Nor had he escaped the FBI’s radar, it would seem.
“Faith,” Chief said, shifting on his feet. Chief Reid was one of the people who had dismissed my incident report last week as either a cry for attention or a prank by some local kids. “Agent Justice is here to investigate the fire that happened last night. If you could—”
“I’ll give him a copy of every photograph I took and cooperate in any way I can.” I shifted my gaze to Luke. “If the two of you will excuse me, I’m expected in court.” I turned on my heel and exited Chief’s office before either of them could stop me.
I walked as naturally as I could manage toward the exit of the police station, but once I was outside, I ran. I took a hard left at the corner and sped down an alleyway that opened up into a parking lot behind the buildings. Spotting a dumpster, I ducked behind it and promptly threw up my breakfast of champions. The bourbon had sure felt better on the way down than it did coming back up.
This could not be happening. I would not let them bring Ethan back into my life. He was a part of my past, and I wanted to keep him there. I would not give Ethan any power in my life. And suddenly I felt certain it was Ethan who had been lighting fires and candles on my property. The next time he showed up, I’d be ready for him.
When I was sure I wouldn’t be sick again, I emerged from behind the dumpster, only to find a woman standing beside a news van nearby. She and a cameraman walked quickly toward me.
“Faith? Faith Day?”
I turned and walked away, not even acknowledging that she had the right person.
“Faith. It’s me, Marla Manfield.”
I paused. Turned slowly toward her. Her hair was as red and dark as chili powder, styled in a perfect and smooth bob. She wore dark rose lipstick and thick brown eyeshadow on lids decorated with even thicker fake eyelashes. Marla Manfield had graduated from Paynes Creek the same year as my brother Finch—four years before me. She’d been captain of the cheerleading squad, had dated the most popular football player, and had gotten out of two DUIs the year after graduation thanks to a father who was a golf buddy of the commonwealth’s attorney. There were perks to growing up popular and wealthy in Paynes Creek. Or there had been, back then. In recent years, the good ol’ boy system had suffered some cracks, and it was no longer nearly as easy to get a lesser punishment on a repeat DUI charge.
Not that Marla would need that kind of help now. She had cleaned up her act, becoming a news reporter for one of the local networks in Lexington, and from what I’d seen, she’d made her mark in sensationalist reporting. Always going after the difficult stories even if it meant embellishing the details.
I realized I was staring at her. She hadn’t spoken other than to announce her name in case I didn’t recognize her. But I did recognize her. I even remembered what she wore the one and only time she went out with Finch. My condition allowed me to remember the tiniest and most inconsequential of details, yet I couldn’t remember why they’d had only one date that summer after their sophomore year in college. I guess I never knew. Maybe Finch had already met Aubrey, his now wife? Regardless, I saw the two of them at a party that summer night. Mom and Eli—Ethan’s dad—had said that at sixteen, I was too young to go to a field party with my friends, but when Ethan offered to go with me, they said it was okay. The double standard had made me mad. Ethan was only sixteen then, too, yet they trusted him with my safety.
Hell, back then I trusted him too.
“I’d like to say you haven’t changed a bit, but look at you,” she said, giving me a once-over. “You’re beautiful. You always were pretty, but now you’re even more stunning.”
I angled my head and studied the way her eyeliner perfectly lined the lid and curved up at the edges. My hand went instinctively to my neck where I knew burn scars crept up toward my face. Was that really how she got people to talk to her? Pay them some empty compliment? I let my eyes drift to the videographer standing just over her right shoulder. He had the decency to look embarrassed. And he had yet to point his camera at me, or I wouldn’t still be standing there.
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Marla asked.
“As a matter of fact,” I started, but then curiosity got the better of me. “About what?”
“Your brother.”
Last night’s fire, the arrest of a school teacher, Ethan getting out of prison… All of those possibilities had run through my mind, but not Finch. “Finch? What about him?” If she wanted information about Finch, why not go to Finch?
“Right.” She looked away for a second. “I meant Ethan.”
A pregnant pause stretched between us. “Ethan is not my brother.” I shifted from one foot to the other, my eyes glued to hers. “I have nothing to say about him.”
“So you don’t care that they’re speculating he might be starting fires again now that he’s out?”
“Who is they?” I asked. “I haven’t heard anyone say that.” The accusation didn’t surprise me; I had known it was only a matter of time. And news crews from across the region had already begun flocking to Paynes Creek to report on the schoolteacher incident. The media just loves a salacious teacher-student story. Now they would be on hand to report on something almost as sexy: a murder-suicide topped with arson. And they’d all be looking for fresh angles—like connecting this morning’s crime to Ethan’s recent release. Even if they had to manufacture that connection.
Marla smiled. It was creepy how she tried to come across as a friend in order to get information. “Sources who shall remain nameless for now.”
“You have nothing.” I turned and started away from her.
“I talked to Ethan,” she said quickly. “He’s claiming you knew he didn’t start the fire that killed your parents. And he says he has proof.”
That made me pause. But I knew better than to engage with a bloodsucking sensationalist, so I kept walking.
Four
My Airstream was perched on land that Finch and I—and technically Ethan—had inherited from my mom and stepfather. Finch wanted nothing to do with the land, and Ethan had been sent to prison, so it had effectively been left to me. I decided that if I was going to have to relive the memories of what happened to me every day of my life, I might as well do it on beautiful, coveted farmland in a familiar town. And as I didn’t require much space—or the money to rebuild the house—the Airstream became my home. Mine and Gus’s.
I had gutted and remodeled the inside of the trailer, reconstructing it for efficiency and comfort. If I ever decided I’d had enough of Paynes Creek, I could hitch my home to the back of my SUV and be in another town in less than a day. But I liked this farm in the middle of Kentucky’s thoroughbred horse country. It was where I had grown up. And though I had bad memories here—worse memories than most people accumulated in a lifetime—I had good ones, too. This was where my mother gave Finch and me the best years of our lives, before our father died of cancer when I was ten. I liked to think that the spirits of both my parents were still on this farm, protecting me.
Of course, I knew that was stupid. My father’s spirit certainly never protected me from what happened after Ethan and his father moved in.
As I walked into my trailer and threw my keys on the kitchen counter, I looked out the window toward the woods. A walking path led through the trees to the creek that marked the boundary between my property and the neighboring farm, which was recently purchased by a Paynes Creek prodigal son—former FBI Special Agent Cooper Adams. The gossip hens hadn’t let up about that one; reportedly he’d left the FBI after a case went “terribly wrong.” No one had any real details, but that didn’t stop them from talking about it.
I felt sorry for the man. He was one of the successful few who’d made it out of Paynes Creek to do good in the world… and now he was not only back, but the subject of gossip. I felt strongly that a man had the right to keep his story to himself for however long he needed.
But I did wonder about one thing: I wondered if Cooper and Luke knew
each other.
Luke. I sighed, and not in a good way. It sure hadn’t taken long for him to start asking questions about Ethan. Did the FBI really believe Ethan had earned his freedom from incarceration only to start setting fires again?
Gus staggered in from the bedroom. When I wasn’t here, she always seemed to find her way into my bed.
“Hey, girl!” I scratched behind her ears. She leaned into the touch, then headed for the door. “You want to go out?” I pushed open the door and let her out. I loved that she preferred to use the bathroom outside the trailer, even though she had a litter box tucked inside a cabinet with a small pet door.
Following Gus outside and to the back of the trailer, I stared at the foundation where my childhood home had once stood. I could still see the out-of-control flames and smell the billowing smoke from that night. I could still hear what I thought were my mom’s and Eli’s screams just as I arrived—even though I was later told that there was no way I heard their screams because they were killed prior to the fire being set. My hand went instinctively to my throat and neck where flames had scarred my skin; I could still feel the heat as I ran in, screaming, in an attempt to save my mother. I couldn’t forget a single aspect of that night, even after all these years—and seeing Bella this morning had only heightened my anguish.
Gus completed her business, ran past me toward the fire pit, and began to sniff around the logs. Sometimes she acted more like a dog than a cat.
A shiver moved down my spine as I remembered the figure standing there this morning. That was different—bolder.
Gus batted at something in the grass.
“You find something, girl?”
I searched the area she was sniffing. “There’s nothing th—” But then I saw it. Beside one of the logs was a matchbook. I picked it up and turned it over in my fingers. The Spotted Cat, it read. The Spotted Cat was a music club in Lexington that featured local bands and musicians. The name and idea behind the club came from a hot jazz spot in New Orleans. I remembered reading about how it was opened by a New Orleans native who’d relocated to Lexington, though I was pretty sure it had changed ownership recently.
Gus lost interest and took off toward the Airstream. I followed her in and poured myself a stiff glass of bourbon over ice. Then I went to my closet and pulled an oversized photo box from a hidden compartment beneath the floor of the closet. I put it on my bed, set the lid to one side, and, with my bourbon in one hand, began pulling things out.
On top were a few childhood pictures of me and Finch, given to me by Aunt Leah. Beneath that was some journals I kept at the suggestion of a therapist I’d begun seeing while I was in high school. And underneath those were the crime scene photos from the night my childhood ended.
I shouldn’t even have these. I came across them at Uncle Henry’s house one day while I was home from college, and I stole them. I told myself he probably shouldn’t have kept a copy either, even though he was the fire chief and had more official right to them than I did.
Crime scene photos always told a story. They told the truth of what happened, even when the victims were no longer around to reveal the details.
I took a sip of bourbon, relishing the rich warmth of the liquor. Then I spread the photos in a grid so that I could take them in. Why I felt the need to do this, I wasn’t sure. I had committed every photo to memory twelve years ago, and I’d studied them again recently when I learned Ethan had a good chance of being released on appeal. But what I hadn’t done either of those times was figure out the story hidden in the pictures. I knew it was a sad story—that much was for certain. Heart-wrenching. But parts of the story were missing. And those missing elements weren’t inside my memories.
Most importantly, I never saw who killed my mom and Eli. I never knew the truth. But someone did. And if Ethan really was innocent, that someone had to be feeling nervous as a cat right now.
Five
The funeral for Sandra and Gordon Reynolds took place on a Monday. It was a cold, dark, and dreary day, but the town showed up in a big way, as close-knit southern communities are prone to do. The church was filled with family and friends, including friends of Bella’s—and what space was left over was taken up by nosy neighbors and people who just wanted to gawk at the latest scandal. There was no graveside service, since the bodies remained in the hands of the coroner—and there wouldn’t be much to bury when the bodies were released anyway. If it were me, I’d go ahead and request a cremation once cause of death was officially determined.
The wake was held at the house of Janice Jones, Sandra Reynolds’s younger sister, with the help of ladies from the church, of course. She had also insisted on taking Bella in; Janice wasn’t married and didn’t have children of her own. In fact she was heavily gossiped about around town because she partied hard most weekend nights and was stuck in a desperate search for a husband with a revolving door of suitors. Paynes Creek was a tough place to be a single woman past her teenage years—most bachelors in their thirties carried too much baggage to bother with. You had to give Janice credit for not giving up.
Currently she was circling the room, placing coasters underneath drinks in order to protect her inexpensive, bulk-made furniture, carrying abandoned plates of food back to the kitchen, and generally staying busy. Her blond hair was long and had been hot-rollered into loose spirals, but her eyes were bloodshot, and I noticed that people had been watching her with increased interest as the day wore on.
“Did you hear?” I overheard a woman say behind me. I turned and saw that she was huddled with another woman. “Sandra and Gordon invited Mr. Lake into their home for dinner and drinks quite often. Talk about letting the wolf guard the henhouse.” The woman talking wore a black dress that hung past her knees, and a scarf that reminded me of a peacock was wrapped around her neck and shoulder.
The other woman held a glass of clear liquid up next to her mouth as if to keep others from hearing her. “I heard he passed out on their sofa one night.” She was dressed in black pants and a gray sweater. A string of pearls decorated her neck. “I don’t see how Sandra or Gordon couldn’t have known that something was going on with their daughter and Mr. Lake. My son says everyone at school knew, and had known for months.”
Miss Peacock and Miss Pearls nodded in agreement of each other as if they’d just solved all the town’s problems and its latest crime.
“Well, that teacher is only twenty-four,” Miss Peacock said. “He’s not even that much older than Bella.”
I lifted a brow. Was the woman seriously suggesting that it was okay for a twenty-four-year-old teacher to have relations with a seventeen-year-old student?
“Oh, Darlene,” Miss Pearls said with a chuckle. “You know that doesn’t make it right. He was in a position of authority.” She sounded like she was quoting a newspaper article.
The two women were just a couple of gossips, but they did make me wonder if Bella’s parents had known about Mr. Lake and their daughter. And whether they’d been in favor of him being arrested.
“The Reynoldses sure were popular,” a male voice said behind me.
Startled, I tensed, turned, and stared into the moss-green eyes of Special Agent Luke Justice. He was probably here to see if the person who burned down the Reynoldses’ home would show up at the funeral. That was a typical line of thought for investigators of serious crimes.
He scanned the room over my head. “Were all of these people their friends?”
I looked over my shoulder, then turned back to him and lifted a plastic cup filled with cheap white wine to my lips. After swallowing the really bad wine, I met his gaze and said, “No. No one is this popular in this town. But welcome to Paynes Creek, where everyone pretends to be your friend until they don’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“Stick around a while, Agent. You’ll figure it out.”
A loud commotion erupted outside in front of the house. I slipped through the crowd and out the front door to see what was happening.
Luke was on my heels.
Bella Reynolds was standing on the sidewalk, practically screaming at her aunt, her high-pitched southern accent piercing the air. “You will never be my mother! My real mama and daddy are dead!”
I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, even though she sounded like a spoiled brat at the moment. She was entitled to her grief.
“They no longer have any say in who I see or where I go,” Bella continued. “And neither do you!” She turned and headed for a cheap sedan that appeared to be waiting for her.
Someone approached Janice from behind and whispered something in her ear that I imagined went along the lines of, Let her go. She’s mourning. She’ll be back.
As Bella climbed into the car, Luke muttered beside me, “Matthew Lake, you are one stupid son of a bitch.” I didn’t get a good look at the man in the car, but Luke seemed pretty confident it was the high school teacher. I knew he wasn’t still in custody—he had been released when the prosecuting attorney decided she didn’t have enough evidence that he and Bella had actually engaged in sex. And Bella denied it vehemently—claimed her teacher had only been giving her private violin lessons leading up to an audition.
“Bella! You can’t leave!” Janice screamed, running after the car.
Bella just tossed a wave out the car window as it sped off.
As one car left, another arrived. My brother, Finch Day, the beloved town veterinarian, had decided to make a late appearance. He got out the driver’s side and was most of the way around to help his wife, Aubrey, from the car, when a reporter jumped in front of him. The woman snapped his photo, then stuck out a hand holding a phone, which I assumed was set to record.
Death is in the Details Page 3
