The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel)

by Loreth Anne White

  “I don’t know about any attack.”

  “Read about it in the Leader, then. He’ll describe in detail how three men in ski masks set fire to his land, then tried to kill him.”

  He glowers at me, his hand tightening on my arm. I can see thoughts rushing behind his eyes. “It was Stacey,” he says finally. “She hit me.”

  A snort erupts from me. “Good one. Now let me go unless you want to start a bar brawl in your buddy Zink’s pub, because Jeb is about to come over and lay into you, and there are two cops watching us right now.”

  He releases my arm, slowly. I walk to the door but my legs feel like water.

  I shove through the doors. The bright light of the setting sun slices through my eyes right into the back of my skull.

  “You’re no better than an undertaker, Salonen!” someone yells at me.

  “Castrate the bastard!”

  “Make him tell where Merilee is!”

  I face forward and walk without looking. The cops keep the hordes at bay. My heart is a bass drum in my chest, my mouth bone dry. I’m fully expecting the slap of another tomato on my body.

  Once through the crowd, I run up the flight of concrete stairs leading to the road. I cross and find my truck in the skiers’ parking lot. Someone has stuck a scrawled message on a piece of paper under my windshield wiper. I yank it out.

  Bitch! traitor!

  I sit in my truck clutching the balled-up note in my fist. I did this. I expected this. So now I have to suck it up. Reaching forward, I fire the ignition, then I see my dad’s SUV parked a few cars down. There is no way Jeb is going to get out of here now without being accosted. I don’t even trust the police will stop it.

  Annie Pirello watched Rachel Salonen running up the stairs. Her gaze shifted to her boss, Adam, on other end of the plaza near the saloon doors. He was in uniform and wearing a bulletproof vest like the rest of them. Hal “the Rock” Banrock had gone over and was talking to him. Their body language was intense. Annie frowned as she watched them.

  Hal’s son, Levi Banrock, was among the four Jeb Cullen was accusing of perjury in the Shady Lady right now, and it looked as though the Rock was none too happy about this.

  A CBC van joined the Global and CTV television vans. The media was arriving en force, lapping up the dirt in this famous little ski town. The fact Cullen was targeting top community members was only fueling the news value.

  Annie had downloaded and watched the docudrama that Piper Smith had aired on the case. It had been riveting, Twin Peaks–ish stuff. Now it was all coming to life again with the return of Cullen, and it was just as compelling the second time around. From where Annie stood, there was definitely unresolved history between her boss and Salonen. Was it because Luke LeFleur was Adam’s little brother? Because his mother had led the investigative charge against Cullen? And what interest did Rock Banrock have? How far might someone go to keep a secret buried?

  She’d seen Cullen walking into the Shady Lady Saloon earlier. He had looked like he’d been worked over good. As Salonen had claimed. The bandage on his brow matched the story of blood on the tire iron. Cullen committing arson, burning down his own place, didn’t make sense.

  She thought of the cut on her boss’s face. Trey Somerland also looked like he’d been in a dustup, and very recently.

  “What you looking at, Pirello?” It was Novak.

  She turned. “Salonen’s cute ass. How about you?”

  Quinn was lagging at the back of the biker pack as they bombed down the single-track trail between trees. The wind was cold against her ears, and her eyes were streaming, her legs shaking from standing on pedals. They’d done a descent of the whole of Bear Mountain today.

  As they whizzed into a sharp downhill switchback, her pedal caught on a root. Quinn slammed on the brakes too fast and went right over the handlebars in a complete somersault. She landed with a thud on her back. The pain was so big she couldn’t breathe. She stared up at the dark canopy, the slices of sky between the branches, tears leaking into her ears. Slowly her breathing came back and she rolled over, getting to her hands and knees. But she froze as she heard something in the forest. Her heart jumped into her throat. She was all alone.

  A chipmunk broke the silence with angry stabs of sound.

  Then Brandy cycled back up the trail. “Hey, kiddo,” she said, dropping her bike. “You okay? Let me see that knee.” That was when Quinn noticed it was bleeding. Brandy helped her sit on a rock, then she unzipped the first aid kit around her waist.

  After she’d cleaned Quinn’s knee, she applied a Band-Aid. “You all right now?”

  Quinn squeezed her mouth tight and nodded. She wanted Rachel.

  Brandy picked up Quinn’s bike, checked it, then brought it over. But she paused, a funny look entering her eyes. “Did you get to see who was in the boathouse, Quinn?” she asked quietly, holding on to Quinn’s bike.

  Quinn’s heart began to whump. She felt trapped. She thought of the police who’d come looking for him. “No.”

  Brandy stared at her for what seemed like a long time. The chipmunk’s shrieking grew loud.

  “Are you sure?”

  Quinn looked down and nodded her head quickly.

  “Because the cops would want to know, you know that?”

  Quinn said nothing. Her aunt’s words circled around in her head. Sometimes a little white lie can be the right thing in the long run. Because right now, it will give Jeb time to show everyone that he’s perfectly innocent . . .

  “There’s a man who started the fire out at Wolf River last night on purpose,” Brandy said quietly, still watching Quinn, still holding on to her bike. “The police are looking for him because he could have burned down that First Nations village in the other valley. He could have killed people.”

  Fire.

  It made Quinn shake inside. It made her eyes burn. Her angel would never have started that fire. But Brandy was making her scared. Quinn looked up.

  Brandy smiled gently, held out her hand, and suddenly that funny look in her eyes was gone. “Come, let’s get you home.”

  They rode into the camp base together, near the skiers’ warming hut. As they came to a stop, Brandy got off her bike and said, “The cops are good people, Quinn. You can trust them. You can trust me.”

  Quinn nodded and clutched her handlebars tightly. She couldn’t meet Brandy’s eyes.

  “I wanted to be a cop once, you know. I even did the basic training at Depot Division in Regina, to become a Mountie.”

  Quinn sneaked a peek at Brandy’s face, curiosity getting the better of her. “What happened? Why aren’t you a Mountie then?”

  “They didn’t know a good thing when they saw it.” Brandy smiled broadly but her eyes looked cold again and her voice had gone weird. “You see, that’s another thing we learn in life. Even adults, authorities, one’s own parents and family, can make bad judgments.” She bent down and spoke softly. “But you can trust me. You can tell me about that man, okay? If your aunt is putting pressure on you, I have a very good friend who can help.”

  Lily LeFleur waited at the base near the cross-country skiers’ warming hut for her sons to come in with the younger boys’ group. She’d been to see Dr. Bennett—he’d taken her in right away as an emergency—and she felt a lot better after talking to him. He made her feel she had nothing to be ashamed of. It was an illness to which she was prone when things got out of whack in her body. Some people had to worry about stomach upsets, or insomnia, or neck pain, or high blood pressure when facing stress. Her weakness, her health Achilles’ heel, was depression. She needed to be more watchful. Taking that first drink last night while worrying about Adam and another woman had been a mistake.

  She stood next to Beppie Rudiger, Clint’s wife; Stacey Sedgefield, a single mom who was dating Trey; and Vickie St. John, Levi Banrock’s personal assistant. They’d gravita
ted together today because they shared an uneasy bond with the men in their lives being raked through the mud via the press and social media. Jebbediah Cullen was back and he was causing trouble.

  “That’s the kid who attacked Missy at school,” Stacey said with a nod of her chin as a slight girl with dark curls sticking out from under her helmet came riding in with Brandy, one of the group leaders. Stacey was in an especially foul and weird mood. She’d hurt her hand; it was in a bandage, but she hadn’t said how it happened.

  “Was it really Jeb Cullen who broke up that fight between them?” Vickie said, watching the kid.

  Lily frowned. “Who claims it was Jeb?”

  “That’s what Levi told me,” Vickie said. “He also said the cops were looking at Jeb for starting that wildfire.”

  “Adam never told me that,” Lily said quietly, feeling betrayed somehow all over again. It seemed like everyone in town knew things she didn’t, and her husband was one of the top cops. She should be the first to know these things.

  “That’s because Adam is a professional,” Beppie offered kindly.

  “Jeb’s back for revenge, if you ask me,” Vickie said. “Revenge against the people who put him away.”

  “But why would he follow Rachel’s niece and step in to help her with the fight, then?” Lily said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I want to know. And why is Rachel defending Jeb now, stirring up crap with her paper, when she was one who helped put him away?” Vickie said. “There’s something weird going on there.”

  “Maybe it’s Rachel’s way of getting back at Trey for breaking off the engagement or something,” Lily offered. “Who knows with people sometimes. This just doesn’t seem like her, though.”

  They stood in silence, watching the other kids coming in on their bikes, a quiet sense of collusion forming among these women who’d grown up in this town. There was an unspoken understanding they would stick together in the face of this looming adversity.

  Stacey, however, was still oddly fixated on Rachel’s niece. She rubbed her bandaged hand as she stared at the kid, a strange, distant look on her face.

  “Stacey,” Lily said gently. “Is your hand okay?”

  Stacey swung round suddenly to face the group. She stared at them in silence for several beats, as if weighing a heavy decision. Then she drew in her breath and said, “You guys are not going to believe what I heard. It . . . it changes everything.”

  Jeb’s cell rang.

  “Go ahead, answer it,” said Cass. “We’re good to go here.”

  He keyed his phone. “Jeb.”

  “It’s Rachel. I’m parked in the loading zone right out back. If you go down that passage behind your table, past the men’s restroom, there’s a fire exit at the end. It’s usually unlocked from the inside; fire regulations. Olivia uses it as a delivery entrance so the alarm is usually unarmed during the day.” She paused. “Jeb, it’s a mess out front. You don’t want to go that way.”

  He leaned forward, whispered to Cass and Hallie across the table that he was going to make a duck for it out back. Hallie nodded. “That’s fine. I got what we need. I’m going to head out front, take some shots of the crowd gathering out there.”

  Diversion. Good.

  Hallie gathered her camera bag and made for the saloon doors.

  The men across the room watched her go. Jeb took the moment to get up and slip down the corridor out back, as if he were going to the men’s room. Cass remained seated as if awaiting his return.

  The corridor was dark past the washrooms. He found the door at the end, pushed the fire lever across the back. It opened. No alarm.

  Rachel was outside, reversed in beside a Dumpster, engine running, door open. He moved quickly to the truck, climbed into the passenger seat. She started driving before he could even close the door.

  He took in her white face, tight jaw. “You’re shaking.”

  She bit her lip, emotion glittering fierce in her eyes.

  He reached out, put his hand on her knee. “What happened to Bonnie and Clyde?”

  “Bonnie needs a goddamn stiff drink, that’s what. She’s not up for this.”

  He snorted. “Quite the reception, huh.”

  “That’s an understatement. Did it go okay with Cass?”

  “I said what I wanted to. We’ll see how she handles it now.”

  “She’s good,” Rachel said, casting him a quick glance. “She’ll go for the truth, Jeb.”

  He nodded.

  Silence. The weight, the repercussions of it all, vibrated darkly between them.

  “It better be out there, Jeb Cullen,” she said. “The proof. Because now I goddamn need you to be innocent.”

  “I don’t know how many ways to tell you this, but I did not hurt those young women. I went to the pit that night because I wanted to protect you.”

  Rachel fisted the steering wheel, her jaw tight. They crossed through an intersection and headed north. But she swerved off the road suddenly, bumping her truck up onto a grass verge alongside a row of trees. She slammed on the brakes.

  “What—”

  She leaned over, put her hand around his neck, pulled him close, and pressed her mouth over his, kissing him hard, angry, her hand going down his stomach. She slid her hand between his legs and he was hard instantly. Poundingly, blindingly hard.

  Jeb couldn’t breathe. It was as if she’d fired a twelve-gauge slug into his chest at short range.

  Angling her head, she forced her tongue into his mouth, kissing him wide-mouthed, slick, aggressive, digging deep for something she seemed unable to find.

  She pulled back suddenly, eyes dark, wild, like a hungry, enraged lioness. Her hair was a soft tangle, lids sultry and low. She was panting, breathless. He could read confusion in her face.

  He couldn’t think straight, either.

  “What was that?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

  “That is what you do to me, you bastard. And you better be telling me the truth. Everything. Because you’re fucking up my life.”

  She sat up straight, yanked her seat belt back over her chest, and put her truck in gear.

  “I didn’t ask for my life to be fucked up, either, Rachel.”

  She didn’t respond, just drove too fast. And Jeb knew there was no turning back now. They were on this road together, come hell or high water.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Slow down, Rach.”

  With a start, I realize what speed we’re traveling.

  “Don’t give them reason to pull us over. Don’t give them anything.”

  I ease off the gas and it’s like grinding against the gears of my racing adrenaline. I need him to be innocent for so many reasons. My heart is cracking wide open, and I’m so afraid of letting go, falling into him again. I want to know who did this. I want to know where Merilee’s remains are, before I let go fully, yet I’m unable to stop myself.

  “I don’t think you should see Quinn again,” I say suddenly, as we near the turnoff to my house. “Until this is sorted.”

  He regards me in silence, tension coming from him in waves.

  “I think that’s also my decision to make,” he says.

  My gaze shoots to him in surprise. Something in him has shifted concerning Quinn. I wonder again how the legalities will play out down the road. Now that he’s been cleared of his conviction, will the reassertion of his paternal rights be automatic? Or will he have to retain a lawyer to redress that?

  “You’re going to take her from me, aren’t you?” The words just come out.

  “Take her from you?”

  I turn onto the treed peninsula. He’s watching my profile. I wish I hadn’t raised this. Then, as I enter my driveway, I see Brandy’s dark-blue beater of a truck parked near the carport.

  “Brandy’s already here with Quinn.” I drive right past the carpo
rt and take my truck down the rutted path and over the grass to the boathouse, parking where I did last night, behind a hedgerow, out of sight from the main house. I swallow.

  “Right,” he says, opening the passenger door. “Maybe we can talk about this later, then.”

  For a moment I can’t look at him. I hate this. Him having to hide in the boathouse. When his daughter is with me in the house. I hate the possessiveness I’m feeling over Quinn.

  “I’ll bring supper later,” I say. “Once Quinn has settled.”

  He startles me by leaning over and brushing his lips against my cheek at the corner of my mouth. My eyes flash to his. He holds my gaze a moment.

  “Jeb—”

  But he’s gone, out the truck, door slamming closed. I watch him stride over the lawn. Tall. Strong. Alone. His black hair gleams like a raven’s feathers in the evening light, and my heart hurts.

  “You want to talk about yesterday, Quinnie?” I say as I set a bowl of pasta on the table. “About . . . being adopted?”

  Quinn glances down. “No.”

  “Sometimes it’s good, you know, just to keep talking.”

  “Why can’t he come for dinner? Why is he in the boathouse while we’re in here, eating?”

  It’s no use trying to hide it from her. She saw my truck down there, has seen the lights in the boathouse go on. I moisten my lips. I’m edgy as hell. The air outside has grown still and crackles with electricity and pressure. I want to put the radio on, listen to news of the wildfire, hear the weather report. I’m itching to see if there’s anything on television yet after our showdown at the Shady Lady Saloon this afternoon. But I’m trying to keep everything as routine as possible for Quinn, and I’d rather she not come across any news at all if I can help it.

  I made sure she had a nice soak in bubbles in the tub, and I put a fresh Band-Aid on her knee. I asked her about her bike descent and we chatted about her crash and the fact Brandy said she was lucky her bike didn’t get all bent out of shape. I showed her my gold medal and told her about my own crash during the Olympics, and what fun she could have learning to ski this coming winter. I promised I would teach her if she liked, and it made me quietly yearn again for the feel of skis under my boots. I haven’t tackled the slopes since my crash, and I realize it’s left a deep hole in my soul somewhere. I realize that this child, and Jeb’s return, is slowly changing something fundamental in me.