by Nancy Bush
Kurt stared at me, then the deck, then B.J., then the deck again. “I don’t know, okay? It was an accident.”
“Did anybody else go on the island?”
“Just Jesse.”
“Jesse. Right,” I repeated. “You guys dropped him off.”
“Yeah, he was gonna run around it, y’know? Like we always do?” I nodded encouragement. “And so we were all waitin’ for the dogs. Like where are they, y’know? They’re like always there barking and growling and throwing themselves at the fence. Scare ya shitless. But we always do it. It was Jesse’s turn, but he gets over the fence and he won’t move. He’s about crapping his shorts. He stayed right by the fence. Afraid they’d suddenly gonna jump at him.”
“I’d be staying by the fence, too.”
Phhhfff. He expelled air through his lips that said I was a wuss. “Well, we all kinda gave him shit, y’know? And so he finally takes off, runnin’ kinda slow and worried-like. We pulled away ’cause you don’t want to be just hangin’ there. The Lake Patrol could come by.”
“You pulled away in the boat,” I clarified.
“But then we couldn’t find him again. He’s somewhere back past the swimming pool, or somethin’. Then all of a sudden he’s on the other side of the island, by those trees that hang down real low? And he was hanging on one of the branches, but not like over the water, over the land. We started yellin’ at him and then he just fell down.” Kurt swallowed hard at this point. “It was like slow motion.”
“He fell onto the ground?”
Kurt nodded. “We jumped in and swam over and he kinda was lyin’down on his side. Big gash in his head. Lots of blood. Fuck. We brought the boat over as close as we could and hauled him in. He was white as a ghost, but his eyes were open.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“No.” Something about his answer made me question its veracity.
“That’s what you told the police?”
“That’s the truth.”
I met B.J.’s eyes. He looked away. Kurt added, “Jesse kinda came to for a minute, but he just was muttering. We didn’t tell anybody that ’cause he didn’t really say anything. We took him to his folks’.”
“What day was this?”
“Friday.”
“The 17th?”
“I guess.”
“Why didn’t Jesse come back to where you’d originally let him off?”
“Beats me. Stupid ass. He shoulda. That’s where we expected to pick him up.”
“Do you think something scared him?”
“You said the dogs weren’t there.”
“Maybe something else?”
Kurt frowned at me, totally at sea. “Like what?”
B.J. said, “Yeah. Like what?”
I shook my head. I had vague thoughts that didn’t have any foundation. I was wondering if Bobby Reynolds had been there that day. Somebody had dropped his body in Lake Chinook, so he must have come off somebody’s property. That was about the only way into the lake.
“Is Jesse home from the hospital?”
“Yeah, for a couple days.”
“Do you think he’d see me?”
“What for?”
“I’ve just got some questions about the island.”
“Are you writing a book?” Kurt asked suddenly.
My initial instinct was to deny, but I saw that he was kind of excited by the idea. “I’m just taking notes right now,” I demurred.
“Cool.”
“Would you tell him about me?”
He shrugged an assent, then looked down at Binkster who, fresh from a lengthy nap, was stretching her back legs as she came through the door to the deck. She trotted over to give Kurt a sniff. Kurt patted her then looked up at me with a huge smile. He tickled Binks’ ears and cooed at her and she circled between his legs. I get why pedophiles use puppies as a way to lure children to them. Sick brains can still see what works. Binks was my good-will ambassador. I’d just shot up a dozen points in Kurt’s biased teen eyes.
“I’ll tell him,” he said, to which Binks licked the back of his hand.
The television report that night was full of speculation about Bobby Reynolds’ murder. I wonder sometimes where these reporters get off. I mean, sheesh. Look closely and it appears they’re salivating.
But I learned a few things. The police had searched the island and found nothing to show that Bobby had been killed there. If there had been any physical evidence, however, it could have been washed away by the rain. Not that anyone was saying Cotton or Heather had anything to do with hiding or killing Bobby. Nossirree…Don’t want any lawsuits, thank you very much. The authorities were continuing their investigation into whoever killed Bobby, but were being mum about any leads. There was some discussion about where Bobby could have been all these years, speculation on the part of the reporters, and quite a few shots of the island from the bridge, but nothing more concrete than what Tomas Lopez had indicated: Bobby’s body had freed itself from whatever had weighted it down. There was an abrasion near his temple which appeared to have happened prior to his body being in the water. More speculation on what that meant, but from my point of view Bobby had been murdered. It didn’t matter whether he was struck on the head or drowned. Someone had done it deliberately.
Whoever that someone might be was something to think about. Cotton? Would he kill his own son? For all the pain he’d caused, the embarrassment, the incredible disappointment? Or Heather? To clear out the competition for Cotton’s estate? With Bobby gone would she inherit? Or…Tess? My mind shied from this one. I was no huge fan of Tess but I sensed in her a mother bear’s need to protect her cub. She’d wanted to find Bobby alive. And yes, possibly to insure her own route to the Reynolds money. But more probably just because she loved her son. Loved him fiercely. In an almost scary way, if my impressions were anything to go by. Over-mothering did more harm than good, as far as I could see.
Or was there someone else who would want Bobby dead? Surely his wife’s family hated him for what he’d done. And yes, they were deeply devout people, but hadn’t more wars been started in the name of religion than any other cause? Wasn’t there something in the Bible about an eye for an eye?
I thought of Murphy suddenly, of his contention that Cotton wanted to leave everything to him. But Murphy didn’t want any part of the money. That wasn’t playacting on his part. He was destroyed over Bobby’s death, as he was destroyed about finally realizing Bobby had cold-bloodedly murdered his family. Again, I was relieved to take Murphy off the list. I’d only added him because I wanted to think I was professional enough to include people I cared about. Who was I kidding? Professional? My emotions were all over the place when it came to Murphy. I wanted to just not be attracted to him. How much simpler my life would be!
But back to Bobby Reynolds…Was there some other motive, somewhere? Something I was missing?
“Real estate,” I said thoughtfully.
Every agent around wanted the island. Craig Cuddahy had gotten into a fistfight with Cotton. Yes, it was over his comments about Bobby and how Cotton needed to move on. But with Cuddahy, real estate was the underlying drive. He wanted to develop the island. Had Bobby somehow gotten in the way of that? Cuddahy had been in town weeks before the benefit. More than enough time for something to happen that would…Oh, shit. My mind leaped wildly ahead. Maybe Craig Cuddahy had actually seen Bobby, on the island or someplace else. And Cuddahy couldn’t have Bobby, the heir apparent, gumming up his plans. No way. Much easier to dispose of Bobby Reynolds once and for all than have the specter of his reappearance hanging over everyone. Then with Bobby disposed of, Cuddahy could put the full court press on Cotton to sell.
I dialed Dwayne’s cell as fast as I could, reaching his voice mail. Lucky for me, I didn’t just blurt out all my theories—although I really, really wanted to—which later saved me the embarrassment of wishing I could swallow my words. One thing about Dwayne: he hates snap judgments, opinions and theories. “Just
do the work” is his motto. I know this about him, but I still want to be his “A” student.
Thwarted, I wrote down my ideas on a scratch pad, circling them in different colors: green for Tess, blue for Heather, yellow for Cotton, red for Murphy, black for the real estate contingency which included Craig Cuddahy, Paula Shepherd and Brad Gilles. Also, Lorraine Bluebell, but only because I wanted to remind myself to call her again. She’d be a perfect source for information on current real estate goings-on in and around Lake Chinook.
I was admiring my color chart when a loose end popped into my head. Owen Bradbury, Bobby’s half-brother. How did he fit in? I could go to the Pisces Pub and learn something from his friends. Friday night would be a perfect time.
I gotta say, it’s interesting what I can come up with to fill my time. I was off this job. There was no more money in it. My only satisfaction was coming from my insane pleasure in continuing.
What do you want, Jane?
I searched the corners of my own psyche, digging for the source of my interest. A niggling and painful realization surfaced reluctantly in my brain.
You’re doing this for Murphy. To make him see how smart you are. To make him want you. To make him not ask—but beg—you to come back to Santa Fe with him. To show him how exceptional you are. How much he threw away when he stopped loving, caring or even thinking about you.
I put my color chart away.
Self-realization is a bitch.
Chapter Thirteen
I went to Bobby’s memorial service alone, entering the domed room of the Pegtree Center with an already large group of attendees whose swivel-headed eagerness spoke of desire to gawk rather than show their respects. I’d half-hoped Murphy would call and ask me to join him, but he wasn’t over being angry with me. I should know better, but I don’t. Under “glutton for punishment,” see Jane Kelly’s photo.
I’d almost bagged out entirely as I had no wish to stir up Cotton, Heather, Tess or anyone else. But I’d felt that was the chicken’s way out, so I’d thrown on my black skirt and a short-sleeved black top out of some kind of polyester material that caused you to sweat as soon as it touched your flesh. But it looked good, so here I was. I’d even managed a pair of strappy black sandals I’d pulled from the back of my closet. They were old enough to give me pause, but they were broken in and the only thing besides my new flip-flops that was reasonable. My appearance, I decided, was okay.
The crowd was large and the room was hot. People fanned themselves with the service programs. I realized with a distinct shock that Cotton wasn’t there. I realized with a second shock that Bobby’s wife’s family was. Laura’s mother and father and several of her brothers and sisters were seated on the opposite side of the aisle from the Reynolds/Bradbury contingent. They sat in a clan in silence, their faces collectively turned slightly upward. I couldn’t see their expressions from my angle at the back of the room, but I imagined they were imploring the heavens for help and guidance. I glanced at the ceiling myself, feeling suffocated and sad.
Murphy sat next to Heather who was studiously avoiding looking at Tess, who shouldered her way to the first row. Next to Tess was a man in his thirties with light brown hair and broad shoulders. An image of Bobby flitted across my mind before I realized I was probably looking at the back of Owen Bradbury’s head. He turned at precisely that moment to say something to his mom and I saw his face in profile. Nope. He didn’t look like Bobby…well, sort of…maybe. As I watched, Tess momentarily rested her head on his shoulder.
The minister led us all in a short prayer. I listened from a self-induced stupor, my gaze touching on Murphy, then over the congregation, then back again. Platitudes about Bobby, about his brief time on earth and how his life was unfinished came at me like waves, breaking over my forced detachment. I glanced at Laura’s family and felt a fresh surge of anger toward Bobby that receded as quickly as it rose. Bobby was gone. They were all gone.
The whole thing was over so suddenly that I started. I’d possibly fallen asleep. The somnolence and heat weren’t helping. I hurried outside ahead of the crowd into blistering sunshine and headed for my Volvo. No one tried to stop me, but then they were still all saying good-bye and whispering their sympathies. Who was I kidding anyway? I wasn’t part of this group. I was persona non grata.
“Jane…” I recognized the voice and turned to find Murphy, sober and looking more miserable than any human had a right to. He was halfway to my car. “Cotton’s in the hospital. Laurel Park. All of this has punched him in the gut. His heart’s weak.”
And broken, I thought. “I’m sorry.”
“He wants to see you.”
I stared at him. “Me? Are you kidding? Why?”
“He’s not still mad,” Murphy assured me. “I’m sorry I told him about you working for Tess. I was angry, but I should have known better.”
“Well, I don’t know why he wants to see me. I don’t want to stir him up. I think it’s better if I stay away.”
Murphy looked off toward the horizon. “It’s not your fault or anyone else’s that Bobby’s gone. Cotton just flew off the handle because he’s upset about everything. He also knows Tess would have done anything for Bobby, so if she hired you it was just to help.” His blue gaze turned to me. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I screwed up, Jane. Just made things worse for you.”
“Fuggedaboudit,” I said lightly.
“I’ll go with you to the hospital.”
“Uh, no.” That didn’t sound like a good idea.
“He’s afraid he’s dying and he wants to make it right with everybody.”
“If I’m going, I’m going by myself.”
Murphy shook his head. “I don’t want it to be such a task. I’ll be with you.”
“Is he dying?” I asked.
Murphy hesitated. I got the feeling he didn’t want to go there. Finally, he said tersely, “Yes.”
“Imminently?”
“I didn’t want Bobby dead,” Murphy responded, looking around as if for support. “But I thought it would be a relief to Cotton. It’s been just the opposite. I really don’t know how long he’s got.”
I didn’t want to see Cotton, but if I did, I really didn’t want Murphy with me. But reading between the lines I felt like I’d better make tracks to see Cotton Reynolds or it might be too late.
People were surging around us, commiserating. Heather, in a dark blue suit whose short skirt showed off her shapely legs, glanced around anxiously. I could see Murphy was torn. He didn’t want to deal with Heather right now, but he didn’t feel he could just leave her. I mimed that I would call him later. Murphy nodded. He touched my shoulder gently before moving in Heather’s direction. I could feel the extra heat from his fingers long after I was on the road.
I drove directly to Laurel Park Hospital and asked for Cotton Reynolds’ room. Might as well get this over with. There was a brief moment of confusion until I corrected myself and asked for Clement Reynolds. The only way I’d pulled that out was because I’d read it in the newspapers recently. I was directed to his floor and I rode up the elevator, half-inclined to just bolt. I’m not good at this stuff. I have an urge to sing or whistle in hospitals and churches that defies explanation.
Cotton’s door was slightly ajar and I pushed it inward with trepidation. He lay on a bed with his face turned toward the window. Hearing my approach, he turned my way. Another distinct shock. He looked like he’d aged ten years since the last time I’d seen him.
“Jane Kelly,” he greeted me in a hoarse voice.
I nodded. “Murphy said you wanted to see me.”
Ill as he was, he caught my pique. “I sicced the police on you.”
“Tomas Lopez.”
Cotton held up a hand. “Murphy told me you were working for Tess. Probably said some things I shouldn’t have. I was mad at Tess, too.”
“I saw her at Bobby’s memorial service.”
A shadow passed over his eyes. “Heather was there.”
It
wasn’t a question, but it sounded like one so I nodded.
“Bobby was my son. And I’m going to miss him.”
His voice had grown more raspy with each word and when he fumbled for his plastic cup of water, I quickly handed it to him. It was an effort for him to place the straw between his lips, but he managed to take a few sips before I took the cup away.
“Maybe I should come back another time,” I suggested uneasily.
“I want to tell you something.”
“Okay.” I shifted my weight, growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
“You told me you liked Bobby.”
My heart sank. I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I’d definitely stretched the truth when I’d blurted that out. “We only met a couple of times.”
“Murphy thinks a lot of you.”
“Yeah…well…we’re friends,” I said lamely.
“I want you to know that Bobby was only missing a little while. I know Tess hired you to find him.”
“Bobby was missing for four years,” I reminded cautiously.
Cotton looked down at the tops of his hands. Blue veins pushed upward against pale skin. He stared at them as if they held the answers, then fisted them. “Tess knew where Bobby was until a few weeks ago. She gave him money. She kept him going.”
“How do you know this?”
“I just know.”’
A chill slid down my back at the pointed look he gave me. He’d seen Bobby. I was almost certain of it.
“Tess has funded him since the moment he called her from Tillamook. I think he told her to come get him long before he murdered them. She didn’t know why he wanted her to come. She just went. And she picked him up and took him somewhere. I don’t know. To a bus, maybe. I don’t know when he told her the truth…maybe still denies everything. But she’s the one who’s hidden him.”
“This sounds like conjecture.” I wasn’t sure what I was hearing, but I didn’t think it was meant for my ears.
“Up until a few weeks ago there was an intermediary who collected the money and got it to him. I don’t know who that was, and I don’t know where Bobby was. He never said and I didn’t ask.”
