What We Found (9 page)

Ricky leaned close so his whisper tickled my ear. “You wouldn’t want the real killer to go free. We should help investigate. The police don’t solve a lot of cases, you know.”

Mom leaned forward to glare back at both of us. “Audra, stay out of this. Both of you! That man is dangerous and probably crazy.”

“He’s also in jail. I can’t exactly stay out of it at this point, but I don’t want to be any more involved than I have to be.”

She jabbed her finger at me. “They didn’t say he’d been arrested, just that they were questioning him. He could be loose by now! And in a town this size, he’d have no trouble finding out where you live and work.”

I clenched my hands in my lap and hoped my voice remained steady. “Why should he care about me? I just found the body—found
her
. It was an accident.”

She looked back at the screen, where they were showing a map of the woods with the location where Bethany Moore was found. Where
I
found her. It was still hard to believe I’d become a part of all this.

Mom shook her head. “A man who would do something like that—kill a woman, leave her in the woods for weeks and pretend nothing had happened—he’s not normal. Not sane. There’s no telling what he might do.”

I couldn’t think of an answer to that. I knew Mom exaggerated the evils of men, but this time she might be right.

The TV shot returned to the newscaster. “The body was identified by Kyle Moore, the victim’s brother, who returned home just over a year ago after losing his hand in Afghanistan.” They showed a picture of Kyle in fatigues, his hair even shorter than it was now. He looked younger, healthier, and a whole lot happier. Poor guy. No wonder he looked so bleak, after everything he’d been through. I was a wreck after two days of a murder investigation. I couldn’t even imagine going to war, losing a hand, and then having to deal with a missing sister.

‘So that boy’s involved, too,” Mom said.

“Who, her brother? You don’t have to make him sound guilty of something. It’s hardly his fault that he’s related to her.”

Mom frowned at the TV, even though the newscaster had gone on to another story. “He had some problems when he came back from the Middle East.”

“Well, yeah, he lost his hand!”

“No, not that—mental stuff. He was troubled, from what I heard.”

I’m not sure why, but I had the urge to defend this man I barely knew. “It would be pretty surprising if someone wasn’t troubled after fighting in a foreign country, getting injured, and losing his hand.”

“Maybe so. He served his country, and that’s an honorable thing. But soldiers can’t always adjust to civilian life. They have high rates of domestic abuse.”

I was having trouble following her. “Is he married?”

Mom stood. “I’m just saying that’s not a family you want to know. I’ve heard things about them all. They draw trouble.”

“It sounds more like bad luck to me.”

She fisted her hands on her hips. “Women don’t get murdered by their ex-boyfriends because of bad luck. It’s bad choices. Now I’m going to go read.” She strode out of the room, her classic way of making sure she had the last word.

I pondered what she’d said. I was sure her arguments didn’t hang together, but without recording the whole thing and playing it back piece by piece, I wasn’t sure I could figure out where the holes were and where she had a point.

It didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on getting involved with any of them.

Ricky twisted to face me. “So, how are we going to help solve this? Do you want to hear my ideas?”

I gave a weak laugh. Normally I’d be glad to see that he wasn’t crushed under Mom’s thumb, but for once I wished he’d obey her. “I’m sure the police have it under control. I don’t see what we can do. We’d only get in the way.”

“No, see, we have the inside track! We can talk to people and they won’t be so careful like they are with the police. We can spy on people, too. They won’t notice us the way they would the police.”

I almost snarled a refusal. But his face shone with excitement and I didn’t like to be too harsh. Plus, if I refused to help, I was pretty sure he’d just investigate on his own. If he was going to be spying on people, I wanted to know where and when.

I glanced at the TV, trying to think of a way to appease Ricky while letting him think he was helping. The newscaster was mentioning the summer festival the next day. I had to be there anyway.

I turned to Ricky and smiled. “Okay, how about this? Come with me to the summer festival tomorrow. Everyone will be there, so it’s a great place to listen in on conversations. And I bet people will be talking about the murder.”

He bounced with excitement, seeming much younger than twelve. “I can listen, and no one will pay attention because I’m a kid!”

“Exactly. But you have to be a very careful detective and make sure no one knows what you’re doing. And promise me you will not follow anyone or leave for any reason, without telling me first!”

“Okay. This is going to be great!”

Yeah. Great.

He opened his mouth to speak, but my phone rang. A perfect excuse to end the conversation before Ricky got even more carried away. Hmm, maybe I’m more like my mother than I like to admit.

I shook off the thought—I wasn’t trying to get the last word in an argument, just keep my brother out of trouble—and stood. “I’d better get this.” I checked the display as I headed for my room. It was a blocked number, which normally I wouldn’t answer, but I felt obligated to follow through on my excuse. “Hello?”

“Audra Needham?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll pay for causing trouble,” a low voice growled. “From now on, mind your own business.” The call disconnected.

I stared at the phone. The blood seemed to have left my head and was pulsing through my limbs. Had I really just received a threatening phone call? Who would do such a thing?

Unfortunately, I had too many suspects, too many people who resented my accidental involvement in this crime. Jay. His father. Bethany’s ex-boyfriend and potential killer, Thomas Bain.

I shook my head. Surely someone suspected of a murder would have the sense to keep quiet. Why draw attention to yourself by threatening people? He might be annoyed that I stumbled onto the scene of his crime, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that.

Unless he was insane and out for revenge, as both Jay and my mother had hinted.

I tossed the phone, which suddenly felt tainted by association. It bounced on my bed. I rubbed my hands over my face and up into my hair, gripping my hair until my scalp hurt. Suddenly I understood that cliché about pulling one’s hair out. I wanted to pull the thoughts out of my head, so I could fling them away, or at least line them up nice and orderly where they might start to make sense.

I took a deep breath and slowly lowered myself to the bed, away from the phone. Most likely the call came from Jay. My number was unlisted and it was an Albuquerque number, not local, but Jay could have gotten it from my employment records or from the phone itself, when he had it. A prank call was the kind of childish thing he might do. But he couldn’t really hurt me.

I remembered the close call with the golf ball and trembled.

Nonsense. Jay was simply a spoiled child who refused to grow up. It was easier to think of him that way. His father might be angry at me, too, but at least I had Eslinda on my side. Even if she couldn’t protect my job, I could survive a job loss. It wouldn’t be easy. It might take me away from Ricky again. I didn’t want to leave him to Mom’s untender mercies; I hated to think how he might turn out growing up with only her influence. But it was survivable.

All this was survivable—the police questioning, the gossip at work, the animosity from Jay and his father and Rodrigo. It was merely an … an inconvenience.

Not like what happened to Bethany Moore. I could survive the inconveniences if it helped bring her killer to justice and bring closure to her family.

Closure. What a weak word. Could anything really take the pain from Kyle Moore’s eyes at this point?

The phone rang again. I jerked back as if it had turned into a rattlesnake.

On the third ring, I leaned forward enough to see the display. My phone didn’t recognize the number, but it was local and unblocked. It might be the police with more questions.

I reached for the phone, drew my hand back, and finally grabbed it on the last ring before voicemail. I hit answer but couldn’t get words through my tight throat.

“Audra? Are you there? It’s Nascha.”

I sank back. “Oh. Hi.”

“Have you heard?”

“Huh?”

“The police stopped Jay on the way home from work! Apparently he rolled through a stop sign, and they used it as an excuse to search his vehicle.” She paused dramatically before adding, “They found drugs.”

“Oh?” I wasn’t exactly the best conversationalist, but Nascha carried on.

“Pot. They took him to the police station. His dad had to go down to bail him out.”

At least they were having a worse week than I was. “Wait, are they at the police station now?” That would screw my theory about the phone call. You didn’t use your one phone call on petty harassment.

“I don’t know. I heard the news from one of the girls. I suppose he may be out now. Why?”

I closed my eyes with a sigh. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” If Jay had been unable to make the phone call, I didn’t really want to know it. I liked that theory better than the alternative. And even if it wasn’t him, he could’ve had Rodrigo do it.

“Anyway, I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess?” After a long pause, she added, “Are you all right?”

I stretched out on the bed with my eyes closed. “Sure. It’s just … confusing.”

“Surely you don’t feel sorry for him? I’m glad he got in trouble after what he did to you. He deserves it.”

“I don’t feel sorry for him. I’m just not sure what it means. He’s already so angry at me, him and his father. What will they do now?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. I could almost hear her considering and discarding possible comments. Finally she said, “Whatever they try, we’ll handle it. Eslinda and I have your back.”

I smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “Thanks.” I yawned. “And now I think I’ll go to bed. I don’t care how early it is, I need some rest.”

“Good idea. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yes, tomorrow. At the festival. Where all I had to do was make sure everything ran smoothly, withstand gossip, avoid anyone who might want to hurt or threaten me, and make sure my little brother didn’t get too close to a murderer.

I couldn’t wait.

Getting extra sleep turned out to be a bad idea. Extra sleep meant extra time to dream.

I dreamed of Bethany Moore.

I woke several times in the night, once crying, once struggling with the blanket. I lay awake, staring into the darkness, heart racing, trying to convince myself that everything was all right and the faint creaks and groans I heard were the same house sounds I’d always known. I thought about getting up, making some tea, watching TV—anything to push back the horrors of the night—but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the cocoon of my bed. And every time I fell back to sleep, I saw her again.

I did not feel rested in the morning.

I wore my dressiest shorts, a scooped-neck shirt, and comfortable tennis shoes. I’d be outside and on my feet a lot. I gazed at my face in the mirror. I didn’t think I was capable of the makeup job that would cover up those signs of fatigue. Anyway, SPF thirty sunscreen was more important. Fortunately I had a little natural tan to my skin, but not enough to prevent sunburn after a full day in the sun.

I tossed the sunscreen to Ricky as I passed through the living room, where he was watching cartoons. I grabbed a wide-brimmed straw hat and a shoulder bag from the coat closet and transferred the standard contents of my purse into the bag. I added the spray bug repellent in case the mosquitoes and gnats got bad.

In the kitchen, I filled two water bottles. Mom said, “What do you want for breakfast?”

I felt queasy after the rough night and my stomach gave a spasm at the thought of food. “I’ll grab something over there.”

“Make sure it’s something healthy.”

“Sure,” I grumbled as I left the room. “I’ll get some yogurt on a stick.”

I ignored Mom’s gasp behind me and Ricky’s giggle. “Let’s go.” I added the sunscreen to the shoulder bag when Ricky finished with it, handed him a ball cap, and headed out the door.

Ricky settled into the passenger seat with a broad grin that just made my mood darker. “How should we start?” he asked.

“By finding breakfast.” I had to shake off this mood. It wasn’t fair to Ricky, and it wouldn’t help me do my job. I forced a smile. “It might take a while to find yogurt on a stick.”

He laughed. “Forget that. I want fry bread!”

I stopped myself from asking if he’d already eaten breakfast. I kept myself from commenting on the nutritional qualities of deep-fried dough. My mother’s voice might speak in my head, but that didn’t mean I had to let her out. “Sounds great.”

I turned in at the resort, pulled around to the overflow parking lot, and parked in the back corner to save the better spaces for the public. The grounds around the building were already bustling, even though the festival didn’t officially start for half an hour. As we got out of the car, I could smell hot grease in the air. The frying vats were already at work.

We crossed the parking lot and the smells got stronger. Frying potatoes, meat. Somebody was putting together breakfast burritos already. My stomach rumbled, and I thought I might manage breakfast after all. A full stomach would make it easier to get through the day.

I smiled at Ricky. “All right, breakfast first. You can have your fry bread if you want. I’m going for a well-balanced meal with all four major food groups—tortillas, meat, cheese, and green chile.”

He practically skipped. “Me too! I want a breakfast burrito first. Chicharrones, eggs, cheese, and chile.”

Fried pork fat for breakfast, yum. Of course, I was considering ordering bacon in mine. Something about the smell of fried food, which could be so overwhelming in an enclosed kitchen, got the appetite going on a cool, fresh morning outside.