Relative Silence

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  “Did you pray just now?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What for? Do you really believe in God?”

  “I do. He carried me through some tough times—”

  “What do you know about tough times? Death?” Red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “Losing everything? Your God abandoned me long ago.” She turned to leave.

  “My wife and unborn son died in a car accident.”

  Piper froze.

  “I know what it’s like to have my world destroyed.” He dried his damp palm on the side of his slacks. Brushing against the lumps in his pocket reminded him of the stones he’d placed there.

  She turned and stared at him, her eyes huge. He couldn’t meet her gaze. I didn’t need to tell her that. Not now.

  Before she could answer, Tern arrived leading several men and women wearing coveralls and carrying bags and cases. “She’s down there.” He pointed. “You can reach the pool from those stairs.”

  Lieutenant Gragg followed the group of first responders. “Hello, Piper, Tucker. If you two and Senator Tern would show me to someplace quiet, I can share some information with your family. We need to leave these people so they can do their job.”

  A woman’s voice came from the steps. “I think we have a problem here. There’s a grizzly bear or something . . .”

  “Oh.” Piper leaned over the railing. “It’s a Newfoundland. A dog. He’s very gentle.” She clapped her hands. “Nana, come! Come on, boy.”

  The giant dog trotted up the steps, crossed over to her, and sat. “Go see if Mildred has a cookie—” Nana charged off into the house.

  Tern escorted Lieutenant Gragg toward the living room. Tucker hesitated. “Please join us,” Piper whispered. “And I’m so sorry about your family. I didn’t know. I apologize for my outburst.”

  He wanted to take her in his arms and make things right again in her life. Who am I kidding? He’d barely gotten his own life back on track.

  Tern and Ashlee were both already seated in the living room. Mildred was serving coffee from a side table. Lieutenant Gragg grabbed a steaming mug and moved to a chair. Tucker and Piper sat on the sofa.

  “Is Mrs. Boone joining us?” Gragg asked.

  “Miss Caroline is lying down. She isn’t feeling well.” Mildred handed Piper a cup, then raised her eyebrows at Tucker. He nodded. After serving him, she moved toward the door.

  “Mildred,” Gragg said. “I’d like for you to hear this.”

  She gave a small nod and took a seat near the wall.

  “I wanted to be the one to tell you rather than you hearing it from the press,” Gragg began. “We found the man who opened fire at the café.”

  “I hope you’re going to throw the book at him,” Tern said. “Toss him in prison and make sure he never sees freedom again.”

  Gragg placed his mug on the coffee table. “I should have phrased that differently. We found the body of the man responsible for the shooting. He committed suicide. Poison.”

  “Are you sure it’s the shooter?” Ashlee asked.

  “We’re doing ballistics on the rifle we found with him.” Gragg glanced at Tucker. “He looks like the composite you two did, and he was wearing the same type of clothing you described.”

  “Who was he?” Piper asked.

  Gragg took out a small notebook. “His name was James Vincent Cave. Up until two years ago he was an accountant. He was fired, couldn’t find another job, his home was repossessed, wife and family left him. He was living on the street and in a homeless shelter when they could find space for him.”

  “If I could ask a question here?” Tucker leaned forward. “If he was destitute like you say, how did he come by the rifle and ammunition? Both take money.”

  “Well, that’s one of the things that makes this all very interesting. The rifle was a ghost gun.”

  “Ghost gun?” Piper asked.

  “A rifle made with an unfinished receiver that holds the firing mechanism,” Gragg said. “Anyone can buy parts to finish the rifle and they’re not illegal to own, only to sell, and they’re untraceable. He had an AR-15. A so-called assault rifle.”

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this story?” Piper said.

  “Yes, there is.” Gragg looked at Tern. “Cave was fired from Boone Industries. It appears your family, or at least Piper here, was the target.”

  Chapter 14

  I stared at Lieutenant Gragg, my mind blank. Then everyone spoke at once.

  “Are you saying—”

  “Impossible. Who would want—”

  “Maybe it was a coincidence—”

  “Please, please.” Gragg raised his hands to stem the flow of outrage. “We are investigating every possibility, but we’d been suspicious from the beginning. All of the injured and dead were young women around Piper’s age.”

  “Well then.” Tern cleared his throat and moved to the center of the room. “I might have something to add. The other night someone tried to run me off the road. I thought it was a case of drunk driving, or even road rage, although I did nothing to cause it. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Did you report it?” Lieutenant Gragg asked.

  “No. I thought about it, but so much else is going on and I wasn’t hurt. My car didn’t receive any damages.”

  “Driver? Type of vehicle?” Gragg asked.

  “Like I said, it was night. Just headlights.”

  “Was this before the shooting?” Gragg asked.

  “I think so.”

  “I think you need to report it anyway,” Gragg said. “We need to stay on top of this.”

  “You still didn’t answer the question I asked,” Tucker said. “If the shooter was so poor, how did he come by the rifle and ammunition?”

  Gragg stood. “We have to hold some information back for investigative purposes.”

  “Is there a chance that Cave wasn’t working alone?” Tucker nodded toward Tern. “Perhaps other members of the family are at risk?”

  “Like I said, we’re investigating.” Gragg looked at Tern. “I’d like to interview or reinterview all of you in light of our new information. You could come down to the station, or I could do it here if you have a quiet location.”

  “That would obviously be preferable, Lieutenant Gragg.” Tern moved toward the door. “Take a look at the study and see if that . . .” His voice faded as he accompanied Gragg out of the room.

  I turned to Tucker and whispered, “I have to get Hannah and take her to her grandmother’s house. I’m going to duck out and catch up with the lieutenant later—”

  “Piper, didn’t you hear what he said? That fellow they just found was trying to kill you—”

  “And he’s dead.”

  “What about the attempt on your brother?”

  “He didn’t think it important enough to report. It was probably nothing.” A tiny shiver went up my spine. I ignored it. “I have to go. You could come with me.”

  His eyes opened wider and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. “I . . . I could if you needed me to.”

  I’m trying very hard not to need you. “I have a better idea. Could you work on Dove’s age progression? After I take care of Hannah, I’ll need to know what to ask Lieutenant Gragg about the investigation into Joyce. You said you’d help me.”

  “I will. I’ll come up with a list of questions and start on the art, but you have to promise me something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

  “Of course.” I stood to leave.

  “Piper, Lieutenant Gragg would like to speak to you first.” Tern waved me toward the door.

  Rats. So much for a fast escape. “Coming.”

  The lieutenant stood as I entered the study, located in the same wing as my bedroom. “I don’t know what more I can tell you—”

  “Have a seat, Miss Boone.” He indicated the caramel-colored leather chair facing him. After I sat, he asked, “What brought you to the café
the other day?”

  “I often eat there, so I suggested it when Ami wanted to get together.”

  “She wanted to ask you for money.”

  “She . . . I beg your pardon? No. We were high school classmates. She said she’d been thinking about me and suggested a meal. Why do you think it was about money?”

  “Your brother told me. He said Ami called him and asked if your family would donate to the Women’s March. He turned her down. I guess she then tried you. You have a bit of a reputation for generosity.”

  I blinked, trying to think of something to say. “Um . . . what were the women marching for?”

  “I have no idea. You mentioned you often ate at the café. How often?”

  “Maybe once or twice a week.”

  “You meet your friends there?”

  Friends? “No. I dine alone.” I sounded lonely. “I enjoy my times alone.” From lonely to pathetic. “Um, how hard would it be for me to see police reports?”

  Now it was Lieutenant Gragg’s turn to blink at the change of subject. “Depends. Shall we get back to my questions?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought we were done.”

  “Almost. Did you know James Vincent Cave?”

  “The shooter? No.”

  “Have you ever heard the name before?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any enemies?”

  “No.” Nor apparently any friends.

  “Have you noticed anyone hanging around or any unusual activity? Anyone paying you more attention than usual?”

  “Before the shooting, no. Now, of course, there are the reporters. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  The lieutenant nodded and stood. “Thank you, Miss Boone. If you think of anything, give me a call.” He handed me a business card.

  “I have quite a collection of these.”

  He handed me two more and grinned. “And I want to order new cards.”

  I took the cards and stuffed them into my slacks, then left, heading for the back door. Ashlee cornered me before I could reach it.

  “Piper. Wait. I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m in a hurry, Ashlee. Can’t this wait?”

  He planted himself in front of the door, effectively cutting off my escape. “No, it can’t.”

  “Are you concerned about my weight? I promise not to get fat today.” I folded my arms.

  “Earlier there wasn’t time. I need to tell you something and I wanted you to hear it from me. I’m engaged. Getting married at Christmas.”

  “Why?” The word slipped out before I could catch it.

  His brows drew together. “What do you mean? Why not? I’m not content to sit around and grow old. I’m not living in the past.”

  “Neither am I.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then you’re more delusional than I thought. After our daughter died, you built a wall around you that no one could breach. I tried. Every time I’d reach for you or touch you, you’d cringe. You clutched that wall around you and ran from anyone or anything that would dare break through. When Dove died, you died.”

  “Don’t you dare say her name!”

  “Why not? Do you think you were the only one who lost a child that day?”

  “That’s the point,” I practically spat. “I didn’t lose her. You did. You let someone take her—”

  “You know that’s not how it happened. I told you she’d fallen asleep in the forward cabin. I didn’t want to wake her until I’d tied up. No one took her. No one knew she was on board—”

  “You should have died trying to save her!” I pushed past him, but he caught my arms and pulled me close.

  “So you finally said it! The thought that has gnawed at your soul all these years.”

  “You’re wrong—”

  “Listen carefully, princess,” he whispered in my ear. “Everyone’s been tiptoeing around you for the past fifteen years. I’m done with that. When are you going to get over it?”

  “Losing a child isn’t like getting the flu! I’ll never ‘get over it.’ The best I can do is get up every morning—”

  “See? ‘Poor Piper, she’s gone through so much.’ You’re the perpetual victim. The enduring martyr. But you’re nothing more than a bitter, angry woman running away from life, and I’m glad I’ve finally found happiness without you.”

  I jerked my arms away and ran to my room. I would not give him the pleasure of seeing how his words had stabbed me with the precision of an ice pick.

  Chapter 15

  After Piper left the living room, Mildred stood and started collecting coffee cups. Ashlee checked his watch, then hurriedly left.

  Tucker waited to stand until Mildred finished. The only sounds now were the distant voices of the team working to recover BettyJo’s body. The voices grew, then faded as they transported her body around the house and toward the dock. Poor girl. He prayed for her family again.

  He felt too restless to draw, but he needed to keep busy. He grabbed his crutches and hobbled to his room.

  He’d done age progressions after training with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Their work was all done on computer using Photoshop and special programs. He’d left his computer with that program at home; however, the method was similar with hand-drawn art. He pulled out a light box and plugged it in, then lifted the photograph of Dove and taped it to the glass. Carefully he traced the upper half of her face onto a piece of bristol paper. Sliding the paper down, he then traced the lower half, lengthening her face. In young children, the upper part of the head is larger than the lower half. As children age, the proportions end up evenly divided between the upper and lower face. The nose grows forward and downward, lips stretch over adult teeth, the jaw lengthens and widens, and eyes grow larger. Normally, in addition to the photograph of the child, he’d study and utilize the images of the parents—both as children themselves and their adult features. He incorporated Piper’s and Ashlee’s features into the drawing.

  * * *

  I stood in my bedroom, breathing deeply after my encounter with Ashlee. I wasn’t a bitter, angry woman. I wasn’t sitting around growing old. I wasn’t a perpetual victim or an enduring martyr.

  I was . . . I would be on a mission.

  I’d find out what happened to Joyce.

  Right.

  People didn’t need to tiptoe around me. I was fine.

  I found myself staring at my half-packed suitcase. Was that fine?

  Stop it. I didn’t need to psychoanalyze myself. And how dare Ashlee talk to me like that! After this he could just stay on the mainland and come over for the meeting. Better yet, I’d buy out his shares. Or get Tern to fire him.

  You don’t have the money, or the power, to do anything to Ashlee. You’re pathetic.

  I picked up a pillow from my bed and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall and bounced onto the floor. I gave it my best soccer-ball kick. The pillow flew up and landed on my purse.

  My oversized, overpriced Coach purse. A gift from Ashlee that I’d been too cheap to toss. I’d forgotten that. My vision narrowed, and the room receded. With a guttural roar, I kicked the purse as hard as I could. It flew up and smashed into a Signs movie poster. The poster canted sideways, crashing into the framed article about my father. Both pieces dropped straight down to the overloaded shelf below, shooting books, sweetgrass baskets, a line of candles, and glass into my open suitcase and onto the floor beyond.

  The sound of shattering glass and crashing objects seemed to go on forever. My mouth dried. I stood rooted to the spot, breathing heavily, my hands opening and closing convulsively. Somewhere outside, Nana barked. The rancid odor of my own sweat burned my nose.

  I struggled to remain standing on wobbly legs.

  Under glittering shards of glass, a pair of jeans next to a couple of T-shirts peeked out from the suitcase.

  The purse had upended, then landed on its side, spewing the contents.

  I stumbled backward to a chair and sat. I was empt
y, hollow, unable to formulate thoughts or words.

  Someone knocked on my door. Then knocked again. “Piper?” Mildred called. “I heard a crash. Are you okay?”

  No. I’m not okay. “It’s nothing, Mildred,” I managed through numb lips. “I just dropped something.”

  After a few moments, I heard the tapping of her shoes as she walked away.

  As soon as my legs felt like they could support my weight, I stood, stomped across the room, and closed the suitcase, glass and all. I picked it up and dumped it into my closet. Returning to the corner, I picked up the larger pieces of glass and placed them into the trash basket.

  I didn’t want to even touch the purse. Finding an empty plastic shoe box, I placed my wallet, keys, a container of mints, compact, comb, and Sparrow’s sad pencil case inside. My journal went to the bedside table. The final item was a small bound notebook. The book I was going to write. I knew what was inside. A few notes and the pink slip from my publishing employer. Due to financial difficulties, we will no longer be in need of your services. Please pick up your final check from bookkeeping. The reason for my return to the island. I couldn’t afford to live on my dividends and support all my causes. Four Paws Rescue and injured goose: 1. Independent lifestyle: 0.

  I shoved the notebook into a drawer. The purse followed the glass shards into the trash. Ashlee’s voice pounded into my brain. “You’re nothing more than a bitter, angry woman, running away from life.”

  Not true.

  The hall outside my room had a cleaning closet with a vacuum cleaner. I grabbed the vacuum and vigorously cleaned the floor. I returned the vacuum cleaner and pulled out a duster. Attacking the shelves, I jabbed at the surfaces, replacing the baskets and candles. The leather band around my wrist that covered my scars came into focus. Running away from life . . .

  The romance books and sappy movies surrounding me were evidence of my attempts to escape. I’d slapped on a hundred-pound backpack to climb a steep hill with no summit in sight.