“I love you,” said Nick.
“Love you too,” came the reply.
“And now that I talked to Brad I know it’s nothing to do with seeing us.”
She sighed. “Thank God. The guy was an asshole but I didn’t want him dead.”
“I wonder if he had any family,” said Nick. “But I guess the cops will look up all that.”
“I should tell Cari Evans. She calls me once a week.”
“Don’t think she’ll be too upset,” said Nick, smiling at the sound of Lilah’s voice.
“But she might know if he has friends or relatives somewhere.”
That was typical Lilah. Always concerned about the underdog and so caring she couldn’t bear to know someone was suffering. He decided to keep quiet with the details of Gorman’s death.
“Can we talk wedding plans tonight?” he said, shocked that he was uttering the words.
“I’ve got some ideas,” she said.
“See you later,” he said, blowing a kiss at the phone.
The snow started to blow in around three o’clock and half an hour later Nick couldn’t even see The Beanery across the street. He’d forgotten about the blizzard warning on the radio this morning. Normally he’d be pissed off at the thought of digging through mountains of snow to get out of his garage, but this time the prospect of being snowed in with Lilah was the best thing he could imagine. They’d light a blazing fire, open a bottle of wine and watch the snow whip into massive drifts across the lake. He grabbed his parka, jammed his notebooks into his briefcase and lowered his head as he stepped out into the swirling wind. It took some effort to lock the door, but he managed and wrapped his scarf around his head and fought through the snow to get to his truck.
The snow was so heavy, the wipers could barely clear a small semi-circle for him to see out the window, but he bent his neck and peered through. It would do until he got to Lilah’s shop. He texted her.
Leave your car in the garage. I’ll drive you home.
It was lucky Lilah had a small garage at the back of her shop, so when he pulled up outside her front door she was already dressed, her hood pulled up and the scarf wrapped around her neck.
She rushed out and climbed into the truck, her face glowing from the cold wind. Melting snowflakes glistened in her hair.
“Thank goodness you’ve got this beast,” she said. “I don’t think my car would’ve got through this mess.”
Nick could barely see a foot ahead of him on the lakeside road, but as they passed the end of Gorman’s driveway, a glowing yellowy dome was visible down by the shore. A police van was still parked at the entrance. Nick looked at Lilah.
“They’re trying to protect the crime scene,” he said.
Lilah stared back at it as they passed. “Did you hear any details about it?”
Nick shook his head. “I guess Brad Brenner will put out some kind of press release tomorrow.”
Lilah was fidgeting with her gloves. “I can’t believe it,” she said in a small voice.
“That Gorman’s dead?”
“That I didn’t see anything,” she answered.
“Why would you?”
“I went for a jog this morning. I ran right past his place.”
Nick felt the tinny taste of fear in his mouth for two reasons. She could’ve run into the killer or maybe she knew more than she was letting on about the whole business. He stayed silent and pulled into her driveway.
21
The rest of that week Nick pushed any doubts about Lilah to the corner of his mind. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and watch her sleeping. He’d convince himself it was okay he didn’t know much about her. And for that matter he hadn’t told her much about his family. It was better their future was a blank page – a clean start for both of them. He sensed she had her own demons like his. It was just a matter of time before she’d feel she could unlock those painful memories she’d hinted at. Spill out the pain, wipe it clean away and move on. As for the jogging incident, she’d seemed genuinely shaken up that she’d been within a hair’s breadth of witnessing the most horrific crime.
They’d talked about the wedding. It would be small. Just the two of them and a couple of witnesses each. He’d decided to ask Brad Brenner and Tray Olsen, Lilah would have Violet and Cari Evans. He assumed Rosie Bradley would tag along as well. They’d follow up with a small reception party at Lilah’s with the same caterers from New Year’s. After some deep soul searching, he’d decided to call his Mom after the ceremony. He knew how much she hated the winter and he didn’t want to put her in a situation where she had to decline his invitation. Instead they’d travel down to Phoenix for a lazy, hot weather honeymoon. Nick hadn’t broached the question of meeting Lilah’s family. He figured she’d tell him when she was ready. And of course there was always the possibility she had nobody.
On the Friday Nick was to interview Herb Brenner, Lilah announced she was heading to Minneapolis that afternoon. She and Cari Evans would shop for a bridal dress.
“Even though it’s a small wedding I want a fairytale dress,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I don’t care about the snow and slush.”
“You’ll look gorgeous whatever you wear,” he said, kissing the top of her head and glancing out of the window at the clear, blue sky. “Anyway, looks like the weather’s gonna cooperate.”
“I checked the road conditions,” she said breaking away from him and sipping at her coffee. “Bare and dry most of the way.”
He picked up a strawberry from the fruit plate. “Lilah – you never told me about your folks.”
She turned away from him and walked towards the window. A small sparrow flitted across, landed on bird feeder. He watched as it pecked away at the seed inside.
“Are you going to tell them about the wedding?”
She bowed her head. “They’re gone, Nick. A long time ago.”
He moved towards her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Then who cared for you?”
“My grandma. She’s all I have left.”
“Your parents,” whispered Nick, his heart beating fast. “What happened?”
The sparrow was hopping around now, pecking at the grain that had fallen onto the snow. She smiled. “I promise I’ll tell you.” Her voice dropped. “I’m just not ready yet.”
“I’ll wait,” he said. “We have a whole lot of time.”
There’d been more traffic on Main Street since Gorman’s murder. All the parking spots were taken outside the tiny police station, some cars even double parked. The entire area was a flurry of comings and goings. Even the Silver Narrows Motel had a No Vacancy sign outside. The first time in years that had happened in the winter.
Gorman’s body had been sent away for a post-mortem, but Nick hadn’t heard who it would be released to. He couldn’t think of anyone in town who’d have any interest in putting out a penny to bury the guy who’d supplied dope for the last twenty years to the high school kids.
Stepping into the warmth of The Beanery, he noticed a few unfamiliar faces. A couple of guys and a woman sat at one table, checking their phone messages. He reckoned they were the vice squad guys. Two teenagers that looked like they’d skipped out from their classes sat hunched over their coffee. They had that hollow eyed look – the same look he’d seen on Claire and Tim. His stomach lurched. Then there were more meth users, just waiting to step in where the others had left off. Danny was bustling around behind the counter, a black look on his face.
“What the hell’s up with you?” said Nick, taking a muffin from under the glass cover.
Danny shrugged. “Makes me nervous all these suits. Too many cops spoil the ambience I’ve worked so hard to create.”
“It’s still the best coffee shop in town,” said Nick. “Beats Jake Hardy’s sludge.”
Danny shook his head. “Wouldn’t drink that asshole’s brew if it was the last cup of coffee in the world.”
Nick nodded his head towards the kids. “What�
��s up with those little stoners?”
“Aach – better they’re in here than freezing their asses off outside somewhere,” Danny said, shrugging. “So – you got plenty to fill that paper of yours now?”
Nick nodded and sipped at his coffee. “I haven’t been able to write my usual Woodland Wanderings column and forget about the What’s on in Silver Narrows section.”
“It’ll blow over soon,” said Danny, wiping the counter.
“Not if I can help it,” said Nick, turning to go.
Danny stopped the rhythmic motion. “How come?”
“I’m still working on that story about the disappearances. Gotta talk to Herb Brenner later.”
“Poor guy can’t even enjoy his retirement,” said Danny, stacking the coffee cups. “You talked to Ike Dewar yet?”
Nick shook his head and Danny laughed, tossing his grey ponytail back over his shoulder. “Hell you haven’t even talked to me yet.”
“Wanna talk?” said Nick, feeling a strange reluctance to take the conversation any further.
“You know what,” said Danny, leaning his elbows on the counter. “You talk to Dewar first, and if you’re still in one piece afterwards, I promise I’ll answer all your questions.”
Nick turned to go, his heart sinking. Sooner or later he’d have to get to Dewar. It was just something he’d rather do later. Much, much later if he could help it.
Back at the office he put in a quick call to Herb Brenner to confirm their appointment.
“I’ve done a lot of soul searching and I know I’m doing the right thing.”
“Good to hear, Herb,” said Nick. “Want me to bring anything?”
“Don’t need anything, son,” he paused. “Sounds like someone’s on the other line. I’ll be ready for you at three.”
Nick distracted himself by reading over the forty five year old report on the lakeside party and the notes on the Susan Jonas disappearance. As he read, he scrawled down questions he needed answers to. From what he read, the lakeside party was the last time anyone had seen Susan Jonas. Her best friend Sarah confirmed that Susan hadn’t come back to their tent. At first Sarah just assumed Susan had gone off to one of the guys’ tents, but after three days missing, Sarah began to ask around and nobody knew anything. That’s when she’d gone back to Minneapolis and called into the Jonas’s place.
Herb Brenner had questioned all the main guys at the party, but apart from Jake Hardy who claimed he’d been too high to notice all weekend, their story was the same. They’d been drinking, screwing and getting high and Susan was stupid enough to go off with a stranger from out of town. Their description of the guy was disturbingly similar. Herb Brenner himself had scrawled a note in the margin that it had seemed prepared as if they’d all agreed to give the same generic description of a tall, skinny guy with long straggly hair and a scar on his right cheek. Herb had observed that all of them – Castle, Dewar, Schuler, Johnson and even Hardy had mentioned the scar – even though it might’ve been difficult to see in the flickering light of a campfire.
He was just considering the implications of this discovery when his cell rang. The number was unfamiliar. He answered. A young woman’s voice replied.
“Mr. Hendricks? This is Megan Bauer. I’m returning your call,” said the high-pitched voice.
In all the Gorman fuss, it’d completely slipped his mind he’d called her. He quickly explained the article he was working on. There was a deep sigh at the other end of the phone.
“Thank goodness someone’s interested,” she said. “I’ve always thought that whole business was just swept under the carpet. Like it was dirt nobody wanted to see any more.”
“Why d’you think that is?” asked Nick.
“I was never sure but there are people in Silver Narrows who act one way in public, but in private they’re cruel and unfeeling.”
“Like who?”
“That school for starters. There ought to be an inquiry about that place. I know there was at least one young teacher dealing drugs.”
Schuler of course, thought Nick.
“And Chris was bullied really bad,” she continued. “Mom reported it to the school so many times, but they just bullshitted her. They never did anything. Chris was different you see.”
“How?”
There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. “This is difficult to talk about. He was such a gentle, sweet guy and that’s why it all happened. One of our uncles molested him over a five year period. None of us knew anything about it. He kept so quiet about it. We had no idea that’s why he’d spend hours in his room. He grew his hair so long at the front you could barely see his eyes. I guess he thought it would protect him. That if nobody could see him, they wouldn’t want to pick on him or molest him again. Of course it only made it worse for him at school. The kids called him Nest Head and played tricks on him. I suppose that’s what finally drove him to the drugs.”
“When did you know he was using?”
“The druggies were the only ones to make friends with him. I used to beg him not to go to those bush parties but he said it was the only place he felt at home. Then one day things got way worse.”
There was a muffled sob as she struggled to speak.
“Take your time, Megan. No rush.”
“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “It’s so hard remembering all this stuff again. He was my baby brother. I loved him so much. He was so fragile, like an injured bird. And I tried to help him but I wasn’t strong enough.”
“You’re helping him now, and all the others like him.”
“I guess,” she said, her voice thick with sorrow. “Anyway, he started acting weird. Like one minute he’d be crazy happy and next minute so low he could barely get out of bed. He kept saying he had to go see some guy.”
“Which guy?”
“Some guy he said that really understood him. Chris had actually confided in him about being molested. He said the guy knew about psychology and being a victim and he’d help Chris recover.”
“Did you ask the guy’s name?”
“Every day I begged him to tell me, but he said the guy would stop talking to him if he told. Then he told me to fuck off and leave him alone, slammed out of the house and that’s the last I saw of him. He went to one of those bush parties. The kids said he wandered away from the group and never came back.”
Nick felt that suffocating sick feeling when he remembered his own experience with the hockey coach. Like the world was a dark, hot, sweaty place just crushing every part of you and sucking you dry.
“I keep the Facebook shrine going in case he’s out there somewhere and he wants to get in touch with us,” she said. “Mom thinks I’m crazy. Dad left us not long after we moved here. He made friends with a bottle and chose it over us. I guess he couldn’t deal with the real world any more.”
“You’re a brave person,” said Nick, checking his watch and realizing he’d better get going to Herb’s place. “And your information really helps. I’m planning to write a book about this and I’ll dedicate it to all the kids that disappeared. So you know they’ll never be forgotten.”
“That’s one book I can’t wait to read,” she said, brightening up.
“You’ll get a special invite to the launch – but it might not be for a while,” said Nick, trying to curb his sudden spurt of enthusiasm.
Nick drove up Main Street about ten minutes later, past Lilah’s shop. The Closed sign was already up. She was on her way to Minneapolis already and the thought of her trying on bridal dresses filled him with a blaze of hope. His mind was already racing with ideas. After talking to Megan, he’d realized how many possibilities were out there. Solid, important stories that might do some good in the world. Might help some of those kids silently suffering from sexual molestation – or the adults whose lives were shadowed by shameful memories. This was his chance to do something really important and it had been Lilah who’d encouraged him. She was good for him. She’d shaken him out of his lazy, lai
d back stupor and reintroduced him to the enthusiastic idealist he’d been in college.
Passing the police station, he waved at Brad Brenner who was deep in conversation with one of the blue overcoat guys he’d seen in The Beanery, then he turned right onto Pine Street. Ranch style bungalows built in the sixties lined the road. Herb lived alone. His wife, Alma had died of cancer a couple of years ago. Nick remembered the funeral. The entire town had turned out for it. And there’d been a huge memorial. An angel with outstretched wings stood over the plot which was covered with a field of wreaths and bouquets.
He pulled up outside Herb’s cream coloured bungalow. The driveway was newly shoveled and the stray snow had been swept into a neat pile. A low white picket fence enclosed carefully manicured evergreen globes. Topped with a thick coating of snow, they resembled large cupcakes. Nick parked in the driveway and, grabbing his bag, headed towards the front door. The doorbell played a melodic bell chime. Nobody answered. He tried again. Still no answer. Peering through the lace curtains in the side window, he saw the lights were off. Maybe Herb had chickened out at the last minute. He rang the doorbell once more then rapped hard on the door with his fist.
A low buzzing sounded in his ears, and his mouth tasted dry and metallic. Herb had a heart condition. Maybe the thought of the interview had stressed him out too much. Maybe he was lying on the floor in there. Though it was cold outside, Nick began to sweat. He held the doorknob with clammy hands, afraid to try it. Strangely it clicked around, opening easily. He stepped into the darkness that smelled of stale coffee.
“Herb,” he called. “You okay?”
There was no answer. Just the humming of a fridge somewhere and the slow ticking of a clock. Taking off his boots he padded into the kitchen. It was neat, tidy and completely empty. So was the living room, though the TV picture was on and the sound muted.
He felt weird trekking through the bedroom, with its tightly made bed and the newspaper folded on the bedside table, a pair of glasses beside it. Even the bathroom gleamed clean and white. The guest rooms were immaculate, one a shrine to Brad and all his high school and college football trophies. That only left the basement. Maybe he’d fallen on the stairs. Nick crossed through the kitchen and located the basement light. He pushed the basement door, holding his breath at the cool mustiness, then stepped onto the staircase. He stumbled towards the handrail, and just stopped himself from falling. There, hanging from a bare cross beam was Herb Brenner, his head slumped towards his right shoulder and his face bloated and purple. A kitchen chair lay tipped onto its side below him.
Lilah Page 16
