Belinda Blake and the Birds of a Feather

by Heather Day Gilbert

  “I’m just going to glance in there,” I said, motioning toward the barn.

  Chloe gave me a brief nod, then turned back to her phone. Gavin walked toward the ambulance, where Tori’s lifeless body was probably resting. I shivered, thinking of the brutal way she died. Someone had to be filled with hatred to beat her head in like that.

  I glided along the driveway and edged up by the barn. Standing just outside the police tape, I could make out a bloody area on the dirt floor by one of the horse stalls. There was nowhere to hide except in the stall directly behind where Tori had dropped. Someone had patiently lurked behind that horse gate, standing in straw and possibly horse manure. Tori must have walked right toward them, maybe on some cooked-up pretext.

  It was coldblooded, because Tori would have been looking directly at her killer when that first blow came.

  Had Peter invited her over? I was fairly certain she’d met him for a meal yesterday, but why would she return today? Would they have dared to see so much of each other directly after Rosalee’s death? Maybe I was gullible, but I found that hard to believe, given how Peter was mourning the loss of his fiancée the last time I was here.

  I turned as pounding footsteps sounded along the driveway. An officer jogged toward Chief Ingram, who stood next to the patrol car that Peter was in. The officer was gesturing toward a small group of sheds set back from the barn.

  I strode over to Chloe, who had moved down the steps to stand closer to the chief. Although she was trying to look casual, her head was slightly inclined toward the men and I knew she was in full-on eavesdropping mode.

  “Did he find something?” I whispered.

  “Sounds like they found a car,” she said.

  “Tori’s?”

  She shook her head and shushed me. Falling silent, I pulled out my phone and pretended to scroll through texts.

  By the time the chief seemed to wind down the conversation, another officer had thrown open the wide garage door of one of the sheds and was backing a car out of it.

  A white car.

  * * * *

  Not only was the older-model car white, making it a possible match for the paint chips found on Jackson’s clothing, it also sported a huge dent on its right fender.

  Chloe gaped. “He was hiding the hit-and-run vehicle all this time.”

  “Maybe not,” I suggested. “Maybe Tori wanted to hide it on Peter’s property, so she brought it over.”

  “Are you saying that Tori ran over Jackson, then Peter helped her cover it up? But why?”

  Muffled shouts sounded nearby and I realized Peter Bear was yelling from his seat in the police car. Chief Ingram stepped over and opened the front door. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  We could hear Peter loud and clear as he shouted, “I haven’t driven that car in years! And it wasn’t dented the last time I drove it, I swear!”

  With the sun glaring on the car window, it was hard to make out Peter’s features, but I could tell the normally suave man was furious. He knew exactly how this find looked to the police.

  He was the last man standing from the literature club, and all the evidence was pointing directly at him.

  18

  Chloe wanted to get back and write the story while it was fresh in her mind, so I said goodbye and walked back to Bluebell. The police crew was breaking up and Gavin had headed out with the ambulance, so there wasn’t anything left to see.

  Since Peter Bear was in custody, I supposed I should stop questioning people. Would the police wrap the case now that they’d found out Peter owned what must be the hit-and-run vehicle? It seemed inevitable.

  Yet something didn’t feel right. The murder weapon had been dropped next to Tori, who’d been discovered in Peter’s horse barn. The dented car had been found in Peter’s old shed. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if they found a huge bottle of Ativan in a sweep of Peter’s house.

  It was too easy.

  I might not be able to talk with Peter, but I could talk with the one person who’d continually hinted the literature club deaths were linked. Besides throwing around speculative accusations at the engagement party, Adrian van Dusen had also insinuated that Peter hadn’t been loyal to Claire while she was alive. I needed to find out if Adrian had actually seen something to make him so certain of his allegations, because whatever he saw might have a direct bearing on Peter’s case.

  I pulled up my parents’ driveway and lingered in my car seat. Taking a deep breath, I called Tracy van Dusen’s number, which I’d plugged into my phone. She picked up after a few rings, and she sounded a bit winded.

  “Sorry it took me so long to pick up. We’ve been over at the library. Adrian’s taking an online course, and I had to drive him over to pick up a couple of reference books. It’s crazy how few are left on the shelves these days!”

  As I commiserated with Tracy about the sparse collection of reference books in our library, I noted that she said she’d driven Adrian into town. Chloe must’ve been right—Adrian didn’t have a driver’s license. Tracy must have driven him to the engagement party, for reasons I couldn’t fathom.

  And if Tracy was at home now, Adrian probably was, too.

  “Would you mind if I talked to Adrian a minute?” I asked. When she didn’t give me a quick go-ahead, I rushed on. “I’d like to talk with him about a video game.”

  “Oh?” She sounded guarded. “Adrian does love video games.”

  “I’m sure my mom’s told you I review games,” I said. “I have a new multiplayer one I’d like to get a younger person’s opinion on.”

  That seemed to convince her. “Okay,” she said, and she called for Adrian. It took a few minutes, but he finally picked up the phone.

  Adrian had the right gaming system, so I gave a brief explanation of the game and asked if I could stop by to get his opinion on the weapons available in multiplayer mode. It was a thin excuse because the weapons were fairly standard for this game franchise, but Adrian seemed anxious to play the just-dropped release.

  He agreed that I could come by in an hour, and when I hung up, I realized I was starving. I’d eaten a piece of toast for breakfast and lunch hour was quickly passing me by. Mom was filling in at Dad’s office since his assistant was out sick, so I’d only need to make lunch for one. I plundered the fridge for leftovers and managed to scrape up the makings of a towering roast beef sandwich. I slathered it with mayo and bit into it with zero regrets as to what it might do to my waistline.

  I glanced at my phone and saw no new texts from Jonas, although I did have one from Katrina, who was wondering if I’d asked Jonas about his feelings for me yet.

  That’d be a resounding no topped off with a probably never.

  It was odd how I could be bold about some things, like questioning people I barely knew in hopes of tracking down a murderer, but other times, I couldn’t string two words together. Although I was as comfortable with Jonas as if he were family, it seemed utterly ridiculous to ask such a reserved and powerful man what his inmost reflections were on me.

  Still, I’d be leaving soon, and I did feel the need for some kind of closure with my farmer friend. I texted Jonas to ask if we could get together tomorrow morning so I could show him what I’d been doing with the homing pigeons and say goodbye.

  His text came back immediately and nearly made me choke on a bite of pickle: That’d be great. Sorry I missed you this morning. I really want some time to talk with you. Would eleven work tomorrow, after I finish my morning chores?

  I texted back a yes, noting that my fingers had gotten a little shaky. So Jonas was determined to have that talk he’d promised me in the spring.

  The only question was what did he want to talk about? His text seemed warm, but what if he was only veiling guilt because he planned to tell me he wasn’t interested in me?

  I took a sad sip of cold coffee, anticipating a
possible rejection. I knew that no matter what, Jonas and I would always be friends. But my every instinct was telling me we could be so much more.

  * * * *

  Adrian actually came out to meet me in his driveway, shocking me with his initiative. He was even smiling. I guess I’d found the right button to push to get into his good graces.

  I trailed him up to his bedroom, which seemed a bit iffy, but Tracy was downstairs and Adrian left his door wide open. As we waited for the game to load, I quizzed him about the kinds of weapons he preferred, then I explained the new weapons they’d integrated in this game. I discovered he relied heavily on rocket launchers, which was kind of a newbie thing to do. I was more of a sniper rifle kind of girl myself, but then again, I’d put countless hours into playing the game and I knew the best places to hide and snipe in each world.

  But video games were hardly the real reason I’d come over. I glanced around and noticed Adrian had several framed photos of Claire sitting around. Not surprisingly, there were no pictures of Claire and Peter Bear when they were dating.

  The pictures made an easy springboard for conversation. “You miss your sister a lot, don’t you?” I asked.

  Adrian thumbed the controller. “Yeah.”

  Refocusing on game play, I picked off a helicopter, then raced to a building. “I’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just wondering…I get the feeling you know a lot more than you’re saying about your sister’s death. Weren’t you saying Peter and Rosalee were seeing each other before Claire died?”

  He sank lower into his seat. Onscreen, he attached a C-4 explosive to a doorway, then crouched behind a desk. “Yeah, they were. I caught them kissing when I got off the bus once.”

  I sniped a couple of players while I was talking. “I guess that ticked you off.”

  He crept from behind the desk and ran toward another part of the building, which made him a very visible target. “It bothered me at the time, but later I realized it wasn’t such a big deal.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Because Claire was seeing someone else, too.”

  I was so shocked that I didn’t notice someone creeping up behind me in the game. A shot popped, and I was dead.

  “Stay where you are while I respawn,” I said. “I’ll come your way.”

  While I moved to his building, he actually spoke of his own accord. “Yeah. Claire was working for a professor—”

  “Professor Matthias Baruch?” I interjected.

  “Yeah, he’s the one. Anyway, I guess college wasn’t the only place she saw him. The night she died, I saw her sneaking out after our parents went to bed. I could barely make out the professor, but I know it was his car.”

  That might explain the warmth in the professor’s voice as he spoke about Claire. He’d been involved with one of his students on the sly. Just how involved was anyone’s guess.

  I tracked a movement on the screen, then headed out of the building to get a better shot at the enemy player. “Did you see anything else?” I asked quietly.

  Adrian shot his launcher and the rocket veered wildly from the tank he’d targeted. “The professor’s car came back around eleven thirty—I know because I looked at my clock. I was going to hassle Claire about it. But she didn’t come back to the house when he pulled away. Instead, she headed back down the driveway, and I could tell she was teetering a little. So I climbed out my window and followed her.”

  I was finding it hard to pay attention to the game. “Then what happened?”

  “She went into the woods and met up with her literature club friends. I knew they’d had those meetings at night before. But this one was different. Claire walked straight over and started shouting at Peter. I couldn’t hear everything she said because her words were slurred and I was hiding a little ways off behind a tree. When she finally turned to Rosalee, I could tell she was saying something about trust. I figured she’d found out about Peter and Rosalee.”

  We had to focus on an onscreen firefight, in which Adrian died two times and I managed to pick off four players. As he waited to respawn, I asked, “Did you tell all this to the police?”

  He shook his head. “There was more.”

  I moved around the game board in silence, waiting for him to speak again. And he finally did.

  “It was a little foggy that night, but it looked like Peter and Claire were wrestling. Then…then she fell onto the train tracks. And the train was coming.” He gulped. “I watched it. I saw it smash into my sister.”

  I was so upset that a fifteen-year-old had to watch his sister die that way, I shot my grenade launcher and unintentionally wiped out a player halfway across the board. I took a steadying breath. “Do you think Peter pushed her onto the tracks?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but when that train came through and kept going, I freaked. Those four grouped around Claire, like they were checking on her. Girls were crying. But they didn’t stay. They scattered. So I went home, too.” He wiped his eyes. “I didn’t go to see her…I couldn’t. I just ran home.”

  “Did you tell the police that Peter might have pushed her?”

  He crouched behind a car onscreen, and I realized he was doing the same thing inside—hiding from reality. “No. After that, I couldn’t talk. For months. I was basically catatonic. My parents followed the psychiatrist’s advice and sent me to a clinic in Austria. I was there for a year, then when I came back, my mom homeschooled me.”

  “Were you ever able to talk to your mom about what you’d seen?”

  “I could never bring myself to tell her. She had enough on her plate.”

  “When did you come back from the clinic?” I asked.

  “My senior year,” he said, staring at a player who’d just popped around a corner. Adrian pulled out his AK-47 and shot wildly, missing the player entirely.

  It seemed we’d had enough gaming. Adrian seemed to be getting more distracted, and I knew it was because of the topic of our conversation. I’d just asked him to walk down a memory lane that was littered with emotional land mines, and there was no way he’d get out unscathed.

  I asked for his input on the weapons he’d used, and not surprisingly, he said he’d liked the rocket launcher the best. When I mentioned that he could catch more detailed tips on the game if he watched my Twitch stream, he pulled it up right there and followed it.

  I was struck by how incredibly trapped Adrian must feel. He was unable to attend college, and he didn’t seem to have any friends. He was haunted by memories of his older sister’s death—they were probably on constant replay in his mind. No wonder he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  He absently ran a hand through his blond hair as we stood to go downstairs. He had the kind of noticeable good looks that could carry him far, but his personality seemed shattered. I hoped his online classes would lead to him getting a degree so he could pursue a steady job and build relationships outside his family.

  Would Adrian have been capable of working up enough energy to kill not just one, but three people to avenge his sister’s death? I doubted it. Besides, one of those deaths was a hit-and-run, and Adrian didn’t drive.

  Tracy greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. She kept glancing at Adrian, who was trudging down behind me. When he muttered a goodbye and veered into the kitchen, she politely asked if I’d like a snack or something to drink.

  I refused and thanked her for letting me visit with her son. Tracy seemed to look right through me into the kitchen, and I knew she was anxious to make sure Adrian was okay. Although I understood why she was protective of her depressed son, it seemed unhealthy, like the opposite of the mama bird who pushed her babies from the nest so they could get strong on their own. Did Ella receive an equal portion of her mother’s attention? If not, that might explain why she’d taken to ski
pping school.

  As I stepped onto the porch, I noticed the handmade Halloween wreath on Tracy’s door. Glancing at my phone as I walked down the stairs, I realized we only had about an hour until trick-or-treaters descended on homes. Whether any would visit my parents’ house, I didn’t know, but I planned to sit on the porch and hand out treats to any who did show. I always kept a secret stash of mini candy bars and gum, and I wanted to switch those for the non-goodies I knew Mom would try to give them.

  As I opened Bluebell’s door and slid into the seat, Chloe called. She didn’t take time for small talk.

  “They already let him out,” she said disbelievingly.

  “Peter Bear? But they just hauled him in,” I said. “What about the dented car? Did they check the paint for a match?”

  “Apparently they sent it off to the lab, but in the meantime, they released him with a warning to stick around town. I’m not sure why, unless they’re trying to nail him for Tori’s murder as well as Jackson’s hit-and-run. They haven’t even charged him yet, so I’m guessing they want to reserve the option of bringing him back for questioning without a lawyer present.”

  “But won’t he hire a lawyer? I mean, his parents are wealthy, right?”

  “There’s no need to hire one, unless he’s officially charged with something. Right now, the police are giving him a sense of freedom, but I have a feeling it’ll be short-lived. His car paint will likely be a match to what was on Jackson’s clothes.”

  I started the car and slowly rolled down the van Dusens’ driveway. “It seems crazy they’d let him go.”

  “I know, but think about it this way—if he has been the one picking off the literature club, there’s no one left to target.”

  She had a point, although it was a terribly morbid one.

  There was a pause, then Chloe spoke again. “I just got a call from my editor, so I need to go. I have to be careful about the way I write the story, since Peter hasn’t been charged with anything yet.”