by Jessa Archer
“These comments are ridiculous,” he said. “An ice-cream truck? You’re telling me this is how you knew—”
“All of them are ridiculous except one. Tanya’s car. Tanya’s missing. Tanya wasn’t the body in the driver’s seat. Logical deduction.”
I’m not sure if he believed me, but he shoved the computer back and picked up one of the other paintings. I watched his face for a moment and could almost see the hamster wheel running inside his head.
“I think you could be on to something here, Townsend. Maybe Lucy McBride killed this guy. Tanya, too.”
It was all I could do not to laugh. I didn’t think for a single moment that Blevins believed that. For one thing, she’d been his English teacher, too. The idea of frail, bookish Lucy McBride murdering anyone was laughable.
What I didn’t know was whether he’d managed to connect Bud Blackburn to the description of the man the boys had seen at Jolly’s Marina. Or even if they’d given him a description, since Jack said his questioning hadn’t been especially thorough.
I was about to repeat my question about why he’d used the words crime scene when Blevins asked. “What are these others? That looks like the old Torrance place. And that’s a knife, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. Do you think that’s Mrs. McBride holding it? Or maybe she’s the one kicking the person on the ground?”
Blevins gave me an annoyed look. “It’s two men—” He stopped, realizing that I was mocking him. “Funny.”
“I don’t know what they’re supposed to be, Steve. They were all together in a single lot. I wanted the one with the tree.”
Blevins pulled a set of wire-rimmed reading glasses from his front shirt pocket and picked up the Lover’s Leap painting. I had no idea he wore glasses. Too bad they didn’t make him look any smarter.
My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Wren, saying that she was back from the dentist and I should just let myself in and meet her back in the storeroom.
Blevins was still hunched over the canvas, clearly interested in the spot in the river. “That’s definitely supposed to be the car, sinking into the river after plummeting from here.” He tapped the cliff, where the broken guard rope lay like an undisturbed snake.
“Which is what you think actually happened, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said absently. I almost had the sense he’d forgotten that he was talking to me. “Given how the car was positioned at the bottom of the river, I really don’t see how it could’ve been any other way. The current isn’t strong enough to turn a vehicle like that. Not today, anyway. I have no idea what it was like in 1987.”
He propped the painting back against the wall, then took out his phone and snapped pictures of all four. “Don’t get rid of them,” he said as he started for the door. “And don’t mention them to anyone else. Or in the paper. I’m not going to confiscate them…at least not yet.”
I found that I really didn’t care. After the last twenty-four hours, I would’ve gladly delivered them to the station myself.
“Thought you had questions to ask me,” I said. “About the other crime scene?”
Blevins hesitated for a moment. “I’ll come back later.”
“Make it tomorrow,” I told him. “I have plans.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he just slammed the door behind him and headed off around the building.
I waited until I saw his car drive past on Main Street, then left for the short walk to Wren’s house. It was nice to get outside and stretch my legs a bit. Maybe the fresh air would clear my head so that I could begin to make sense of what I’d learned in the past few hours.
The man Jack and his brother spoke to at the marina had to have been Bud Blackburn. Tanya’s car was undoubtedly the buried treasure he’d been hoping they’d find, mostly likely with a big fat X marking the spot. But why? Why tell a bunch of kids to search in an area, knowing they would find the bodies, especially if he’d had anything to do with it?
Furthermore, I was all but certain that he was the painter, and those works practically screamed guilty conscience. I didn’t know if he’d been planning all along to get the painting to me, or if I’d just been a target of opportunity. It was entirely possible that he’d seen me pull up across from his house on our way to the estate sale. He might not have recognized me after all these years—no one looks the same at fifty as they did at seventeen. But he’d have recognized Wren, and even if he’s a fry or two short of a Happy Meal these days, Bud could have put two and two together. When I was there to tell him and his mother that they’d found Tanya’s body, he’d said that he’d heard I was back in town.
I couldn’t believe he’d had anything to do with killing Tanya. Every instinct screamed out at me that this wasn’t true. It was pretty much inescapable, however, that he knew who killed her. He probably knew who was responsible for beating Wren’s brother, too.
Bud was leaving all of these clues, almost like a trail of breadcrumbs. It was the only answer that made sense. But he’d had me there at the house today. He’d called me when his mom died. If he had something to tell me, why not just tell me then? Or call me? Why leave vague clues that I might not find and might never piece together even if I did?
It didn’t make sense.
And yes, there was a part of me that could see him killing his mother if he lashed out in anger. To be brutally honest, I could see a lot of people lashing out at Sally Blackburn in anger, maybe even being tempted to throttle her if she got up in their face and yelled like she had at me the day before. If there had been signs of a struggle, I’d have been more willing to entertain the possibility that Bud had killed her.
But could I really imagine Bud going online, researching the lethal combination dose of whatever drugs might happen to be in the family medicine cabinet, and then persuading or forcing his mother to take them?
No. I really could not.
So, if he didn’t kill her, why run?
The only answer I could come up with was that Bud was afraid of Blevins. Afraid that even though he hadn’t killed his mom, the police might think he had.
Or maybe Blevins had pieced together that it was Bud at the marina, and those were the questions that now had him on the run.
Either way, Bud Blackburn clearly wanted me to figure out what happened to Tanya. Maybe the problem before was that I hadn’t asked him directly if he knew anything. I’d simply asked him why he didn’t speak out and say he didn’t believe she’d run away. Wren, my very best friend, had been keeping a secret all these years because the secret wasn’t hers to tell. Because she’d made a promise, and Wren was the type of person who always kept a promise.
Maybe Bud was, too.
✰ Chapter Fifteen ✰
“Hold on,” Wren said, looking at me as if I had grown a second head. “You think Bud painted those pictures?”
“Yes.”
“Because you saw paint on his hands and shirt?”
Wren put the dust-cloth down on top of the casket she’d been polishing. That’s one of the tasks with her job that I hadn’t even considered. There were eight different models arranged near the middle of the room, like new cars on a dealer’s lot, and I guess they collected dust just like anything else. The room also had a couch with a coffee table that held a large catalog of other caskets, complete with specifics, features, and options. I’d sat on that couch next to her after my parents’ accident. Making decisions I didn’t want to make. Aside from the embalming room down in the basement, where I had been precisely once, this was my least favorite place in Wren’s house.
“Ruth? Are you with me?”
“Sorry.” I turned my attention back to her. “That’s not the only reason. That was just one clue of several.”
She gathered her cleaning supplies and then nodded toward the door. “Okay, then. Let’s head upstairs. I’ll put on some tea and you can begin walking me through.”
I readily agreed, eager to get upstairs. The upper floor of this place is far more warm and inviting,
without the emotional baggage this area holds for me.
“I really don’t like this,” Wren said as we headed upstairs. “If you’re right, and Bud did paint those pictures, that means he knew what happened to his sister. And he didn’t say anything.”
I grimaced. “I know.”
“And that means he knows something about what happened to James, too. Might even have been involved in what happened.”
She had a point.
While the tea brewed, we sat at the table in her cheery kitchen, and I laid out the evidence for her to consider, including the new information about Mrs. Blackburn and Bud’s abrupt departure.
“I just don’t see why he’d plan to leave those paintings at the estate sale,” Wren said. “Why not just drop them off at your office? Or your house. You weren’t even planning to go. It’s not like there was an RSVP list he could have checked or anything.”
“True,” I said, “but I don’t think that part was really planned. I think it was more a target of opportunity. Bud was planning to get the paintings to me at some point. I thought I saw someone at the upstairs window that day. There were so many people that it would have been really easy for him to leave the box with the canvases in the garage. Someone might have thought it a little odd that a guy was carrying something back into the sale instead of out, but they probably thought he just changed his mind, you know? And another reason I think he acted on impulse was because he wasn’t quite finished with that last painting. It’s smudged in places from him shoving it into the box too soon, and the red splotch on that one guy’s back was still kind of tacky even this morning.” I held up my index finger, which still had a tiny spot of red in the center. “Maybe he applied that last touch when he saw us parking across the street and shoved it into the box.”
“And I guess leaving your name on the box was a bit of insurance,” Wren said. “No one else would take it, and if we hadn’t seen it, there would have been a good chance that Kenneth McBride would have called you to say you’d forgotten it and needed to pick it up. But here’s what bugs me about all of this—if Bud knew something, why not just tell you?”
I gave her a sad smile but didn’t say anything.
It took a moment, but eventually she followed my point. “You think he’s protecting someone?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he made a promise and this is his way of getting around it. He still hasn’t told me anything. Not a single word. If he leaves pictures and I manage to piece the clues together, he hasn’t broken his promise. It’s a loophole, just like the one where you told Gran that you wouldn’t lie to me or Tanya if we asked you outright.”
Wren sighed and pulled the tea bag from her cup. “I’m sorry about that. It’s still a lie of omission.”
I squeezed her hand. “Like you said, the secret wasn’t yours to tell. Maybe if I’d asked him directly, but I can’t do that now. And speaking of secrets, do you really think James will be willing to talk about that night?”
She nodded. “I sent him a text while I was waiting at the dentist. This isn’t the sort of thing I’d feel comfortable simply springing on him, especially since Annie or the kids could be around. I explained everything, and he’s expecting us.” Her head tilted to the side. “What’s the matter?”
For a moment, I hesitated. Wren probably wasn’t going to like what I was about to say, but she would be there when I talked to James, and it was a question I’d almost certainly have to ask him.
“Do you think he knew about Tanya, Wren? Not that I think he had anything to do with it,” I added quickly. “Not at all. But the paintings seem to suggest that the two events are somehow connected, and…”
“No,” Wren said. “I don’t think he knew. James understood how much not knowing hurt both of us. If he’d had any clues, or anything that could have given us closure, he’d have told me. And I’d have told you, no matter what promises I gave to Gran. But I know you have to ask.”
I nodded. “Wish we didn’t have to do this by phone,” I said. “It would almost be worth the drive to Virginia Beach—”
Wren laughed and went over to the small desk in the corner of her dining room. “You just want to go to the beach, girl. Not that I blame you. It’s been a crappy couple of days. But we have the next best thing.” She held up her iPad. “FaceTime. So you can still get all of those visual cues to help you decide what to ask next.”
She propped the iPad on the coffee table in front of us. I looked at myself in the little top square as we connected to Virginia Beach, over five hundred miles away. The little thumbnail that showed my reflection was horrifying, and I wished I’d had time to do something with my hair. I hadn’t seen Wren’s brother in at least twenty years. Technically speaking, this was a professional interview with a source, and I didn’t really look all that professional after the long day I’d had.
Several seconds of musical beeping passed, and I was beginning to wonder if he was there. Then James Lawson answered. He looked almost exactly as he had the last time I had seen him, when Wren was on leave and I’d met her for a weekend at Virginia Beach. The years had been kind to James. With the exception of a touch of gray here and there in his goatee, he still could’ve passed for mid-thirties.
His face lit up when he saw Wren. “Little sis,” he yelled, although Wren was older than him by two years. She was, however, technically littler than him, and had been since he was around fourteen. “It’s good to see you.”
He glanced at me on the screen and squinted. “And Ruth Townsend. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“It’s good to see you again, James.” And it was, even though I was a little worried about the topic we’d be broaching.
“I heard you moved back to Thistlewood. You’re as crazy as my sister, you know that? I hope y’all are staying out of trouble?”
“Why would we do that?” Wren said. “Trouble is where the fun is. We seek it out, believe me.”
He chuckled. “I don’t need to believe you. I’ve seen it in person.”
“How’s the beach today?” Wren asked.
“Crowded, I suspect,” he said and then stared at the camera. “I don’t go out there on a holiday weekend any more than you go to the river. Although…I guess the two of you did end up going to the river this weekend.” His expression suddenly turned serious. “I was sorry to hear about Tanya, Ruth. I know how close the three of you were. So, fire away, Ruth. Not sure how much help I can be, but…”
“Did Wren tell you about the paintings?” I asked.
“She told me that there were paintings but didn’t really go into detail. They’re by Lucy McBride, right?”
“I’m now thinking probably not. But we’ll get to that in a minute. Let me show them to you. This would probably be easier if I emailed them, come to think of it. You’re not going to be able to see much detail from me holding my phone up to Wren’s iPad.”
So I forwarded the pictures to Wren, who forwarded them to James. It took a couple of minutes, and in the interim, he told me about his kids, who hadn’t even been born the last time I talked to him, although Wren had certainly shown me plenty of pictures. And I told him Cassie, who he’d actually met on the trip to Virginia Beach, was doing well.
When the pictures came in, James was silent for several minutes while he looked at them. I could tell when he got to the one of the fight in front of Torrance House because he sucked in a deep breath.
I sat there with Wren, and we awkwardly drank our tea, waiting for him to finish. Finally, he turned back to the camera and said, “How did Lucy McBride know about this? Wren…you didn’t…”
“No,” Wren said. “I kept my promise. Gran would have had my head. Ruth is my witness on that point. I never even told her until today, and that’s only because I had the wind knocked clean out of me when I saw that painting. I’m as much in the dark here as you are. But…Ruth has been digging in a bit deeper. She doesn’t think Ms. McBride painted them.”
“So who do you think painted them? Kenneth?”
Wren and I glanced at each other. That thought hadn’t even occurred to me. Apparently not to her either, judging from her expression.
“Do you…do you think Kenneth could have been one of the guys who attacked you?”
James’s eyes widened, and then he laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a full belly laugh. When he finished, he said, “Do you even remember Kenneth back then? If he’d punched someone, it would have been like getting slapped with a wet noodle. That guy couldn’t even climb the rope in gym class.”
He had a point. Kenneth was still kind of thin, but back then, he’d been scrawny. And bookish like his mom, but leaning more toward comics and science fiction, much to her chagrin. She’d been almost as biased against “genre fiction” as she was against my career in journalism.
“So yeah, no way was Kenny one of the guys who jumped me. He was actually one of the few people I hung out with a bit in that town. My point was more that he might have heard about it. Bud lived on that same street.”
My stomach sank. “You think Bud was one of the guys in that picture?”
James nodded. “I think that’s very likely. He worked that same party. My only question is whether Bud was one of the guys on his feet or the one on the ground there next to me. Bud could be an okay guy, when he was on his own. He had…aspirations, though. Wanted to be part of that rat club.”
“River Rats?” I asked.
“You got it. I never saw it that night, or if I did, I don’t remember. But that red smudge on the back of the guy’s jacket…the one not holding the knife? That could be one of them. The last thing I remember was that tree and then a noise behind me.”
“Could you start at the beginning,” I said, “and just tell me what you remember about that night?”
“Sure. I worked the shift for Wren. Thought she’d been real sweet to give me the chance to make some cash when I went in, but I kind of understood why she’d been willing to give it up by the time the night was over. That manager kept us hopping the entire time, and I realized why Wren had come home the few times she worked one of those events at Torrance looking like she’d been wrung dry. That huge back deck area had been rented out by someone—a company maybe, or maybe just a bunch of rich friends—because it has a good view of the fireworks. There were maybe twenty of us, total, and we walked around with hors d’oeuvres and trays with wineglasses, which I really wasn’t supposed to be handling at sixteen, but it was a private party, so I guess they were pretty lax. When the party ended, he took volunteers for cleanup crew. It was an extra hour’s pay, so I said sure. Supposed to dump out the rest of the wine, but it was all sort of wink-wink. The manager knew we sneaked out the back and chugged it. I got stuck with mopping down the floor when we were done. So I was the last one heading out.”
