False Impressions (21 page)

She stopped and scowled at April.

April suppressed a laugh. She couldn’t imagine Marvin getting the best of this woman. Maybe she hadn’t been this feisty when he was alive. “Not selling anything. Just wondering about that lot. I heard it was for sale,” April said, pointing.

“Are you one of them? Those druggies?”

“No,” April said emphatically. “I’m April Buchert.”

“Okay, then. I’m Jeanie. Jeanie Justice.” She leaned on the broom handle. Her eyebrows knitted. “You don’t want that piece of ground. People make drugs there. Terrible stuff. Horrible chemicals that leach into the ground. I’m worried about my water being contaminated. I’ve called the county, the DEA, the EPA. Someone has to do something. I drink nothing but the bottled stuff now.”

“But didn’t the meth making end when the house blew up?”

“I don’t think so,” she said in a singsong way. “Look over here.”

She led April up her driveway, through the garage and out a small door in the back wall. Her backyard looked over the house April had just visited. April could see a swing set in the yard of the house with the harried young mother. Just beyond that, in the pine trees she could see the old foundation.

“They bring a trailer and park it there.”

April was doubtful. “But how do they get in? I didn’t see any tire tracks from the road. The snow hasn’t been touched.”

Jeanie pointed again. “ATVs. They come through the woods. Usually at night.” She shook her head. “They’re not there all the time,” she said. “The trailer comes and goes.”

April squinted, shading her eyes. This was big news. Maybe J.B knew that the gang was still making meth there. Maybe that’s what got him killed.

Jeanie turned and went back in the garage. April followed. “Have you told the police?” she asked.

“I can take care of myself.” She pointed to a rack of shotguns mounted on the wall. “They don’t bother me.”

 

April drove straight to the Aldenville Police Station. She was
excited. She’d tell the chief that meth was still being made out there. This could lead to finding J.B.’s killer.

The police station was located in the back of the municipal building, a fancy name for the old hotel that housed the mayor, borough council offices and the police. A tiny sign directed her to the right door.

There was no one in the office. She heard voices that seemed to be coming from the upstairs meeting room. She climbed the stairs as she’d done the previous week for the council meeting.

A poster on the door depicted a blacksmith with a red-hot pair of tongs in his hand. Across the top read, “Anvils.” This was the place.

A twenty-cup coffeepot had been set to brew and the smell wafted out, energizing April with the caffeine particles on the air. A small woman with tight gray curls greeted her at the door. Her face was youthful, but the steel-colored hair and the polyester 1970s-style pantsuit pegged her as middle-aged. These clothes were never going to be sold as vintage. They were just old.

“Coffee?” she asked brightly. This woman didn’t look like an addict, unless fondness for out-of-style clothes was an addiction.

April accepted a cup. “I want to make sure I’m in the right place. Is this the support group run by Officer Yost?”

She got a mischievous glint in her eye. “The one-size-fits-all twelve steps or however-many-steps-you-need support group? That’s us.”

She slapped on a name tag and handed one to April, along with a fat blue marker. Her name was Paula Glanville. Under her name, she wrote, “Gambling.”

April raised an eyebrow.

“Aldenville isn’t big enough for its own Gamblers Anon meeting, so I come here. There’s lots of AA meetings. Alcoholics aplenty,” she said with a smile, “but gamblers, not so much.”

In San Francisco, any given night, April could have found a dozen twelve-step meetings for any vice. Some vices, she was sure, that the good people of Aldenville had never even heard of.

But this woman didn’t look like a gambler. “You?” April asked, fighting to keep the surprise out of her voice. She didn’t want to insult the woman.

Paula nodded, her face turning cloudy. “Putting that casino in the Poconos was the end for me. I was there every day after work. I lost my job, my house. My parent’s house, really,” she corrected.

April winced.

“Oh, they’re dead. Still, it had been in the family for six generations.”

April hid her reaction better this time. This woman was determined to keep up her callous cheeriness. April didn’t want to ruin her effort.

Paula greeted newcomers and offered coffee as they filed in. A pretty woman in leather boots and a full-length mink ignored the cup and found a seat next to a middle-aged guy in a flannel shirt and down vest that strained over his belly.

“Sex,” Paula muttered, using her coffee cup to camouflage her mouth.

“Pardon?” April was at a loss. Was she suggesting those two . . . ?

“Sex addict. He’s online poker. And porn.”

April watched the room fill. She looked for Violet. No sign of her yet. There were at least a dozen people here. That was a lot of heartache for such a small town. The kind of pain that was spread around. No one got off easy with an addict in the house. Wives, boyfriends, kids, parents, all impacted. If Yost was helping them, he was doing a good thing.

Paula was wearing earrings shaped like anvils. She caught April staring.

“The anvil is the symbol of this group. We take our totems seriously.”

April gave her a questioning look.

She pointed at the poster. “The blacksmith uses heat and tools to mold the shape he needs. He has to be able to pound and land his blows solidly. The anvil is the support. You can’t have change without the anvil.”

Yost entered with Violet on his heel. Paula turned to pour him a cup of coffee and doctored it with hazelnut-flavored creamer. He stopped dead in front of April. Violet veered off just in time to avoid stepping on his heel.

He wasn’t happy she was there.

“New recruit, Paula? Haven’t I warned you about picking up strays?”

Paula giggled, missing Yost’s displeasure. “No, silly. She found us. She’s got a problem with . . .”

Paula’s expression turned inquisitive as she realized April hadn’t said what her addiction was. She waited for her to fill in the blank.

Yost got there first. “I know what her problem is. I don’t think there’s a twelve-step program for interfering with police investigations.”

A couple in matching ski jackets, complete with dangling old lift tickets, approached Yost, interrupting his attack on April. Something about a broken vow. He held April’s eyes for several long seconds before he turned away. She was on notice.

“I’ve got a police matter to discuss.”

“Well, since the council frowns upon overtime, you’re going to have to wait. I’m not on duty for another”—he consulted his watch, pulling the pocket piece out slowly—“ninety-five minutes.”

April frowned at him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She talked fast before he could stop her. “I was out at the meth house site, and the neighbor told me she sees people going in and out of there, making meth.”

To her dismay, Yost laughed. “Let me guess. In a shiny trailer, right?”

April nodded.

Yost leaned back against the wall. He was in civilian clothes today, a neat sweater over a pair of blue jeans. Looked almost human.

He raised his voice, playing to his crowd. “And did she tell you about the other shiny things she sees? That float down from the sky? And shoot flaming arrows at her place?”

April shrank back. Crap. She’d found the neighborhood nut job.

Yost wasn’t finished humiliating her yet. “That’s our Jeanie. She loves a new audience. She must have seen you coming a mile away.”

“All right, I get it. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No problem, Miss Buchert! Why not stay for the lecture? Today’s topic is about moderation.” His tone was smarmy, as if he had much to teach her and she had much to learn.

Then Yost leaned in and spoke quietly. He didn’t want to be overheard this time. “Have you been talking to Dr. Wysocki? I saw you go in his place the other day. That man is obsessed. He thinks just because his daughter got hooked on meth, it’s everywhere.”

“Listen,” April said, her patience gone. “Why don’t you just go do your job?”

His face hardened and his voice turned menacing. “I do my job, day after day, year after year. What do I get? Some city council member who thinks he knows more than me about how to keep this town safe, telling me I need to work fewer hours or be replaced by the cops next door. No one knows this town like I do. It’s been my life for thirty years. I know where all the bodies are buried.”

He turned on his heel and approached the podium set up in the middle of the room. April let herself out.

April sat in her car with the motor running. Yost had
embarrassed her in front of everyone. She felt awful.

So Jeanie was a bust. The neighbors had told her exactly nothing. She knew no more about J.B. than she had before she went out there.

Yost’s group had her thinking about twelve-step programs. J.B. had been in AA, according to Kit. People going through them had tasks to do. April couldn’t recite every one of the steps, but she was familiar with at least one.

Amends. Her college roommate had looked her up several years after graduation out of the blue, apologizing for the number of men she’d entertained in their room when they were freshmen. She was going through Alcoholics Anonymous and had to make amends.

Is that what J.B. had been doing? Trying to make up to his sister and his niece? Someone else? Conway’s family? Maybe someone hadn’t liked his apology.

April reached for the gearshift to put the car in drive. Her hand brushed against her coat pocket, and she felt the small plastic cassette tape. She’d nearly forgotten about what she’d found last night in the shed. Now all she needed was a player.

Her phone chirped. It was Tina. April looked at the phone in disbelief. Talk about timing.

“Just the woman I wanted to talk to,” April said. “Do you have a microcassette player?”

“Umm . . .” Tina was clearly caught off guard. “J.B. had one, I think.”

“Good, I’m coming up to get it.”

“Okay, I need to see you too. I’m at home.”

Tina gave her directions to her condo. She lived in a converted garden apartment. April was able to park out in front and quickly walked to the second floor unit. A wreath of glittery snowflakes greeted her. Next to it was a tin banner of a Dickensian choral group. They held a sign that read, “Welcome. Home Is Where the Heart Is.”

April wondered if Tina would feel the same about her house now without J.B.

Tina answered the door. April rubbed her feet on the snowman doormat, but after spying Tina’s off-white carpets, she took off her boots.

“Oh, April,” Tina said, gathering her in for an awkward hug. “I’m glad to see you. Do you have any word?”

“Word?” April straightened. Tina’s eyes were bright with hope.

“On the funeral. I thought you came to tell me about the arrangements.”

“What? No, Tina, it all just happened the day before yesterday.” She softened her tone when she realized how fragile Tina seemed. “I mean, the family’s still dealing. I was hoping that you had that recorder.”

Tina didn’t answer, didn’t offer to take April’s coat or invite her in. She wandered back into her living room and sat down. She’d obviously been sleeping on her couch. The back cushions were on the floor, and a fleece blanket had been tossed over the arm. She straightened the remaining cushions and settled against them. April sat on a rocking chair opposite and looked around.

The house definitely had a woman’s touch. The furniture was dainty. Queen Anne-style with turned legs and faded velvet upholstery. The décor relied heavily on flowery prints and an overuse of pink. She had a breakfront full of Disney characters and another with a collection of bird figurines. The white brick fireplace was filled with candles in their original plastic wrapping.

It was hard to imagine a guy as tall as J.B. getting comfortable and watching the tiny TV tucked into the corner of the room.

Tina moaned. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being a pain.”

“It’s been a terrible week.” April saw Tina’s dark circles. The woman was clearly on the verge of a breakdown. “Are you getting any sleep?”

“Not much.”

“How about the microcassette?” April asked. “Do you have J.B.’s tape player?” She felt sorry for her but the tape might hold the key to J.B.’s murder and that would help everyone.

Tina’s head lolled against the back of the couch. She waved away April’s question. “I just wanted to see him one last time.”

April looked away. Tina’s grief was palpable.