In the Dark (30 page)

 

“Some,” Serena admitted.

 

“There you go.”

 

“If I keep a secret, there’s a reason for it. Did Cindy have a reason to hide her relationship with you?”

 

“Maybe I asked her to.”

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

Tish swirled the ice in her drink and then drained the rest of it. “You already told me there are places in your own past that you don’t like to visit. Is it so hard to accept that I feel the same way? I wasn’t ready to come back here and face my past. Cindy understood.”

 

“Are you ready to face your past now?”

 

“I’m here. It took me thirty years, but I’m here.”

 

“Did something happen back then between you and Peter Stanhope?” Serena asked. “Is that what you’re hiding?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why are you convinced that he’s guilty?”

 

“You didn’t know Peter back then. I did.”

 

Serena shook her head. “If you were a cop, I’d say you’ve fallen in love with a suspect. Not love-love, not romance. It’s easy when you’re a cop to fixate on one suspect and wind up wearing blinders.”

 

“Maybe you’re the one wearing blinders,” Tish said.

 

“Peter didn’t try to commit suicide after being questioned about Laura’s murder,” Serena reminded her. “Finn did.”

 

“Finn was just a pathetic, mixed-up kid.”

 

“People like that are capable of anything,” Serena said. “Including murder.”

 

“If Laura thought Finn was violent, she wouldn’t have spent so much time with him.”

 

“Maybe she didn’t know. Did Laura tell you anything about Finn’s background?”

 

“She told me that something terrible happened to him back in Fargo, but I don’t know what. That was when Rikke swooped in and rescued him.”

 

“Finn was in love with Laura,” Serena said. “Love can be pretty twisted for someone like that. We know he was spying on Laura. He’s been spying on young girls his whole life.”

 

“You mean the peeping incidents?”

 

Serena nodded. “Stride and Maggie are certain that Finn is the peeper. He hounded one girl until she died.”

 

“That doesn’t mean he killed Laura,” Tish said.

 

“You know what made that girl special? She had a tattoo of a butterfly on her back. Just like Laura did. He’s still obsessed with her.”

 

Tish’s eyes opened wide. “Is that really true?”

 

“It’s true.”

 

Tish brought her bare feet down onto the balcony and cupped her hands in front of her face as if she were praying. Then she shook her head. “Peter is the one who attacked Laura,” she insisted. “Not Finn. You don’t know how vengeful Peter could be when he was rejected.”

 

“Are you talking about Laura or yourself?” Serena asked.

 

“Both of us.”

 

“Come on, Tish. What are you not telling me? What did he do to you?”

 

Tish’s lips bulged with defiance. “You mean other than pushing me into a closet at school and groping my tits and pawing my crotch? Peter was the kind of boy who took what he wanted even if you said no. He thought he was entitled. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

 

“I’m not trying to defend his behavior,” Serena said.

 

“That’s good, because he was nasty. Vicious.”

 

“How so?”

 

“After I said I didn’t want to go out with him, he spread rumors about me all over school.”

 

“What rumors?”

 

“He told people I was queer. That made me very uncomfortable.”

 

“I’m sure it did,” Serena said. “Teenagers are quick to believe that kind of lie.”

 

Tish watched the moths buzzing around the porch light and didn’t say anything. She sucked on her cigarette.

 

Suddenly, Serena understood. “Wait a minute, it wasn’t a lie, was it? He was right. You’re gay.”

 

Tish nodded slowly.

 

“Did you tell Peter?” Serena asked her.

 

“No, he had no idea it was true, but it scared me to death to have the rumor out there.”

 

“So you knew back then?”

 

“I knew.”

 

“Are you still in the closet?”

 

“I don’t hide it, but it’s not like I wear a T-shirt that says ‘pink and proud.’ ” Tish blew smoke out of her mouth.

 

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” Serena said.

 

“It doesn’t, but you have no idea how ugly and hateful people get over homosexuality. The same people who tell me that Jesus loves me would stone me to death if they could.”

 

“Not everyone feels that way.”

 

“Enough do that I’m still careful about who I tell.”

 

“Is there someone in your life?”

 

Tish crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. “Not anymore. I lived with Katja, a photographer I met in Tallinn, for five years. She was getting too close, so I ran away. It wasn’t the first time for me. Lesbian relationships crash and burn a lot. We get emotionally close, and then you put the physical attraction in the middle of it, and a lot of times, it flames out.”

 

“Did Laura know you were gay?” Serena asked.

 

Tish’s face glowed with dew from the humid air. “We didn’t talk about it.”

 

“Not even with your best friend?”

 

“You have to remember the times, Serena. It’s bad enough today, but being gay was dangerous back then. This was when Anita Bryant was on the rampage about homosexuals. You didn’t advertise being different. You kept the closet locked up tight.”

 

“What about Laura? Was she gay?”

 

“I told you, we didn’t talk about it.” Tish stood up, shutting down the conversation. “I think you should go.”

 

“If that’s what you want,” Serena said.

 

“I do.”

 

Serena stood up, too. “Can I ask you about something else?”

 

“What?”

 

“What happened to your mother?”

 

Tish folded her arms over her chest. Her eyes were angry. “If you’re asking a question like that, you must already know.”

 

“I heard she was shot. She was a hostage who died in a bank robbery.”

 

“That’s right. Why do you care?”

 

Serena wasn’t really sure why she cared, but it was a detective’s curiosity. “When someone’s life is touched by violence more than once, my instinct is to look for a connection.”

 

“There’s no connection,” Tish insisted. “The robbery has nothing to do with any of this. It was years before I even met Laura. My mother was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

“It must have been hard to be left alone at that age,” Serena said.

 

Tish shrugged. “It’s hard to be left alone at any age.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

30
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Stride was stretched across the leather sofa in the great room of the cottage when Serena arrived home near midnight. He was sleeping, with a paperback novel still in his hand. One leg had fallen off the sofa, and his bare foot was on the carpet. Sara Evans sang on the stereo. Serena let him sleep while she undressed and got ready for bed. The windows were open, with the curtains blowing like sails, and the night air was humid and hot. She slept in a loose tank top in that kind of weather. Back in the living room, she turned down the lights, switched off Sara, and made herself a cup of pear tea, which she sipped in the love seat opposite Stride. Rose fragrance blew in from the bushes near the porch. Her eyes got lost in the shadows and felt heavy. When she put the teacup down, she leaned back into the folds of the sofa, and soon she, too, was dreaming.

 

In the mists of her brain, she was with Tish on a beach. A cool breeze kissed their bodies. She came upon Tish from behind, caressing the down of her neck. The bones of Tish’s spine traveled like the graceful arch of a harp into the small of her back. Her flesh was young and soft, and Serena felt no guilt, only freedom, as they began to make love. Later, after they were done, she found herself in water, floating, alone. It was
paradise, except for a strange, rhythmic thumping that wormed into the stillness of her world and unnerved her. Like a drumbeat or a heartbeat. She felt herself coming naked out of the water, and what she saw was Jonny, covered in blood, swinging a baseball bat with a sucking
thwack
over and over into a body on the beach. Killing Tish.

 

Serena started awake, gasping for breath.

 

Jonny was awake, too, and staring at her. “You okay?”

 

She shook the sleep out of her head and blinked. “Yeah. What time is it?”

 

“Almost three.”

 

“I’m hungry,” Serena said.

 

“What would you like?”

 

Serena thought about her diet. “Forty-six eggs.”

 

“Do you want those scrambled or fried?”

 

“Don’t tease me. You think I’m kidding?”

 

Stride gestured at the narrow, heavy box she had left on the dining room table. “What’s that?”

 

“I picked up something of yours at the lost and found.”

 

His eyes narrowed with concern and curiosity.

 

“The bat,” she said simply.

 

He looked at her. “Stanhope?”

 

She nodded.

 

“That son of a bitch,” he said.

 

Serena knew he wasn’t talking about Peter Stanhope. He was talking about Ray Wallace. Ray, who had sabotaged a murder investigation for money and power. Ray, who had handed over the murder weapon to a man he suspected of committing the crime.

 

Stride went to the table. He didn’t touch the box immediately. Instead, he studied it closely, as if the cardboard, ink, and tape would talk to him. He bent down close to it, as if the smell of blood would still permeate the air. Then, using two fingers on each corner, he lifted it, measuring its heft.

 

“Peter called it a goodwill gesture,” Serena said. “He didn’t have to give it to me. He could have destroyed it.” She added, “He admitted that he was the one who sent those threatening letters to Laura.”

 

“He admitted it because we’ll find out anyway when we run the DNA, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Just when I’m convinced Finn is guilty, Peter elbows his way back onto the playing field,” Stride said.

 

“He says he’s innocent.”

 

“Do you believe him?”

 

“I don’t know, but I think it helps for me to stay close to him. He talks to me.”

 

“Did he say anything else?”

 

“Nothing I can share right now, but nothing you wouldn’t guess anyway.”

 

“He assaulted Laura in the softball field,” Stride said. “There was no date, no affair.”

 

“No comment.”

 

Stride put the bat down. “Logically, everything points to Peter. She was killed with his bat, and he’s had the murder weapon for years. If it weren’t for Finn, I’d be certain that Peter killed her. Not that we’d be any closer to making a case.”

 

“Peter wants me to gather evidence against Finn,” Serena said.

 

“Are you going to do it?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“You may be helping the man who’s really guilty.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But you can’t resist the chase?”

 

“No,” she admitted.

 

“Rikke has shut Finn down,” Stride said. “She’s hired a lawyer. You can’t talk to her.”

 

“I’ve got a different angle,” Serena said.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I want to go to North Dakota tomorrow. I want to find out about Finn’s childhood. Tish said something terrible happened to him there. I’d like to find out what. Maybe that’s the missing link.”

 

“Take Maggie with you,” Stride suggested. “I’d like to have someone official on the trip.”

 

“You mean five hours each way arguing with Maggie about the radio station? We’ll kill each other.”

 

Stride laughed. “So take a private plane. Stanhope can afford it.”

 

“True.”

 

“We better get some sleep,” he said.

 

“To hell with sleep.”

 

Serena got up lazily from the love seat. She brushed her black hair back away from her face. Holding onto Stride’s shoulders, she straddled him on the sofa, with her knees on either side of his legs and her breasts near his lips. His hands slid behind her and cupped her buttocks through her panties. She put her hands on his face, bent her neck forward, and kissed him.

 

“I dreamed that you caught me sleeping with Tish and you beat her to death. You murdering bastard.”

 

“Tell me more,” he said.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

 

“You’re a tease.”

 

“Do you find Tish attractive?” she asked him.

 

“Pretty, but not my type,” he said.

 

“Are you thinking about her or me right now?” she asked, pressing down with her hips.

 

“You.”

 

“Good answer.”

 

The phone rang.

 

“God hates me,” Serena said, rolling to her left and studying the caller ID screen on the receiver. “Private call.”

 

“Wrong number.”

 

“Ignore it?”

 

“No, better get it.”

 

She groaned and picked up the phone. “What?”

 

The male voice on the line was honey-smooth and deep as a foghorn. The caller asked for Stride. Serena punched the speakerphone button and held the phone to Jonny’s mouth as she climbed back on top of him and worked awkwardly on his clothes.

 

“Stride,” he said impatiently. “Who is this?”

 

“I’m a friend of a friend.”

 

“My friends don’t call at three in the morning,” Stride snapped.

 

“I’m sorry for the time.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Do you know a man named Hubert Jones?”

 

Stride looked at Serena, who stopped what she was doing long enough to shake her head. “No,” he said.

 

“He knows you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He wants to talk to you.”

 

“Have him call me at the office in the morning. My secretary can schedule an appointment.”