The Dead Season

by Tessa Wegert

  “If that’s true, then you’re probably right. There has to be more,” Tim said. “You’ve got years of shared experiences.”

  I combed my memory of the past days for a cogent answer. “There was the missing persons poster at Smuggler’s Cargo. It was in A-Bay, but related to Brett.”

  “Right. We’ve exhausted that lead. What else?”

  “The note he left with the tooth. It said The Truth Is Out There, like from The X-Files. That was the movie playing at the drive-in the last night any of us saw Brett.”

  “Keep going.”

  The heat in the pub was dry and stale, and I felt a headache coming on. I closed my eyes. What else?

  “We’ll figure this out,” Tim said. “We’ll find Trey alive and get Bram behind bars. You’ll be reinstated, and I’ll have someone interesting to talk to again. With all the bickering Sol and Bogle do, I’d rather share an office with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said. “I still have to talk my way out of a suspension.”

  “I’m not worried. I’ve got your number, Shane. You may get off track now and then, but you play your cards right in the end.”

  “Cards.” The word shot through me like an electric shock. The card was still in my gym bag. I’d found it after my class with Sensei Sam. It had the Three of Hearts on one side, and a picture of Boldt Castle on the other.

  “Cards, Tim,” I said. “The day I saw Bram at my karate studio may not have been his first time there. On Saturday I found a playing card in my gym bag after class. It’s from a Thousand Islands deck—like the kind they have at the souvenir shops here in town. It’s got Boldt Castle on it. The abduction site.”

  Tim tipped back his head to look up at the dusty ceiling tiles above us. “So what’s the link to Swanton there?”

  I knew the answer before he got the question out, couldn’t believe it had taken me so long. “Brett was a gambler. He used to drive to Montreal and blow his paycheck at the casino. Everyone knew he did it—family, coworkers—except according to Russell Loming, he quit when they met some shady characters up there and got involved in dealing drugs close to home.” I shook my head. “Abe must have known what was going on, that the gambling became a cover for drug trafficking.”

  An idea took shape in my mind. “The drugs. Maybe the killer was connected to Brett through drugs.”

  “So who are our suspects?” asked Tim.

  “Loming. He’s top of the list,” I said, but when I did a mental about-face, I found myself looking at Felicia. “You were right before, we can’t dismiss my aunt just yet, but I don’t know what, if anything, she has to do with Brett’s drug dealing. And there are two other people Brett was with that night whom I still haven’t identified. One is the teenage girl seen with Brett in his car, the other is the boy Loming dealt drugs to at the drive-in right before Brett and Crissy went AWOL.” A lump formed in my throat as I said it.

  Tim was picking at the label on his beer. “Listen, don’t slug me. Are you sure we can rule out Doug?”

  I’d been doing everything in my power to avoid it, but now the image of my brother’s face jostled for attention, the aggression I’d seen toward Abe—and, by proxy, Brett—terrible and real. I was closer to reconstructing the events that transpired the night Brett and Crissy disappeared, but there were still some cavernous gaps. What happened after Doug drove home to get Mom? Where did the meth in Crissy’s bloodstream come from? Did Doug really not know what became of my cousin and uncle that night?

  “He withheld evidence,” Tim said gently. “Not just back then, but now. From you.”

  “He was trying to help Crissy.”

  “He’s been sitting on a critical component of the case. You know as well as I do that can be a sign of guilt.”

  “He didn’t know how much it mattered. It’s not his fault.”

  To that, Tim had no reply. Ask Doug had been my lifelong refrain. He was a master at summoning my memories, and I’d always considered the way he alloyed our recollections to be a form of magic. I couldn’t count on his help anymore. He’d concealed so much, and his secrecy left me feeling both betrayed and afraid.

  Tim was right; there was no excuse for Doug’s behavior. The timeline of that night stood out hot and bright in my mind, and anyone could see he’d been involved in a crime, if only by omission. Whether it was against Brett or Crissy, and exactly how he factored in, I didn’t know. I owed it to our victim to find out, but that would mean admitting the possibility of something I couldn’t bear to be true.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was a two-minute drive to the motel, but Tim insisted on coming with me. The rooms in the small motel overlooked Otter Creek, where the village of Alexandria Bay meets the St. Lawrence River. In the high season this strip of water is as busy as Church Street, boats from dozens of docks chugging toward the open water. Tonight, it was black and still.

  At the front desk, I handed over my credit card and we carted my luggage through the parking lot, where I’d left the SUV, and along an exterior corridor to my room. At the door, we stopped. This was the part where Tim, ever the concerned and thoughtful friend, would ask if I was okay and remind me I could call him anytime. His cottage was less than ten minutes by car. He’d point that out, too, and might even mention a guest bed and selection of calming herbal teas, even though he knew I wouldn’t take him up on an offer to stay over. His hands were sunk deep in his pockets, his head cocked to the right. Shamefaced but still tipsy and a little cold, I hugged myself and prepared to receive his pity.

  Tim leaned toward me.

  His breaths were measured, but there was something in the hard lines of his body that spoke of urgency. One thing I know about Tim: when he’s nervous, he swallows twice in a row. He did it now.

  I can’t be sure who moved first, but the energy between us was suddenly so high it propelled us toward each other, an inexorable force. All at once his hands were no longer in his pockets but on my waist, and my mouth was locked on his.

  Tim took a step forward. His hipbones met mine, and my back met the motel wall. He smelled vaguely like gas fumes from the boat, but also peppery and sweet. In all the months we’d worked side by side I hadn’t noticed this, not until my nose was buried in his warm neck.

  “No. Tim, no.”

  It took everything I had to push him away. When I could breathe again, I said, “We can’t. He’s watching. He’s everywhere.”

  Tim stepped back from me, and his face went slack. I could sense his mind whirling as it searched for a cranny that would allow us to escape Bram’s cruel trap. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he got the words out. “Dammit, Shana,” was all he said before he turned and walked away.

  After he was gone, I stared out at the dark parking lot, the marsh grass and cattails along the water, and the hulking aluminum boathouses that creaked and quaked in the wind. Somewhere, Bram was smiling to himself about this, reveling in the knowledge that forcing me to rifle through his old life was wreaking havoc on mine.

  THIRTY-TWO

  I was miles away from Swanton, far from my childhood home, but my mind was so addled that when I opened my eyes the next day, there was a second when I thought I was a teenager again. Many a morning I’d woken up with a hangover and a deep-seated feeling of regret about an illicit kiss or touch or make-out session at a party in the woods, the sweaty, smoky smell of boys with their hands on my body painfully fresh.

  I felt no such compunction about what had happened with Tim—at least, not in the same way. Tim. His name sounded different now. He wasn’t just a fellow investigator. Tim was the man I’d confided in, whose back had been warm and hard against the palms of my hands. I touched my fingertips to the place where he’d nuzzled my neck just as, on the nightstand, my phone buzzed. Suze’s name was displayed on the screen.

  “Robbie told me yo
u interviewed Cheryl.” Upbeat pop music played in the background, and my head pounded along with the rhythm. Suze was at the studio. “Now do you believe me? Cheryl wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Through the gap between the motel curtains, I could see the peaks and towers of Boldt Castle on the horizon. Heart Island blended into the mainland behind it as if it were a peninsula and not a landmass all its own. I found the deception disconcerting. “You’re probably right,” I said, but I couldn’t disregard the picture Felicia had painted of Brett with a young girl in his car. That would make any woman angry, and Cheryl had been counting on Brett to complete her family. “You and Cheryl are close, yeah?”

  “As far as mothers-in-law go, I hit the jackpot,” Suze said.

  “And she never mentioned anything about dating Brett? You never asked about it?”

  “No on both counts. Would you interrogate your husband’s mom about ex-boyfriends from twenty years ago?” She paused. “So did they date? I asked Robbie, but he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to pry.”

  “They did, for a few months before Brett made the decision to move. The thing is, he might have been dating someone else at the same time.”

  “Brett sure got a lot of action for a dude his age—hey, I get it,” she said. “He was hot in an Owen Wilson kind of way, you know? Sweet but a little rough. How do you know there was someone else?”

  I hadn’t noticed it before, but Suze spoke of my uncle with atypical fondness, considering she’d only met him a couple of times. “My aunt told me,” I said. “She saw them together at the drive-in the weekend Brett disappeared. And it gets worse. Apparently his woman on the side was underage.”

  “Yikes,” Suze said without conviction. She sounded distracted. The background noise was picking up.

  “Yeah. Anyway, now I’ve got to track down this rebel child. If you need me, I’ll be interviewing every female student who attended our school in 1998.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Hey, you were at the movies that night.” Suze had helped us look for Brett, if only half-heartedly. “Who’d you see there?”

  “God, I don’t know, it was so long ago. Crissy and Abe, obviously. Oh, and the Boisselle twins.”

  “Military haircuts, right?”

  “Bad memories,” she said through a laugh. “The short one kissed like a slug. I saw Robbie, too, and that super tall friend of his—Mitch, I think? Want to know a secret?” Her voice dropped low. “I thought Robbie was cute even then. He had no idea I existed, but I sure as hell noticed him. There were lots of times like that. It’s weird, but sometimes he tells stories and I swear it’s like he’s pulling them straight from my own head.”

  “I know what that’s like.” I hoped she wouldn’t hear the discomfort in my voice. Suze had described my experience with Bram to a tee. “Anyone else?”

  “Well, Brett, of course.”

  “You saw Brett that night?”

  “Sure. He saved my life from a swarm of killer mosquitos. The bugs were bad, so we talked in his car for a while.”

  I felt myself tense. “Suze,” I said carefully. “Did you two kiss?”

  “He kissed me—but just on the cheek. In retrospect, I guess that was his way of saying good-bye. I always liked him,” she said. “Maybe that’s because I associated him with Crissy. I totally idolized that girl. She finds that hilarious now, by the way, how I was always trying to dress like her. She was just so cool.”

  “Jesus, Suze,” I said. “It’s you. You’re Brett’s girl on the side.”

  Her laugh was light, a flip trill. “That’s funny. He kissed my cheek, that’s all! Shit, sorry, I’ve got to go. This class can’t run long; I’ve got a date with Crissy right after.”

  I set down my phone and flopped back onto the thin motel pillow. The hard knot I’d felt in my chest for days had softened a little. Suze had nothing to do with Brett’s death. There was no other woman; Felicia had seen my friend, a girl who looked older than her thirteen years, in an innocent moment.

  It wasn’t until I thought back to my youth with the wisdom of more than half a lifetime that I grasped the situation. Suze had emulated Crissy. She’d followed in my cousin’s footsteps, even when they led to the darkest of places. Suze never wanted to hear me complain about Crissy’s behavior, and threw her hands up at my disinterest in hanging out with my cousin. I’d seen it all happen without connecting the dots. It explained why she and Crissy had built a friendship as adults. Even as kids they’d had more in common with each other than Crissy and I ever would.

  In the bathroom, I tore the flimsy wrapper off a plastic cup and chugged two glasses of lukewarm tap water before facing my reflection in the vanity mirror. The dark circles and puffy eyes weren’t my concern. I’d just remembered that it was Thursday. The day of my psych exam.

  When I imagined the day that would determine my future with the troop, I’d assumed I would get some rest on Mac’s couch and spend an hour engaged in guided meditation courtesy of Gil Gasko’s beloved app. Instead, I was dehydrated and dizzy, with a persistent thudding in my head. It was a two-hour drive to Oneida, and my appointment was at ten. I had to hustle to be on time, but when I got out of the shower, my phone was ringing again.

  “How is he?” I said, terrified of McIntyre’s answer.

  She sighed. “He’s gonna make it. They kept him overnight. I’m picking him up later today.”

  “Oh, thank God.” But then why didn’t Mac sound happy?

  “No more secrets,” she said in a voice I didn’t recognize, a voice hard as flint. “That stops right now. What Bram did out there was personal. An attack on me is an attack on you. Why does he want to attack you, Shana? What the hell kind of history do you have with this guy?”

  It was a miracle Whiskey survived Bram’s violence, and the assault had happened because of me. I owed it to Mac to come clean. I owed her a lot more than that.

  I told her then, everything I’d confessed to Tim and more. When I got to the part about my fear over what this news would do to my family, Mac was as practical as ever. All of this was Bram’s doing, she said. Hiding that fact wouldn’t make it untrue.

  Keeping Bram to myself was futile and always had been. It didn’t guarantee anyone’s safety, because this game was unreliable. I knew that now—and in a way, it made everything just a little easier. No more weighing my actions against his, or tormenting myself with the misguided belief that my decisions could alter those of a madman. He didn’t want me to win. His game was designed in a way that ensured I would lose. As far as Bram was concerned, I didn’t stand a chance.

  And maybe he’s right, I thought as I pulled on a dress shirt and slacks, the same outfit I’d worn for my interview with the BCI lieutenant a month ago. On my own, I was beatable. What Blake Bram didn’t understand was that by finally bringing Tim and Mac into my confidence, I was amassing an army.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Breakfast was two Tylenols, a cup of black instant coffee, and a few gulps of brisk November air. I got into my SUV and straight onto the highway headed south.

  I drove with my window halfway down and my damp hair flowing behind me. The hilly landscape was speckled with dry snow, and the air tasted smoky. It made my throat ache. I was desperate for water but making good time, on track to be a few minutes early. I got as far as Adams before Fraser Harmison’s name popped up on the car’s dashboard screen.

  “This is just a courtesy call,” the police chief said, but a call meant news. It might even mean there’d been a development in Brett’s case. “I wanted to tell you myself. We’ve taken Russell Loming into custody.”

  I was usually good at multitasking, could talk coherently while flawlessly following all the rules of the road, but my concentration was immediately shot. “What happened?” I asked, focusing my eyes to the windshield. “Did he confess to killing Brett?”

 
“Not yet, but a witness has come forward. Does the name Ronnie Rockwell ring any bells?”

  My mind was doing cartwheels, but I couldn’t land a single one. I said, “Don’t think so. Who is he?”

  “She is a former coworker of Loming’s. Retired now, but she worked the front desk for five of the same years Loming was at the factory, right up until the company folded.”

  The receptionist. “You’re kidding,” I said. “What does she know?”

  “Seems all these news stories about your uncle sparked some memories about Loming, and she’s had an epiphany. Apparently those two men were rabble-rousers, always chatting and flirting with the ladies—including her—so it was noticeably different after Brett left, especially since Loming vamoosed, too.”

  “What?” I brushed hair from my eyes and squinted at the road. “Where? When?”

  “He failed to show up to work for a couple of days after Brett’s supposed move. When he got back, he told Ms. Rockwell he’d been visiting some friends in Canada.” Harmison cleared his throat to show me just how little stock he put in that claim. “Loming brought a new, expensive-looking watch back from that trip, too. Thing is, she’s adamant he was always complaining about being cash-strapped.”

  Ahead of me, a Subaru was driving like it was a Sunday in summer. I sped past it, wincing at the piercing wail of their horn. “What are you thinking?” I asked. “Loming used those days to make sure he’d covered his tracks?”

  “We think he followed Brett out to Hook Road that night, stole the cash and the stash, and ditched his car somewhere. Loming was one of the few people who knew Brett was leaving that weekend, and he had a beef with Brett about money. With the drug business doing well, and Brett being the guy who set it all up, Loming wasn’t happy he was leaving. Any of this square with what you know?”