Footsteps in the Dark

by Josh Lanyon

  Troy’s face went from red to purple. He picked up his coffee, and pointedly ignoring me, turned to Sam.

  “You know I’m being incredibly generous offering you anything, Samantha.” He pretended to straighten his cuffs and then turned and huffed across the empty dining room. With a sense of satisfaction, I watched the front door fall closed behind him.

  It was then that the oddness of Troy’s words struck me. Why would he feel that offering Sam any money for her share of the business was an act of generosity? Unless… Could he know Sam didn’t actually own her share anymore?

  I turned back to Sam, who just sank her head down to the bar in tears. And no wonder. With family like that, of course she wanted off the island. Had Troy been treating her like this her entire life?

  “Come on, Sam, it’s not as bad as that,” I coaxed. “Yes, we are in a fucked-up situation right now, but we’re not beaten. Eelgrass is still getting customers, right? We did amazing business Sunday. We’ll be able to survive until a deal comes along that’s worth taking.”

  “I just don’t see how this can be fixed.” She lifted her head, and I saw that her face was pale and streaked with red. Her eyes bloodshot. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’ve wrecked everything.”

  Did I agree with her? Mostly. But telling her that wouldn’t do either of us any good. I took her hand.

  “Sam, no one person can wreck everything. It takes a whole team to wreck a team.”

  “Oh yeah? What did you do to contribute to this disaster?” She waved her hand around the spotless dining room as though it were filled with the carnage of some massive battle, which is probably how she saw it in her mind.

  “I could have tried to talk to you instead of just checking out.” I said it offhandedly, but listening to my own words, I knew the truth in them. “I never even attempted to confront you about what was going on here, even though it enraged me. I was too passive.”

  “Nothing you said could have made me stop,” Sam said.

  “Maybe not, but at least I could have tried. I could have stepped up and stopped the business from becoming the main venue for Dorian’s coke-dealing operation.”

  We were both silent for a few minutes after that. Thinking of Dorian made me angry and frustrated. Even dead, he was still causing people pain. Then I remembered the fondness in Evelyn’s voice when she’d described Dorian as a child. I remembered how Julie had smiled because he had accepted her. It was strange how the impression left by a single person could be so fractured—bouncing between the twin poles of good and evil at the speed of light.

  “I wish I could go back to the day I hired Dorian and stop myself.” Sam turned toward the kitchen. “I don’t think I can ever go into that cellar again. I don’t see how you can be here alone.”

  “I’m not afraid of ghosts, I guess.” I shrugged and took a drink of bitter espresso. “Listen, I know you signed over your part of the bistro to Dorian.”

  Sam froze, seemingly afraid to even look at me. “How do you know that?”

  “I found the bill of sale. That lettuce invoice you couldn’t find. Evelyn had it.”

  “I didn’t want to do that, but I owed Dorian money. Then his friend came, and he—he’s terrifying, Drew.”

  “Vukoja?” I asked.

  Sam nodded. “They went away and talked and came back and said they wanted part of the business. I didn’t want to be involved, so I just signed my part over so I could leave.”

  I nodded and thought it over.

  “Whose idea was it to steal Dorian’s stash?” I asked after another bracing drink of espresso. “Yours or Alfred’s?”

  “Freddy’s. I was supposed to leave the island with him the next morning. We were going to sell the coke and use the money to go live in Bali. Just get away from everything we grew up with here on the island. But then…everything happened. I got stuck here. Freddy left without me. I haven’t heard from him, and he isn’t answering any of my texts.”

  “You don’t think he…” I let the question hang as Sam nodded.

  “Yeah, I think he must have killed Dorian. Not on purpose, but everyone was really drunk. Lionel had passed out, and Dorian had wandered down into the cellar to dig around for more junk like he always did.”

  “Okay.” That directly contradicted her previous statements to everyone. “What then?”

  “Freddy went to get his lighter back from Dorian while I tried to wake Lionel up. But it was so late, I figured I should just let him sleep. I knew you’d be coming in soon and you’d take care of Lionel.” She dragged her hand across her eyes, wiping away tears. “Then Freddy came back up in a rush. He said Dorian must have already taken off because he couldn’t find him down there… I didn’t know until after I was talking to the cops. Figured out they must have gotten into a fight. Freddy was so mad at him…”

  “Just over a lighter?” I asked, but of course it wasn’t just a lighter. It would’ve probably been a lot of other small slights and frustrations that had built up over the years.

  Hadn’t that been how Julie had described Orca’s Slough: a cauldron of resentments and secrets roiling like magma beneath the calm surface?

  “The stupid thing is he didn’t even take his dumb Zippo in the end.” Sam stared past me at the bottles of infused vodkas Dorian had concocted. “God, why am I always so stupid about people? That Vukoja guy is probably going to come after me for Dorian’s stash and my half of the restaurant now.”

  “If he tries, we’ll call the cops on him,” I said.

  It gave me a feeling of bitter satisfaction to realize I’d been right, back on the ferry. Vukoja must have been the one who broke into the Beehive. He’d probably been after the bill of sale. Maybe he’d thought he could get it signed over to him? Maybe he’d forced Dorian to sign a will and then belatedly found out that Evelyn had too?

  “That’s what Troy said. He thought that if I sold to him, he’d be in a better legal position to fight Vukoja’s claim. But then I guess he took a big loss in the stocks and couldn’t afford to buy us out…” She shook her head, exposing remnants of red in her purple-streaked hair. “It feels like I’m cursed, like everyone I get close to just falls apart or goes crazy or gets killed or…or leaves me. You’re the only one who’s stuck it out with me. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend, Drew.”

  “It’s okay.” I said it out of reflex, but her apology did seem to wash away a lot of my resentment. “And I’m not sure who made you think that everything was your fault, Sam. But you aren’t to blame for all of this. You definitely aren’t responsible for Dorian’s murder.”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said quietly. “I feel like he’s haunting me. Like he knows he’d still be alive if I hadn’t agreed to try and steal his stash. And he probably would be.”

  “No one is responsible for his death except the guy who killed him.”

  “Yeah, but Freddy’s gone and that just leaves you and me here with Dorian’s ghost,” she said.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said. Sam’s gaze faltered. She didn’t share my skepticism. “But if this is going to be a problem, then we can have the basement exorcized or cleansed or whatever you do to evict ghosts.”

  “I probably just need to tell him I’m sorry,” Sam said. “And that I hope he can move on.”

  For a moment I wondered what Mac would think of all this.

  I had to call him and tell him everything Sam had said to me, but I really didn’t want to talk to him right now. Then again, if I could hand him the solution to Dorian’s murder, well, I probably wouldn’t have to talk to him or any other member of his family again.

  “Sam, I need to make a call. But I’ll come back here after, okay? We need a real plan if we’re going to get this place running again.”

  ***

  Outside, the crisp autumn air felt bitingly cold. I was about to call Mac, but then stopped myself. If I called him directly, there would be a record of me contacting him. I wasn’t certain that would be a good thing, e
specially with me having not come to the station as he’d requested. Plus I was still mad.

  I texted Evelyn instead.

  Is Big Mac still with you right now?

  Yes, she wrote; then another text popped up from her: He’s sorting through Dorian’s collection. I told him it’s all sentimental junk, but I guess he needs to feel useful.

  A third text bubble: He wants to know if you’re texting me right now. I told him he can’t see my phone without a warrant.

  I laughed.

  Tell him Samantha admitted that right before they left, Alfred went down into the basement after Dorian to get his lighter. He claimed Dorian wasn’t down there, but Sam’s pretty sure Alfred and Dorian fought and that Alfred killed Dorian.

  There was a long pause, then the response, Okay, I’ll tell him.

  A few seconds later a text from Mac popped up: WHERE ARE YOU?

  It was petty, I know, but I didn’t answer him. Instead I deleted his message and texted Evelyn.

  Tell him I’m at Eelgrass, but we aren’t open for business today. Sam and I have a lot to work out before we open up again.

  You’re not selling? A series of smile emojis and fireworks flashed up on my screen.

  Nope. You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I’ll come by the Beehive later. If Katie will let me in.

  Just as I pressed Send, Mac started blowing up my phone.

  WE

  NEED

  TO

  TALK

  I deleted each single word bubble as it arrived. It gave me a childish pleasure, and maybe in some corner of my heart it did me good to know he was annoyed enough for all caps.

  I KNOW YOURMAD ATME BUTYOUAREIN REALDANGER.YOU ARE NT A SUSPECT ANYMORE

  My finger hovered over the reply arrow. Before I could inform him that I was perfectly fine and just hashing out things with Sam, another message from Mac popped up.

  IM SERIOUS DREW DONTBE A FOOL

  Deleting a text never felt so good.

  My ringtone sounded, and Mac’s number appeared on my screen. I declined the call, turned off my phone, and strode back into my restaurant with a renewed sense of purpose.

  Inside, Sam had dimmed the dining-room lights and turned the music to the ChillWave station we both found relaxing. I peered around but couldn’t pick her figure out of the gloom.

  “Sam?” I called over the hazy melody drifting from the sound system.

  “I’m down here.” Sam’s voice rose from the basement.

  “What are you doing down there?” I tried not to sound alarmed. But what the hell was she doing in the basement? I peered down and saw the beam of a flashlight sweep up toward me. Sam stepped closer to the dry-goods shelf. The small overhead light made her hair look glossy as a raven’s wing.

  “I’m telling Dorian I’m sorry,” Sam announced as if it were obvious. “I won’t take long.”

  As much as I didn’t want to descend into the basement, I recognized that Sam was genuinely trying to face not only her fear, but her past actions. I made myself walk down the concrete steps and pace into the deep, musty gloom to stand beside her.

  Sam moved the beam of the flashlight across the cracked cement floor, revealing several scuff marks and a crumpled wad of police tape.

  “Where was he found?” Sam whispered.

  “Over to the right and farther back.” I lowered my voice as well despite knowing that Dorian’s immortal spirit wasn’t lingering around our old cellar. He’d much prefer to haunt the liquor cabinet of some adventurous divorcee.

  Sam linked her arm with mine and edged slowly farther into the darkness. I moved with her. Her hands shook. The white beam of the flashlight trembled as it exposed a dark bloodstain. A blue latex glove lay a few inches away.

  A disturbing chill rolled out from the pitch-black depths ahead of us. It carried a humid, dank smell that instantly roused the thought of moldering old corpses. Realistically, I knew it was just the ghost of kimchee gone wrong.

  Sam’s fingers dug into my arm.

  “Dorian,” Sam whispered, “if you’re here, I want you to know I’m sorry. I never wanted anything like that to happen to you, no matter what I ever said. I’m so sorry I didn’t pay you the money I owed you and that I let Troy and Charlie call you white trash. I’m sorry I said your mom was a crack whore. And I’m sorry I left you here on the island when I ran off to Seattle.” Her voice caught, and she shuddered.

  I’d known she had grown up here and that she had some kind of history with Dorian, but until now it hadn’t truly struck me that the two of them had shared so much of their childhood. No wonder Sam was such a mess.

  I squeezed her shoulder, and she leaned against me.

  “I guess that while we’re clearing the air, Dorian,” I addressed the darkness, “I might as well tell you that your yuzu-infused vodka was actually really good. And your black-walnut bitters were amazing.”

  “They were, weren’t they?” Sam’s voice lifted. “That charcoal-flavored ice-cream was terrible, though.” She gave a laugh that sounded a little like a sob.

  “Don’t forget the gluten-free, salmon-infused Sea Breeze,” I reminded her. This time Sam laughed out loud.

  “You know, half the time he was just trying to impress you, Drew. You were the classiest person he’d ever met, and you didn’t even have to try.”

  I took a moment to let the idea of that sink in. Part of me didn’t want to think warmly of Dorian—not now when he was dead and it was too late for us to ever be friends. But at the same time it seemed pointless and petty to keep holding on to the idea of him as some one-dimensional dude. I might not have liked the side of him that I knew, but obviously I hadn’t known all aspects of him.

  “I’m sorry you’re gone, Dorian,” I said.

  Sam hugged me, and I returned her embrace. The stale scent in the air seemed to lift, and I could have sworn a warm breeze wrapped around us.

  “Did you feel that?” Sam whispered.

  “I…did.”

  “I think Dorian’s okay. I think he’s moved on.”

  I nodded, but there was something about the heat and hint of air freshener that made me think this breeze had more to do with a draft blowing through the basement than it did with the gates of paradise opening up to admit our skanky, deceased bartender.

  “We should go upstairs—” I began, but then a faint grating noise sounded from far back in the rough wall of the basement. Sam and I both jumped.

  “Probably mice,” Sam said.

  Or rats, I thought, but mice sounded cuter.

  Then a very metallic noise rose up and was followed by an earthy scrape. Shhhhick. Thup. Shhhhick. Thup. Over and over. Digging?

  Sam’s body went rigid.

  “Oh no,” Sam whispered. She pulled away from me and started after the noise.

  “Wait, Sam, where are you going?”

  Darkness closed in around me. I stumbled after her and the bouncing beam of her flashlight. The concrete floor broke off into packed dirt, and I nearly fell.

  “I think Freddy has come back for the safe.” Sam stilled for a moment as she shone her light on a rough section of the rocky basement wall. Shards of Lionel’s kimchee crock littered the ground at her feet. Sam looked frantic as she scanned the random pieces of basalt protruding from the sandstone wall.

  “What safe?”

  “Uncle Bill’s safe. Dorian thought it was buried in the floor, but it’s actually back in the bootleggers’ tunnel that Charlie and Troy’s dad cleared out to connect his two properties. Like a fucking idiot, I told Freddy about it. Damn it, where is—”

  More glints of jagged ceramics caught my attention. How probable was it that Lionel’s crock had cracked apart on exactly the day Dorian was murdered? What if instead, someone using this tunnel had knocked it over and broken it while making a fast escape?

  Suddenly Sam reached out and shoved her shoulder against one of the basalt stones. It sank back into the wall. What had appeared to be an outcropping of sandstone swun
g inward, revealing a narrow black seam. Warm, perfumed air gushed from the opening. I recognized the fragrance now. The swank “room cologne” that perfumed Troy’s shop.

  The digging noise grew louder.

  Sam shoved the false stonework farther open.

  “Sam, I really don’t think we should go in after—”

  “I let that fucker kill Dorian. I won’t let him rob the family too!” Samantha darted through the crack. Her flashlight illuminated a low, uneven ceiling and a rocky dirt floor.

  I knew I’d regret the decision, but I followed her. If she was going to confront the man who’d murdered Dorian, I wasn’t going to let her do it alone. My shoulder smacked against a stone, and I felt cobwebs clinging to my head. The beam of Sam’s flashlight ricocheted erratically off the clammy rock walls.

  I dug my phone out of my pocket and prodded it blindly. The screen lit. A string of glaring text notifications rolled up. I squinted against the light as I turned my phone away and hit the flashlight function.

  The blue-white beam illuminated what looked like a small rocky chamber and part of a roughhewn staircase. Ahead of me, Sam gave a startled shout. Then she dropped suddenly out of sight—like the ground just swallowed her whole.

  I shone my light across the dirt floor as I rushed ahead. I sidestepped a mound of freshly dug soil, and a gaping hole came into view. Maybe five feet square but it looked much deeper.

  “Sam, are you down there? Are you okay?” I knelt at the side of the hole. The blaze of Sam’s flashlight swung up, burning into my eyes. I shifted my head to see Sam sprawled across disturbingly familiar shapes. An arm curled under matted, filthy hair. Legs tucked up in an almost fetal position, pale bones jutting out from a badly decayed suit.

  “There’s a body down here, Drew.” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Her eyes were wide with horror.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked again.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I reached out to her. “Take my hand. I’ll pull you—”