by Amy Lane
Fred hadn’t even blinked, but Aaron had read the waves of homicidal rage boiling off him, and imagined the conversation that preceded this one had been seven shades of awful. And Fred wasn’t the only merchant or teacher she’d slighted. Aaron watched as she’d actually approached Larx’s friend Nancy Pavelle, and even then, before he and Larx had gotten closer, he’d held his breath.
“Nancy, so good to see you here. I didn’t know you came to functions like this.”
“Well, my husband and my brother are both policemen down in the city, Whitney. This is our way of making sure our men up here are taken care of.”
“Policemen. How wonderful. You know, I was talking to my daughter the other day, and she could not say enough good things about you—”
“That’s funny, because when I told her I wasn’t changing her grade, every word out of her mouth was of the four-letter variety. I believe I left a message on your phone about that after I gave her detention.”
Aaron had been so frightened by the venom in Whitney’s stare then that he’d stepped back.
“You didn’t change that grade?” Whitney said, expression fixed. “Why have you not changed that grade? Julia assures me she’s made up the work.”
“Your daughter offered me a stolen packet of work in someone else’s handwriting, Whitney. And again, I phoned your home, I phoned your cell, and I sent a copy of the referral to your house.”
And that’s when Aaron had seen the woman get to work. She’d stepped close enough to Nancy that Aaron was a breath away from tackling her to see if she held a weapon. He hadn’t been close enough to hear what Whitney had said, but he had treasured Nancy’s response.
“My brother is open about that part of his past, Mrs. Olson. He’s never tried to hide it. His customer base doesn’t come from Colton, so telling the world about the substance abuse in his past isn’t going to change a goddamned thing about his business. But trying to blackmail me does make me think less of you.”
So Aaron was prepared to hear the worst about this woman even before Larx called him up and gave him an earful. But it sure did make Larx’s earful a lot scarier.
“And Julia’s mother—at one point, she looked at me and said, ‘You made me cancel my trip to Tahoe for this?’”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Lady, I probably saved you thousands of dollars in damage. Half the school was planning to attend your daughter’s little party this weekend, and I bet you would have blamed us for that too!’”
Aaron gasped, impressed by Larx’s courage—or foolhardiness. Either one. “And?”
“And Julia shrieked, ‘Who told!’ which makes her dumber than a box of dog shit, because I didn’t even mention the date because it was pure speculation on our parts, and her mother? Her mother said, ‘I was aware of that. Do you think the party would have been unsupervised?’ And Julia looked like she wanted to cry, because obviously it was supposed to be unsupervised, and now it will be fully supervised, and on the one hand, I think that’s awesome, but on the other?”
“You don’t want her near your school during homecoming.”
“Either of them. Isaiah did the breakup during lunch today, publicly, which is good, because—”
“Witnesses,” Aaron said, nodding as he turned left on the road that wrapped around nearby Mustang Lake. The rich people—the Olsons and other prominent members of the town—lived in the big houses way over on the north shore, and they usually had their own private security. But there were also cabins out here—some of them occupied, some of them summer or winter rentals—and he liked to keep an eye on things just in case squatters came to live. It was not unheard of, and he had a list of who lived where so he could call if need be.
“But it’s bad because—”
“Troll-baiting,” Aaron supplied, still thinking having the witnesses was better than not pissing off the already psychotic teenager.
“Yeah. So God knows what she’ll do—and you know what? We’re not doing her any favors. Her mom just took away her one independent decision, and she looked like she was ready to cry. And now she has to go home and live with that woman? I’d probably be begging for the days when Mommy was gone and I could lay the football team too!”
Aaron had to laugh. It was good to know he was on Larx’s list of trusted confidants—and it was easy to tell. Uncensored Larx was like raw whiskey: only for the strong of heart and clearheaded.
“What about your boys?” Aaron asked, scanning from the road to the crystal blue of the lake and back again. There was something floating out there just beyond this next inlet. Aaron parked the car on the deep shoulder, grabbed his radio and his phone, and, still talking to Larx, ventured along the spit of land that bordered the inlet to check it out. It might have been a log, in which case he’d call old Harold, who had a fishing dory and friends with nets. They weren’t official Fish and Game, but they liked to patrol the lake and keep it clean of debris that could hurt the folks who used the lake.
“The boys are… well, they looked happy after school,” Larx said fretfully. He’d told Aaron he was multitasking—talking while helping to set up the bonfire. Aaron had to trust that the only other people listening to this conversation were teachers, because damn if this boy did not swear like a sailor when he was riled. Aaron sort of liked it—it was as close to a bad boy as he ever wanted to venture, and on Larx it was deadly attractive. “And this is their last football game of the regular season. If they win, they’ll make it to state. If they lose, well, Isaiah still has a partial ride to most of the state colleges.”
“What about Kellan?”
“I’m seeing about getting him some special ed scholarships. He’s got ADHD like fuckin’ whoa, and given his grades and sports participation, he’s a poster boy. But mostly I just want to get the two of them out of here to the college of their choice so they can be whoever the fuck they want.”
“Yeah,” Aaron said absently. “I think that’s a good idea. Uh… oh. Oh crap.”
Oh no. He’d seen this before in the water—had worked a few cases like this, actually. The pale form bobbing out there wasn’t a log, and it wasn’t a fish, and it wasn’t an upended boat.
And it wasn’t human anymore either.
Fuck.
“Oh crap what?” The sharpness in Larx’s voice was reassuring—it meant that for all he had a full plate of his own, he was going to be able to be there for Aaron when he needed someone.
And Aaron would need someone, because this sort of thing was always rough.
“Larx, I’m going to have to call you back. I think we’ve got a situation here. I’ll see you at the game or the bonfire at the very least, okay?”
“Yeah, Aaron. Uh, be careful? Mindful? Whatever?”
Aaron took a deep breath and centered himself on Larx’s concern. Because he hadn’t had that in a long time. Had, in fact, spent most of his energy reassuring the kids so they didn’t ever think about how Daddy’s job could be dangerous.
It was nice to have someone worry. He could admit it—especially now.
“Will do, baby. I’ll catch you later.”
He hung up then and pulled his radio off his belt. “Dispatch, this is Deputy Aaron George calling from the north end of Mustang Lake, about two miles south of Pinto Drive. Do you read me?”
“We got ya, Aaron. What’s up?”
“Could you notify Eamon and Cheryl of Search and Rescue? We’ve got a dead body in the water not far from the highway split, over.”
“Oh crap.” Angie’s voice—roughened by years of smoking and lots of whiskey after hours—grew almost unbearably husky. “How bad is it?”
From just off the edge of the lake, Aaron couldn’t see much, especially because the naked, bloated corpse was facedown. But he could see the big missing chunk of bone and matter that should have been the back of the head.
“It’s pretty fuckin’ bad, Ange. You need to get on the horn ASAP, ya hear?”
“Roger that. Hang tight, Aa
ron, we’ve got backup coming.”
Aaron signed off and firmed up his resolve—and his stomach. It was time to put on his Kevlar gag reflex and act like a law enforcement officer instead of a besotted suitor.
Dammit.
HE MADE it to the end of the game, arriving just in time to see the Colton Mustangs defeat their sister school, the Tyack Turtles, at a heartbreaking 17-14. Aaron walked up to where Larx stood, by the home game bleachers this time, and gave him a nod.
Larx nodded back, brown eyes thoughtful. “I heard about the body,” he said, voice low. “Bad?”
Aaron nodded, without words. “Details later,” he said tersely.
“Loud and clear.” Larx kept his eyes focused on the setup for the field goal, but his voice was compassionate.
“How’s things here?”
“Tense.” He nodded to where the cheerleaders stood at attention, smiles in place, eyes focused on the game. Julia was a carbon copy of her mother, dark hair, blue eyes, charming little cheeks. Her smile was like a death rictus, and Aaron noted there was at least one extra person’s worth of space between her and the two girls on either side of her.
“I can see that,” Aaron said. “How about the boys?”
Larx’s smile showed quiet pride. “Isaiah scored both touchdowns,” he said. “Barring injury in the championship games, the two of them should have a good start at the very least.”
At that moment Christiana walked by, hand in hand with a tiny blonde waif of a girl who had decided curves.
“Heya, Christi.” Aaron tilted his head at her, touching the brim of his hat.
Christi smiled but then looked at her dad anxiously. “Dad, uh, you know Schuyler.”
“Hiya, Schuyler—good to see you.”
It was like Larx had made his voice extra warm and paternal, and Aaron looked closely at them both to see what was up.
“Hi, Principal Larkin,” Schuyler squeaked. “It’s uh, it’s good to… uh—”
Only Aaron heard his tiny sigh of patience. “I’m so glad to hear you and Christi are dating,” Larx said, and Christi met Aaron’s surprised eyes with a sardonic expression far beyond her years.
“Oh,” he mouthed at her.
“Yup,” she mouthed back.
“Really?” Big blue porcelain-doll eyes batted wetly at Larx, and Larx winked at her in return.
“Course, honey. It’s all good.”
Schuyler smiled nervously, and Christi tugged on her hand. “Christi!” Larx called. “Am I going to see you at the bonfire tonight?”
Christi shook her head. “No—we’re taking off after the game—I’ll probably spend tonight at her house too!” she called before leading Schuyler up into the bleachers. They sat down looking cozy and sweet, and Aaron tried to wrap his mind around that.
“Really?” he asked, sotto voce.
“Apparently it was Colton’s coming-out week,” Larx replied, his lips twisted in amusement.
“I didn’t get the memo.”
“Gotta be on your toes, Deputy. These things are important.”
Aaron shot him a fulminating glare, but at that moment, Craig Stevens kicked the field goal in, and the buzzer rang right after, and the two of them had better things to do.
IT TOOK much less time to clear out parents for this one. Larx had to leave Aaron and the other deputies to finish up, though, while he distributed flashlights to the participating staff members and sent everybody along the cross-country trail to the back of the school. They would cross Olson Road and take another trail to the bonfire clearing, where the pile of wood and tinder was waiting to be set ablaze.
Various clubs were selling hot chocolate and cider, the PTSA was selling hot dogs and cookies, and the quarterback and his chosen helpmate would be lighting the fire.
Traditions had their place.
Aaron was one of the folks bringing up the rear, so he had to hustle when the all-call on the radio hit.
“Uh, Larx, deputies, gonna need you guys to escort the team from the path to the bonfire. Can we do that?”
“Any reason why?” Larx’s voice came across loud and clear.
“Isaiah and Kellan are, uh, gonna wanna make a sorta statement,” Coach Jones said hesitantly. “The, uh, team is behind them, but we may need to make a show of solidarity?”
Aaron knew his eyes got big, and he started to rip through the trail in an effort to find Larx and join the other deputies and staff members before the football team got there.
Larx must have had the same idea, because he was flushed and breathless, waiting for Aaron when he broke into the clearing.
“So,” Aaron panted. “You think?”
“I totally do.”
“This’ll be fun!”
“Oh Jesus,” Larx said. “I’m so glad I suspended MacDonald.”
“I’m so glad it’s you and not Nobili,” Aaron breathed. The football team came into the clearing then, and the whole school applauded. They were moving in a huddle with Kellan and Isaiah in the middle, but even with all those bundled-up bodies in the way, Aaron could see the boys were holding hands.
The cheering died down, and the school collectively held its breath, “Sweet Georgia Brown” playing loudly in the silence. Larx walked up to Coach Jones with a wireless mic, and the band cut off abruptly.
Larx whispered into Jones’s ear, and the guy closed his eyes for a second and nodded. Okay. They were going to do this right.
“So,” Jones said, looking at Larx, who nodded. “Our tradition has it that the high school quarterback lights the senior bonfire, and he gets to pick his helpmate. This year it’s Kellan Corker and”—deep breath—“his boyfriend, wide receiver Isaiah Campbell.”
For a moment even the crickets were still.
Then Larx, God bless him, started to whistle shrilly and applaud. The football team and high school staff joined him, and then, cued in by the adults around them, the high school students did the same.
They cheered.
They whistled and applauded and shouted “Way to go!” and “Sweet!” and “Congratulations!”
If there were any whispered epithets, any disgusted glances, those were the things that were hidden. The team parted and the boys walked hand in hand up to the bonfire, where Larx stood with a barbecue lighter and a long, thin piece of wood with a twist of paper on the end.
Aaron couldn’t hear what Larx said, but Isaiah took the taper from him, and Kellan lit the paper on fire. Together they thrust the starter into the heart of the bonfire and stepped back as it caught.
And then, while the crowd cheered again, they kissed.
Forever locked in Aaron’s mind, the silhouette of two boys kissing against the bonfire, old deadwood dying, new love set against the hope of new light.
If only it were that easy.
Larx waited until the kiss was over before walking up and shaking the boys’ hands, and he was followed by Yoshi, and Yoshi by Nancy Pavelle. The rest of the staff followed—to a one, even the snotty little pisher who had been helping to ref the game last week.
Aaron looked around, trying to gauge the mood. The band was playing again—“Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” because all band kids were apparently sarcastic assholes—and the rest of the kids seemed to have pulled into their cliques. He checked out the cheerleaders, who were running to gossip with the football players—probably about what the boys had said in the locker room and how the whole scene had gone down.
Julia was not among them. She was, in fact, standing in a corner, texting madly on her phone and wiping her eyes carefully with a tissue from her pocket. She had her back turned toward the bonfire completely, and for a moment, Aaron felt bad for her.
She was heartbroken, like any girl. In fact, she was probably in a lot of pain on a daily basis. Whatever had shaped her, the hammer hits must have been pretty brutal, because she seemed to lash out all the time, like a cornered animal.
But like with a cornered animal, any offers of help would be met with fangs and claws
, and Aaron only had so much compassion to spare.
Aaron’s musings were interrupted when Kirby walked out of the darkness, waving casually to the friends he’d been hanging out with.
“What do you think?” Kirby asked carefully, nodding to where the two boys were still being congratulated by staff and friends.
“I think the world’s come a long way,” Aaron replied, just as carefully.
“But not far enough.” Kirby was good at reading his mind.
Aaron gave his son a troubled look. “I’m sorry. It’s been sort of a… a bad day. I would love it if this was it for them. Like in a movie. The bonfire goes up, the crowd goes wild, fireworks, happy ever after, everybody gets a scholarship, hurrah!”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Kirby said, and Aaron threw his arm over his son’s shoulders because his son still let him. If anybody knew that a kiss or a happy family or a beautiful moment was not the end-all of the matter, it would be the kid who’d waited outside in the rain for his mother to come get him on the day when she would never make it.
“I’m concerned is all.” And not just for them.
“You want your own happy, right, Dad?”
“Yes,” Aaron admitted. “Is that so wrong?”
“No.”
God, Aaron was tired. He wasn’t sure how Larx was still scuttling around like a rocket-fueled monkey, but Aaron had hauled a body out of the lake today, bloated and fish-eaten. A male by all appearances, wearing his boxer shorts only, and oh yeah, missing his face.
Retrieval had been messy and difficult and identification nearly impossible. They were asking a forensic pathologist to come up from Sacramento to help identify the remains because their coroner had no problem saying, “Nope, I don’t have the skills.”
Beyond the smell and the animal rot and ugliness of death, Aaron had been saddened by the waste. Suicide? Murder? Whatever—it had been senseless and violent and horrible. He wanted to protect his children from it. He wanted to protect Larx from it, and his children too. And that extended to the kids at the bonfire, the stupid, horny, happy, excited teenagers who were looking forward to a future that not even they could fathom.
