Boom, boom, boom. Denver fired his questions my way like shots from a gun.
I did not intend to dodge them, but I didn’t exactly have good answers in response.
In fact, at the words “where are you going to stay tonight?” I suddenly felt a great deal sicker. I even had to clamp a hand flat onto my stomach.
“It’s not safe to stay here,” he said simply. He wasn’t pulling any punches. He wasn’t pretending everything was okay.
“We need to treat this threat as if it’s real. I’ve made some calls. I have a friend who runs the B&B in the middle of town, and though she says she is always full, I know for a fact she has a spare room out the back. We can make it discreet and tell her not to let anyone know you’re staying there.”
“Can’t I just...” I began.
“Go home? Yes, you can. It is a possibility, but I don’t suggest you travel alone. We don’t have enough information on this case, and until we do, we can’t make any assumptions. Assumptions can get people killed,” he answered blankly.
There he went again, not pulling a single punch. Talking to Denver made everything seem deadly serious, and it sucked any lasting warmth out of my belly, replacing it with frigid, cold paranoia and a sense of impending doom.
Yet at least he seemed... honest.
He wasn’t lying, and he wasn’t hiding behind attempts to comfort me.
I knew the secret of a great romance was to balance two facts: practicality and imagination. If you didn’t have any imagination, then your romance would be passionless. The mind was so important to the body that you couldn’t divorce the two and expect to stay married. Yet practicality was just as important. You had to know the kinds of things that put relationships under stress, and you couldn’t gloss over them with wishes, hopes, and fancies that there were no problems between soul mates. You had to appreciate trends and have a good hold over statistics. Know what is likely to occur in most situations, and you can chart a surer path to your goal.
Well right now Denver was being practical, and I appreciated that more than anything else. It almost made me capable of forgiving him for being a world-class jerk.
“What do you want to do? Do you want to leave or stay?”
“What’s safer?”
“I can’t tell you conclusively at this stage. But I can tell you that whatever you choose, we can find ways to make it safer. Our goal is to secure you until we know enough to measure the actual risk in this situation.”
“But won’t the killer... strike again? I mean, if I stay here...” I trailed off, lost in that horrible thought.
“You will be perfectly fine.”
I turned to see Thorne walking towards me.
He was shooting daggers at his brother while fixing me with nothing but charm and smiles.
“I thought I told you not to interfere with this case?” Thorne snapped at his brother.
“I’m not interfering. I respect your jurisdiction. I’m not attempting any investigation. I’m simply talking to Patti and appraising her of her options as I see them.”
Well guess what? You don’t have to. We’ve figured out what happened,” Thorne nodded at me calmly.
What...?
“You have?” Denver narrowed his eyes in a snap.
“You might do it slow at the FBI, but we do it right in Wetlake,” Thorne quipped easily.
I felt sick, surprised, and a little like I was being taken for a ride.
How could Thorne have possibly solved the case already? He’d barely been gone for five minutes. What could he have done in that time?
“I went and chatted to the guy in the front office. He saw some kids playing out back of your room, and by the sounds of it, it was at the same time you were taking a shower. Now the kids in question are boisterous, but harmless. They are always hanging out back of the motel because there’s easy mountain bike tracks up to the ranges from there.”
“And?” Denver prompted immediately. “How does that solve the case?”
“I don’t know what they teach you at the FBI, but over here we always lean towards the simplest answer first. Before you put ideas into Patti’s head that somebody’s after her, let’s face facts. I know those kids get up to pranks; hell, everybody in Wetlake does. I also know they go to Wetlake High, and they’ve already been messing with Annabelle’s reunion. They spray-painted her decorations, sent out false invites, and appropriated a bunch of old yearbooks. She’s been down at the station complaining about it endlessly for the past several weeks.”
“But... why would they have a postcard of me without any pants on from the football game? And why would they cut out a photo of me from my yearbook, and why would they write such a creepy message?” I flapped a hand on my chest as I asked my questions. It was the only thing I could do to center myself. I desperately wanted to believe Thorne, but the practical side of my personality just couldn’t let me. Situations like this weren’t about trust or belief; they were about preparing yourself and being intelligent.
Denver Scott might be a jerk, but I was starting to worry that Thorne was a little too carefree.
“Oh, they’ve been playing with the reunion guests since they got here. Annabelle’s complained that she’s seen multiple desecrated yearbooks, as she put it, spread all over town. Spray-painted, cut out, crude mustaches drawn over everyone. As for your postcard, well, Annabelle kind of had a few of those printed up too. Not that I’m meant to tell you this, but she planned to do a bit of a slideshow for you on the final night of the reunion. Show everybody how far you’d come, that kind of thing.”
My mouth slowly dropped open. It would have been comical had it not been entirely serious.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Denver snapped. “We need to be careful here.”
“We don’t need to do anything. You need to butt out. I know police procedure. We can’t go around over estimating threat. And you’re right; I know it doesn’t prove anything. But I’m trying to do the decent thing here by reassuring Patti that it’s probably nothing. That being said, we are going to continue to look into it, of course we are. But there’s no point in you getting worried, Patti, and hopping on out of town,” Thorne nodded my way, “when it’s likely this is nothing at all.”
“What about the blue pins?” I asked rather meekly.
“I asked reception, and they’ve got a whole box of them. The kid showed me. They use them to pin up leaflets and messages. Well, they threw a bunch of old ones out recently, and the raccoons dug around in the trash. The kid said they’d been picking up newspapers, magazines, shower caps, and you name it for weeks. Clearly, they hadn’t been able to get all the pins out of the grass. So I think we can discount that.”
Denver didn’t say anything, and neither did I. I simply didn’t know what to add.
I really wanted to believe Thorne, but I unashamedly needed more proof. While I could appreciate what he was doing for me, I just needed to be told what was really going on here.
“I see,” Denver answered, “considering what you’re dealing with, I hardly consider this a convincing story.”
Ouch.
Thorne’s expression soured. His usually ruddy cheeks became pale as his eyebrows drew down and darkened his gaze. “Thank you for your opinion, but it’s just that – an opinion. Do I need to remind you again that you have absolutely no authority in this situation and that your observations mean nothing?”
“No, but you can go ahead anyway. And I’m going to go ahead and point out to you that authority or not, and jurisdiction aside, you need to treat a threat like this seriously. I don’t care if you came up with what you think is a good explanation; you act as if the threat has not been neutralized anyway, because the cost of you getting this wrong is too high.”
“We are not dealing with assassinations and bomb plots here,” Thorne spoke through a clenched jaw, “and this ain’t no counterterrorism situation.”
“You’re right; it’s a potential murder. Which is just as serious.�
�
“I don’t need you telling me how to do my job.” Thorne took a sharp step forward.
“Clearly you do, because nobody in this crackpot town knows how to respond to a threat.” Denver took a step forward.
Oh dear, the boys weren’t playing anymore.
“You think you can come back here and tell me what to do. Rub everyone's noses in your career? Try to show us how much better than the rest of us you are?” Thorne snapped.
“I don’t care about my career, and I don’t give a shit about yours either. Right now all I’m trying to do is prevent someone else from getting murdered.”
“Fuck you for being so arrogant, Denver.” Thorne took a sharp step forward, and at the same time so did I.
I planted myself between them, locked my hands on their shoulders, and pushed them away.
I had two brothers and a sister, and I knew how to break up a fight.
“Stop,” I said simply. I didn’t tell them they were being unreasonable; I didn’t tell them to work it out; I just said stop.
Though both of them stared at each other with burning-hot hate filling their eyes, they didn’t push me out of the way and set about trying to rearrange each other’s faces.
Instead Denver took a step back.
He glanced down at me and then turned sharply to the side.
“Whatever is going on here, sort it out later,” I said with a strict and severe tone. “As for this investigation, I do hope that you will do everything you can.” I now shifted my gaze to Thorne. “While I accept that your explanation is likely true, I want to be assured that the Police Department are still taking this threat seriously.”
I was now in an authoritative mood. I was taking charge, and I was using the exact tone of voice that my experience and wisdom had afforded me.
I wasn’t the exceedingly awkward kid from high school anymore. I was a woman who had made it out into the world and had secured herself a good life. And I wasn’t going to give it up.
Thorne looked taken aback by my statement, but nodded his head. “Of course we’re taking this seriously.”
“Great.” I now turned to Denver. The secret to breaking up a fight between boys was never to appear to be taking sides. “I appreciate all your help, but I do not want to come between you two,” I pointed at the both of them. “Now I’m going to grab my stuff, and I’m going to find somewhere else to stay.”
“You really don’t need to,” Thorne began.
“But I’m going to because I have no idea what’s going on here, and I hate this motel anyway,” I answered flatly.
For a time nobody said anything. Then Thorne looked down at his shoes, up at me, and then slowly over to Denver.
The two boys shot each other deadly glances, and then Thorne turned his attention right back to me. “Alright then, I guess I better get back to it. We still up for...” he trailed off.
“Vietnamese? I guess so. I can’t promise you I’ll eat much, but I’m going to need the company tonight.” It was a very direct answer, and I can’t say I was flirting at all. It was honest; I didn’t want to be alone, but I doubted I would be much fun to be around. Thorne would likely do all the talking while I sat alongside, ignored my food, and ate my fingernails instead.
“Okay, great, I guess,” Thorne answered confusedly then shot me another smile, waved, and started to walk off. “You’re going to be fine, Patti Smith. We aren’t going to let anything happen to you.”
I nodded.
It took until Thorne was in his car and driving away before Denver mumbled, “you’re only going to be fine if you take steps to make yourself be fine.”
I slowly turned to face him.
Was it just me, or did he look slightly crestfallen?
He couldn’t be that bothered by the fact I was going out to have dinner with his brother, could he? Denver didn’t look interested in me... or was he just playing hard to get?
I couldn’t tell; the guy was decidedly unreadable. He had one expression and one expression only: a kind of hard, blank gaze that told you he didn’t like anyone particularly much and that included you.
Yet right now he looked... I don’t know, kind of awkward. A little like he had looked when Nancy had chucked her arms around him and pushed her bust right up into his chin.
“Do you think you can call that friend of yours and ask if I can stay in her spare room?” I played with my fingernails as I looked past him at my room.
He nodded.
Silence spread between us. I could hear the cicadas beating their wings in the afternoon warmth. There were birds twittering from above, and from behind the motel there was the creak and crack of the forest.
He didn’t say a word, yet he didn’t walk off either.
“Is this what I’m meant to be doing? Should I stay here or just go home?” I asked him. I didn’t know why I did, but I was feeling particularly tender and vulnerable. While the guy was arrogant and blustery, he clearly knew what he was doing, possibly quite a bit more than his brother. What Thorne made up for in general friendliness, apparently he lacked in his ability to deal with the threat of an impending murder.
Denver looked at me for a long moment. “Go home.”
“But you said—” I began.
“I’ve changed my mind. Go home. Get out of Wetlake.”
I was a little taken aback.
Before, he’d been unable to conclude which would be the safer option; now, he was coming down hard on leaving this place and leaving now. A little of me wondered whether that had something to do with the fact I was going to meet his brother for dinner in a little under two hours. The rest of me wondered whether Denver had simply reassessed the situation, using his superior knowledge and training, and had concluded that it really was safer to leave.
I felt sick, really sick.
I pressed the back of my hand into my mouth and tried to swallow.
“We have no idea who committed that murder, and we have no idea what their plans are next. Now I am betting on the fact they don’t have many resources and there are only one or two people involved. If I’m right, it’s much safer to leave.”
“Right,” I managed, the back of my hand still pressed tightly into my lips and teeth. “I mean... fuck.”
“Don’t get scared – get prepared,” he responded easily.
It sounded like a corny catchphrase, and it probably was amongst doomsdayers. Yet it had an odd effect on me. Despite the situation, it stilled me a little, giving me some much-needed perspective.
“If I leave now, I’m going to be driving all night long. I’m feeling pretty sick already. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip as I continued to think. “Plus, I doubt it’s a great idea to travel these roads at night; from memory, there are way too many woodland creatures popping out from the trees and trying to make you swerve into the ditch. Plus, I’m not confident I won’t get lost.”
Denver didn’t say anything; he simply stood there and watched as I came to my own conclusion.
“I’ll leave in the morning; that’s the sensible thing to do,” I decided.
As soon as I decided that, I started to feel a lot better. I let my hand drop from my lips.
I suddenly had a plan. It wasn’t a perfect one, but it gave me something to hold onto.
Bright and early tomorrow morning, I was going to pack my luggage, and I was going to get out of here.
“Stay to the major highways and call ahead to your local police station to let them know what’s going on.” Denver nodded at me sharply.
“Can’t you call them?” I asked a little pathetically. “You are the FBI Agent, after all. They’ll probably just think I’m nuts.”
“Fine, I’ll call. But if Thorne finds out, you’re going to have to come and find us to break up the fight again.”
It took me a moment, but I eventually flashed a smile at that. “I kind of get the impression that things aren’t going well between you and your brother right now.�
��
“Things haven’t been going well since I moved out. When I left Wetlake, he took it as a blow to him and the family. He thought I was abandoning them, and hey, maybe I was. I’ve hardly written, called, or visited since. I just packed up, shifted my life, and put everything behind me. So he is right – I am a fucking jerk.”
“No you’re not.” I hooked my hair behind my ears and tried to appear earnest.
This elicited a snort. “You’ve already told me I’m a jerk. You don’t have to try to make me feel better about this. I made decisions in my life and they had consequences. That’s the end of the equation.”
Who would have thought I would ever try to offer Denver, the world’s-biggest jerk, assurance that he was actually a nice guy. But I couldn’t help myself. Shifting on the spot and supporting my elbow with my free hand, I nodded at him. “So you moved away, big deal. So did I. Not everybody wants to live in Wetlake; he can’t hold that against you.”
Denver started by looking past me at the lawn behind the motel, and then he dug his heel hard into the gravel below him and kicked it around for a second. Looking up, he cast his gaze quickly over my face and maybe just for a second let it drop down to my figure too. “Why do I get the feeling you are attempting to intervene here, Patti? Are you trying to fix me? Because I’m not the one who’s got a potential murderer on her tail.”
Wow. That was hardly discreet. If you had to award Denver emotional-sensitivity points out of ten, he would score a flat zero along with stones, walls, and the long dead.
I didn’t let him get to me this time. I realized that his lack of people skills had a lot to do with being defensive rather than being a class-one asshole.
Denver clearly had his problems, and his particular method of coping was to ignore them while snapping at everything that came in range.
In other words, he was a classic guy.
“Fix you, Denver Scott? I’ve only got the weekend, and I have a feeling you would take a lifetime.”
Though my statement had been sharp and practically acerbic, he didn’t storm off in a huff. Instead, he offered a punctuated laugh. “Somehow I don’t think you could stand to hang around me that long. So why don’t we make a deal: you stop with the insights and the advice, and I’ll do what I can to get you out of this town in one piece.”
A Deadly Reunion Page 8
