False Impressions

by Terri Thayer

  April opened her sketchbook. She pulled her lap desk closer. Rocky wanted wintry stamps. She tried sketching the bare branches, snowflakes. She was already tired of winter. The time to draw for winter was in summer when snowflakes were charming designs, not the cause of stress and discomfort.

  She tossed her sketchbook aside. This was why she couldn’t be a stamp designer. Creativity on demand was not her strong suit. She needed inspiration. She squeezed her fingers, trying to relive the tension that had taken up residence in her hand. In her interior design work, she used the architecture, textiles, even fashions of the period to play off of. She had no trouble presenting the client with dozens of drawings to chose from.

  April turned to a clean page, turned off her mind and just let her fingers draw.

  When she looked down, she realized she’d sketched the murder scene. The bare trees, the rolling road, the ravine. J.B.’s car, nose down, nearly hidden by the evergreens.

  Someone had shot J.B. up close and pushed his car off the road. Shot him with a small gun. A lesser coroner might not have found it. Given that the other deputy coroner was a veterinarian, there was a good chance that the two small bullet holes would have been overlooked.

  J.B. had known the person who killed him, that seemed evident. Clearly, someone was angry that he’d returned. Or perhaps someone had followed him from Tina’s house? Someone from his old life who didn’t want him to return. But who?

  If there was any of the gang left, maybe they had to silence him. J.B. could identify them. Maybe he had been blackmailing them.

  But Yost had said there was no meth making going on. It could be more personal. She didn’t know if J.B. had had a girlfriend when he’d lived in Aldenville. A jealous husband? A jilted lover?

  She had a lot of questions. She’d go to Kit’s in the morning and find out more about J.B.

  April heard footsteps on her ladder. Mitch’s head popped into view. She realized the barn had gotten quiet.

  “How’s it going?” he whispered, perching on the ledge. She scooted close to him. He put an arm around her, and they sat, legs dangling. She could see the lights were out except for a low one over the kitchen sink. The Campbells were two mounds on their bed.

  “Your sister’s not going to be happy with me. I can’t design worth a crap. I’m totally distracted by J.B.’s murder,” she said.

  They were quiet for a few minutes. He spoke first. “I hate the idea of being in a box on a shelf in Deana’s place. Promise me never to cremate me,” he said finally.

  “Really? You’re such an environmentalist. Isn’t it the most green way to go?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got five acres of ground. Find a spot for me out there. No vault, just a plain wooden box and me. Compost.”

  “All right, all right. Enough gruesome talk. I didn’t know you were so against cremation.”

  “You’ve got a lot of learn about me, Buchert,” he said, kissing the end of her nose and swinging his legs toward the ladder. “But it’ll have to wait for another day. You’ve got work to do. Even I need some beauty rest.”

  The next day, April drove out to Kit’s new house. Even under the present circumstances, Kit had limited time to get the house in order. She would most likely be there.

  April was relieved to see her car in the driveway. Kit answered the front door when April knocked. Her face was pale, and she was chewing on the tie from her hooded jacket. She glanced up at April, then dropped her gaze.

  April felt her pain. “I’m so sorry about your uncle, Kit. Truly.”

  Kit let April put her arms around her and placed her head on her shoulder. April stroked her hair. Kit hiccupped. After a moment, Kit used the heels of her hands to swipe at her eyes. She took a step back.

  “The state police were at Mom’s for hours last night.”

  “You must be exhausted,” April said. She waited for Kit to continue. Something else was working on Kit. She didn’t look just sad, she looked ashamed. “Were they really hard on you?”

  Kit’s face reddened. “One of them said it was a shame J.B. came back to Aldenville to see me.”

  April felt her anger rise. What a stupid thing to say. “Kit, you couldn’t have known he would die.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked him to come.”

  “J.B. came back because he wanted to. He knew the danger.”

  Even as she said it, April wondered, did he? He knew he could have been arrested, but did he expect to be murdered? He came after dark so no one would see him. He snuck into town but then showed himself at the gas station. Deana saw him there. Who else saw him?

  Were those the actions of a man who feared for his life?

  Kit’s face crumpled. “I blew it. I really blew it.”

  “Blew what?” April walked her over to the kitchen where the chairs were still set up from the night J.B. visited. She pushed Kit into one and sat across from her. She patted her knee and tried to get the girl to look at her.

  Kit wouldn’t look up. Her forehead was creased in pain. There was something she wasn’t telling April.

  “Hey,” April said softly, hooking a hair behind Kit’s ear. After what she’d said to her mother in the hospital, the kid had no one to talk to. “Look at me. I’m not going to judge you and tell you you should have done things differently. I already know you did the best you could.”

  Kit sat back in the chair, shuddering as her crying stopped. Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I could have changed the way this turned out.”

  She leaned forward on her knees. April stilled herself, waiting for Kit to continue. The girl had something to get off her chest.

  Before she could begin again, there was a firm knocking on the kitchen door. The house had a breezeway between the kitchen and the garage, and they could see a figure in the dimly lit space. Officer Henry Yost came in, doffing his hat. Great timing, as usual.

  “You two ladies out here by yourself?” he said, looking through the kitchen into the living room. He stepped around a folding table full of wallpaper tools as he checked for other people. Who did he expect to find? J.B. come back from the dead? Again?

  “More questions, Officer Yost? Can’t it wait? Kit’s not really in a good place right now,” April said, standing next to Kit and gathering Kit to her side.

  He held up a hand. “I know that. I’m not here to interrogate her. Her uncle is not my investigation. Of course, I’m doing what I can to help them, but this is the state’s gig. I’m just here as a friend of the family.” He patted Kit on the back. “I promised her parents I’d keep an eye on things.”

  There was an awkward silence. Yost didn’t seem to notice he was interrupting. He loomed over the two of them. Kit was beyond being a polite host, and April had never felt the need to coddle Yost. She wished he would just go away.

  Instead, he looked around the room. “How’s the remodeling going? You kids have been putting in the hours on this place. You plan on being here late again tonight?” he said.

  Kit said, “Logan’ll be here with me.”

  “Well, I’ll drive by later, just to check up on you.”

  April saw her opening. She got up and moved toward Yost, crowding him to the front door. She wanted him to get the hint that he was not needed there.

  Once they were in the living room, out of Kit’s hearing, April asked, “What do the police think about the shooting?”

  Yost looked her in the eye. “They think J.B. Hunsinger was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Yost tipped his hat and left.

  April squinted after Yost. There was no way the police thought this was a random shooting. He wasn’t going to share what he knew, though. Not with her.

  She wanted to hear the rest of what Kit had to say about her uncle. She had an idea that she knew what was troubling the girl.

  CHAPTER 12

  April came back into the kitchen. Kit had picked up a scraper and was poking halfheartedly at the wallpaper. She wasn’t removing much, but she pr
obably felt like she was trying. April found another flat blade and joined her at the wall. She pulled off tendrils of the paper. It was just like peeling off a sunburn without that awful pain when you’ve gone too far.

  Working side by side in silence, April composed her thoughts. Kit was hiding something, something she was afraid had gotten her uncle killed. April thought she knew what it was.

  “Did you see J.B. before the night he died?”

  Kit’s hands flew up to cover her mouth as she emitted a small cry. Small as a newborn’s.

  She shook her head, her hair swinging and hiding her face. April turned to face Kit, who put her blade to wall and rubbed harder.

  “Kit, I saw the box that you made for J.B.’s cremains. It’s beautiful, full of life and spirit. Whoever made that box was happy, jubilant, not sad.”

  Kit’s fingers clenched the blade so tight that her knuckles turned white.

  “You knew he was alive when you made that box,” April said. “When everyone else thought he was dead, you knew he was alive.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Kit shielded her face and scraped harder. Bits of dry-wall flew from under her blade. She was going to seriously damage the wall if she pressed any harder.

  April stilled her hand. “Look at me.”

  The burden of carrying around this secret dropped Kit to her knees.

  “Does Logan know? Your mother?”

  “Only Logan. J.B. said I couldn’t tell anyone.”

  Kit’s lashes were dewed with tears, and she fought to control her trembling hands. She picked at a piece of glue stuck to the wall.

  She stopped, her eyes going out of focus. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with tears, and she stopped after each syllable.

  “About a week after the explosion, J.B. came to the back door. I was so glad to see him. I let him right in. I went to call Mom, but he stopped me. He said people, bad people, were looking for him. It was too dangerous for him. Said he would go away for a while, but he would come again.”

  April said, “And did he?”

  She nodded, her fingers entwined. She pulled on each one as if to crack the knuckle, without success. “Just after Christmas. He was clean and sober but needed a little more time before he could see my mother. He’d hurt her so much over the years, and he really wanted to make up for what he’d done. He wanted to have his one-year sobriety pin before he came back to us. He was working through his twelve steps. His anniversary date would have been March first.”

  Six weeks away. He’d gotten so close. April said, “Did he mention Tina?”

  At Kit’s blank look, April realized she hadn’t told her about her uncle’s girlfriend. She didn’t think Kit could handle that information right now. Still, she had a right to know.

  “He was living with a woman,” April said.

  “A friend?”

  “More than a friend. She took good care of him.”

  Kit smiled. “That was obvious when I saw him. He looked so good, didn’t he? I mean, he was well fed. His hair looked healthy.” She laughed at April’s reaction. “Well, it did. He used to have great hair.” Her voice broke. “I hope my kids have his hair.”

  April decided to wait to tell Kit about Tina’s pregnancy. They should meet first.

  “Did she love him?” Kit asked.

  April nodded. “Seems like they loved each other.”

  Kit closed her eyes. “So he had a little peace.”

  “Yes.”

  Kit surprised her, grabbing April by the shoulders. Her eyes were shining, and her mouth was set in a grim line. April wondered what happened to the happy woman she’d first met when she’d returned to Aldenville. Kit had been through a lot since then, and it showed on her face.

  “I want to know who killed him, April. Not knowing has left a giant hole in my heart. It hurts to breathe.”

  Kit went quiet. April gently extricated herself and wetted a paper towel with cold water and handed it to Kit. She wiped her eyes and sat on the floor. April pulled up a plastic bucket and sat down.

  “I’m a mess. I need to know what happened.” She looked at April. April couldn’t look away from her desperate face.

  “What happened the night of your bachelorette party?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said at the hospital . . .”

  “My mother has a lot to answer for.” Kit’s eyes filled again. She hiccupped and caught her breath. April let her calm down before gently prodding again.

  “Your party—what happened?”

  “It was the weekend before the wedding. I got drunk. My girlfriends, who were driving, got even drunker. Logan was out at his bachelor party in the Poconos. I called J.B. to come get me and sneak me back into the house.”

  April could imagine the rest. Mary Lou would not have been happy with an underage drunk bride-to-be.

  Kit picked up her sweatshirt string and twisted it in her fingers. “I didn’t know he’d been drinking. He drove us into a light pole on Main Street. Mom and Dad had to come and get us. We were okay, although I had to go to my wedding with a fat lip. Mom didn’t let him explain. She just threw him out.”

  April winced. That’s when his life on the street began. And soon after that, he got involved with the meth gang.

  “She was so mean that night. Stood by while he packed his stuff, then took him to the bus station. Told him not to come back. I wanted him at the wedding, but Logan took Mom’s side. He thought J.B. was a bad influence. Everyone wanted me to stay away from him.”

  She gave April a shy smile. “But we managed to stay in touch.”

  “How?”

  Her body relaxed, and she leaned her head back. “J.B. loved spy stuff. He had me reading Ian Fleming and watching James Bond movies when I was a kid. He taught me how to do secret writing and would leave me notes all over the house. We had our own code.

  “It was just for fun until she threw him out. But then I was desperate to hear from him. The day before my wedding, I found a chalk mark on the tree outside my window. I knew what that meant. Spies use them all the time to indicate a message is in place.”

  She leaned forward. “I had to search, but I finally found the drop. He’d left a wedding gift for me in an old metal milk crate in the shed.”

  April wasn’t that familiar with spy protocol. “So he would leave a mark somewhere and then leave you a package?”

  “Or a message. The thing is it was always in the same spot. If I saw a yellow mark on my maple, I knew to check the shed for something from J.B.”

  April understood now. “And that’s what you did, after the explosion?”

  Kit looked forlorn. “I thought he was dead like everyone else. When I saw the mark on the tree, I thought it was an old one at first. I never went out to the shed. Then he came by the house when I was there alone.”

  “So you knew he was alive?”

  “Yup. He had to take that chance and show himself to me. After that we used our system.”

  The girl had a lot more gumption than April had given her credit. “So how often have you two been in touch in the last year?”

  “Only a few times. Then Mom found this place. I wasn’t happy about it. I was worried that would be the end of my notes from him. Once I’d told J.B. where to find me, I felt better.”

  And then he came here and was murdered, April added silently.

  Kit was thinking along the same lines. “If I hadn’t brought him here . . .”

  “Let’s think about this. Did he have any other enemies? What about old girlfriends? Did he do other illegal stuff? Maybe his accomplices?”

  “No, he was never on the wrong side of the law. I mean, yes, traffic tickets and a DWI, but never anything serious. Yost tried to help him, keep him out of serious trouble.”

  Officer Yost was always looking out for Mary Lou’s family.

  Kit said quietly, “I don’t think my uncle was making meth.”

  April was quiet. She knew Kit didn’t want to
believe. “What if I found out he was?”

  “I don’t think he was a saint. Believe me, I know he wasn’t.”

  “But Kit, Officer Yost, your mother, they think he was involved with the meth house.”

  “It all leads to the same place, doesn’t it? I want to know my uncle. Good and bad. It’s who he is . . . was.” Kit laid a hand on April’s arm. “Just find out for me. Find out who did this to my uncle.”

  April had one more question to ask Kit. “Did he get to your parents’ house that night?”

  Kit shook her head sadly. “Nope. My mom said she never saw him.”

  April left Kit’s wondering what else J.B. had left behind for them to find. A trip to Mary Lou’s shed was in order. But first stamping. And like J.B., she’d have to wait for the cover of darkness.

  Later that night, April pulled into the drive of the Wysocki house on Main Street. She’d worked all afternoon on stamps and had a dozen ready. She hated working that fast, but she had to admit she liked what she’d come up with.

  Violet’s dad was standing with her in the doorway behind a full glass storm door. He held the door open and gestured April in.

  “Hi, Dr. Wysocki,” April said. She peeked into the kitchen. She and Violet had done homework at that breakfast bar. It had been shiny and new back then, and they had spun the stools until Violet’s mother begged them to stop.

  Dr. Wysocki handed April a still warm batch of brownies. “My wife made these for you to take to your meeting. Have fun, girls.”

  He gave Violet a peck on the cheek and a little push. April remembered their first day of first grade; Violet had greeted the new teacher like a peer. No one had had to shove her out the door in those days.

  Violet crossed her legs under herself on April’s car seat and bounced her knees incessantly.

  April’s phone rang. It was Deana.

  She said, “Just so you know, Mary Lou is here, at Rocky’s.”