Evil at Heart (29 page)

           
Susan realized that her mouth had fallen open. Maybe she’d misunderstood. “Didn’t Gretchen kill his sister?” she asked.

           
They all looked at her, a little startled, like she’d pulled down her pants. “Sorry,” she said.

           
Jack looked at his boat. The fiberglass hull knocked lightly against the dock. “Jeremy has some challenges,” Jack said. “One of which is obsessive-compulsive disorder. Do you know much about boats?” It took Susan an instant to realize he was asking her.

           
“Not really,” she said. The truth was that the whole kidnapped-and-held-hostage-on-a-boat thing a few months ago had sort of soured her on watercraft in general.

           
“She’s a sloop,” Jack said. “Pretty, huh?”

           
“Sure,” Susan said.

           
“Jeremy was thirteen when his sister was murdered,” Jack said. “He developed an interest in following the case.” He paused. A seagull swooped down onto the dock and squawked. “At some point he became confused,” he continued. “He romanticized the Beauty Killer. He drew pictures of him—always a him—what he imagined the Beauty Killer looked like, big black wings, horns. The therapists said he was attracted to the killer’s strength. When Gretchen was caught, Jeremy was in love.”

           
“He was a fragile kid,” Archie said gently.

           
Jack was still gazing at his boat. “He always worshipped you.”

           
The seagull flew off. The boat bobbed. “Do you know where he is?” Archie asked.

           
Jack Reynolds’s mouth flattened in determination. “I can find him,” he said.

           
Archie took a step toward Jack. “Find him,” he said. “Get him out of this. But first I want to know where he is, and who he’s involved with.”

           
Jack smiled, but his eyes flashed with something darker. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Archie?”

           
“Yeah. I need a gun,” Archie said. “And a prepaid cell phone.”

           
C H A P T E R 34

           
The gull had flown off.

           
It had been ten minutes since Archie had followed Jack Reynolds into the Tudor château, leaving Susan standing with the lawyer on the dock.

           
The lawyer cleared his throat. “So, did you grow up in Oregon?” he asked her.

           
Susan had been giving him the silent treatment. Clearly, he wasn’t getting it. “Your client just has extra guns and prepaid cell phones lying around?”

           
The lawyer was wearing an expensive gray suit and a black button-down shirt, open at the collar. Susan could admire his clothes and still not like him.

           
The lawyer put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the lake. “He likes to be prepared,” he said.

           
Right. Susan narrowed her eyes. “What does your client do exactly?” she asked.

           
The lawyer shot her a reflexive smile. “He’s in real estate.”

           
“Uh-huh,” Susan said. She got her cigarettes out of her purse, lit one, and took a drag. Usually, she’d have asked permission. “He and Archie are friends?”

           
The lawyer paused and seemed to think about the answer. “Archie has always been generous about keeping the family updated on the case. They’ve known each other for a long time.”

           
“How long have you worked for him?”

           
“He was my first client. Right out of law school.”

           
“Let me guess,” she said. “Lewis and Clark?” All the lawyers in town went to Lewis and Clark. Sometimes Susan thought it must be a requirement in the state bar exam.

           
“Go Pioneers,” he said.

           
“They should have gone with Seaman,” she said.

           
“Excuse me?”

           
“They should have made the mascot Seaman. After Lewis’s Newfoundland. He was right there with them, blazing the Oregon Trail.”

           
“Is Archie in trouble?”

           
Susan rolled her eyes. “Compared to . . .”

           
He got his wallet out, extracted an expensive-looking business card, and put it in her hand. “You can always call me,” he said. “I am a lawyer.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “And I’m discreet.”

           
Susan couldn’t quite figure him out. And she didn’t like that. She looked at her shoes. “It’s pretty out here.”

           
“As a picture.” He took the cigarette out of her hand, took a drag off it, and handed it back.

           
Susan looked at the cigarette.

           
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m quitting. But I sneak one once in a while.”

           
Another gull landed on the dock and pecked at some old bait that lay baking in the sun.

           
“What was his daughter’s name?” she asked.

           
The lawyer gestured to the boat. On the back, above the rudder, was a girl’s name painted in glittery gold and black cursive letters. “Isabel,” he said. “She was my sister.” He took the cigarette out of her hand again and took another drag. “Jack Reynolds is my father. Jeremy is my little brother.” He sucked down the rest of the cigarette, tossed it on the dock, and stepped on it. “One big happy fucking family.”

           
C H A P T E R 35

           
Are we not talking?” Archie said.

           
They were driving south on Highway 43, the LO alpine shopping mall on their left, heading back toward Portland. Susan didn’t answer him. A DJ on the alt rock station yammered on about LASIK surgery.

           
Archie shrugged. He had the gun and cell phone he’d gotten from Jack Reynolds on his lap. He emptied the chamber of the gun and then put the bullets in a dash cubby intended for loose change, and the gun and phone in Susan’s glove box.

           
“What are you doing?” Susan asked.

           
“In case we’re pulled over,” he said.

           
“No,” Susan said. “In the larger sense. What the fuck are you doing?”

           
“I’m trying to get a lost kid out of a bad situation.”

           
Susan flailed a hand at the glove box. “You got a gun. An unregistered gun.”

           
“Yes,” Archie said.

           
“Who is that guy?”

           
Archie smiled. “He’s in real estate.”

           
Susan could feel her jaw tighten. Someday she was going to take Archie Sheridan by the shoulders and shake the truth right out of him. Until then, she’d have to rely on more subtle manipulation.

           
“His lawyer’s cute,” she said.

           
She saw Archie slide her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

           
“Why?”

           
“Leo,” Archie said slowly, “works for Jack.”

           
“Doing what?” Susan said. “Real estate contracts?”