by Nicole Young
He started walking. “I believe you.”
I passed in front of him in a straight line to Cupid’s Creek. A little while later I spotted my marsh marigolds and the clump of bushes, still beeping.
Brad paused and perused the rows of black bags that filled the clearing. “Nice,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
He stared down through the top of the shrub at the victim’s face. “Do you know the guy?”
I shook my head. “Never saw him before.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. I crouched by the babbling creek, not caring what he said or to whom he spoke. A few minutes passed. He joined me creekside, sitting close enough for our elbows to touch.
“So how have you been, Tish?”
I nodded, satisfied with how things had been going up until my recent discovery. A small brown bird fluttered to the opposite bank, picking at something in the dirt. I figured it wouldn’t be long before the turkey vultures descended on our friendly woodland corpse.
“Good. Good,” he said, nodding with me. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks. I hope things are working out for you here in Port Silvan.”
“Yep. It’s all working out.” I gave him a poke on the arm. “I even have a job lined up, if you can believe it.”
“Really? Where’s that?”
“The same place Sam works. She’s supposed to train me. But”—I gave a sigh—“I must confess I haven’t felt much like waitressing the last couple days.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really want to hang with Sam right now. She said a few things that hit home. I’m avoiding her.”
He sat quiet for a moment. “She really loves it up here. Says she’s having the time of her life.” He shot a glimpse of brown eyes my way. “Your cousin may have something to do with that.”
I smiled. “Joel has had the hots for Sam since the first time he saw her. I wonder where that’s headed?”
“Hopefully nowhere. Sam’s life is in Rawlings. I’d hate to see her make any foolish choices.”
I bristled. “Yeah. What a shame that would be, to leave the suburbs for a place where the air is clean and the water’s clear and people aren’t going around killing each other.”
Brad looked over his shoulder at the body. “Yep. That’d be a shame.”
I folded my arms around my knees. “Smarty pants.”
We fell into silence again. I suppressed a smile, every so often sneaking a glance in Brad’s direction.
He was here. I bit my lip to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. After that reunion, I couldn’t believe I’d been opposed to his visit. Maybe we were a tiny bit more than just friends. Big deal. Why had I been so worked up the past few days anyway? Now, sitting there next to Brad, mountains shrank to molehills and my world of woes drifted off with the water bugs darting on the surface of Cupid’s Creek.
Fifteen minutes passed before we heard the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs. Brad stood to greet his state cop buddy from Manistique. They smiled, shook hands, and caught up on old times while the lab people collected data and snapped pictures. Then the two men approached me by the water’s edge.
“Morning, Miss Amble,” Officer Segerstrom said. “Brad tells me you’re having a rough day.”
“More like a rough millennium,” I said.
He nodded. “Tell me how you found the body.”
I gave him the spiel, trying not to stare as the team extracted the corpse from the shrub. My skin crawled as they laid the body in a zipper bag for removal.
Officer Segerstrom’s eyes never budged during my recitation. I knew he watched me intently, looking for clues that I might be lying or leaving out facts. Whatever. I rather hoped he did throw me in jail. Then I could avoid the topics that were sure to come up now that Brad was hanging around.
I finished my story. A few calming breaths helped ward off hyperventilation.
“Thank you,” the officer said. “I’ll keep in touch.” He turned toward the dead man, still exposed to daylight. “Now there’s a guy whose luck finally ran out.”
“You know him?” Brad asked.
The state cop gave a nod of affirmation. “I was at his bail hearing just the other day. I guess Drake Belmont shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get out after all.”
My heart sank to my knees. I gulped. Drake Belmont. Of all people. And on my land.
Officer Segerstrom looked my way. “His death will certainly come as a relief to some, though I’m sure those kids are going to have a tough go of it.”
I gave a grunt of agreement, then glued my eyes to the patch of grass and weeds in front of me. Who could have done this thing? Sure, the guy threatened to kill Missy. But she wouldn’t have beaten him to the punch, would she? Or could Joel have been the one to take out the enemy? I squinted in thought. No. This seemed more Gerard’s style.
“Do you own a gun, Miss Amble?” Officer Segerstrom’s voice cut through my perusal.
“No,” I said, recollecting that I was the prime suspect, since I’d found the creep. The officer turned toward Brad and left me alone.
A little ways over, the long bag made a sound like a mournful bumblebee as the zipper closed. Two investigators lifted the body and removed it from the scene. The crew returned a few minutes later and scoured the area for more clues and, presumably, the weapon.
“Can I go now?” I interrupted Brad and Mike’s intense conversation.
“Sure.” Brad gave a nudge toward the lodge with his head. “I’ll meet you back there.” He looked toward his cop friend. “That is, if you’re done with her.”
“She’s free to go.”
I walked through the woods, running the list of suspects around and around in my mind. It could have been anybody. A good sprinkling of people would celebrate Drake’s death. And perhaps some of them were willing to secure it. But to have it happen so close to the lodge, with Missy and the kids within reach . . . I shuddered to think what would have happened if he’d made it to the house this morning, instead.
I felt eyes on me as I walked across the yard.
“You look rough.” Joel greeted me at the kitchen door. “Back from your walkabout so soon?”
I swept past him to the sink and ran my hands under warm water.
He followed me over. “Got a call from Papa B. He heard on the police radio that there was a possible homicide up at the creek. You know anything about that?”
“Drake Belmont got shot in the head.” My voice came out monotone.
Joel stepped back. “Well. That’s a twist I hadn’t expected. Wait until Melissa hears.”
I toweled off. “I’m sure the trooper will be here shortly to question everyone. I already got the third degree.” Heebie-jeebies ran down my arms at the memory of the murder scene. “Is there any coffee?”
With my self-imposed exile lifted, I treated myself to the meager comfort of hot, liquid caffeine. I sat at a stool without saying much of anything. Thankfully, Joel respected my silence. At my last sip, I set the mug down with finality. “I’m going to take a bath.”
The second-floor bathrooms had no showers, only old-fashioned claw-foot tubs with peeling paint around the outsides. I soaked in one, hiding my ears underwater so I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of blood whooshing and an occasional thump beyond the door. I had no plans of getting out anytime soon. I wanted to wait until someone else broke the news of Drake’s death to Melissa and her kids, even if it meant I suffered wrinkled-up prune-skin.
Several hot water warm-ups and at least an hour later, I finally climbed out and toweled off. I threw on fresh clothes and moseyed back downstairs.
Gerard was in the great room playing with Hannah and Andrew. Joel’s voice came from the kitchen, apparently deep in conversation on his cell phone.
“Hi, kids,” I said, smiling to cover any expression of pity that might show on my face. “Hello, Gerard. What are you still doing here?” His shift normally ended around six when J
oel arrived.
“Melissa asked if I’d watch the kids for her this morning while she walked along the beach. When she got back a little while ago, she looked pretty wiped out. Said she needed a nap. I agreed to cover for her while Joel fixed some grub.”
I swallowed hard. “What time did she leave this morning?”
“Six, six thirty. Why?”
“Have you heard the latest?”
“No. Me and the kids were down at the lake until a few minutes ago.”
“Uncle Gerard buried me in the sand!” Hannah jumped up and down at the thrill of it. Sand sifted off her clothing and onto the floor.
“That must have been cold this early in the day.” I picked Andrew off the area rug and tickled him. “I’ll take over for a while so Uncle Gerard can go talk to Uncle Joel.”
Gerard left the room. A few minutes later the kitchen door opened and closed. Then all was quiet.
I could barely focus on Hannah’s stories of the beach. All I could do was pray Melissa hadn’t been anywhere near Cupid’s Creek this morning.
33
I did whatever was necessary to entertain the two little ones the rest of the morning, short of balancing on my head. By eleven, Hannah was whining for food and Andrew was demanding it. I hauled them into the kitchen. Andrew decimated some saltines while Hannah made designs with a pile of Cheerios. I boiled hot dogs and noodles, glancing out the window a million times, wondering what the crowd on the lawn could be discussing. At some point, Brad, Officer Segerstrom, and my grandfather had shown up to chat with Joel and Gerard. Samantha rolled in with her trusty VW and joined the group.
About 11:30 the clan broke up. Sam was the first in the house.
“Tish.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of earshot of the young Belmonts. “Can you believe Drake’s dead? And that cop was asking me questions like he thought I might have done it.”
I made a wry face. “Well, at least you have an alibi. I was out alone all morning.”
Her eyes shifted and she looked at the floor. “Then we’re in the same boat. I thought I spotted Gill’s Suburban following me on the way to work, and I took off toward Manistique. I parked the van behind some trees at a roadside park all morning. I just now got the nerve to come back.” She leaned against the wall and buried her head in her palms. “I hope I still have a job.”
I patted her shoulder. “Apparently, Melissa’s time is unaccounted for as well. It appears we women were on a killing spree this morning. Here. Have some coffee.” I crossed the room and poured her a cup. I knew from experience that it did no good to panic. The system would just have to run its course. They’d do their investigation, pick a suspect to pin it on, and the poor sap would do the time, unless evidence showed up to the contrary.
“Look at my tower, Aunt Samantha,” Hannah said. The girl had layered her Cheerios one by one in a two-inch-high stack. As we oohed and aahed our approval, the whole thing toppled. “Watch me do it again,” she said, undeterred. She glanced toward the doorway. “Watch this, Mom.”
Melissa stood at the arch to the great room. “That’s great, honey.” She turned to me and Sam. “Sorry to abandon you guys. I had no energy after my walk this morning. I feel better after that nap.”
Samantha and I looked at each other. Sam gave me big eyes and a nudge of her head as if to say, Go tell her about Drake.
I gave a swift shake of my head and a scrunch of my lips that said, No way. You do it.
With arms of surrender, Sam guided Melissa into the great room. Whispers. A snuffle. One good sob.
“How many Cheerios do you have, Hannah?” I said as a quick distraction from the conversation in the other room. The youngster astounded me by dividing the cereal into piles of ten and then giving me a total.
“Wow. You’re so smart.” I tried to devise a more complex game to occupy her attention.
Melissa and Sam came back into the room. Melissa’s eyes were puffed and red. She was either sincere in her grief or a talented actress. She leaned toward her four-year-old. “Hannah, honey, Mommy has something to tell you.”
The two walked out the back door. I took Andrew into the great room to play. Out the front windows, I saw mother and daughter heading toward the beach. Following slowly behind was Officer Segerstrom and Gerard. It seemed it was Melissa’s turn to face the firing squad.
My heart gave a nervous plunge. What if Melissa had been the one to kill Drake? She certainly had every excuse to do the deed. But what would it ultimately benefit her if she were behind bars and strangers raised her children?
Or what about Samantha? Was she such a Good Samaritan that she would murder a man so Melissa could live safe and free?
As for me, I had neither the motive nor the gumption for the act. Besides getting the lodge to myself once more, there was no urgency to pick off Drake Belmont. I didn’t even own a gun or have access to one.
But someone did.
Still, this was one case I hoped the cops left alone. Whoever murdered Drake had done a public service. Now Melissa and her kids could get back to their lives, and there was one less drug dealer and wife beater to contaminate the community.
But somewhere deep in the back of my conscience, a thought nagged at me. Someone was playing God. And people who played God had narrow minds. There was no benevolent motive for killing Drake Belmont. Only a selfish motive. Only a dark motive.
I looked out at the beach. Gerard had taken Hannah off to build a sandcastle. Officer Segerstrom spoke with Melissa. I watched her gestures, innocent and despairing, and wondered how much fact there was in her façade and how much fiction. Perhaps Candice LeJeune had pegged Melissa correctly. Perhaps the young woman was a conniving liar. And perhaps she had us all right where she wanted us: smack dab in the middle of her murder drama, with herself as the tragic victim of abuse and Drake the deserving dead man.
I heard footsteps behind me. I turned.
“Brad. Hi.” For a moment I could hardly breathe.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, bending down to pat the baby.
“Okay, I guess.” I inhaled. “Did you find out anything?”
He nodded. “Yep. You, me, Melissa, Joel, and Samantha are the prime suspects. We all had motive and opportunity. But without a murder weapon or other evidence, there won’t be any arrests.”
“What was your supposed motive?” I asked. I had a hard time believing Brad could even be considered a suspect. He’d only just arrived in the U.P. and had no connections to the victim.
“Protecting you, apparently. Drake had threatened to burn you out for turning him in, remember? And now that you are sheltering the man’s runaway wife, he had even more reason to harm you. And that’s why I had no choice but to kill him before he got to you, the woman of my dreams.” He gave a wink.
I smiled despite the morbid topic. “That’s so romantic. But who do you think really did it?”
He threw his arms up. “Who knows? Drake lived his life like a fool. He died on your property, which makes it seem like it was one of us. But it could have had as much to do with the marijuana he was growing as anything.”
I nodded. “Either way, someone did a good deed.”
Brad shook his head in disagreement. “No. Murderers are capable of anything. You don’t want one on the loose. Not even if it turns out to be Melissa.” He stared me in the face. “Or you.”
Indignation rose in my chest, even though tagging me a murderer was technically true. “Or perhaps your sister?” I shot back.
“Not even Sam.”
Melissa came in. “There’s my baby,” she said in a chipper voice and picked up Andrew. She gave the child a kiss on the forehead. “We get to go home soon, little mister.”
The two disappeared upstairs. I gave Brad a questioning look. Was it really best for everyone if the murderer was snugly behind bars?
34
Thursday came. A torrent of rain battered the roof, waking me with its drenching din. I wavered over whether to spend the day at th
e lodge hoping to catch a brief but wonderful moment with Brad, or to stick to my scheduled routine and visit Candice.
Downstairs, I poured a cup of coffee. I sat at the counter, watching the buzz of activity around me. Samantha had taken the day off to help Melissa with the funeral arrangements for Drake, even intervening when some of Drake’s caustic family members argued on the phone about Melissa’s right to handle the ceremony. Joel and Gerard both volunteered for kid duty, a job that apparently required winding the two Belmont children into a Tasmanian frenzy and then expecting them to lie down for morning naps.
By eleven o’clock, it was a no-brainer. I went to Candice’s.
She seemed surprised to see me when I showed up on her doorstep.
“I thought you’d be tied up at home,” she said. “Come on.” Her slender figure moved to let me in.
Her makeup seemed heavier today. But as we entered the parlor, the bags beneath her eyes could not be hidden.
“How’ve you been this week?” I asked. “You seem a little tired.”
She sighed. “A lot’s happened this week. And now to top it all off with this Drake business . . . Suffice to say things are a bit stressful.”
“I empathize, believe me. I can’t stand the thought that I might end up back in jail for murder.”
“Nonsense,” Candice said with a wave of her hand. “They couldn’t possibly find any proof in that respect. More likely it was something to do with drugs.”
“That’s what Brad said.”
“Brad, huh? Did you two finally get together?”
I contemplated my relationship with the off-duty police officer before answering. “Brad’s up for a visit. Which really hasn’t helped matters any. He isn’t sure he can believe that I didn’t kill Drake.”
She exhaled with indignation. “That settles it, then. He doesn’t deserve you. Find someone who believes in you.”
I wished it were that easy. But my record with men was a solid 0 for 2, not surprising, considering the dead bodies and unanswered questions that trailed me wherever I went.
