by Ellen Hart
“I’m not sure,” said Jane. “Probably not.”
“Okay, well, then I’ll see you around town.”
“Don’t forget to put in a bid for the dinner.”
“Oh, no worries on that score.” She touched Jane’s elbow before walking away.
9
Kurt waited for Emma to sit down on the end of the dock before he joined her. It was a beautiful evening, cool and clear, with a nearly full September moon creating ribbons of light across the water.
“Why were you so late?” asked Emma.
“Oh, you know. I lead a very complex social life. At least give me credit for ditching my jeans.”
“You do clean up well.”
“Thank you.” He glanced back at the house. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been here.”
“No,” said Emma. “That can’t be right. You must have been to a few of my summer parties on the beach back in the day.”
“Nope,” said Kurt. “Never. I didn’t run with the upper crust in high school.”
She turned to look at him. “Is that a joke?”
“Only slightly. Come on, you have to know we have a class system in this town. In high school, lawyers’ and doctors’ kids were friends with bankers’ kids. Blue-collar kids hung out with other blue-collar kids. It wasn’t completely hard and fast, but it was real. Think about it. Who were your friends?”
“Well, I mean—”
“Be honest.”
She blinked a couple times. “Of course—”
“Yes?”
Looking away, she said, “I never thought about it that way. But, I mean, it’s not like you were poor.”
“No, we weren’t. As a kid, I had everything I needed. But there were kids, friends of mine, who didn’t. Some who had it really hard.”
Emma seemed uncomfortable with the topic. Kurt knew her well enough now to believe she’d think about what he’d said. It wasn’t meant as a criticism of her personally, though it was a criticism of the system. When you were inside a box, it was hard to see what the world looked outside. He decided to change the subject. “Would you mind if we talked a little more personally? About you and Sam? We’ve never really talked about that.”
“I guess.”
“I remember you two were pretty serious. Did you think you’d marry him one day?”
After thinking about it for a few seconds she said, “I don’t know. I just knew I loved him.”
“Was he your first?”
“Boyfriend?”
“Well, you know—the first guy you … were with?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“Oh, crap, Emma. I’ve offended you. I’m so sorry. Forget I asked.” A glow over the distant treetops caught his eye.
“What about you and Vicki Nestor? Was she your first girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you think you’d marry her?”
“I rarely thought about the future back then, I just went with the flow. Vicki was pregnant when I married her. Actually, she was pregnant when I took her to the senior prom, only I didn’t know about it until after graduation.”
“Wow. Did you feel trapped?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Did you love her?”
“This may seem strange … What I loved was the idea of having a child. And then, you know, you get all caught up in the wedding stuff. It’s like a speeding train that’s impossible to get off.”
“I know.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “But you’re right. Danny’s pretty special.” She paused. “Don’t you ever wonder what Sam would think of us now, twenty years on? What we’ve done with our lives?”
Kurt thought about that a lot. “He’d be disappointed in me.”
“Yeah, in me, too.”
“I assume the police are going to begin an investigation of his death,” he continued, trying to cover his uneasiness with a casual tone. “We’ll probably get asked a bunch of questions.”
“Bring it on. I’m happy to tell them everything I know—which, sadly, isn’t much.”
“Hey, are you cold?” he asked, turning to face her. “You can have my jacket.”
“You’re a lot like Sam, you know that? He was such a kind person. I don’t think he showed that side of himself to many people, but he did to me. Since we’re talking about him—” She paused before continuing, “Was it my imagination or did he have this weird kind of energy before he died? There were times when he couldn’t sit still. Once he jumped up in the middle of a conversation and raced off.”
Kurt wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Am I off base?”
“I know he was angry at someone.”
“About what?”
“I hate to dredge up stuff I don’t know that much about.”
“But if it had something to do with his death—”
“I seriously doubt that it did.”
“Did it have anything to do with that party at the beginning of our senior year? Maybe I’m wrong, but things changed after that. I could feel it. There was something in the air at school. Did you feel it, too?”
“A bunch of bad stuff was going on around that time, Emma.”
“Like what?”
“Were you at the party?”
“For a while. I’d been feeling crummy all day, but in the evening, I spiked a fever. My throat was like sandpaper. Sam and I weren’t there for more than an hour when I told him I wanted to leave. He said he’d take me home, but then one of my girlfriends was leaving, so I caught a ride back to town with her. Did something bad happen after I left? Come on, Kurt. If you know, you’ve got to tell me. Sam was super silent the next day. What was going on?”
He had to give her something. “Sam was really pissed at his brother.”
The comment seemed to startle her. “Scott? Why? Was he there that night?”
“If he was, I never saw him. All I can say is, Sam and Scott were both hot about something. World War II–level hot.”
Emma’s gaze traveled to the glow in the sky. “I wonder what that is over there? A late summer bonfire?”
“It seems too big.”
“A house? Oh, Lord, I hope not. Maybe we better tell the fire chief.”
Before they were halfway up the lawn, Kurt picked up the sound of sirens in the distance. At the same time, a dozen or so party guests began streaming out onto the patio, all pointing to the tree line.
“Anybody know what it is?” he called.
“A house fire,” one of the men called back.
“Crap,” said Kurt. “I’ve got to get back to town. If it’s my place or my parents’ house—”
“You go,” said Emma. “Call me when you know something.”
He rushed around the side of the house. As he reached the parking area, he saw that he wasn’t the only one leaving. He checked his phone for messages. Seeing none, he jumped into front seat of his van and edged into line behind the other cars as the slow procession made its way out to Ewing Road.
* * *
Cordelia wasn’t about to stick around while a real-life drama was unfolding. As the party broke up, she sidled up to Jane and proposed that they see what was going on for themselves. On their way to the door, Emma caught them and asked if she could grab a ride into town. By the time they were cruising down Grant Street, one block north of Main, the glow from the fire seemed to light up the night sky. They dropped Emma off in front of an old brick building that had once been the only large hotel in Castle Lake. The last time Jane had been past it, it had looked like a ruin.
“This used to be the Griswold Inn,” said Jane as Emma slid out of the cab’s backseat. “Did they restore it?” The bottom floor had been turned into an upscale-looking bar called The Outpost, which appeared to be Emma’s destination.
“No, it’s been turned into condos.”
“Do you want us to pick you up when we’re done?”
“Not necessary. I’ll catch a ride back with on
e of my friends.”
Main Street became county Highway 8 when it hit Castle Lake and turned south. Jane followed a line of cars as they made their way out of town. They passed several motels, a hamburger stand, a feed store, and half a dozen other small businesses, eventually leaving the city limits behind. Another mile, and Jane pulled up behind a flatbed truck parked on the side of the road.
Cordelia was out the door in a flash. Jane followed, feeling the heat of the fire before she saw it. They walked along the shoulder, mostly gravel and weeds, until they reached several dozen bystanders clumped together behind a squad car.
Cordelia’s toga seemed to cause a moment of group confusion, though everyone’s attention snapped right back to the blaze.
“It’s Carli Gilbert’s place,” said the man standing closest to Jane. “God, I hope she’s not inside.”
The woman next to him said, “If they could just open up the garage, they’d know if her car was there.”
“You want those boys fried to a crisp, huh Karen?” asked the guy. “They can’t get near that garage.”
“I’m just saying if they could.”
“I know what you’re saying.” With a disgusted look he turned to Jane, though his gaze seemed drawn to Cordelia. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, just visiting,” said Jane.
“Well, an FYI, we got a volunteer fire department in this town. Those guys are brave as hell, but they’re getting old. Hard to find younger guys these days willing to do the job. No money in it. Just a lot of risk. Hell if I know what’s going to happen when we can’t find volunteers and we can’t afford to pay full-timers. Maybe we should all move to the big cities and take our chances with the rapists, murderers, and drug dealers.”
“Stop with the den of iniquity crap,” said Karen. “Nobody wants to hear it.”
“Can you leave your door unlocked in those inner-city hell holes?” he demanded. “Can you?”
“You shouldn’t leave doors unlocked anywhere,” said Cordelia offhandedly.
“Bullshit. My parents never locked their doors. Neither do I.”
“Then you’re a silly man.”
“What the hell did you just call me?”
“Thank you,” said Karen. “You see, Jack? I’m not alone.”
Jane doubted that inserting the results of an academic study, one that said living in rural areas was now considered more dangerous than city living, would be well-received. Interestingly, limited access to emergency services was considered one of the main problems. Also, drug use, once considered the scourge of the inner city, was now rampant in small-town America, with far fewer resources to help with the problem. But why bother anyone with facts, thought Jane, especially in a country where facts were considered nothing but fake news.
Taking one last disapproving look at Cordelia and her outfit, the man grabbed his wife’s arm and tugged her on down the road.
“Pleasant fellow,” said Cordelia, waving a hand in front of her face. “That fire is giving off so much heat, I think I may be melting.”
“Like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Context, Janey. That was a water situation, and she was evil. This is fire situation, and I’m good. Too bad I left my magic wand back at the house.”
Another woman, this one wearing slippers and a blue velour robe, walked up and planted herself next to Jane. “I shouldn’t be out here dressed like this, but … I’m so scared for Carli. I live back there in one of those trailer homes,” she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. “Behind those tall pines. I can’t believe this is happening.” She tugged nervously at the back of her gray hair.
“So you know the woman who owns the house?”
“Sure do. She’s a lovely person.”
“Does she work in town?”
“She works a couple of jobs. She’s the town recorder—posts updates and events to the town website. It’s only a few hours a week. She’s a good friend of the mayor, which is how she said she got the job. Her main work is at Lakeside Community Bank. She’s a teller.”
“She live alone?”
“Since her husband moved out, yeah. They’re separated. It’s so sad. Last time we talked, she said she was filing for divorce.” Nodding to Cordelia, she added, “My granddaughter wore something like that for show-and-tell last year.”
“Really,” said Cordelia, brightening. “What grade is she in?”
“Kindergarten. I wonder,” the woman continued, “what will happen now.”
“In what way?” asked Jane.
“With … you know.” She nodded to the burning building. “I don’t like to gossip.”
“Of course you don’t,” said Cordelia. “But sometimes it’s just too hard to stay silent.”
“That’s true. I love Carli and Aaron. They’re wonderful people. But—”
“But?” said Cordelia
“I’ve heard both of them like to cat around. Hard to build a marriage on such shaky ground.”
“The husband,” said Cordelia. “He the vengeful sort?”
The woman seemed taken aback by the question. “Are you suggesting—”
Cordelia raised her eyebrows.
“No, no. He’s not like that. He’s a hard worker. Has his own handyman business.”
The woman quickly excused herself and moved on up the road, where she began talking to a man she appeared to know.
Out of the side of her mouth, Cordelia said, “Randy handymen never commit crimes.”
If it turned out to be arson, her point was well-taken. Even so, Jane felt it was important to examine the potential motive from a different angle. The police would undoubtedly look at the estranged husband, which was to be expected. But after the discovery of Sam Romilly’s remains, a young man so many assumed had run away, anything odd or irregular—or violent—that happened in Castle Lake needed to be scrutinized in the light of that. Murder had a particular impact on those who knew the victim, some of whom might know a lot more than they’d ever said, and some of whom might want to cover their tracks, even twenty years later. She might be way off base, but if it did end up being ruled an arson, it was that aspect of the burning house Jane felt should be looked into. If she had the time, she’d do it herself.
10
Emma skirted the edges of The Outpost bar, head down, hoping nobody she knew was around. She made it to the back hallway and took the elevator up to the third floor. Before she knocked on the door, she ran a hand through her hair. She was still dressed for the party. She looked hot and knew it. Damn Philip and his trophy girlfriends. What was good for the gander, in this case, was good for the goose.
When Scott opened the door, he pulled her inside, his mouth on hers, his arms holding her tightly against him. “I needed to see you tonight so bad,” he said coming up for air briefly. He tugged her toward the couch, undressing her as they went.
“Me, too,” she tried to say, though it came out more, “Mmm ooh.”
She wanted to talk first, to tell him in person how sorry she was about his brother, but he had other ideas. The faster her clothes came off, the more his idea became hers. After they were done—if she’d clocked it, it was probably less than five minutes—he sat up, zipped up his pants, and buttoned his shirt. She grabbed her clothes and headed into the bathroom to get cleaned up. When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, he’d poured each of them an inch or so of bourbon—his preference. Also clearly not his first of the night. She preferred wine, but what the hell.
Even though the sex had been the equivalent of wham, bam, thank you ma’am, she appreciated his passion, something Philip had lacked for years. She scolded herself for being so hard on Scott. Even though the sex was quick, she was sure he cared about her in his own way, that he wasn’t just using her, any more than she was using him.
“How are you doing?” she asked, sitting down on the couch opposite him. She’d texted him last night about his brother’s remains being found, feeling bad that
she couldn’t come over. He’d texted back that his dad had called. Emma was appalled that his father hadn’t come by to tell him face-to-face. It further cemented her view of his old man as mean and thoughtless.
“I’m okay,” he said, tossing back half his drink.
She couldn’t let it go. “Why didn’t your father come tell you in person?”
“Oh, who knows?”
“How can you work with that awful man every day?” Scott had been the senior loan officer at Lakeside Community Bank for many years. His father had hired him right out of college and helped him climb the ladder, so there was that. But Scott had good skills and was a reasonably affable human being. He could go anywhere with his experience and find a job.
“I’m paid well at LCB. I love my condo. One town or city is a lot like the next. And I’m settled. I know what each day will be like, and I want that.”
What he really liked was that he could keep his head down, do his job, come home, and forget about work. He spent his evenings and weekends watching TV, playing video games, cooking for his many friends, or meeting someone at a restaurant for dinner. He coached soccer for local kids during the summer months, and was passionate about running, something Emma admired and hoped to start doing herself when she got back to California. He liked to have a good time, which generally included food and alcohol, and that was fine by her.
Emma hadn’t been in town long when a girlfriend invited her for happy hour at The Outpost. They sat at one of the long tables. Two more old friends from high school drifted over to join them. At some point, a pizza was ordered, followed by a pitcher of margaritas.
At first when Scott sat down next to her, Emma hadn’t recognized him. Gone were the grunge clothes and curtained hair of his youth. In the years since she’d last seen him, he’d filled out and grown up. Sam had been blond, like his mother. Scott was dark haired and had his dad’s long, narrow face and closely set eyes.
That first night she’d wondered if he was trendy enough to maintain a permanent scruff. Turned out his beard was so heavy that by evening, if he didn’t shave a second time, that was the way it looked. He wasn’t handsome, and yet the more they talked, the more she began to recognize that the tenor of his voice and the way he expressed himself was a lot like Sam. Maybe it was nostalgia, or maybe she was lonely, having just left her home in California. Whatever it was, she began to warm to him. Scott was a living, breathing connection to the young man she’d once loved so deeply.
