Depth Perception (23 page)

Instead, he turned away from her and walked to the bank closest to the place where she'd found Brand's body and looked out over the water. He took a deep breath. Another and another and slowly the grief began to recede into its deep, black hole.

"Did you see anyone else here that day?" he asked.

She slowly got to her feet. Her knees were caked with mud, but she didn't seem to notice. The cigarette between her fingers had burned out at some point, but she hadn't noticed that, either. She crossed to him and looked out at the water.

"If there had been anyone around, they would have heard me screaming and come to help."

Nick stared hard at her. "Are you absolutely certain?"

She raised her gaze to his. He saw the question in her eyes, and he knew she was wondering what he was getting at. Her face was wet with tears. A black streak of mascara extended from her left eye to her nostril. The face of grief, he thought.

He saw the same thing in his own face. In Nat's. So much grief for one small town . . .

"I didn't see anyone."

"How long before the police arrived?" he asked.

"God, Nick. It could have been five minutes. It could have been five hours." She lifted the cigarette as if to draw on it. realized it had gone out, and tossed it to the ground. "I carried him to shore." Her face screwed up and she began to cry again. "I didn't want to put him down because I didn't want him to get muddy. That's so stupid. He was covered with moss and dirty swamp water. He was wearing the new sneakers I'd just picked up at Wal-Mart. I didn't want him to get them dirty.”

"Did you notice anything else about him?"

"Like what?"

"Did he have any bruises? Anything like that?"

She blinked as if the question had surprised her. "I don't think so. I don't know. I was so upset. ... "

Nick chose his next words carefully. "Did you ever ...lose your temper with him, Tanya? Maybe grab his arm a little too tightly?"

Her mouth opened. Her eyes widened. She made a choking sound. "God no! Nick, how could you ask such a thing?"

“This is important, Tanya. Are you absolutely certain you never bruised him? Around the throat?"

She stepped back, raised her finger and shoved it close to his face. "I may not have been a perfect mama to Brand, but I swear to God I never hit him! Goddamn you for asking me that!"

Because her voice had risen, Nick raised his hands to silence her. "What happened when the police arrived?"

"Alcee Martin . . . took him from me. Laid him on the ground and tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Even though Brand was blue, I was praying to God he would come around. That he would come to. But he didn't."

"Did any of the deputies look around? Search the area?"

She gave him an irritated look. "How would I know? I was out of my mind with grief! I don't know what the police did. All I knew was that I'd lost the only good thing I'd ever had. My little boy was dead, and he wasn't ever coming back."

#   #   #

Tanya was standing on the step outside the front door of the mobile home when Nick left her. She'd gotten herself a fresh beer, lit another cigarette, and asked him to stay for a drink, but he'd declined and was relieved as hell when he finally got in the truck.

For a moment, he sat behind the wheel and tried to decide what to do next. He'd been hoping Tanya would reveal some tidbit of information that would either prove or disprove Nat's conviction that Brandon had been murdered. As much as he hated to think of it, he'd been hoping she would substantiate the presence of bruises about his neck. Only she hadn't, and now he was faced with only one remaining alternative: Alcee Martin.

Nick had gone to school with Alcee but didn't know him well. He sure as hell didn't know him well enough to join him at the diner and announce over Mama Dee's fried okra that Nat Jennings's dead son had told them that Brandon had been murdered. No, he would have to think of another way to approach him. And soon, too. Because Nick had the sinking feeling that that there was a killer on the loose in Bellerose. A killer who would strike again if he wasn't stopped.

Chapter 18

Nat settled into a chair at the dining room table with a yellow legal pad and pen in front of her. A candle flickered in the center of the table, sending a warm bouquet of vanilla throughout the room. To her right, a manila folder lay open, the messages from Kyle spread out like the pages of some mysterious manuscript.

 
Mommy.

Bad man came in ar house n hurted me an daddy.

kill Branden to.

gona hurt more kidz

Make him stop.

hell hurt you to

monster in the woods

bad man take ricky. kill again. hurry

Monster has Ricky. wood house.

Heaven.

Bad man  Took him.

Gatea mud.

Setting her hand against the latest note, she closed her eyes and conjured the image of Kyle's face. For several minutes, the only sounds came from the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room and the incessant chorus of the woods behind the house.

"Kyle," she whispered. "Help me, sweetie."

She picked up one of the pens, set the ballpoint tip against the paper, and waited. She tried to relax and focused on opening her mind. One minute stretched into five. Frustrated because nothing was happening, she wrote her name on the pad. She wrote Kyle's name and then Where are you?

A blast from the doorbell nearly sent her out of her skin. Pressing her hand to her chest, she gathered the notes, put them inside the folder, and closed .it, A quick glance into the dining room told her the paint had covered the words she'd written on the wall the night before. At the door, she checked the peephole and was surprised to see Faye standing on the porch. a bottle of wine in one hand, a carryout pizza in the other.

Nat opened the door. Faye didn't wait to be invited inside, brushing by her and striding directly to the broken window, which she had evidently spotted from the front porch. "What in the bejeebers happened to your window?"

"A prank." Nat put her hands on her hips. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to pig out on some pizza." Faye pulled the curtain aside and studied the window. "What kind of prank?"

Sighing, Nat told her about the doll. "If I talk about it, I'm just going to get pissed."

"You called the cops, right?"

She nodded.

"Good." Faye looked down at the pizza box. "Have you eaten?"

Nat breathed in the aromas of yeast dough and pepperoni, and her stomach rumbled' in response. The day had been such an emotional roller coaster, she'd forgotten about dinner.

"Don't tell me that pizza came from Pepperoni Kitchen."

Smiling, Faye headed toward the kitchen. I’ll get the plates."

"In the cupboard." Nat flipped on the overhead lights, trying hard to get used to the idea of having pizza with a woman whose friendship and loyalty she'd spent the last three years doubting.

"I brought merlot--"

Nat knew it the instant Faye spotted the bruise on her cheek. She'd done her best to cover it with makeup, but beneath the bright lights of the kitchen there was no hiding it.

"Oh, Natty." She looked pained. "Someone hit you."

"I ran into an old friend at The Blue Gator."

"What on earth were you doing at The Blue Gator?"

"Getting into trouble, evidently."

Crossing to her, Faye cupped her chin and tilted her cheekbone toward the light, her expression sympathetic. "Who did this?"

"Hunt Ratcliffe."

"That woman-hitting son of a bitch." Faye's lips thinned, her eyes flashing indignation. “You pressed charges, didn't you?"

"Not exactly . . ."

"You can't let him get away with hitting you."

"I hit him first."

"That doesn't matter. Hunt Ratcliffe outweighs you by eighty pounds. He's a bully and a mean-spirited jerk." Sudden understanding dawned on her friend's face. "He has no right to blame you for what happened to Ward and Kyle."

"I know. And I know I would have been within my rights to file charges against him, but I swear Faye, I didn't want to go through it He's a Ratcliffe and I'm--"

"You're a woman who's been through a horrific ordeal."  Studying the bruise, she shook her head. "Look, my ex is a judge over in Tangipahoa Parish--"

"I thought your ex was a landscaper?"

"My other ex."

"Oh, you got married again?"

Faye flushed. "He had a really powerful energy. But it was a fast marriage, even faster divorce." She shrugged. "But he's strong on crime, especially domestic stuff and women's rights. If you want me to talk to him ... "

Absurdly thankful there was at least one person in Bellerose who believed in her, Nat had to blink back tears. "No, it's okay. I just want to forget about it."

Determined not to cry, she walked to the pizza box and opened the lid. "If we're going to put a dent in this, we should probably get started."

Faye poured wine while Nat loaded pizza slices onto plates. They settled into chairs at the dining room table and for several minutes the only sound carne from forks scraping against ironstone.

"You don't have to bring food every time you come over," Nat said as she reached for her second slice.

"I knew you'd let me in if I had food."

Nat felt a smile emerge. realized it felt good on her face. Faye grinned back. "So what were you doing at The Blue Gator, anyway?"

Nat scrambled for a lie, but none seemed plausible. When the silence became charged, Faye looked at her over her pizza, her brow quirking. “Now, I'm intrigued."

"I went to see Nick Bastille," Nat said.

She stopped chewing. "What?"

"I said--"

"I heard you the first time. I'm just wondering why on earth you went to see him. I mean, he's not exactly your type.”  Her brows knitted. "Is he?"

Nat ignored the flutter in her stomach and answered her friend's question with one of her own. "Did you know he lost a son?"

“I sure do. It was awful. Poor little kid was only five years old. Slipped out of the house while his mother was passed out. He drowned in the swamp. The whole town was broken up. Bastille was in prison. Jenny Lee told me the warden wouldn't even give him a pass to attend the funeral."

Nat felt a pang of sympathy for Nick. How terrible it must have been, losing his only son while incarcerated and not even allowed to attend the funeral.

"Honey, is there something going on between you and Nick Bastille?"

Nat laughed, but it came out a little too forcefully, as if she were trying a tad too hard. "Of course not."

But, Faye wasn't easily fooled. "Natty, he's not the kind of guy you want to mess around with.  I mean, the man did time for murder."

"He told me he didn't do it."

"What else is he going to say?" Faye pursed her lips."Look, he might be something to look at, but tread carefully. As far as we know, he could be dangerous."

Nat thought he was plenty dangerous, but not in the way Faye meant. “I can handle Nick Bastille."

"I'm not sure he's the kind of man who can be handled."

Not at all comfortable with the subject of Nick, especially when the memory of his touch was so fresh in her mind, Nat started to rise. But a sudden wave of vertigo sent her back down. In her peripheral vision the walls fluttered. The floor seemed ten feet down as she lost her sense of depth perception. In the last six months she'd become familiar with the sensation, and she knew what would happen next.

Fighting intense dizziness, she glanced at the legal pad next to her plate and watched it fade in and out of her vision, as if she were seeing it through wavering columns of heat. Vaguely, she was aware of the pen in her band, that she was clutching it the way a child would clutch a crayon. No, she thought. Not now ...

"Nat?" Faye's voice reached her as if through a thick fog. "Honey? What's wrong?"

Nat heard the other woman's chair scrape against the floor, the rustle of her skirt as she rose. In the back of her mind, she was aware of Faye moving closer, touching her shoulder gently. "Natty? Honey, you're scaring me."

But Nat couldn't answer. She couldn't speak or move or explain herself. It was as if she'd been paralyzed by some insidious drug. As if something--or someone--had taken control of her body. The sensation was utterly terrifying.

The initial wave of energy hit her with the force of an earthquake. The lights seemed to dim, and then she was plunged into darkness. She reached for Kyle, searched desperately for the comfort and goodness he brought her. But none of those things came, and abruptly, she sensed that something was terribly wrong. Adrenaline spiked, and then fear punched her like a giant, cold fist.

#   #   #

Nat came to on the floor. S she struggled to her hands and knees, still clutching the pen, her hair hanging limply in her face. Her arms were weak and quivering. Her heart was pounding. Cold sweat slicked the back of her neck. She was breathing so hard her chest hurt.

"Nat! Honey, what happened? Are you okay?"

Nat looked up to see Faye punching numbers into her cell phone. "Put down the phone."

"Natty, you just had some kind of seizure. Lie still while I call an ambulance."

"Don't," she managed, but her voice was weak.

Faye stopped dialing but didn't put the phone down. “What?"

"No ambulance. Please."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm okay.”

"Oh, yeah, I can see that as you bleed all over the floor!"

"I'm not bleeding." Nat started to get to her feet, then spotted the bright red droplets of blood on the tile and realized with some surprise that she was, indeed, bleeding. "Put the phone down. Faye. Now, damn it. I mean it."

Faye choked out a sound of pure exasperation as she dropped her phone onto the table and crossed to Nat. "You have two seconds to tell me what the hell just happened."