip-roofed building with a vaguely Black Forest design. The Castle Rock Traveler’s Lodge shared the structure with a bar called, fittingly, The Castle Rock Traveler’s Lounge.
Noise from the bar filtered into the motel lobby. Nadine heard the twang of Tanya Tucker, hockey highlights playing above the bar. Through the doorway she saw Peter Quayle at a center table, still in uniform, a stein of beer in front of him. They nodded at one another.
A yellow dog ruffed enthusiastically from behind the registration desk. Nadine tapped the service bell. A moment later a large, attractive woman in red plaid sauntered out from the back.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re looking for a room. You’re in luck ‘cause we’re down to our last fifteen or twenty.”
Nadine smiled. “Anything with a bed and a locking door will do.”
The card on the desk said Kelly Wells, Associate Manager. Kelly took down Nadine’s credit card and driver’s license. “What brings you to our fair town?” she asked.
“Here on business. It went late, and I just can’t take the I-5.”
“Boy, do I hear that a lot. Just you, no guests?”
“Just me. Is the bar still serving food?”
“Till ten. The fish burger isn’t bad.”
Kelly handed her an envelope containing the plastic key. “Hope you enjoy your stay, Ms. Kelso. And if you’re wondering, Nero here doesn’t bite. Anything you need, ask for Kelly.”
In the hallway by the stairs was a vending machine. Nadine bought toothpaste and brush, dental floss and Scope. In her room she showered, changed into jeans and a corded sweater. Applied eyeshadow and concealer to take care of the dark semicircles below her eyes. She left her tablet and notebook in the closet, under her coat.
When she came downstairs, Kelly was no longer at the desk. Opposite the entrance to the lounge was a parlor of sorts, with a pair of worn-looking couches, a standup piano holding a collection of poinsettias, and a sideboard with a water jug and an empty urn of coffee. Nero the dog was sprawled on a cushion, dozing and licking his teeth.
She headed into the bar. Quayle was still there, talking to a waitress who looked less than enthusiastic to be the recipient of his wisdom. Quayle noticed her and grinned.
“Hey there, Ms. Kelso,” he said. “Chief run you ragged today?” He motioned to the empty chair across from him. “Buy you a beer?”
The heat was blasting in the bar. Quayle’s face was red. There were a few other patrons, couples tucked in booths, a trio of men playing pool. Tanya had been replaced by George Strait, “Amarillo by Morning.”
“I’m off duty, in case you were wondering,” Quayle said.
“Same here.”
When the waitress brought drinks they clinked glasses. Nadine ordered the fish burger and fries.
“How’d you like our chief?” the officer asked. No doubt wishing for an invitation to gripe about their mutual oppression.
“She’s under a great strain, but seems to know what she’s doing.”
“Her father was a cop in Seattle. Apparently very well liked.”
The last thing Nadine wanted was to talk small town politics with someone carrying a grudge. “Did you know the Gordons?” she asked.
“Sure did. Andrew was a good man. A hell of a good man.”
“What did he do, exactly? I know Susan worked at the bank.”
“Invested,” Quayle said. “His father left him a shipping business in Aberdeen. Andrew built that up over a few years, then sold it to one of his competitors. He did pretty well out of the deal, but it wasn’t a killing. Back then Susan worked for human resources at one of those big computer companies. When she got pregnant, they decided to move somewhere quiet, watch the kid grow up. That was about six, seven years ago. They took a hit financially, but seemed reasonably happy with the move.”
“Susan was from Castle Rock originally, wasn’t she?”
Quayle smiled. “You’ve got to have a reason to move to Castle Rock. But everybody’s got a reason to leave.”
“What about you? You said you were Seattle PD. What made you relocate?”
Quayle’s smile was sloppy but also—Nadine thought—enigmatic.
“The fishing,” he said. “Just here for the fishing.”
They talked for a while longer, Nadine wondering what it was about Peter Quayle that seemed off to her. After three years in Internal Complaints, she knew something about cops and secrets. She nodded and let Quayle steer the conversation from fishing back to the force, how he was getting close to retirement, and wasn’t Chief Eng doing a bang-up job of things?
Cagey. That was the only word. Like a closet conservative at a dinner party, waiting to see how Nadine responded before venturing his true opinion.
When she’d finished her burger and the last of her fries, she shook Quayle’s hand and said she was turning in.
“Guess we’ll see each other tomorrow, then, Lieutenant,” was the officer’s response.
“I’m a consultant,” Nadine said. “I haven’t been a lieutenant for nearly a year.”
“Now that’s a story I’d like to hear,” Quayle said.
“It’s not one I feel like telling. Nothing against you personally.”
“Of course not,” Quayle said. “Nighty night, Ms. Kelso.”
She brushed her teeth and fell onto the bed, turning so her legs wouldn’t hang over the edge of the mattress. Her mind roamed over the Gordon case, the incident with her mother, the day’s various interactions. The governing dark. Nadine used her tablet to look up the poem by Bellocq. Then set the machine to play a PJ Harvey album she admired. Let England Shake. On the second play-through she fell asleep.
Chapter 12
Bill Coker didn’t mind working the overnight shift. It was pleasant, gliding the prowler through the silent streets, watching over the sleeping town. Just him and his thoughts.
Ramona had packed him a cheese sandwich, apple, granola bar, carrot sticks, along with a thermos of coffee. In the summer Bill would take his break by the river, spreading his dinner on the hood of the car. It was too cold for that in January. He pulled into the lot near the RV park and ate, watching a few night creatures dart through the underbrush around the cabins and trailers.
Ramona had left him a message at the bottom of his lunch sack. The notes had started as a private joke, but morphed into a genuine means of communication. Bill looked forward to seeing his wife’s thoughts and concerns on paper. He’d respond when he made her lunch after getting home tomorrow morning.
Tonight’s note read: Just give the job some thought. Stay safe, my love.
He was giving it thought. The Cowlitz Tribe’s Department of Safety had an opening. It would mean being closer to his people, his dad and uncle especially. Plus Ramona’s father was running for tribal office next June. And between Jennifer Eng and Peter Quayle, Bill was unlikely to become chief any time soon.
Not that he wanted the job of chief. It had its drawbacks. Dealing with crises like the deaths of the Gordons, for instance. Jen was doing as well as anyone could, and he could see how it was taking its toll. As for Peter, he was a nice enough guy, but severely antiquated in his thinking. Bill had taken him aside, their first week working together, and explained why he didn’t care that “Halfbreed” was the name of a song by Cher, he didn’t want to hear him use the word. Peter had gone pissy for a while, but eventually he seemed to come around. Or was just really good at pretending.
Bill smoothed out the note on the dashboard, wrote a checkmark next to Ramona’s words. He would think about it some more on the drive home. Then he flipped the paper and wrote Back at you, Sweetie, enclosing the words in a heart. He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket to save for the morning.
The sound of knuckles on glass caused him to spill his coffee. He hadn’t seen anyone approach. A pale hand was working the handle on the passenger’s door. The figure outside bent down. Bill put his cup on the dash, thinking it would be tough to clear his service weapon from where he sat.
Through the glass he saw a pale face topped with a black watch cap. It was Gary Gordon. Gary pointed at the door handle.
Bill cleared his lunch materials and unlocked the door. Thankfully the spilt coffee had mostly ended up on the floor. He wiped off his thighs and stomach as Gary climbed in beside him.
“You’re out late,” he said to Gary.
They were the same age, had been friends since Gary moved to Castle Rock to work with—for—his brother. The younger Gordon looked like he hadn’t slept or ate anything in days.
“Just been walking, driving around,” Gary said.
Bill could smell whiskey on his breath. “You need a ride home?”
“No, just—I saw you and thought we could talk. Like we used to, y’know?”
Once upon a time Bill Coker had enjoyed drinking to excess and smoking the occasional joint. Getting hired by Jen, and Ramona getting pregnant, had put an end to all that. These days, other than his birthday and the Pow-Wow, Bill didn’t touch anything stronger than coffee.
“Sure, Gary,” he said. “Anything special you want to talk about?”
Gary held his fists to the vents but didn’t speak. He looked at the cup on the dash and then at Bill. May I? Then took a sip.
“I’m wondering where things are at,” he said. “What’s all gonna happen with the investigation.”
“Jen wants to talk to you,” Bill said. “She’s doing all she can. Some ex-cop’s down from Seattle to consult, make sure we cross our T’s.”
“What do they know?”
They. Interesting term. Gary didn’t see Bill as totally aligned with Jennifer Eng and the rest of the department. But if he expected Bill to disclose secrets of the investigation to him, he’d be sorely disappointed.
“Not a heck of a lot,” Bill said. “We know the CO detector wasn’t working properly. There’s some debate how the place got flooded with fumes. We ran tests today. Seems like the garage—“
“Why did they have to come home?” Gary looked on the verge of tears. “I thought they were staying at Ingrid’s—Susie and the kid—stupid, stupid, stupid—”
His word choice was puzzling. Bill took it as a sign of grief. People weren’t responsible for what they said in sorrow.
“No one knows yet, buddy, but if we can find out, we will. That’s a promise. You know if there’s anything me and Ramona can do—”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“I know, pal.”
Gary bowed his head. Bill poured out more coffee and offered him the cup. He found some napkins in the glove box for Bill to wipe his eyes with.
“Howzabout I drive you home?” Bill said. They were ten minutes on foot from Gary’s trailer, but he thought it might be better to deposit the man directly on his couch. Bill Coker had dealt with enough highly emotional people to know that a little kindness and patience in this regard could forestall all manner of bad decisions later.
“I need a favor,” Gary said. “You and me are friends, right?”
“Of course.”
“Either of us needed something, we could come to the other?”
“You know it,” Bill said, wondering where the hell this was going.
Gary cleared his throat. “I’m thinking of leaving.”
“Like moving?”
“Getting out of here. I just can’t be here right now. There’s just too much—I mean, it’s all too much for me.”
“Is it you don’t want to be alone?”
Laughter, more exhaustion than amusement. “That’s about all I do want, Bill.”
The officer nodded, choosing his words carefully. “How about you crash on my couch tonight?” Bill said. “Ramona won’t mind. Then tomorrow you and me will go talk to Jen. Once that’s done, if you want a ride somewhere, I’d be happy to take you.”
“I don’t want to talk about what happened anymore,” Gary said.
“There’s a chance that it was on purpose, man. Don’t you want to help us catch them?”
Gary wouldn’t look at him.
“Bill,” he said, “what if I did something to make this happen?”
Chapter 13
Her back had throbbed from the moment she woke up, diagonally posed on the undersized bed. Nadine Kelso clambered out of bed and shuffled, wincing, to the shower stall. The nozzle lashed her with ice-cold water, which did her sore muscles no favors.
Nadine dried herself, then dropped to the floor in the safety position she’d learned from a back-centric yoga class. Take the pressure off those muscles. Stretch out casually. Flat on the ground, then arch the back into crocodile. Down flat, breathe, then up into downward dog.
Since the crash, her back had been a source of pain, infrequent but severe. Years of lugging around patrol gear built and weighted for men hadn’t helped. She eased out of broken table to the safe position. After a few more stretches she could stand without too much difficulty.
Dressed, with her notebook and gear, Nadine descended and took in the continental breakfast. A few donuts and a coffee urn laid out on the sideboard. The piano’s keyboard cover had been left up. She ran her right hand through a D major scale. Despite its use as a plant stand, the piano was in tune.
No one was behind the desk. Nadine sat down at the piano, adjusted the bench, and ran through a few arpeggios. She plinked out the melody for “Black Hole Sun,” and then a favorite of her father’s, “In a Sentimental Mood.”
Applause caused her to stop. Kelly stood near the staircase, holding a leash and a fur-lined coat. She was dressed the same as the day before, though today her checked plaid shirt was blue and aquamarine.
“Nice,” Kelly said. “I always hope if I leave the cover up someone will use it.”
“You play?” Nadine asked.
“My mom insisted I take a few years of Royal Conservatory. Of course that made me hate it. Then after a while I realized how lucky I was. Came back to it, just for fun. I’m working my way through The Well-Tempered Clavier.”
The Long Dark January: A Nadine Kelso Mystery Page 6