Lonesome Lake

by Lesley Appleton-Jones

  He sighed. “You’re such a good kid. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be so nice to me right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t take it.”

  He said nothing for a moment. He just shoveled down a few more mouthfuls of food before saying, “How about another helping of lasagna?”

  She sat with Po for another five minutes before pulling the homework excuse. Tiptoeing past her sister’s room, she entered her bedroom and headed straight for the bathroom. Closing the door, she slid down onto the cold tiles.

  Abbey had gone more than a year without noticing the toll her mother’s death had taken on her sister, but today it was as if she were seeing her for the first time. Melody was thin—bone-sticking-out thin. The circles under her eyes were deep and looked bruised. The worst thing by far, though, was she had a crazy energy about her. It was crazy like committed-to-an-institution crazy. And it was scary. Abbey thought about the lasagna and started to feel sick, her body choosing to ally itself with her sister in its mutual distaste for the layered Italian concoction.

  Crawling over to the toilet, Abbey cradled the bowl as chunks of pasta spewed out of her mouth. The acrid vomit stung her nasal passages. When there was nothing left, she draped her arm across the toilet seat and rested her forehead on it. Her face felt cold and clammy. Melody didn’t need to worry anymore. She’d never make lasagna again.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Holly shifted her weight, wondering why on earth she’d ordered that last cup of coffee when she’d planned to stake out Bob Beaupré’s office. It hadn’t been one of her smartest ideas. A rookie mistake. She considered undoing the top button of her pants to relieve some of the pressure on her beleaguered bladder but decided against such drastic measures. Raines was far too observant for her to do it unnoticed, even if she untucked her shirt first.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re extremely twitchy.”

  “My teeth are floating.”

  He laughed. “The pleasure of a stakeout.”

  “It’s easy for you. You can use a can.”

  “Not tonight I can’t.”

  Holly responded with an annoyed harrumph. They were in her Jeep on the opposite side of the road from Beaupré’s real estate office, waiting for him to show. They faced the North Caxton Recreational Park, which had an impressive array of maple trees bordering the grass. In her desperate need for a toilet, Holly felt that time moved slower than the sap Mrs. Cook’s elementary kids tapped annually from the trees to make syrup for her science class.

  Raines yawned. “I need something more than that crap they call coffee at the station to keep me awake. Let’s play some music.” He reached for her phone, which was mounted on the dashboard.

  “Hey. Don’t touch that!” she snapped.

  Raines jerked his hand back as if he’d stuck his finger on a hot stove. “Why not?”

  She hesitated, searching for some plausible explanation as to why she didn’t want him checking out her music. She said, “Scrolling through someone’s playlists is like rifling through their underwear drawer.”

  He looked at her as if she were mentally unstable, which was fine with her so long as he didn’t see she had every one of his songs. Worse yet, that she even had an Acid Raines playlist. She’d rather die first, which she’d do from embarrassment if he saw it. “I’ll pick something,” she muttered, scrolling past the A’s to the safety of the Q’s. “How’s Queen?”

  “Great,” he said and looked at her. “Did your coffee come with extra caffeine?”

  She scowled at him as she stabbed her phone. When Freddie Mercury started to belt out the lyrics to “Fat Bottomed Girls,” Raines glanced at her, obviously curious about her song selection.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Nothing. It’s one of my favorites. The imagery is wonderful. I’m just surprised it’s one of yours.”

  When she harrumphed again, he chuckled and relaxed back against his seat. As Freddie Mercury’s powerful voice filled the car, she noticed that Raines followed the rhythm of the music by tapping his thumb on his thigh.

  She turned her attention away from his long, well-muscled limb to focus on the realty office, willing Beaupré to show himself so she could get out of the Jeep.

  All the lights were on in the office. A woman sat at a desk with a phone pressed to her ear. “Where the hell is Beaupré anyway?” she asked.

  “He’s not coming,” Raines said. “He didn’t strike me as slow on the uptake. I bet he’s figured out we’re searching for him.”

  “Where’s he hiding?”

  “He could be anywhere. Canada’s not far. He could have contacts up there.” Raines fell silent. She could almost feel him thinking. Then he started to hum along with the song as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She was about to say something when he sat bolt upright, and—as if the music had helped him conjure up the idea—said, “Perhaps he’s at one of his rental units. That would fit his pattern. If he’s using the properties for drug deals, why not use one of them to hide from us?”

  Holly forgot about her need to pee as she seized on the idea. “And some of the rentals will have coded lockboxes, so he wouldn’t even need to come back to his office for a key. All he has to do is find an empty unit, possibly one with a garage so he can keep his car off the road. We need a list of his rental properties,” she said and was out of the Jeep before she finished speaking.

  ◆◆◆

  Raines watched Holly run across the road to Caxton Realty. He noticed her limp was now barely discernible—probably perceptible only to those who knew how bad her skiing injury had been.

  Holly entered the office, flashed her badge and engaged the woman in conversation before hurrying to the back of the office, presumably to use the restroom. The woman began typing something into her computer. When Holly came back into view, the woman grabbed some pages from the printer and handed them to her. Running back to the Wrangler, Holly waved the papers triumphantly at him. Raines couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  He flashed back to when she was seventeen and standing on the podium at the World Championships with her gold medal in one hand and her skis in the other. Victorious. Badass. And just like that, song lyrics popped into his head.

  She’s a badass woman

  Kicking down doors and taking aim

  Like she’s hunting Jesse James

  Blowing harder than a hurricane

  Rolling down the fast lane

  His thoughts trailed off as Holly opened the door and hopped in. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  He suppressed a chuckle. “Just pleased to see it wasn’t a wasted visit.”

  She grinned and held up the papers. “We’ve got him! It’s a short list. I guess he’s not as busy as he wants people to think he is. There are three possibilities if we assume he’d want to use one with a garage so he can hide his vehicle. And, if they don’t work out, there are only eight more.”

  “How about we take the most secluded one first?” he suggested.

  “Good thinking.”

  Buoyed with renewed enthusiasm at the prospect of action, she’d failed to realize that she’d just paid him a compliment. It would irk her no end if he pointed it out. He was tempted, because hearing her sputter and chew him out was entertaining, but he didn’t want to spoil her excitement.

  She stabbed a finger at the document. “Let’s check out this chalet over at Alpine Woods. Those condos have a lot of privacy. Some have garages.” She tossed him the list, checked her rearview mirror before pulling out to make a sharp U-turn. As she did, the Jeep whined.

  “That sound,” he said.

  “What about it?”

  “I think you need to check the power steering fluid.”

  “You’re full of helpful suggestions today. Next, you’ll want m
e to stop so you can help a chicken cross the street.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps an old lady but not a chicken.”

  She grinned at him, hit Queen’s “We Are The Champions” on her playlist and accelerated. Noise from the wind buffeting the soft top increased with the speed, but she cranked up the volume and started singing at the top of her lungs along with Freddie. She’d always been wild like that, but it was the kind of wild that sucked you in, and before she’d had a chance to reach the chorus, he found himself singing along with her. He couldn’t stop himself. By the end of the song, they’d reached the condos.

  She turned down the volume as they drove through the complex until she located the unit. Pulling into the overflow parking area, they sat and surveyed the property. There wasn’t any sign that someone was in the condo. No car in the driveway. No lights on. No telltale blue glow from a television.

  “There doesn’t appear to be anyone here, but I’ll check around back. You watch the front,” she told him.

  Because he knew she’d reinjured her leg, he wanted to offer to go, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. “Good idea. There are plenty of bushes back there in case nature calls again.”

  “Get over yourself, Raines.”

  Even in the dark, he could see the gleam in her eye. “Be careful,” he warned.

  She gave him the stop-being-an-idiot look she seemed to use a lot around him and ran off. It took her less than three minutes before she rejoined him.

  “He’s not here,” she said, starting the engine. Her earlier level of excitement had seemed to flag under the burden of coming up empty.

  They had no luck at the next three places on the list, but at the Pine Notch Condos, they hit it big. Beaupré’s SUV was parked in front of a three-story townhouse, and a light glinted through a crack in the curtains.

  “We’ve got him,” Holly whispered, even though no one could hear them.

  She had the wide-eyed expression of an adrenaline junkie—one who was just about to jump off the world’s highest bridge attached to a bungee cord no thicker than a G-string.

  “We should call it in, Holly. Wait for backup.”

  “What? And let that jackass Gustafson take charge? No way! Beaupré is ours.”

  Against his better judgment, he found himself nodding his agreement.

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll take the back. He’s bound to run when you knock on the front door.”

  He agreed with her assessment that Beaupré would run. He considered offering to take the more dangerous assignment around back but knew it would be futile. She was practically frothing at the mouth at the prospect of apprehending Beaupré. He didn’t envy the guy. He remembered how hard she used to tackle him when they played football in his backyard with his dad and brother. He had no doubt she could handle Beaupré. But if he was armed or wasn’t alone, she could be in trouble. “Why don’t I take the back?”

  “No way. I’ll be careful. I know these places. I used to ski with someone who had one of these units. The condos all have decks around back with stairs leading up to glass sliders. Give me five minutes to get into position. Then sing out loud when you knock on the front door, so I can hear you. I know you have a healthy set of lungs. The noise should scare the hell out of him and make him run for the back door.”

  ◆◆◆

  At the back of the condos, there was a twenty-foot stretch of grass that separated the buildings from a thick clump of trees. Light shone out of the rear windows of Unit 5. Although the blinds covered the glass sliders, she could see a bulky silhouette. Beaupré was there.

  Holly crept up the eight wooden steps, testing each one for creaky boards before putting her full weight on it. Reaching the deck without making a noise, she tiptoed over to the wall next to where the sliding door opened and waited for Raines. It felt like an hour before she heard him bang on the front door and yell, “Police. Open up Beaupré. We know you’re in there.”

  Holly heard running feet right before the blinds were yanked back. Bracing herself for the tackle, she waited. The slider flew open, and Beaupré burst out. Holly didn’t hesitate. As his feet hit the deck, she grabbed his arm and threw her weight backward to counteract his forward momentum. As she did this, she yanked up on his arm.

  Beaupré screamed out in pain.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him swing something big with his free hand. It hit her square on the side of the head, and she went down.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  It was late Tuesday night when Skeeter Parrish met up with Nicky Logan and Jimmy Turner. He had a bad feeling about Jimmy’s plan to break into an empty vacation cabin to party. It was a moronic idea, but Nicky and Jimmy had never asked him to go on one of their midnight adventures before. He shouldn’t have agreed to go, especially not since the cops had questioned them at the gas station. That had been a close call—way too close. He’d thought for sure Detective Jakes would call his dad and couldn’t believe his luck when she didn’t. Not in his whole life had he ever got that lucky.

  Skeeter knew he shouldn’t risk going with them, but he couldn’t stop himself. His desire to be with his friends momentarily outweighed his fear of his father. As they peddled up the mountain road, nearing the Allen house, Skeeter’s bravado faltered. An impending sense of doom took hold of him.

  Reaching the end of the driveway, Jimmy hopped off his brand new BMX bike and dropped it into a bush. Nicky followed suit. Skeeter carefully leaned the beat-up Schwinn his mother had found at a yard sale against a tree. All three of them were out of breath from the long ride.

  Skeeter felt lightheaded, but he knew it wasn’t from the exercise. It was fear. He turned toward the house and tried to think of something to say to get him out of the situation without making him look chickenshit. But he couldn’t.

  Although it was too dark to see the Swiss-chalet style house, Skeeter had passed it plenty of times. The building had a low-pitched gabled roof with wide eaves. A balcony painted the same red as his mother’s geraniums spanned the width of it. He’d often felt compelled to yodel whenever he passed it, but not tonight.

  “I have a bad feeling about this.” Skeeter heard the nervousness in his voice, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Stop being such a wimp,” Jimmy sneered.

  “That’s easy for you to say. Your old man isn’t likely to kick your ass from one end of town to the other if we get busted.”

  Jimmy said, “Stop freaking, Skeet. We wouldn’t do it if there was a risk we’d get caught. We’re not going to do anything your dad’s gonna find out about.”

  Both Jimmy and Nicky had witnessed his dad chase him down the street with a garden fork because he forgot to wash his truck.

  “No one’s here,” Jimmy said and held the flashlight under his chin so it cast an eerie glow across his face. “It’s as empty as Drac’s coffin at night.”

  Nicky snickered and hitched up his pants, which had slipped dangerously low and threatened to yank down his boxers.

  When an owl hooted in the distance, a shiver crawled up Skeeter’s spine. “I’m not boosting anything.”

  Jimmy placed a hand on his shoulder, the way a father might when reassuring a young son. “All we’re gonna do is chillax, have us a few drinks, call us some babes and get them to come over and party with us. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

  Skeeter didn’t think he’d be doing much chilling or relaxing while they were in the house.

  Bold and confident, Nicky told them, “I’m going to call Danielle.”

  Jimmy leered and grabbed his crotch. “Like that bootylicious babe even knows your name. She wants a real man like me. Someone who knows how to please a woman.”

  Nicky punched Jimmy on the arm. “You’re so full of it.”

  “You’ll see. But I’ll call Hannah and Kayla for you two dumbasses,” Jimmy kindly offered.

  “Man. Did you see Kayla in that skin-tight shirt today?” Nicky whispered. “It was the greatest thing I ever saw.”

>   Skeeter joined in. “What about Melody Raines? She’s cute.”

  Jimmy stared at him as if he were nuts. “You’re kidding, right? Since her mom was murdered, she’s gone all scary and shit. She’s gone from Smelly Melly to Mad Mel. The way she stares right through you, it’s freaking creepy, man. I’m waiting for her to walk into school and blow us all away. She’s so messed up. My advice is to stay away from her.”

  Skeeter shrugged. “She’s quiet is all, but I think she’s hot.”

  Jimmy, always the sage, expounded, “Seriously, bro. You need help. Her dad’s a psycho wife killer. What’s more, she’s Cal Raines’ niece, and everyone knows he’s one crazy mother-of-a-rocker turned hardcore cop. He’d Dirty Harry your dumbass if he found you sniffing around her, and he has the money to get away with it. Trust me. I know.”

  Nicky added, “Don’t forget the nanny. That freak on steroids has muscles the size of Texas. He has a chest tattoo on his damn bicep. I saw it this summer.”

  Jimmy said with feeling, “Yeah, no way you should be messing with her, Skeet. Go for Hannah. Oh, man, Hannah rocks.”

  “Hannah’s great,” Nicky murmured. “Nothing crazy about her.”

  Skeeter wished he hadn’t mentioned Melody. Luckily, they’d reached the front steps, and the boys dropped it. “What if there’s an alarm?” he asked.

  “Trust me. There isn’t,” Jimmy said.

  This definitely wasn’t worth taking a beating over. “And we’re just going to party, right? Nothing else?”

  “Stop bugging out,” Jimmy said as he put Skeeter in a headlock, which proved contagious because Nicky grabbed Jimmy and put him in a headlock, too. The three of them wrestled with each other for a few minutes, swearing at will and laughing plenty before Jimmy shined his flashlight on the driveway. “Come on boys. Time’s a wastin’!”

  “Be careful with the light,” Nicky cautioned. “We don’t want the Five-O on our collective asses.”

  Skeeter shook his head. They were a couple of goofballs—all talk, but funny as hell.