The Girls Across the Bay

by Emerald O'Brien

I need the money, and the tips were a bonus.

  Evette’s name flashed across the screen.

  Maybe she needs help.

  “Hello?” Madigan answered.

  “There you are. I’ve been trying to get ahold of John since this morning, and he hasn’t answered or returned my calls. Last time we spoke was yesterday around noon when he told me he’d seen you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m worried about him and—” She went into a coughing fit, and Madigan leaned back in her chair. “It’s not like him. Have you spoken to him since?”

  “I saw him yesterday afternoon.”

  “After you left here?”

  “Mhmm.”

  “Oh,” she paused. “Well, why didn’t you invite John over here? We could have all—”

  “He said he couldn’t leave the lodge,” Madigan said.

  “I just want to make sure nothing’s happened to him.”

  “Maybe I could call him?”

  Evette coughed again and cleared her throat. “Well, if you think he’ll answer you, go straight ahead, but he isn’t answering his phone. I’m telling you.”

  Madigan cocked her head to the side. “Well, I don’t know. I’m just trying to put your mind at ease.”

  Evette breathed a heavy sigh into the phone.

  “Evette?” Madigan asked.

  “It’s just not like him,” Evette said in a soft voice. “Yes. Call him.”

  “Alright.”

  “And call me right back, okay?”

  “Yes,” Madigan said. “Bye.”

  She hung up and scrolled through her phone for John’s number.

  It’s like being the go-between in a dysfunctional family.

  She hovered her thumb over John’s name.

  After yesterday, he probably won’t answer me, either.

  She hit his name and waited as the line rang.

  “Madigan?” John said.

  “Hi.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me again after…”

  “What happened with you?” she asked. “I brought up Valerie, and you told me not to say anything. I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t talk about it over the phone. I need you to come here.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “You know I’m not allowed. The officer will never let me in.”

  “No, I mean come by the back of the motel. Don’t ride all the way. No noises. You need to come get me.”

  “Get you? John, you’re scaring me. I can’t come there, and you can’t leave. Could you please just tell me what happened with Valerie? And Lily?”

  The drawn out silence between them sent goosebumps across her arms.

  “John?” she whispered.

  “I’ll tell you what I know if you come. Be here by six, okay? I’ll meet you out back. You’re the only person I have left. The only one I know won’t screw me over or try to hurt me.”

  But will you hurt me?

  “John…”

  “I know you don’t trust me,” he said. “That’s good. I wish there was something I could say or do right now, but I need you to just come. You’ll understand what you want to know if you come.”

  I promised Grace.

  “Evette’s worried for you. She says you haven’t answered her calls.”

  “Will you call her and tell her I’m okay? That I’m just tired.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “And that I love her.”

  That sounds like goodbye.

  “I will, but I can’t come to meet you.”

  “Madigan. Don’t you want the truth?”

  Yes.

  “Don’t you want to put it all to rest?” he asked. “I do. I have something I need to do.”

  He’s using my weakness against me.

  And it’s working.

  But I promised Grace.

  “Why can’t you tell me now?” Madigan asked.

  “Because I might not be alive after Mickey gets arrested for Lily’s murder.”

  He thinks someone’s coming to kill him.

  “Who’s going to hurt you?”

  The person who attacked her? The reason they had police watching all of them?

  “I’m not going to wait here to die,” he said.

  “John, the police are there, and I can call Grace and—”

  “Don’t call anyone. It wasn’t a nightmare.”

  “My dream,” she muttered and stood up, walking to the back door. “How do you know about my dream?”

  Evette must have told him.

  She stared out into the dark backyard where her attacker hid the previous night.

  “It was my nightmare,” John said. “I lived it. Will you help me make this right? Please, Madigan. For you. For everyone involved. Time’s up.”

  It was real. He pulled a dead body through the hallway to the garage.

  It was Valerie.

  And I’m the only thing that stands between the truth and a lifetime of no one knowing what happened to her.

  “I’ll see you at six,” she said and hung up.

  Grey clouds swept in front of the bright moon hanging high over the ocean. The wind blew through the trees, shaking the last of the crisp leaves off their branches.

  “Time’s up,” she whispered.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  As they exited the highway bridge, Grace couldn’t help but wonder if sharing the news from the DA with the Martins would get their hopes up.

  “You’ve been quiet,” Mac said. “This is good news.”

  “I guess. They could still decide it’s not enough, or not important enough.”

  Mickey Clarke is untouchable.

  John’s words whispered in the dark corners of her mind.

  “They deserve to get an update,” Mac said. “It’s the first real news we have for them.”

  “We can’t get into details with them though. I feel like they’ll still think it’s John.”

  “Well, I think we should tell them about the no contact order Lily took out against Mickey after she and John got back together. That he supported her through that,” he said. “They should know that as far as we’re concerned, the bruise they thought was from John was from Mickey.”

  Grace stared out the window, watching dark grey clouds roll in from the North, over all of Deerhorn County.

  “It makes sense about burning the house too,” he said. “Burning away evidence. And the lock box with photos. I’m sure Mickey had one of his goons follow us.”

  And even if we arrest him, he could send more to punish us.

  “Grace, you okay? We’re almost there.”

  She nodded and pulled the visor down, fussing with her hair as he turned into their subdivision.

  Nothing’s going to bring Lily back.

  Unless her killer is brought to justice, the Martins will have no semblance of peace.

  They knocked on the front door, and Mr. Martin answered.

  “Come in,” he said, gesturing toward the living room. “Please, don’t worry about your shoes.”

  He’s in a good mood.

  He thinks we’ve made an arrest.

  As they entered the room, Mrs. Martin poked her head out from the kitchen. “Tea or coffee?” she called.

  “Nothing for us, Ma’am,” Grace said, feeling Mac’s eyes looking down at her before they took a seat side by side on the couch.

  Mrs. Martin scurried in and sat down in the nicer armchair beside her husband.

  “So,” Mr. Martin said. “You’ve got news?”

  Mrs. Martin’s foot tapped against the carpet as she clenched the sides of the armchair, digging her fingers into the material.

  She’s anxious.

  Nervous maybe?

  “Please,” she said. “Tell us you’ve made an arrest.”

  Mac cleared his throat. “Well, not yet, but we just presented our case to the DA, and he has to talk to some people. We’re here to let you know he said we’ve got a strong case.”

&nb
sp; “Well, why haven’t you arrested John yet?” Mr. Martin asked.

  “Sir,” Grace said, “we don’t want to get your hopes up. These things can take time, but through our investigation, we found details that incriminate a man named Michael Clarke.”

  Mrs. Martin frowned and looked to her husband, but he kept his eyes on them.

  “Who?” he asked, raising his voice.

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Mrs. Martin said. “What about John Talbot?”

  “We have good reason to believe your daughter had an altercation with the suspect in question the night of her death,” Mac said. “At the beginning of the investigation, John let us know Lily had taken out a restraining order against Michael Clarke, a no contact order, to be exact.”

  “She never told me,” Mrs. Martin said. “Those bruises, they were from John.”

  “Not according to legal documents filed,” Grace said.

  “According to your daughter, Clarke had been harassing and intimidating her before and during her break up with John Talbot,” Mac said.

  “Lily was living under our roof,” Mr. Martin said. “We would have known. John never told us any of that. He’s lying—”

  “When would he have told us?” Mrs. Martin asked, looking down in her lap.

  She’s disappointed.

  “Well, Lily would have,” Mr. Martin said.

  “What did he do to her?” Mrs. Martin whispered. “This Michael Clarke?”

  “He left the bruise on her arm,” Grace said.

  Mrs. Martin turned white as a ghost. Tears welled up in Mr. Martin’s eyes.

  They finally realize there’s a chance John is innocent. A good chance.

  “We can’t discuss all the details,” Mac said, “but you deserve to know that a decision could be made as early as today, or it could be a bit.”

  “But why would she let us think John left that mark?” Mrs. Martin asked, her voice trembling.

  “She didn’t let us think it,” Mr. Martin said in a stern voice. “We assumed.”

  He blames himself.

  He cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  Mac opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Martin turned to her husband. “She would have told me,” she said. “We talked. She—she would have said it was someone else.”

  “We’ll discuss this later, Chris,” Mr. Martin said, struggling to stand.

  “Take your ti—” Mac started.

  “She told us Lily should leave him,” Mrs. Martin said. “That he was dangerous.”

  “Who told you that?” Grace asked.

  “That’s enough, Chris,” Mr. Martin said.

  Tears fell down her cheeks as she looked up at him. “She said he’d hurt our baby,” she cried.

  “I’d like you to leave,” Mr. Martin said, speaking over his wife, looking from Mac to Grace. “Now.”

  Mac stood, but Grace edged forward in her seat. “Who told you that?” she asked.

  “John’s m-mother,” she cried. “She called us the night Lily died and—”

  Evette.

  “Enough,” Mr. Martin shouted. “I said get out, and I meant it. Leave me to take care of her.”

  Mrs. Martin buried her face in her hands.

  If Evette called and told them John would hurt Lily, maybe they went over to try to get her to leave him the night she died.

  “When was the last time you saw your daughter?” Grace asked.

  “Sheppard,” Mac said. “Come on. We’ve been asked to leave.”

  “Mrs. Martin?” Grace said.

  “I can’t, Norman,” she said. “Oh, Lily, I’m sorry. What else was I supposed to do?”

  Her husband went to her and kneeled at her side. “It’s going to be okay, Chris, I promise.”

  She shook her head and rocked back and forth.

  Grace and Mac exchanged looks, and Mac stepped just behind Mr. Martin.

  “Mrs. Martin,” Grace said. “Why did you keep the fact that John’s mom called you that night from us?”

  Mrs. Martin stared at her husband, shaking her head, and he clasped both of her hands between his, shaking his head.

  “An innocent man can’t go to prison for this,” she cried, looking from her husband to Grace and Mac. “I went to get her that night right after his mother c-c-called. I went to bring her back h-home.”

  She started hyperventilating, and her husband rubbed her arm, hanging his head.

  She was there. They’ve lied to us this whole time.

  Because it was them.

  Grace turned to Mac, and he stared back at her, wide-eyed.

  “Lily,” Mrs. Martin screamed as tears flew from between her eyes and cheeks. “Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry. I’m soh-hoh—oh God.”

  Mr. Martin lifted his head and rose to his feet with the help of the armchair.

  “It was me,” he said. “It was an accident.”

  “No,” Mrs. Martin cried. “No, Norman.”

  Was it him or her?

  “Chris, that’s enough,” he said in a stern voice, his face redder by the second. “I went to bring her back, to save her from him, and I tried to physically pull her along but she slipped out of my hands and she…”

  His voice shook, and he closed his eyes, while behind him, Mrs. Martin covered her mouth, her whole body shaking.

  “She fell back and hit her head on the table,” he said, nodding once. “It was me. Arrest me.”

  It was her. He’s covering for her.

  Everything he just said sounded rehearsed.

  “Norman,” she cried, reaching for him, but he pushed her hands away and stepped forward.

  “Mr. Martin,” Mac said. “You are under arrest for the death of Lily Martin. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

  He read him his Miranda rights and led him to the front door, and Mrs. Martin ran up behind him, wrapping her arms around him.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried.

  It was an accident. It had to be, and yet they had tried to frame John.

  Chris grabbed at her husband’s arms, and Grace rested her hand on her shoulder.

  “Mrs. Martin,” Grace said. “Please let go of him.”

  “I love you, Chris,” Mr. Martin said, and she let go as Mac led him from the house to their car.

  Mrs. Martin covered her mouth with her shaking hand and watched Mac take him away.

  “What have I done?” she repeated over and over with shaky breath. “This was because of John. This never would have happened if it weren’t for him. She’d still be here…”

  She believed it.

  They weren’t pretending.

  They really think if it weren’t for him, she’d be alive.

  Or it’s what they told themselves to stay sane after Lily was accidentally killed.

  Mrs. Martin turned to Grace. “We were just trying to protect her,” she whimpered.

  You have no idea what your lies have done.

  What they’ve cost other people.

  “Mrs. Martin,” she said, swallowing hard before resting her hand on her shoulder, “please come with me.”

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Madigan parked her bike in the field behind the back lot of the hotel and walked through the tall brush and weeds until she could make out the lights of Whitestone Lodge lot as they came on. She checked her phone and noticed a text from Grace.

  Good news. Call me when you can.

  She received it as she walked through the field.

  I’ve still got some time before she wonders.

  The cool night breeze smelled of burnt leaves, and a swirl of fear and excitement danced in her stomach.

  I’ve still got time to back out.

  Her cell vibrated in her hand, and she jumped.

  John.

  Maybe he’s backing out.

  Maybe I should back out.

  “Hello?”

  “I can’t get out. There’s an of
ficer in the lot watching my front door, and another one does laps around the building. It doesn’t even take him a minute to drive around the whole thing. I need time to climb out the bathroom window.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I need a distraction,” he said.

  Me.

  “This was a mistake,” she said, ready to hang up.

  “Please. It’s not a mistake. You’re helping me because it’s helping you and the families involved.”

  He knows that’s not the only reason I’m helping him.

  There’s another part of this I can’t put into words—or I don’t want to.

  “How do I know you won’t hurt me?” she asked.

  “Because I know now,” he said. “I’m not him. I’m not Eli.”

  She swayed from one foot to the other. “How?”

  “Lily chose me. She chose the man I’ve become, and I want to be that man for her even—even though she’s gone.”

  Madigan sighed and started walking along the edge of the field toward the front of the building.

  How can I make a distraction?

  “You’ll help me?” he asked.

  She paused, looking around the field, scanning the back of the building.

  “Madigan, I think we’re more alike than you know. I know you want to help people, but you’re like me. You like the thrill of the unknown. You feed off of it.”

  That’s the other part.

  She took a deep breath of the autumn air, sending flutters through her lungs.

  “When I give the signal, run behind the lodge to the back field,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “What’s the signal?” he asked.

  A parking lot for the building next door backed up onto the lodge.

  I’ll give them something to check out.

  “Madigan? What’s the signal?”

  “You’ll know,” she said and hung up.

  While Mac finished booking Mr. Martin, Grace returned to their room at the station and studied the dry erase board.

  Still so many things that don’t make sense.

  The Martins could have set the house on fire, but it’s unlikely they left a box full of photos.

  It doesn’t fit the narrative here.

  Mickey threatening John to stay quiet makes sense, but after news breaks that Mr. Martin has been arrested, maybe they’ll let John be.

  That’s when we’ll take police protection off of him.