Redemption Lake

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  Radhauser searched the room for evidence of another child. All the available wall space held enlarged and framed photographs of a smiling toddler with curly, raven-colored hair. In one of them, she rode a pink pony on wheels. In another, she sat, belted into a yellow plastic swing, Baxter behind her, his big hands grasping the chains on either side.

  Radhauser looked away. Maybe Millie was right. Maybe Baxter had his own mental breakdown after his kid died. Pretty damn hard not to. Maybe it eased some of the grief to pretend she still lived. Radhauser shook his head. Hadn’t he used a similar coping mechanism this morning when he’d left the lariat on Lucas’ grave? If he told anyone, they’d think he was headed back to Palo Verde.

  Baxter stood in front of the television. Phillies swamping the Dodgers. Mike Schmidt at bat.

  As he picked up the remote and muted the sound, Radhauser thought about the posters on Travis’s bedroom walls.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Baxter? This won’t take long.”

  The springs creaked as Baxter dropped into his recliner.

  Outside the sliding glass door, Radhauser spotted a patch of newly mown and edged grass—rare for Tucson. “Nice yard,” he said, trying to put Baxter at ease. “Do you have a sprinkler system?”

  “Yeah, I do, and a gardener. You may think it’s faggy, but I like plants, especially flowering ones. Are you with the water police?”

  “Just noticing, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m noticing you’re taking up my time on my day off. What do you want?”

  “When was the last time you saw Crystal Reynolds?”

  “Friday,” he said, without hesitation. “I shoulda seen her on Saturday, too, cause she was scheduled to work the late shift all weekend, but she didn’t show. After all I—” He stopped, started again. “Well, suffice it to say, I was pissed.”

  “Does she miss work often?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Too often lately.”

  Radhauser leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and focused his attention on Baxter’s eyes to see his reaction to the news. “I’m afraid she no longer needs your employment. Crystal Reynolds was found dead in her home last night.”

  Baxter sat up straight and grimaced as if the news had physically hurt him. “Oh shit. I…I don’t know what to say. You must think I’m some kind of emotionless prick.”

  Yeah, Radhauser thought, I do. But he gave Baxter a moment, watching him carefully for any sign Crystal’s death wasn’t news to him.

  Baxter slapped his forehead. “You stupid fuck. She was dead. Now I know why she didn’t come to work. Oh God. How’s her kid doing? How’s Travis?”

  “As good as anyone could be,” Radhauser said. “Given what he came home to last night.”

  “How did she die?”

  “A severed carotid artery.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, real shock on his face. “You mean Travis was the one who found her?” Baxter hung his head for a moment, and when he lifted it again his eyes filled with tears.

  Radhauser gave him a moment before he asked, “Do you know if she had a boyfriend? Or dated anyone?”

  Baxter hesitated and fiddled with the controls on the side of his chair, raised the footrest, then lowered it again. He lifted his hands, palms up, empty, as if holding no answers. “Women,” he said. “You know how it goes. I might as well tell you. Me and Crystal had an off-and-on thing. I was never all that serious about her. Good thing, I guess. For the last couple months, it’s been mostly off. That is unless she was lonely, horny or drunk. Or if she needed to borrow money. She’d get all lovey-dovey, promise me anything, and I looked real good to her then.”

  “This is a routine question,” Radhauser said. “I’m asking everyone who knew Crystal. Where—”

  “I was right here,” Baxter said. “I worked tables until about 10pm, then crashed in front of the tube. Never left the premises.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “Ask that nosey Millie. She watches my place like a hawk. I keep meaning to get rid of that motion light over my garage.”

  “Have you ever seen Crystal with another man?”

  Baxter laughed. “A guy waited for her in the Spur parking lot a few times. Fancy dresser. I suspected…but Crystal, she always denied anything romantic.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  Baxter shook his head. “Crystal may have introduced him once, but I’m not good with names.”

  “Do you know what kind of car he drove?”

  “Yeah. A gas-guzzler. Lincoln Mark V. Four years old but looked brand new. Pretty thing. White with a baby blue top.”

  Radhauser’s gaze returned to the dollhouse. There was something about it that wouldn’t let him go. He nodded toward the wall of photographs. “That’s one beautiful little girl. She yours?”

  “She was,” Baxter said, his face stripped of color. He stood, crossed the room, straightened one of the frames, took a step back to examine it, then straightened it again.

  For a moment Radhauser felt as if this man had turned inside out in front of him, as if Radhauser were witness to something between a father and his child as intimate as a bedtime story.

  “Do you believe in reincarnation?” Baxter asked.

  “I don’t know much about it.”

  Baxter’s dark eyes sparkled. “Sometimes, when a person dies young, they come back real quick because they didn’t get the things done they were supposed to. I just hope I recognize my Becka when she does.”

  Radhauser nodded, thanked Baxter and left.

  From the phone booth outside The Silver Spur, Radhauser called O’Donnell and asked him to do a check with the motor vehicle department and see if they could get a list of 1985 Lincoln Mark V owners. There probably wouldn’t be more than a few hundred in the metropolitan Tucson area. O’Donnell bitched about it, called it a needle in a haystack. But, what the hell, they had to start somewhere.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With all four windows rolled down, Matt drove the short distance to his mother’s house, hoping he could help Travis with Crystal’s memorial. The spring desert smelled like dust and creosote. As he turned onto her dirt road and drove straight toward the northern face of the Catalina Mountains, the wind tossed his hair across his face, scratching his eyes.

  The suburbs of Tucson hadn’t spread this far north yet and the Sonoran Desert was still pristine. Prickly pears sported bright yellow wax-like flowers. Ocotillos flew red blossoms from the tips of their branches like flags. There were barrel cacti crowned with rings of orange flowers, and both teddy bear and longhorn cholla. Giant Saguaros rose in clusters around him, their thick green arms pointed toward the blue and cloudless sky.

  When he pulled into the gravel driveway, Phaedrus, Nate’s German Shepherd, ran alongside the car, a yellow Frisbee dangling from his mouth. Matt parked the car, opened the door and stepped out. Phaedrus dropped the Frisbee at Matt’s feet, licked his hand and turned in circles around him. He smelled of damp fur.

  Matt knelt in the gravel, patted the dog for a moment, scratching his ears and rubbing his muzzle. He picked up the Frisbee and tossed it down the driveway. Phaedrus raced after it.

  The hacienda-style ranch house had thick adobe walls, arched windows, and a mission tile roof that blended with the colors of the desert. A Mexican-tiled courtyard opened off the front room. The backyard pool was enclosed within another half-moon shaped adobe wall. Behind it, the rugged northern face of the Catalina Mountains rose, a backdrop as striking as a postcard. He hurried around back and entered through the kitchen door.

  His mother stood in her bare feet at the laundry room sink, staring at the brown stains smeared down the front of his tuxedo shirt. She plugged the sink, started the cold water and then sprayed stain remover on the shirt. She let it sit for a moment, then thrust the shirt into the water and swished it around a few times, but the stain remained.

  Matt stepped up behind her. He stared into the sink, as tiny red swirls that were unmist
akably blood undulated in the water like smoke curling from a chimney. “I told you I’d take care of that stain.”

  She flipped around to face him, stared at him for a long time. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

  Right, Matt thought. He could tell her how he’d had sex with Crystal. How he’d drunk himself stupid. He said nothing.

  “That stain on your shirt is blood, isn’t it?”

  Matt turned away.

  She grabbed his arm. “Is it Crystal’s blood?”

  “You think I killed Crystal? You think I’m capable of killing someone I loved?”

  “No, honey. Of course not. I know you were upset at the wedding and I thought you may have gone to Catalina looking for Travis. Thought maybe you’d found Crystal and tried to help. If that’s what happened, you need to tell Detective Radhauser.”

  “I was crying,” he said. “After your wedding. And then I had a nosebleed. Are you happy now?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, held it under the ice dispenser until it filled with cubes, then dumped them all into the laundry room sink.

  “Let me do it,” Matt said. He rubbed the stained spots with an ice cube until his hands were so cold he could barely feel them. When the blood began to lighten, he left the shirt to soak. A few minutes later, the ice had done its job, broken down the hemoglobin and most of the stains were out.

  “Put a cup of bleach in the machine,” his mother said. “It will take out any residue.”

  Matt did as he was told, set the dial for a small load and when the washtub began to agitate, he dropped in the shirt, hoping that would be the end of it.

  He sat at the counter in the kitchen. The silence in the house seemed to vibrate and hum. Sunday’s newspaper lay folded on the blue tile countertop, but he didn’t open it. “How come you and Crystal stopped being friends?”

  Karina glanced at the clock that was part of the front panel of the stove. It made a constant grinding noise, which Matt thought of as the sound of time passing.

  “I should be working on the Eagle Dancer,” she said. It was the Hopi Kachina stained-glass window she’d been commissioned to make for the new bank on Oracle Road.

  “Did you have a fight or something?”

  “No. It was nothing like that. You stopped playing baseball, my business took off, then your father and I—”

  Travis stumbled into the kitchen. It was one in the afternoon. He looked exhausted, his blue eyes bloodshot, his hair wild and sticking out on both sides as if he’d spent most of the night tossing. A sleep crease stained the right side of his face red.

  He stared at them brokenly. “It was only a bad dream, right?” His face and eyes puffy with sleep, he sounded like a much younger child.

  Karina set down her coffee mug, swiveled the stool around and opened her arms.

  Travis stepped into them.

  “No, honey. I’m so sorry. But it wasn’t.”

  He dropped his head onto her shoulder for a moment. “It was always Crystal and me,” he said. “Now I…”

  Karina stroked the back of his head and neck.

  He rocked in her arms, his hands up between them, clenched into fists on his chest. He let her hold him, but only for a moment. “What am I gonna do now?”

  “Your mother would want you to go to college and play baseball—just like you planned.”

  “I used to think college was important…”

  The phone rang.

  Karina answered, listened for a moment, then put her hand over the receiver and turned to Travis. “It’s Reverend Williamson from Narrow Way Church. He wants to talk to you.” She handed him the phone, then beckoned to Matt and they left the kitchen to give him some privacy.

  When they heard him hang up, they returned.

  “I’m supposed to meet him at 2:30,” Travis said. “He’s gonna help me plan a memorial service for my mom.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Karina said. “Do you want Matt or me to drive you over or go with you?”

  He shook his head. “Jennifer and her parents will meet me at the church. I can take Mom’s Escort.”

  Matt knew there was no earthly help for this kind of pain. Maybe a church was what Travis needed now. God looking on with His eye on the sparrow.

  “How about some breakfast before you go?” Karina asked.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have to eat. You’ll get sick if you don’t. And that won’t help anyone.”

  “So why did you and my mom stop hanging out? Did you have a big fight or something?”

  She bent to pull a frying pan from beneath the stove. “Why would you think that?”

  “You used to do stuff together. Make banners for our teams and cupcakes for class parties.”

  “You and Matt outgrew team mothers, cupcakes, and banners. And after the divorce…well…I guess I needed to lick my wounds.” She told him the same thing she’d told Matt; her glass business had taken off and she didn’t have time for friends.

  She set the pan on the stove and put her hand on Travis’s shoulder for a moment. “The important thing for you to remember is she loved you more than anything and was very proud of you,” she said, then headed to the refrigerator.

  She fried up a pound of bacon, scrambled six eggs, toasted four pieces of wholewheat bread, and set two plates in front of them.

  “It’s a feast,” Travis said, and to Matt’s relief he began to eat and was still eating when the front doorbell rang.

  Matt hurried into the entryway and opened the door.

  Phaedrus sat on his haunches, his snout pointed up at Detective Radhauser who crouched down, rubbing the dog’s ears.

  Matt sucked in a breath. Please, don’t let him be here for the tuxedo shirt. “I hope he didn’t jump on you,” he said, his heart thumping. “Phaedrus can be quite the lover.”

  Radhauser tipped his Stetson and smiled. “I like dogs, especially Shepherds,” he said, his right hand still resting on Phaedrus’ head. “I gave one to my son for his sixth birthday.”

  “How old is your son now?” Matt asked.

  Radhauser cleared his throat and when he spoke, his voice was steady and strong, but his pauses were off, as if he’d started on the wrong breath. “My son died when he was thirteen.” He looked over the acres of undeveloped desert. “It’s great you live in a place where your dog can run free.”

  “Actually, it’s Nate’s dog.”

  Matt’s mother joined him in the entry. “The land was one of the reasons Nate and I bought the house,” she said. “But it’s Sunday. Don’t you ever get a day off?”

  He stared at her silently for a moment. “Not when I’m working a case. I hoped you could help me with something. It will only take a minute or two.”

  “Are you any closer to discovering how and why she died?”

  “We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  Matt held his breath. If Radhauser asked for the shirt, he’d have to tell him it was in the washing machine. If he got anywhere near it, he’d smell the bleach in the water. He held that piece of information like a hot stone in his chest.

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” Radhauser said. “I’m establishing a timeline for everyone involved and need to verify where Matt was last night.”

  Karina stuffed her hands into the pockets of her sweat pants. Her fingers twitched inside them.

  “Matt’s not involved. He’s a good boy, an honor student. He’s never been in any kind of trouble,” Karina said, as if Matt weren’t in the room. “Besides, he was at my wedding last night.”

  The detective’s expression softened. “It’s part of a routine investigation.”

  Matt breathed. Radhauser hadn’t come for the shirt.

  “What time did he leave?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “It ended early. Travis was at his dance. Knowing my son, he was probably hanging out at the mall with Danni and her friends.” She stepped aside so Radhauser
could enter.

  He took off his Stetson, fiddled with it for a moment, creasing and denting the crown. “I’ll need addresses for Matt’s friends.”

  “My address book is in the kitchen,” she said.

  Both Radhauser and Matt followed. “Don’t bother, Mom. When I left the wedding, I was upset and I drove around for awhile. Later, I headed out to Marana to see Travis after the dance.”

  Travis stopped eating, pushed back his barstool and swiveled around to face the detective. “Have you found out who killed my mother?” There was an accusation in his voice, a hint of anger in his eyes.

  Radhauser retracted a step and shook his head, a careful and almost sad gesture. “We haven’t completely ruled out a suicide.”

  “There is no way my mother would do that.” Travis blinked and tilted his head back, like Matt had seen men do when they tried to keep tears from spilling, but Travis’s tears fell anyway. He wiped them with the back of his hand.

  “I’m working hard on the case, son.” He described the car Millie had seen Crystal get into last night. “Do you know anyone who drives a vehicle like that?”

  Travis looked frozen—his eyes wide and unblinking, his fork full of scrambled eggs poised an inch from his mouth.

  Matt locked gazes with him for an instant and then opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. A grenade thrown into the room could not have shocked him any more.

  Radhauser’s description of the car repeated itself like white noise inside his head with the volume turned up.

  “Matt’s father drives a car like that,” Travis finally said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At his interview with Matt’s girlfriend, Danielle Warren, Radhauser learned Matt had left her house around 7:30pm—angry enough to rip a necklace from her throat.

  Travis Reynolds’ dance ended at midnight. That was a lot of time unaccounted for. And the kid seemed squirrelly—more nervous than he should be. Radhauser needed to talk to Matt again without his mother or Travis present. But not as much as he needed to talk to Loren Garrison.

  It was a little after 2pm on Sunday when Radhauser pulled up in front of the sprawling stucco and adobe ranch house. He drove around the center island, expertly landscaped with boulders and giant multi-limbed Saguaros, and parked in the circular driveway. He walked through the arched façade and onto a Mexican-tiled porch with pots of hanging petunias someone had recently deadheaded—probably a gardener.