by Kris Bock
They were talking softly. A family crowded past me and I got out of their way, using that as an excuse to back closer. I could still only hear murmurs. I kept my gaze on the bandstand and backed up a little more, casually, I hoped.
Suddenly I could hear Jay quite well. “And here she is now—we were just talking about you.”
I glanced over my shoulder to find him looking at me. I turned slowly as the girl moved up beside him, her eyes narrowed and lips tight.
Jay gestured to me. “That’s Audra.”
The girl took a step forward. “So you’re the one who’s trying to ruin my father.”
Chapter 18
They hadn’t shown her picture on TV, but this had to be Thomas Bain’s daughter. She didn’t look much like her father. She had long dark hair and thin, arched eyebrows over heavily made-up eyes. She was slim, petite even, but a low-cut black tank top showed off impressive cleavage. She said, “You got no business dragging my dad into this.”
She stepped closer, hands on hips. I had at least half a foot on her, but I felt the urge to back away from that ferocious glare. “I never said—”
“He didn’t hurt nobody! That bitch got herself in trouble and now my dad is paying for it. She took his money, made him miserable, broke his heart. Now this.” For a moment her jaw trembled. She whispered, “I’m glad she’s dead.”
She turned and stormed off as I stood there with my mouth open. Jay swaggered the last two steps toward me, smirking. “Are we having fun yet?”
I started shaking and clenched my fists at my sides, struggling for control. I’d never been the focus of so much anger. Casual cruelty, yes, the humiliations that go along with being a weaker member of the schoolyard pack, and the thousand pricks and stings my mother administered on a daily basis. But most people barely noticed me. Now I had Jay, his father, and this girl I’d never met spewing poison on me.
I’d never said anything about Thomas Bain. How could I, when I’d never heard of him before the news reports? But Jay must have told Lia Bain that I’d accused her father. He was circling around me, leaning too close, trying to intimidate me.
He draped an arm across my shoulders and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, I shook him off and whipped around to face him. “How dare you! I’ve done nothing wrong and you keep trying to get me in trouble.”
His eyes widened and his head jerked back.
I let my anger boil over and carry my voice with it. It felt good. “I don’t know what you had to do with the murder. I was assuming you’re just acting like an ass because you didn’t want to get caught with the pot.” I stomped closer and poked my finger at his chest. “But if you had anything to do with killing Bethany Moore, I’m going to find out about it, and I’ll see you in jail!”
He stared at me with his mouth half open. My chest tightened and my throat closed up. I stalked off through the crowd before he could go on the offensive again, or I ruined my rant with tears. I wove among the food stalls, dodging people, trying to get away.
I finally found myself alone behind the little storage building. I sank to the ground, leaning against the building with my knees drawn up. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my forehead on my knees, letting my hat fall to the ground. Tears slipped past my closed eyelids.
How had everything gotten so complicated? It should have been straightforward. You found evidence of a crime, you reported it, the police took over. Done. So how had I become embroiled in such a mess?
And what did it mean for Bethany? It didn’t sound as if she was that great in life. I had a feeling I wouldn’t have liked her at all. But that didn’t mean she deserved to die. And it didn’t mean she deserved to have people talk about her death as if it was an inconvenience, important only as it affected them.
I lifted my head and wiped at my eyes. Bethany Moore deserved justice, no matter what she had done. Was I the only one who saw that?
I dug in my shoulder bag for a tissue and blotted my face. I was being foolish. Of course I wasn’t the only one. The police were working on the case. I hadn’t seen or heard anything from them since my last interview, but surely they were doing whatever police do when they investigate a murder.
I remembered Ricky saying something about the police failing to solve a lot of cases. You did hear about a lot of unsolved murders. They didn’t have enough clues, or they couldn’t find proof, and then the police got too busy with something else.
I didn’t think I could stand it, never knowing what had really happened to Bethany Moore.
I tipped my head back against the building. Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention and I flinched. Who had come after me now?
I tensed to spring up, but then saw it was Ricky and let myself fall back. He stopped a few feet away. “I saw you run past. Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Make sure no one else is around, close enough to listen, okay?”
He circled the building and came back. “Okay! Good thinking. Do you have a new plan?”
I dug out a brush and started pulling it through my hair. “No, nothing specific. But you’re right. I’m in this too deep to let it go. If we can, we need to help solve the murder of Bethany Moore. Let’s start by figuring out what we know.”
I made sure Eslinda had my cell phone number and then took Ricky to my office. With the door closed, we’d have some privacy. I had mixed feelings about encouraging Ricky’s involvement, but I couldn’t face doing this alone. Besides, maybe he really had learned something from all those detective novels.
We made a list of the people who might be involved or who had acted strange lately. Thomas Bain topped the list, of course. But there was also Lia Bain, who had provided his alibi. If he was guilty, she must be involved as well.
Jay was next on the list. I still had a hard time imagining why a murderer would bring me to the body and then get angry about reporting it, but I couldn’t fathom how his mind worked in any area. I had to hope he wasn’t the killer, because if he was I’d been stupid to warn him I was coming after him. The one time I can’t keep my mouth shut, I have to go threatening someone who could be dangerous.
Lewis Preppard and Rodrigo made the list because of their association with Jay and their threatening behaviors.
Finally, I added Kyle Moore. I didn’t like doing it, but he obviously had a strong connection to Bethany and that, plus the rumors of drug addiction and “mental trouble,” had to make him a suspect. I couldn’t believe he would intentionally kill his own sister, but if he’d supplied her with drugs he might have felt guilty enough about her death that he wouldn’t report it. That might cause the haunted look in his eyes.
But if he’d only supplied drugs, the death would’ve been an accidental overdose. The police had never released a cause of death, but they were calling it murder. Why? Maybe they weren’t sure, so they had to investigate it as a murder.
Bethany’s image rose up in my mind, her skin greenish-tinged and something missing where her jaw should be. There was a clue there, but I shoved the vision away. I dragged in a breath, smelling the faint lavender scent of my shampoo and green chile on Ricky’s breath, and tried to focus on the black names on white paper.
“Put down serial killer,” Ricky said.
“Right.” I wrote it down. Even if we didn’t have a specific suspect, it was worth remembering the possibility. “I heard some other rumors, too.” I thought back to the lunchroom and wrote down drug dealer and pimp. I bet Encyclopedia Brown, the kid detective, didn’t have cases like this.
I wasn’t too surprised that Ricky didn’t have to ask me to explain drug dealers or pimps. But I realized he probably got all his information about relationships between men and women from Mom, school, and TV. No doubt he knew the mechanics of sex, but what kind of warped attitudes would he have with Mom drumming “men are evil” into him on one side, and punk classmates bragging about their conquests on the other? I might have to give him “the talk” one day soon. Wouldn’t that be fun.
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br /> I tried to think of anyone else involved in the case, anyone connected to Jay and the resort and Bethany Moore. Anyone I’d had unusual contact with in the last couple of days. I tapped the pen against the paper a few times and then finally dropped down a few lines and added Eslinda, Nascha, and Gina.
“Isn’t that your boss?” Ricky asked. “Who are the other two?”
“Women who work here at the resort. I don’t think they had anything to do with the murder, but they all know Jay, and Gina told me something about Kyle Moore. Eslinda knew Bethany’s family. Nascha….”
I trusted Nascha. I really did. It was simply some combination of paranoia and brutal honesty that forced me to list her name. “I don’t think she knows the Moores or the Bains, but she’s been very interested, asking a lot of questions. But I’m pretty sure she’s on my side.”
“Maybe those people aren’t suspects, but, like, sources of information.”
“That’s right.” I drew a line above their names and wrote Sources. That made me feel less disloyal than adding their names to a list of suspects.
“Put Person Unknown in the suspect list,” Ricky said.
“Serial killer and pimp would be people unknown.”
“But it could be somebody else, someone other than a serial killer or pimp, that we haven’t even thought of yet.”
Like another boyfriend, maybe, or someone who had a grudge against Bethany that we hadn’t even heard whispered yet. I added Person Unknown to the list above the Sources line. That was an appealing option, since it meant somebody I didn’t know and who didn’t know me. After all, there were 8,000 people in this town, besides thousands of strangers passing through every year.
Of course, I did know a couple hundred people in town, at least on sight. My mind flashed over familiar faces, former teachers and classmates, the grocery store clerks, waiters and waitresses, doctors and dentists. It was astonishing to think that any one of them might have been involved in this crime or some other. We wouldn’t know it unless they were caught and named in the paper.
And I happened to know that the middle school principal and the former mayor had both been convicted of drunk driving, a dentist was under a restraining order from his ex-wife, and a few years ago a police deputy had been fired for improper advances against women he’d stopped for traffic violations. Ordinary people, even those in positions of authority, could lead secret lives.
I leaned back and pushed my hair away from my face. “All right, what do we do now?”
Ricky stood next to me and peered down at the paper. “Let’s see what we can find online. We should look into the victim, too, to see if we can learn more about her, or find anyone else she hung out with. Then we can decide who we need to follow or interview or whatever.”
“Great.” I pushed back my chair and rose. “You can have the computer.” I wouldn’t think about the following or interviewing part yet.
It turned out that the local paper had the police blotter and other news online, going back years, and they had a policy of naming the accused. Thomas Bain had three traffic violations. Police were called to his house twice after neighbors reported sounds of fighting, but no charges were filed and it didn’t name the victim.
Bethany had been taken into custody twice for possession and stopped twice for Drunk and Disorderly. She had three DUIs and four other traffic violations, the most recent driving with a suspended license. An accidental overdose seemed entirely possible, so why were the police calling it murder? We didn’t find anything about soliciting, which made the pimp seem less likely, though of course it’s possible she was guilty but never caught.
Kyle showed up only under general news, with a brief note that he was being deployed, and slightly longer articles about his injury in the call of duty and his return with an honorable discharge. A roadside bomb had flipped his truck, and though he hadn’t been directly injured by the bomb, his hand had been crushed in the accident. If he had a dark, criminal past, it wasn’t showing up online. The knots in my stomach loosened.
But Jay didn’t have anything on the police blotter either. I guess his booking for possession the night before hadn’t shown up yet, or else his dad had pulled some strings to keep it quiet. Lots of articles from a few years before mentioned his basketball career, and that was about it. As far as public info went, he looked as good as Kyle.
A few articles mentioned Jay’s father as a spokesman for the resort or in activities involving the Rotary or Lions Club. I didn’t know Rodrigo’s last name and couldn’t think of a good way to get it at that moment. Nothing showed up on Lia Bain.
I studied our notes on the list. “Doesn’t it seem like the biggest criminal on here is the victim?”
“Mom would have something to say about that.” Ricky pulled the paper over to look at the next name on the list.
“Wait.” When he looked up, I added, “I don’t feel right about investigating my boss or my friend.”
“A real detective has to consider every possibility.”
I sighed. “I guess I’m not a real detective. Anyway, I’m tired and hungry.” I stretched. “Let’s get some lunch.”
“All right. Let me clear the search history off your computer.”
I sagged back, feeling like someone had punched me in the chest. I hadn’t thought about leaving a trail of our investigation where anyone at work might find it. Good thing I had Ricky along.
“The memorial is tomorrow,” Ricky said. “I bet we can get some good information there.”
Bethany’s memorial. I wondered who would attend. Surely not Jay or either of the Bains. Bethany’s parents would be there, no doubt. I wondered what they were like, to have raised a daughter like Bethany and a son like Kyle.
Kyle would be there for sure. I felt my face heat. I’d have to talk to him, knowing that I’d listened to rumors and investigated him. Knowing that a good detective would investigate farther. Knowing that he was my best chance of learning more about Bethany Moore.
And not knowing if we were on the same side.
Chapter 19
The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. I managed to avoid arguments, harassment, and even sunburn. If I felt queasy, that could easily be blamed on the Indian taco. The fry bread topped with beans and hot red chile didn’t bother Ricky, not even when followed by deep-fried Oreos, but I wasn’t a twelve-year-old boy.
Nascha and Gina must have gone home early. I didn’t see anyone else from our list, except Eslinda who was busy, so I considered myself absolved from investigations for the rest of the day. Eslinda said I could go home early, but Ricky wanted to stay, and I couldn’t think of any advantage to being at home.
We sprawled on the grass and listened to the music as darkness fell and the air cooled. The scents of insect repellent, coconut sunscreen, stale perfume, and greasy foods kept me grounded in the festival, so I could almost ignore the dark woods lurking behind us. Someone called three times from a local number I didn’t recognize. I ignored it, and they didn’t leave a message.
When we finally got home, Ricky staggered off to bed and I dropped down on the sofa next to Mom, who was watching some historical movie with lots of fancy costumes. I stared at it, bleary-eyed, without processing anything.
Mom glanced at me. “You look tired. Why don’t you go to bed?”
I shrugged and shook my head. I didn’t turn toward her, but I could feel her looking at me. Finally I said, “I haven’t been sleeping well. Maybe if I’m tired enough I’ll sleep.”
She rose and left the room. So much for maternal sympathy.
She returned a minute later and handed me a bottle. “What’s this?” I asked.
“Sleeping pills. Just over-the-counter stuff, but it works pretty well when my insomnia is bad.”
I hadn’t known she had insomnia.
She went on. “I only take one, because the full dose knocks me out completely for about ten hours, and then I’m groggy. But you’re bigger than I am, so two might be okay.�
� She turned her attention back to the TV, not waiting for an answer.
I got up. “Thanks. I’ll try it.”
As I left the room, she called, “Sleep tight.”
The pills didn’t banish the nightmares entirely, but I slept through the night. Mom had to pound on my door to wake me for church. I hadn’t been a regular churchgoer at college, but before that Mom had made us go since Ricky was about five. I don’t think she was really that religious, more like church was a way to help ensure Ricky grew up decent. I’d gone with them whenever I visited home, so the plain little church in the refurbished storefront still felt familiar. Maybe I’d find some comfort there.
We arrived as things were starting and sat at the back, so we were first out at the end. Mom suggested skipping coffee hour, which was fortunate because I saw several people eye me curiously and suspected the rumors had gone around about who found Bethany Moore’s body.
Ricky made a nice omelet for brunch, with sautéed spinach, garlic, and feta cheese. I kept my church clothes on, since Bethany’s memorial was at one o’clock. It didn’t register that Mom had done the same, until I was ready to go. She grabbed her purse and stood at the door.
“You’re coming?” I asked.
She gave a firm nod. “I want to show my support.”
I thought that was one of the nicest things she had ever done for me. Then she added, “I didn’t know the girl, but we have to show that we won’t tolerate that kind of treatment of women. Whatever she did, it doesn’t excuse violence.”
Oh. Not support of me, support of Mom’s anti-man policy. Oh well, if Jay showed up and started bothering me, I’d sic Mom on him. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
The memorial service was at a large church across town, where we pulled into a nearly-full parking lot. I sat in the car, grasping the wheel, as Mom and Ricky got out. I wasn’t looking forward to this.
