“Folds?” he asked. “Or gets put on hold?”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Didn’t you tell me you needed to finish this quick?”
He swirled his wineglass, then took a huge swig, something she’d never seen him do.
“Let me explain the End of the World, can I, before we get into the details you think important?”
She wasn’t the only one capable of being passive-aggressive, but she let the comment slide. She had baited him, after all. “Shoot,” she said.
He flagged the waiter down, got them both water, and drank his so quickly that he looked like a man dying of thirst. Then he pushed his other glass toward the back of the table, as if saving the wine for later.
“The End of the World,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue like a lover’s. “Remember how much we loved it?”
How much he had loved it. But she didn’t correct him. She nodded instead.
“Remember when I used to talk about restoring it, about making the End of the World the destination resort in Oregon, and you’d laugh, and you’d say who would want to come to Hope?”
“That was before the boom,” she said, surprised that she wasn’t feeling defensive.
“Before Hollywood discovered how cheap the land was, before they filmed half the western films up here, before the Californians bought everything in sight.”
And tried to change the town into a mini-California, with its strip malls and coffee bars and upscale shops that people like Becca couldn’t set foot into unless there was a police emergency.
“Hollywood’s left,” she said. “They’ve gone to Canada.”
“But they vacation here. They ski, they hunt, they fish. They look at the pretty views. They want to play golf and lacrosse and polo and soccer, if we could only accommodate them. The town doesn’t have everything yet, and if we did, even more would come.”
“Is this the speech you gave to prospective investors?” she asked. “Because I know the drill.”
He’d practiced much of it on her over the years. She hadn’t agreed with all of it, but she had encouraged some of it. She, too, wanted Hope to grow. When she’d been a girl, the town was dying, and the name seemed like the way the town planned for its future.
“Historic resorts are the next travel boom,” he said. “People want to visit the past, so long as it has all the amenities of the present.”
The waiter set down the pizza. The cheese was still popping because the tomato sauce was bubbling underneath.
Becca took a piece. To her surprise, Chase did, too.
“So tell me,” she said, “how come your money’s in this instead of other people’s?”
He sighed. “It costs more to refurbish the old hotel and the natatorium than it would to tear the place down and build comparable modern buildings from scratch.”
“And your investors didn’t like that?”
“They like everything else. They like the resort, the golf courses—”
“Courses?” Becca asked.
“Four,” he said, “along with residential housing, riding trails, and a possible dude ranch near the edge of the mountains.” “How much property did you buy?”
“Just the End of the World,” he said. “Turns out the property runs from the highway all the way to the mountains.”
“My god,” Becca said.
“It was all scrub and desert, not even good enough for ranching, although the End of the World’s original owners did rent it out for that.”
“Who did you buy it from?” she asked.
“The heirs. They don’t live in Oregon any longer. They remembered it from their childhoods, figured the land wasn’t worth much, and sold it for a song. The land wasn’t the problem. The hotel and resort were.”
“The investors wanted you to build new, and you refused.” Her voice rose just a bit at the end of the statement, mostly because she was surprised. Chase did what he wanted within reason, but he never turned down money like this. “You really had your heart set on rebuilding the place.”
“I had documents and itineraries and research and projections that showed just how much people would love it here. They go to historic lodges now. Hell, Timberline Resort is the number two destination in Oregon.”
“Number one being?”
He looked down. “Spirit Mountain Casino.”
Which had no historic hotel. Nothing except a rather cheap-looking lodge and a large casino at the entrance to the Van Duzer Corridor in the coastal mountain range.
“But that land was considered worthless forty years ago,” he said.
“Because it was tribal land in the middle of nowhere,” she said.
“You don’t have to side with them,” he snapped.
The reaction shocked her. He never snapped. He got angry or frustrated and occasionally raised his voice, but usually he manipulated, twisting the conversation until she was surprised that she was agreeing with him, even when she knew she shouldn’t. “So I repeat,” she said, “how deep are you into this?” “Ninety percent of the resort funding is from me.” He took another swig of the wine, leaving the glass nearly empty. How many times had he told her wine was meant to be sipped not guzzled? He probably hadn’t even tasted this one.
“That’s a lot of money.”
“More than you realize.”
“So you go bankrupt if this place never gets off the ground.” He finished the wine, then set the glass at the edge of the table, an obvious signal for more. “You’re awful damn pessimistic.” “I’m not pessimistic, and I’m not here to judge you.” Even though that was a lie. At this moment, it was her job to judge him. “I am trying to figure out what happened in that natatorium.” “You think someone murdered a lot of people and buried them beneath the swimming pool. A long, long time ago. I think it shouldn’t interfere with my project.”
She sighed. “I’m not talking about the old bodies. I’m talking about the smell.”
He froze. The waiter returned, grabbed the wineglass, and left without asking what he was supposed to do about Chase’s beverage. Maybe the look on Chase’s face scared him off.
“I told you,” Chase said. “It was an animal.”
“We haven’t found it yet. We’re operating on the assumption that the recent body is human.”
“And you think I what? Sabotaged my own project? Why the hell would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” Becca raised her voice enough to drown his out. “Maybe you don’t have enough funding. Maybe you want out now.”
“And you think that destroying the project is the way to leave? If I want to lose several million dollars, I’d put it on the roulette table. If I want to shut down the project, I’ll do that.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to.” He grabbed the edge of the table. For a moment, she thought he was going to leverage himself out of it.
But he didn’t. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and forced himself to lean back.
“You don’t want to?” she asked. “Or you see this as a win-win situation?”
He looked at her as if she was crazy. “Excuse me?”
“Once you found the bodies below the pool, you knew that might stall the project. But you wanted out without losing any money. So you found a way that the insurance might cover it. Something guaranteed, not an ancient burial ground like you thought, but a police investigation—”
“You think I planted a body there for the insurance money?” “I don’t know,” she said. “Did you?”
His mouth was open. He stared at her like the day she told him she was leaving. If she had to, she would wager that he was telling the truth. But that kind of hunch didn’t hold up in court.
Besides, she knew that her reactions to him weren’t always the right ones.
“Do you really think that little of me?” he asked softly. “What I think doesn’t matter,” she said. “This is a police investigation, and I have to—”
�
��Oh, bullshit,” he said. “You don’t have to explore every goddamn angle. You think I’m capable of killing someone and planting him in the natatorium for the fucking insurance money.”
The waiter hovered near the kitchen door. In his hand, he held another glass of wine. He watched them with a wary expression.
She had to get Chase to calm down. She needed him to think clearly.
“Do you want me to investigate this or someone from Portland? Because that’s the way it’s heading.”
“Even if I turn out to be right and it’s a goddamn coyote down there?”
“Even if,” she said. “We have something big now, and there’s no covering it up. Jillian called the state crime lab. We’re going to have reporters. You want them to write about how we had a screaming fight in our favorite Italian restaurant?”
“Fuck you, Becca,” he said. “You planned this.”
“Your anger?”
“With a fucking audience. Do you hate me that much?”
She swallowed. She was getting angry now. “You ask me that a lot. So here’s the answer^ Chase. I don’t hate you. If anything, I’m still in love with your sorry ass, and that’s a problem for me. It’s also a problem for this investigation, since I’m the only trained detective on Hope’s police force. I’m holding off the Valley investigative team for the moment, but that won’t last if we keep this up.” He slammed his hands on the booth so hard that the fake wood tabletop attached to the wall actually bounced. Then he stood up and stalked to the men’s room.
Becca took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another. And another, and another, still wishing for the therapist on speed-dial. Did she keep breathing until she was light-headed or did she just leave?
She was handling this all wrong, and pretty soon word would get out. The chief would relieve her, and the investigation would become a state thing instead of a local thing. And that kind of publicity would hurt the new Hope, the place that actually had a future.
The waiter came to the table. He was still cradling the wineglass. “You think he’s gonna want this? Because—”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’ll want that and more. Bring the whole bottle.”
She ate her piece of pizza slowly, drank the iced tea, and waited, keeping an eye on the men’s room door. The three other tables, filled with young families, kept an eye on her, as if she had been the problem, not Chase.
The men’s room door opened as she finished her third piece. The waiter had been back twice—once with the wine bottle and once with a heaping bowl of spaghetti in sausage marinara sauce. As stressed as Becca was, she could probably eat the entire thing without Chase’s help.
To her relief, he came back to the booth and slid in.
“Okay,” he said, “since you’re going all official on me, here’s what you need to know. I have six million dollars in this thing. That’s real money. I also have outstanding loans of ten million, and that’s not nearly enough to get everything done. I’m hoping when the hotel and nat are finished, the investors will pour in. If they don’t, I’ll be in debt until I die, even if the place is a success.” Becca set down the pizza crust she’d been clinging to. She resisted the urge to slide the plate of spaghetti toward her.
“Does my insurance cover this? How the hell would I know? I’m sure my agent doesn’t know. I’m sure the insurance company has no real idea, and its legal department will be haggling over the policy language and the politics of the entire thing for months. That’s what I was talking to Lester about. I’m hoping that he can find a few answers, or at least an argument, so that some of the back and forth gets forestalled if and when you people actually decide to shut me down.”
“We already shut you down, Chase,” she said. “The question now is for how long.”
“I know.” He picked up the glass and then set it down again. “But you know what I mean. This could be a two-day inconvenience or it could be a yearlong nightmare. And since it’s all one property, I’m pretty sure that you could tie me up for a long time.” “If those bodies are Native American, you could be right,” she said.
He let out a long sigh. Then he moved the wineglass closer to her plate than his.
“So,” he said, “do I have a motive to get insurance money? No. I’d be a fool to try this plan. If I wanted insurance money, I’d find another way to go about it. And I’d be smart, Becca. This is damn dumb. It jeopardizes everything without giving me any benefit at all. I’ll be in the news forever, I won’t be able to save face, and I’m going to go broke. Hell, I’d be better off disappearing and starting all over again than doing that. I’m not damn dumb, Becca.”
“I know,” she said.
“I have no reason to plant something there.”
“Does anyone else?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching for the plate of spaghetti. “Yeah, I’m afraid a lot of people do.”
THEN
Why would he ask her what to do next? Wasn’t he the grown one, the one in charge? She was just a baby, really, younger than anyone else in their group.
But he wasn’t part of their group. She wasn’t even sure there was a group anymore. Where had everyone gone?
When the shanties burned, the remaining people fled. Momma had grabbed her. They were just a little behind the group.
And she never knew what happened to any of them.
“What about my momma?” she asked Jess Taylor.
He closed his eyes, turned his head, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Then he glanced at the window, like he wanted to open it. He stood, and she thought he was going to, but all he did was get another towel and clean off his fingers.
When he sat back down, his face had a different look to it. His eyes were open, but sadder, if that was possible.
Sometimes she wondered how these humans could think themselves so different from the people. These humans changed, too, just not as much. And sometimes these humans changed by force of will, just like the people did.
Just like Jess Taylor had done a moment ago.
“You’re going to keep asking, aren’t you?” he said.
She blinked at him. She didn’t know how to answer, except maybe to say of course she would. She loved her momma and her momma left her on the sidewalk.
Bad things happened this afternoon, and she heard some of them. One of them sounded like Momma.
“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “I’ll find out as best I can. I promise. But it might take days.”
Days. She wanted to fold her ears in, close her eyes, and huddle into a little ball. What would happen to her for those days?
“I’ve seen this before,” he said. “Not this, exactly, but the same kind of thing. Folks get riled up about the strangest things, and you have to admit, your people are strange.”
She didn’t think so. But she didn’t answer that either, just kept watching him.
“I mean, I think I finally understand where this violence comes from, this impulse. Not because of you.”
He held up a hand, as if to reassure her. She wasn’t sure what he was reassuring her about.
“It comes about because of the differences. They’re startling. And sometimes—I don’t mean to offend you—but sometimes, they’re revolting. Humans don’t handle revulsion well. We—” He shook his head and stood up, walked to the window and peeked through the curtain. Sweat stained the back of his shirt, leaving a V-shaped wet spot in the fabric.
“I can’t believe I’m defending them.”
He shook his head again. Then he let the curtain drop and close, and he came back to the chair.
“The chances are—I’m so sorry, but the chances are that your mother didn’t make it. Just like your father. She probably—they probably—I mean, you heard it this afternoon. You’re lucky to be here. And if your mother is alive—”
He stopped, wiped a hand over his mouth, then shook his head yet again.
He didn’t say anymore.
She was holding her breat
h. She finally let it out. Her other eye had appeared. Apparently she needed to see him. Her body was starting to make changes on its own.
“You think she’s still alive?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“But you said—”
“I know what I said.” He sighed. “Look, Sarah, if your mother is still alive, it probably won’t be for long.”
“Then we have to find her.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
She felt her skin tighten. Another shiver ran through her. The spikes started to form and she willed them away. She didn’t want him to know she suddenly felt threatened.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean they’re probably not done.”
“But I heard the men, they came into the bank, they said it was over, they said it was . . . fun. They said—”
“I know what they said.” He ran his fingers along his forehead. “I know. And I know a few of them will go back. Some probably haven’t left. And they’ll finish. Do you understand me? They’ll finish.”
“Can’t we get her before they do?”
He stared at her; and that sadness returned to his eyes. His whole face looked sad, and she wondered for a minute if he even saw her; if he was looking at her or something else—someone else—like a memory, maybe, like those ghostly shapes that the people sometimes made when they thought of a relative long dead.
“If we try to get her,” he said, “they’ll kill us, too.”
“Not you,” she said.
He let out half a laugh, like she’d startled the sound out of him.
“Sarah, honey,” he said, “if your people hadn’t come, they’d’ve gotten to me eventually. They always do.”
NOW
“You know who doesn’t like me.” Chase used tongs to dish up his spaghetti. Somehow he managed to do so without getting sauce on his shirt. “You used to put up with the phone calls.”
Becca remembered. The calls came in late at night. Sometimes they were just hang-ups. Sometimes they were more serious than that. A few even included threats.
In those days, Hope’s telephone system was too unsophisticated to provide services like caller ID, so Becca had had to put a trace on the line. She had gone to every single one of the callers, warning them that their behavior was illegal and should Chase’s businesses go under or should he get hurt, they would be the first suspects she went to.
Alien Crimes Page 23
