What We Found

by Kris Bock

  Ricky sat up straight, his eyes bright, his detective brain whirring away. “Maybe he knew you wouldn’t!”

  “What do you mean?” Kyle asked.

  Ricky bit his lip and looked to me for help, but Daniel caught on faster. “You mean he expected to get turned away. It was….” He spread his hands. “A gesture. He was making a statement.”

  “He waited until everybody was there!” I said. “We all heard him, even from the front rows. And we saw you turn him away. So….” I was starting to get the idea, but I wasn’t quite there yet.

  “You mean he wanted everyone to see me turn him away,” Kyle said. “He played the part of the loving former boyfriend who wanted to pay his respects. And I looked like a jerk for kicking him out.”

  “You didn’t,” I said softly.

  “It was theater,” Nancy said. “He was trying to gain sympathy and get people on his side.”

  “It won’t work,” Daniel added.

  Nancy reached out and touched Kyle’s shoulder. “It doesn’t mean he killed her. You must let the police decide that.”

  “There’s more,” I said. They all gazed at me and I swallowed. “Lia Bain was there. His daughter. Did you know?”

  Kyle shook his head. “I’ve never met her. I know she’s his witness, for what that’s worth, but I don’t know much else about her.”

  “She came in at the same time he did and slipped into a seat while you were busy throwing him out.” I shrugged. “She didn’t cause any trouble. I saw her looking at the memory books afterward, but I don’t think she stayed long.”

  Kyle frowned. “Spying for her father?”

  “Or wondering about the woman he may have killed,” Nancy suggested.

  I thought we were onto something with the explanation for Thomas Bain’s attendance. But Lia was still a mystery, and I didn’t think we were any closer to identifying the killer. “Do you have any idea if she knew Bethany?”

  They were silent for a moment, considering. Then Kyle said, “They may have met when Bethany was dating Bain.” He shook his head. “I got the impression she doesn’t live with Bain. Something the news said, maybe.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t have …” Nancy glanced at Ricky. “Gotten his teenage daughter involved in the kinds of things Bethany was involved in.”

  “You mean drugs?” Ricky asked.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Did Thomas Bain get Bethany started on drugs?” I asked. That would be one more horrible strike against him.

  Nancy glanced at Kyle, who answered. “Oh no. She was experimenting with anything she could get a hold of in high school. But she might have gotten to know him that way. I think they met at a party.”

  Thomas Bain, Lia Bain, Bethany, Bethany’s father. Drugs, abuse, religion. How did it all fit together? Or did they fit together? Were we missing something else much more important?

  One thing was clear. Our pleasant visit had turned somber and edgy. This family had enough trouble without us making it worse. I needed time to think everything through, and Ricky seemed out of questions for the moment.

  I rose. “We should get going. Thanks for the tour and the cookies.”

  Ricky hesitated and then got up, too. I didn’t have to prod him to add his thanks. Mom had him well-trained in manners.

  “Come back some time,” Nancy said. “Kyle can take you out on a hunt.”

  Ricky looked at me hopefully, so I nodded. “We’d both enjoy that, thanks.”

  “Let me give you my number,” Kyle said. “Call or text me anytime. Nancy or I are out almost every day.”

  By the time I’d programmed his number into my phone, Daniel had a baggie of cookies for us to take home. As we pulled out of the driveway, I said, “Those are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. One thing is certain, none of them had anything to do with the murder.” Something loosened in my chest as I said those words. Whatever the rumors about Kyle, I couldn’t believe he had intentionally hurt another person, let alone his sister.

  He’d given me his number. Once this mess was resolved, we could get to know each other. The birds made a perfect excuse. I felt myself smiling despite the flutter of nerves in my chest.

  “We learned stuff, though, right?” Ricky said. “I think we should investigate Lia Bain more. Don’t you think she’s acting weird?”

  “I’ll agree with that. I don’t think it’s likely she’s the murderer, but she might know something. At the very least, she knows whether her father really has an alibi. Though how we’ll get her to tell us, I have no idea.”

  Ricky got out to open the gate and close it behind me. We turned onto the long dirt road. “What do you think about Bethany’s father?” I asked. Fathers were kind of a sensitive subject in our family, but I wanted to give Ricky a chance to talk about the father-child thing if he needed to.

  He considered for a while. “He doesn’t seem very nice, but I don’t think he’s the murderer. If he’s that religious, he wouldn’t kill someone, would he?”

  I decided to avoid a discussion of how often people killed despite—or in the name of—their religion. “I don’t think he killed his daughter, though I don’t think he helped her any. I can start to see why Bethany was kind of messed up.” I shot a glance at Ricky and then kept my gaze on the road as I turned onto pavement and headed up the long hill to the plateau. “I’m glad we don’t have a father like that.”

  “Yeah, me too!” He fidgeted in his seat with his usual restless energy, drumming his hands on his thighs. “I wish Nancy and Daniel were my grandparents, though. They’re great! I like the birds, too.” If he was sensitive about fathers, it was buried more deeply than I was reaching.

  At the top of the hill, we headed into town. The first stoplight turned yellow ahead of me. I could almost make it, but to be safe I pressed on the brakes.

  The car didn’t slow.

  I pushed my foot to the floor. My heart stuttered as I clutched the steering wheel and pressed back into my seat. A big white truck sat at the crossroads, ready to pull out into the intersection. We slowed a little since I wasn’t on the gas, but the car wasn’t stopping.

  The light turned red as we hit the edge of the intersection. The white truck started forward.

  I jerked my hand from the steering wheel rim and slammed it hard against the center. The horn blared.

  The white truck loomed in the passenger-side window. Heading right for Ricky.

  Chapter 22

  I jerked the wheel hard to the left. My car swung erratically across the intersection, throwing me to the right. The seat belt scraped against my left shoulder, and I almost lost control of the wheel. An oncoming car I hadn’t even noticed jerked to a stop with a screech of tires.

  The scene outside the window swam crazily, a blur of color and motion. We bumped off the road onto the sloping gravel alongside. The car tilted and tree branches slapped the windshield. If we rolled, Ricky’s side would hit first. If we hit the trees, his side would take the most damage.

  I pulled against the wheel and my seatbelt, dragging myself back into place. We bumped back onto the pavement and fishtailed a couple of times before I got the car pointing straight down the road.

  I breathed for the first time in what felt like minutes. My breath rasped in and out, loud and ragged. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the road, but from the corner of my eye I saw Ricky’s hands braced on the dashboard. “You all right?” I gasped.

  “Yeah.”

  The swerving had taken a lot of our speed, but we still coasted. My foot kept pressing on the brake pedal, even though I knew it wasn’t doing any good. When we’d slowed to five miles per hour, I eased the car to the side of the road and drove on the shoulder until we stopped. I put the car in park and put on the emergency brake for good measure. Maybe I could have used that earlier. I hadn’t thought of it.

  Ricky and I sat in the car, catching our breath. My limbs felt numb and my hands lay limply in my lap. I tried to convince myself I didn’t need to go to the
bathroom. “You’re sure you’re all right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “What happened?”

  “No brakes.” I noticed a warning light on the dashboard. Great, thanks for the tip.

  “That’s weird.” After a moment, Ricky asked, “What do we do now?” For once in his life, he sounded younger than he really was.

  “Call a tow truck, I suppose.” Anxiety still skittered along my skin and my hands twitched in my lap. It was an old car, but I took good care of it. Car maintenance was one of those things Mom insisted a woman should know how to do, so you’d never be dependent on a man. I hadn’t noticed any trouble with the brakes. Wouldn’t they go soft before they went out altogether?

  Someone tapped on my window and I jumped, banging my hand on the steering wheel. A man stood beside the car and a glance back showed the big white truck parked behind us. I rolled my window down a couple of inches.

  “Are you all right?” He was about fifty, with dark hair and mustache, and a large belly hanging over a giant belt buckle.

  I managed a trembling smile. “Yes, thank you. Sorry about that. Brake problems.”

  “You need an ambulance?”

  “No, thanks. So long as no one else was hurt, I guess we’re all right.” Unless he wanted to report me to the police for running a red light and reckless driving. Wouldn’t that make my day.

  “Okay. You get help, though. Don’t try to drive again. You need a ride somewhere?”

  “No.” I wanted him to leave so I could think. “I’ll call someone. Thanks.”

  He patted the top of the car and headed back to his truck. I watched as it pulled around us and drove down the road.

  “What happened?” Ricky asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I gripped my hands to control the shaking. “Do you know anything about brake lines? What it takes to cut them?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “I read this story.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t think it’s hard if you know what to do. It’s a quick snip.”

  “But they were working when we left Nancy and Daniel’s. I stopped when you opened the gate and I slowed down to turn onto the road. We had brakes then.”

  Ricky nodded, still frowning. “If you cut the lines all the way through, the brakes won’t work at all. But I think if you only cut them partway, it takes a while for the stuff to leak out—the brake fluid. I can check.” He pulled out his phone.

  I put a hand on his arm. “Not now. That can wait until we get home.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  The police. I blew out a breath. I didn’t want to see the police again. Bad things happened when they were involved. I knew it wasn’t their fault—they were the good guys. But my last encounter with the police was too fresh, and I felt queasy at the thought of men in official uniforms.

  But I had to report this to someone. The detective had told me to call if anything unusual happened. This was certainly unusual, and somehow I didn’t have the same sick reaction about the detectives. Maybe because they hadn’t worn uniforms. Maybe because I’d only seen them at my house, not near the body.

  I fumbled in my purse for my phone and found the card for the detective. I left a message on voicemail.

  A car drove past us. The sun was low enough that we were in deep shadows from the trees along the road. I put on the emergency blinkers, something I should’ve done right away. There wasn’t much traffic, but I still didn’t like sitting in a car at the side of a narrow road. “Okay, the question now is, do we need to call the local police, or can we call a tow truck and get away from here? I don’t like sitting practically in the road.”

  Ricky’s voice wavered. “I want to go home.”

  “Me too.” I squeezed his hand. “How about this. We call a tow truck, but we tell them not to work on anything until they hear from us. That way if there are any fingerprints or whatever, it won’t mess up the evidence. It’s not like the brakes were cut here, so we’re not exactly disturbing a crime scene.”

  He nodded, but he still looked doubtful. “Why would someone want to hurt us?”

  Sitting on a lonely road with darkness falling was not the time to talk about pissed off murderers seeking revenge. “It’s probably just a mechanical problem.” I patted my dashboard. “This old thing has been around longer than you have.”

  Ricky gave me a small smile, but he didn’t look convinced. I couldn’t blame him. Maybe it was the adrenaline left over from the near-accident, but I felt as if the trees were pressing in on us, and every time a car drove by I tensed, wondering if they would stop—and who would be inside.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “We’re ordering pizza for dinner! We deserve a treat.”

  Maybe it wasn’t good to teach Ricky to use food for comfort, but it worked. “Meat Deluxe?” he said, starting to look more like my little brother again.

  The detective called back and said he wasn’t in town, but he’d have someone look into it. A local officer came by an hour later. So much for avoiding police uniforms. Maybe I was supposed to feel safe and comforted with a large, imposing man in blue dominating the living room. I didn’t. Especially when he confirmed that the brakes had been cut.

  I answered his questions with my voice wavering and stomach churning. It didn’t matter that the police were the good guys; I kept seeing them in unpleasant circumstances and my body made the association. It’s a form of killing the messenger, I guess. Once he finished questioning me, he said they’d have a patrol car drive by a couple of times during the night. “You be extra careful for a few days. Make sure the house is locked up, windows too.”

  Great. He thought the vandal—who was most likely a murderer—might try to break into our house.

  He added, “When you get your car back, test the brakes every time you get in, before you go anywhere. Make sure the engine sounds normal. It’s too bad you don’t have a garage. You might want to get a motion sensor light for the carport.”

  “Thanks.” It was better to know what might happen. It was better to be prepared. But it wasn’t pleasant.

  Ricky, after finishing half a pizza, started to see the whole thing as an adventure and went off to his room to update our notes. I sank down on the couch, staring at nothing. The police questioning had brought out a few things I’d known in the back of my mind but had avoided admitting.

  The brakes had been cut sometime during our visit with Nancy, Daniel, and Kyle. We’d been with Nancy the whole time, but we couldn’t vouch for Daniel. And Kyle had been outside when we left the bird building. I tried to imagine him under my car, cutting brake lines. It was all too easy. He seemed like the kind of competent guy who would know cars and be able to handle that simple task. Apparently it only took one hand and some decent clippers.

  Then I tried to imagine him sitting at the table eating cookies and bantering with his grandparents, knowing what he’d done. That didn’t fit at all. I couldn’t believe any of them had tried to hurt—maybe kill—us. But the only other people who knew we would be there were my mother—and Nascha.

  Some of the people I liked most had jumped to the top of the suspect list.

  Chapter 23

  A few minutes later the door opened and Mom came in. She was wearing a short black skirt and shimmery silver top. I blinked a few times and looked away. It wasn’t inappropriate, really—except on my mother.

  Mom stopped in front of me, hands on hips, frowning. I sat up straighter and waited for her to complain about the pizza box on the coffee table. Then I’d tell her we’d had a hard day and describe the accident to distract her.

  “Lewis Preppard approached me tonight,” Mom said.

  “Jay’s father?” No. Oh, no. Please do not tell me she was starting a romance with him.

  Mom nodded. “I don’t like that man.” Thank God. “I never cared for him much. He’s a pompous bully.” Her nose wrinkled. “He told me to control you. Said you were a troublemaker.”

  The anonymous phone caller had said something like that—
I caused trouble. Could it have been Mr. Preppard? It was hard to imagine a fifty-year-old man making prank phone calls, but I guess some people never grow up.

  “He said you were willful,” Mom said.

  Why couldn’t people leave me alone? I sighed. “I suppose you agreed with him.”

  “Nonsense! You were a reasonably well-behaved child. Until recently, but I suppose I should be glad you’re getting some spine. A woman needs to be able to stand up for herself.”

  I jumped up. “Now you tell me? That’s not the message I got growing up.”

  Mom backed up a step and lifted her chin. “You didn’t need to disobey me. But that doesn’t mean you should give in to everyone else.”

  I dragged my fingers through my hair, wanting to tear it out. “Thanks for clarifying. So I should be totally obedient to you and stand up to everyone else.”

  “Is that so unreasonable? I’m your mother. I want what’s best for you.”

  “Oh, right, it’s always about what’s best for me. Like you never put yourself first.”

  She edged back another step. I probably looked crazy, hair messed up, dark circles under my eyes, my clothes rumpled and smelling of sweat. But all the exhaustion and fear and frustration of the last few days mixed with the hurt and anger of a lifetime, and something snapped. I couldn’t hold back. I didn’t want to.

  I stepped closer. “You filled my head with so many warnings about men that I could hardly talk to a boy! You didn’t teach me how to tell bad from good, which might actually have been useful—you taught me to be afraid. And the one time I started to feel close to a man—the one time I had somebody who might help me understand what it was all about—you ruined it.”

  She shook her head. “What are you talking about?

  “Gee, maybe Richard? You know, Ricky’s father? We could have been happy. We were happy, until you drove him away.”

  She avoided my gaze and grumbled, “I didn’t exactly drive him away.”