by Ann Minnett
"Leave him be." Kirk motioned with his fork. "He needs to think."
Yes. Kirk had lived through the teenage years of two boys and a girl. But their drama surely paled in comparison to what Zane witnessed Wednesday and what he’d learned about his family in the past hour.
"Ladies, we have a bigger problem than Zane's family tree." Kirk's pale blue eyes and lofted white eyebrows radiated calm. The big man gestured for them all to come back to the table. Something about Kirk’s willingness to take it down a notch drew them in.
"The news will start soon," Lark said. She turned on the TV and muted the sound. "What did you do with your clothes from last night?"
"I burned my good fleece jacket." Nora ringed her wrist with her fingers. "Bloody cuffs."
Dee coughed until she choked. She popped a lozenge. "I washed my clothes today. Nothing on them, though."
"I burned Mason's sweatshirt in the sink,” Lark said. “Zane's jeans and jacket were spotted, too, so they're gone." She fidgeted. "My clothes are still in the closet."
"No!" Nora stood up in alarm. "You were covered in blood!"
"I know. I know. I'll burn them, too, but I've been thinking we need to give Zane as many answers as we can."
Their blank stares showed they didn’t follow her meaning.
"I want to use Rob's blood for a paternity test. Don't we owe it to Zane and to ourselves?"
Dee flailed her arms in dramatic fashion. "I'll turn myself in."
Lark patted Dee’s arm. "Stop talking like that."
"It's all my fault from the very beginning."
"Stop it!" Lark snapped. The thought that she lost her temper with Dee's whining brought her up short. They all felt a lot of pressure, especially Dee.
"Take it easy, Lark," Nora said, gripping the table edge.
Dee whimpered, "I actually drove past the police department today—"
Lark whirled around. "You didn't."
"—but then I thought about this story coming out, and I couldn't do it."
"Jesus, Dee." Lark controlled the urge to slap some sense into her friend.
"I mean it." Dee begged for their support and received none. "I started it. I have no remorse for shooting him. Someone had to shut him up from saying those things."
"We all did wrong last night," Lark said with head in hands. Another headache crept up her neck and into her temples.
Dee said, "I just don't want this story to come out. Zane can't be hurt any further."
Nora tapped Dee on her knee. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"
"Stop, you two." Lark closed her mouth, afraid to say more until she calmed herself. She watched Kirk take the last bite from his carton like nothing worried him. She continued, "We need to know who we killed. He admitted he should have killed me when he had the chance. And remember he told Zane he was his father. Rob Whalen wasn’t innocent." Her words sounded more confident than she felt. "I'm submitting a blood sample from Rob and a sample from Zane for DNA testing."
Dee didn't say another word, although she nodded when Lark asked her not to turn herself in yet. And Lark had thought Mason was the weak link. She massaged her right temple but suddenly remembered the evening news. She retrieved the remote to turn up the volume.
KPAX, Missoula's CBS affiliate, broke the news of a counterfeiter passing fake twenties in Kalispell and followed with a weather teaser about unseasonably high snowfall. They went to commercial, and Lark switched to the NBC station. A reporter in near blizzard conditions declared three feet of snow had fallen in Bozeman.
“Who cares?” Lark shouted at the screen, punching the remote for the last local news option. Commercial. “Dammit!”
For the next fifteen minutes, Lark continually scanned the three newscasts, but none recounted the story of a house fire, much less a burned body. She turned off the TV in disgust.
"It’s a long way up there," Nora said dubiously. "It's conceivable no one noticed a fire. And the snowfall could have snuffed it out."
"But alarms went off,” Lark said, pacing. “And Flathead County called Rob’s phone as soon as it got smoky in the house. Someone would have checked it out last night."
Kirk snapped his fingers, trying to recall something. "What's the name of the guy who lives up there? Alex?"
"Axel," Dee responded. "He's been working in Williston, the last I heard, but I could call him."
Lark drew on her cigarette. She was smoking way too much and beyond caring. "Well, we can't just, you know, call up Axel to see if he's back home and ask if he saw a fire or a dead body."
Nora gestured at the blank TV screen. "Heavy snowfall could have hampered the investigation."
“What investigation?” Kirk said.
“Any investigation.” Nora stomped into the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder, “Keep up with the conversation, Kirk.”
Nora’s unaccustomed bitchiness toward her husband quieted them.
"But they would have found a body… surely." Dee’s words muffled behind a tissue.
"They will, if I have to report it myself," Lark said. Lark retrieved her phone from the counter.
“What?” Dee coughed. “You can’t call it in.”
“I’ve got to do something.”
Nora returned with the coffee pot and filled Kirk’s cup. “We just have to wait it out.”
Of course, they were right, but the burden of having burned the body interfered with Lark’s ability to breathe. She told herself, Rob died before she set the fire.
Otherwise, she had burned a man alive.
CHAPTER 23
Zane walked dark quiet streets, compelled to explode, but how? Where? He wanted to talk to Katie, but then again not. He roamed aimlessly and roundabout found himself at her street corner. Lights shone from windows in every Craftsman-style house, but families were winding down for the night.
Normal families lived in the similar houses. Normal kids. He knew sophomore and junior brothers who lived across from Katie, but mostly little kids lived on her block. She babysat for some of them. He stopped by the curbside mailbox where a wild four-year-old and baby lived. A few days ago, he snuck over not long after Katie got them both to sleep. They had watched TV and made out a little, but for a couple of hours they had fun pretending they lived there.
Zane’s strength and resolve drained away. Relieved to see the television on through the front windows, he knocked on Katie's door. Her father roused from his chair, turned on the porch light, and opened the door.
"Zane?" Her dad's puffy eyes showed he'd been asleep in front of the TV. "It's late.” He stuck his head out, adjusted his glasses and peered up and down the street. “How'd you get here?"
"I walked, Mr. Mathissen." Zane kept his hands in his pockets. "Can I talk to Katie for a minute?"
"The phone wouldn't do?"
If only he were older, there would be no gatekeeper at Katie's door. Zane wanted to grab the old man's t-shirt and jerk him out of the way.
"I left without it," he lied. "Mom and I argued, and I started walking, and here I am." He smiled.
Mr. Mathissen stepped back into the small foyer. "Just for a minute."
Katie's mother, in her floor length robe and hair clipped high on her head passed them. "I'll get her."
As soon as her father and Zane sat uncomfortably, Katie pivoted around the corner. "Hi. Is something wrong?" Her light brown hair sprouted every which way. She wore those plaid tights he hated and his old 8th grade Bulldog Football sweatshirt. She looked so adorable, his heart dropped.
Every part of his body but especially his facial muscles tingled with the relief of her nearness. He wanted to give up to grief in her presence, but his mouth stayed tightly shut. Instead, he grimaced a flat-lipped smile and shrugged.
She knew. She could tell.
So could her parents. "Mike, let's go to bed. You two can have the living room." Mrs. Mathissen held out her hand to her husband as she scuffed down their hallway.
Mr. Mathissen started to fol
low his wife, turned around, and patted Zane's shoulder. "It's a school night. Be out by eleven." He left them alone.
That and Katie's body leaning into his side crumpled Zane's stoic demeanor. She held him, and he spilled his grief about the rape and his real mother and his fucked-up life. And she listened. He just wanted her to listen. He did not reveal that his biological mother killed his probable biological father. He blocked out the rapist's identity. Last night's murder, the cover up, the cluster-fuck that was his life and future receded, untouchable. The shooting and his shit-talking seemed like a month ago.
With only a couple hours sleep in the past twenty-four, Zane's tired body slumped, and his head rested on Katie's lap. She brushed the hair from his forehead and rubbed his temples. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him with such tenderness. His large hand rested on her thigh, on the red and blue plaid tights she loved and now he did, too. He felt her heartbeat on the inside of her knee.
* * *
Zane awoke as if pulled from a deep well, breathless and fighting to be released back into dark safety of its depths.
Katie's dad loomed overhead. "Wake up. I'll drive you home." He gripped Zane’s arm.
Thick spit running down his chin embarrassed him. He rubbed itchy eyes. Katie pushed his shoulders to sitting.
"What time is it?"
"It's midnight," Mr. Mathissen said, releasing his grip. "I'll drive you home."
Like a zombie, Zane followed him out of the house. He was unaware of holding Katie's hand until she tugged, staying behind, and kissed his rough knuckles.
He was pretty sure he loved her. He obeyed Mr. Mathissen.
The car idled in the driveway as he folded his long legs inside.
"I won't ask what happened." Her dad wore flannel pajama pants, a t-shirt, and beat up house shoes.
Zane thanked him for turning on the seat heaters.
"But I'll offer you some advice that always works for me." The man sat as tall as Zane but had a way of talking that left no doubt he could kick Zane's ass. Not that he talked all that much, and especially not to Zane. "Nobody's perfect, but your mom is doing the best she can."
Zane looked out his window so he wouldn't blow up. He thought, what the fuck do you know about it? But he said, "You don't understand."
"Whatever is going on, you should talk it out with her."
"What's it like to be normal?" Zane shocked himself with the question, not to mention his anger. "I mean…" He lost his nerve.
"You're talking about nice house, mom, dad, two kids?"
Zane nodded. "And no drama."
"You don't know that." Mr. Mathissen stopped the car on the deserted street in front of Valley Florist. The traffic light switched to a four-way blinking red up ahead. "You're comparing your insides to our outsides, and you'll always come up short doing that."
Zane gritted his teeth. "You don't get it." He pulled the door latch to get out and walk the remaining blocks. Locked. He jerked at the lever again and again with his whole body to rip the fucking car apart.
"Wait." Katie’s dad gripped Zane's shoulder, and the car pulled away from the curb. "I was raised by my mom—did you know that?"
Well, I wasn't, Zane thought.
"And I had five older sisters who just loved to tell me what to do."
Big fucking deal.
They arrived at the condo, outside lights blazing. Aunt Nora's truck hadn't budged.
"I found out my oldest sister was really my mother." The car idled. "My birth certificate showed Barbara had me when she was fourteen."
Zane stopped to reconsider Katie's dad.
"All those women raised me." He looked toward the rumble of railroad cars trundling slowly west through the sleeping town. "But I felt betrayed by them, too. No doubt about it."
"What did you do?"
"Ran off and joined the Navy, before graduating high school." He smiled for the first time ever in Zane's presence. "I don't recommend it."
"I never knew any of this. Katie never said."
"She knows some of the story, but she also knows it's my story to tell." He did the manly thump on Zane's shoulder once again. "My point is, this is not the end."
"You heard me, then?"
"I heard some of it, and I'm sorry." The door locks released. "Go get some sleep."
Kirk and Nora appeared on the condo's tiny porch as Zane sauntered up the short sidewalk.
"We were just going to look for you, boy." Kirk held the door open, but Nora forced a hug on him before she'd let him pass by.
"We love you, kid," she whispered. "A lot of people love you.
* * *
Lark had watched Zane get out of Mathissen’s car. She waited nervously, fearing he had confided in Katie. He stumbled into the condo looking like the world weighed him down.
Before she could speak, he said, "Mom, I can't talk about it right now.”
She took heart that he called her Mom without hesitation. Dee snorted, asleep on the couch, once again drugged by Nyquil and unable to drive home—perhaps a good thing. At least Dee wouldn't rashly turn herself in on her own.
Snot dribbled down Lark’s lip. Already her raw throat hurt when she swallowed. She was getting Dee’s cold, dammit. She took Vitamin C tablets and Nyquil (if only to knock herself out and finally sleep), locked up, and set her alarm for 5:00 a.m. She counted all the people who now knew what happened in the cabin and how many others would soon suspect or ask questions.
On her fingers, she ticked off: Nora, Dee, Kirk, Mason, Zane, and herself. Now Katie. Katie's family? Other folks who could connect them with Rob: anyone at McCord's saw Rob at their table. Oh no, Lulu and Sky. Melanie? Patty. Jenean and the other women at the post office would make a connection. Who else? The thought that Mason's dreadful family might learn about the killing made her skin crawl. Neighbors. Rob had talked to her out front of their condo. Shit.
Alice, of course. Attorney-client privilege and all that. Didn't that count? She'd told Alice about her suspicions, but Alice would put the puzzle pieces together soon enough. Should she hire Alice as her attorney now?
Lark fell into a drugged sleep, worried she had forgotten someone.
* * *
Despite feeling lousy with her cold, Lark cleaned the law office and tanning studio early Friday morning and even went to a new client's house around noon after a brief nap that only made her sinuses break loose. She cleaned less well than her usual and left by two o’clock. She also left half the money the client had paid as goodwill for her subpar job, explaining that she had gotten sick and went home early.
At home, she made hot tea and searched online for an inexpensive paternity test, surprisingly easy to arrange for the mother of a minor. Thankfully, the more expensive legal test wasn't necessary for her purpose because Rob's paternity would never be needed in court.
She downloaded the lab's release form and instructions for sampling. Next, she wrote a close-to-hot check for four hundred dollars that she would cover by Monday afternoon. She recycled the last of Rob's padded envelopes for mailing the form, a check, a small patch of her own shirt stained with Rob’s blood in a baggy, and Zane's toothbrush (also bagged) for matching. She drove the two blocks to the post office and hoped like hell Jenean wouldn't be there. Sure enough, Jenean was one of two working the counter on the busy end-of-workweek afternoon.
Lark got in line, coughing and sneezing to avoid any conversation with Jenean. She coughed into her elbow vampire style. She blew her temporarily dried up nose. She spoke to the husband of a former client, also in line behind her, and whispered her voice huskier than normal. One more coughing bout and the elderly woman in front of her moved to the back of the line.
The gods smiled. Val called Lark up for service and nodded in her busy silent greeting before asking Lark to read the scan pad. Apparently they no longer asked several questions before accepting a parcel. Lark signed off and paid two fifty-seven to mail the padded envelope.
"Hand sanitizer, Val,
" Lark whispered, flagging her tissue. She waved it at Jenean and hurried out the exit.
The left turn out of the post office parking lot to Baker this time of day proved to be a bitch. As Lark waited for an opening, a queasy niggling spread. Not understanding, she mentally followed the thread, like a stream of cars. Once received, the lab's basic analysis would take only two business days. Then they promised to mail the results. She figured she had a week to get used to the idea of knowing whether Rob Whalen had fathered Zane. Unsure which result she hoped for, she began to question finding out at all.
She stomped on the gas and swerved left toward home. A sedan with skis strapped to the roof carrier skidded, barely avoiding her Subaru's crunched fender. The driver didn't even honk at her, which she would have undoubtedly done to them. They must be relaxed tourists who wouldn't allow her half-assed driving to ruin their vacation. Her tissue fluttered in apology, and she cried all the way home.
She felt like shit in more ways than she could count. All gears in her life meshed too quickly. Zane, her friends, her own damn spinning head. Being sick gave her too much time to think, and none of her thoughts were positive.
And not one of the Dirty Half-Dozen, as she secretly referred to herself and the others, was talking to her. Mason worried her, of course, but she dared not contact him. Zane helped Patty and Ozzy after school and stayed quiet except for one text before 5:00p.m.:
Dinner at Katie’s with the family.
"With the family," Lark whined. Sure, she was jealous of Katie's family life and the time Zane spent there. If roles were reversed, she'd hang out with the Mathissens, too.
She felt so sorry for herself. With no news being worse than bad news, she fought the urge to drive up Star Meadow Road and see for herself. Was it possible that a body would burn to nothing in a fully involved fire? And that no one would notice? Lark thought not. By Friday evening, she dared to hope The Dirty Half-Dozen had dodged a bullet. At high elevations, spring thaw wouldn’t occur for another two months—time enough to resume normalcy and distance themselves from their crimes.
