by Jo Crow
It made me sick.
“What about the outstanding balances?” I asked.
“We paid them all off in May of 2007.” Lucian shrugged. He tucked the invoice back into the stack and closed the folder. “There were numerous accounts in the red that I chipped away at over the course of the year and, in 2007, thanks to a rural development grant, we were able to pay off the remaining balances and pop back into the black for the first time in years.”
“Wait.” My mouth went dry. “You’re saying there were no outstanding balances at the time of my father’s disappearance?”
“None that I knew of, at least.” Lucian chuckled. “God, I remember how good it felt to clear out the last of our debts. It’d been a long time since that had happened, with the economy in a tailspin, you know. According to my projections, we should have had a fiscally luscious 2007, had your father not disappeared midway through it.”
No, that couldn’t be right. I glanced down at the thick stack of papers, looking for answers. There had to be something else going on—something I wasn’t getting. If there weren’t any large outstanding balances in June, who had taken my parents? Who’d killed them? And why?
And who was still angry? The bones had been too deliberately placed; the time deliberately chosen to coincide with my return.
“There isn’t any other irregularity you can think of?” I asked, grasping at straws I wasn’t sure were there. “No large sums of money disappearing, or-or any appearing in the accounts without a source?”
“Nope. I kept the accounts clean.”
“What about my father’s personal accounts?”
Lucian’s chuckle turned to a laugh. He shook his head. “Your father’s personal accounts were his own. I can’t help you there.”
Miserable, I thinned my lips and tried not to let the revelation get the best of me. The last loose thread I’d hoped would unravel the mystery had pulled itself clean of the tapestry of my father’s past. All I knew was that my father was a murderer, and he’d had a guilty conscience.
What good did that do me?
“Would you like to take the files?” Lucian asked. “I’ll be disposing of them at the end of the year, anyway, unless you’d like to sign a release and take them into your custody.”
Mutely, I nodded. I could comb through the records on the off-chance there was something Lucian had forgotten, but my hopes weren’t very high that I’d find any answers. As Lucian slid some papers out from a drawer in his desk and highlighted where I was to sign and initial, I let my mind wander.
There had to be something I was missing—some dark trail my eyes couldn’t see through the shadows. Maybe it was time I started to explore other possibilities. Susan, who’d received money from my father for years following Rachel’s death, might know more.
While I initialed and signed to make my father’s old records mine, I decided it was time to pay her a visit.
24
Susan Yates lived in the same house I remembered from my childhood. The A-shaped roof with the white trimming reminded me of a dollhouse, and the cheerful gardens out front did little to dispel that illusion. I parked my car in the long driveway and crossed the flat-stone path leading to the front door. The doorbell was bright white, and when I pushed it, a cheerful series of bells rang inside the house.
“I’m coming!” a voice exclaimed.
Moments later, the door opened, and I found myself face-to-face with Susan Yates for the first time since my early teenage years.
She’d aged. Well into her seventies, her hair had gone white and soft, and her skin had lost elasticity. Her cheeks sagged, and her chin hung, while in other places she was so slender her skin seemed to cling to bone itself. She adjusted round glasses to look at me, then smiled. “Well, if it isn’t Clara McNair.”
“Hello, Mrs. Yates.” I bowed my head respectfully. “I’m sorry to stop by unannounced. I was just wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
“You’re not selling vacuums, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then come on in.” She stepped back from the door to grant me entrance, and I entered cautiously. “I’ve heard from around town there are some individuals not too happy you’re back home. Such a pity everyone here seems to think a girl like you could be responsible for a crime like that. A real shame.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“And none of that ma’am business.” Susan pulled a dish cloth from where she’d tucked it beneath her arm and smacked me with it. It didn’t hurt, but it served its purpose. “Susan, please. I know I’m old, but I’m not that old.”
“Thank you, Susan.”
Susan led me into the house and right for the kitchen, where she had me sit at the table as she fussed with a tea kettle. I watched as she worked, but just as I was getting ready to offer my help, she held up a finger. “No. I’ve got this.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“But I saw the look in your eyes.” Susan wagged her finger at me. “You can forget it. This is my house, and my kitchen, and I won’t have my guests lifting a finger.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Susan had always been a rock, and it looked like that hadn’t changed over the last decade.
“So, tell me what’s happened since the last time I saw you,” Susan said as she set water on to boil and prepared teacups. “The last I heard, you were off to Europe to go to university and to get out of here until things blew over, but then you never came back.”
“I got my degree and was accepted into a master’s program in California, so I spent the last several years on the west coast.” Porcelain clinked against the counter. A silver spoon lifted sugar from a sugar dish. “While I was out there, I met a man I thought I’d marry, and we had a son. The man ended up not being a good fit for me, but now I have a new little man in my life, and he’s become my whole world.”
Susan looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes alight with joy. “I knew you’d shake those rough teenage years of yours. Just ask Amanda—all through high school I told her the two of you were going to get over your wildness and settle down. I’d always said you would be a good mother once you got your head on straight.”
I scratched the back of my head, unsure whether to take the compliment, or be insulted by the thinly veiled insult. At last, I laughed it off. I had been wild. “Thanks.”
“And look at you now, so beautiful and sophisticated. It looks so much better on you than those skintight clothes you and Amanda used to wear. You look like such a respectable young woman. What did you get your degree in, dear?”
“Neuropsychology.”
“Goodness, that sounds complicated. Are you a doctor?”
I laughed. “No, not yet. Maybe one day.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Susan fixed our tea, then brought both cups back to the table. She placed mine before me, then sat slowly, careful of her hips. “I was right. I always knew you girls had big brains. Look at you, accomplishing what so many others can’t.”
I set my hands around the teacup and let it warm my sore palms. “I know it must be hard to believe. I was a different person.”
“But you were still a good person.” Susan lifted her tea and sipped despite the heat. “I’m proud. And now you’re back in Hickory Hills doing what, exactly? There’s so much grumbling around town that I don’t trust rumors anymore. I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“I’m filming a documentary about my parents’ disappearance, actually.”
She raised her eyebrows, and I rushed to defend myself, to keep her good opinion. I don’t know why it mattered, but it did. “I need the money. My son is sick, and I can’t afford the treatment that might save his life.”
“My goodness, dealing with adult problems so young.” Susan frowned. She set her cup back down on the table. “If you’re here looking for financial help, I’m afraid I don’t have anything to give you. Since Amanda’s hours were slashed, I’ve been helping her get by, and I’m stretch
ed too thin.”
“Oh, no, that isn’t it at all. Don’t worry.” I traced the top of my teacup with my fingertip. “I was in the neighborhood, going through some of my father’s old things, and I wanted to ask you a question about him… was it true he sent you money every month?”
“What a generous man Mr. McNair was,” Susan reminisced. “After Amanda came to live with me, he showed up on my doorstep and told me he would be sending me money every month to help with Amanda’s care. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted; then, every month after that a check showed up in my mailbox without fail.”
“So he did send you money.” My stomach tightened. There’d been a tiny speck of hope in my heart that maybe it was all a sham, and the money he’d paid out to Susan each month had been secretly going to another cause. But if Susan had received the sum in full, then… “I was just curious about it. I never knew that about him. My father kept his finances a secret from me.”
“Your father was a kind, kind man.” Susan reached across the table to pat my arm, and my stomach twisted into knots. She didn’t know what I knew. If she did, she wouldn’t have been singing his praises. “You’re growing up into a kind young woman, too, Clara. I can see the love for your son in your eyes. What a wonderful little family you must make. His health and well-being will be in my prayers tonight.”
I wished I had more enthusiasm, but the revelation left me drained. My father was not a kind man. The things he’d done were abominable. The man I thought I knew was a mask, concealing the true villain. It was no surprise someone wanted him dead. If he hadn’t hesitated to kill Rachel for threatening to reveal his secrets, what other crimes had he committed? Who else had he crossed, maimed, or killed?
It was too much.
I finished my tea and listened to Susan as she rattled on about how Amanda had done so well in college, and how she’d turned her life around, just like I had. Every now and then I chimed in with a small question or a hum of agreement to let her know I was listening, but for the most part, she directed the conversation on her own.
I was too gutted to talk much.
The past was the past, but now I knew what had happened, I couldn’t keep it a secret forever. As teenagers, behind the safety of closed bedroom doors and over one too many pilfered beers, Amanda had confessed to me how inadequate she felt since her mother’s suicide. I remembered the times she’d sobbed onto my shoulder about not being enough to keep her mother happy, and how it was obvious she’d never been loved by her mother or her father. Why else would they leave her?
Now I knew.
It was too late to salvage teenage-Amanda’s spirits, but adult-Amanda deserved to know the truth. I knew it would put our relationship in jeopardy, but I couldn’t keep information like that from her. She had a right to know what really happened.
Everyone did.
“So,” Susan said, “now you’re back in town, are you planning on seeing Amanda? I ask her about you all the time, and she’s always telling me you don’t keep in touch too much anymore. I’m hoping that will change?”
“It will. In fact, I think I’m going to go see her right after I’m done talking with you.” I offered Susan a smile, hoping it masked the tumultuous emotions roiling in my gut. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
25
I spent the rest of the day with James while Amanda was at work. We visited a park not far from the McNair estate, and he spent the afternoon seated, near dozing, in the sandbox as other mothers shot me dirty looks from across the park. I couldn’t be sure anymore if it was because they knew of me from town gossip or if it was because I was now openly carrying a weapon. In the end, it didn’t matter. I was becoming used to their disdain, and as long as James didn’t notice it, I was happy.
Since we’d come back to Hickory Hills, James had spent more time with his babysitters than he had with me, and it broke my heart. We’d never been apart for any length of time, but the situation necessitated it. I didn’t want to drag him into what I was going through, and I knew he’d be safer with others than he would be with me. Spending the day together was selfish on my part, but it was cathartic. For a little while, I was able to forget the hard conversation I was going to have later that night.
It was easy to forget there was anything wrong when James lit up my world with a single smile.
A picnic lunch gave way to an afternoon with James seated passively on a swing. I pushed him gently, just enough to rock him back and forth, never sending him too high. I kept careful watch on how his head lolled forward and how his body loosened as sleep tried to drag him back into its clutches. When the sun began to set, I tucked him against my chest and carried him back to the car. The smell of the sun stuck to his hair, and its heat radiated off him to seep through me. I hoped these wouldn’t be our last few happy moments together, but I knew there were too many variables to know for sure. Between James’s health and a killer stalking me, the future wasn’t exactly hopeful.
I clung to hope regardless.
James nodded off in his car seat, and the drive to the Appleton household was quiet. Francine was there to receive James when I arrived, and she fussed over him as he woke from his slumber to clutch at her shirt.
“Looks like someone’s going right to bed.” Francine rocked him in her arms, lulling James back to sleep. “You have fun tonight, all right, Clara? Don’t worry if you want to stay out. Unless you call to tell me otherwise, I won’t expect you to come pick him up tonight.”
“That’s kind of you. Thanks. I should be back, though.”
Francine winked. “Just give me a call. You’re still young. There’s a lot going on in your life, but that doesn’t mean you should be shackled to responsibility all the time. Go have some fun and let us take care of your little man while you’re out.”
I thanked her again, but I was reeling. It wasn’t going to be fun, and nothing Francine said could convince me otherwise.
Amanda had wanted to meet at High Fliers, a bar in downtown Hickory Hills that thrived the more the town fell to ruin. No matter how hard I’d begged her to meet in private, at her house, she had refused; she’d said I didn’t need to hide away, and I’d realized I wouldn’t be able to change her mind. So, in the end, I agreed.
When I walked through the door and into the dimly lit bar, I knew right away I’d made a mistake.
Young people, my age or younger yet, occupied the booths and clustered the bar area. There were people I’d grown up with—faces I recognized from my high school days. Some of them narrowed their eyes. Others nudged their friends and pointed. Cheeks burning, I crossed the bar floor in search of Amanda. A hand sealed around my wrist and tugged me to the side, and I screamed as I was dragged down onto a booth bench.
“Hey! Hey! It’s me!” Amanda called over the music. My hand had already found its way to the revolver holstered to my thigh, and my heart was beating a primal rhythm. “Calm down, girl. It’s me. You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you here. Everyone might know you, but they also know better than to get up in your face over something they can’t prove.”
Amanda was dressed like she was out to party, her halter top plunging low to reveal her cleavage and her jeans form-fitting. Suddenly, I felt under-dressed. I’d arrived at the bar after a day of playing mommy to my son—a simple V-neck T-shirt and standard jeans were out of place.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Amanda said. “Let me get you one. You want some shots? Let’s do shots!”
“Amanda—no.” I tried to stop her, but Amanda leaned across me to flag down one of the waitresses. She made a hand gesture, the waitress flashed back a thumbs-up, and the deal was done. There was no way I could have shut it down. “You really didn’t have to. I can’t drink all that much—I’m driving tonight.”
“It’s Hickory Hills.” Amanda waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter if you’re drunk or not. Not like there’s much traffic. As long as you go slow, you’ll be fine.”
“Amand
a!”
“What?” Amanda laughed. “We used to do it all the time when we were younger. I’d like to assume you’re a better driver than you were then, right? So, it should be a piece of cake.”
The troubled days of my past had been laid to rest when I left the country to continue my education. Nights spent partying and hooking up wasn’t who I was anymore, and it was jarring to find that, despite her position as a social worker, Amanda was still involved in that scene. I’d never felt the difference between us more than at that moment, and I wished I had pushed harder to get her to meet me at her home.
“Clara?” Amanda asked. My drink arrived—red and fruity-looking—and Amanda slid it across the table toward me. “C’mon, you don’t have to be an adult all the time. Plenty of our old high school friends had kids and they still go out to party from time to time.”
“It’s…” How was I supposed to tell her? “I just wish we could have met at your house, like I asked.”
“And miss this?” Amanda pointed across the bar to the small stage. Equipment was being set up. “The Rockets are playing tonight. You remember them from high school, right? Jimmy Klaus and Jack Tilman? They went on tour recently with some big band—I forget who—and now they’re back and they’re famous and they’re going to play here tonight.”
It was dazzling, sure, but it didn’t help me any. I’d been gone from Hickory Hills for so long it didn’t feel like it was a part of me anymore. “Amanda, I just… we need to talk, okay?”
“Down your drink first.” Amanda winked. “You’re going to feel better about yourself once you’ve got something sweet in you. What do you say?”
I wanted to say no, but it didn’t look like that was going to be an option. With a sigh, I lifted the glass and tilted the drink to my lips. The taste was familiar and, as I sipped, I figured it was probably something I used to love back in high school when Amanda and I would sneak into my parents’ liquor cabinet.
