Bruce lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. The kid’s hot, and she’s been cooped up here all day with nobody to play with but me and Mom.”
“You’re right,” Carly said. “I’m sorry. It’s been an awful day.”
She hadn’t even thought about Brianna getting bored stuck at home with her grandmother. If they were still living in town, Brianna would have playmates, at least in the evenings. There were days that, no matter how hard she tried, she felt like a terrible mother.
“In that case, why don’t you grab that six-pack, and I’ll watch the kid.”
“That’s sweet, but I’ll pass. I’m on call. Can you take this to the kitchen?” Carly handed him the bag from Nell’s.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Nell’s fried chicken?”
“You bet.”
“It’ll be just as good cold tonight.” But he fished a leg out of the bag and bit into it as he turned toward the back door.
Carly stepped off the porch onto the back lawn. “I’ll go put on my suit. Thank goodness Brianna has a fun uncle.”
Bruce laughed and waved toward the cabin with the chicken leg. “I’ll bring the Jeep around to the cabin.”
Twenty minutes later they parked on the road and walked past the unenforced No Swimming sign. The cops patrolled at night, mostly to run off underage drinkers, but the small police force had bigger problems than locals taking an unauthorized swim.
They threw their towels down on the dirt beach. A few teens had come early to beat the heat, though they hadn’t broken out the alcohol yet. They’d wait until dark. An older boy swung out over the lake on a rope. He let go and folded his long body into a cannonball before hitting the water with a huge splash. Two more kids waited for their turn on the rope.
The beach was tucked back in the woods and out of the way of normal traffic. Carly considered how many times she and Stevie had sneaked beers at the lake in high school.
Bruce grabbed a giggling Brianna, tucked her under his arm like a football, and raced for the water. He splashed waist-deep and tossed her out over the lake. Delighted squeals floated back to the beach. Carly followed, stopping when the water reached her thighs. Despite the hot temperatures of this summer, the river-fed lake never got truly warm. She dunked her shoulders. The cool water refreshed, washing away the day’s sweat.
Standing, she turned to keep Bruce and Brianna in sight while she scanned the beach. Three teenage boys were roughhousing in the shallows. A group of high school girls had arrived and stood ankle-deep in tiny string bikinis pretending they were ignoring the boys vying for their attention. Another group of kids spilled onto the beach. Tonight was going to be busy.
Carly edged closer to the kids, her ears tuned for snatches of conversation. Surprised, she spotted Grace Ellis with the newly arrived group of teens. She was less animated than her friends. How could she stand to be here after her boyfriend had died on this very beach back in May? The event had kept kids away from the lake for a week or two; then they’d shrugged it off and gone back to business as usual. Resiliency at its best.
Grace wrapped her arms around her middle. Her pink bikini seemed too bright for her mood. Her friends tried to coax her into the water, but she shook her head and knelt on her towel to watch the boys horse around. Was she thinking about her dead boyfriend?
“Again, Uncle Bruce,” Brianna begged.
Laughing, Bruce gave Brianna another toss.
Keeping Brianna in her peripheral vision, Carly wandered closer to Grace.
Grace looked up. Her brows drew together. “I know you. You’re the social worker.”
“That’s me.” Carly, sensing the girl’s discomfort, looked out over the water.
Grace blinked away from her. “What are you doing here?”
Because, at twenty-nine, Carly was a thousand years too old to be at the lake. “My brother wanted to bring my daughter for a quick swim.” She nodded toward Bruce and Brianna.
Grace gave them two seconds of consideration. She leaned forward and drew a circle in the dirt with her finger.
“Hot day,” Carly said.
Grace drew a tree and gave it stick branches.
Carly went for the direct approach. “How are you, Grace? I know the summer has been rough.”
“Fine.” Grace shrugged.
“If you ever need to talk to anyone . . .” Carly let the implication hang.
“I’m fine,” Grace said with bite. Her posture tensed.
“Do you know Peter Rollins?” Carly asked.
Grace nodded, her shoulders rounding and relaxing again. Obviously she was more comfortable talking about someone else. “Everyone knows Peter.”
“Is he your friend?”
“No.” Grace said in a don’t-be-ridiculous tone. “Definitely not.”
“Really?” Carly said. “You’re both honor students and everything.”
“Oh, yeah. Peter’s smart all right.” Grace picked at the cuticle on her thumb. “Peter is a player.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know.” Grace pressed her lips together until they lost color. Why didn’t she want to talk about Peter? “Look, he’s just not my type.”
“What about Russ Warner? You know him?”
Grace obliterated her picture with a rough swipe of her hand, then stood, rubbing her palms together to brush off the dirt. “I have to go.” She crossed into a circle of teenagers and disappeared.
A mosquito landed on Carly’s arm. She swatted at it. Her hand came away spotted with blood. They should go soon. She returned to the lake to join her daughter and brother.
Brianna was floating on her back, her arms spread wide on the lake’s surface. “Look what I can do, Mommy!” She jerked her head around to make sure she had Carly’s attention. Her butt sank and her head went under briefly.
“Remember, you have to relax, sillyhead.” Bruce supported her with one hand under her body.
Brianna returned to her task, her face scrunched in concentration. When she’d achieved float, Bruce removed his hand. With a sudden lunge, he dunked Carly. She went under. Lake water flooded her mouth and nose. Sputtering, she broke the surface and pushed her wet hair off her face. Her mouth tasted like moss.
She splashed him. “You are in so much trouble.”
“What are you going to do? Tell Mom?” he retorted in a smart-alecky tone worthy of a grade schooler. His eyes crinkled with humor. Next to him Brianna giggled, flipped over, and doggy-paddled. Bruce looped a hand around the child’s waist and steered her closer to shore so she could stand.
“You wait and see.” Carly gave him her best evil eye. “I always get even. It’ll happen when you least expect it.”
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition?” he joked.
“Exactly.” Carly fought the laugh rising in her throat, but humor tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He splashed back and swam a few feet away, but Carly was pleased to note the apprehension in his gaze. Brianna doggy-paddled out to Bruce.
He gave the beach a quick glance. “Okay, sillyhead. I think we’d better pack up. Our beach is being stormed by teenagers.”
“And we have fried chicken at home.” Brianna climbed on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. With a cough, Bruce moved her bony forearm off his windpipe and swam for shore.
Even as her heart warmed at the sight of her brother and Brianna’s easy affection, Carly began plotting playful payback. Sibling rivalries were ingrained. Bruce would be disappointed if she didn’t retaliate.
But in the back of her mind, her conversation with Grace replayed. Maybe Peter wasn’t as innocent as he appeared.
She followed Bruce and Brianna onto the beach. As they dried off, sudden unease drew Carly’s gaze to the woods. At seven in the evening, the sun slanted over the treetops, its rays weakening. The shadows along the edge of the lake lengthened, encroaching on the beach.
A figure stood just beyond the tree line. An outlier, separate and distinct from the lake party crowd. The body was large and male, but darkness obliterated the features. Even without seeing his face, Carly felt his gaze on her skin. Despite the warmth in the evening air, goose bumps rose on her arms. She couldn’t see his expression, but he radiated tension. It rolled over the ground between them like an invisible fog.
It felt like Darren Fisher’s stare, and how many people were that big?
If Brianna hadn’t been with her, Carly might have attempted to verify his identity, but all she wanted to do was get her daughter home.
“I’m starving.” She nudged Brianna toward her sandals.
“Me too.” Brianna wrapped her towel around her body twice and tucked the corner in to hold it up.
Carly herded Brianna between her and Bruce as they walked toward the road. The figure in the woods didn’t follow, but she could still feel his intent focus on her back. Was it Darren, and what did he want?
CHAPTER SEVEN
The interview room at the Rogue County Juvenile Detention Center in Hannon was the size of a walk-in closet. A rectangular metal table was bolted to the floor in the center. Seth and Zane sat across from Peter Rollins and his attorney. The kid was average-size, clean-cut, with no visible tattoos, piercings, or other body modifications. The black-pants-and-gray-T-shirt uniform of the detention center hung loose on his lean teen frame.
In a corner of the ceiling, a camera whirred away. Though Seth wanted to jump into the interrogation, he let Zane, as the arresting officer, take the lead. Seth’s new job had its good points. He hadn’t been shot at in ages. But he missed the hands-on aspects of running an investigation.
Zane rested his forearms on the edge of the table and linked his fingers. “What time did you say you met with Russ to make the buy?”
Peter slouched in the metal chair. He was trying to look cool, but under the table, his black athletic shoe tapped a rapid and anxious beat. “Right after work.”
“Where did you meet him?” Zane asked.
“In the woods. Up near O’Rourke’s.” Peter ran a hand over his choirboy hair.
“The lake?”
Peter shifted in his chair. “Between the lake and the construction site.”
“Russ doesn’t have a car. How did he get up there?”
“I think he had his dirt bike.” Peter squirmed.
“You think he had a dirt bike?” Zane tilted his head. His focus tightened.
“He had his dirt bike,” Peter said with conviction. Too much conviction. Maybe Carly wasn’t completely wrong.
“What color is it?”
Peter glanced down at his hands, then brought his gaze back up to meet Zane’s. “I don’t know. It was covered in mud.”
“Mud, really?” Zane raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. We haven’t had rain for weeks.”
The teen’s face reddened. His mouth opened and closed like a salmon’s on the riverbank.
The lawyer leaned forward. “My client would have no idea how Russ Warner’s dirt bike became covered in mud.”
Zane conceded the point with an inclination of his head, then jumped right back into the interrogation. “How did you get up there?”
If an investigator asked enough questions, a liar was bound to screw up at some point. Suspects never anticipated how difficult it would be to keep all the little details straight. It was impossible to anticipate every possible question.
“I took my ATV.” A sheen of sweat broke out on Peter’s forehead, though air conditioning kept the temperature in the small room comfortable. Seth wasn’t sweating, and he was wearing a tie and suit jacket.
“Why meet up near O’Rourke’s? Why not closer to town?” Zane pressed.
The teen leaned back, clearly more comfortable with this question than the previous one. “I was on my way home from work. Dad helped me get a part-time job at the site.”
“What was Russ wearing when he met you?”
Peter scratched his ear. “Wearing? I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. Clothes I guess.”
Zane gave the kid an incredulous look, as if he didn’t believe a word he said. “Was he wearing shorts or jeans?”
“I said I don’t remember.” The boy’s tone sharpened and turned snotty. “Dudes don’t check out other dudes’ clothes.”
“I think we’ve established that my client doesn’t remember what the other boy was wearing,” the lawyer chimed in.
Zane paused. Seth knew he was giving the boy a minute to sweat and think about all the things he didn’t know. “What were you wearing?”
The kid shrugged. He obviously intended the gesture to appear casual, but his movements were nervous-tic-abrupt instead of smooth. “Jeans, T-shirt, work boots. Same as every day I work at the site.”
“How many hits of C-22 did you say Russ sold you?”
“Two.” Peter sniffed and rubbed the end of his nose.
“Did he have more?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he have a pack or bag on him?”
“I don’t know.” Irritation leaked into the teen’s voice. “I didn’t search him.”
The lawyer showed the cops his palm. “Chief, my client has already told you he doesn’t know. Can we move on?”
Zane gave Seth a do-you-want-a-crack-at-him? look.
With a nod, Seth jumped in. “What are you doing up at the construction site?”
“Just grunt work, emptying trash cans, raking up, moving supplies, that kind of stuff.”
Peter’s head swung toward Seth. The kid’s jaw clamped tight, and sweat stained the underarms of his T-shirt. Seth could smell the boy’s anxiety. A good time to push a few buttons. “You work there every day?”
The boy’s head nodded in a jerky movement. “Eight a.m. to noon, Monday through Friday.”
“O’Rourke Properties fired your dad, didn’t they?” Seth let a zinger fly. “Something about below-par work.”
“That’s total bullshit. They just don’t want to pay him.” Peter’s voice rose. Bitterness pinched his face. “I guess now they’ll fire me too.”
“Why do you say that?”
The kid’s body snapped straight. Anger lit his eyes. “I’m missing work, and the foreman’s a dick. He’s always looking for a reason to fire anybody. Plus, there’s gonna be less work as construction winds down.”
“So you rode your ATV home from work. Then what did you do?” Seth prodded.
“I took a shower, had lunch.”
“Weren’t you eager to try this new drug?”
“I was hungry.”
“Had you ever tried it before?”
Peter shook his head.
“What made you want to try it now?”
The teen lifted a shoulder and avoided eye contact. Classic tells. “I dunno. Everybody has been talking about it.”
Seth changed the topic. “Where was your dad on Thursday, Peter?”
“He had a job to bid on up by Portland. He stayed overnight.”
“Do you drink alcohol, Peter?” Seth asked.
The kid stared at the table. He picked at a thumbnail.
He’s deciding what’s believable. Seth waited.
Peter raised a shoulder. “Sure, I’ve had a few beers here and there.”
Seth bet the kid probably drank considerably more than that. “How do you get beer?”
“Mostly kids take it from their parents.”
“You ever take your old man’s beer?”
“Once or twice.”
“I did that once. My dad beat the crap out of me. Did your old man ever catch you, Peter?”
The teen’s head shake was almost imperceptible. “My dad’s not much of a drinker. He’ll buy beer for a holiday or a party, then forget about it.”
And that, Seth bet, was Peter’s only truthful statement of the interview.
The guard took Peter back to his pod. They didn
’t use the term cell in juvenile detection, but the steel door closing behind the kid sounded just as scary and permanent.
“What do you think?” Zane asked a few minutes later as they headed toward the exit.
“Lying through his perfect teeth.” Seth pushed through the exterior door. The midday heat enveloped him as if he’d walked into a kiln.
Zane wiped a forearm across his brow. “You think everyone is lying.”
“That’s because most of the people we interrogate are guilty.” Seth took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie.
“I agree with you on this one.” Zane cast a worried eye at the horizon.
Seth followed his gaze. Thick, black clouds hung heavy over the hills. Thunderstorms in the Pacific Northwest were extremely rare. “Are those storm clouds?”
“Why not?” Zane turned toward his police cruiser. “Everything else about this summer is fucked up.”
“Zane, I’d question that kid again. He started out all sure of himself, but he’s getting the picture. He’s in way over his head.” Seth opened his car door to let the heat escape.
Parked next to him, Zane did the same. “I’d already planned on it. Why do you think he’s lying?”
“Maybe he’s protecting someone?”
“A close friend?”
Looking at the local cop over the roof of his car, Seth considered Peter. “Could be. The only other motivation that comes to mind is fear of the real supplier.”
Zane’s chest deflated with a sigh. “He didn’t come off as altruistic to me.”
“Which means he pointed the finger at Russ Warner to protect his own ass,” Seth concluded. “Are you going to let Russ out?”
Zane shook his head. “Not until I have to. Whoever Peter is afraid of is obviously dangerous, and I’d like to keep Russ from turning up dead.”
Carly pulled up in front of the Fishers’ squat house. She scanned the property but saw no signs of its human occupants. Darren’s four dogs barked and growled from the strip of open ground between the house and the woods. The chained animals had worn the weeds down to dirt. No one sneaked up on this house. If the Fishers were inside, they knew they had company.
Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) Page 5
