The Coaster (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

“You know where the keys are?” Sarah asked. “So why bury the lede?”

“You'll see,” I said. Sarah and I never have the same approach to solving a problem. The chances of her approving of my chosen burial spot for Corny were basically zero percent. “When I went to get rid of the body, I realized there was no way I could bury him and not have it look obvious. So I needed a big hole that was already there.”

“Okaaay.”

“The only place I could think of was the pond.” Here it comes.

“You put him in the pond?” Sarah didn't disappoint. She was screaming at me while whispering. “That's disgusting! Our kids swim in that pond!”

“I know.”

“How about take him to a dumpster
off
the property?” Sarah shout-whispered. “How about digging a hole and burying him
away
from where my kids play all summer long? We've got a million acres and you couldn't find one spot to dig a hole? Is digging too hard for you? What about the big state park down the road where all the dead hookers end up? It takes them
years
to find
them
!”

“Nobody's really looking for them because they're hookers.”

“And nobody's going to be looking for Dave, either!”

“Well, it's done. There's no changing it now. Are there any other nits you'd like to pick before we move on?”

“Sorry, I didn't realize not wanting a decomposing body to contaminate my children's swimming area was nit-picking.”

“Let's jump to the conclusion of this discussion, where we always end up anyway. You're right and I'm wrong.”

“Fine,” Sarah said with a satisfied look on her face. At least I think it was. I'm not sure I've ever seen her satisfied. “But what does this have to do with the keys? Wait, let me guess. You threw him in the pond before you checked his pockets.”

“I'll admit I forgot to go over my dead body-disposal checklist. You know, it's easy to Monday morning-quarterback. Rational decisions are a little tougher to make when you're on the field.”

“So you're saying you choked.”

“Yes, I choked. But now we need to focus on getting the keys and whatever else he's got in his pockets. Cell phone, camera, incriminating DVDs that will point to me as his likely murderer, whatever.”

“So how do you plan to get that stuff?”

“Obviously, someone is going to have to swim down there and go through his pockets.”

“What do you mean ‘someone'?” Sarah asked. “I'm not going down there. There are catfish as big as Emily in that pond. They've probably already torn him to shreds.”

“Maybe not yet. Those catfish hardly ever move. Look, I'll do it. I'm just not sure I can.”

“You
are
pathetic in the water.”

“Not to mention prone to panicking.”

“And you can only hold your breath for about ten seconds.”

“Guilty. And you're always swimming in the ocean where there are actually dangerous creatures. You make fun of me for being too scared.”

“That's because you
are
too scared.”

“But it would be a cakewalk for you.”

“Do we have a decent flashlight?”

“I'm sure Corny's will work underwater. It's like something a Navy SEAL would carry. I think there may even be a couple of cyanide tablets in there in case you get captured. But we'll test it first.”

“Okay, I'll do it.”

I leaned across, kissed her and batted my eyelashes at her. “My hero.”

As she got up from the floor, Sarah muttered, “For my next marriage, I think I'm going to go with a man.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Mix it up a little.”

***

Sarah found her wetsuit, mask, and swim fins while I tested Corny's flashlight in the bathtub. It worked like a charm. I turned the lights off and even underwater the powerful beam lit up the whole bathroom.

I locked the door and set the alarm and we went outside. I didn't think we'd have any visitors tonight but then again I didn't expect to see Corny last night. I imagined us coming back from the pond to find Swanson sitting on our couch with Emily on his lap. I wasn't taking any chances.

With that thought in mind, I got Corny's gun out of the pickup as extra insurance. I considered taking the ATV, but we were trying to keep a low profile and those things are loud as shit. Our neighbor would probably call the cops and we were definitely not equipped to deal with that.
Oh, hello, Officer. Just down here at the ol' swimmin' hole for a midnight dip
. We decided to walk. I had switched into an appropriate all-black outfit similar to Corny's skulking collection and Sarah was in her wetsuit. It would have been kind of sexy on a pleasanter occasion. When we first moved to the farm, we used to go out at night occasionally and make love under the stars.

When we got to the pond I said, “Okay, just swim out to the middle and then dive straight down. You should be able to spot the boat pretty easily.”

“You sank the boat too?”

“I didn't plan to. When I tossed him in, his head cracked a board and it started leaking.”

“That's surprising,” Sarah said. “That boat was the work of a couple of fine craftsmen.”

“True. But body-disposal was not one of the approved uses. There really should have been some kind of disclaimer.”

“Yeah, I'm sure it was built exactly to spec.”

“Anyway, the boat will help you find him.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Sarah said and slipped into the water with the flashlight in her hand. From the pier, I watched the beam of light progress toward the center of the pond. I knew there was nothing dangerous in there, but seeing her swimming in that dark water I couldn't help thinking of the opening scene in
Jaws
where a woman is suddenly jerked underwater while swimming in the ocean at night. Unlikely to happen, since catfish never leave the bottom or attack people and don't even have teeth, but I thought it. When she looked like she was in the right spot, I called, “Right about there!”

“Okay,” Sarah replied. “I'm going down. If I'm not back up in less than a minute, call the Coast Guard. Or better yet, get your ass in here and save me.” She took a deep breath and disappeared under the water. She was back up in ten seconds.

“I see the boat. Where is he?”

“Wedged in the bottom of the boat on his back. You should be able to reach his pockets.”

She went back under. I could see the faint illumination from the flashlight moving around beneath the surface. I was counting in my head and got to fifteen before she burst above the water again, coughing and sputtering.

“What's wrong?” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

Sarah was treading water and breathing hard. “I'm okay. I'm going back down.” She was down longer this time. My count reached thirty and I was starting to get worried when her head popped up again.

“Goddamn Dave and his skinny jeans,” she panted, breathless. “I could barely get his keys out.”

“Do you have any place to put them?”

“Yes.” She zipped the keys into a pocket of her wetsuit. “There's something in his other pocket. I'm going to try to get that, then I'm done.”

“Just do your best. If you can't get it, you can't get it. The keys are the important thing.”

Sarah popped back up twenty seconds later holding an old-fashioned flip phone and immediately started to swim for shore. I greeted her with a towel and a hug. “This better have been worth it,” she said. “I'm going to have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault. Wait a minute, it's totally your fault.”

“I know,” I said. “That's why I said I was sorry. How bad was it?”

“It wasn't just the sight of him,” Sarah said. “It was the smell. The water smelled like death.”

“Was the body already decaying?”

“I don't know. It just looked bloated. But you were wrong about the fish.”

“What about them?”

“I don't know what got to him. But when I accidentally shone the flashlight on his face, all that was looking back at me were two empty sockets.”

“And you still went back down? Jesus, I would have swum to shore and run straight back to the house without stopping.”

Sarah smiled sweetly and patted my arm. “I know you would have, honey. That's why they pay me the big bucks.”

***

We walked back to the house arm-in-arm. I think we were experiencing the same kind of high soldiers feel after a successful mission, if the mission in my case was to stand on the shore next to a pond. Sarah had actually done something.

I opened the door and we went in the house. “I'm going to see about drying off the keys and cell phone. You, young lady, have earned yourself a hot shower. I might even join you—wait, didn't I lock the door and set the alarm?”

“Yes, you did,” Sarah whispered back. “Be quiet and listen.”

I didn't hear a thing. Not even the dogs were making any noise.

“Stay here.” I put my hand on the gun in my jacket pocket and crept toward the kids' bedrooms.

I eased open Emily's door. Sound asleep. Or was someone hiding behind the door? I took out the gun and held it in what would probably be my shooting hand if I'd ever fired a handgun. Safety on or off? No idea. I dove into the room and nearly put a double tap right between Justin Bieber's eyes. Just a poster. You rarely see hardened criminals with that haircut. I shut the door and backed out into the hall.

I tiptoed to Nick's door and put my ear against it. Nothing. I silently turned the knob and pushed the door open. His bed was empty. Did they take him away somewhere? Were they still here? One thing was for sure. I was going to kill Swanson. Even if he didn't hurt Nick, he was dead.

I moved on toward our bedroom. As I got closer, I thought I could hear voices. I didn't want to burst in and cause any nervous gunplay, most likely from me. If everybody kept calm, no one would get hurt, or at least that's what I kept telling myself. Swanson needed me to do something for him. He wasn't going to shoot me. He didn't want to kill me. But I did want to kill him.

I shoved the door lightly forward and crawled in behind it. I read somewhere you're supposed to stay low in a gunfight. Or maybe that's in a fire. No matter, because there was Nick sitting on our bed watching TV. I put the gun in my pocket before I stood up.

“Hi, Dad.”

I called to Sarah. “Everything's okay. We're in the bedroom.” I walked over to Nick and tousled his hair like a sitcom dad would. “What are you doing up, Sport?”

“Who's ‘Sport'?”

“Never mind. What are you doing up?”

“I couldn't sleep and you guys weren't in here so I started looking for you. I thought you might be outside doing barn check, but the door was locked and the alarm was on. I turned it off and looked outside, but there was nobody there, so I just came up here to wait.”

Sarah came in the room, wet hair, wetsuit and all. “Do you feel all right, honey?”

“I just couldn't sleep. Have you been swimming?”

Pretty hard to deny that. “Yes.”

“In the pond?”

Ditto. “Yes.”

“Why?”

I decided to take this one. “Your mother is training for a triathlon. You can't practice in a pool because the actual race is in a lake.”

Nick looked at me. “So what were
you
doing?”

“I was helping by, uh …”

“Timing me,” Sarah said.

It was all I could think of at the time, but Sarah training for a triathlon was a perfect cover story. The kids would have no trouble believing their mother was starting some kind of selfish project that would take months and constantly inconvenience the rest of the family. It happened all the time.

“Let's get you in bed, honey.” Sarah led Nick back to his room.

I went outside and returned the gun to the glove compartment of the pickup. I'd get rid of it later. Then I went back in the kitchen and into the pantry. I scanned the shelves full of recipe ingredients for dozens of meals that will never be prepared. We should empty this room out and just give it all to a homeless shelter once a month. We're never going to use ninety percent of this crap. Lucky for me we don't do that because I found five boxes of Uncle Ben's White Rice. I poured two of them into a big Tupperware container.

Corny's phone was an old-fashioned black flip phone. It had one of those windows so you could see who was calling when it was closed. You had to text using the telephone keypad instead of a typewriter keyboard. Why the hell would Corny have a shitty old phone like this? He always had to have the newest and best products.

The instructions I Googled were very clear that if you turn the phone on when it's still wet, it might short the circuits. I took the battery out and submerged it all in the rice. Apparently rice is a desiccant and will absorb the moisture from the phone, causing it to dry out. The same process causes birds that eat rice thrown at weddings to bloat up and die, if you believe that urban legend, which I do not. I've filed
pigeon murdered by grain of rice
alongside
seagull strangled by plastic six-pack ring
in my folder of bullshit environmental activism. What do you bet whatever Pepsi or Coke did to try to solve the six-pack “problem” was far worse for the environment than the death of the one seagull who was too stupid to pull his head out of a round plastic hole?

I didn't really think the rice would work, but I figured it was worth a shot. I dropped my phone in the toilet once (unused—just the clean drinking water for dogs that fills up the empty bowl) and it dried out in a day or so, but that was probably a lot less likely after twenty-four hours at the bottom of a pond. Whatever information I got from the phone, it wasn't going to be tonight, so I put the lid on and stuck the container on a shelf in the pantry and turned my attention to the keys. I didn't have to ask Google what to do. I dried them with a towel. They hadn't been underwater long enough to rust, so they would work just fine. Of course, starting the motorcycle was going to be the least of my problems.