Redemption Lake

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

She looked at the prosecution table where a vaguely familiar-looking man reviewed the contents of a manila folder. The man frowned until his eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose. A moment later, he shook his bald head, closed the file, folded his hands on the table in front of him and smiled, as if pleased by what he’d read. He was in his late forties, with broad shoulders and dark, pitiless eyes. She recognized him from photographs she’d seen in the Arizona Daily Star. Richard Summerfield, the District Attorney.

  The side door opened and the bailiff ordered everyone to rise.

  Summerfield stood, adjusted his tie, buttoned his suit jacket, a charcoal gray pinstripe, perfectly tailored—square across the shoulders and curved inward at his waist. He tucked his right hand into the pocket of his trousers—striking the pose Karina had seen attorneys strike on television.

  Judge Thornton McGuire entered and took his place behind the bench. “Call the case,” he said, nodding to Summerfield, then sank back in his high leather chair.

  Everyone except the District Attorney sat.

  Summerfield smiled. “The People v. Loren Paul Garrison.”

  Judge McGuire turned to the bailiff. “Bring in the defendant.”

  Karina held her breath. She kept pleating and unpleating her skirt.

  Loren, dressed in baggy blue cotton pants and shirt that looked like surgical scrubs, was escorted into the courtroom. His long legs were shackled together at the ankles with an eight-inch chain that rattled with each step. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in the three days since she’d seen him, his eyes and cheeks sunken.

  A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed to force it down.

  She struggled to get her mind around the realization that Loren was in real trouble. No matter how invincible she had always believed him to be, he was now a defendant in a first-degree murder case. Why had she expected that Loren would be treated differently from anyone else charged with so serious a crime?

  She tried to catch his eye, but he kept his gaze straight ahead, shuffling up to the defense table and taking his place beside his attorney, Victor Conrad.

  Judge McGuire waited until Loren stopped behind the defense table and turned to face him. “Are you Loren Paul Garrison?”

  Loren stood, erect as a soldier. “I am, your honor.”

  Summerfield stared at Loren for what seemed to Karina a moment longer than he needed to. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Let the record reflect that I am handing the defendant’s counsel a certified copy of the information charging Loren Paul Garrison with the crime of murder in the first degree in the slaying of Crystal Louise Reynolds and her unborn child.”

  Karina cringed, her gaze riveted on the judge.

  Summerfield crossed the courtroom and handed a single sheet of paper to Conrad, then returned to his seat.

  Without glancing at the document, Conrad laid it face down on the table.

  The judge looked directly at Loren as he read the charges against him. “How do you plead?”

  Loren took an audible breath. “I plead guilty, your honor.”

  Karina heard the slap of her own palms against her cheeks. She held her head in her hands. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  A buzz came from the reporters at the back of the courtroom. Judge McGuire slammed his gavel and demanded order.

  The courtroom silenced.

  Victor Conrad shook his head hard, as if trying to wake himself up from a nightmare. “I’d like a recess, your honor. To confer with my client.”

  “In my chambers,” McGuire said. “Now.”

  As Loren followed his attorney out of the courtroom, he turned and looked at Karina. When she met his gaze, he gave her a sad smile.

  Something pinged inside her mind. A piece of puzzle she hadn’t been able to make fit, snapped into place. Realization trickled over her like ice water. Everything she thought she knew about her ex-husband flew out the window. He hadn’t killed Crystal. He had just lied, risking everything, to protect their son.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  In his mom’s kitchen, Matt thumbed through the Yellow Pages, looking for garage door repairmen. Anderson’s Garage Doors was the first listing. He called the number, expecting to get an answering service. Instead, a woman answered. “Hello.”

  For a moment, Matt thought he’d dialed the wrong number. “I’m sorry. I tried to call Anderson Garage Doors – We do it up and down.”

  She laughed. “We do indeed. Five days a week. But never on Sunday or Monday.”

  “Could you check your records and see if one of your trucks made a service call at 6762 North Harelson Road? It would have been about ten o’clock last Sunday morning.”

  Again, she laughed. “It’s a one-truck, one-man business. Just my husband. And, like I told you, Charlie doesn’t make calls on Sunday or Monday.”

  “Are you sure? Could he have made an exception last week?”

  “Do you have a complaint about your service?”

  “No. Not at all. The service was great. I’m only trying to find the person my dad called so I can thank him. You see, I’m the one who messed up the garage door.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But my husband spends every Sunday and Monday, maintaining the grounds at The Silver Spur Steak House out in Catalina.”

  Matt tightened his hand around the receiver. He felt a surge of energy, as if he needed to run. This had to be more than a coincidence. He was on to something. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “I hope you find who you’re looking for,” she said. “It’s nice to get a compliment instead of complaints.”

  Matt checked his watch. Close to noon. Mom had gone to his father’s arraignment and his sister had stayed home from school with a sore throat. He sprinted down the hallway to her bedroom, tapped on the door and opened it without being invited. All the tall windows were open and the bedroom was full of sunlight.

  Sedona’s face was puffy, her eyes red. But she smiled when she saw him. “What’s with the red shirt? Does it mean we can finally uncover the mirrors?” Her voice was hoarse, either from the sore throat or from crying. “I’ll need them someday. Mom says when I’m fifteen I can wear a little makeup to school. Not that I’ll ever want to show my face there again. Did you hear the shit they’re saying about Dad on the news? Ethics Professor Arrested for Double Murder in Catalina.” Her gaze landed on the Lake Powell logo above his pocket. “You sure you’re okay?”

  It was strange and unexplainable—their father was in jail and being slandered by the press, but Matt couldn’t think of another time since Justin died when he’d been as hopeful as now. “Someone is trying to frame him. And I think I know who.”

  She flinched. Her eyes went wide and he saw the swift tears fill them. But she held firm while he confided everything except the fact that he’d had sex with Crystal. He had wanted to protect her, but time was running out and he needed her help.

  She turned away for a moment and when she looked at him again, her face filled with fear. “Is Dad going to jail?”

  “He’s already there,” Matt said. “Even though you’re pissed off at him, you know he could never kill anyone. And with some help from you, I intend to prove it.”

  “Really? You want me to help you.”

  He nodded. “If you feel up to it.”

  “I’m not really sick.” She leaped out of bed and pulled on a pair of overalls under her nightgown. “I couldn’t face the kids at school.”

  Matt looked at her again, intensely focused on her eyes. “Tell me what that guy who showed up to fix the garage door last Sunday looked like.”

  “Why?”

  “Think about it. The door worked fine when I used it on Saturday night. So why would Dad call for a repair? Who makes service calls on Sunday, then just takes off without even leaving a bill? That man must have planted the scissors in Dad’s car.”

  She tugged a yellow sweater over her head, then maneuvered out of her nightgown. It puddled on the floor at her feet. She kicked it into the closet.
“Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. “But it can’t be a coincidence this garage door guy works as a groundskeeper at The Silver Spur. Maybe he was the one who killed Crystal. Maybe he used to be her boyfriend. Maybe he’s the father of her baby.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe the garage door man saw Dad with Crystal. Maybe he knew about their affair and wanted to blame Dad for her murder.”

  Sedona looked terrified. The red kept rising on her cheeks, like mercury climbing. “Kind of nerdy. Short and stocky. He wore a black baseball cap, but the hair that stuck out from its edges was dark. He had on black-rimmed glasses that made his eyes look gigantic. His white coveralls were way too long for him. He had the legs rolled up like a real dork.”

  “Excellent,” Matt said, impressed by her powers of observation.

  “Sometimes I wish we could rewind Dad. And know him from the beginning.”

  At moments like this, she was not the little girl he’d helped up the steps to their tree house, the girl who’d stolen his Halloween candy, and left her dance leotards on the bathroom floor, or the one who had to be bribed to stand still for her vaccinations. She was insightful, forgiving, and brilliant.

  “Finish getting dressed and I’ll drive you out to The Silver Spur. We’ll see if you recognize their gardener.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Even though Loren Garrison had pleaded guilty, Radhauser kept working the case. No one ever pleaded guilty to a first-degree murder charge unless they’d struck some kind of deal with the District Attorney. Something didn’t feel right.

  He called ahead to make sure Gracie worked the lunch shift. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the garage door repairman Matt had mentioned, the strangeness of his showing up without having been called, and the opportunity he’d had to plant the scissors.

  When he’d called Anderson’s Garage Doors, trying to get an emergency service call, the man’s wife said she wished people would stop phoning. Radhauser pushed her, said he’d pay triple the going rate. Then she told him to call The Silver Spur Steak House out in Catalina. Now that was one big coincidence. And sure enough, the van Matt had described was parked in the lot when Radhauser arrived.

  He pulled into an empty spot and parked his Bronco. Waves of heat rose from the asphalt. When he pulled open the double doors into The Silver Spur, Gracie was on the phone behind the podium, jotting a reservation into the book. She smiled when she spotted him. “If you came back for the pineapple upside-down cake, you’re a little bit early. Baxter hasn’t baked them yet.”

  He tipped his Stetson for a second before taking it off. “I’m here to see you. But I’d love a big glass of iced tea.”

  She smiled uncertainly at her boots, then slid a glance toward the bar where a bartender Radhauser had never seen before served beer to what looked like the same men who’d been here the last time he’d talked to Gracie. She ordered his iced tea and waited for it to be poured.

  “Your usual corner table by the window?”

  “Why not? Can you spare me a few minutes?”

  She nodded and led him around the bar. It smelled like fried onions and beer. They both slid into the booth. “How are your classes going?” Radhauser asked.

  “I’m in the middle of final exams. Memorizing all the bones in the body for anatomy. Did you know the foot has twenty-six? Twenty-eight, if you count the sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe. But you didn’t come here to quiz me.” She paused and smiled. “At least, not on anatomy.”

  “What can you tell me about that Anderson Garage Doors panel truck in the parking lot?” Radhauser took a swig of his tea.

  “That belongs to Charlie,” she said, then confirmed what the man’s wife had told him, that Anderson did the landscaping work on Sunday and Monday mornings. “Baxter pays him in free beer and all the food he can eat. Are you having problems with your garage door?”

  “Yes. And when I saw his truck, I thought this might be my lucky day.”

  “He’s cutting Baxter’s grass. But he’ll be at the bar soon.”

  “I need you to do something for me, Gracie.”

  “What?”

  “Go back to the night Crystal told you she was pregnant.”

  Gracie looked away, then back at him again, her dark eyes wet and accusing. “How do you know she told me that?”

  “Because she was happy, and you were her best friend and she wanted to share that good news with you.”

  Gracie smiled sadly. “She couldn’t wait to tell her boyfriend. She was already planning a May wedding in the courtyard at the Arizona Inn. She said she wanted me to be her bridesmaid.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Did she mention how far along she was in the pregnancy?”

  “About a month. She’d taken a home pregnancy test.”

  Radhauser nodded. So, Crystal had lied to Gracie.

  “This is really important. Did Baxter know?”

  “I didn’t mention the pregnancy,” she said. “Bax was disgruntled over Crystal not showing up when he’d expected her to work the bar. I tried to explain how excited she was about planning a wedding.”

  “How did Baxter take the news?”

  “He started pacing, and muttering to himself about what an idiot he’d been. At first, I couldn’t make sense out of it. Apparently, he’d had some papers drawn up making Crystal a co-owner of The Spur. He said they’d planned to have a baby together. Maybe even get married.”

  “Did you have any idea he and Crystal were romantically involved?”

  “There were some rumors. But Crystal never confirmed any of them. And she bitched about him as much as the rest of us.” Gracie gave him a sad smile. “Crystal wasn’t a bad person. She just wanted to be loved. And she was an expert at getting men to fall for her. Now that I think about it, it’s probably why Millie didn’t like Crystal very much.” Gracie’s eyes lit with mischief for an instant. And in that moment, Radhauser could see what she must have looked like as a little girl.

  For the first time since his wife and son died, Radhauser felt the stirrings of tenderness for another woman. Gracie was at least a decade younger, but she understood both the folly and the burden of being human.

  Maybe after all this was over, he’d call her, see if she’d like to have dinner or take a picnic lunch up to Mt. Lemmon. He shook his head, an attempt to get a grip on his emotions. He was in the middle of a murder investigation. And, despite Garrison’s confession, it was beginning to look as if he’d arrested the wrong man. He didn’t have time for distractions. “Did Baxter eventually calm down that night?”

  “At first his voice was quiet and really sad. Then he went ballistic, called her a lying bitch.” Gracie stared at Radhauser for a moment, her eyes wide. “But we all knew it was his grief talking.”

  “What happened next?”

  “He stormed out of the bar, left it for Millie and me to handle. We heard his front door slam. I wanted to warn Crystal. But Millie said she’d go over and talk to him. And if Baxter left, she’d call Crystal. Baxter didn’t go anywhere.”

  “How about Millie? Did she leave the premises before midnight?”

  Gracie shook her head. “She went over to talk to Baxter, but she didn’t leave the premises. Most of my tables look out on the parking lot, and her car was there until she went home around one. Baxter said she had a headache, that he’d told her to lie down for a while. She did. But the headache didn’t go away. Bax behaved real nice and helped me close up.”

  Something cracked and a new possibility seeped in, further diluting Radhauser’s conviction that Garrison killed Crystal.

  Chapter Forty

  When Matt heard the sounds of a lawnmower behind the house, he and Sedona inched around the side of the garage and into the backyard. All around them, the air smelled like freshly cut grass. The garage had another electric door on the back and a driveway that led to an alley. Matt looked up—examined both sides of the back door. There were no motion lights. He thought about t
he alibi Radhauser had told him about. No one inside the restaurant could have seen Baxter leave from the rear of the garage.

  A tall man, wearing a pair of white coveralls, pushed the lawnmower. He had his back to them. “Is that the man?” Matt asked.

  “No,” Sedona said. “Too tall and not fat enough. But the coveralls are right.”

  A moment later, another man stepped out the sliding glass door and handed the tall man a bottle of beer. He wore white pants, a long-sleeved chef shirt, and a pair of white oxfords. It was Thomas Baxter, the man he’d met at Crystal’s memorial service. The man Travis called Barcode.

  Sedona tugged Matt’s arm. “That’s him,” she whispered. “He’s not wearing glasses or the baseball cap this time. But it’s the same man. I’m positive.”

  Matt sensed the danger, felt a blush of fear rise on his neck. He grabbed Sedona’s arm and tugged her around the corner of the garage and out of sight. “You go sit in the Mustang and lock the doors while I talk to him.”

  Her expression turned instantly grave. “No way. I’m better at this than you are.”

  “It’s too dangerous. We should go see Radhauser, tell him what we found out.”

  “I can do this,” she insisted. “I know I can.”

  He practically dragged her back to his Mustang. He buckled his seatbelt and started the car, but before he could put it in gear, she opened her door, slipped out, and ran towards Baxter’s house.

  By the time Matt caught up, she’d rung the doorbell and Baxter stood in front of them. “What can I do for you?”

  Sedona gave him her most brilliant smile. “Good morning. I’m taking orders for glazed donuts. You’re not going to believe this, but my school band got invited to the Tournament of Roses parade. It’s quite an honor. We’re going to represent the whole state of Arizona. But we have to raise a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Good luck, kid.”

  She used her foot to stop the door from closing. “Please, Mr. Baxter,” she said, flashing another smile. “You could sell them in your restaurant for twice what you pay for them. People love to help kids. I play the clarinet,” she added. “And I’ll put your name on a little sign and wave it in front of the television cameras in Pasadena. You’ll be proud, I promise.”