Redemption Lake

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  He rang the bell.

  Matt opened the door.

  The kid hadn’t wasted any time getting back here. Radhauser hoped he’d listened to him and not warned his father about the car.

  Matt took a step back, a look of fear spreading over his face. “Detective Radhauser. Is something wrong?”

  A walnut-haired girl, dressed in black denim jeans and a bright red T-shirt with a sequined peace sign on the front, stood behind him.

  Matt moved aside.

  Radhauser stepped into the entry, one of those fancy Italian-tiled rooms with a huge cherry-wood grandfather clock set against the wall. The brass pendulum made a faint ticking sound as it swung. He took off his Stetson and held it in his left hand.

  Matt introduced his sister, Sedona.

  “When I was little, I read all the Nancy Drew mysteries. I wanted to be a detective.” She paused and smiled. “Of course, I was ten. Now I’m aspiring to be a movie star.” She did a couple of tap dance steps, then bowed from the waist.

  Matt soft punched her shoulder. “Her thirteenth birthday was Thursday. This time last week, she was mere child of twelve.”

  Radhauser smiled and offered his hand.

  She took it.

  Her hand was small and impossibly soft. “Winston Radhauser,” he said. “But you can call me Wind.” He encouraged the familiarity with kids, believing it disarmed and sometimes led to revelations that might not ordinarily be made.

  Sedona raised her eyebrows and gave him a dazzling white smile.

  This kid would break some hearts. And she took good care of her teeth, too.

  “As in breaking wind,” she said, deadpan.

  Radhauser laughed. So much for familiarity. He’d heard that one before, but never from a thirteen-year-old girl. “Exactly. You can imagine the caliber of jokes I endured in high school. That one doesn’t even make the top ten.”

  Matt shook his head. “She’s like that with everyone. Totally obnoxious.”

  A door opened on the other side of the living room and a silver-haired man stepped out and hurried toward the entryway. Radhauser guessed him to be about six-foot-two—his body slender and hard muscled. He wore a pair of navy blue trousers and a crisp white shirt, professionally laundered and left open at the neck. The initials LPG were embroidered in pale blue on the cuffs. His cordovan loafers were polished to a soft luster, and they sunk deep into the white carpet as he crossed the room.

  As the man moved closer, Radhauser recognized Loren Garrison from a photo he’d seen in the Arizona Daily Star. The professor had a career in philosophy stretching back three decades. Radhauser did the math. Though Garrison looked younger, he’d have to be in his late fifties or early sixties. The article Radhauser read was about a textbook Garrison published. Both Harvard and Yale had committed to using it as their introductory text. No wonder he could afford Italian tile and a gardener.

  “I’m Doctor Garrison. May I help you with something?” The man had an air of superiority—a man used to commanding respect—but there was a cord of tension in his neck that told him Doctor Garrison was nervous.

  Radhauser introduced himself. “I’m here about Crystal Reynolds.”

  The smile froze on Garrison’s lips. “I’m aware she passed away last night. It’s a real tragedy. Especially for Travis. What can I do to be of help?” He led them through the entry, under a used brick archway, and into a family room with a matching fireplace surrounded by cherry cabinets and bookshelves crammed with leather-bound books.

  Sedona and Matt followed. As Sedona passed by the fireplace, she kicked a bulging pink duffel bag closer to the hearth.

  Radhauser stopped and picked up a new textbook from the table in front of the fireplace. He studied the front cover. Debating the Issues of Modern Morality through Intellect, Reasoning and Ethics. “That’s a mouthful. Congratulations. Quite an impressive article in the Daily Star.”

  “The title is too long,” Garrison said. “Not my first choice.” He indicated a leather sofa and loveseat. They were positioned into an L, giving occupants the choice between a view of the fireplace and the wall of windows.

  The kids hung back for a moment before Matt took a seat at a game table with a chess set that looked as if it had a match in progress. Nice life, Radhauser thought.

  The aspiring actress stood off by herself, watching her father, her back against the windows.

  Radhauser took a seat on the sofa. The windows overlooked the northern side of the Catalina Mountains and a landscaped yard with a swimming pool and waterfall. Most of the landscaping was desert but on either side of the waterfall, multicolored rose bushes bloomed. “You have a beautiful place here.” He set his hat, crown down, on the coffee table.

  “May I get you something to drink?” Garrison asked. “A cup of coffee. Or a glass of ice water or lemonade?”

  Radhauser declined.

  Garrison sat on the loveseat facing the fireplace.

  “Do you want to go someplace more private to talk?” Radhauser asked.

  “I have nothing to hide from my children.”

  “I don’t know how well you knew Ms. Reynolds,” Radhauser said. “But it seems you were one of the last people to see her alive.”

  “No. That can’t be true.” His tone was soft, almost mournful. He closed his eyes for a moment as if he didn’t want anyone to see how he reacted. But he continued to shake his head, eyes closed.

  Radhauser gave him a minute. This guy had some strong feelings going on behind his closed eyes. “What was your relationship with Ms. Reynolds?”

  Garrison’s eyes shot open. “She is, I mean she was, the mother of my son’s best friend.”

  Sedona moved closer and stood silently a few feet away, observing her father with no less intensity than Radhauser.

  “What kind of car do you drive, Mr. Garrison?”

  “It’s Doctor Garrison. And I’m not trying to be evasive. I really want to know why you’re interested in my car.”

  Radhauser was used to being a voyeur looking into the cracks and crevices of other people’s lives. And nothing surprised him much. “Because it’s my job to ask questions.”

  Despite everything he’d seen over the years, Radhauser liked to keep his perspective, liked to think his role was to assist people to be forthcoming, rather than punish them for being reticent and suspicious. He waited a few seconds, then asked the question again.

  “I drive a 1985 Lincoln Mark V,” Garrison said. “What difference does it make?”

  “Could it be white, by any chance? Blue Landau top?”

  “Yes. Exactly. What is this all about?”

  “Seems a car fitting that description was seen picking Ms. Reynolds up in the parking lot of The Silver Spur yesterday around 6pm.”

  Garrison’s gaze shifted off Radhauser and landed on the floor.

  “Was she upset?” Matt asked. “Did you do something to make her sad?”

  “I’m conducting this interview, Matt,” Radhauser said, then turned his attention back to Garrison. “These are routine questions, Doctor Garrison. I’m establishing a timeline for the victim. Travis dropped her off at The Spur a little before 6. One of the questions that came up during my investigation was how she’d gotten home.”

  Garrison looked up at his daughter. “Would you and your brother excuse us for a few moments? I’d like to speak privately with Detective Radhauser.”

  Matt took one more shot. “Gracie said she was really happy before you picked her up. What did you do to her?”

  Sedona stepped closer, cocked her head and looked directly at her father, eyes wide and innocent. “You got something to hide, Mr. Morality and Ethics?” she asked, as if going for her Oscar.

  Matt stood up fast and took her arm, nearly pulling her out of the room. He opened a door at the back of the family room that obviously led to a wing of bedrooms. A moment later, Matt and Sedona disappeared, closing the door behind them.

  So much for the nice life. It sure looked like Sedona
had issues with her distinguished father.

  The doorbell rang.

  Sedona burst back in and raced through the family room, grabbing the duffel bag on her way into the entry.

  From where Radhauser sat, he could see her open the front door. “Hey, Nate,” she said, handing him her bag. “Goodbye, Wind,” she yelled, then closed the door and left without a word to her father.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “My daughter blames me for the divorce.”

  Radhauser said nothing. He gave Garrison a moment to collect himself. “What was the nature of your relationship with Crystal Reynolds?”

  Garrison’s expression grew thoughtful as if he were remembering a particular moment—something he’d refused to face earlier. His hair was so neat it looked like fine strands of pewter. This was a man who cared about appearances.

  “Crystal has been a family friend for years,” Garrison said. “She called me yesterday afternoon. Said she was in trouble and needed to talk. When she asked me if I’d pick her up at The Silver Spur around 6, she sounded upset. So, what could I do?” He shrugged. “I drove her home. We had a beer together.” He paused. “We talked for about an hour. When I left, around 7pm, I assure you she was very much alive.”

  “Can you account for your whereabouts after you left Ms. Reynolds’ house?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “You might,” Radhauser said.

  “I came directly home and was here all evening. Sedona was to stay with Matt and me while my ex and her new husband honeymooned. I didn’t know what time they’d drop her off or if they’d call me to pick her up at the reception.”

  “And what time did they phone?”

  “They didn’t. Nate dropped her off around 9:30.”

  “What did Ms. Reynolds want to talk about?”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “You’re certainly entitled to one. We can meet at the police station and finish this conversation there.”

  “Crystal had something private she wanted to confide.”

  “This could be a murder investigation, Doctor Garrison,” Radhauser said. “Nothing will be kept private.”

  Garrison’s normally calm face dropped its mask for a moment, in which Radhauser saw a flash of something that looked like fear. “Murder? Who would want to hurt Crystal?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Radhauser repeated his question.

  “She wanted to borrow money. I wrote her a check.”

  “Why would she come to you for money?”

  Garrison’s brow furrowed. “We’ve bailed her out before. Back when Karina and I were still married. And Crystal always paid us back.”

  “Did she tell you why she needed it?”

  “I assumed rent or groceries.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “No, it’s what I assumed.”

  “How much?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot of groceries.” Radhauser had gone through her purse and wallet and found no check. Travis had the car. The banks would have been closed, even if Crystal had a way to get to one. “Did you happen to see where she put it?”

  Garrison checked his watch. “No. But check behind that baseball picture of Travis she keeps in her wallet.”

  He sounded like a man who’d seen Crystal’s wallet before. Travis had mentioned his mother drank too much and had fallen behind in the rent. Radhauser hadn’t removed the photograph when he’d searched her wallet. Garrison’s check could very well be there. He made a note to follow up.

  “Are we through here?” Garrison asked. “I’ve got a radio interview in less than an hour.”

  “Thank you for your time, Doctor Garrison. Would you mind getting Matt for me?”

  “What’s my son got to do with this? He was at his mother’s wedding until late. Crystal was already dead by the time Matt got to Catalina.”

  Radhauser wasn’t surprised Matt hadn’t told his father he’d left the wedding early. Most teenaged boys never told their parents anything, unless backed into a corner and the information bulldozed out of them. “I need to talk to your son, sir.”

  Garrison left the room and returned a moment later, Matt trailing behind him.

  The boy looked stunned, his face red, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

  “Could you stop by the sheriff’s office today?” Radhauser asked. “I’ll be there until 7pm or so. It’s nothing to be alarmed about. I’ll be asking you the same questions I asked last night, but departmental policy dictates I tape the interview.” This wasn’t true, but Radhauser didn’t want to raise the boy’s anxiety level. “Just routine,” he assured him. “I’ll be calling Travis in, too.”

  Matt seemed to relax a little. “No problem.”

  “I’m coming with him,” Garrison said. “And I’m bringing my lawyer.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’d rather you didn’t. I’m eighteen and I don’t need a parent or a lawyer present. Besides, I’d like to speak privately with Detective Radhauser.”

  If Doctor Loren Garrison noticed the echo, the mocking tone in his son’s voice, he made no comment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After his father’s Lincoln cleared their driveway, headed for University Boulevard and the KUAZ Radio station, Matt raced through the living room to his dad’s bedroom and its attached study.

  Detective Radhauser said his dad was seen picking Crystal up at The Silver Spur yesterday—he was one of the last people to see her alive. He could be the boyfriend Gracie talked about. The man Mrs. Lawrence saw Crystal fighting with in the driveway. His dad could be the reason Crystal had been crying. His dad was a jerk, an asshole for wrecking their family, but he had better sense than to get involved with Travis’s mother. At least, Matt hoped he did.

  Matt rummaged through his father’s roll-top desk, looking for anything that might connect his dad to Crystal. He found nothing. Good, he thought. It was all his imagination. Maybe Crystal needed a ride home. Maybe she tried other people and they weren’t available. Maybe she’d gotten sick. She was a family friend, after all.

  Or maybe she realized it wasn’t the best night for Loren Garrison, with his wife remarrying. Maybe she wanted to give him something to do. To make him feel useful. Crystal was a kind and loving person. Maybe she intended to cheer his father up.

  He checked the dresser drawers, lifted the neat stacks of boxers and undershirts, but found nothing. He examined the carved wooden box where his dad kept his watches and class rings. Matt discovered a silver ID bracelet with thick links of chain he’d never seen his father wear. He picked it up. It was shiny and new-looking, engraved with the name Lore in a fancy script—a nickname he’d never heard his mom call his father. He turned it over and found an inscription. All my love forever, C.

  As if it were scalding hot, Matt let go of the bracelet. It fell to the floor. It was hard for him to say what he felt. A horror about the events of last night, but beneath it a jittery fear neither he nor his father was the person Matt had once believed them to be.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, he warned himself. It could be a bracelet his dad had kept from college, or from a high school girlfriend in a time before he knew Karina. He thought about all the names that began with the letter C. Connie. Coleen. Catherine. Cecelia. Christine. Carole. Dozens.

  When his dad had finally confessed to his affair, the real reason for the divorce, Matt asked him about the other woman. His father claimed it was someone he worked with—someone Matt had never met. No matter how hard he tried to get his mind around the idea, he couldn’t believe his father would have an affair with Crystal.

  Matt dropped to his knees, searched the thick white carpet, found the bracelet and studied it again. Even if it were old, it would still look new if his father had never worn it. Matt stood, and dropped the bracelet back into the box. He shouldn’t be spying on his father like this. He would be livid if his dad rummaged through
his things.

  Despite his efforts, Matt couldn’t stop himself. He needed to find something else—something more definitive. His father was a fanatic about record-keeping. Matt rummaged through the file cabinets, found the folder for his MasterCard bills and pulled out the last three months. He ran his finger down the list of charges. Roses ordered three weeks ago from Desert Florist. There was a delivery charge, but no record of where they’d been delivered.

  Matt pulled out the telephone book, looked up the number and dialed. “This is Loren Garrison. I ordered flowers a few weeks ago, and I’ve been out of town and just discovered they were never received. Could you verify the delivery address for me?”

  The woman on the other end of the line looked through her records. “Where did you intend for them to be delivered, Doctor Garrison?”

  Matt took a chance and gave them Travis’s address in Catalina. He braced himself.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but our records indicate they were delivered to an address on Edison on April 1st and signed for by a Wilma Southwick.”

  Matt breathed. It was his father’s long-time secretary. He’d wanted to send Wilma flowers to celebrate the publication of his textbook—for all the extra work she’d done for him.

  “My mistake,” he said. “Sorry to trouble you.” He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. Sure, his dad lied to him about the affair, but most parents would lie to protect their kid. Matt had lied to Travis for the same reason. It was as if Matt were two people. The Matt who kept hoping Crystal’s death had been a nightmare—that none of it had ever happened. And then there was the sex-craved, wannabe poet Matt, who’d had sex with his best friend’s mom just hours before her death and wanted someone else to blame.

  * * *

  With the squeak of the redwood gate’s hinges, his mother glanced up at him and smiled, her dark eyes lit from the inside. She was kneeling in front of the rose bed, plucking weeds. She wore a pair of jean shorts, a blue sleeveless T-shirt, an old set of his soccer kneepads, and a floppy denim hat with a dorky silk sunflower glued to its upturned brim. “No one home but me,” she said, then told him Travis hadn’t returned from his meeting with Bryan Williamson. “Nate took Sedona to the movies.”