What We Found (13 page)

I tried to think of anyone else involved in the case, anyone connected to Jay and the resort and Bethany Moore. Anyone I’d had unusual contact with in the last couple of days. I tapped the pen against the paper a few times and then finally dropped down a few lines and added Eslinda, Nascha, and Gina.

“Isn’t that your boss?” Ricky asked. “Who are the other two?”

“Women who work here at the resort. I don’t think they had anything to do with the murder, but they all know Jay, and Gina told me something about Kyle Moore. Eslinda knew Bethany’s family. Nascha….”

I trusted Nascha. I really did. It was simply some combination of paranoia and brutal honesty that forced me to list her name. “I don’t think she knows the Moores or the Bains, but she’s been very interested, asking a lot of questions. But I’m pretty sure she’s on my side.”

“Maybe those people aren’t suspects, but, like, sources of information.”

“That’s right.” I drew a line above their names and wrote Sources. That made me feel less disloyal than adding their names to a list of suspects.

“Put Person Unknown in the suspect list,” Ricky said.

“Serial killer and pimp would be people unknown.”

“But it could be somebody else, someone other than a serial killer or pimp, that we haven’t even thought of yet.”

Like another boyfriend, maybe, or someone who had a grudge against Bethany that we hadn’t even heard whispered yet. I added Person Unknown to the list above the Sources line. That was an appealing option, since it meant somebody I didn’t know and who didn’t know me. After all, there were 8,000 people in this town, besides thousands of strangers passing through every year.

Of course, I did know a couple hundred people in town, at least on sight. My mind flashed over familiar faces, former teachers and classmates, the grocery store clerks, waiters and waitresses, doctors and dentists. It was astonishing to think that any one of them might have been involved in this crime or some other. We wouldn’t know it unless they were caught and named in the paper.

And I happened to know that the middle school principal and the former mayor had both been convicted of drunk driving, a dentist was under a restraining order from his ex-wife, and a few years ago a police deputy had been fired for improper advances against women he’d stopped for traffic violations. Ordinary people, even those in positions of authority, could lead secret lives.

I leaned back and pushed my hair away from my face. “All right, what do we do now?”

Ricky stood next to me and peered down at the paper. “Let’s see what we can find online. We should look into the victim, too, to see if we can learn more about her, or find anyone else she hung out with. Then we can decide who we need to follow or interview or whatever.”

“Great.” I pushed back my chair and rose. “You can have the computer.” I wouldn’t think about the following or interviewing part yet.

It turned out that the local paper had the police blotter and other news online, going back years, and they had a policy of naming the accused. Thomas Bain had three traffic violations. Police were called to his house twice after neighbors reported sounds of fighting, but no charges were filed and it didn’t name the victim.

Bethany had been taken into custody twice for possession and stopped twice for Drunk and Disorderly. She had three DUIs and four other traffic violations, the most recent driving with a suspended license. An accidental overdose seemed entirely possible, so why were the police calling it murder? We didn’t find anything about soliciting, which made the pimp seem less likely, though of course it’s possible she was guilty but never caught.

Kyle showed up only under general news, with a brief note that he was being deployed, and slightly longer articles about his injury in the call of duty and his return with an honorable discharge. A roadside bomb had flipped his truck, and though he hadn’t been directly injured by the bomb, his hand had been crushed in the accident. If he had a dark, criminal past, it wasn’t showing up online. The knots in my stomach loosened.

But Jay didn’t have anything on the police blotter either. I guess his booking for possession the night before hadn’t shown up yet, or else his dad had pulled some strings to keep it quiet. Lots of articles from a few years before mentioned his basketball career, and that was about it. As far as public info went, he looked as good as Kyle.

A few articles mentioned Jay’s father as a spokesman for the resort or in activities involving the Rotary or Lions Club. I didn’t know Rodrigo’s last name and couldn’t think of a good way to get it at that moment. Nothing showed up on Lia Bain.

I studied our notes on the list. “Doesn’t it seem like the biggest criminal on here is the victim?”

“Mom would have something to say about that.” Ricky pulled the paper over to look at the next name on the list.

“Wait.” When he looked up, I added, “I don’t feel right about investigating my boss or my friend.”

“A real detective has to consider every possibility.”

I sighed. “I guess I’m not a real detective. Anyway, I’m tired and hungry.” I stretched. “Let’s get some lunch.”

“All right. Let me clear the search history off your computer.”

I sagged back, feeling like someone had punched me in the chest. I hadn’t thought about leaving a trail of our investigation where anyone at work might find it. Good thing I had Ricky along.

“The memorial is tomorrow,” Ricky said. “I bet we can get some good information there.”

Bethany’s memorial. I wondered who would attend. Surely not Jay or either of the Bains. Bethany’s parents would be there, no doubt. I wondered what they were like, to have raised a daughter like Bethany and a son like Kyle.

Kyle would be there for sure. I felt my face heat. I’d have to talk to him, knowing that I’d listened to rumors and investigated him. Knowing that a good detective would investigate farther. Knowing that he was my best chance of learning more about Bethany Moore.

And not knowing if we were on the same side.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. I managed to avoid arguments, harassment, and even sunburn. If I felt queasy, that could easily be blamed on the Indian taco. The fry bread topped with beans and hot red chile didn’t bother Ricky, not even when followed by deep-fried Oreos, but I wasn’t a twelve-year-old boy.

Nascha and Gina must have gone home early. I didn’t see anyone else from our list, except Eslinda who was busy, so I considered myself absolved from investigations for the rest of the day. Eslinda said I could go home early, but Ricky wanted to stay, and I couldn’t think of any advantage to being at home.

We sprawled on the grass and listened to the music as darkness fell and the air cooled. The scents of insect repellent, coconut sunscreen, stale perfume, and greasy foods kept me grounded in the festival, so I could almost ignore the dark woods lurking behind us. Someone called three times from a local number I didn’t recognize. I ignored it, and they didn’t leave a message.

When we finally got home, Ricky staggered off to bed and I dropped down on the sofa next to Mom, who was watching some historical movie with lots of fancy costumes. I stared at it, bleary-eyed, without processing anything.

Mom glanced at me. “You look tired. Why don’t you go to bed?”

I shrugged and shook my head. I didn’t turn toward her, but I could feel her looking at me. Finally I said, “I haven’t been sleeping well. Maybe if I’m tired enough I’ll sleep.”

She rose and left the room. So much for maternal sympathy.

She returned a minute later and handed me a bottle. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Sleeping pills. Just over-the-counter stuff, but it works pretty well when my insomnia is bad.”

I hadn’t known she had insomnia.

She went on. “I only take one, because the full dose knocks me out completely for about ten hours, and then I’m groggy. But you’re bigger than I am, so two might be okay.” She turned her attention back to the TV, not waiting for an answer.

I got up. “Thanks. I’ll try it.”

As I left the room, she called, “Sleep tight.”

The pills didn’t banish the nightmares entirely, but I slept through the night. Mom had to pound on my door to wake me for church. I hadn’t been a regular churchgoer at college, but before that Mom had made us go since Ricky was about five. I don’t think she was really that religious, more like church was a way to help ensure Ricky grew up decent. I’d gone with them whenever I visited home, so the plain little church in the refurbished storefront still felt familiar. Maybe I’d find some comfort there.

We arrived as things were starting and sat at the back, so we were first out at the end. Mom suggested skipping coffee hour, which was fortunate because I saw several people eye me curiously and suspected the rumors had gone around about who found Bethany Moore’s body.

Ricky made a nice omelet for brunch, with sautéed spinach, garlic, and feta cheese. I kept my church clothes on, since Bethany’s memorial was at one o’clock. It didn’t register that Mom had done the same, until I was ready to go. She grabbed her purse and stood at the door.

“You’re coming?” I asked.

She gave a firm nod. “I want to show my support.”

I thought that was one of the nicest things she had ever done for me. Then she added, “I didn’t know the girl, but we have to show that we won’t tolerate that kind of treatment of women. Whatever she did, it doesn’t excuse violence.”

Oh. Not support of me, support of Mom’s anti-man policy. Oh well, if Jay showed up and started bothering me, I’d sic Mom on him. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

The memorial service was at a large church across town, where we pulled into a nearly-full parking lot. I sat in the car, grasping the wheel, as Mom and Ricky got out. I wasn’t looking forward to this.

Kyle met us at the door, handsome and somber in a suit. He took my hand. “Thanks for coming.” He thought we’d come to honor Bethany or support him, not to spy. I had a hard time meeting his eyes as I introduced Mom and Ricky.

I glanced toward the front of the chapel, a plain room with whitewashed walls and hard wooden benches. “There’s no casket.”

“The police haven’t released her body yet.”

“Oh, of course,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning. That’s why they called this a memorial and not a funeral. I’d expected a closed casket, but still dreaded even being in the same room as the body. This would make the afternoon marginally more bearable.

“We don’t know how long it will be,” Kyle said. “We thought it better to do something now that it might … help.”

Help what? Help who?

Ricky, good detective that he was, voiced the question. “How will it help?”

Kyle gazed toward the front of the room and spoke softly, so only we could hear. “We didn’t know what happened to Bethany for so long. It’s been hardest on my mother. She kept hoping. Maybe this will help her come to terms with the fact that Bethany is really gone.”

A couple of women came in, already teary, though their short skirts and low-cut tops seemed more appropriate for a bar than a memorial. Friends of Bethany’s? Kyle nodded to them but didn’t step out to greet them.

“We’re also hoping people won’t pay so much attention after this,” Kyle said, “though of course it will be news until her killer is caught and sentenced. There’s a reporter here.” He nodded toward a skinny man in a brown suit sitting in the back row. “We had to tell the TV news people they couldn’t come inside. I think they shot some footage of people entering the building.”

I hadn’t noticed them and hoped they’d gone before we arrived.

“We’ve gotten a lot of phone calls, too,” Kyle said. “Most of them offering condolences, but even that gets tiring. Hopefully this will give people a chance to express themselves, and then they’ll let us be for a while.”

I gave a weak smile. “Good luck.”

“It’s filling up. You’d better find a seat; there are still some at the front.”

I guess I wasn’t the only one who preferred hiding quietly at the back. We walked up the center aisle. I saw Eslinda and we exchanged smiles, but that bench was full. The second and third rows had some empty space on each side. Mom turned to the left. Ricky said, “It looks crowded. I’ll sit over here,” and turned right.

“What’s gotten into that boy?” Mom muttered. She settled onto the bench. “Doesn’t want to be seen with his mother, I suppose. You were like that at his age. I guess he’s turning into a typical teenager despite my best efforts.”

I glanced over at Ricky as he plopped onto the bench in the middle of the third row and studied the people around him. He caught my eye and gave a quick nod. I got the message—I was supposed to listen and watch on this side, and he’d take the other. It seemed wrong to play spy games during Bethany’s memorial. We should be honoring her memory.

But helping catch her killer would honor her as well. And as Kyle had noted, it wouldn’t be over for his family until the murderer had been put away. We were doing the right thing. Weren’t we?

Noise erupted at the back of the chapel. I turned and saw Kyle nose to nose with Thomas Bain. The church had gone silent as every head turned toward them, so Kyle’s low voice carried over the crowd. “You’re not coming in.”

Bain spoke louder, as if he didn’t care if everyone heard him. “I want to pay my respects. I cared about her, too, you know. But I won’t insist if it makes you uncomfortable.” He turned and left. Kyle watched him go but didn’t stop Lia Bain from slipping up the side aisle and squeezing into an empty spot. Maybe he didn’t realize who she was.

As her dark eyes scanned the crowd, I turned and bent forward, pretending to adjust my shoe. Why was she here? Was she planning to cause trouble? Should I warn Kyle, or would that cause more of a disturbance?

A minister came out and began to speak. Kyle, grim-faced, joined the front row. He was too far away for me to whisper in his ear, unless I leaned across several people. I glanced back at Lia. She had her head down and seemed to be keeping quiet. Better to let everything be.

I let the minister’s words wash over me as I studied the people in the front row. These were probably the people closest to Bethany, her immediate family members and best friends. A middle-aged couple sat next to Kyle. The man sat up straight and stiff, and from my angle I could see his clenched jaw and flat lips pressed together. The woman hunched, her head down, sniffling into a tissue. Bethany and Kyle’s parents?