Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) (6 page)

“That’s almost a shame,” Carly said. “You’ve put so many people to work. I hate to see the job finished.”

“Yes, but once the resort gets up and running, we’ll be hiring people. Don’t you worry.” Faye nodded. “There’ll be increased business all over town when tourists start pouring in.”

“I hope so.” Though Carly couldn’t imagine crowds “pouring in” to Solitude, they could hope. Maybe Darren Fisher would find work when the resort was finished. “Nice to see you both. I need to run.” Carly picked up her bag and walked toward the door. Her phone vibrated and she paused to fish it out of her pocket. Her mom’s number appeared on the screen.

“Terrible business about Beverly Rollins,” Nell said to Faye.

“I feel terrible. Just last week I had to let Alex Rollins go.” Faye sighed. She lowered her voice to a whisper, but Carly could hear her. “Shoddy work.”

Most of the local builders were doing work on the Rogue River resort project. Poor Alex Rollins had lost a job, possibly his wife, and effectually his son, all in the course of a week.

Answering her mom’s call, Carly left the store still wondering if Alex Rollins’s job situation had anything to do with his son’s or wife’s drug use. Her job had taught her that abuse and neglect weren’t confined to poor families. She made a note to talk to Russ’s friends. Could the Rollins family be hiding a secret?

Home was ten minutes outside town. Carly drove around her mother’s house and down the lane along the meadow that led to the cabin. Her parents had lived in the two-bedroom bungalow when they’d first been married. Later, when the family expanded, they’d built the larger house closer to the road. The cabin had served as guest accommodations over the years, but for the last few months it had been Carly and Brianna’s home. A football-field-size meadow provided just enough privacy, while still making it convenient to walk Brianna to the main house before work in the morning.

Carly parked and got out of the Jeep, proud of herself for wrapping up all her appointments before five o’clock for a change. Sweat coated the backs of her legs, the one place the cool air of her car’s air conditioner didn’t reach. Looking out over the yellow-dotted field, she breathed in the scent of dry grass and buttercups. The perfumed air was still hot.

“Mama.” Brianna’s voice carried over the quiet. Clad in a pink bathing suit and sneakers, she raced off the covered back porch of the main house and bolted in Carly’s direction.

Carly braced herself for the collision.

But Brianna slid to a dusty stop a few feet before impact. “Mama, Uncle Bruce said he’d take me swimming if it was okay with you.”

“Did he?” Carly smiled, but irritation flared. Her brother should have asked her first. She was tired and hot and crabby. The last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with people. O’Rourke’s Lake was a favorite hangout for teenagers at night. In the daytime families went to the muddy beach to cool off. It wasn’t an officially approved public swimming hole, but everyone went there anyway. It was still daylight, but there was the possibility that some of the local kids would be there, gossiping about Russ or Peter or C-22 making the rounds in town.

“Mama, come on.” Brianna grabbed Carly’s hand and dragged her back to the main house.

Shirtless and barefoot, Bruce sat on the back porch, his guitar draped over his lap. He strummed “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” one of Brianna’s favorite songs. Bruce was Carly’s younger brother, the only one of the Taylor siblings not gainfully employed. Playing in a bar on Friday and Saturday nights didn’t produce sufficient income to support an adult, which was why Bruce still lived at home. James, the oldest, was a lawyer and the current mayor of Solitude.

“It’s hot. Come on down to the lake with us.” He stood up, set the guitar aside, and gave Carly a peck on the cheek. A pair of low-slung board shorts hung from his narrow hips. “We’ll take a six-pack and chill out.”

A dunk in the cool lake waters sounded like heaven, but Carly raised a finger. “You can talk me into the lake, but there will be no alcohol while supervising a seven-year-old in the water.”

“You’re right, of course,” he said in his best placate-the-bossy-older-sister voice. At least he didn’t say, “Lighten up, Carly” anymore.

“Brianna, go grab some towels,” Carly called.

“Yay!” Her daughter raced for the cabin.

“Really, Bruce, you should have asked me first.”

Bruce lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. The kid’s hot, and she’s been cooped up here all day with nobody to play with but me and Mom.”

“You’re right,” Carly said. “I’m sorry. It’s been an awful day.”

She hadn’t even thought about Brianna getting bored stuck at home with her grandmother. If they were still living in town, Brianna would have playmates, at least in the evenings. There were days that, no matter how hard she tried, she felt like a terrible mother.

“In that case, why don’t you grab that six-pack, and I’ll watch the kid.”

“That’s sweet, but I’ll pass. I’m on call. Can you take this to the kitchen?” Carly handed him the bag from Nell’s.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Nell’s fried chicken?”

“You bet.”

“It’ll be just as good cold tonight.” But he fished a leg out of the bag and bit into it as he turned toward the back door.

Carly stepped off the porch onto the back lawn. “I’ll go put on my suit. Thank goodness Brianna has a fun uncle.”

Bruce laughed and waved toward the cabin with the chicken leg. “I’ll bring the Jeep around to the cabin.”

Twenty minutes later they parked on the road and walked past the unenforced No Swimming sign. The cops patrolled at night, mostly to run off underage drinkers, but the small police force had bigger problems than locals taking an unauthorized swim.

They threw their towels down on the dirt beach. A few teens had come early to beat the heat, though they hadn’t broken out the alcohol yet. They’d wait until dark. An older boy swung out over the lake on a rope. He let go and folded his long body into a cannonball before hitting the water with a huge splash. Two more kids waited for their turn on the rope.

The beach was tucked back in the woods and out of the way of normal traffic. Carly considered how many times she and Stevie had sneaked beers at the lake in high school.

Bruce grabbed a giggling Brianna, tucked her under his arm like a football, and raced for the water. He splashed waist-deep and tossed her out over the lake. Delighted squeals floated back to the beach. Carly followed, stopping when the water reached her thighs. Despite the hot temperatures of this summer, the river-fed lake never got truly warm. She dunked her shoulders. The cool water refreshed, washing away the day’s sweat.

Standing, she turned to keep Bruce and Brianna in sight while she scanned the beach. Three teenage boys were roughhousing in the shallows. A group of high school girls had arrived and stood ankle-deep in tiny string bikinis pretending they were ignoring the boys vying for their attention. Another group of kids spilled onto the beach. Tonight was going to be busy.

Carly edged closer to the kids, her ears tuned for snatches of conversation. Surprised, she spotted Grace Ellis with the newly arrived group of teens. She was less animated than her friends. How could she stand to be here after her boyfriend had died on this very beach back in May? The event had kept kids away from the lake for a week or two; then they’d shrugged it off and gone back to business as usual. Resiliency at its best.

Grace wrapped her arms around her middle. Her pink bikini seemed too bright for her mood. Her friends tried to coax her into the water, but she shook her head and knelt on her towel to watch the boys horse around. Was she thinking about her dead boyfriend?

“Again, Uncle Bruce,” Brianna begged.

Laughing, Bruce gave Brianna another toss.

Keeping Brianna in her peripheral vision, Carly wandered closer to Grace.

Grace looked up. Her brows drew together. “I know you. You’re the social worker.”

“That’s me.” Carly, sensing the girl’s discomfort, looked out over the water.

Grace blinked away from her. “What are
you
doing here?”

Because, at twenty-nine, Carly was a thousand years too old to be at the lake. “My brother wanted to bring my daughter for a quick swim.” She nodded toward Bruce and Brianna.

Grace gave them two seconds of consideration. She leaned forward and drew a circle in the dirt with her finger.

“Hot day,” Carly said.

Grace drew a tree and gave it stick branches.

Carly went for the direct approach. “How are you, Grace? I know the summer has been rough.”

“Fine.” Grace shrugged.

“If you ever need to talk to anyone . . .” Carly let the implication hang.

“I’m fine,” Grace said with bite. Her posture tensed.

“Do you know Peter Rollins?” Carly asked.

Grace nodded, her shoulders rounding and relaxing again. Obviously she was more comfortable talking about someone else. “Everyone knows Peter.”

“Is he your friend?”

“No.” Grace said in a don’t-be-ridiculous tone. “Definitely not.”

“Really?” Carly said. “You’re both honor students and everything.”

“Oh, yeah. Peter’s smart all right.” Grace picked at the cuticle on her thumb. “Peter is a player.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know.” Grace pressed her lips together until they lost color. Why didn’t she want to talk about Peter? “Look, he’s just not my type.”

“What about Russ Warner? You know him?”

Grace obliterated her picture with a rough swipe of her hand, then stood, rubbing her palms together to brush off the dirt. “I have to go.” She crossed into a circle of teenagers and disappeared.

A mosquito landed on Carly’s arm. She swatted at it. Her hand came away spotted with blood. They should go soon. She returned to the lake to join her daughter and brother.

Brianna was floating on her back, her arms spread wide on the lake’s surface. “Look what I can do, Mommy!” She jerked her head around to make sure she had Carly’s attention. Her butt sank and her head went under briefly.

“Remember, you have to relax, sillyhead.” Bruce supported her with one hand under her body.

Brianna returned to her task, her face scrunched in concentration. When she’d achieved float, Bruce removed his hand. With a sudden lunge, he dunked Carly. She went under. Lake water flooded her mouth and nose. Sputtering, she broke the surface and pushed her wet hair off her face. Her mouth tasted like moss.

She splashed him. “You are in so much trouble.”

“What are you going to do? Tell Mom?” he retorted in a smart-alecky tone worthy of a grade schooler. His eyes crinkled with humor. Next to him Brianna giggled, flipped over, and doggy-paddled. Bruce looped a hand around the child’s waist and steered her closer to shore so she could stand.

“You wait and see.” Carly gave him her best evil eye. “I always get even. It’ll happen when you least expect it.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition?” he joked.

“Exactly.” Carly fought the laugh rising in her throat, but humor tugged at the corners of her mouth.

He splashed back and swam a few feet away, but Carly was pleased to note the apprehension in his gaze. Brianna doggy-paddled out to Bruce.

He gave the beach a quick glance. “Okay, sillyhead. I think we’d better pack up. Our beach is being stormed by teenagers.”

“And we have fried chicken at home.” Brianna climbed on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. With a cough, Bruce moved her bony forearm off his windpipe and swam for shore.

Even as her heart warmed at the sight of her brother and Brianna’s easy affection, Carly began plotting playful payback. Sibling rivalries were ingrained. Bruce would be disappointed if she didn’t retaliate.

But in the back of her mind, her conversation with Grace replayed. Maybe Peter wasn’t as innocent as he appeared.

She followed Bruce and Brianna onto the beach. As they dried off, sudden unease drew Carly’s gaze to the woods. At seven in the evening, the sun slanted over the treetops, its rays weakening. The shadows along the edge of the lake lengthened, encroaching on the beach.

A figure stood just beyond the tree line. An outlier, separate and distinct from the lake party crowd. The body was large and male, but darkness obliterated the features. Even without seeing his face, Carly felt his gaze on her skin. Despite the warmth in the evening air, goose bumps rose on her arms. She couldn’t see his expression, but he radiated tension. It rolled over the ground between them like an invisible fog.

It felt like Darren Fisher’s stare, and how many people were that big?

If Brianna hadn’t been with her, Carly might have attempted to verify his identity, but all she wanted to do was get her daughter home.

“I’m starving.” She nudged Brianna toward her sandals.

“Me too.” Brianna wrapped her towel around her body twice and tucked the corner in to hold it up.

Carly herded Brianna between her and Bruce as they walked toward the road. The figure in the woods didn’t follow, but she could still feel his intent focus on her back. Was it Darren, and what did he want?

The interview room at the Rogue County Juvenile Detention Center in Hannon was the size of a walk-in closet. A rectangular metal table was bolted to the floor in the center. Seth and Zane sat across from Peter Rollins and his attorney. The kid was average-size, clean-cut, with no visible tattoos, piercings, or other body modifications. The black-pants-and-gray-T-shirt uniform of the detention center hung loose on his lean teen frame.

In a corner of the ceiling, a camera whirred away. Though Seth wanted to jump into the interrogation, he let Zane, as the arresting officer, take the lead. Seth’s new job had its good points. He hadn’t been shot at in ages. But he missed the hands-on aspects of running an investigation.

Zane rested his forearms on the edge of the table and linked his fingers. “What time did you say you met with Russ to make the buy?”

Peter slouched in the metal chair. He was trying to look cool, but under the table, his black athletic shoe tapped a rapid and anxious beat. “Right after work.”