No One Can Know

by Lucy Kerr

  When Noah had lived here, only a few streets over, this area might have been rough, but it still felt like a neighborhood. On any given day, you’d see people working on their cars or drinking with their buddies after a hard day, kids racing their bikes or playing ball in the street. It didn’t have this oppressive silence, and I shivered despite my fleece jacket and down vest.

  There was no car in Miller’s driveway, and the yellow caution tape around the door fluttered in the wind. The police had given up the stakeout method, it seemed. In the rapidly encroaching dusk, the small, squat house felt abandoned. I picked my way up the wooden front steps, boards dangerously springy beneath my feet, and knocked. The door sounded unexpectedly solid, and the shiny new dead bolt was a contrast to the rest of the aging house. Miller took his security seriously.

  No answer. The blinds were drawn, but I craned my neck, trying to peer through a gap where some of the slats had broken off. The interior was dim, but I caught a flickering of light and movement, heard voices raised in argument. Josh might be missing, but it sounded like someone else was home.

  I knocked again and waited for a response that didn’t come. Rather than try a third time, I circled around to the back door.

  The kitchen, based on what I could see through the uncurtained window, was several decades out of date. Crookedly hung cabinets, peeling countertops, a sink filled with dishes, and a rickety table covered with pizza boxes.

  As I raised a fist to knock, a voice behind me said, “Nobody’s in there.”

  I jumped, spinning around to find the source of the voice. A tiny old woman in multiple cardigans—all beige—and a knitted hat that was probably white once upon a time stood in the yard next door.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I can hear someone.”

  “Television,” she said. “He’s got one of those big screen models with lots of speakers. Makes the windows rattle, and he never turns it off, neither.”

  She broke off, overtaken by a coughing spell, bracing her hand on the side of the house.

  “That’s quite a cough,” I said lightly. “Why don’t we get you a drink of water?”

  She straightened as much as she could and waved me off. “I’ll be fine. Had it for years.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  She snorted. “Don’t have one. Don’t need one. What are you looking for, missy? You’re not his usual type.”

  “Josh Miller’s type?”

  “Who else?” She stumped across the lawn toward me, her shuffling steps obviously painful. “Like a train station in here, people always coming and going, music playing, television blasting.”

  Now that she’d said “television,” I could pick out the announcers’ voices, commercial jingles, a swell of dramatic music that made me think Josh favored reality television. “Does he live here alone?”

  “Had his little girl with him for a while. She was tiny thing. Sweet, mostly. State took her away, I heard, and I’m glad of it. This is no place for a child.”

  “Where’s her mother?”

  “Ran off when the baby was still in diapers. Haven’t seen her in years. Good riddance, I say.” Another racking cough, and the knitted hat slipped over her eyes. She pushed it back with a quick, irritated shove.

  “Have you seen Josh recently?”

  “Not since the ruckus with the police,” she said. “What do you want with him? Same as all the others?”

  “I doubt it.” I peered in the windows again. “Was there ever anyone who came by that surprised you? Somebody else that wasn’t his usual type?” Someone like Norris Mackie—or more likely Amanda, the too-cheerful assistant.

  “Not that I recall. I’ve got better things to than sit and watch the parade all day, you know.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said, though I would have bet she didn’t miss much of the activity. Of course, if Miller really was working with someone else, they’d probably tried to be a little more discreet. “Did you talk to the police when they were here?”

  “Sure did. Told them he was a menace, told them to hunt him down and hold on to him this time. Not that they will. They never do. They arrest him, and in a few days he’s back, worse than before.”

  “At least you get a little break while he’s gone,” I offered, hoping to placate her.

  “You’d think so. Not this time, though. Those officers were here till nearly one AM. And what happens nearly two hours later, just as I’m finally falling back asleep? An almighty crash, that’s what, some fool knocking over the garbage can.” She was so disgusted she nearly spat.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t raccoons?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows lifted so high, they disappeared under her hat. “You ever met a raccoon that put the bin back when they were done eating?”

  I looked—sure enough, the large black trash bin was standing upright, the lid fastened shut. No self-respecting raccoon would have done such a thing. “Someone was here? In the house?”

  Could Josh have really been so stupid as to return once the police had left?

  The woman gave me a speculative look. “Told you he blasted that television. You think the raccoons let themselves in and turned the volume down?”

  I eyed her right back. She might look like she was a few pencils short of a box, but she was as keen an observer as my own mother. Adrenaline made my fingertips tingle, but I kept my tone easy. “I don’t suppose you happened to catch a look at them, did you?”

  “That’s my house,” she said, pointing to the tired-looking cottage next door. Run down, certainly, but it didn’t have the air of neglect so many here did. The drive was swept clean and while the lawn was patchy, weeds hadn’t yet overtaken it. A single window box, filled with faded plastic tulips, hung from the nearest window. “My bedroom’s on the other side. Can’t see anything from there.”

  I tried to mask my disappointment. “I understand.”

  “So I had to watch from the kitchen,” she added triumphantly. “Kept the light off so he wouldn’t notice.”

  “He?”

  “Couldn’t see his face ’cause he wore one of those hooded sweat shirts. But he moved like the Miller boy, sure enough. Kinda boneless and slouchy, which makes sense as he doesn’t have much of a spine.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “They’d only just been here. What was the sense in calling them back?” She scowled. “I didn’t know he was connected to that terrible crash either. If they’d said something, I would have known. But they don’t tell you anything. It’s just question, question, question.” She squinted at me. “A lot like you.”

  “I wish I knew enough to tell you something,” I said honestly.

  “You don’t seem like the police,” she said as another coughing fit overtook her. While we were talking, the sun had slipped below the horizon. Time for me to go.

  “I’m not,” I assured her, helping her over the grass to her back porch. “But you should call them if Josh comes back again. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt to call them today, let them know what you saw. They’d appreciate it.”

  “Lot of good that’ll do,” she grumbled, but I didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up at the prospect. I’d seen it plenty of times with geriatric patients—they were so often overlooked, dismissed, or forgotten that the prospect of being useful was like catnip.

  “In the meantime,” I said, putting on my most no-nonsense nursing voice. “Get that cough checked out.”

  Eleven

  “Charlotte wants to speak to you,” my mother said when I came downstairs Thursday morning. “She’s popping over to the store for a bit this morning, so she’ll see you then.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I said, ruffling Riley’s hair. “Feeling better today?”

  Her mouth was too full of toast to answer, but she nodded eagerly. I breathed a sigh of relief. There’d been no battles about going to school today, no faking sick. We’d played soccer last night after a brief battle with fractions, and she’d helped me set out food for t
he cat. He seemed to like her even more than me, going so far as to leap onto the porch railing while we were outside, though he hissed when she offered him a piece of chicken. By the time I’d come upstairs for the night, she’d merely lifted her head, greeted me with a drowsy hello, and gone right back to sleep.

  “Wait a minute. Why is she coming back? I’m working the counter this morning.”

  “She’s going to cover the wholesale orders, and then you can take over,” Mom said, busying herself with the breakfast dishes.

  “I can handle the wholesale accounts,” I said, helping myself to a handful of cereal straight from the box. “I’ve done it before, you know. Like, since I was old enough to see over the counter.”

  “She wants to handle them herself.” Mom held up a soapy spatula, warding off my protests. “I’m not getting in the middle of you two. I’ll take Riley to school; you can go over to the store and sort this out with your sister when she comes in.”

  I sulked into my coffee, pride stung. My so-called notoriety was useful, it seemed. So was my willingness to play hardball with deadbeat customers. But I couldn’t be trusted behind the counter? I checked my watch. Charlie would still be at the hospital. If I hurried, I could catch her there, settle this, and make it back to the store in time to handle the wholesale customers myself.

  Traffic jams were rare in Stillwater, but farm equipment could have the same effect on a morning commute. I found myself stuck behind an ancient combine, tacking another ten minutes onto my drive to the hospital.

  “You just missed her!” exclaimed Rachel, one of the daytime NICU nurses. “In fact, she said she was heading over to meet you at the store. You two must have gotten your wires crossed.”

  “Must have,” I said grimly.

  Rachel brought me up to speed on Rowan’s progress (excellent, with further remarks on her charm and intelligence, naturally). It was impossible to stay angry when faced with such a tiny perfect human. I kissed her good-bye and turned to leave.

  The motion must have caught Steven’s attention. A moment later, he’d joined me at Rowan’s isolette, waggling his fingers at her. She stared at him through the Plexiglas, unblinking as an owl.

  “I saw Charlie this morning,” he said, straightening. “Rowan’s a little beauty.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “How’s Trey doing?”

  He gave a halfhearted smile. “Good. He’s healthy. I keep reminding myself of that, of how lucky I am. But …”

  He broke off, fighting for composure.

  “But you don’t feel lucky.”

  “I never thought it would be like this,” he said, wandering back over to a dozing Trey. I followed, torn between sympathy and awkwardness. “I never planned for it. I thought Kate would be here. We were supposed to do this together.”

  “It must be so hard,” I murmured.

  Offering condolences to a grieving stranger was a regular part of my job. It wasn’t easy, exactly, but I’d had plenty of opportunities to practice. Dealing with the pain of someone I knew, however, was harder. My own emotions refused to be neatly tucked away, and somehow the typical words of comfort felt insufficient and trite. Instead, I fell back on unvarnished truth. “It’s so awful, Steven. It completely sucks.”

  His bark of laughter startled Trey awake, tiny arms flinging wide. He began to wail, a thin, angry sound that Steven shushed quickly.

  “That’s exactly the word,” he said once the baby settled, “but nobody says it. They’re too polite.”

  “I’m never polite,” I assured him. “But I am so, so sorry. Do they have any leads on Miller’s whereabouts?”

  He grimaced. “There’s a lot of places he could hide, people he could go to for help. People with their own grudges.”

  “Because of Kate’s job?”

  “And mine,” he said. “Prosecutors have plenty of enemies, and so do politicians.”

  Enemies like Norris Mackie, I almost said but caught myself.

  “I’m sure Noah’s doing everything he can,” I said. “The entire department is.”

  Steven’s mouth twisted. “Never expected I’d need a favor from Noah MacLean, of all people.”

  The bitterness in his tone surprised me. The two hadn’t crossed paths much in high school, and I’d always assumed prosecutors and cops got along well. “It’s not a favor. It’s his job, and he’s very good at it. Once they find him, he’ll go away for a long time.”

  Steven didn’t seem convinced. “All they have is a phone call and conjecture, Frankie. It’s circumstantial at best. I’d get laughed out of court if I tried to make a case with that.”

  I thought about Miller returning to his house despite the manhunt, so desperate to recover something that he’d risk capture twice. “They’ll find proof. I’m sure of it.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not. But sometimes the universe dispenses its own justice. Guys who live the kind of life Josh Miller does … they tend not to live very long.”

  My palms went clammy at the threat beneath his words. “You cannot interfere, Steven. You have to let the police do their job, and you take care of Trey. That’s all that matters now, okay? Focus on Trey.”

  For a moment, he didn’t seem to hear me. Then he let out a shuddery breath and nodded, slowly, like a patient coming out of anesthesia. “You’re right,” he said. “Absolutely. Trey.”

  Suddenly, my presence seemed intrusive, not comforting. “Charlie’s waiting for me at the store,” I said, backing away.

  “Wait. Would you consider coming to the funeral? It’s on Monday.”

  I started to protest, but he continued, “You helped save my son’s life. You were with Kate when …” He stopped, then started again. “It would mean a lot to me.”

  It’s a privilege when a patient’s family asks you to attend services. They feel a connection to you, and they’re willing to share a deeply private moment with someone who was, not long ago, a perfect stranger.

  “I’d be honored,” I said quietly.

  Just then, someone tapped on the NICU glass. Ted Sullivan, the campaign manager, was pointing to his phone and gesticulating. Steven sighed and withdrew his hand from the isolette.

  “Great news,” Ted said as we emerged into the waiting area. “New poll out of Gallup. We’re up twelve points.”

  Steven blinked as if someone had aimed a spotlight directly into his eyes, then grinned. “Twelve? What’s the margin of error?”

  Charlie was right. He did have perfect teeth.

  Too caught up in discussing optics and resources, neither man noticed when I slipped away.

  Twelve

  Some stores greet customers with a smile and a good-natured “How can I help you?”

  Those stores are not run by my sister.

  Then again, I wasn’t a customer.

  Charlie was speaking to someone just out of my sight line when I walked in, but she broke off the instant she spotted me. “I cannot believe you took Riley into Mackie’s office.”

  “I was—”

  “Actually,” she continued, “I can believe it. I should have expected it.”

  “I was going to—” I began again and then froze. Noah was standing at the counter, arms folded, looking like he wanted to smirk but was too annoyed—or too smart—to try. I tried to smooth my hair down, then gave up. It was only Noah. I hadn’t broken any laws recently. No need to be nervous. “Hey, there.”

  “Hey, yourself,” he said. “Taking an interest in local politics?”

  I tossed my backpack onto the counter. “I didn’t plan on bringing Riley in. She was supposed to hang out and look at the jack-o’-lanterns. I guess she got bored.”

  “Gee,” Charlie sniped. “Who could have predicted that Riley, who can’t sit still for five minutes and thinks you hung the moon, might have decided to follow you? Oh, wait. Me. I could, along with anyone else who had two brain cells to rub together. You shouldn’t have left her alone to begin with.”

  “She was two blocks from the store,”
I pointed out, my own irritation rising to meet Charlie’s. “She walks to the diner by herself all the time and you’ve never complained.”

  “No, because it’s my call to make. What were you doing in Mackie’s office, anyway?”

  “I just wanted to get a look at him.”

  “Because you’re suddenly interested in politics?” she said with a wave of her hand. “Spare me. You think he’s got something to do with Kate Tibbs’s death, and you decided this was the perfect time to check out your suspect.”

  I ducked my head, abashed and half-afraid of what I’d see on Noah’s face.

  “Did you even consider that maybe it isn’t appropriate to bring an eight-year-old into a murder investigation? Or that possibly you should not be investigating a murder to begin with?”

  “I’m sorry! It wasn’t my intention to go in, you know. It just sort of … happened. I was looking in the window, and one of the staffers came out of nowhere and invited me in.” I paused. “I wouldn’t have taken her in there deliberately.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t do deliberate, right? Or responsible, for that matter.”

  “Hey!” I snapped, temper breaking free. “What do you think—”

  Something in my face must have warned Noah that violence was imminent. He stepped between us, saying, “Coffee. I could use a refill. Anybody else?”

  “I’ll get it.” Charlie snatched the mug from his hand and stalked back, as he must have known she would.

  “I’ll take one too,” I called sweetly.

  “Why are you baiting her?” Noah scolded.

  “I’m the big sister. It’s my responsibility.” With an effort, I brushed away the lash of Charlie’s words and focused on Noah. “You didn’t come here to play referee. What’s up?”

  “Well, I am an officer of the peace. Also, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Everybody does today,” I muttered, boosting myself onto the counter. “You’re here in an official capacity, I assume?”

  “Wondered if you’d had any developments in the Tibbs case,” he said. “Since, you know, you seem to be working it.”

  “What’s she done now?” Charlie reappeared with a single cup of coffee. She handed it to Noah, then turned to me. “You want to play girl detective, I can’t stop you. But do it while Riley’s around and you’ll be headed back to Chicago earlier than you think.”