The Lost Women of Lost Lake (27 page)

“That was never my plan.”

“You promised.”

“Oh, grow the hell up. Show him what's in the sack,” said Kenny, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Jonah realized now that Emily was hiding something behind her back.

“Whatever it is, I don't need to see it.”

“Oh, yes you do,” said Kenny, pushing off the footstool. “You gotta take a good look at this.” He grabbed the sack away from Emily, rattled it in front of Jonah's face.

“Don't,” pleaded Emily, trying to snatch it back. “You said you loved me. If you do, give it back to me.”

“Why should I? Romeo needs a reality check. Here.” He tossed it at Jonah's chest.

“Don't open it,” said Emily.

“Look at it, puke,” ordered Kenny. “Unless you didn't really mean that about loving her no matter what.”

Jonah parted the top and drew out a rectangular box that said “e.p.t.” in black letters.

“It's an early pregnancy test,” said Kenny, a sneer in his voice. “In case you can't read the fine print.”

Jonah's face flushed.

“Me,” shouted Kenny, ramming a thumb into his chest. “If she's pregnant, it's
my
kid.”

“I gotta get out of here,” he said, pushing past Kenny on his way to the front door.

“See,” said Kenny, cackling with glee. “That's what you get, Em, when you hook up with a loser like him.”

Jonah plunged outside into the night air, the anarchy of his own emotions nearly cutting off his breath.

“Don't bother coming back,” hollered Kenny from the front porch. “Kid or no kid, Emily's mine. You got that? I ain't
never
letting her go.”

30

For a Friday night, Thunderhook's lobby was unusually quiet. Jane didn't see a single soul until she approached the reception desk, hoping to talk to Jill. The manager on duty said that she'd gone home and wouldn't be back until morning.

Upstairs in her room, Jane stood for a long time, arms folded, looking out the window, watching the moon spread ribbons of light across the dark water. It was a perfect evening, the cool, liquid air ruffled occasionally by a gentle breeze off the lake. The calmness outside was at perfect odds with what she was feeling inside.

Knocking on the door between the two rooms a while later, Jane heard Cordelia's voice call, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

Jane leaned against the doorframe, neither in nor out. “Are you saying this door represents the gates of hell?”

“No, just that I'm in a lousy mood.” She was draped like an Ingres odalisque—one who happened to be dressed in a white terry cloth robe—across the couch, the book she'd been reading spread across her chest. “I suppose Dante
is
a bit severe. How was your walk?”

“Less than fruitful.”

Picking up a highly un-odalisque-like can of Izze blackberry soda, Cordelia said, “My last hour was equally dismal. I got the word that the theater board met today and called off the play. Apparently, the ticket presales weren't particularly good, so it was an easy decision.”

“You should be happy.”

“Then why does the decision depress me? I've never had a show of mine cancelled before.”

“It wasn't exactly yours.”

“I suppose this means we can leave anytime we want.”

“Not yet,” said Jane.

“Yeah, we can't go when everything is still so up in the air. On the other hand, I don't know what else you think we're going to find.”

Jane dug a Pepsi out of the small refrigerator. Cracking the top, she took a sip and then slipped her cell phone out of the top pocket of her jeans jacket. “I need to call Nolan, see if he's found out anything on Yvonne Stein.”

“When you're done, let's go find ourselves a grunge bar and have a serious drink.”

“You think we're going to find a grunge bar in Lost Lake?”

“Well,
grungy
, then. The ones I've seen all triumph in that area.”

The phone rang a couple of times before Nolan picked up.

“Hey, I figured I might hear from you tonight,” came his deep voice. “I have some info for you. You got a piece of paper?”

Jane removed a pad and pen from one of the pockets in her jeans jacket. “Shoot.”

“Yvonne Stein served thirty-six years and seven months in prison. The fact that she wasn't sentenced to life without parole was a miracle. The decision was made by a judge back in sixty-nine who sympathized with her cause.”

“Cause?”

“The antiwar movement. What happened at the Democratic convention in Chicago in sixty-eight created a backlash. Some people thought the Chicago police stepped way over the line. Anyway, once she was out she dropped out of sight. I've been trying to chase her down ever since you called. Finally found a phone number in Bellingham, Washington, that I think might be her.” He repeated the number. “Don't expect too much,” he continued. “If it is her, she may not want to talk. For multiple reasons.”

“I'll keep my fingers crossed,” said Jane. “It's two hours earlier on the West Coast. Think I'll try her right now.”

“Good luck. Will I see you soon?”

“That's the plan. I'll call before I leave. Night.”

“He found her?” asked Cordelia, getting up to dig out another Izze's.

“Possibly. If you're interested, we could use the cordless to call her.” She pointed to the one on the nightstand. “It has a better speakerphone than my cell. That way you could hear, too.”

Cordelia retrieved it on the way back to the couch.

The line seemed to ring forever. Jane was about to give up when a low, soft voice answered, “Hello?”

“Yvonne Stein?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Jane Lawless. I'm phoning from Minnesota.”

“I don't talk to strangers.”

Before Yvonne could hang up, she said, “I'm a friend of Sabra Briere.”

The line went silent for nearly half a minute. Jane was sure she'd lost her.

Then, “What is this? How do you know Sabra?”

*   *   *

Tessa was lying in bed watching TV when Jill came in. Muting the sound she said, “You missed the excitement.”

All the color drained from Jill's face. “What excitement?”

“Oh, honey, no, I didn't mean to scare you. Look.” Tessa nodded to the gray-and-white cat curled at the end of the bed.

“Is that Freckles?”

“He was in Jonah's room. Scared the daylights out of me. Jonah probably thought he was a stray and brought him home. Except he didn't tell us.” Their nephew was notorious for rescuing everything from injured chipmunks to lost pit bulls.

“Poor Mrs. Atkinson,” said Jill. “We'll have to call her right away and tell her he's here.”

The cat had burrowed into the cotton blankets, with no apparent interest in leaving.

Hearing the back door open and shut, Tessa called, “Jonah?”

“Yeah,” came a glum voice.

“Come in here and get this cat,” called Jill.

He stepped into the doorway. “Oh. Forgot to tell you about him. Sorry.”

“He belongs to Betty Atkinson,” said Tessa. “You know where she lives, right?”

Jonah dragged himself into the room.

“You okay?” asked Jill.

“Yeah.”

“You don't sound okay,” said Tessa.

He shrugged. “I've had better days. Gonna hit the sack.”

“Take him over to Mrs. Atkinson first,” said Jill.

“Right now? Can't I do it in the morning?”

“She's probably worried sick,” said Tessa.

Without another word, Jonah picked him up and walked out of the room, shoulders drooping.

“Sweet dreams,” called Tessa. She waited until she heard his footsteps recede down the stairs and then said, “Young love, I suspect.”

“Was it really that hard?”

“It's always hard, young or old.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I need to shower,” said Jill, unbuttoning her blouse. “Don't move until I get back.”

For the next few minutes, Tessa watched the Duluth news. By the time the sports came on, Jill was in bed, under the covers.

“I'm taking tomorrow off,” she said. “I want us to spend the entire day together.”

“But it's Saturday. Your busiest day.”

“You're more important.”

Tessa felt for the remote under the covers and switched off the TV. “You know how long we've been together?”

“Twenty-six years,” said Jill, snuggling down next to her.

“Twenty-six years, four months, and thirteen days. I'm grateful for every every hour, every minute. I wouldn't trade them for anything on earth.”

They turned toward each other, arms entwined.

When they were close like this, all the tension in Tessa's muscles seemed to liquify. “I love you,” she said, kissing her way from Jill's forehead to her lips. “You know that, don't you? I work with words every day, and yet I can't begin to express what's in my heart.”

“I know,” whispered Jill. “It's too deep.”

The phone on the nightstand rang.

“Oh, Lord,” groaned Jill. “I hate that thing. I wish we could throw them all away.”

“And go back to carrier pigeons? Drums? We better answer it.” Tessa disengaged her arm and reached over. “Yes?” she said, knowing that she sounded anything but friendly.

“Sabra?” came a whispered voice.

“Oh, Jesus. Who is this?”

“I know who you are. I have proof.”

She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. “Who doesn't, these days?”

“What?”

“What do you want?”

“Fifty thousand dollars in small bills. By tomorrow afternoon.”

She all but burst out laughing. “How am I supposed to accomplish that?”

“Well, ah … you could go to the bank?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Okay, I'll give you until Monday. But I'm not joking. If I turn what I have over to the FBI, you'll go to jail.”

That sobered her. “You might have to stand in line.”

“Say that again?”

“Call me on Monday. I'll see what I can do.” She pressed the off button before the caller could say another word. She was sick to death of the entire subject.

“Who was that?” asked Jill.

“Nobody important.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm absolutely, one hundred percent positive,” she said, easing her arms around the woman she loved. “Now. Where were we?”

*   *   *

“How do I know you're not lying to me?” said Yvonne. “You could be anyone.”

“I could, I suppose,” conceded Jane. “But I'm not. Sabra and I have been friends for years. She's a playwright. Lives in a small town in northern Minnesota. My partner and I used to visit her quite often.”

“You're gay?”

“Yes.”

“Back up a minute. What did you say your name was?”

“Jane.”

“Last name.”

“Lawless.”

“Huh. There was a guy who ran for the governor of Minnesota a few years back named Lawless.”

“That was my father.”

“Are you kidding me? I'm a total political junkie. I followed that race because of his stand on gay marriage. I read an interview his daughter did with one of the local papers. She owns a restaurant.”

“Two,” said Jane.

“My God, it's a small world. You're a friend of Sabra's?”

“She calls herself Tessa Cornell now.”

“I had no way of finding her, no way to contact her. Is she okay? Healthy? Happy?”

“Yes on the first. As for happy, I'm not sure that's ever been part of her personality.”

“Yeah, even back when I knew her. This is amazing, you calling out of the blue.”

“It's not entirely out of the blue,” said Jane. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Like what?” Her tone grew wary.

“I never knew about Tessa's past until last Monday, when a woman you know as Judy Clark was murdered.”

“Murdered,” she said, her voice hushed.

“I'm sorry.”

“How did it happen?” asked Yvonne.

“She was attacked. Her throat was partially crushed and she had severe trauma to the back of her head.”

“Who did it?”

“Nobody knows. A man named Steve Feigenbaumer had come to talk to both Judy and Sabra last week. In case you're wondering, he's the son of Allen James Feigenbaumer, the man you helped kill in nineteen sixty-eight.”

“Shit.”

“He'd been searching for Sabra and Judy most of his adult life. Two nights ago, he was found murdered. The gun used in the homicide belonged to Tessa. I mean Sabra.”

“Has she been arrested?”

“Not yet. She'd lent the gun to Judy, so it was no longer in her possession on the night of the murder. But it's dicey. She's scared. So am I. Her partner asked me to help prove her innocence. In case you're wondering, I sometimes work as a PI.”

“She's
with
someone?”

Jane figured this might be a touchy subject, and yet there was no way around it. “She has been for many years.”

“Good. I wanted her to move on.”

“You're not angry that she got away and you didn't?”

“Not for a second. I knew what I was getting into. I did it with my eyes wide open.”

“I realize it must be hard for you to talk about,” said Jane. “But I was hoping you could fill me in on what happened all those years ago. It might help me find the truth.”

“I'm not sure how it could.” She paused, apparently thinking it over. “Sabra's not a violent person, you know. Anything but.”

“And yet the three of you planted a car bomb.”

The sound of paper rattling and the strike of a match drifted over the speakerphone. “There,” she said, “that's better. I'm a slave to these things. Can't talk without one in my hand.”