In Close (13 page)

Gathering his nerve, he quit pacing, unfastened the locks and opened the door. But he barely poked his head inside. A quick peek was all he could stomach.

Fortunately, he couldn’t detect anything other than the dank odor he smelled every time he went under the house. He figured that meant his father had enough dirt on top of him. He couldn’t see much of a mound, either, even when he pointed a flashlight right where he’d done the digging.

He shifted his light to the suitcase. He should’ve buried Alana at the same time, but he’d been so tired. And he kept picturing her with empty sockets and clumps of hair falling off her scalp and feared he’d have nightmares about zombies if he disturbed her. The last thing he wanted was to wake the dead.

Breathing a tentative sigh of relief, he closed up the crawl space and went back to the living room. Everything looked okay here, too. He’d returned the gun to its cupboard above the fridge and cleaned up the blood. He’d scrubbed the living room some more last night. It seemed as if every time he sat down he spotted another drop of red somewhere, but he didn’t see any now. The only thing that worried him about the living room was the bullet hole in the wall. He didn’t know how to fix it. He’d tried to cover it with a picture, but he couldn’t hang a picture so close to the ceiling. There wasn’t room.

That hole’s so small. Who’s going to notice?

Eager to escape the living room almost as much as the crawl space, he climbed the stairs. He’d never been allowed in his father’s room, not since his mother walked out on them. His father had made a habit of locking the door whenever he left, but Jeremy had known how to pick that lock since he was twelve.

Tonight, the door stood wide open. No lock-picking needed.

With the owner of the house gone for good, Jeremy was tempted to move out of the basement, away from all the things he feared. He had his own little cemetery going, just like the one in town—without the headstones and flowers. But if someone found out he’d switched bedrooms, it could give his father’s absence away.

He sat on the bed, staring at the clothes hanging in the closet, the hamper, the cast-offs on the floor, the bottle of cologne on the dresser, the messy pile of newspapers on the nightstand with the reading glasses on top. Jeremy had slept on the couch last night, but maybe he’d sleep here tonight. Just one night. He wanted to go through the photo albums hidden up in the attic above his father’s closet. One of those albums contained pictures of his mother.

But he decided to rest until he felt more like himself.

Scooting toward the pillows, he was about to curl into a ball like he’d seen Claire do so often after David’s death, when the loud jangle of the phone startled him.

He jumped off the bed, but he wasn’t sure whether or not to answer. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Would that make whoever it was come to the house?

That was a risk he couldn’t take…?.

Rounding the bed, he snatched up the handset. “Good evening. Salter residence.”

“Who’s this?”

“Jeremy. Who’s this?”

“No one you need to be concerned about. Where’s Don?”

This wasn’t how people normally acted when they called. Jeremy’s hands were already beginning to sweat. “Downstairs.”

“Good. Get him.”

“I c-can’t.” Jeremy wiped his free hand on his jeans. “He, um, he’s indisposed at the moment.” His father had taught him to say that if he was in the bathroom.

“You mean he’s shitfaced again?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, is he drunk?”

Jeremy didn’t answer. He hated to actually
lie…
?. “He can’t come to the phone,” he repeated. “But I’d be happy to give him a message when he wakes up, if you’d like.”

There was a slight hesitation. “I’m not sure it would be worth my while.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t remember from one minute to the next, can you?”

That wasn’t nice. Why would anyone say that? Jeremy hadn’t done anything to make this person mad, had he? “Who is this?” Jeremy asked again.

“You don’t need to know. I’ll call back.”

But that voice. Jeremy was pretty sure he recognized it. “Deputy Clegg?”

There was no answer. A dial tone suddenly hummed in his ear.

26

N
ancy Jernigan, the P.I. Isaac had hired, had discovered some interesting details about the incident in Les Weaver’s office. Most notable was the fact that the dead man’s wife, Shannon Short, claimed they’d been expecting a loan from her parents, which would’ve relieved the financial stress that had supposedly caused her husband, James, to take his own life. That, together with her insistence that Les had
asked
James to bring his gun to the meeting because he was interested in buying it, raised some questions. Les’s motivation in the murder wasn’t as clear, but Nancy felt James’s business partner could’ve put him up to it. Apparently, Ted Abrams blamed James for the failure of their business and was determined to collect on the life insurance set up to protect him in the event of James’s death.

“So James was worth much more to Abrams dead than alive.” Claire had lowered her window to enjoy the warm evening air while Isaac drove. The wind whipped her long curls around her face, but she didn’t mind. Despite everything, she seemed happy just to be with him, and he felt the same.

“Exactly. And Les might’ve facilitated that. For a fee, of course.”

“I’m shocked that he doesn’t have a criminal record, that he’s been able to skip out of everything he’s suspected of doing.”

“We’ll get him eventually. Nancy’s working on it.”

“What about Weaver’s wife?”

They’d been discussing what Nancy had told them almost the entire ride to Pineview. “What about her?”

“Maybe she’ll talk if she realizes what he is.”

“I bet she wouldn’t believe it. He keeps everything from her. He didn’t even want her to know I was at the door.”

“But she can tell us whether or not he was home two nights ago.”

“Let’s wait and see what else Nancy digs up. Then we’ll decide where to go next.”

They passed Trudie’s Grocery, which signaled the edge of town, but Isaac wasn’t happy to be back. It’d been good to have a respite. He figured life could be worse than having Claire all to himself for a day and a half. In another four minutes they’d reach Big Sky Diner, where they were meeting the sheriff for dinner. Laurel had suggested they come to the house so she could see Claire, too, but they didn’t want to talk about attempted murder in front of the kids, and Laurel had quickly conceded that it wouldn’t make appropriate dinnertime conversation. This wasn’t personal. They didn’t need a friend; they needed a sheriff.

“Are we going to stay at my place tonight?” Claire asked. “The bedroom’s been cleaned up.”

“We’ll be safer at a motel in Libby or Kalispell.” And, after feeling so helpless to protect her when the fire started two nights ago, he was all about an ounce of prevention.

“That’ll cost money,” she pointed out.

“I don’t mind.” The insurance would probably cover it. He had to have somewhere to live until his cabin could be rebuilt. But even if the insurance wouldn’t, he didn’t care about the expense as long as it kept Claire safe.

“I don’t want you to spend money if you don’t have to, especially because of me.”

“Quit worrying about it. If Myles is any closer to making an arrest, maybe we’ll stay,” he said. “If not…we’ll head out. Maybe we’ll go as far as Big Fork.”

She held the hair out of her eyes. “That won’t give us much time in town. It’s already six o’clock.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to let me out of bed.” He added a wink since it had actually been the other way around. He’d been afraid everything would change once they left the motel, that the unity they’d felt during the past twenty-four hours would suddenly disappear. But it was still there, for now. It made him feel absolutely content and frighteningly unsure at the same time, which was the oddest dichotomy he’d ever experienced. She kept him so off balance. He was pretty sure that was why he tended to fight what she did to him. He’d never liked giving someone else the power to hurt him.

“You’re incorrigible.” She sent him a look of exasperation laced with tenderness. She’d stopped trying to hide her feelings, and he liked that, needed it. This morning when they’d made love she’d told him again how much he meant to her, and it’d enriched the whole experience, made him feel closer to her than he’d ever been to anyone.

He just hoped he could let go of his reservations, his impulse to hold back. He wanted to give her what she gave him. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said.

Her lips curved into a cocky smile. “Yes.”

Laughing, he took her hand. He loved her, all right. He might live to regret how much, but she made him whole.

He opened his mouth to tell her that this time things were different between them, that she could trust him, but the diner came up on their right and she distracted him by pointing out the window. “There’s Myles.”

The sheriff had beaten them to the restaurant. Isaac could see him waiting near the door. “Let’s hope he has something to tell us,” he said, and brushed his lips over her knuckles before letting go.

Myles looked tired, as if he’d put in a couple of very long days. Claire felt sorry for him—until Isaac sat next to her and Myles cast him a hooded glance that was just dark enough to convey his disapproval. Although Myles seemed to be making an attempt to separate his personal feelings from his job as the county sheriff—no doubt the reason he kept his opinion to himself except for that one glance—he wasn’t having an easy time of it. Most likely he’d received an earful from Laurel about how terrible it would be if Claire went back to Isaac and agreed with her.

Claire wanted to reassure him, to tell him she sensed something deeper in Isaac than anyone had given him credit for in the past. But she knew that could be wishful thinking, an attempt to deceive herself as well as him—or Myles might take it that way. This wasn’t the time for that discussion, anyway. For the most part, they were all hiding their personal feelings behind a businesslike facade.

The waitress appeared almost immediately to hand them laminated menus and rattle off the specials—meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, with banana cream pie for dessert, for $11.99. Or a cowboy steak with pasta and grilled vegetables for two bucks more.

Everything
sounded good to Claire. She was suddenly so hungry she could’ve eaten
three
meals.

They each ordered a soda. Then she selected the meat loaf and Myles and Isaac ordered off the menu.

“What’d you find at Isaac’s cabin? Anything?” she asked Myles as soon as the waitress walked away.

“The fire started at the back door,” he replied. “And whoever did it definitely used an accelerant. I’m guessing gas, but we won’t have confirmation from that lab for days, maybe a couple of weeks.”

“It was gas. I could smell it,” Isaac said.

Claire settled her napkin in her lap. “What about tire tracks?”

“The firefighters pretty much obliterated any chance we had of recovering that kind of evidence. Whoever did this was either smart or very lucky. No one saw him, he used a common substance as the accelerant, so that it can’t be traced back to him, and he created so much destruction with the fire and with the effort required to put it out that whatever evidence he might’ve left behind has been destroyed.”

“He shot at me,” Isaac said. “Shot the lights, too. What about the shells?”

“We’re looking for them. We’re also sifting through the ashes for the bullets. If we can find even one, we might be able to match it to the gun later.”

Claire slid the salt and pepper shakers behind the napkin dispenser. “Did the Ferellas see anyone come flying past their house?” The Ferellas owned a mobile home on a couple of acres not far from the turnoff to Isaac’s place.

He shook his head. “But Rusty was on duty, doing patrol. Fortunately, he saw the smoke and mobilized the fire department before you called in, which was probably the only reason we were able to put it out before it spread any farther.”

Isaac rested his elbows on the back of the booth. “Shit.”

He’d been hoping for more. So had Claire. “What about Les Weaver?” she asked. “Did you send someone over to see where he was when the fire broke out?”

“Jared Davis is one of my best investigators. He’s originally from L.A., has lots of experience. He visited Weaver first thing this morning. Weaver claims he was home all that night and his wife backed him up.”

“She’s lying,” Isaac said.

“A distinct possibility, but it might be hard to prove. We’re checking with the neighbors to see if they saw him coming or going, but with the three-hour drive he would’ve left before it was unusually late and returned in the morning, especially if he stopped for coffee or breakfast after being up all night. Nothing that would make anyone question what he was doing.”

“So that’s it?” Isaac said. “This is going to end up another big mystery, like what happened to Claire’s mother?”

Myles clearly didn’t appreciate that comment, but his experience showed. He’d talked to other victims over the years, understood their impatience and anger. “Investigations take time, Isaac. I’m going to get this bastard. You have my word on that. And there is—”

The waitress appeared with their sodas. “Your dinners will be right out,” she said, and hurried off again.

Myles went back to what he’d been about to say. “There is one other thing—an incident worth mentioning.”

The seriousness of his tone put Claire on full alert. “What’s that?”

“I got a call from Herb Scarborough yesterday.”

Herb managed Mountain Bank and Trust—the only bank in town. “What does Herb have to do with anything?” she asked.

“On his way home from work, he saw a car weaving all over the road day before yesterday and followed so he could find out who it was. He planned to call and report the driver, but he was a bit surprised by what the guy did next.”

“Which was…” Isaac prompted.

Myles’s resistance to accepting Isaac became obvious again when he kept his gaze on Claire. “He went to the Petroglyphs Campground, circled around, found a site that was hidden from the others and lit a fire in the fire pit.”

Isaac scowled. “Isn’t that what a fire pit’s for?”

At last, Myles shifted his attention. “This guy wasn’t camping out. He wasn’t going to eat. And it was only about four in the afternoon so he didn’t need a fire for light.”

“Why was he doing it?” Claire asked.

“He wanted to destroy something.”

Isaac slid his Coke out of the way. “
Who
wanted to destroy something? Did Herb ever get a look at this man’s face?”

“He did. He said it was Donald Salter.”

“He didn’t recognize the car? Both the Jeep and the Impala are distinctive.”

“Yeah, but someone else could’ve been driving. He wanted to be sure.”

Considering Don’s drinking problem, Herb should’ve been able to figure out who was behind the wheel. “Don’s an alcoholic. There’s no telling what he might do.”

“That’s what I thought.” Myles clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “Until I heard the rest.”

Claire stiffened in expectation. “Go on.”

“Herb parked back in the trees and watched Don burn some papers. It seemed odd, given the time of day and everything, so after Don drove off, he went to see what, if anything, was left.”

Isaac had been rubbing his chin as he listened, but at this point he stopped. “Did he find anything besides ashes?”

“The stuff in the pit was destroyed. But there were a couple of sheets that’d blown out before they were too badly burned. They were stuck in the trees. When Herb saw what they were, he brought them to me.”

Claire could scarcely breathe. “And? What were they?”

Myles lowered his voice. “David’s notes on your mother’s investigation.”

“That means they came from my house! So…did he steal them? What would he want with them? And why would he burn them?”

“All good questions,” Myles responded.

Isaac had just pulled in to get gas when Claire’s mother-in-law walked out of the mini-mart. Rosemary O’Toole spotted Claire the second she looked up, so there was nothing Claire could do, even though her first impulse was to avoid any interaction, at least while she was with Isaac. She already knew how Rosemary was likely to react. David’s mother said she wanted Claire to move on, and would eventually be willing to accept someone else in Claire’s life, but she didn’t want another man to take her son’s place too soon, especially a man as controversial as Isaac. That would cause a dramatic change in focus for the whole community, pushing David a little more decisively into the past.

Claire could understand why she’d feel that way. Claire felt the same loyalty to David, and even some fear of what might happen if she really let go of the one constant in the past twelve months—her pain at her husband’s loss. She didn’t need Rosemary’s disapproval making all of it worse.

Isaac didn’t seem to notice her sudden tension. If he’d seen Rosemary, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He got out and started to pump gas while she approached Claire’s side of the vehicle.

“Oh, boy,” Claire breathed. They’d just left Myles at the diner. Her mind was completely preoccupied with Don Salter—whether or not he was the person who’d trashed her house and stolen those files, or if he’d come by them through a third party, which opened up a whole host of other questions. She didn’t want to think about David. She’d spent a year crying over his death, was just beginning to come out of that dark period. The last thing she needed was an awkward or painful encounter with his mother.

But she stepped out of the truck, anyway, to give Rosemary a hug.

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

Rosemary didn’t return the hug. She suffered through it, then lifted her head, causing her chins to wag. “I’m fine. Except that you haven’t been returning my calls.”

Claire should’ve contacted her this week. Normally, she kept in close touch. “I haven’t even received your messages. My life’s been crazy. First, there was that incident at the studio. I’m sure you heard about that. Then someone broke into my house. We still don’t know who or why. And the fire… I don’t know what’s going on.”

Rosemary’s eyes cut Isaac’s way. He now realized she was there. Claire knew because he was looking over at them. “Maybe it’s the company you’re keeping,” Rosemary muttered.