The Redemption Game

by Jen Blood

  While he watched them explore, his thoughts returned to Nancy Davis and the twin cases he was supposed to be solving. He still couldn’t believe the police had already arrested Bear. Unless they had some ace up their sleeve they’d discovered at Nancy’s, or else someone who had actually witnessed him killing the old woman, then they couldn’t possibly expect to hold him. They were probably just trying to scare him, forcing him to spend the entire weekend behind bars to think about any lies he might be telling them. It was an old strategy, but not ineffective.

  He sat around for a few minutes more before it became apparent that this wasn’t a productive way to spend his time. At shortly past eleven o’clock, he locked up the apartment and headed out to meet with Barbara Monroe. The person he really wanted to talk to was Bear, but he decided to wait until he had an opportunity to talk to Jamie first. He resisted the urge to call her, knowing how much she had on her plate right now.

  When Jack reached Barbara’s house, her Prius was in the driveway. He parked next to it, then hesitated a moment before he got out. Julie was out back, tending a small garden patch in the sunshine. She wore short jean cutoffs and a sleeveless shirt that showed her belly, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. When she straightened, she stretched her body to reveal not just her flat stomach, but the lace-trimmed edge of her bra. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that she was well aware of his presence. She caught sight of Jack watching her, and smiled at him. Lifted a hand, and waved.

  Jack looked away.

  He waited a moment, hoping she would return to her gardening, but instead she started toward his car. He groaned inwardly, and got out.

  “I heard what happened last night at Nancy’s place,” she began when she was a few feet away. “Are you okay?”

  Had someone put out a press release without him knowing? “I’m fine.”

  She crowded closer, reaching up on tiptoes to touch his bandage. “Are you sure? This looks bad.”

  He stepped away, ducking his head to get away from her. “Positive—the doctor cleared me. No problem. Is your mother around? I was hoping to talk to her.”

  “She’s inside.” She jerked her head toward the house with a grimace. “Nursing a hangover. Don’t tell her I said that, she’d kill me,” she added, voice lowered conspiratorially.

  “I won’t,” he said. She was waiting for him to ask questions about that revelation, but he remained silent. It wasn’t his business if Barbara Monroe occasionally overindulged—hell, it wouldn’t be his business if she got rip-roaring drunk and danced on tabletops every night.

  Besides which, he wasn’t sure how much of what Julie Monroe said he actually believed. She reminded him too much of the girls during the witch trials who sent innocent women to their deaths on a whim.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said brusquely. “Enjoy the day—it’s supposed to be beautiful again.”

  He turned from her and started toward the house. She called after him before he’d gone three steps.

  “Mr. Juarez?”

  He turned back around. “Yes?”

  “Is it true that Bear got arrested this morning?” For the first time, he caught what appeared to be genuine emotion in her eyes.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Fred.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “He was here this morning first thing, to let us know they found Albie. He said Albie told them that Bear did it—Bear murdered Nancy.”

  “Do you believe that’s true?”

  “I don’t know.” Her expression was guarded. “It’s hard to believe, right? Bear’s so gentle. I can’t see him losing it so bad that he’d actually hurt somebody. Even Nancy. She was horrible, and I know Bear hated her. Still…” She trailed off, but something in her tone suggested she had more to say on the subject.

  “Do you know anything more about what happened that night?” he asked.

  “Me? No—I told the police, I was asleep with my headphones on. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t talk to anybody after it happened.”

  He registered the words, and kept his tone neutral when he followed up. “Did you talk to someone before it happened?”

  The fear in her eyes was enough to tell him he was on the right track. “Did you talk to Bear that night, Julie? Did you see him?”

  “Jack!” He heard a familiar voice call from behind him. The fear flashed deeper in Julie’s face, and she shook her head.

  “I have to go. I already told the police: I don’t know anything.” She hesitated. “If you talk to Bear, will you tell him I said hi? And…tell him I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry about this whole mess.”

  And with that, she turned and fled, returning to her garden with a last backward glance. Jack suppressed the urge to go after her, since Barbara was already waving him inside from the front door.

  Barbara wore snug-fitting jeans and a fitted T-shirt, her hair down around her shoulders. Her feet were bare, and—despite her daughter’s words—her eyes were bright, and he saw no trace that she was suffering any ill effects.

  “Can I get you some tea? The way Fred described what happened last night, I’m surprised to see you out and about. I would have thought you’d be in the hospital.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

  He followed her into the house. The date beside the door said 1790, and Jack shook his head as he passed the threshold and took in the details of the antique colonial.

  “This is beautiful,” Jack said honestly.

  “Thanks,” she said. She led him into a bright, spacious kitchen with checkerboard linoleum tiles and antiqued, custom cabinetry. An enamel Viking range stood at one wall, and Jack admired it from a distance.

  “You should have seen this place when we first bought it. It was a disaster.”

  “You fixed it up yourselves?”

  “Tim’s a cabinet maker, and I always wanted to be an interior designer. It’s been our pet project.”

  “I thought your husband was a salesman.”

  She shook her head with a sad smile. “That was what paid—he got a job with a company that makes these awful, cookie cutter kitchens… He’s good looking, he knows what he’s talking about. He does very well for them.”

  “He did the work in here?” Jack asked. He walked the length of the kitchen, running a finger along the cabinetry.

  “All of it. We salvaged all the wood we could from an old three-story barn on the property, and used a lot of that. Tim didn’t want to use anything new—he always says everything people make today is crap. He’d rather use boards fifty years old than something most lumber companies put out today. It’s the way they harvest the trees or something.” She shrugged, nostalgia in her eyes. “I don’t know—he’s given me the lecture a thousand times in the past twenty years.”

  Jack sat at a roughly hewn kitchen table, also homemade by the look of it, while Barbara put on tea water and set a mug and a selection of teas in front of him. He passed over the overwhelming array of herbal tea in favor of basic black, and waited for her to join him. When she finally sat down, after pouring hot water for him and then herself, she settled into her chair with the heavy sigh of a much older woman. She looked at Jack wearily.

  “I saw you talking to Julie out there,” she said. She looked away a moment, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate you not encouraging her. I don’t know what’s going on with her. She used to be this…” She shook her head, then looked at Jack full-on again. “All she ever used to do was read. All the time—we couldn’t get that kid’s nose out of a book. She started on Harry Potter when she was six or seven, and I don’t think she stopped until she was fourteen or fifteen. She and Tim were inseparable. This job has been hard on her.”

  “So he hasn’t worked for the kitchen company that long?”

  “Three years in August. We were trying to build up our own business—we worked like dogs at that for fifteen years. When we first got together, we had all these ideas of what it would be like. We’d become rich and famous, h
ave our own show on HGTV, our own line of books on colonial décor and renovation.”

  Jack flashed a sympathetic smile, thinking inexplicably of his own wife, Lucia. Of the daughter she was carrying when she was murdered; the dreams they’d whispered to one another across the pillow a thousand lifetimes ago. “Life doesn’t always go the way you hope.”

  “No. No, it doesn’t. Anyway, Julie started changing after he took the job. I don’t know if it was because of that or just teenage hormones, or some combination of the two. It didn’t help that all the ways she’d been awkward-looking and clumsy disappeared overnight, and suddenly the sweet little girl we had was…” She shook her head. “…gorgeous. We never really saw it coming—I wish I’d prepared her for the change better.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  She laughed, fixing him with pretty green eyes rimmed with thick lashes. “Sure I could. I lived it. I know what boys turn into around that age, especially when they’re around a beautiful girl; I know how crass and dehumanizing men can be to attractive teenage girls.”

  She sighed again, and took a sip of her tea before she set it down and looked at Jack again. “Anyway, that’s not why you’re here. Is there something I can tell you? I assume you would have stopped my babbling if you had news about Tim.”

  “Nothing yet,” he said regretfully. “But I did have a couple of questions. Specifically, I wanted to talk to you about Fred Davis.”

  She looked surprised. “Fred? Sure. What can I tell you?”

  “You dated when the two of you were in high school?”

  She looked surprised at that, forehead furrowing. “No—we knew each other, but we didn’t really move in the same circles. Later, we became friends. But we definitely never dated.”

  “Why would someone tell me that you had?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Who did you hear it from?”

  He traced the story back, considering. “I think someone said it over at the Loyal Biscuit. And Fred said something about your history, the other night.”

  “Our history? There’s hardly enough between us to even use the word.” She looked genuinely confused. “I’m sorry, but there’s not a lot I can tell you about him. I know more about him from moving into this house than from any time we spent together in school.”

  “Such as?” Jack pressed.

  “Nothing specific,” she said. “I know he’s always had a hard time holding down a job, at least until this latest thing. He’s worked at the insurance place for a few years now. I’m happy for him—it seems like he’s finally finding his way. I think he just needed to get some distance from Nancy.”

  “So, he’s never asked you out on a date, anything like that?”

  She hesitated. “When was the last time?” he pressed, reading her response.

  “A couple of days ago,” she admitted.

  Jack stayed for another few minutes to ask more questions about Tim’s co-workers and any contacts he might be able to reach to try and locate her missing husband, but he was going through the motions. There was no doubt about it: when it came to not only Nancy’s death, but the other bodies in the basement, it seemed almost every road led back to Fred. The exception was the ex-con, but Jack hadn’t investigated the man thoroughly enough to write that off completely. Finally, with more questions than answers, Jack finished off his tea and stood.

  “You don’t happen to know where Fred is staying right now, do you?” he asked at the door.

  “He mentioned staying at a hotel in Rockland—Harborside. It’s kind of a dive. I told him he could stay here, but he said he needed to deal with Albie first. Of course, as soon as Julie heard that, she threw such a fit that I’m hoping he doesn’t decide to take me up on the offer.”

  “She doesn’t like Fred, then,” Jack said.

  Barbara opened the door, and walked with him to his car. “She doesn’t like a lot of people,” Barbara said. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I think she’s just afraid he’s trying to take her father’s place.”

  This made sense, Jack thought, considering that Fred clearly had designs on the woman.

  A moment later they reached his car, and Jack noted that Julie was still in the garden, trying very hard not to look like she was watching him.

  “I know I haven’t given you much about your husband yet,” Jack said, “but I promise, I am working on it. I have a couple of leads I’d like to follow over the next twenty-four hours. I should have a status report and some answers for you by Monday.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She met his gaze, and for the first time he saw the weariness she hid so well. “At this point, I feel like I almost don’t want to know. Like it would be better to just have the hope that one day he’ll walk through the front door and we can be a family again. He’ll tell us he was in a car wreck in the middle of nowhere and had amnesia, and then one day he woke up and it all came back to him.”

  Jack nodded soberly. “I understand. And that’s your prerogative, if you’d prefer to have me stop looking.”

  “No.” She shook her head, brushing at a stray tear. “We need to know. It’s better for both Julie and me. It just doesn’t feel like that sometimes.”

  “I’ll be in touch soon,” he promised.

  He drove away with mother and daughter in the rearview mirror—Barbara watching from the driveway, Julie still covertly following his movement from the garden. He took a deep breath, trying to shake the look in both women’s eyes. It would be wonderful to live in a world where husbands who went missing for months at a time simply returned one day, unscathed, to step back into their daily lives.

  Jack had never lived in that world, though.

  He turned on the radio, mouth set in a grim line, and set out to talk to Fred Davis.

  Chapter 24

  HARBORSIDE WAS A HOTEL/MOTEL off the main strip in Rockland, with only a few cars in the parking lot despite the busy season. Once Jack stepped inside, he understood why. The lighting was dim, the carpeting was dingy, and it looked like the place hadn’t had an update—or a thorough cleaning—since Nixon left office. According to the desk manager, Fred had checked out early that morning. He’d had his brother with him, and Albie was clearly agitated.

  “I thought about calling the police,” the man—Ralph—told Jack. Ralph barely topped five-foot-four, but easily weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, with sparse black hair and a thick mustache straight from 1970s-era porn.

  “But you didn’t call?” Jack asked.

  Ralph shrugged. “Not my business.”

  “Was the brother here overnight, or did he just come in this morning?”

  “This morning. He still had his hospital bracelet on. The way he was acting, I figured he just got out of the psych ward. And maybe they shouldn’t have been so quick to let him go.”

  “Did either of them mention where they were going when they left?”

  “Nope,” the man said. “And they must’ve forgotten to leave a forwarding address. Imagine that.”

  Jack ignored his sarcasm. “Here’s my card,” he said, sliding it and a fifty-dollar bill across the counter. “Call me if you think of anything else, or you hear from either of them.”

  The manager took the money, flashing a smile that revealed yellowed false teeth and one glinting silver cap. “Sure thing.”

  Jack turned to go, then had a thought and turned back. “Has housekeeping been to the room yet?”

  “Sylvia, you mean? She’s my wife. She’s not in yet.”

  “Any chance I could take a look?”

  “Any chance you got another fifty in there?”

  Jack took out a twenty. Ralph didn’t bother negotiating, handing over the key without argument. “Where’s the room?” Jack asked.

  “Second floor, last door down. Elevator’s broken, you’ll have to take the stairs.”

  Jack was planning to.

  #

  Fred’s bed was unmade, his sheets in a heap on the floor. Apart from that, though
, there was nothing remarkable about the room. The bathroom was no dirtier than it had likely been when Fred checked in, and he found no notepad with an address conveniently left behind to indicate where the man might have gone next. Using a tissue, he picked through the trash bucket beside a well-worn desk in the corner. Three beer bottles—Budweiser—and a half-eaten bucket of KFC. He dropped it with distaste when he realized it was crawling with ants, and brushed himself off with a shiver. He’d survived all manner of horrors between the military and the FBI, but none of that had changed his distaste for bugs.

  As he was stepping away, a blue slip of paper at the bottom of the trash basket caught his eye. Nose wrinkled, he pushed his way through until he reached it and pulled it out quickly, shaking the ants off before he looked more closely.

  It was an envelope, issued by US Air. Two ticket stubs were inside, with today’s date. Destination: Halifax, Nova Scotia.

  Fred was leaving the country.

  Jack took out his phone and scanned recent calls until he found what he was looking for, and pressed Send. It took three rings, but finally Sheriff Finnegan picked up.

  “How’s the concussion, Mr. Juarez?” Finnegan asked.

  “It’s fine,” he said shortly. “Fred Davis is taking his brother and skipping town. Can you talk to someone about stopping him at the airport? He’s got a flight booked for this afternoon.”

  There was a pause on the line. Finnegan said something to someone on the other end of the line, and he heard a door slam before the sheriff spoke again.

  “You want to run that by me again?”

  “Fred and Albie left—they’re headed to Nova Scotia.”

  “And you know this how, exactly?”

  Jack frowned. “I can’t reveal my sources.”